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I run over to hand it to her, but she just stares at me with a mask of terror and pain. When I reach down to help her up, she shrieks and scuttles back like a crab.
Any desire to wax rhapsodic about her beauty vanishes in a wave of anger.
"Stop," I bellow. "What iswrongwith you?"
She freezes, glaring up at me, suddenly looking so ferocious that I take a step back despite her current position in the surf.
"What's wrong withme? You're the one charging like a rabid rhinoceros!"
My eyebrows shoot up. "A rabid rhinoceros?"
She nods primly.
"Well, I was trying to keep you from being clotheslined by fishing wire." I gesture to the line of poles Bishop set up that morning. "Perhaps I should've just let you sever your pretty head?"
Realization dawns in her big, green eyes. "Oh."
I cross my arms. "Oh."
Her eyes flash with anger. "How was I supposed to know that?"
"That I'm not a rabid rhinoceros? I don't know…common sense?" Then I notice the blood dripping from her foot. "You're hurt."
"I'm fine." She pushes up from the ground, wincing when her injured foot connects with the sand.
Instinctively, I wrap an arm around her waist to support her weight.
"Thanks," she mutters. "And I'm sorry. I have an overactive imagination and I watch far too many horror movies."
"Horror movies? No wonder you thought I was a raving lunatic. I can't watch anything scarier thanTraitor Tater and the Spuds of Deceitwithout the lights on."
The corners of her mouth twitch. It's barely a smile, but it makes me ridiculously happy to have earned it. "I love that cartoon."
"So, you're not insane. Good to know." She glares at me again, but there's no heat in it, and a small smile still plays on her lips. "Let's get that cut cleaned up, okay?"
She nods. "Thank you."
I point to Bishop's things. "I'll need to carry you over there."
She looks to where I'm pointing. "I can walk."
"And get more sand in your wound?" Before she can object, I lift her into a bridal carry, supporting her legs and back. She gives a little cry of surprise before wrapping her arms around my neck.
I suck in a quick breath. I've never been so affected by a woman. What is it about her?
With great reluctance, I sit her onto Bishop's chair. Then I begin searching through his things for a first-aid kit. I'd bet my life that he has one. The man's an Eagle Scout.
It takes only a few seconds to find it. I also grab an unopened bottle of water.
A shiver passes through her and she wraps her arms around her body in a hug. I want to kick myself. I should have realized that the cool breeze on her wet skin would be torture. I jog over to my chair to grab my hoodie for her. She accepts it gratefully.
Kneeling in front of her, I pat my thigh. "Let's see what we've got." She obliges, placing a lovely foot—aside from the blood—onto my leg. Her toenails are painted lavender.
I twist the cap off the bottle and use the water to cleanse her wound.
"Thanks. I guess I was wrong about the townspeople—or at least one of them." She smiles and I can't help but smile back.
But my smile quickly fades when I process her words. "What do you mean?"
