She really shouldn’t fall for a guy with a death wish.
Naomi LeClaire sighed as she stopped her truck in the middle of the road. She didn’t dare pull over to the side. The rain pounding down could wash away the ground on either side of the road in minutes. But it wasn’t like there was any other traffic out here in this storm so taking up the center of the road wasn’t really a problem.
Thank God this road was paved at least. It wasn’t unusual for Donovan to go out on dirt roads and even on not-really-roads-at-all when he was doing rescue and recovery missions for injured wildlife.
She peered through the rain that was pelting her windshield so hard her wipers could barely keep up.
He was lying on the road in front of her truck. Next to the body of a dead bear.
She shook her head.
A few months ago she would have been alarmed to pull up and find a man lying in the road next to a dead animal.
Today…she’d been expecting this. Or something like it at least.
Of course, a few months ago—i.e., before Donovan Foster had showed up in her tiny hometown of Autre, Louisiana—she wouldn’t have been out driving around while a hurricane was making landfall two hundred miles east of them.
She really shouldn’t fall for a guy who loved action and adventure and chaos and who either thought he was invincible or didn’t really care if today was his last one on earth.
But Donovan was out here because there were three orphaned black bear cubs that needed rescued and he would, of course, not go anywhere until they were all found and taken back to his rehabilitation center.
Or until someone convinced him that his well-being was just as important as theirs.
Naomi shut the truck off and reached up to pull her hair back. She wore her hair in cornrows mostly lately, keeping it back off her face and from getting tangled being outside in the wind and weather, doing God-knew-what-might-come-up with Donovan. Now she gathered the long, black braids that fell to her shoulder blades into a bunch and tied them together. Then she got out of the truck.
She was drenched within seconds.
Dammit.
She really shouldn’t fall for a guy who was the reason that over the past few months she’d ended up with a favorite outfit stained with something-she-didn’t-want-to-talk-about, an infected cut on her hand, and a lost shoe. Not lost in the sense that it was ruined and couldn’t be cleaned or repaired. It was just lost. Never to be found.
All things considered, she really shouldn’t fall for Donovan Foster.
The fact that he was outgoing, and charming, and that the crazy risks he took were to save wounded and threatened wildlife didn’t help though.
The hard muscles, contagious smile, deep green eyes, quick sense of humor, and hard, rippling, bunching, often-naked muscles—had she mentioned those?—also didn’t help.
Needless to say, she was now wearing much more practical clothes and footwear when she hung out with him. And gloves. Tough, no-way-am-I-bleeding-after-this work gloves.
But right now she wanted those hard, sun-bronzed muscles intact and inside where they’d be safe. Along with the rest of him, of course.
She marched across the thirty feet that separated them. Though the effect was definitely less impressive because she had to lean into the wind.
She stopped beside where he was lying. He was completely still, his eyes shut, but she knew he wasn’t dead. Or she was pretty sure. He’d apparently texted Zander, the town cop, just twenty minutes ago with his location.
Naomi planted her hands on her hips. “What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”
He opened one eye, then lifted a hand to block the rain.
“Get off the ground, Donovan.”
She had to raise her voice to be heard over the rain and wind. But that was okay. She was mad and more than a little concerned. This man needed to get his fine ass in his truck and head back to town now. He wasn’t stupid or crazy, but he definitely didn’t take care of himself and he took far too many risks and that bothered her. A lot.
Because, whether she should or not, she had fallen for him.
