Nocturne Read Free

knocked sharply on the roof of the car and called out, but she didn’t budge. She had just pressed the horn a few minutes before. Had she passed out? Or was she. . . ?
    Working very rapidly with the shovel, he cleared away the snow from around the driver’s door, yanked it open, and leaned inside, steeling himself against the heady scent of fresh blood which invaded his nostrils. A quick survey of the vehicle’s interior confirmed that the woman was alone. The air bags had not deployed, no doubt because the car had rolled sideways in the accident instead of hitting something head-on.
    He laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Miss? Miss?” he said urgently. “I’m . . . here to help you.”
    She didn’t respond. He instinctively took her wrist and felt for a pulse—something he hadn’t done on a human, he realized, in a very long time. He was surprised by the relief he felt when he found a steady beat. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, he noticed. He heard and saw her regular and even respiration, and visually assessed her status. She probably had a concussion. Did she have a bleed inside her head? The only other things obviously wrong were a contusion on her left cheek and the blood flowing from the temple above it.
    At the sight of all that blood he frowned in annoyance, fighting back the dark feelings it stirred within him. Quickly he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket. Pressing it firmly against the wound, he studied her face. Even with blood splattered across half of it, she was pretty; beautiful, in fact, with a pale complexion and long, reddish-gold hair. She was young, perhaps in her mid-twenties. Who was she? Where was she from? What was her name?
    Gazing at her, he was suddenly aware of a very different kind of attraction and desire, a sensation that startled him. It had been so long since he’d spent any real time around a woman, so long since he’d allowed himself to even remotely care about anyone for that matter, that he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Forget it , he told himself. It isn’t going to happen.
    He briefly removed his handkerchief from her forehead and studied the wound: a small gash just below her hairline. Head wounds, no matter how tiny, always bled profusely, more so than any others, and this one was no exception. He could heal her cut rapidly and permanently right now, without leaving a mark, but how would he explain that away when—if—she awakened? No, he decided, he’d have to stick to traditional doctoring methods.
    He uncoiled the scarf from her neck and tied it around her forehead to hold the handkerchief in place over the wound. The wind continued to howl, blowing in snow through the open car door. He had to get her out of this weather. Spotting the key in the ignition, he removed and pocketed it. Unbuckling her seat belt, he brushed off the litter of safety glass from her lap, carefully lifted her out of the car, and carried her to his truck, blinking his eyes to keep out the wind-driven snow. Her
    He belted her into the passenger seat of the truck cab, then retrieved all the belongings he could find in her car. He’d only cleared half of his winding road so far, and he used that side to drive back up to the top of the hill.
    Once inside the house, he removed her parka and laid her down on the sofa before the hearth in the great room, spreading a towel beneath her head and propping it with a pillow. Moving fast, he added more fuel to the fire, retrieved a clean T-shirt and a few other items he kept on hand, and returned to her side.
    He unwrapped the blood-spattered scarf from her forehead. To his satisfaction the wound was staunched. After disinfecting the site, he placed a small butterfly bandage over it, then cut a long strip from the T-shirt and used it to tie a compress to her head. That should take care of it, he thought. Still, he was worried about possible internal bleeding.
    He withdrew the penlight from his pocket, opened her eyes with his