But she hadn’t been able to tell them. Xavier had looked so…angry…and her cowardly body had simply frozen.

Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, she sat on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees, unable to summon up the willpower to move. I hurt my friends. Xavier. The pain of that was unbearable.

With the windows closed, drapes drawn, she listened as cars fired up and retreated down the road. Xavier didn’t come. No one came.

Sluggishly she rose, her joints aching like a ninety-year-old’s. Her muscles complained of yesterday’s war games and a long night of not moving. She drank a glass of water in the tiny bathroom. Coffee, breakfast, tea, everything was at the main lodge, and she wouldn’t go there. Ever.

Maybe she was supposed to get herself home? But surely someone would tell her that. She’d actually prefer to take a bus. Returning to San Francisco with Simon and Rona, spending hours in their silent company, would be a nightmare.

She climbed back on the bed, pushed her glasses up, and stared at the wall. At one point she’d started to calculate the mean and median number of holes in an average log.

Had Nathan left?

Do I care? She tried to find grief or sadness—even anger—but her emotions felt as if a bulldozer had flattened them. He had a “slut” at the club. How long had he enjoyed both of them? She gritted her teeth. At least Dark Haven had checked her for diseases. Who knew she’d be grateful?

Why hadn’t she seen through Nathan? The signs had been there. He belonged to a BDSM club. He’d wanted to add more kink to their sex life but hadn’t invited her to join. They never had a date on a Friday night. She’d been blind.

How had he figured out she was doing research? Her teeth gritted together as she realized that he hadn’t guessed. He’d just thrown out the accusation to be vindictive. Unfortunately, he’d been right.

Noise burst into the cabin as someone pounded on the door. Xavier.

Her heart thumped so hard it probably cracked ribs. She froze for a minute, and in that interval he pounded again. The sound was a blatant indication that their talk wouldn’t go well.

She pulled open the door. “I’m sor—”

Not Xavier. Logan stood on the doorstep. His face was so cold that the scarred-up dog behind him looked friendlier. “I’m taking you to town. Get your things.”

“But—”

His expression didn’t encourage questions.

“Right.”

So Xavier had decided not to talk to her. Her hopes crumbled like winter leaves. She grabbed her purse and turned to get her bag, but Logan had already picked it up and waited by the door.

They walked to the parking area, and she climbed into his pickup truck.

Silence.

By the time the truck turned onto the larger highway toward Bear Flat, Abby’s hands had curled into fists. This was unbearable. She pulled in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” She felt the weight of his gaze. “I’m disappointed in you.”

Was this what being flayed alive felt like? She stared at her hands. The roughness of his voice made it clear she’d hurt him. Hurt Becca. Reassure him about the paper. “I need to explain.”

“I’m not going to discuss this with you, Abby. Not until you’ve talked with Xavier.”

An interminable amount of time later, he drove into the tiny town of Bear Flat and parked. As she slid out of the truck, he plucked her bag out of the back and stowed it in a familiar-looking SUV. Please, don’t let that be Xavier’s car.

“Where’s Simon?” Abby asked faintly, dread growing in her belly.

“They left a couple of hours ago.” Logan’s hard mouth curled slightly. “Xavier needs someone to drive him, and since he wants to talk with you alone, you got your ass drafted.

“Needs… Did he get drunk or something?”

Logan nudged her onto the boardwalk.

But they walked past the police station. The next building’s window displayed BEAR FLAT MEDICAL CLINIC in black lettering.

Xavier was hurt? She grabbed Logan’s arm and yanked him to a stop. “You tell me what happened. Right now!”

“He fell off a cliff.”

* * *

In an exam room, Xavier sat in a wheelchair and tried to ignore the pain. His ankle throbbed, his head hammered, and his shoulder persisted in sending burning stabs through the joint. He’d have appreciated some consistency in the texture and timing of the various hurts, but no such luck.

The clinic life went on around him. A phone ringing. A baby crying. From the room across the hall came the doctor’s voice trying to reassure a child.

The tinkling sound of the front door was followed by footsteps. Xavier looked up.

Logan entered the room, followed by Abby. Her eyes widened, and the color drained from her cheeks. “You look terrible.”

Despite the pain and his anger at her, he felt a hint of amusement.

