Falling For Nick

by Joleen James

  Two more miles and she'd reach the Lake Bliss Grocery, a tiny store where the locals could pick up a paper or a quart of milk. Once there, she'd abandon her car and ask Mr. McGinley, the store's owner, to take her to Robert's on his snowmobile.

  Clea held on to that thought as she eyed the hairpin curve just ahead. She let off the gas, then slowly accelerated as she went into the curve. Her backend slid a little, but as she righted the wheels, a vehicle came around the curve toward her in her lane.

  She turned the steering wheel sharply, and her right two tires slid into the ditch. The on-coming vehicle sideswiped her car, latching onto it. The sound of ripping metal filled the air. Her car came up against the rock wall, and for a split second she thought she might be squished between the large utility vehicle and the rock. The SUV dragged her backward along the rock, jolting to a stop. Her head snapped forward striking something solid.

  A numbing pain shot through her head.

  She tried to focus, but it felt as if she looked through a long, dark tunnel. Her field of vision narrowed as everything faded to black.

  * * *

  Nick frowned as he drove up to the accident. Why didn't people just stay put? The snow hadn't let up at all, yet people continued to drive in conditions that weren't even fit for the snowplow.

  He brought the truck to a stop, opened the door, and jumped out. His boots sank into several inches of fresh snow. The snowplow waited nearby to clear the road back to town, its yellow caution light circling round and round. An aid car blocked his view of the vehicles involved in the accident, but he could tell there were at least two cars.

  "Hey, Nick," Sheriff Kincade said, giving Nick a nod.

  "Anybody seriously injured?" Nick rounded the aid car. A burgundy Ford Expedition had slid off the road, taking another vehicle with it. Small and red, the second car lay crushed between the Expedition and the rock wall that lined this section of the drive up the mountain.

  A red car. Clea had a red car. His heart sped up and he took a step forward. The sheriff grabbed his arm.

  "Hold on, Nick," the sheriff said, and for once Nick could read the expression in Sheriff Kincade's eyes. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

  "Let me go." A wave of nausea hit him, nearly bringing him to his knees. It couldn't be Clea.

  "Why don't you just wait here with me until they get her out? You'll only be in the way."

  The sheriff's words confirmed the worst, twisting the fear buried deep in the pit of his stomach. Nick pulled his arm free.

  "Is she alive?" he asked, the words a tortured rasp. He couldn't bear it if he lost her now. A deep ache filled his chest.

  "She's alive and talking, but she's got a nasty bump on her head. She refused to let me call her mother or Robert. I'm hoping to talk some sense into her once they get her free."

  Nick's heart began to beat again. Clea was alive and talking. "What happened?"

  "Both vehicles were going slow," Sheriff Kincade said. "The folks in the Expedition lost control going around the curve. They forced Clea off the road and dragged her car a ways before they both came to a stop. The damage looks worse than it is. The folks in the Expedition are all right, just shaken up."

  The little red car looked crumpled, smashed, the windshield shattered. The firefighters worked to free Clea. The sound of twisting metal filled the air, then Clea's car door broke free. The EMTs worked on her and Nick thought he heard her moan. He held onto that sound, praying she'd be all right.

  A stretcher appeared and they moved Clea onto it. Nick got his first look at her. A large white bandage covered her forehead. A brace circled her neck. Her arm lay in a splint. Snow fell on her, on all of them as they took her to the aid car. Nick followed, a sick wrenching in his gut.

  "I'm riding down with her," he said as the EMTs loaded her into the vehicle.

  "Sorry," the young EMT said. "It's against the rules. You'll need to follow in your own car."

  "Where are you taking her?" Nick asked. Her skin held an ashen color that scared the hell out of him. Her lips were pale. He willed her to open her eyes.

  "To the hospital in Bradley," the EMT said.

  The sheriff came up beside them. "Let her go, Nick. You're needed here. Come on."

  "Wait." Nick stepped up into the aid car. "Clea?"

  "Nick." Her voice sounded weak, but she opened her eyes. "It's worse than it looks. I'm fine. I just bumped my head."

