He wore an amused grin and, well, she just couldn't stop herself. She slapped his face. Hard.

Surprise flashed through his eyes.

Good. How dare he sneak up and scare her like that? She made a move to slap him again and he easily caught her wrist, stopping her cold.

"That is not the welcome I'm looking for."

His gaze had grown serious and reality sobered her. He really was here. He was okay.

"Oh my G.o.d! I'm so glad to see you!" she cried and began laughing as relief poured through her entire body. She was safe again.

"A slap to my face indicates pleasure?" He looked confused and tired and pale. He was also breathing way too hard. Alarm snapped through her. He was clutching his right side. Blood oozed from between his fingertips. More blood streaked down the outside of his right thigh.

"It's nothing," he muttered as she caught his gaze. His eyes shone with pain.

Reaching out, she grabbed his hand and forced it away from his side.

She gasped as a wave of shock slammed into her. He had a six-inch-long gash across his side. The wound appeared an angry red and the flesh swollen.

f.u.c.k! s.h.i.t! d.a.m.n!

"What happened?"

"No time to explain. The storms are upon us. We must hurry," he said gruffly and pressed his hand once again to his side, wincing as he did so.

He grabbed her hand, his fingers intertwining tightly with hers. Without another word, he began hauling her along beside him in the river. By the grim expression on his face and the increasing blaze of lightning and crackling thunder overhead, Kayla knew better than to oppose him.

It had been good to see her. Too good. The instant Taylor had spied her rounding the river bend ahead of him, something warm and welcome had shifted through him.

Although pain sliced into his side with every step, he'd pushed himself to travel faster. It had seemed like forever before he could clearly see her.

Her tall, curvy figure had been a beacon to him. And her silky tresses, even without sunshine, had shimmered in the gray dawn. As he had watched her generous hips sway with her every step through the water, antic.i.p.ation at holding her again made him smile as he'd never smiled before.

This female made an unforgettable picture to him. Even now, as fever heated his body and pain speared his side and blackness hovered at the edges of his sight, happiness poured through him at finding her.

When he pointed out the first clearing to the right, the rain began, the wind also. It howled until the trees on the nearby sh.o.r.es crashed in a dark dance of ecstasy, some limbs cracking while others snapped off and fell to the ground with deep thuds. With each crash, Kayla gripped his hand tighter.

The rain pelted them, running over his heated body in rivulets, soaking his breechclout. It grew hard to see as rain fell into his eyes.

Her nervous expression showed she too was worried about the weather, yet she said nothing and kept them at a good pace. If he hadn't caught up to her, if she hadn't been here with him, he would have given up, curling beneath a tree to wait out this storm. He most likely would have drowned in the rain or died of the fever.

What kept him going was his need to get her to safety, and then to her brothers so they could search for the missing woman.

When they finally came to the second clearing, he could barely lift his legs. In the haze of excruciating pain claiming his senses, he was barely aware she'd swept an arm around the good side of his waist, keeping him from falling flat on his face into the water.

He stopped at the river's sh.o.r.e, swaying, trying to blink away the rain and the blueness claiming his eyesight. His arms were too heavy to lift.

"Footprints...need to...clear...no trail," he managed to gasp.

"The rain will take care of it," she shouted above the wind. Yes, the rain. It was good for something. It would erase their footprints. Why had he not remembered that?

"Where is the shelter?" she screamed.

He tried to orient himself once again, blinking away the rain spilling into his eyes. It was cold but did little to cool his fever.

"It is well hidden," he replied. It took a great effort to lift his arm, but he managed, pointing straight ahead, hoping it was the right direction.

"Three hundred...paces inward...then four hundred...paces...right," he said. He struggled to keep his thoughts straight and hoped he had remembered correctly.

The rain came down harder and the wind brutally pummeled them as they left the river and stumbled into the clearing. Here, without the shelter of the nearby trees, the storm increased in violence and he prayed none of the forks of lightning would strike them before they found the shelter.

Finally, through the haze of pain and past the sheets of silver rain and flailing white birch trees, he saw it. He hadn't realized he'd sunk to his knees until Kayla wiped the rain from his eyes and hunched down in the tall wavy gra.s.s beside him.

She looked so beautiful with her wet, tangled hair straggled around her face. Her cheeks were red from the cold, her eyebrows thin and perfectly arched over a set of sparkling blue eyes. Eyes full of concern.

