Crossed Hearts (Matchmaker Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF

cabin, the woman before him continued to tremble. If she’d trekked through the forest for any distance—and from the look of her she had—she was probably feeling the aftereffects of shock. But he didn’t have anything remotely alcoholic to drink. He hadn’t so much as looked at a bottle since he’d left California.
    “Then hot coffee would … be lovely.” She tried to smile, but her face wouldn’t work. Nor were her legs eager to function in any trained manner. They protested when she forced them to carry her to the bathroom. She was feeling achier by the minute.
    With the tip of one grimy finger, she closed the bathroom door. What she really wanted was a bath, but she quickly saw that there wasn’t a tub. The bathroom was large, though, surprisingly modern, bright, clean and well equipped.
    “There’s a heat lamp,” Garrick called from the other side of the door.
    She found the switch and turned it on, determinedly avoiding the mirror in the process. Setting her glasses by the sink, she opened the door of the oversize shower stall and turned on the water. The minute it was hot, she stepped in, clothes and all.
    It was heaven, sheer heaven. Hot water rained down on her head, spilling over the rest of her in a cascade of instant warmth. She didn’t know how long she stood there without moving, nor did she care. Garrick had offered plenty of hot water, and despite the fact that she’d never been one to be selfish or greedy, she planned to take advantage of every drop. These were extenuating circumstances, she reasoned. After the ordeal she’d been through, her body deserved a little pampering.
    Moreover, standing under the shower was as much of a limbo as the highway driving had been earlier. She knew that once she emerged, she was going to have to face a future that was as mucked up as her clothes. She wasn’t looking forward to it.
    Gradually the numbness in her hands and feet wore off. Slowly, and with distaste, she began to strip off her things. When every last item lay in a pile in a corner of the stall, she went to work with soap and shampoo, lathering, rinsing, lathering, rinsing, continuing the process far longer than was necessary, almost obsessive in her need to rid herself of the mud that was synonymous with terror.
    By the time she turned off the water, the ache in her limbs had given way to a pervasive tiredness. More than anything at that moment she craved a soft chair, if not a sofa or, better yet, a bed. But there was work to be done first. Emerging from the shower, she wrapped one towel around her hair, then began to dry herself with another. When she inadvertently ran the towel over her thigh, she gasped. Fumbling for her glasses, she rinsed and dried them, then shakily fit them onto her nose.
    She almost wished she hadn’t. Her outer thigh bore a deep, three-inch gash that was ugly enough to make her stomach turn. Straightening, she closed her eyes, pressed a hand to her middle and took several deep breaths. Then, postponing another look for as long as possible, she reached for the clothes Garrick had left.
    Beggars couldn’t be choosers, which was why she thought no evil of the gray thermal top she pulled on and the green flannel shirt she layered over it. The thermal top hit her upper thigh; the shirt was even longer. The warmth of both was welcome.
    Tucking the tails beneath her, she lowered herself to the closed commode. Working quickly, lest she lose her nerve, she opened the bottle of disinfectant, poured a liberal amount on a corner of the towel and pressed it firmly to the gash.
    White-hot pain shot through her leg. Crying aloud, she tore the towel away. At the same time, her other hand went boneless, releasing its grip on the bottle, which fell to the floor and shattered.
    Garrick, who’d been standing pensively before the fire, jerked up his head when he heard her cry. Within seconds he’d crossed the floor and burst into the bathroom.
    Leah’s hands were fisted on her