Delilah's Weakness Read Free Page B

chuckled, releasing her from the magnetic pull of his personality as if he’d turned off a switch. "Of course, once I went exploring and saw—"
    "You went exploring?" Her voice was a squeak of outrage. "In my house?"
    "Don’t get excited. I’m not planning to rip you off. I was looking for a bathroom, a telephone, and an ashtray, in that order. I found the bathroom. I think." He shook his head in disbelief. "I’ve never seen more primitive amenities indoors. Do you really shower in there, on that cold cement floor? Without heat?"
    "Sorry," Delilah said faintly, thinking of what was hanging on the curtain rod in the bathroom, then flared, "If you don’t like the accommodations you can always try the motel down the road."
    "I apologize," he murmured, but it was Delilah who felt remorse.
    His long lashes swept down for an instant, and she noticed he’d taken on a grayish pallor, and the delicate skin under his eyes looked bruised.
He’s injured, he’s been through a harrowing experience, and all I’ve done so far is fence with him.
    She spread her hands. "I’m sorry, I don’t have a telephone."
    "No phone." He didn’t comment, but gave her a look that clearly said:
The twenty–first century. You’re kidding me, right?
He took a deep breath. "I hate to ask, but is there any chance you could give me a lift to the nearest town? Preferably someplace with a hospital? And a telephone. There’s one—"
    He stood up abruptly. Delilah wasn’t watching him at that moment—her eyes were focused on nothing as she chewed her lip and contemplated the prospect of putting chains on her Navy surplus pickup in the cold, muddy darkness. So she was completely unprepared when he did, at last, pass out at her feet.
    He went down like a bag of bricks, not in graceful slow motion, as people do in the movies. He hit the floor with a sickening thud and then sort of flopped, full length and face down.
    "Oh…no," Delilah breathed, and dropped to her knees beside the inert body. Overcoming a strange reluctance to touch him, she put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. She almost changed her mind about allowing herself to panic. Fear clutched at her throat, but she wrestled gamely with it and fought it off. He’d jumped up too quickly, that was all, she told herself.
He lost so much blood, and it’s warm in this room, and he stood up too fast. He’s weak and needs rest. He’s going to be all right.
    She shifted her position, braced herself, and rolled him over, surprised at how heavy he was now that he was dead weight. Moving him wasn’t going to be easy. Sitting back on her heels she contemplated the face of the man who was making such a hash of her already precarious existence.
    Even slack in unconsciousness the features were remarkably fine. It was in the bones, she decided. He would be a handsome man even when he was old. Right now, though, there was a dark stubble on the lower half of his face, a shiny film of sweat on the upper half, and purple smudges just below the fringe of dark lashes.
    Oddly, he seemed both more and less disturbing like this, without the force of personality behind him. He wasn’t nearly so potent an assault on her senses, but with her guard lowered he seemed to be launching some sort of clandestine flank attack on her heart.
    With a gentleness that would have amazed most of the people who knew her, Delilah smoothed the hair back from his forehead. Her fingers went automatically to the laceration in his scalp and came away stained with blood. The fall must have started it bleeding again. When she got to her feet and opened the cupboard that held her store of veterinary supplies she knew she had made a decision. This man, whoever he was, was in no condition to go anywhere tonight.
    A few minutes later she had settled herself on the floor with his head in her lap, a small assortment of objects arranged at her elbow. As she poured hydrogen peroxide into the wound and watched it foam and fizz,