An Officer And Her Gentleman. Amy Woods

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      Walking even a few yards away from her had gone against his every instinct, but he hadn’t planned to actually leave her alone in the middle of the night, not for a single moment. He just needed a second to regroup.

      His legs made quick work of the distance that separated them and seconds later he plunged into the ditch and reached her side, lifting the woman’s negligible weight into his arms and propping her up so she might draw in deeper breaths. Her skin was clammy and she seemed to flutter on the verge of consciousness as she pulled in shallow doses of air.

      Isaac had no idea what steps to take from there; as a certified dog trainer, he was generally better prepared for canine emergencies than those of his own species. His heart beat frantically for several long minutes as he held her, waiting for her to come back so he could better help her. As slow seconds beat past, he studied the woman in his grasp, seeing for the first time how lovely she was.

      Her long blond hair seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, its corn-silk strands tickling his arms where it fell. Creamy skin, just a shade or two lighter than her hair, lay like soft linen over sculpted cheekbones, creating a perfect canvas for full lips and large eyes, the color of which he suddenly longed to know.

      She wore a white T-shirt and athletic shorts, and Isaac grimaced when he caught sight of the sharp ridge of collarbone peeking out the top of the threadbare cotton. She was so very thin. No wonder lifting her had felt no more difficult than picking up Jane. A glint of metal got his attention and he reached up to search for a pendant attached to a silver chain around her neck, adjusting her so he could remain supporting her with one arm.

      Running his finger along the tiny links, Isaac finally touched an ID tag of some sort and pulled it closer to his face.

      It was an army-issue dog tag; he’d recognize it anywhere because of his brother, Stephen, and working with so many veterans and their companions at his dog training facility. This one was engraved A. Abbott.

      Somehow seeing her name made him even more impatient to wake her up. He knew nothing about the pretty woman, except that she looked like she could stand to eat a quarter pounder or two, but something about her pulled him in and wouldn’t let go.

      His buddies would’ve teased him relentlessly if they could have seen him then. Meyer can’t resist a damsel in distress, he could almost hear them say, joshing at his tendency to offer assistance to every granny who chanced to cross a street in Peach Leaf or any single mom who needed the use of his truck for a move.

      But this one was different.

      Before she’d tumbled to the ground, Isaac had seen enough to know that Abbott was no damsel in distress. Her voice had been tough—commanding, almost—and, despite her smallness, she’d stood tall and carried herself with authority and confidence. It was her body that had finally lost its resolve—no doubt, from the look of things, due to not eating enough—not her mind or her survival instinct.

      Now that he’d seen the tag, he understood why.

      Now that he’d seen the tag, he’d also begun to form an idea of what might have happened to her and, more important, how he might be able to help.

       Chapter Two

      Avery woke for the second time that night about an hour later.

      For a moment, forgetting the strange dreamlike events of the night, she thought she might be back at home safe in her bed while Tommy and Macy cooked breakfast for her niece and nephew.

      But when Avery sat up and opened her eyes, a rush of panic hit her like a bucket of ice water and she shot up from an unfamiliar couch, gasping for breath as she fully realized that she had no idea where she was.

      Again.

      A hand-knit afghan in alternating tones of light and dark blues tumbled to the floor, covering her feet, and as her eyes adjusted to the golden light coming from a nearby table lamp, Avery glanced briefly around the room. It was minimally decorated but cozy, and she wondered at the comfort it provided despite its newness to her.

      “Easy there,” a low voice came from behind the sofa and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

      Avery put up her fists and turned around in one quick motion, ready to face whatever situation her unpredictable, unreliable mind had gotten her into now.

      “Who are you, and where the hell am I?” she spat out, willing her voice to mask the fear that was quickly weaving its way from her gut to her chest.

      The nightmares were bad enough, but the flashbacks, rarer though they were, absolutely terrified her. This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself in a place from which she couldn’t retrace her steps. If it happened on too many more occasions, she didn’t even want to think about the action her family and therapist might agree on against her will. She’d already lost her job and her own place. The thought of being locked up somewhere...

      The man in front of her gently placed the cell phone he’d been holding on a small end table, immediately holding up both of his hands. She vaguely recalled his handsome face as a tiny slice of memory slipped from the recesses of her mind, but it vanished before she could catch it, leaving her with nothing helpful.

      “My name’s Isaac. Isaac Meyer. I’m not gonna hurt you. And obviously you don’t remember—you were pretty out of it—but we did meet earlier.” A Southern accent similar to her own slid over the man’s words like hot gravy, identifying him as a local.

      “Avery,” she murmured.

      He stood completely still as Avery looked him up and down, her soldier’s instincts and peripheral vision checking every inch of his person, even as her eyes remained steadily locked on to his. They were a rich brown, she noticed, instantly chastising herself for wasting time on such a silly thought when she faced a potential enemy.

      When Avery didn’t speak for a long moment, he continued.

      “Look, I know this has been a strange night, at least for me, but—” He hesitated and seemed to be working through his thoughts before speaking. “I found you on the side of the road. In a ditch. Jane and I didn’t know what to do and there wasn’t a damn thing could be done to help you out there in the dark, so we brought you back here.”

      He lowered one hand, slowly and cautiously as if trying not to unsettle a rabid animal, and pointed toward the phone before putting his hand back up. “I was just about to call 9-1-1 and see about getting someone out here to check on you. Then you woke up and, well, here we are.”

      Avery had no recollection of meeting him earlier, only his word to go on and the vague, déjà vu–like inkling that she’d seen him before. The past few hours were as blank as a fresh sheet of paper. In all he’d said, only one insignificant thing stuck out to her. That seemed the way of it lately. If she couldn’t focus on everything, she picked out the smallest bit and used that to ground her in reality. It was one of the few things her therapist had taught her that she’d actually practiced.

      “Jane? Who’s Jane?” she asked, wondering, of all things, why that particular piece of information mattered.

      At the mention of the name, Isaac’s features noticeably softened and Avery let her body do likewise, relaxing a little as she checked off facts in her head. One—if he’d a mind to, he could have murdered her already. Two—the man had placed a homemade blanket СКАЧАТЬ