  "I'll be at the hospital as soon as I can. I promise." He squeezed her hand. "Hang in there, Princess. These guys will take good care of you. Don't worry about anything." Leaning down, he kissed her cheek.

  "I'm glad you're here," she murmured.

  "All right," the EMT said, placing a hand on Nick's shoulder. "We need to go."

  Nick nodded. He let go of Clea's hand, then jumped from the aid car. The doors closed. The plow started and together the vehicles drove away.

  Clea's words echoed through his head, "I'm glad you're here." He didn't care if she'd said them in delirium. The words had come from somewhere and he wasn't about to let her take them back.

  * * *

  "I'm fine, Doctor, really," Clea said. She'd been in the emergency room for hours. She'd suffered a bump on her forehead the size of a hardboiled egg. The grogginess had left, leaving behind a headache, but not much else. Her wrist hurt, but wasn't broken. Her legs worked fine, but most of her muscles were sore. "Let me go home."

  "It's best if you stay, Miss Rose." Dr. Martin peered at Clea over the top of his glasses. Well past middle age and graying, Dr. Martin had a kind but firm bedside manner. He made it easy for Clea to trust him. "Unless you'll allow me to call your family?"

  "No. I don't want to worry them, or risk their safety by having them come out in the snow. I'm sure Mitzi is in town. Let me try her number again." She'd hoped Nick would show up to take her home, but he hadn't kept his promise to her. She still couldn't trust him, and that hurt more than she wanted to admit.

  "You need to be awakened every two hours. You have a concussion." Dr. Martin pursed his lips. "You've been unable to reach your friend and confirm that she can care for you. You said you tried her cell phone and there was no answer. I really can't release you without confirmation of a caregiver."

  "I'll take care of her."

  Clea and the doctor both turned at the sound of Nick's voice. He stood in the open doorway. His boots still held snow. A dark knit cap covered his head. The fleece lined Carhartt jacket he wore looked soaked clean through. He'd been out in the weather, most likely working at removing her car from the ditch. Lines of fatigue, or worry, creased his forehead, and she wondered if he'd been worried about her.

  "I came as soon as I could." Nick walked toward her, pulling his gloves off. "I had a couple of cars I had to tow down the mountain before I could get away."

  "Nick." He'd kept his promise.

  "You scared the hell out of me."

  The tenderness in his voice touched her. "I'm fine." She offered him a smile.

  "She's not fine," the doctor said with a frown. "She wants to leave. Her injuries were minor, but she needs someone who can watch over her. She has a concussion and she needs to be awakened every two hours."

  "I'm your man," Nick said to the doctor. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

  "Is that all right with you, Miss Rose?" Dr. Martin raised one bushy brow.

  She wanted to leave. She didn't want John to find out she was in the hospital. Since she was unable to reach Mitzi, Nick was her only choice.

  "Miss Rose?" the doctor prompted.

  Her need to be home outweighed her fear of being alone with Nick. "Yes, it's all right with me." Her eyes met Nick's and she saw triumph, or was it relief?

  "Well, then, I'll prepare the paperwork." Dr. Martin wrote another note on her chart, then left the room.

  "You don't have to do this," Clea said, not knowing what else to say.

  "I want to." Nick pulled a metal chair up beside the bed and sat down.

&
nbsp; "You can find Mitzi once we're back in town. She's probably staying at my place anyway."

  He pulled the cap from his head, releasing his wild, uncombed hair. "You don't need Mitzi. I'm here."

  Clea resisted the urge to reach over and smooth his wayward hair. She glanced away from him. "I don't want John to find out I've been in the hospital. It would scare him. He's been through so much lately. I don't want to add another worry to his shoulders. Promise me you won't call my mother or Robert."

  "Clea," Nick said, taking her hand. "Shut up. I can take care of you. Let me."

  The husky tempo of his voice caused her heart to skip a beat. For a moment, Clea lost herself in the clear blue of his eyes. A sweet ache started inside her. It would feel so good to just let go and let him take care of her, but could she?

