The Winner Takes It All. Alison Roberts
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you I wasn’t going anywhere.”
She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “You did.”
Heat emanated from the point of contact, shooting out to the tips of his fingernails and sparking up his arm. He expected her to let go. Instead she stared at him with wide eyes. The corners of her lips curved upward in a hesitant smile.
O-kay. It was a simple touch. Out of gratitude for his being here. No big deal. Except the heat tingled. It felt good. Too good. Cullen pulled his arm away. “Thirsty?”
She nodded. “Water, please.”
He pushed a button on the control device that raised the head of her bed, reached for the cup sitting on the bed tray and then brought the glass to her mouth. He positioned the straw against her lower lip. Even after the balm, her lips were dry and peeling. He remembered how they used to be so soft and moist and taste so sweet.
Don’t think about that. There weren’t going to be any more kisses, no matter how much he’d enjoyed them in the past.
“Sip slowly,” he cautioned.
Sarah did. She released the straw. “Where am I? What happened?”
The roughness in her voice scratched his heart. He held on to the glass of water. That would keep at bay the temptation to brush the hair off her face. “You’re at a hospital in Seattle. There was a steam blast on Baker. You got hit by falling rock and fell.”
Her mouth quirked. “Did the steam blast continue?”
“No,” he said. “But Tucker Samson—he introduced himself as your boss and the head of MBVI—said this could be a sign of an impending event.”
Her eyebrows slanted. Beneath the bandage on her forehead, lines formed as if she were deep in thought. “I…don’t remember much.”
Sarah had a mind like a steel trap and never forgot anything. He didn’t blame her for sounding worried. “It’s okay. You have a concussion, but it’s a closed-head injury. No traumatic brain injury.”
His words didn’t ease her concern. Panic flickered in her eyes. “I wasn’t up there by myself.”
“Two others were injured, but they’ve been released from the hospital. You took the brunt of it. Fell quite a distance.”
The words were easy to say now, but the image of Sarah when he’d first arrived at the hospital haunted him. His uselessness then reminded him of trying to help Blaine—who had wanted only to blame Cullen for his drug addiction—and of trying to revive his brother later, after he’d overdosed. Being forced to watch from the sidelines as others took care of Sarah was like having his heart ripped from his chest. He’d felt the same after being pushed away from his unconscious brother when the paramedics had arrived at their parents’ house. But Sarah didn’t need to know any of that.
A corner of her mouth rose into a more certain smile. “Guess that’s why I feel like I’ve gone nine rounds in a boxing match.”
“Mixed Martial Arts seems more your style.”
“Yeah, now that you mention it, this does feel more like MMA than a few punches, hooks and jabs.”
She hadn’t lost her sense of humor. That and her intelligence had been two of Sarah’s most appealing traits. She’d had a hot body, too. The hospital gown and blanket covered much of her, but she’d lost weight. Her cheekbones appeared more prominent and she looked smaller, almost fragile, a word he would never have associated with her before.
He pushed the straw toward her lips again. “Drink more.” Sarah took another sip. “I’ve had enough. Thanks.”
“Ice chips will soothe your throat. It has to be sore from the tube.” He placed the cup on the bed tray. “Hungry?”
“No.” A question formed in her eyes. “Should I be?”
She sounded nothing like the strong, independent woman he’d married. The vulnerability in her gaze and voice tugged at his heart, twisting him inside out. He wanted to hold her until she felt better and her uncertainty disappeared. But touching her, even out of compassion, wasn’t a smart idea. “Your appetite will return soon enough.”
“Maybe my appetite doesn’t want hospital food.”
That was more like his Sarah. Not his, he corrected. “Then your appetite is one smart cookie.”
She smiled.
He smiled back.
This conversation was going better than he’d imagined. Maybe the bump on her head had shaken some sense into Sarah. Not that it changed anything between them. “I’ll sneak in some decent food.”
“I should eat even if I don’t feel like it. I need to get back to the institute to look at data.”
Her words made him bristle. Sarah was a scientist, first and foremost. Studying volcanoes wasn’t a job for her, but a passion. The need to be where the action was happening was as natural an instinct as breathing to Sarah. Her work was for the greater good of science and mankind. If only she cared to put as much effort into her personal relationships.
Into him.
“Other scientists can analyze the data,” he said. “You need to recover first.”
“I’m the institute’s specialist. They need me. Those are my seismometers up there.”
“Yours?”
Her lips pursed, but not in the kiss-me-now way she had perfected. “A grant paid for them, but the data…Was the equipment damaged?”
“Tucker said the equipment was recovered. The data from the laptop is being analyzed.”
“Thank goodness.” She glanced around the room until her gaze landed on the door. “How soon until I can get out of here?”
He held up his hands, palms facing her. “Not so fast.”
“We may be able to use the data to figure out what’s going to happen on Baker. If we predict an eruption successfully, we can use the same process with other volcanoes and save lives.”
Her passion cascaded out. Cullen understood why she was so adamant about her work. He felt the same about his. But he had to play devil’s advocate, even if he wanted nothing more than to send her on her merry way to Bellingham. “A concussion is only one of your injuries.”
Sarah looked down at herself, as if finally realizing she was more than a talking head. Her eyes narrowed at the cast on her arm. “I can slog up Baker with a sling.”
As ridiculous as the image of her doing that was, he could see her attempting it. She would hurt herself more, given the pain medication she was on, if she even survived another fall. “How will you self-arrest if you slip? It’s hard enough to dig in an ice ax to stop yourself with two usable hands and arms.”
She moistened her lips and lifted her chin with a look of defiance. “I won’t need to stop myself if I don’t slip.”
A smile threatened to appear at her bravado. He pressed his lips together. The last thing he wanted to do was encourage her. “You suffered internal injuries, a collapsed lung, broken ribs and an arm fracture. Not to mention you’ve had two surgeries.”
“Surgeries?”
“You have a pin in your right arm, and you no longer have a spleen. Due to the trauma and bleeding, they had to remove it with an open procedure rather than using laparoscopic techniques.”
“Oh.” Sarah looked as if he’d told her she’d overslept her alarm, not had an internal organ removed through a four-inch incision. “You don’t really need a spleen, right?”
A groan of frustration welled up inside him. Why couldn’t she be one of those ivory-tower-type scientists who worked in a lab and never cared if they breathed fresh air or saw sunlight? Then again,