by Pamela Tyner
She shook her head silently.
“Oh, come on. You know his name. What is it?” When she didn’t respond, he yelled, “What’s his name?”
She cringed at his bellow, a clear indication he was losing his grip on the fury seething inside him. The last time he’d lost control of his temper, she’d ended up with a bloody nose and a face full of bruises.
In an effort to pacify him, she gave him what he wanted, even though he already knew the answer. “Elmer,” she said.
“That’s right.”
Matt’s tone had returned to normal, and she breathed a little easier. Even without looking at him, she knew he was smiling, could hear it in his voice. Yes, forcing her to answer his question would please him.
“Elmer C. Owens, Jr.” He laughed. “With a name like that I don’t blame the poor bastard for using his middle one. Once I solved that piece of the puzzle, it was only a matter of hours before I located his address.”
Matt reached toward her, and she jerked away in reflex. When he dropped his hand, she snuck a cautious peek at him from the corner of her eye.
He lifted a brow. “You know I like your hair down.”
Tricia pulled the scrunchie from her hair and tossed it on the dashboard.
“That’s much better.”
She held her breath, praying he wouldn’t reach out and touch her hair. The thought of his hands on her made her nauseous.
Sirens blared in the background. Tricia looked in the rearview mirror and relief poured over her at the sight of a patrol car behind her, blue lights flashing. When it got closer, she identified David as the driver.
“Don’t even think about pulling over,” Matt growled.
“My tag’s expired,” she said, hoping Matt wouldn’t realize it was a lie. “That’s probably why he’s pulling me over. If I stop, he’ll give me a ticket and let us go. If I don’t…he won’t just go away.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” He twisted around in the seat and pointed the gun at the back window.
“You don’t want to shoot a police officer. You’d never get out of prison.”
“Shut up!” he yelled.
She considered slamming on the brakes, but then David would plow into the back of her car. If he got injured, it could restrict his ability to help her escape. But she had to do something and do it quickly before Matt pulled the trigger.
She swerved. The car skidded and came to rest with its nose pointed into a ditch. Matt hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt, and the impact threw him against the dashboard. He blinked as blood dripped from a gash on his forehead into his eyes.
Where’s the gun? Tricia glanced around frantically but couldn’t locate it.
Matt swiped at the blood, and then shook his head.
She couldn’t waste any more time. Matt could regain cognizance at any second. Tricia fumbled to unbuckle her seat belt and reached for the door handle. When the door refused to budge, she threw her shoulder against it and pushed with all her might. It popped open, and she said a silent prayer of gratitude as she scrambled out of the car.
She’d only gotten a few yards when Matt grabbed her hair and yanked her back. Pain seared through her as strands of hair were tore from her scalp.
He locked his arm around her throat in a chokehold. She struggled to breathe, his arm restricting her airway, though not blocking it completely. She grabbed his arm and pulled, but it remained firmly fixed in place.
Cold metal pressed against her temple. She froze, her body completely motionless. She broke out in a cold sweat. Fear wrapped its icy fingers around her and squeezed with such intensity she worried she might pass out.
Although, losing consciousness could be a blessing in disguise. At least then she wouldn’t feel the bullet rip through her body. Through her brain. Tears sprang to her eyes.
“Damn it, Clint, get back here,” David yelled.
Tricia shifted her eyes in the direction of his voice. David’s patrol car sat in the middle of the road, and he had taken cover behind it. Clint—where had he come from?—was sprinting in their direction.
The gun left her temple, and Matt’s arm stretched over her shoulder as he pointed it toward Clint. A sharp click sounded as he cocked the hammer.
Tricia shoved Matt’s arm, knocking his aim off mere seconds before a shot rang out.
Remember what Clint taught you.
Tricia turned her head into the crook of Matt’s elbow. She lifted her foot, then realized since she was wearing tennis shoes and he had on hard-toe work boots, she could do little damage to his foot. Instead of stomping his toes, she slammed the bottom of her foot against his shin. He grunted and the pressure on her neck eased a notch. She latched her teeth onto his arm and chomped down hard enough to draw blood. When his hold eased even further, she shifted to the side and rammed her elbow into his stomach.
Free from his grasp, she raced toward Clint. When she reached him, he grabbed her by the waist. Turning toward the road, he pushed her in front of him, and they ran for the shelter of the patrol car.
Vaguely, she registered the sound of shots being fired—two of them—then David rushed past them.
Once they reached the car, she glanced back to find Matt lying on the ground, his legs drawn up and his hands clutched over his stomach. David stood over him, his gun pointed at Matt.
Clint pulled her down behind the car and wrapped his arms around her. Burying her face against his chest, she leaned against him, absorbing his strength.
A warm, wet substance seeped onto her palm. She lifted her hand from Clint’s waist and stared in horror at the blood coating it. Tears blurring her vision, she jerked her head up and looked into Clint’s eyes.
“I’m okay,” he assured her.
But his face was pale, and suddenly, she was the one supporting him.
