Read Online Sea Witch by Virginia Kantra - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Virginia Kantra
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quiet dark, reaction seeped in, corroding her
fragile composure. The roof and frame pressed in on her like the iron bars
of a cage. She shifted on the slick upholstery, her blood pounding in her
head, staining her fingers through the folded white square he had given
her.
She opened her mouth to breathe.
The driver’s side door popped open and Caleb slid into the seat
beside her, his big body looming out of the darkness. She managed not to
jump.
“All set,” he said. “You keeping pressure on that cut?”
She nodded carefully, as if her head might fall off.
His lips curved. “Atta girl. Still bleeding?”
Her fingers were warm and sticky. “Not as much.”
“Good. That’s good.” He thrust a key into the side of the wheel, and
the Jeep shuddered to life. He glanced at her. “Buckle up.”
She blinked.
His mouth compressed before he reached for her. She inhaled once,
sharply, as his shoulder flattened her back against her seat, as his hard
arm brushed her breast. His hand was almost in her face. He drew a strap
down across her body, securing it with a click beside her hip.
The pressure on her chest increased.
61
He leaned back. “There you go.”
Her mouth was dry. She could not go anywhere. She was strapped
in. Tied down. Trapped.
He twisted in his seat to pull a similar belt over his own broad body,
grunting as his knee connected with the steering wheel. A little of her
panic leaked away.
“You’ll like Donna. Dr. Tomah,” he added when Margred didn’t say
anything. “She retired to the island about five years ago before she
decided retirement wasn’t really her thing. Talked the town into building
her a clinic, and now she handles pretty much everything that doesn’t
require a trip to the hospital in Rockport.”
She forced herself to listen as if his words held some clue to her
dilemma. As if she cared. She didn’t. But there was something soothing,
all the same, in his quiet manner and deep, easy voice.
He was talking now about the council budget and a new X-ray
machine, soft, meaningless words that filled the silence and washed over
her like water. She leaned her aching head against the cool glass and
stared out at the darkness rushing beyond her window.
His voice stopped. The vehicle stopped.
Margred roused to find him watching her. “Did you do that on
purpose?”
“Do what?” he asked, straight-faced.
“Bore me to sleep?”
Caleb smiled. She had the sense he was not a man who smiled often
or easily. A trickle of warmth eased the ice in her belly. “All part of the
job, ma’am.”
She fingered his jacket over her shoulders. Studied the badge
gleaming on his shirt pocket. “This is a job?”
“Sometimes.” His gaze met hers. She felt it again, that curious
melting in her stomach. “Sometimes it’s personal.”
62
It was personal now, Caleb thought. Whether he liked it or not.
Maggie sat upright on a padded table, her shoulders straight and her
eyes wide and blind. She had exchanged his bloodied handkerchief for a
clinic cold pack and his jacket for a cheap paper gown. Even though he
understood the need to reduce swelling and preserve whatever evidence
remained, he wanted to wrap her, warm her, take care of her somehow.
She hadn’t clung to him or cried. But when Donna Tomah had
questioned Caleb’s presence in her examination room, Maggie had said
flatly, “He is with me.”
So now Caleb crowded the corner near the head of the table while
the doctor sat at the foot. Despite his aching leg, he didn’t sit. He couldn’t
sit. He’d pulled off the big reassuring act in the Jeep, but inside he was
churning with the need for action, with pity and admiration and cold,
deep rage.
Motionless, he watched as Maggie checked little boxes on a medical
form and handed the clipboard back to the doctor.
Donna’s round face, unlined beneath her salt-and-pepper hair,
creased in a frown. “You’ve left a
fragile composure. The roof and frame pressed in on her like the iron bars
of a cage. She shifted on the slick upholstery, her blood pounding in her
head, staining her fingers through the folded white square he had given
her.
She opened her mouth to breathe.
The driver’s side door popped open and Caleb slid into the seat
beside her, his big body looming out of the darkness. She managed not to
jump.
“All set,” he said. “You keeping pressure on that cut?”
She nodded carefully, as if her head might fall off.
His lips curved. “Atta girl. Still bleeding?”
Her fingers were warm and sticky. “Not as much.”
“Good. That’s good.” He thrust a key into the side of the wheel, and
the Jeep shuddered to life. He glanced at her. “Buckle up.”
She blinked.
His mouth compressed before he reached for her. She inhaled once,
sharply, as his shoulder flattened her back against her seat, as his hard
arm brushed her breast. His hand was almost in her face. He drew a strap
down across her body, securing it with a click beside her hip.
The pressure on her chest increased.
61
He leaned back. “There you go.”
Her mouth was dry. She could not go anywhere. She was strapped
in. Tied down. Trapped.
He twisted in his seat to pull a similar belt over his own broad body,
grunting as his knee connected with the steering wheel. A little of her
panic leaked away.
“You’ll like Donna. Dr. Tomah,” he added when Margred didn’t say
anything. “She retired to the island about five years ago before she
decided retirement wasn’t really her thing. Talked the town into building
her a clinic, and now she handles pretty much everything that doesn’t
require a trip to the hospital in Rockport.”
She forced herself to listen as if his words held some clue to her
dilemma. As if she cared. She didn’t. But there was something soothing,
all the same, in his quiet manner and deep, easy voice.
He was talking now about the council budget and a new X-ray
machine, soft, meaningless words that filled the silence and washed over
her like water. She leaned her aching head against the cool glass and
stared out at the darkness rushing beyond her window.
His voice stopped. The vehicle stopped.
Margred roused to find him watching her. “Did you do that on
purpose?”
“Do what?” he asked, straight-faced.
“Bore me to sleep?”
Caleb smiled. She had the sense he was not a man who smiled often
or easily. A trickle of warmth eased the ice in her belly. “All part of the
job, ma’am.”
She fingered his jacket over her shoulders. Studied the badge
gleaming on his shirt pocket. “This is a job?”
“Sometimes.” His gaze met hers. She felt it again, that curious
melting in her stomach. “Sometimes it’s personal.”
62
It was personal now, Caleb thought. Whether he liked it or not.
Maggie sat upright on a padded table, her shoulders straight and her
eyes wide and blind. She had exchanged his bloodied handkerchief for a
clinic cold pack and his jacket for a cheap paper gown. Even though he
understood the need to reduce swelling and preserve whatever evidence
remained, he wanted to wrap her, warm her, take care of her somehow.
She hadn’t clung to him or cried. But when Donna Tomah had
questioned Caleb’s presence in her examination room, Maggie had said
flatly, “He is with me.”
So now Caleb crowded the corner near the head of the table while
the doctor sat at the foot. Despite his aching leg, he didn’t sit. He couldn’t
sit. He’d pulled off the big reassuring act in the Jeep, but inside he was
churning with the need for action, with pity and admiration and cold,
deep rage.
Motionless, he watched as Maggie checked little boxes on a medical
form and handed the clipboard back to the doctor.
Donna’s round face, unlined beneath her salt-and-pepper hair,
creased in a frown. “You’ve left a
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