by Tiffany Snow
“Jackson . . . ,” I warned.
“I see them.”
There was no way around it. We were either going to smash into the back of the semi going more than a hundred miles an hour, or the back of the SUV it was passing. Neither option was good for them or us.
Very carefully, I began to steer the Jag onto the shoulder. It was notched pavement, meant to warn and wake up sleepy drivers drifting from the road. But when my wheels touched the bumps, it took all my strength to hold the wheel that threatened to jerk out of my control.
I was terrified, part of me unable to believe this was even happening. And even as our speed began to slow, we were nearly on top of the cars in front of us, and I had to make a decision. Ramming into them going this speed would certainly slow us down, but we might not survive. Not to mention the poor, unsuspecting drivers.
Or I could steer off the road to where the ground was thick with dead grass and weeds, and pray that slowed us down to a stop.
There was no choice. “Brace yourself,” I told Jackson.
I turned the wheel slowly, driving us off the road, and saw Jackson grip the dash out of the corner of my eye.
We bounced down the ditch and up, becoming airborne for a split second, then landed with a teeth-shattering crash. The tall grass and undergrowth became tangled around the wheels, and the steering wheel wouldn’t respond. We were still going over seventy when, to my horror, I saw a deer flash by in front of us.
The impact was deafening, the windshield shattering as blood and gore splattered, and the world turned upside down as an airbag exploded in my face.
7
Vague impressions of screeching steel and lots of voices. My body hurt all over, and I couldn’t see properly. My left arm was numb. I closed my eyes as hands lifted me from the seat. I smelled fresh air and burned rubber. Lots of people talking and yelling. Sirens screaming in the distance.
I was on the hard ground now, the only still thing in the midst of commotion all around. Forcing my eyes open, I saw gray sky above me. It took every ounce of will I had to turn my head to look around.
Jackson. They were just laying him on the ground a few feet away from me. He was unconscious. At least, I prayed he was unconscious.
I blinked, turning my head again, and saw a blurry face standing above me. I blinked again, squinting and trying to bring the features into focus.
“Clark?”
But then he was gone, replaced by paramedics who asked me questions I was too tired to answer, so I closed my eyes again.
Mia was hovering like a mother hen, fussing over me. Did I need more water? Were my pillows okay? Was I cold? Was I hot? Did I need something to eat?
“I’m fine,” I reiterated for the tenth time. “I have bumps and bruises, Mia.”
“And a broken wrist,” she reminded me.
“A sprained wrist,” I corrected her. “I only need to wear the brace for a couple of days.”
“At least it was the left arm and not the right.” She spread a blanket over my lap and adjusted the couch cushions.
“It could have been so much worse.” Images of the accident flashed through my head. The pictures I’d seen afterward of the mangled wreckage from which Good Samaritans had pulled us free. Jackson had escaped major injury as well, thank God, but his life was insured so heavily, they called the hospital and required him to stay overnight for observation.
As it was, I looked like I’d been in a fistfight . . . and lost. Bruises spotted my face, torso, and arms. But all of it was surface and temporary. Not that it had been meant to be.
Someone had tried to kill us.
I’d told the police about the truck chasing us and that I hadn’t gotten a look at the driver. There had been little they could do, and I wondered if they’d even believed me, and that I wasn’t just making excuses for losing control of the car while driving at high speed. They would need to tear apart the car to see if what I’d said about the brakes was true.
I took a long, hot bath, which helped with my aches and pains. My cell rang while I was soaking, and I smiled when I saw who it was.
“Desperate to get out of there?” I asked Jackson.
“You have no idea.”
I laughed at the pure frustration in his voice. “It’s good that you’re staying. An accident like that . . . I’m shocked that we weren’t seriously hurt.”
“Thanks to you,” he said. “Your driving was nothing short of phenomenal. If that deer hadn’t been there, we would’ve been fine.”
“Yeah. I bet he’d say the same, if he could.” At least it had been a quick death for the poor creature.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” I said, resting my head on the back of the tub. My glasses were fogging up, so I closed my eyes. “Bumps and bruises. I guess we can advise Jaguar that their safety features in that model work very well.”
There was quiet for a moment. “I wish I could be with you. I need to hold you.”
The tears I’d fought all evening stung the backs of my eyes. “Me, too.”
“Lance dropped off my car, so I’ll come as soon as I’m discharged in the morning.”
“Okay.” I pushed my glasses up my nose even though they were too foggy to see out of properly. “Jackson . . . someone tried to kill us. Or you. That-that’s a pretty big deal.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“That thing in the car. You have no idea what that was or who would have put it in the car?”
“I told you that I didn’t.” He sounded irritated. But I didn’t believe him, and that bothered me. A lot.
“Is Mia taking care of you?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Of course.” I cleared my throat. “She’s been force-feeding me Fig Newtons and hot tea while watching Supernatural episodes back-to-back.”
“She knows your love language.”
I smiled. “True. She cares about me. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“Is she like a sister? Or a daughter?”
That was a meaning-laden question, given our lack of discussion about children. The ring on my left hand slipped and slid around my wet finger. I looked at the glittering stone. “Both, kind of. I’ve never really seen myself as a mother. Most of the time, I barely see myself as an adult.”
