"Come sit down," he urged her. Helena moved toward him and paused at the arm of the couch. "I'd like to thank you." She paused and brought her hand to her forehead, grimacing as her fingers touched the swelling on her brow. "I can't remember if you told me your name." "It's James, James Buchanan."
He smiled and relief flowed through her body. "Well, then, thank you, Mr. Buchanan. I'm Helena McCray."
"You're quite welcome, Helena," he told her softly. "Won't you sit down?"
She moved to the couch and lowered her body into the plump cushions. Her eyes grew wide as he leaned close to pull the quilt from the back of the sofa. Again, Helena could smell the comfort of his scent. Her muscles relaxed as his strong hands tucked the blanket around her shoulders.
"Now, off with those boots."
"My boots," she questioned.
"Boots." he nodded.
Her fingers crawled down her calf to find the strap and draw down the zipper. The leather fell away but her feet refused to come free. "Sorry."
"Sit back," he said.
Dumbfounded she watched as he bent down, the flannel of his shirt pulling tight across the well-defined muscles of his back. Then the silk touch of his fingers caressed her foot. Helena sucked in a breath as the boot glided off.
"Their cold as ice," he murmured. His hands quickly purged the leather from her other foot.
She wanted to contradict him because she could feel the heat rushing from her center to all parts of her body, making her heart work rapidly. Her eyes widened as his arms slid beneath her knees and he swept her legs beneath the edges of the quilt.
"Better?"
She swallowed and gave a nod. Reaching across the tray, he handed her a mug of steaming coffee.
"Drink."
She lifted the mug and let the warm dark liquid fill her mouth. Every bit of will disappeared as she swallowed. "Nothing has ever tasted so good," she moaned.
James chuckled and picked up his own drink. Instead of sitting across from her, he took his place, beside her on the other cushion of the couch. "Now, how are you feeling?"
"Other than cold?" she asked, gazing at him over the rising steam from her mug.
"Other than cold," he replied.
"I've a bit of a headache. I was going to ask if you had some antiseptic. I wiped off the blood as best I could in the bathroom."
"I see," he said. "Let's see if we can thaw you out a bit."
He smiled and set his steaming mug back on the tray. "I should have brought it with me." His voice rose as he stood and walked back to the kitchen.
"It's okay. I'm just glad you have coffee." She brought the mug to her lips and took a sip. Her eyes closed as her body absorbed the heat, and she gave a contented sigh. The log in the fireplace crackled as if laughing. Helena turned her gaze on it and sat hypnotized as the flames danced, devouring the wood.
A gust of wind rattled the windowpanes. She stared at the darkened glass and realized how lucky she was to have had this man and his dog find her. She lifted the mug and took another sip.
"I've got a band aid that might work."
She looked up as James crossed the room and sat down.
"Here," he reached over and took her coffee. "Now, let me see."
Helena found it hard to breathe as he leaned close. His sandy blonde hair was brushed away from his face. The edges a bit rough and in need of a good trim. He gaze skimmed along the length of his jaw toward the cleft of his chin. It was then she noted the faint line of a beard and thin mustache that gave him a kingly look. She'd studied costume design in college and the images of Lerner and Lowes Camelot sprang to mind. Yes, he could easily play Lancelot or King Arthur.
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