The Missing

thought of walking a good two miles still was enough to make her want to cry, and she hadn’t cried in years.

    He didn’t want to let her leave. She knew he was frustrated. She could see it in his eyes. But Taige didn’t bother trying to explain. She just turned away and started to walk.

    One foot in front of the other. She could do this.

    But ten steps later, she wasn’t so sure. Everything started to spin kind of like she was stuck on a Tilt-A-Whirl, and she knew she wasn’t going to stay upright. Just when she felt her knees start to buckle, a hand came around her arm. Automatically she shied away; Taige didn’t like being touched, especially by people she didn’t know. All the mental baggage waited just under the surface, and one touch was enough to open a bridge between their minds.

    But there was nothing. Strange, too, because the frustration and anger she saw in his eyes should have surrounded her, stinging her skin like angry fire ants. Yet it was like staring into waters of the Gulf right after a storm; she could see the water, but she couldn’t see beyond it.

    It was—bliss. And she probably would have enjoyed it even more completely if her legs hadn’t decided to give out at that moment. But they did give out. Fortunately, the hand on her arm kept her from falling to the ground. Instead, she tumbled forward against his chest. His other hand came up, and he murmured softly, “Hey, easy there.”

    He brushed his thumb over her cheek, scowling. “You still don’t want me to call the police? Maybe I should drive you into town at least. There’s a hospital around here somewhere, right?”

    Oh, no. No hospitals. She wasn’t doing no damn hospital. Taige shook her head and tried to pull away, but her legs were still wobbly, her head was still spinning, and Galahad was staring at her with dark, concerned eyes. He was wearing a faded button-down shirt with a wild Hawaiian print. It hung open over his chest, and Taige could feel the warmth of his skin and the slow, steady beat of his heart.

    Her own heart skipped a beat, and the only thing she could think was Damn . She blinked and looked away as blood rushed to her cheeks. His hands tightened a little, and his voice sounded strange enough that she looked back up at him as he said, “Yeah, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

    He stared at her with dark eyes, worried eyes, his hands holding her close to keep her from falling, and Taige felt herself fall just a little bit in love. It took a few minutes for his words to work through the fog that had wrapped itself around her brain, and by that time, he’d managed to guide her halfway to the resort’s parking lot. She stopped walking and jerked against his hand, even though she really wanted to keep contact with him. There was something very nice about being touched without having a flood of thoughts and images swamping her.

    Still, if he kept touching her, he was going to get her into that car and take her into Foley to the fricking hospital. “I’m fine . . . Hey, what’s your name?” Taige really wanted to know, because she had a feeling she was going to spend a lot of time daydreaming about him.

    “Cullen. Yours?”

    “It’s Taige. Cullen, I appreciate the help, but I am fine. I just want to go to bed.”

    “I bet you do,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Taige, you aren’t fine. Where’s the hospital?” He tugged on her arm again, and Taige didn’t feel steady enough to fight him, so she fell into step beside him. He led her to a rusted-out, patched-up vintage Mustang, and Taige had to smile.

    It was parked in the middle of Porsches, BMWs, and Volvos, all of them gleaming and polished and perfect. His car looked like a mutt sitting in the middle of a pedigree dog show. “Nice car,” she murmured.

    He slid her a narrow look as though he knew exactly what she was thinking. But he didn’t say a word about the car. Cullen cocked a brow at her and repeated, “Hospital?”

    She folded her arms across her chest and shook her head. “No. I’m not going to no damn hospital.”

    “You can’t just go home.”

    She didn’t have any intention of going home, either, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Her knees buckled, and she knew she had to sit down. “Look, how about you take me to a friend’s house? Her son is an EMT. He can look me over, and if he thinks I ought to go to the hospital, I’ll go.”

    But Dante wouldn’t insist on that, not unless she was