And it floats.
He sighed. All things considered, he must be in pretty bad shape indeed to be thinking about something so trivial at a time like this.
He cracked one eye open. It took longer than expected thanks to his lashes being wet, sticking together. His gaze was blurry; from pain, loss of blood, or the glare of a full moon on snow? He had no idea.
A movement out of the corner of his eye snagged his attention. Frowning, Garrett brought the stranger into focus.
A woman.
She looked fuzzy around the edges. With the moon at her back, he couldn't see much. Yet he saw enough. A quick glance assured him that: a) she was alone and, b) she wasn't armed.
He relaxed. Not a lot, but a bit.
Even her thick, baggy sweater couldn't conceal the feminine curves lurking beneath. Slender, but, he suspected, athletically firm. Since she was crouched beside him, it wasn't possible to tell her height. Intuition suggested she wasn't short, and his intuition was usually right on the mark.
“Where are you hurt?” Her voice, soft and a little too high, was edged with a ring of authority. He wondered if she was a school teacher, then just as quickly wondered why the hell he should care.
Where are you hurt? she'd asked. Everywhere, he wanted to say, but didn't. Instead, Garrett closed his eyes, concentrated on finding the root of pain that seemed to have no beginning or end, then replied through gritted teeth, “Right leg. Upper thigh. I was in a car accident.”
Even over the howl of wind, he heard her swallow hard.
“Can you walk?”
“Lady, do you think I'm laying here in the snow because it's fun?” He didn't need to see the woman's expression to feel her indignation; it surged over him in hot, palpable waves. If he wasn't so cold and in so much pain, he might have felt contrite. Then again, probably not.
“I can walk,” he said determinedly, forcing both eyes open.
She'd moved away a bit, and was sitting back on the snow-wet heels of her sneakers. Garrett's gaze locked on hers. Her eyes, he noticed, dominated her face; large, slanted at the outer edges, the color of dark green velvet.
“I can walk,” he repeated, wondering which of them he was trying to convince. “But you, um,” he glanced away briefly, “may need to help me up.”
His jaw hardened. Never in his life had Garrett Thayer asked anyone for help. To do so now rubbed him raw. Pity he didn't have a choice. If this woman didn't help him up, he wasn't going to get up. It was that simple. His leg was on fire, and he had no idea how long he'd been laying next to her car, unconscious. Long enough to freeze his muscles and tendons, he knew that much. And long enough to make standing unaided not an option.
The woman's gaze raked him. The slant of one dark brown eyebrow insinuated she'd already assessed his size as almost double her own. Under the baggy sweater, her shrug looked reluctant and forced. “I'll do my best.”
He winced when she wrapped her fingers around his upper arm. Christ, even that hurt! Must've been the way he'd fallen…one of the times he'd fallen. He'd fallen a lot. His aching body had been intimate with the snow-covered ground quite a bit since he'd wrapped the hood of his Jeep Cherokee around that tree.
Through the leather sleeve of his jacket, and the thicker sheepskin lining beneath, Garrett felt the woman's fingers tremble.
His earlier theory that she was stronger than she looked proved accurate by the way she planted her feet in the snow and, knees bent so most of his weight was not on her back, prepared to hoist him up.
Garrett felt a stab of admiration. She may be scared enough to be shaking, but she wasn't letting it stop her from doing what needed to be done. And doing it, he noted, with a composure that was as icy as the bed of snow he was laying on.
“Ready?” she asked tightly, leaning forward.
Garrett shook his head. He'd landed mostly on his front, with the brunt of his weight on his left side. The woman was going to try to help him stand up from that same side. Bad idea. The logistics were all wrong. “Hang on, let me—son-of-a-goddamned-bitch it hurts!—turn over first.”
“Okay.” Her fingers left his arm, and she eased back a bit. “Let me know when you're ready.”
Garrett nodded. It was the only answer he could manage. Verbal skills were beyond him when he twisted his hips, trying to roll as carefully as possible onto his back. He almost made it. Unfortunately, no matter how slowly and gently he went, it wasn't slowly or gently enough. The smallest movement jarred his right thigh and sluiced hot spasms of pain up and down his leg.
He grunted, gritted his teeth. Sweat beaded on his brow, his upper lip. Equal parts of blackness and pain clawed at him, both struggling for dominance. He gave in to neither.
Levering himself up on his left elbow, he shifted again, rolled another fraction. The snow-packed ground under his hips felt as solid as a rock.
The world tipped and spun. For a split-second, Garrett clung to the hope that he wouldn't pass out again. He should have known better. The thought had no more entered his mind when it was washed away by a river of blackness.