The amusement in his voice grated. Grady was here and he was safe and the adrenaline that had held her hostage drained away like dirty dishwater down the drain, leaving her wrung out and nauseated. She pushed away from him and whacked his arm.

It had all the impact of a feather through the thick layers of his jacket.

“Where have you been?” she demanded and whacked his other arm. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

He chuckled. “I told you not to wait up.”

She blinked hard to dispel the threatening tears. She would not cry when he was smiling at her like he was indulging a two-year-old’s temper tantrum. “I’ve been picturing you dead in a ditch,” she yelled, giving his chest a shove this time. It barely moved him, which made her madder. “Why didn’t you reply to one of my texts to let me know you were okay?”

She shoved again, but he caught her hand this time, his smile dying. “Suzy…” His brow crinkled. “It’s okay. I’m fine. See?”

He held out his arms to show her he was whole and intact, and had he used any other name, she might have stayed stoic, but the way he said Suzy—the only man who had ever called her that—was her undoing. She felt absurdly like bursting into tears, but she didn’t. She threw herself at him again instead and just hugged him, his big, broad shoulders feeling like boulders in her embrace.

He was fine. Grady was fine.

“God, you’re so cold,” she said after a beat or two, the icy feel of his jacket permeating her pajama top.

“It’s just the outside of my clothes,” he dismissed. “I’m warm underneath.”

“Come over to the fire.” She let him go but tugged on his freezing hand, not prepared to take no for an answer. Thankfully, after a moment of resistance, he followed, that bemused look back on his face. He was humoring her again, but she was okay with that.

“Stand here in front of this, and warm your hands. I’ll make you a hot chocolate.”

Again she didn’t wait for his consent, just scurried to the kitchen on a cloud of relief.

“I’d rather bourbon.”

Right. Of course. He was a grown-ass man who’d been out doing hard physical labor for the last seventeen hours. The man deserved alcohol.

“Good plan.”

Suzanne headed for the drinks cabinet. She had to pass Zoom’s tank, which made her think of Bethany, but she quashed it as she opened the cabinet doors and grabbed the Wild Turkey bottle. Her hand shook as she reached for a heavy lead crystal tumbler and poured a hefty slug. Picking up the glass and the bottle—he’d probably want more than one—she headed back toward Grady.