“It’s not safe to stay here.”
“I know.” But what choice did she have? “I’ve heard there are looters everywhere.”
“Damn straight. And worse. Black-market types thrive on situations like this. With all this food and all the drugs here, I wish there were more guards to go around. The best thing you can do is get on the first plane out. I can pull strings for you—”
“Stop.” She squeezed his forearm, pausing outside the cafeteria. “I will not leave Joshua. Legally, I’m on shaky ground without his parents. It’ll take a while to get me declared his guardian until my brother is found.”
“You’re a tenacious one.”
“You’re one to talk.” A smile slid through her grief.
Hard muscles contracted under her fingers. Had she been holding on to him this whole time? Apparently so.
Gulp.
Her body hummed with that same sensation from earlier, so much so, she could no longer write it off as coincidental or some general need for sex. But the feeling, the connection, was inconvenient and unwise. She felt guilty. Her thoughts should all be focused on finding her brother and sister-in-law. Instead, she was a ragged mess clutching some hunk’s arm like a lifeline.
And he didn’t move away.
He eye-stroked her in a way that made his answering attraction clear without crossing the line. “You clean up nice.”
“You’re not quite what I expected either, now that we’re in the daylight.” She slid her hand away, closing her fist to hold on to the feel of him.
“What did you expect?”
Someone with traditional good-guy looks—blond. All-American like her ex. Would she have reacted differently earlier if she’d known her gentle, steady rescuer had a bad-boy body and forbidden-sex eyes?
But she still hadn’t answered his question. She settled on a safer lie, a last-ditch effort to hold strong against the need for an outlet clawing at her insides harder and harder with each second. “I expected someone older.”
“I’m an old guy in this career field.” He scrubbed a hand over his beard-stubbled face. His eyes tracked a kid crying in a wheelchair all the way into the cafeteria. The noise inside swelled out as the double doors opened.
“Age notwithstanding, you got the job done.”
“I only wish we could have freed you faster.” He lifted her hand, her bandage stark white in a dull gray world. “What happened?”
“When the aftershock came, right after you found me, some debris cut my hand, but it only needed butterfly bandages. They pumped me full of antibiotics and a tetanus shot for good measure.” She thought back to cupping Joshua’s head. If she hadn’t, the debris would have pierced his skull. She’d been granted a miracle. She just prayed there was room for another for the rest of her family.
“You should have told me.” He thumbed her fingers until her fist unfurled.
“Wouldn’t have made any difference. It wasn’t as if I could have rolled over to give you the hand to treat.”
“And you called yourself a wimp? I gotta disagree.” He stepped aside to make way for two nuns carrying stacks of boxed meals toward the children’s wing.
“I just did what I had to in order to survive. What you’ve been doing out there? That’s takes bravery to a whole new level. Thank you again.”
“No more thanks needed. You’ll make me blush and ruin my badass image. Let’s find some food.”
He palmed the small of her back. The heat of his hand steadied her in a way she hadn’t felt in days, then warmed her in an altogether different way. An inappropriate way, given what was going on in this corner of the world. She stepped ahead, moving with the line inside.
The room was packed, not a seat in sight, hollow-eyed survivors filling the space and eating the boxed meals with a dazed-automaton motion. Even the small stage to her side was crammed with people eating while sitting on the floor around an old upright piano.
Her feet stilled. “The children break my heart the most. They should be playing outside, singing in music class”—she skimmed her hand along bins of stacked instruments on the steps leading up—“or even grousing about a spelling test.”
“The kids are always the hardest.” He scooped a guitar from an open case.
“You play?”
“I do.” He slid the strap over his head. His fingers worked along the strings as he twisted the tuning pegs.