Chapter 14
Tricia picked up the stack of mail from the counter, placed it on the tray already loaded with Clint’s favorite foods, and headed down the hallway. When she entered the bedroom, Clint glanced up at her and smiled.
“I’ve got to go, Jack,” he said into the phone. “Thanks again for all your help.”
He disconnected the call and set the phone on the nightstand. After Tricia had positioned the tray over his lap, he grabbed the mail, tossed it on the mattress beside him, then leaned over the tray and inhaled deeply.
“Oh my God. Real food.”
Tricia smiled at the reverence in his voice.
“That hospital crap was awful,” he declared.
“I know. Everyone knew. You complained about it often enough.”
“I probably lost five pounds while I was there.”
“Well, I’m going to make sure you regain every ounce of it.”
He picked up the fork, took a huge bite of mashed potatoes smothered in gravy, then moaned in appreciation.
“If you keep cooking like this, it won’t take long.” He frowned and looked up at her. “Where’s your plate?”
“I’m not hungry. I’ll eat something later.”
He nodded, then without another word, he dug into his lunch with the gusto of a man on the verge of starvation. Tricia smiled, both pleased and amused by his hardy appetite.
The color was back in his cheeks, and his strength had returned. He looked good, healthy. A big difference from his appearance three days ago.
Her gaze drifted to his side. The thick bandage covering the ugly wound bulged against the material of his t-shirt. Thankfully, the bullet had passed clean through and hadn’t hit anything that could cause major damage. But it could have been different.
Biting her lip, she fought back the tears that threatened to erupt.
Even though her mother had always insisted God doesn’t make deals, she’d tried to make one with Him. As she’d sat in the hospital waiting room, she’d prayed and pleaded with God, promising Him anything He wanted if He’d just ensure Clint’s well-being. If Clint’s injury had been serious, life-altering or life-ending, she wouldn’t have
been able to live with herself.
The man who mere weeks ago she had thought unworthy of trust had risked his life to save hers. Not only had he saved her life, he’d helped her reclaim it. When she’d been on the run from a madman and evading the police, Clint had taken her in, offering her safety and protection. And never once had he doubted her innocence.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Clint’s fork stopped mid-way to his mouth, and he sighed. “Stop thanking me. I didn’t do anything that anybody else wouldn’t have done.”
She nodded at his standard reply, knowing it would do no good to disagree with him.
“This could have all been avoided if I had just gone to the police in the beginning,” she said.
“You were scared. It’s irrelevant now anyway. Everything worked out in the end.”
Yes, it had. Matt was behind bars, and if David’s prediction proved to be true, he would remain there for a very long time. To her immense relief the DA office in Florida had decided not to file charges against her.
The convenience store clerk had stated that Tricia appeared to be shocked and confused upon discovering the robbery in progress. That, combined with her own statement and the additional facts of the case, had led the DA’s office to the conclusion that she had been an unknowing and unwilling accomplice who had acted under duress and failed to report the crime to the authorities due to fear for her own safety.
“This is so good,” Clint murmured, shoveling a huge bite of squash casserole in his mouth. He looked up at her and grinned. “Actually, if you insist on thanking me, a homemade apple pie would be nice.”
“I could manage that.”
“Mmm. And maybe a peach cobbler too.”
She laughed. “Greedy thing, aren’t you? I’ll see what I can do.”
Tricia busied herself straightening the bedroom while Clint finished eating.
“How long are you going to stay?” he asked.
“Until you’re well.” She looked over at him and lifted a brow. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Absolutely not. As a matter of fact, if my being well will result in your leaving, then I might have to ponder ways to delay my recovery.”
“Don’t do that. You need to get back on your feet. Jack can’t take care of the ranch forever. And I need to start job hunting.”
Retrieving the now empty tray, she headed to the kitchen. After she’d washed the dishes, she grabbed the bag of medical supplies she’d purchased from the pharmacy that morning and returned to the bedroom.
Clint was busy going through the mail she’d brought to him earlier. The envelopes he’d already opened were sorted into two piles.
She walked over to the nightstand, pushed the alarm clock back to make room, and emptied the contents of the bag.
“I need to change your bandage.”
“Okay. Just give me a minute to finish this.” He handed her one of the stacks of opened mail. “That’s junk. Would you mind tossing it in the trashcan?”
After doing as he’d requested, she took a seat at the end of the bed and waited for him to complete his task.
Clint ripped open an envelope, pulled out the paper from inside, and lifted a brow. He gave a low whistle and shook his head. “Light bill gets more expensive every month.”
After shoving the bill back inside the envelope, he added it to the stack of mail still on the bed, then picked it up and placed it on the nightstand.
One item remained unopened—a manila envelope. He picked it up and handed it to her. “This is for you.”
Her brow wrinkled in confusion. Why would she be getting mail at his address? And from whom? When she glanced at the package, she immediately recognized the handwriting as Jenny’s. But…
“It’s addressed to you,” she said.
“I know, but it’s actually for you. Open it.”
