Free White Heat by Jill Shalvis Page B

“What’s the matter?”
    “Nothing.” She still splashed along, but was clearly lagging, and still breathing heavily, too heavily he realized now for a woman in incredible athletic shape.
    “What is it?” he pressed.
    “I said nothing.” But she slid her hand into her pocket, and then her other pocket, and then went utterly still. “No.” She slapped her back pockets now, then looked at him, making him realize he’d not really seen her afraid.
    Until now.
    “Lyndie?”
    Again she slapped her pockets, then whirled in a circle, looking around her. Her breathing had gone from ragged to wildly out of control.
    And his heart sank. He moved back to her, grabbed her arm. “What is it? Asthma?”
    “Yes,” she wheezed.
    “Christ.” He looked at her helplessly. “Why didn’t you say something?”
    “No need. At least not until now.” She tipped her head back and eyed the slide of rocks they’d just tumbled down. Her chest rose and fell with her shallow little breaths, the clenching of her fist over her shirt telling him how bad it was. “I lost my inhaler.”
    “Where?”
    “Before the fall, I think. On the trail.”
    “Okay.” Finally, something he could do without her beating him to the punch, and he was a man used to the doing. Shrugging out of his pack, he set it on a rock big enough to keep it out of the water. He pulled out a bandana.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Going back for it.”
    “No! Griffin, the fire—”
    “I’m going. God, Lyndie, the smoke must have damn near killed you. Wrap this around your face.”
    Without waiting for her to do it, he came up behind her and placed it around her mouth and nose before tying it at the back of her head. Then he pushed her down to a rock. Surrounded by the swirling water, with the rocks to her back, she’d be safe. “Stay here.”
    “Griffin—”
    “I’ll hurry.” Her breathing was so erratic it terrified him. “Stay as still as you can.”
    “No.” She tried to hold him back. “You’ll be in danger, the flames have moved by now—”
    Hands on his arms, he sat her down again. “Shh. It’ll be okay.” Bending close, he looked into her eyes, hating the way she struggled for every breath. “You’ll be okay,” he said, and when she nodded, he backed away, praying it was the truth.
    *  *  *
    Lyndie lay back against the rock and studied the fire-ravaged sky as she carefully and painfully drew in each breath, none of which were deep enough to satisfy her lungs.
    He’d gone back. He’d gone straight into the fire.
    For her.
    The thought of him retracing their steps, facing the flames straight on, all because of her, really got to her. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on breathing, one gulp at a time, instead of picturing all the things that could happen to him.
    She had no idea how long she sat, eyes closed, desperately doing her best to survive on the shallow breaths, working even harder not to hear the fire ravishing the woods around her, when two hands closed over her shoulders.
    Gasping, she opened her eyes and locked gazes with Griffin. One eye was a little swollen, probably from their earlier fall, and the cut above it had bled a thin line down the side of his face. She reached out to touch it, but he caught her hand, and put her inhaler into it.
    She stared down at it.
    “Damn it, what are you waiting for?” He lifted it to her mouth. “Use it, you’re practically blue.”
    She used it, staring at him as she did. He didn’t take his hands off her, or his eyes. And only when she’d pulled the inhaler away from her face did he appear to relax slightly.
    “No one has ever done such a thing for me,” she whispered when she could.
    “There’s a first time for everything.”
    She stared at him, fighting the real and frightening urge to cry. She never cried. “Right.”
    He pulled her to her feet, took the inhaler from her hands and put it firmly into her pocket. “Keep track of that, now.”
    “I will.”
    “Let’s