Page 2 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

A mka couldn’t let herself get too comfortable as Christian easily balanced her in one arm and opened the door to the older black truck as the rain punished them both. How was he so strong? “We can’t just take Brock’s rig,” she protested rather weakly.

Christian grunted, like that was sufficient, and placed her gently on the seat. The upholstery chilled her butt. She shivered.

He opened the back door, and Tika jumped in, stretching out and yawning.

Christian shut the rear door and returned his attention to Amka, reaching across her for the seatbelt, his arm brushing her collarbone.

“Let me know if this hurts,” he said in a low and calm voice with that faint growl at the edges.

His head dipped close as he leaned in, crossing her chest to snap the belt into place.

The motion sent a wave of heat across her skin.

He paused just a moment too long before pulling back. His eyes held hers. “Does the belt hurt?”

Everything hurt. Her ribs ached like they’d been used for target practice. Her arm throbbed in a dull rhythm. Even her scalp felt scorched. She forced a shrug and looked down at his soot covered T-shirt. “No. I’m fine.”

His knuckle slid beneath her chin, and the contact made her breath catch. He tilted her face up toward his, gentle but insistent. “Don’t lie to me.”

She blinked once, then again, her lashes brushing her skin before she dropped her gaze to his mouth. She’d noticed it long before today. Christian Osprey had a great mouth. Firm. Serious. Sexy. “I’m not lying.”

His expression didn’t change. “You are.”

She sighed, the breath shaky. “I’m a little bruised, Christian. The seatbelt doesn’t hurt me. But I don’t think we should just steal the sheriff’s truck.”

Christian didn’t argue. He stepped back, shut the door quietly, and walked around the front of the truck.

She adjusted the seatbelt with her good hand. Her body didn’t like the angle.

He climbed in, shut his door, reached beneath the driver’s seat, and pulled out the keys to twist in the ignition. The engine roared to life. Without hesitation, he flipped a hard U-turn in the middle of the street, the tires bumping over wet and muddied pavement.

“I can get myself to the doc’s. I think I’m fine,” she said again.

Christian barely grunted in response.

This time, she had the odd urge to hit him. Which was ridiculous, considering he’d just saved her life. Probably. Still, the grunt was obnoxious.

He drove carefully down Main Street, one hand loose on the wheel, gaze sharp through the windshield. At Dalika River Drive, he turned right, heading toward First Street and the long, flat building that served as the town’s only medical hub—doctor’s office, dentist, and hospital all mashed into one.

Before he could fully stop at the curb, she reached for the seatbelt and winced as she released it. Her ribs were not fans of movement.

“Hey,” she said. “You didn’t wear your seatbelt.”

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t answer. Just opened the door and stepped out.

Fine. She didn’t mind quiet. It was better than forced chatter. She opened her door, but he was already there. Before she could swing her legs out, he leaned in and lifted her again, placing her gently on her feet.

“Do you need me to carry you?” he asked.

“No.” The word came out too fast. Her body wasn’t on board, but her pride was louder. Being carried by Christian Osprey was a strangely addictive feeling. Solid arms, complete control. Like gravity didn't apply.

What would it be like to have that kind of strength?

She couldn’t imagine it. She was barely five foot three, and even though she tended bar and waitressed most nights, hauling trays and dodging drunks, her strength was lean and wiry.

Functional, but not especially impressive.

Usually it worked just fine. Just not right now.

“I think I’m good,” she added, more to convince herself than him.

“Christian, you don’t have to come inside with me. ”

He shut the door. “Tika, stay in the truck.”

She knew he didn’t like being indoors longer than absolutely necessary. He’d been several years ahead of her in school, so they hadn’t exactly hung out. But she remembered watching him play football and hockey from the bleachers.

Back then, she couldn’t recall ever seeing him inside unless he was at school. He was always outside—working on his family’s boat, running drills, disappearing into the woods outside of town.

That hadn’t changed, not even since he’d come home from the Navy. He walked with her to the front door of the clinic and opened it.

“Thank you,” she said, then hesitated. “I mean, for everything.”

He gave her a short nod, chin tilted toward the entrance.

Typical. She couldn’t help rolling her eyes as she walked into the waiting room, and the door clicked shut behind her.

Lance Fredrickson looked up from behind the reception desk, earbuds in, phone in hand as he scrolled. The young man worked around his remote-learning college classes. He set the phone down and pulled the earbuds free. “Whoa. What happened?”

“You haven’t heard?” Amka asked.