  A nurse came into the room, a clipboard in her hand. "Here's the paperwork."

  She jerked her head toward the nurse. The motion made her head pound. "Thank you."

  "Sign here," the nurse said, "and here." When she finished, she handed a sheet of instructions to Nick, going over them, telling Nick what signs to look for and how to care for her. Nick nodded as he listened.

  Clea swung her legs over the side of the bed. She was going home to spend the night with Nick Lombard. If her mother found out, she'd kill her.

  * * *

  "Wake up, Clea."

  Clea fought for sleep. The gray fuzziness of oblivion called to her, cradled her, held her in its comforting arms. A delicious warmth cocooned her body. She rolled over and snuggled more deeply into her pillow.

  "Clea, wake up."

  Something brushed across her face. Clea's eyes snapped open. Nick leaned over her, his hand on her head.

  "Are you awake?" he asked, so close she could feel his warm breath on her skin.

  "Yes." Her mouth felt dry. She tried to move, but the pounding in her head intensified.

  "How do you feel?" His fingers brushed the hair back from her brow, his touch tender, careful to avoid the bandage on her forehead.

  "I felt better before you woke me." She grimaced. "My head hurts. I'm thirsty."

  Nick got up, returning a minute later with a glass of water. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Drink this."

  Clea sat up, one hand on her throbbing head. Nick held the glass to her lips and she drank. The water tasted sweet and cool against her parched tongue.

  "Are you nauseated or dizzy?" he asked.

  "No." She gave him a weak smile. "You make a great nurse, Nick. Maybe you should consider changing professions."

  "Yeah, right." He grimaced.

  "What time is it?"

  "Four a.m."

  "Every time I go to sleep you wake me. I'm going to be a walking zombie tomorrow, or should I say this morning, when I open the shop."

  "You are not opening the shop. Mitzi can open. You need to rest, doctor's orders."

  "I don't think she's in town. She's probably stuck somewhere."

  "This town can survive without coffee for one day, Clea." Nick set the glass of water on her nightstand. "You need to rest. You said yourself that your head is pounding."

  Clea winced as she settled back against the pillow. "Maybe you're right." Hair rumpled, lines of fatigue around his eyes, Nick looked as tired as she felt. "Thank you for staying with me, and for making me call Robert and my mother. I know I was stretching the truth a bit, telling them I was in a little fender-bender, but at least they won't be shocked when they see the bandage on my forehead. I'm glad they took my advice and stayed put last night."

  "You gave me quite a scare." He reached for her hand, and threading his fingers with hers, brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it.

  "I scared myself." The horror of seeing the SUV bearing down on her came to the surface, making her stomach do a sickening flip-flop.

  "Why would you drive in this storm?" He shifted on the bed. Clea scooted over to give him more room. "You grew up here. You know how dangerous that road can be. It turns into an ice rink. All it takes is one wrong move."

  "And I could have been killed," Clea finished for him. She shut her eyes against the image of her twisted car. "I know that. Don't you think I feel like an idiot?"

  "Did I drive you from town?" Nick asked, his voice low. "Did you leave because of what happened between us the other night?"

  "No," she lied. She didn't want him to think he had any power over her.

  He sighed. "I don't want to drive you away."

  "You didn't." Soft light from the hall spilled into the room, bathing Nick in shadows. A dark stubble coated his jaw. His eyes drooped a little, and she knew he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. He'd done everything right since returning to town, and she'd done everything wrong. She'd been less than honest with him, trying to protect herself from getting hurt again.

  "Maybe I did want to get away from you," she said, watching his face for a reaction to her words.

  He ran a hand over his whiskers. "When I saw you at Maude's funeral, I didn't know what to think. I sure as hell never expected you to be there. It was a shock." He stroked her hair, his touch gentle. "Maybe if you hadn't been there, if I hadn't seen you, I might have left right after the funeral, but that's not the way it happened. You were there. I did see you. After that I started to imagine the possibilities if I stayed."

  "I'm glad you stayed," she said, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop them. "I'm glad for John. For better or worse, you're part of his life now. That won't ever change, even after we move to New York."

