Читать книгу Caught By Surprise - Sandra Paul, Sandra Paul - Страница 12

Ralph obviously wasn’t going to awaken anytime soon.

“The tranquilizer in that dart you showed me is pretty strong,” Anne, her father’s nurse, informed Beth about an hour later. The nurse straightened and stared down at the man in the bed, shaking her white head. “He’ll probably regain consciousness in about six hours, possibly a little longer.”

Bending over again, she lifted one of Ralph’s eyelids and pointed a tiny flashlight at his pupil. Ralph didn’t move at all. He continued to lie there with a silly grin on his face, as if he’d had a bit too much to drink.

Such a contrast to his usual demeanor, Beth thought, feeling oddly guilty. He was almost unrecognizable. The Delano brothers had stripped his wet clothes off after lugging him to his bedroom while she’d run to get Anne, but they hadn’t bothered to dry Ralph before covering him with a sheet. A wet patch haloed his head on the pillow, and half of his red hair stuck out in greasy spikes, while the other half was plastered to his pale freckled skull.

The Delanos had laid him at a crooked angle on the mattress, too, Beth noticed. She kept wanting to straighten him out, as if doing so would straighten out this whole entire mess.

She watched Anne examine the puncture wound in Ralph’s shoulder. The creases in the nurse’s forehead deepened as she frowned at the tiny red mark, then glanced at Beth.

“You say you accidentally shot him while he was teaching you to use the dart gun?” she asked—for at least the third time.

“Um-hmm.”

“And he acquired the bruises on his chest and neck when he fell?”

Beth nodded, still avoiding the older woman’s eyes. She hated to lie to Anne. Over the years, the nurse had become more of an adopted aunt rather than simply her father’s caretaker and, along with Captain McDugald, was one of the few people Beth considered a friend. Beth knew that Anne’s snowy white hair, plump figure, and absentminded expression hid a very keen mind and equally kind heart.

Yet for some reason, keeping the merman a secret seemed even more important now than before he’d attacked Ralph. Perhaps because a normal merman was bad enough. A savage one was worse.

“Those don’t look like bruises he’d get from a fall,” Anne commented.

“He hit the edge of the platform after I shot him,” Beth explained, trying to make her story a little more believable. Conscious that the other woman was watching her intently, she busied herself by pulling the sheet up higher over Ralph’s milk-white chest. “But you think he’s going to be all right?”

The nurse nodded. “He should be—barring any unforeseen complications,” she added with characteristic caution. “He might have cracked a rib or two—without X rays I can’t tell. He’ll certainly want to take it easy for a week or so. But he’s young, healthy. All he really needs to do right now is sleep it off.” She turned away to repack her equipment in a small, brown case.

Beth gave a sigh of relief. If Anne said that Ralph was going to be all right, then she had no doubts he would.

The merman, however, was another story. A small frown puckered Beth’s brow as she thought about the wound on his shoulder. “Anne…”

“Yes?”

“What would be the best way to treat a gash—say, from a piece of coral or even maybe a piece of wood or steel?”

Anne’s gaze sharpened as she turned to scan Beth up and down. “Are you hurt?” she asked bluntly.

“No.”

“Then who is?”

“No one exactly,” Beth said, waving her hand in a vague gesture. “I was speaking hypothetically.”

“I see.” Anne raised her white brows questioningly. “And is this hypothetical gash infected? Does it need stitches?”

“I’m not sure—that is, I wouldn’t think so.” Good grief, Beth thought. She hoped not. “How would a person tell?”

“It needs stitches if that’s the best or only way to stop the bleeding.”

Beth gnawed on her lower lip, unsure if the merman’s wound had still been bleeding or not. “And if the bleeding has stopped?” she finally asked, hoping for the best.

“Then I’d possibly still administer antibiotics—and a tetanus shot wouldn’t hurt either.”

Beth nodded. Antibiotics in a pill form might be possible to get the merman to eat, but stitches or a tetanus shot had her stumped. She’d administered shots dozens of times at the children’s care facility where Anne had persuaded her to donate time while in college, but giving one to the merman, well, good luck with that.

She was pondering the problem, when Anne interrupted her thoughts.

“Someone should stay with him until he wakes up.” Anne snapped her medical kit shut with a decisive click, then looked back down at Ralph, who’d begun snoring loudly. “And I need to get back to your father.”

Beth nodded. “I’ll stay. Just give me a minute to change. Oh, and Anne— You won’t mention anything to Dad or the captain about Ralph’s accident, will you?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” the nurse told her. “Frankly, I don’t see a need to get Carl all worked up over it when Ralph will be just fine, and the captain isn’t too fond of the young man as it is. He’ll probably find a way to hold this against him for some reason.”

“Thanks.” Beth gave her a grateful smile, then left the room. She’d go change her clothes—their clammy dampness was becoming more uncomfortable by the second—then she’d talk to the Delanos, she decided. They could take care of the merman, while she stayed with Ralph.