After tearing the envelope open, she reached inside and pulled out dozens of snapshots…of her. She looked up at Clint in amazement. When Matt had destroyed all her pictures, she’d thought they’d been lost forever.
“How?” she asked.
Clint lifted a shoulder. “Jenny. I was at their house one day, and she was organizing her photo albums. There must have been hundreds of pictures spread out on the kitchen table.” He smiled. “She showed me one that she had of me and you. I thought maybe she had more.”
Tricia returned her attention to the pictures. The one on top was of her and Jenny, about five years old, squatting in the dirt. Their clothes and faces were streaked with mud, and their hands were filled with the brown, messy goo. Tricia smiled at the memory the photo brought to mind. That entire summer they had been convinced their fathers were actually eating the mud pies they spent so many hours making.
There were a few more pictures of her as a child, but the majority had been taken during her teenage years. In some she was alone, but in most she was surrounded by friends. In every picture a smile covered her face. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be that happy and carefree and excited about life.
She paused to study a picture of her and Clint. They stood in front of the lake in bathing suits, their arms wrapped tight around each other, their chests pressed together. They looked happy…and in love.
When she reached the last photo, she drew in a deep breath and laid a hand over her chest. She was wearing a cap and gown and had her high school diploma clutched in her hand. Her parents stood on either side of her, smiling proudly.
After Matt’s stunt, she’d forced herself every day to recall a mental picture of her parents. As crazy as it seemed, she feared that if she didn’t make a deliberate effort to keep their faces firmly embedded in her memory, she’d eventually forget what they looked like.
Tearing her gaze away from the photo, she looked over at Clint. A sob escaped her throat. Tears flooded her eyes and then flowed down her face in a heavy stream.
Clint’s eyes widened—his expression a mixture of shock, confusion, and desperation. “Well, hell, honey, don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it,” she choked out between sobs.
He started to reach out to her, and then stopped. Sucking in a sharp breath of air, he clutched his hand to his side.
“Be careful. You’re going to tear your stitches.”
“Then you come to me.”
She went without hesitation. He pulled her into his arms and tucked her head under his chin. She cried until she was exhausted, her eyelids swollen, and Clint’s t-shirt soaked by her tears.
Throughout the entire episode, Clint stroked her hair and her back. He murmured words of comfort, pausing occasionally to drop kisses on her forehead. When her sobs finally ceased, he placed a finger under her chin and urged her head up. He tucked her hair behind her ear and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.
“I’m sorry. I thought it would make you happy.”
She took a deep, cleansing breath and nodded. “It does.” It was the most precious gift anyone had ever given her.
“If this is happy, I’d hate to see sad.”
She tried to smile at his attempt to lighten the moment—she wanted to smile—but couldn’t quite manage it. Sitting up, she gathered the photos and stacked them in a neat pile.
“Thank you.”
“Jenny’s the one you need to thank. All I did was make a phone call. And if I hadn’t thought of it, you would have eventually.”
Probably, but Clint had thought of it first.
“When did you call Jenny?”
“The day after we made love. When you claimed that it had meant nothing to you. I was determined to win you over, and I thought it might help me.”
“It did.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his in a soft kiss. “You’re a wonderful man.”
“A couple of weeks ago you didn’t think that.”
“I was wrong.”
He reached for her hand and linked his fingers with hers. “Since you’re feeling so generous, how about giving
me another chance?”
“Another chance for what?”
“For us. I promise I’ll try my damndest to get it right this time.”
And she knew he would.
“Yes,” she whispered.
A smile lit his face and happiness radiated from his eyes. He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers.
“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth. She’d been denying the feeling for so long. It felt good to finally admit it, to release the words that had been yearning for freedom.
He pulled his head back the smallest degree, his gaze meeting hers. “Say it again,” he urged, his voice low and husky.
“I love you.”
His mouth covered hers in a hungry kiss. His tongue caressed the seam of her lips then slid past them to conquer and dominate her mouth. She offered no resistance, fully surrendering herself to the pleasure and desire coursing through her veins.
The kiss slowed, and when he lifted his head, bringing it to an end, she almost groaned in frustration. Her head was swimming, her body ached, and she wanted his mouth back on hers.
“Are you ready to listen now?” he asked.
It took a minute for his words to register and even then they didn’t make sense. “Listen to what?”
“We need to talk about what happened at that party.”
“I don’t care anymore. It doesn’t matter.”
He stared at her for a long moment then finally said, “I want to tell you.”
She shook her head.
“Tricia, I need to tell you. I don’t want there to be anything standing between us.”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. Talking about it would only make her relive the incident. She’d rather just try to forget it.
Besides, there was nothing that could excuse his behavior. She feared he’d try to justify it, which would only end up making her angry all over again. She didn’t want to be angry with him.
Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone?
But the determination in his eyes made it clear that he intended to have his say. And a part of her knew he was right. They did need to discuss it, face it head-on, deal with it, and then move past it. Otherwise, as he claimed, it would always be there, like a wound that never heals.