Page 33 of Defiant Hearts

Her heart slammed and she jolted so hard that the cup of water rattled on her tray. Feet pounded down the hall as people ran toward the noise.

“What—”

Wyatt launched to his feet, looking between her and the door. Voices came from some room nearby, speaking low and urgent.

“You’re safe.”

“You’re home.”

“Come back to me.”

“It’s okay. Calm down. Calm down now.”

Her stomach twisted with shame though her pulse continued to race and sweat prickled along her hairline.

It hadn’t taken her long to figure out she was in a veteran’s hospital. Rhae, who popped in earlier today, had confirmed it and told her she was a therapist for the program. She assured Whitley she was safe here and the entire ranch was a fortress no one could penetrate.

Now, she felt ashamed that she’d reacted so strongly to the sound when men here were fighting battles that never ended. She was a nurse, for god’s sake. She’d worked her share of psychiatric cases and calmed patients who woke from nightmares.

Now her training screamed at her to get up, to go see if she could help.

But she didn’t have the strength to take care of anyone right now, not even herself. Even if she did, she had no idea what she’d do for the man who bellowed like he was still deep in the thick of battle.

Wyatt slid the table away, and she gaped up at him through a haze of weak tears. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Before she processed what he was about to do, he slipped into bed beside her and gathered her gently to his chest.

She curled against him, aware of the wound on her back twinging from the movement. “I wish I could do something to help.”

“No, honey. There are plenty of others to help. Your job is to stay here and rest.”

Warmth shouldn’t bloom inside her at the endearment. He said it the same way she did to her patients, calling them honey or sugar as she tended to their care. Still, in her weakened state, it sounded nice.

More than nice.

They remained still for a while. The screams abated and footsteps walked softer now as people returned to their prior duties.

She pressed her cheek against Wyatt’s chest and listened to the solid, steady thrum of his heart.

“Okay?” he rumbled under her ear.

She nodded, unwilling to move and glad deep down that he dragged in the recliner to spend the night beside her.

Then she felt it. A brush against her temple.

A kiss.

Wyatt’s lips moved slow over her skin, demanding nothing of her—only giving comfort. But she’d never given this kind of comfort to her patients.

When she didn’t move away, he trailed his lips along her cheekbone, giving her every chance to pull back if she wanted to.

She didn’t want to.

She tilted her head up and met his eyes. With a low rumble, he lowered his lips to hers next, gentle at first and then less so. For one long moment the fear she thought permanently coiled in her chest quieted, drowned out by this thing that felt, impossibly, like safety.

When he finally drew back, he settled her against his chest, one arm banded around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat again, steadier than anything she’d heard in months. For now, just for tonight, she would borrow strength from him.

“You should stay away from me,” she murmured into his shirt. Her throat closed on the words. “I’m still in danger. Being close to me puts you in it too.”