Beneath the Scars by Melanie Moreland Read Free Book Online Page A

pull to her I had felt when I first saw her in the gallery and earlier on the beach. Tilting my head, I could see her ankle was swelling over the edge of her shoe. I felt the stirrings of anger again at myself that my behavior and words had driven her into the woods, causing her injury.
    I broke through the tree line, ignoring the branches that tugged on my clothes and hat. I hurried to the door, wanting to get her out of the rain as soon as possible. Struggling to hold her and open the door, I cursed as I fumbled with the handle, not wanting to jar her in any way. Once in the house, I hesitated, unsure what to do. I felt a tremor go through her unconscious body, and I knew I needed to warm her up. Quickly, I went into the living room, placing her on the sofa. Her coat was heavy with moisture—awkward to remove—and more than once, she groaned before I was able to free her of it. I dragged off her sneakers and dropped them to the floor, to make her comfortable. I hesitated over her jeans, but decided to leave them on, and instead draped the blanket off the back of the sofa on top of her, tucking it in around her tightly. Dixie was whining softly on the floor and I lifted her onto the sofa beside Megan, where she curled into her side.
    I shed my own coat, adding more logs to the fire. Then, I went to the bathroom and grabbed a few things, kneeling on the floor beside Megan’s still unconscious form. Gently, I lifted her ankle, peeling off her wet sock. I did another quick check, rotating and examining the ankle for broken bones. When I was certain it was a bad sprain, and not broken, I secured it in a bandage, propping it up on a cushion. Frowning, I sat back, and peeled off her other wet sock, tucking both feet under the blanket. Would that make her warm enough? Just in case, I grabbed another folded blanket from the pile beside the sofa and tucked it around her.
    I stood up, looking down on her and Dixie, who was staring up at me with wide eyes. I stroked her face as I shook my head. “You caused all this, you furry little fucker,” I growled quietly, yet somehow it was without any real anger behind it. Staring down at Megan, I couldn’t understand this intense longing I felt; why I wanted so desperately to touch her, to hear her talk, and be able to listen to her laughter. I wanted to watch the emotions flit across her face the same way they did when she had been entranced with my painting. Reaching down, I tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear, then, unable to resist, allowed my fingers to graze lightly over her cheek, frowning at the scratches I could see under the dirt. Lifting her hand, I grimaced at the cuts on her palms, and I was certain her legs were also bruised and scraped. I hesitated, wondering if I should get a cloth to clean the dirt off her and check her other injuries, but then reality once again hit me.
    She might wake up while I was doing that. She would clearly see me. Standing over her, touching her, she would see me , and it would scare her.
    I would scare her. I needed to move away.
    Pulling back, I walked to the corner and turned on a small lamp. With the storm getting closer, the room was getting darker; I didn’t want Megan frightened when she woke up to a dark room. She’d be confused enough, I was sure.
    I flung myself down in the chair opposite the sofa, just watching Megan. I angled myself so I was almost hidden in the shadows, and sat patiently.
    Waiting for her to wake up.
    Unsure what I would do or say when she did.

    Consciousness crept back in slow seconds. My eyes opened and blinked; my head fuzzy and confused. I was warm and comfortable, lying on something soft. I could feel various aches and pains on my body, and my cheeks were stinging. My hand drifted up to my face, and I frowned at the strange texture under my fingers on my cheek. It was dry and rough, and I pulled my hand away looking at the dark smears on my fingers.
    Mud?
    Images flashed through my mind, and I