Page 103 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses

Tanner plowed into the bar he remembered ran the entire length of one wall. Melted varnish stuck to his fingers, the wood seeming to pulsate. A whiskey bottle exploded, showering him with glass and liquid.

“Dammit, Tan, we’ve got—” A violent reverberation swallowed the rest of Adam’s words.

Part of the roof had collapsed, Tanner guessed, and without doubt the stairs to his right. Heat flooded the room and struck his face like a slap.

One more minute. A man. Here somewhere, alongside the bar. Cowboy-lover had whispered this when Tanner found her near the stairs. He stretched, searching. Broken glass, puddles of liquor, splinters of wood. A cinder popped against his hand, sizzled. Belatedly, his brain registered the pain. Gloves? They must have fallen off.

“Where are you, goddammit?” He gulped air, coughed, choked. With a burst of agony, he knew he would have to leave the man to die. Already, his thoughts were arriving too slowly, his actions even further behind. Hunkering low, he weaved toward the door, or where he remembered the door being. He stumbled over a chair leg and tumbled to his hands and knees. Reaching, he gave it one last go and finally grasped a man’s boot. “Thank God,” he whispered, and slung the man over his shoulder.

With a grunt, he heaved to his feet, the stitches in his arm straining in painful protest. Following a shaft of moonlight, he plunged through the Four Leaf’s entrance and promptly collided with Adam.

“Chrissakes, Tan, where did he come from?” Adam mercifully lifted the weight from Tanner’s shoulders, and shoved him from the boardwalk, where he’d halted, too befuddled to move.

Blood pounded in his head; his skin throbbed, frozen and blistered all at once. He tilted his face to the sky, snowflakes landing on his cheeks, gentle, absurd comfort. Out of nowhere, the scent of sandalwood drifted to him. Incredible that any scent could battle past the smell of smoke. He leaned heavily on the arm that slipped round his waist, his lids fluttering as his vision dimmed. A voice called to him from a distance.

Kat.

Her beautiful face flashed in his mind as darkness claimed him.

* * *

“Tell her to go to hell,” Kate said, lifting a damp cloth from Tanner’s brow. “I’m not leaving until he wakes up. What more do I have to say to make her understand? I’m not concerned with the appropriateness of the situation.”

Charlie stepped into the dimly lit room and closed the door behind her. “I’ll express your concerns. Not quite that way, perhaps. I’m too frightened of your mother to tell her to go to hell, even if her daughter sent the message. She’d insist on escorting me to church every Sunday for a month as penance.”

Kate dipped the cloth in a bowl of water, and wrung it out, her hands chapped from the repeated procedure. Heavens, no matter how much she washed Tanner’s face, his body, the scent of charred wood remained.

“How is he?” Charlie perched her hip on the rosewood bedpost.

“Better. His fever is lower. His breathing finally clear, thank God. I thought I’d go crazy listening to him wheeze. His chest rising so slowly, almost an afterthought.” She tilted her head, her neck cracking from the uncomfortable position she’d imposed upon it the last two days. “However, this is what the doctor told us to expect.” He had also informed them of the possibility that Tanner would never wake up, which Kate refused to consider.

Charlie sighed. “If only he hadn’t been unhealthy before. So—”

“Exhausted. Stitches and gunshot wounds. He told Adam he’d hardly slept in weeks.” Kate squeezed the cloth, an angry reflex, drops of water falling to the pine floor. “Fool man. Running into a burning building, playing hero. One of the characters he pretends to be while researching his articles.”

The post creaked when Charlie lifted from it. “Kate, darling, he is a hero. Two people would have died if he hadn’t gone in. That bunch of drunkards couldn’t find a pitchfork if it protruded from their bottoms. Adam and the rest of the men would have arrived too late. Much too late.”

“Yes, a hero. My, how will—what does Tanner call her, Cowboy-lover—repay him for his gallantry?” She grunted, swabbing his cheek with a bit more vigor than necessary. “By reaching inside his trousers, that’s how.”

“Oh, Kate.” Charlie pressed her hand to her lips, laughter bubbling forth. “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. Her hand lifted, revealing a broad smile. “Oh, Kate...you do love him.”

Kate searched Tanner’s face. Shadowed crescents beneath each eye, dark lashes curling where they met skin. She brushed a lock of hair from his brow, let the silky softness glide through her fingers. “Yes.” She tried to ignore the dull ache in her chest, the tears pricking her lids.

“But, your mother, she said—she was trying to give me the stagecoach schedule. You’re not, does that mean...you’re not leaving, are you?”

Kate met Charlie’s questioning gaze. “As soon as...as soon as I know he’s all right.”

“Why?”

Why? Because the fear of losing him, of loving him, scared her to death. She was scared to death of life, she supposed. She hated her vulnerability, she wanted to be stronger, but the misery that followed loving him before had nearly killed her.

“Don’t...even...try...” A hoarse croak, the words disjointed. A shaft of sunlight flooded the room, throwing shadows into Tanner’s hollowed cheeks. His eyes opened, lifted slightly, revealing a sliver of blue. His hand tensed, bandaged fingers raising an inch, trembling, then falling to the mattress. Releasing a raw sigh, his lids drifted low.

Kate stared, unable to speak, unable to think beyond the mad rush of relief. She lifted his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss upon his fingertips. Vaguely, she heard the door shut and footfalls echo down the hallway.

Tanner’s mouth opened; his throat worked as he swallowed.

“Shhh...you need to rest. Don’t try to talk.”