“I know we haven’t discussed it, but you should know that I’d like children. At least one. Preferably two.” There was a pause. “What about you?”
I took a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. “Honestly, I haven’t thought about it very much. I don’t feel ready for that. Not yet.”
“We don’t have to have kids right away. I just want to know it’s not something you’ve already ruled out.”
“Of course not. But I’m . . . relieved that you want to wait awhile. I think it’s going to be an adjustment. I’ve never considered or imagined being a parent before. It’ll take me some time to wrap my head around the idea.”
“We certainly don’t have to decide anything now,” he said. “My pain meds are kicking in anyway, putting my ass to sleep.”
That snorted a giggle from me. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Good night.”
“’Night. Love you.”
“Love you more.” He ended the call before I could get in the last word.
Kids again. The last thing on my mind was having children. I was still focused on the fact that Jackson and I had barely escaped with our lives today. And had that really been Clark that I’d seen, standing above me? It seemed like a dream now, though I could’ve sworn . . .
But I hadn’t been wearing my glasses at the time, and I’d just been in a horrible crash. Maybe I’d hallucinated him. Or thought one of the people helping us had looked like him.
Speaking of Clark, I wondered where he was. If he was okay. It had been wishful thinking that I’d thought I’d seen him. I was worried, that was all.
“Well, this is a sight worth dying for.”
My eyes snapped open and I jerked upright in the bathtub. Water sloshed onto the floor as I yanked off my fogged glasses.
“Clark?”
I wasn’t hallucinating this time. It was him. Standing in the bathroom. With me.
And he was bleeding.
“Oh my God, Clark!” I jumped up, ignoring the aches and pains protesting in my own body. “What happened to you?”
I caught him just as his knees gave out, my wrist sending a stab of pain through me, making me wince. Clark’s weight was twice mine, and I strained to keep him upright. His knees hit the floor, taking me down with him. I landed on top of him on the bathroom floor.
“This was worth waiting for,” Clark murmured. His eyes were shut and his face was white. But his hands were on my bare ass.
“What happened?” I scrambled to the side, ripping open his jacket. Blood stained his white T-shirt. It froze me for a second, then I ripped his shirt from neck to hem.
A bullet hole—an honest-to-God bullet hole—was in his upper torso. I didn’t know what to do. Pressure. I grabbed a towel and held it over the wound, pressing hard.
“Fuck,” Clark groaned, his eyes popping open. “That hurts.”
“Good,” I snapped. “You get shot and then you show up here? Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”
“Can’t,” he gritted out. “I’m kind of a wanted man. Remember?”
Oh yeah. There was that. If I took him to the hospital, they’d patch him up, then arrest him.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said. “I can put pressure on it, but that’s all. The only medical training I have is CPR.”
“I wouldn’t mind some mouth-to-mouth, but that’s not going to stop the bleeding.”
“No shit,” I snapped.
“You just need to get the bullet out,” Clark said between hissed breaths. “Use tweezers. It didn’t go through.”
I scrambled to my feet. Tweezers. Mia had made me buy a pair for my eyebrows, not that I plucked them. It hurt. She did it for me when she was able to run me down.
Top drawer on the left. Yes, there they were. And I had my first-aid kit in the lower cabinet. I poured the rubbing alcohol over the tweezers with hands that shook. Alcohol splattered on the counter.
I dropped back down to my knees and pried open the kit. Saline solution. Gauze. Tape. Clark had closed his eyes, but they slitted open when I took away the towel.
“Do you want something to bite down on?” I asked.
His brows drew together in a frown. “What?”
“In the movies. They always give the hero something to bite down on when there is no anesthesia available. I may have a leather belt—”
“First,” he grunted, “I’m not the hero. Second, I’ll take my chances. Third, don’t tell me details about the leather belt. Let me use my imagination.”
I still hesitated. What if I messed up? What if I made it worse?
“Do it,” he said sharply. “It’s not going to climb out on its own.”
“Okay.” I squeezed the tweezers tight in my hand. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
My glasses were clear now, thank goodness, and I had to block everything else from my mind as I looked into the wound.
I didn’t know much about medical practice, but I knew if he’d been hit somewhere vital, he’d be in a lot worse shape. By some rainbow that seemed to follow Clark like a blessing, he’d been shot in the shoulder, which I’m sure hurt like hell, but it had hit muscle rather than organs.
I eased the tweezers into the hole, opening it further, until I saw a glint of brass. The bullet. It was intact and in one piece. I sucked in a deep breath. My glasses were sliding down my nose, but I couldn’t take a moment to push them up. Clark was in pain and losing blood. And he’d come to me to help him.
The bullet was slippery and it took too long for the tweezers to grab hold of it. I was near tears of frustration when I was finally able to move it. Holding my breath, I pulled it out, moving more slowly and carefully than I ever had about anything. When it was clear of Clark’s flesh, I let out my breath in a huff of relief. The tweezers and bullet fell from my suddenly numb fingers, and I thanked God again that my left wrist and not my right had been injured.