It was a good plan. Except the Delanos wouldn’t have any part of it.

“The pump and filtering device run just fine on their own. We’re not going near that fish freak again,” Dougie told her, spitting on the deck to emphasize his decision. Big Mike did, too, then smiled at her, his head bobbing in benign agreement with his brother’s decree.

“Who knows when he’ll grab one of us? We take our orders from Lesborn, not your father—or you,” Dougie added, “and since Lesborn’s out of commission…” He shrugged.

Beth looked from one to the other, seeing the fear beneath the sullen determination on Dougie’s face and the bewilderment on Big Mike’s. She straightened her shoulders. “Fine. You two take care of Ralph,” she said decisively. “I’ll take care of the merman.”

Night had fallen by the time Beth returned to the hold. She’d settled the grumbling Delanos in with Ralph—ignoring Anne’s look of surprise—then changed into a dress and had dinner as usual with her father, whose joyful expression and expansive plans about his “fantastic find” assured her he had no idea at all of what had transpired that day.

But as soon as the meal was finished, she slipped away, changing once again—this time into black shorts and a gray shirt. The dark clothing would help serve as camouflage, she thought, to prevent anyone noticing her going into the hold at such an unusual hour. And indeed, no one appeared to notice her as she hurried across the deck to the door.

After she unlocked it, she glanced carefully around, then slipped into the room, letting the door close quietly behind her. She paused, taking the time to twist the lock from inside. No way did she want anyone to come in unexpectedly and discover the merman. She had enough to worry about without that.

She started down the stairs, keeping a steadying hand on the railing. The room was darker, more shadowy, than it had been earlier. Only a dark patch of sky was visible through the porthole. The lights along the wall were still on, though, and the powerful filtering pump hummed steadily. With all the uproar over Ralph, neither she nor the Delanos had remembered to dim the lights before leaving the room, Beth realized. They’d all been too upset—and just plain frightened.

She shuddered, remembering Ralph struggling in the merman’s grip. Clutching the bag of medical supplies she’d “borrowed” from Anne a little tighter, she pushed the memory away and forced herself to continue her descent. Halfway down the staircase, she paused to look over at the tank. For once, the merman wasn’t swimming around. For a few seconds, she couldn’t even see him. He had to be in there somewhere, of course, but the surface of the water stirred gently, creating liquid shadows that made it hard to see.

Then she spotted him, lying with his forearms resting on the platform, the human half of his body lifted out of the water. His head lay on his arms, his face hidden in the crook of his elbow.

Beth’s heart skipped a beat. Was he asleep? Unconscious? she wondered, as she hurried down the rest of the stairs. Surely he wasn’t dead? Anxiety quickened her stride as she headed across the room toward the platform. He didn’t move as she climbed the wooden steps, but as soon as she stepped out onto the structure, he lifted his head.

Relief flowed through her. No, not dead, not even unconscious. But definitely hurting. For a split second—before he’d assumed his usual expressionless mask—she’d swear she’d glimpsed suffering in those dark-blue eyes.

“You poor thing,” she said involuntarily. She started toward him—then stopped in midstep as his lip curled, revealing excellent white teeth.

Beth remained frozen in place, uncertain what to do as he continued to watch her unblinkingly. She needed to get closer, to see to his shoulder. But she couldn’t get her feet to move. From across the room, he’d looked formidable. Up close he was totally intimidating.

For one thing he appeared much larger than he had in the water. Nor, in spite of the hints of pain on his face, did he appear at all weak and helpless. Lying with his arms and torso propped on the wood made his shoulders appear broader, his brown chest deeper than Johnny Weissmuller’s in the old Tarzan movies Anne so enjoyed.

But what really made Beth nervous was that unblinking gaze. Something in his unreadable, narrow-eyed stare made her pulse beat faster, kept her rooted in place like a person afraid of being bitten by a dangerous dog. Not that she’d ever had any contact with dogs—well, except for a puppy she’d played with once when The Searcher had anchored for a time near Catalina island. Nor was she exactly worried about being bitten—although the merman’s teeth did look extraordinarily white and strong. No, she was much more concerned about being dragged into the water as he’d done to Ralph.

She couldn’t forget how easily he’d held Ralph, or the strength it must have taken to throw the man—who had to weigh at least two hundred pounds—back up on the platform.

She took a deep breath trying to calm her racing pulse. The point to remember here was that he had thrown Ralph back, she reminded herself. He’d released him. If the merman was truly, knowingly vicious, then surely he wouldn’t have done that.

Taking comfort from the thought, she took a tentative step forward—then paused again as his eyes gleamed in his shadowy face. Well, at least he’d stopped snarling. That was a good sign…wasn’t it? Of course it was, she told herself. Maybe he just needed a few seconds to get used to her. To realize she wanted to help, not hurt him.