Logan snorted. “You should have seen him when he was covered in blood.” He gave Xavier a glance. “I didn’t realize you could swear like that. Rona appreciated you switching to French.”

Abby clasped her hands as if terrified to touch him. “How badly are you hurt?” Her short hair was flying everywhere, and behind her glasses, her eyes were red and swollen.

How could he be furious and still want to comfort her? “Nothing major.”

“That kind of depends on your definition of major.” Dressed in medical scrubs, Summer cast Abby an unfriendly look.

A hint of hurt appeared before Abby’s expression chilled into that of a marble statue. “If I’m driving, tell me what I need to know for the trip.” Her voice was as frozen as her face.

“The doctor reset his dislocated shoulder. He needs to keep the sling on. Sprained ankle. Keep it in the brace.” Summer glanced at Xavier and added, “No weight on it for three days. Then a cane or crutches.” She turned back to Abby. “Right now he can’t use crutches because of the shoulder, so…wheelchair.”

Abby nodded. “Go on.”

“Ice packs for the shoulder and ankle for twenty minutes at a time. Keep his leg elevated. He received a heavy pain medication earlier. When it wears off, ibuprofen should work. Got it?”

Xavier frowned. He’d never been talked around like this. Then again, his brain wasn’t tracking well.

“Yes.” Abby tilted her head coolly. “Thank you.”

“Let’s go, then,” Logan said. He stepped behind the wheelchair and pushed.

The boardwalk of rough wood planks almost did Xavier in. He clenched his jaw as pain stabbed through his shoulder with every bump.

When Logan opened the back door to the SUV, Xavier shook his head. “I’m not—”

“Summer’s orders. She wants that ankle elevated for a while.” Logan lowered his voice. “And you don’t want to talk with Abby until the morphine clears your system.”

Good advice should be heeded. Xavier held his hand out. “Thank you for the help.”

“Least we could do.”

“Give that dog of yours a steak for finding me.”

Logan grinned. “Becca was cooking bacon for him when we left.”

With a grunt Xavier tried to get to his feet. Logan put a hand under his good arm and lifted. The assistance was needed—and not appreciated.

As blood rushed into Xavier’s injured ankle, the pain felt like someone had turned a burner to high. His shoulder screamed with every movement, but compared to the feeling when dislocated, this was nothing. Clumsily he pivoted and slid into the backseat.

When Logan fastened Xavier’s seat belt as if he were a child, Xavier managed to keep from punching him and settled for a deadly look. Logan laughed and closed the door.

Smothering a groan, Xavier settled against it.

On the other side of the car, Summer leaned in to put a pillow under his leg. She put an ice pack over the ankle and handed him another for his shoulder. As Abby climbed into the driver’s seat, the nurse frowned at her. “Ignore the crankiness and do what I told you. Doms make the worst patients.”

Abby nodded, glanced at him, and started the engine.

Xavier realized he didn’t know if she was a good driver. After a second he closed his eyes. He didn’t have the energy to care.

* * *

Xavier woke when Abby pulled in to a gas station.

“Here.” He held out a credit card.

She ignored him, filled the tank, and disappeared into the store.

By the time she returned, he’d managed to maneuver himself out of the car and into the front seat. Eventually—maybe—his ankle and shoulder would stop feeling as if they were about to explode.

She opened the driver’s door and saw him. “Why aren’t you in the back?”

“I’m awake. It’s time to talk.”

Gaze averted, she got in. In silence she drove onto Highway 120 toward San Francisco. After a minute she put the sack into his lap. “Ice. And ibuprofen. And water.”

“Thank you, Abby,” he said softly, watching the pink climb into her cheeks. He suppressed a sigh. She’d lied to him, spied on his club members, cheated on her boyfriend, and he wanted to comfort her. You’re an idiot, Leduc.

He washed the ibuprofen down with water. “Tell me about your research.”

“The university is doing cutbacks. I needed a publication on my record—fast—and BDSM interested me.”

Because of Nathan, undoubtedly.

“To get it published in time, I have to submit the paper before July twenty-ninth.” Her hands clenched and eased. “I’m writing an ethnography essay—basically my observations of what goes on.” Behind her oversize glasses, her gray eyes flickered toward him and back to the road. “I wasn’t taking names or talking about anything intimate or kinky. I wrote about the social interactions in the club, comparing the dynamics to that of a family.”