The adrenaline drained out of me as I pressed the towel again to the wound, now oozing fresh blood. My glasses had slipped so far down, I just tossed them away. I was crying, but just now realized it.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Clark said, putting his uninjured arm around me. “You did good.”
I wanted to yell at him and hit him and hug him all at once. I settled for collapsing on top of him, still holding the towel to the wound. I needed to bandage it, too, but couldn’t rally the energy at the moment. The adrenaline was gone, leaving me limp and weak.
Neither of us spoke. His arm was still around my waist, and tears still leaking from my eyes fell onto his chest. It was utterly silent. All I could hear was the sound of his breathing and the rhythmic thud of his heart beating inside his chest.
Clark moved, reaching for another towel, and dragged it over me. “You’re shaking,” he said.
I nodded, sitting up and wrapping the towel around me. I wiped my wet cheeks with the back of my hand, put my glasses back on, and took a deep breath.
“Why do you look like you’ve been moonlighting as a bouncer?” he asked. The words were rough, but the knuckle he dragged along my cheek was gentle.
I grimaced at the reminder. “Car wreck. Today. We were lucky.”
“We?”
“Jackson and me. He’s in the hospital overnight, but we both walked away. I’ll tell you all the details later, but for now you need to conserve your energy.”
“Thank you,” he said. “For helping me.”
“You didn’t leave me much choice.” And I wasn’t done yet. I checked the wound, and the bleeding had finally stopped. I poured some saline solution into it, hopefully washing away all the bad stuff, then carefully packed and bandaged him. All the while, he remained still on the floor, watching me.
“I expected that you’d pass out,” I said.
His eyes were brilliant and I focused on them. My hair had come free from the loose bun I’d put it in for the bath, and he reached up to play with the tendrils, draping them over my bare shoulder.
“I had a distraction,” he said, his finger sliding down my arm.
The look in his eyes wasn’t one of pain, and I hurriedly glanced away.
Getting to my feet, I said, “You can’t lie on the floor all night. Let me help you up.” I kept one hand on my towel, where I’d tucked in a corner so I wouldn’t lose it, and held out my other to him. He took it, and with a grimace and a few curses under his breath, stood. He promptly swayed, and I grabbed him around the waist.
“Don’t you dare fall,” I said. “You’ll hit your head, and I’m not strong enough to carry you.”
“God, you’re bossy,” he groused, but he was steadier, and we made it out of the bathroom and into my bedroom in one piece.
Leading him to the bed, I sat him down and went back into the bathroom to retrieve his jacket and ruined shirt. When I returned, he still hadn’t moved from where he sat, clad in only his jeans and boots.
Dried blood was smeared on his chest and bicep, and his eyes were closed. He looked as though it was all he could do to remain upright.
Hurrying into my closet, I threw on my Hoth pajamas, then got a package of wet wipes from the bathroom. My hair was already a mess, so I pulled out what remained of my bun and set the hair tie aside.
I knelt on the floor by Clark’s feet and began undoing the laces of his boots. He must’ve been sleeping while sitting up because he jerked, startled, when I tried to tug one off.
“What’re you doing?”
“You’re not getting my sheets dirty with your shoes,” I said, tugging harder. It was hard to do one-handed, and they were a snug fit.
“I can do that.” He brushed my
hands aside and removed his shoes himself, though his movements were slower than usual.
“Okay, then lie down,” I said once the offending footwear was discarded. I gently pushed him sideways and he obediently fell back onto the pillows. Scrambling onto the other side, I knelt next to him and started cleaning off the blood. This time, I’d found my latex gloves in the med kit and put those on. If I’d been thinking more clearly earlier, that would’ve been a smart thing to do.
“What’s with the latex, doc?” he asked.
“Precautionary,” I said. “I should’ve had them on earlier.”
“You’re safe. I’m not carrying any cooties.” He was watching me again, in that way that made me want to look anywhere else but into his eyes.
I focused on my task: cleaning the blood from his skin. Clark’s very soft, very well-muscled body, with just the right amount of hair across his pectoral muscles. It was very . . . manly . . . though I didn’t consider myself someone who liked chest hair. Jackson’s chest was virtually hairless, which I’d always considered a plus.
Clark’s bicep was bigger than both of my arms put together, and he wasn’t even flexing.
“Did you know that the word cootie actually comes from a Malay word meaning ‘dog tick’?” I asked. “Supposedly, British soldiers from World War I brought back the word and used it to refer to the lice in the trenches that multiplied and spread terribly.”
Clark said nothing, just watching me in that steady way of his while I prattled on. There was blood smeared on his stomach, too. The skin below his pecs was smooth and hairless until right above his navel.
“Of course, people don’t often know that ‘cootie’ is also used in the phrase ‘cootie catcher,’ which is something I’m sure you’ve seen—”
“I usually call them something else,” he drawled.
I paused. “Really? They’ve also been called a paper fortune-teller, a whirlybird, a chatterbox, or a salt cellar. The origami method is simple, which is why most children are the creators of cootie catchers.” I resumed my task. He was nearly clean now. Just some on his side by his rib cage. “I never played with one, of course, but I’ve seen many children do so.”