Lance frowned, his dark hair around his shoulders and his brown eyes somber. “No. Should I have?”

“There was a fire,” she said. “Actually, more of an explosion.”

Christian stood beside her, arms crossed. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but somehow still managed to dominate the room.

Amka rubbed her arm. “My storage building. The one I share with Friday’s Grocery? It blew up.”

Lance stood so fast his rolling chair squeaked. “Wait—seriously? Is everyone okay?”

“I think so.” She tried to keep her voice even, but her throat felt like she’d swallowed embers.

“I was inside when it happened. The blast threw me across the room.” Her arm throbbed.

Her ribs pulsed. Her hip had developed a slow, annoying ache.

A headache, low and steady, was just settling in.

“But really,” she said, forcing a small shrug, “I think I’m fine. ”

Lance just stared at her. “Wow. An explosion.”

She shifted on her feet. “Christian, you don’t have to stay with me.”

“I want to make sure you’re okay.” He looked out of place in the soft light, all hard edges and quiet intensity.

“You’re throwing off the cozy clinic vibe,” she muttered.

Dr. May Smirnov strode into the room wearing her usual aqua scrubs, blonde hair pulled back in a high ponytail, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand. “What’s going on?” She halted. “I smell smoke. Was there a fire?”

“I can’t believe you haven’t heard yet,” Amka said.

Lance’s phone buzzed. Then again. And again. He glanced down at the screen. “Ah. There we go. Texts are rolling in now. Apparently your storage building blew up.”

“No kidding,” Amka said dryly.

May’s eyes narrowed. She handed her sandwich to Lance and moved toward Amka, already shifting into assessment mode. “Were you inside the building when the explosion occurred?”

“She was,” Christian said, his voice grim.

“I’m okay,” Amka added quickly. “Just sore. My ears are ringing a little.”

May squinted at her eyes. “Any loss of consciousness? Blurred vision? Nausea? Headache?”

“Not really. A tiny headache and some pain in my arm.”

May’s gaze swept over her. “Let’s check your vitals and get a better look at that arm. Blast trauma doesn’t always show up right away.” She turned slightly toward Christian. “You have soot all over you. Were you in the blast?”

“No,” Christian said shortly.

Amka wanted to help him get outside where he could find comfort. “He ran into the building and saved me.”

May squinted. “Are you experiencing any symptoms? Burns? Respiratory issues?”

“I inhaled some smoke. A couple of minor burns.” He glanced toward the door. “Nothing that needs treatment. I’ll wait outside.”

“I can find another ride home,” Amka said, a little louder than she meant to.

He looked at her again. Calm. Quiet. Watchful. “Where’s Jarod?” It was the first time he’d said the name.

“Um, he mentioned doing some spring fishin’ up at Rugged Creek, so I’m not sure when he’ll be back.” Well, he had mentioned it the other day, so that’s probably where he’d gone.

Christian nodded. “Then I’ll wait for you.” He turned and walked out without another word.

May watched him go. “Those Osprey brothers are kind of bossy, right?”

The chuckle came before Amka could stop it. Pain followed. She winced, pressing a hand gently to her ribs.

May noticed immediately. “Right. Holding your side like that tells me we could be dealing with more than bruising. Let’s take a look at those ribs and then check for any signs of concussion or soft tissue damage. If your ears are ringing, I want to do a tympanic check, too.”

“Thanks.” Before following, Amka glanced through the front door.

With his broad back to her, Christian stood outside in the rain, arms crossed, head slightly tilted as he stared off into the distance. The mountains loomed ahead of him, all jagged peaks and resilient strength. He didn’t flinch from the cold. He looked like he belonged in it.

She sighed and turned to follow May down the hallway.

Now was not the time to dream about Christian Osprey. Never would be a good time, for tons of reasons. She rubbed her chest.

May glanced at her. “Are you having chest pains?”

“No.” Not the kind the doctor could fix, anyway.

After an extremely thorough—way too thorough—examination, Amka strode out of May’s office, ears still ringing. “I really am all right,” she said, half to herself, half to May trailing behind her.

“I know,” May replied, arms folded across her chest, “but you’re bruised. You need to take it easy for at least a week, and if you have any nausea or dizziness, you have to let me know.”

Lance looked up from his desk in the corner, his eyes wide. “It’s all over town now. Christian carried you out of there like some hero in a war movie.”

Amka closed her eyes for a beat and fought the urge to smack her forehead. “Oh crap,” she muttered. “He’s going to hate that.”