For him?

"We have to keep going. We have to find the shelter. You can't rest here."

She was yelling at him and tugging his arm. Lightning flashed and thunder rocked the ground. She cringed then looked around the meadow uneasily.

"We're here," he mumbled.

"Here? There's nothing here, Taylor. Just gra.s.s!" she cried, throwing her hands up in the air with obvious frustration.

Did she not see it?

Perhaps the fever raging through him was causing him to see things that he wished? Had he imagined the cl.u.s.ter of white birch trees? Was the shelter even still standing? Perhaps previous windstorms had blown it over?

He and Jarod had built it as solid as possible, but they hadn't been this way for quite some time.

She wiped more rain from his eyes, allowing him to see again.

"Come on. Get up! We have to keep looking." She pulled on his arm harder, but he shook his head.

"Look," he muttered, hoping she would hear him.

With great effort, he lifted his arm and pointed again toward the shelter.

"What is it?" she asked as she gazed around.

"Home," he replied. The sweetest word the Hero brothers had ever taught him. "It is home, sweet home."

The guy had to be delusional. Home, sweet home? Out here? In the middle of nowhere? There was nothing but an empty field of swaying green gra.s.s and silver forks of lightning zip-zapping through the rain around them. There was no home.

In the area where he pointed were so many trees. Huge, towering, white birch trees. Their green leaves literally shimmered in the violent wind, waving at her and Taylor to hurry on over. Then she spied an odd shadow. Wiping at the wetness blurring her eyesight, she squinted and shielded her eyes from the rain with her hands. The shadow looked like a silhouette. It blended so perfectly with the trees she doubted she would have seen it on her own.

The cabin had been placed behind an alcove in the clearing, unseen from the river if anyone should pa.s.s. She led Taylor closer.

Small, maybe twelve feet by twelve feet with a gently sloping roof, the cabin had been made from birch bark. All of it. The sides, the roof, even the large awnings covering the two tiny gla.s.sless windows at the front of the building. She'd never seen anything like it.

From this angle she could see no door-perhaps it was on the other side of the building. Gazing at Taylor, she swallowed back a shard of fear at his gla.s.sy eyes, his pale face and the fact he was shaking pretty hard.

In the back of her mind, she'd been trying to figure out how she'd get his fever under control without the use of antibiotics, and how to st.i.tch that gash in his side without a sterile needle and thread before he bled to death.

First though, she needed to get him the rest of the way to the cabin and out of this downpour. He was a big guy and leaned heavily on her as she guided him over the tangled, tall gra.s.s. But they made it and, as she shoved open the door, surprise washed through her at the coziness of the dwelling.

The entire far wall consisted of wooden shelves made from birch saplings. On the shelves were several s...o...b..x-sized containers with lids. They had been made from strips of dry, bright-yellow gra.s.s and were decorated with braids of pale-yellow gra.s.s, porcupine quills and small blue jay feathers.

There were two cots, one against each side wall. The cots were also made of birch bark trees and the mattresses-if she could call them that-were woven straw. Just inside the door, on each side of the two windows, were several spears with very sharp, rock-like heads pounded into the tops. A stone fireplace had been built into one corner by the shelf.

Over the black, dead coals hung a single, heavy-looking metal pail, probably cast iron. And there was lots of wood piled nearby-dry birch bark, kindling and large branches, all broken and stacked nicely.

They had taken great pride and thought of every basic essential-except, unfortunately, matches. The lack of what she needed was quickly forgotten when Taylor leaned more heavily against her, almost making her lose her balance.

"Whoa, big guy," she soothed and they stumbled to one of the cots. "Hold on while I test if it's strong enough." With her free hand she reached down and found the straw on the bed amazingly secure.

Taylor half fell, half stumbled onto it, his heavy weight making the straw crackle beneath his shivering body.

Gosh, he really was a huge man. She visually inspected the rest of him for any other injuries. Thankfully she didn't see any. At least not on his front.

She winced as her gaze strayed to the raw, gaping slice in his side. Crimson oozed slowly from the clean cut. He winced as she poked and prodded around the wound. It wasn't hard. That was a good sign.

