AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She heard someone moving about outside and then a huge form loomed out of the dark beside her driver side window. She gasped in alarm before she realized it was her rescuer.
He bent down and peered into the darkened vehicle. Even in the blackness, Laura could make out the thick mat of dark hair, the square jaw, and the cold steel of his narrowed eyes. Recognition was swift.
Dexter O’Reilly. Of all people to save her life, it had to be him.
Through the glass window, he squinted his eyes to get a better glimpse of the car’s occupant. It was a woman. And, non-too-gracefully, she hung like a fern from her seat belt. She turned her head in his direction, raised a hand and swept a curtain of chestnut hair from her face.
Something hit him hard in the pit of his stomach. It was the woman from the party. He noticed her right away, the moment he walked in the hall. It had been a long time since he registered the beauty of a woman, but it only took seconds where she was concerned. Actually it surprised him, and admittedly, scared him.
Quickly, he buried those hazardous thoughts, not wishing to explore them. “Are you all right? Have you been injured?”
She shook her head. “No, but my legs are trapped.”
Surveying the situation, he began pulling on the door handle. It didn't give. Glancing at the vehicle's front end, it was impossible to see the extent of damage due to the dark of night. “I'm going to have to break the window. Turn your head in the opposite direction.”
She did as was told. In the next instant, she heard a loud smash before a cascade of broken glass rained down on her. He quickly reached inside and began brushing the broken pieces away. Then leaning through the broken window, he examined the extent of injury to her legs. He could see that they were bare and scratched, coated in blood, with only tattered pieces left of her torn nylons covering them. As she had said, her feet were trapped, disappearing under the crushed portion of the hood of the car.
“Didn't you wear boots?” He began tugging at her legs, trying to free her feet.
Startled by the irrelevant question, she mumbled, “I didn't give it much thought.”
He turned to give her a look of disapproval. “They could have saved you some deep cuts.”
Nerves already pulled taut, she began to feel the aches in her legs and the sores in her trapped feet, and simply wanted to start crying all over again. She had successfully ignored the pain in her feet since the imminent danger of death was more pressing, however now he only reminded her of their aches and pains.
Stepping back from the vehicle, he began to talk to no one in particular when he said, “I can't get you free from this angle. I'm going to have to come in there.”
“How? The door is stuck—” she broke off as she realized he already had a plan
.
He leaned forward and suddenly began squeezing his body through the broken window. Since there was only so much space in the tiny opening, she was crushed as far back as her seat would allow, permitting sufficient room for him to enter. His broad shoulders crushed her chest and cut off her circulation momentarily as he propelled his body forward. At last he gathered his body into the passenger seat then turned to study her closer.
“Can you feel your feet?”
She wiggled her toes, then quickly nodded her head unnecessarily fast. “Yes.”
Glancing into her face he noticed her eyes beginning to glisten with distress and her voice was coming alarmingly close to hysteria. He knew he should say something to help calm her nerves but he was coming up empty. Instead he turned his attention back to her feet.
Laura heard the shaking in her voice and felt the onslaught of convulsions. She bit her lip hard in an endeavor to quail her fears. Post terror was making its ugly appearance. The reality of what she barely escaped and the terrifying predicament she found herself in now, was becoming alarmingly clear. She recognized the symptoms and attempted to suppress them.
However, it was his hands that were having a calming effect. Oddly, for a man who appeared to be so harsh and uncaring, his hands were strangely gentle as they reached under and unbuckled the straps of her sandals. He tossed them carelessly behind him and returned to her feet where he startled her completely by gently massaged them back and forth.
“Wh-what are you d-doing?” Her voice stuttered both on the lingering hysteria and the unexpected intimate touch.
He ignored her, continuing in an attentive manner until without warning her feet slipped freely from their trap. Feeling utterly disorientated, she muttered a thank you before reaching down to rub them gingerly. Indeed, what she surprisingly wanted was the continual touch of his soothing hands.
Dexter O'Reilly didn't even bother to acknowledge her thanks but simply turned to the seat belt next, and with a quick touch of a button, she was free of that restriction as well. As she fell hard onto the steering wheel, however, she was knocked all at once from her short panic attack, and peevishly thought a warning would have been nice.
Rubbing her shoulder, she looked over at her rescuer, and remembered who he was. Nice, she sincerely doubted, was not in his vocabulary.
“We're going to have to stay the night.” It was simply stated, not a trace of emotion.
“What?” Laura's hand froze. “You're kidding, right, because I don’t think I can do that if I don't have to.”
“I don't kid.” Which hardly surprised her. “And, yes, you do have to.”
“But somebody is sure to drive by and see our tracks in the snow.”