  "I want to meet him. It's time."

  "Okay," she agreed. "I'll set something up."

  Nick nodded. "Thank you."

  "John's a little boy," she said, wanting him to understand their son. "Robert is the only father figure in his life, and this change won't be easy for him. I have to trust you with my son. Don't hurt him, Nick." She longed to add, Don't hurt me, but she bit back the words.

  "I won't." He touched her arm, giving it a light squeeze. "I promise."

  Clea's head throbbed. She never thought she'd be having this conversation at four in the morning with a head injury. She needed to sleep. She didn't want to think anymore.

  "Go back to sleep," Nick said.

  "Go and sleep on the sofa, please." It unnerved her that he sat in the chair, watching her. To shield herself from his intense scrutiny she snuggled more deeply under the covers. "I'll be fine."

  "Not a chance. I'm staying right here where I can keep an eye on you."

  "Then at least stretch out on the bed. I trust you," she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy. "You won't try to take advantage of an injured woman."

  Clea let her eyes close. She listened as Nick pulled his boots off. The bed moved, and she could feel his weight as he stretched out beside her. He didn't get under the covers and she didn't invite him. She'd given him a blanket earlier, and although she didn't check, she felt sure he used it now to cover himself up. She'd never been in bed with him before. Not even when they'd conceived John; they'd done that in the Boss. It felt a little unsettling to share so intimate a space with him.

  "I'll wake you in two hours," Nick said, his voice close to her ear.

  "Um hum," she replied, too tired to form coherent words.

  "Sweet dreams, Princess."

  * * *

  Nick came awake slowly. A pleasant sweet scent teased him. He inhaled. His nose touched something soft, silky, and he knew without looking he touched Clea's hair. His eyes flew open. Sometime after he'd woken her at six-thirty he'd become intertwined with her. She had rolled over, into his arms, her head on his chest. Even though blankets separated them from the chest down, he could feel enough of her, the bare skin of her arms, the satin of her hair, to become fully aroused while he slept.

  He glanced at the watch on his wrist. Eight forty-five. It was time to wake her again, but he hesitated. For a moment he wanted to pretend. It felt damn good to have her in his arms. She felt softer than he remembered. He buried his nose in h
er hair and just breathed. He could stay like this forever.

  The click of the front door brought him fully awake.

  Voices followed.

  "Wake up." A jolt of reality ripped through him. He gave Clea a gentle shake. "Someone's here. Wake up."

  "What?" she mumbled, snuggling more fully against him.

  "Mom," John called. Footsteps brought him closer.

  "We're home," Robert echoed from the other room.

  "John?" Clea tried to move, but her hair was caught beneath Nick's arm. She opened her eyes and they instantly widened when she realized the situation they were in. "Nick? Oh no."

  "Clea?" Vivian Rose called.

  The bedroom door flew open. Three pairs of astonished eyes pinned them where they were.

  "My God, your head." Vivian rushed forward. "You didn't tell us you'd been hurt in the accident."

  "John." Clea untangled herself from Nick and sat up. "This isn't what it looks like. I can explain."

  "What the hell is he doing here!" Robert cried, before launching himself at Nick.

  Chapter Eight

  Robert charged the bed. "You son of a bitch!"

  "Robert, stop," Clea cried.

  Beside her, Nick threw the blanket off, meeting Robert halfway. "Calm down, Boomer. This isn't the time or the place for you to lose your temper."

  "Why are you near her, you filthy loser?" Robert's hands hit Nick in the chest, shoving him. "Get the hell out of here."

  To Clea's relief, Nick didn't push back, but there was an anger in his eyes that she prayed he'd hold in check.

  John ran to her. "Mom, your head is hurt." He glared at Nick. "What did you do to my mom?"

  "Everyone, please calm down," Clea said, knowing she needed to turn things around fast. "You're upsetting John." Her head pounded. Daylight streamed in through her bedroom window, making her eyes hurt. How on earth had she gotten so tangled up with Nick? She remembered falling asleep, but he'd been next to her, not intertwined with her.