During her veterinarian studies, she'd seen lots of pictures of injuries-broken bones, bites and burns. She'd worked on wounded animals as a volunteer at a clinic on weekends, so wounds in general didn't freak her out. But seeing a wide gash like this on a human made her a bit uneasy. If she didn't get the bleeding to stop, she might have to cauterize, but she didn't want to think about that yet.

Okay, first she needed to clean the wound and with that came boiling water. She looked at the bucket, listened to the rain pelting the roof.

Good. Water angle is covered.

Grabbing the pail, she opened the door and let it sit beneath the rain for a few moments. After swirling the water in the pail, she dumped it out then left the container outside to collect the rain.

Fire. She needed to start a fire.

"G.o.d, please let there be matches," she muttered as she crossed the room and began searching the boxes on the shelf. One contained a porcupine quill and what appeared to be thread, but she doubted it was. Other boxes contained herbs, probably for tea. There were boxes of dried fruit, seemingly preserved very well.

She shivered as a blast of cool wind wound its way through the two open windows and breathed against her flesh.

Fire. Heat. Where the f.u.c.k are the matches?

Man, what she wouldn't give to be in a five-star hotel right about now. Nice marble floors-heated, of course-so her bare feet would be nice and toasty instead of b.l.o.o.d.y well cold and aching.

A soft moan erupted from Taylor and another round of anxiety ripped through her.

"Oh and a ma.s.sage," she mumbled, hoping her voice would soothe him. "A nice rubdown of our sore muscles, right Taylor?"

He was shivering, his teeth chattering. His eyes remained closed, but he was hugging his body as if searching for warmth.

"You wouldn't happen to remember if there are any workable matches so I can start a friggin' fire, would you, Taylor?"

Yeah right, like he would know.

"Over...door."

She looked above the door frame and located a small box on yet another single shelf. Bingo...hopefully.

"Of course. Silly old me. Why wouldn't they be by the door?" she joked and headed back to the fireplace.

G.o.d, they were so d.a.m.ned lucky. Matches on Paradise. Was this some sort of parallel universe or something? Or had her brothers' presence somehow already changed how the natives did things around here?

Urgency to help Taylor made her get her a.s.s in gear and, within a couple of minutes, orange flames greedily licked the birch bark and kindling she'd set in the hearth.

Moments later, she knelt down beside Taylor, who now had his eyes open and gazed at her with a glazed look of pain. Sadness tangled within her as she tried to offer him an encouraging smile.

"Spiders," he mumbled, and then tight lines of pain appeared at the sides of his mouth. Already delirious. G.o.d, she wanted him to smile at her. Just once. Before he... No, he couldn't die. She wouldn't let him.

She touched his forehead...clammy.

s.h.i.t!

"Spiders," he whispered again as her shaky fingers fiddled with the string on his loincloth. She needed to get it off as the woven ferns looked wet and uncomfortable.

His eyes were aimed at the ceiling. She glanced up at several fat, black creatures hanging in their G.o.d-awful webs. She shivered with revulsion. She hated spiders. Yuck! She'd have to find some way of cleaning them out...later.

First, she needed to get off his... Her eyes widened as she lifted away the covering.

Wow. He was big. She'd forgotten how big. Elevated scars and a web of veins lashed the length of his shaft.

She blew out a breath. Tried to ignore the flashes of memory.

Arousal, fevered heat, need. Her bending over in the river. Taylor grabbing her by the hips, his hot fingers clenching her flesh as he thrust into her v.a.g.i.n.a, filling her with his huge c.o.c.k.

Have mercy! It was getting warm in here.

She grabbed blankets off the shelf. They'd been knitted out of...hair? Pulling the loincloth free from Taylor's body, she tucked the warm blankets around him as best she could, leaving his wound fully exposed. Hair falling into a wound was not a good thing.

Wiping wet, stray strands out of her eyes, she piled more wood onto the flickering fire. It crackled, smoked a bit, then caught. Blessed heat swept against her. Hope flooded her. Things were going to be okay now.

She opened the door to get the pot, only to have the howling wind blow her hair back into her face again.

"Friggin' wind," she snapped angrily. Thankfully though, the pot was already overflowing. A moment later she had it anch.o.r.ed over the roaring fire.

Hot air filled the cabin and she thought of stripping off her wet clothes and wrapping herself in that second blanket she'd laid on Taylor.

"Cobwebs," he muttered again.