Page 8 of After We Fall

Strong hands cover mine while thumbs stroke the tops of my knuckles.

One choppy breath in. One shaky breath out.

One short breath in. The stars dissipate. One longer breath out. My line of sight is clear again. My other senses return, and I feel the hard wall of a chest at my back.

“Penelope.” The deep, gentle voice fills my ear. “You’re safe. It’s Luke.”

Luke. Luke Granger. I blink and inhale cool air, unable to fill my quick-moving lungs to capacity.

Pull yourself together, Penelope.

Luke’s hold remains solid. And for a few seconds, suspended in someone else’s strength, my burdens no longer mine, I relax. As the adrenaline drains from my body, I allow my head to rest on his shoulder.

“That’s it.” His minty breath tickles my cheek. “You’re safe.”

“I’m safe.” My breath shows in the crisp air. I am safe. My breathing slows, and Luke loosens his hold.

Wait. I’m safe?

The events of the last ninety seconds replay in my mind. “I’m safe?” My yell travels across the field. “What is wrong with you?” I ram my elbow into the side of his gut, his grip loosens completely, and I whirl around on him.

This would have been a solid move, except for my lightheadedness and the ankle I twisted. I falter, and to my utter embarrassment, Luke grabs my elbows to steady me.

Blazing eyes stare back at me.

With all the vast land around us, how can his energy possibly fill the fields?

“Whoa there.” He grinds his words.

“What—” I lose my balance again and grasp his forearms. Closing my eyes, I grit my teeth. “What were you doing?”

“I was trying to keep you out of the line of sight of an unidentified vehicle. That is, until you initiated the world’s most ill-timed food fight.”

My eyes pop open, and I stare at his chest. The one plastered with swashes of turkey, gravy, and mashed potatoes. Wonderful. The back of my trench coat is likely covered with the other half of the meal.

“What do you mean? Whose line of sight?” The last words are shaky at best, and darn it if his hands don’t tighten.

The sound of spinning tires draws my attention across the field. On the opposite side of the wooden fence, a black SUV I hadn’t noticed before reverses and peels off, spraying gravel down the driveway of Twelve Bluebells Ranch.

I return my gaze to him. “Who was that?”

“I don’t know.” He studies my face. “How much pain are you in?” He releases one of my arms and pulls his phone out of his back pocket. His attention only leaves me to make a call. Once he draws the cell to his ear, he raises his eyebrows.

“I’m fine.” I hold my glare in place and hope it masks my extensive discomfort.

His nostrils flare. It isn’t an attractive feature on most people. Annoying that with Luke, it only enhances his masculinity. After he reports the make, model, and plates of the SUV to the person at the other end of the line, he shoves the phone back in his pocket.

I pull my arm from his grasp and massage my wrist. “Who was that on the phone?”

“A guy who works for me.” He chomps on his gum and his eyes dart around, taking in our surroundings.

Choosing to ignore his vague answer, I rub the scar above my eyebrow. “Can we revisit the part before you almost killed me?”

“Do you mean the part before you walked toward a Peeping Tom in an unknown vehicle and I saved your life? Sure. Let’s revisit it.”

“Was attacking me necessary? You could have just yelled my name.”

“I didn’t attack you. I extracted you from a possibly dangerous situation. And I did yell your name, but you didn’t hear me.”