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Sheriff Clay Addy sat by the hospital bed for hours, watching her sleep. Counting her breaths. Listening to the beeps and hums of the machines that told him the woman still lived.
She’d died twice on the surgeon’s table. They’d brought her back. Thank God they’d managed to bring Bailey back.
Her eyes opened, so blue they looked unreal, but they were clouded and unfocused. A small cry escaped her. Clay leaned over her so she would know that she wasn’t alone. “Bailey, honey, it’s ok. You’re safe now.”
“Sheriff...you got them?” Her words were strained, but he still heard. He’d never thought he’d get to hear her again. “Is...Kyra safe?”
“Yes, she’s safe now. With Agent Lake.”
“She loves him. Could tell. Did you get the men? My father?” Her eyes closed as her small hand twitched on the blanket. Her small, cut, bruised, and broken hand. Clay brushed her fingers lightly, just above the plaster cast.
He just needed to touch her for a moment.
“Don’t worry about that now.” Clay would get the men who'd done this to her. Even if it took the rest of his life, he’d get the men who’d hurt Bailey. Including her own father. “You just rest.”
“Don’t have to stay. Know you don’t want to.” Her eyes remained closed, her breathing deepened. Clay let out the breath he’d been holding. “Know you don’t like me very much.”
“Of course I like you.” But she was already out. He stood, staring down at her for a long moment.
Bailey was two weeks shy of her twenty-fifth birthday, but she barely looked old enough to vote. He’d known her since she had been nine and he had been twice that. Her hair was pale gold, with slight curl. Someone had washed her hair and braided it into two braids. Probably the redheaded nurse who was hovering nearby.
When she’d been brought in, she’d been soaking wet and covered with mud and sludge of some sort.
And blood.
Clay would never forget Bailey’s blood. Or the words she'd written in her own blood and the dry Texas soil.
Bailey made such a small lump under the thin blanket. Small and vulnerable and having barely survived hell.
Not like her? Hell, that couldn’t be further from the truth. He felt so much more for her than that.
Bailey Moore was the center of his world. And had been for months now.
Bailey kept him centered, grounded. Reminded him of sunshine and hope. Without her, he’d simply sink into oblivion in his personal life and drown in his duty as the sheriff.
He wasn’t stupid; he knew how he felt about her bordered on obsession. It scared him just how intensely he did.
Clay had never felt for a woman the way he did this one. He probably never would another, either.
He’d wanted nothing more than for some rancher to come and carry her off—carry her somewhere where she couldn’t haunt him with just a simple smile. Take her somewhere and make her happy. Give her everything she deserved.
Someone had carried her off, and it had been her own bravery that led to her rescue.
He had almost lost her.