They continued to stare at each other as she tried to think of a way to get her goodwill message across. Maybe she should sing—that was said to soothe the wild beasts. It had worked with King Kong, hadn’t it? She cleared her throat, preparing to try, then abandoned the idea. She really had a lousy voice. For all she knew, it might rile him up. Or at the least, send him underwater. Then she’d never get close enough to tend to his wound.

She tried a compromise, speaking in a soothing tone. “Now don’t worry, I’m not here to hurt you,” she said, slowly stepping toward him.

He didn’t move, just continued to watch her. Taking this as an encouraging sign, she crept closer. “All I want to do is help you with that shoulder. I know it hurts you—it has to. But I have stuff here to help it heal. To make it feel better.”

He still didn’t move. She slowly inched forward until she was able to see his expression clearly. She drew in a breath as he turned his head slightly, and the light fell fully across his face.

No doubt about it, he was suffering all right. His dark, wet hair was slicked back from his face, emphasizing the strong cast of his features. Dark shadows lay beneath his deep-set eyes. His skin looked tauter across his high, proud cheekbones, his face leaner than it had before. And even though his eyes were bright, his eyelids drooped heavily.

She drew closer still until she was within touching distance of his arm. Carefully, she crouched down and extended her hand. Slowly…slowly…until her fingers brushed his biceps.

He quivered…then went still.

Beth sucked in a breath, her eyes widening. Wonder and exhilaration flowed through her, and she wanted to laugh with the sheer joy of it. She was touching a merman—a mythical creature that wasn’t even supposed to exist! Yet, how real—how solid he felt beneath her hand.

Gently she stroked his skin, enthralled by the sensations coursing through her. Her father had tried to explain to her once about the excitement of touching a gray whale—those giants of the deep who, after centuries of enmity with man, had recently begun allowing humans to stroke them in a lagoon off Baja.

But nothing—nothing compared to this, Beth thought, delicately trailing her fingers back up over the sculpted curve of his biceps. How smooth, yet firm his skin was. How rock hard the muscles beneath it. The most amazing thing of all was that he hadn’t moved away.

She stroked his arm again, more lingeringly this time. A faint tremor ran along the taut muscle beneath her fingertips, and afraid he might swim away, she began talking again. “How handsome you are,” she praised him, in that crooning tone that had worked so well before. “You’re such a good-looking merman.”

Beneath her palm, she felt him stiffen. His eyelids flickered, and he shot her an almost startled glance, before he looked away again, his expression going blank.

But even this minute sign of response encouraged Beth. She tried more compliments, getting into the spirit of the thing, pouring lots of enthusiasm into her voice. “So big and strong. So manly. And so warm…”

Her voice trailed off. “Maybe too warm,” she added in a worried tone, a small frown creasing her brow.

She slowly lifted her hand toward his face. He sent her another sidelong glance and she said softly, “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just afraid you might have a fever.”

She gently brushed back his hair, combing her fingers through the damp, silky strands. She did it again, watching his thick dark lashes drift down with the movement, as if he were half-asleep. Then she placed her palm firmly against his forehead. He only allowed the contact for a few seconds before pulling away, but that was plenty long enough for Beth to make her diagnosis.

“You’re so hot!” she exclaimed, dismay filling her voice. She sat back on her heels to look into his face. Sure enough, examining him more closely, she could see a slight flush beneath the dark tan on his cheeks. “You do have a fever!”

She moved to the side, leaning over him to see his back. She sucked in a breath as she stared at his wound. “And no wonder,” she said huskily.

The jagged, lightning-bolt gash was dark red and swollen along the edges. But at least it wasn’t bleeding, Beth noted, grateful for small favors. The skin had even begun to seal, forming a thick, uneven ridge that made her wince.

“It looks bad,” she told him, unconsciously patting his arm comfortingly as she spoke. “But not as bad as it could be. The salt water must be good for it.”

Of course he didn’t respond; she knew he couldn’t understand her. He just continued to regard her with that inscrutable stare. Beth continued to talk to him anyway, as much to calm her own anxiety as his. “You’re going to have a terrible scar, but you already have a few anyway, don’t you?” she added, as her gaze roamed over his chest and back.

This close, she could see other marks on his bronzed skin. One thin, faded white line ran beneath his well-defined pecs and the glinting silver medallion he wore. Another small scar was centered on his muscular back. Almost hidden beneath his hair she noticed another mark, curving from beneath his ear toward the back of his neck. She looked at it more closely, and with a slight jolt, saw it wasn’t a scar at all, but a gill.

The realization shocked Beth—yet, it oddly reassured her, too. His rugged face, the hard muscles and warm flesh beneath her hand—his sheer, raw maleness—unsettled her in a purely female, human way. This new evidence of how different—how alien—he actually was, quieted the uneasy, feminine wariness that had unconsciously been stirring inside her.

She wasn’t taking care of a strange man, but a strange animal, his features taut with mute suffering.