Safe in His Arms by Vicki Lewis Thompson Page A

backpack was ripped from her hands. At the same moment, someone else shoved her from behind, knocking her to the ground with such force that the breath left her lungs.
    “Hey!” A deep male voice from behind her issued a challenge.
    She raised her head in time to glimpse a dark-haired man in jeans and a brown leather jacket dash after the thieves. Then folks who were obviously worried about her hurried over and blocked her view. An older gentleman helped her to her feet while two women clucked over her in what sounded like German.
    She wasn’t hurt except for a couple of scrapes on the heels of both hands, but if the guy in the leather jacket didn’t catch the thieves, she was in deep shit. Her backpack held almost everything of value—her phone, both credit cards, and two hundred dollars worth of euros. Her passport, thank God, was tucked in a pouch under her shirt, but thinking that she might have lost everything else made her sick to her stomach.
    Members of the German tour group patted her shoulder as she stood up and dusted off her clothes. They offered words of comfort she couldn’t understand but appreciated anyway. She made the effort to smile her thanks as she scanned the crowd for signs of a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a brown leather jacket. He’d looked athletic, so maybe he’d be able to tackle the guys who took her backpack.
    On the other hand, she didn’t want some stranger risking his safety for her. At least two people had been involved in the mugging, which meant the guy was outnumbered even if he should catch them. She crossed the fingers of both hands and waited, heart pounding from a delayed adrenaline rush.
    At last she saw him coming toward her. His eyes were hidden by sunglasses, but his angry strides and the tight set of his mouth told her all she needed to know. Her hopes crumbled. The backpack was gone.
    Despair engulfed her, but she was determined to thank him properly for trying. She hoped he spoke English. All she’d heard was his shout of
hey
, which might be one of those universal expressions used by everyone. She hadn’t traveled enough to know if it was or not.
    When he was about ten feet away, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. They got clean away from me.”
    She gasped at the familiar accent. “Oh, my God! You’re from
Texas.
” Hearing a voice from home made her want to hug him. She restrained herself, but the world brightened considerably.
    “Yes, ma’am.” He drew closer. “Are you all right?” He took off his sunglasses and gazed at her with eyes the color of bluebonnets.
    “I’m fine.” He must have known taking off his sunglasses would help. Seeing the concern in his gaze, she didn’t feel quite so alone. “Thank you for chasing them. That was brave of you.”
    He shrugged. “Not really. Anyone could see they were yellow-bellied cowards if they’d attack a woman. Speaking of that, they knocked you down. Are you sure you didn’t get scraped up?”
    “Just a little.” She showed him her hands.
    “Let’s take a look.” Tucking his sunglasses inside his jacket, he grasped her wrists and examined the heels of her hands. “Damn it. You should put something on that.”
    His touch felt nice. His big hands were gentle, and she found that sexy. Although it would be totally inappropriate, she wished he’d kiss her scrapes and make them all better. “I have Neosporin in my suitcase back at the hotel.” At least she’d have a place to stay. She’d given them her credit card number. That card was gone, but she hoped to get a replacement before she checked out.
    “Are you traveling with someone? I can call them.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a phone.
    She shook her head. “I came by myself.”
    “Then let’s start with the police. Did you get a look at those old boys?”
    “Not really.”
    “Never mind. I did.” He punched in a number and spoke in French.
    Melanie listened with great admiration. He no longer sounded like a