JONATHON - Book 1 [Watty Awards 2012]

Chapter 1

Bea was told to keep him warm, the risk was hypothermia; to stay with him and if he regained consciousness keep him alert but not to move him. She gave them the best directions she could and lay down and covered him with her body. Even she felt cold and it was going to be a long wait. After only a few minutes Bea realized that he was still not getting the warmth he so desperately needed. She didn't know what to do. If only she’d taken that first aid course. An article she'd read about survival flashed into her mind. She blushed hotly. She couldn't! But he was at risk and now was not the time for maidenly modesty. She wriggled her way under the jacket, unzipped her body warmer and undid her blouse. She balked at removing her bra. She gently pushed and rocked him onto his side. Too embarrassed to look him in the face, she concentrated on undoing the buttons on his shirt then pressed her naked, warm flesh against his cold, hard young body. She hugged and massaged him trying to warm him and circulate the blood. She kept up a steady stream of meaningless chatter all the while and she prayed.

Bea wasn’t sure how long it was before she became aware of his response. She raised her head and looked into his dazed, bemused young face. His unbelievably beautiful young face.

The sight of him took her breath away. She was a sensible, mature, down-to-earth woman but she had never felt so moved by anything or anyone in her whole life. Flustered and unnerved, she realised that he was still looking to her for some sort of explanation.

‘It’s alright,’ she said, pulling her blouse together as he became more aware of the bizarre situation and perhaps wondered exactly what he might have done. ‘You’ve had some sort of accident. I found you unconscious. Do you remember anything?’ She had got her breath back and her pulse was was slowing to near normal.

He tried to speak but couldn't. He shook his head; even that drained him. He fell back, eyes drooping shut.

‘No!’ Bea shook his shoulders. 'You must stay awake. Talk to me. Come on. Yes, you can. What's your name?'

His eyelids fluttered open. He glared at her with dark, brooding eyes; resentful, rebellious.

‘Please…’ she begged. ‘I’m only trying to help.’

He parted his lips but no sound came out.

‘Try.’

He opened his dry mouth again, tried to wet his full, sensual lips with an equally dry tongue. Bea sat up. She reached into a jacket pocket and brought out the small bottle of water and a clean handkerchief. She wet the handkerchief, moistened his lips then raised the opened bottle to them.

‘Just a sip!’ she said when he tried to gulp down the whole contents. She was rewarded with another flash of arrogant anger from his dark eyes. What a rebellious child he must have been.

‘Be gentle to yourself,’ she said. ‘Don’t do more damage than there may already be.’

His eyes flooded tears and the full mouth trembled like a baby’s. Not so tough then. He took one small sip and watched her and, when she nodded, another and then one more before she took the bottle away. And though he briefly opened his mouth to protest, she saw that he acquiesced to her will and it moved her. Everything about him moved her.

‘If it doesn’t make you sick, you can have some more soon. Now, can you tell me your name?’ Still he seemed to hesitate, deeply troubled and he stared at her as if to measure how much he could trust her.

She returned his gaze and waited for his struggle to be resolved. Would he lie to her? Did it matter? As long as she could call him something it would make conversation easier. His mouth trembled with the effort. She nodded, smiled,