Taking me by the hand as if I were a small child, Hardy led me to the shower. "Take your time," he said. "I'll use the other bathroom. There's a robe on the back of the door. I'll fetch some clothes from your apartment later."

No shower had ever been as good as that one. I doubted any future ones would even come close. I turned the water temperature up to near-scalding, groaning with pleasure as it rushed over my cold, aching limbs. I washed and rinsed my body and shampooed my hair three times.

Hardy's robe was too big for me, trailing the floor by at least a half-foot. I wrapped myself in it, in the scent that was now becoming familiar. I tied the belt tightly, rolled the sleeves up several times, and looked at myself in the steam-slicked mirror. My hair had sprung up in curls. Since there were no styling tools other than a brush or comb, there was no help for that.

I would have expected to feel drained after what I'd experienced, but instead I felt alive, overstimulated, the soft terry of the robe abrasive on my tender skin. Wandering to the main room, I saw Hardy dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair still wet from his shower. He was standing at the table, pulling sandwiches and containers of soup from a paper bag.

His gaze took inventory of me from head to toe. "I had the restaurant send up some food," he said.

"Thank you. I'm starving I don't think I've ever been this hungry."

"That happens sometimes after a trauma. Whenever there was a problem on the rig — an accident or a fire — we all ate like wolves afterward."

"A rig fire would be scary," I said. "How do they start?"

"Oh, blowouts, leaks . . . " He grinned as he added, "Welders . . . " He finished setting out the food. "You start eating. I'll run down to your apartment and get some clothes for you, if you'll tell me the combo."

"Please stay. I can wait for a while. This robe is comfortable."

"Okay." Hardy pulled out a chair for me. As I sat, I glanced at the television, which was showing the local news. I nearly fell off the chair as the anchorwoman said, ". . . and now more on the flooding. We've just learned that earlier this evening an unidentified woman was pulled from a flooded elevator in Buffalo Tower. According to security personnel on the scene, rising water in the lower level of the garage caused the elevator malfunction. Building employees said the woman seemed to be in good condition after the rescue and did not require medical treatment. We'll let you know more on this story as it develops . . . "

The phone rang, and Hardy glanced at the caller ID. "It's your brother Jack. I've already talked to him and told him you're okay. But he wants to hear it from you."

Oh, hell, I thought. Jack must have been just thrilled to find out I was with Hardy.

I took the phone from him and pressed the talk button. "Hi, Jack," I said in a cheerful tone.

"The thing you never want your sister to be," my brother informed me, "is an unidentified woman on the news. Bad things happen to unidentified women."

"I'm fine," I told him, smiling. "Just got a little wet and dirty, that's all."

"You may think you're okay, but you're probably still in shock. You may have injuries you're not even aware of. Why the hell didn't Cates take you to a doctor?"

My smile disappeared. "Because I'm fine. And I'm not in shock."

"I'm coming to get you. You're staying at my apartment tonight."

"No way. I've seen your apartment, Jack. It's a pit. It's so bad my immune system grows stronger every time I visit you."

Jack didn't laugh. "You're not going to stay with Cates after you've been through something this traumatic — "

"Remember our talk about boundaries, Jack?"

"Fuck boundaries. Why did you call him when you've got two brothers who work just a few blocks away from Buffalo Tower? Gage or I could have handled everything just fine."

"I don't know why I called him, I — " I darted an uncomfortable glance at Hardy. He gave me an unfathomable look and went to the kitchen. "Jack, I'll see you tomorrow. Do not come over here."

"I told Cates if he touches you, he's a dead man walking."

"Jack," I muttered, "I'm hanging up now."

"Wait." He paused, and his tone became cajoling. "Let me come and get you, Haven. You're my baby sis — "

"No. Good night."

I hung up as the sound of swearing came through the receiver. Hardy returned to the table, bringing me a glass filled with ice and fizzing liquid.

"Thanks," I said. "Dr Pepper?"

"Yes. With some lemon juice and a splash of Jack Daniel's. I thought it might help steady your nerves."

I gave him a quizzical glance. "My nerves are okay."

"Maybe. But you still look a little strung out."

It was delicious. I drank a few sweet, tart gulps, until Hardy touched my hand. "Whoa, there. Sip it slowly, honey."

There was a pause in the conversation as we ate vegetable soup and sandwiches. I finished the drink and exhaled slowly, feeling better. "May I have another?" I asked, nudging the empty glass toward him.

"In a few minutes. Jack Daniel's has a way of sneaking up on you.

I turned sideways to face him, hooking my elbow over the back of my chair. "There's no need to treat me like I'm a teenager. I'm a big girl, Hardy."