“I owe you an apology.”
Although she found the courage to say the words, she still felt like a coward, staring down at her plate instead of looking at him.
“You don’t owe me an apology because you were right,” he said. “I shouldn’t have been riding a bike at that time of night. It’s hard enough to see cars much less someone on a bicycle. Especially when you aren’t expecting it.”
“I didn’t mean that.” She dropped the fry she’d been using to draw patterns in her ketchup and lowered her hands into her lap, hiding them away from view. “I mean, I’m sorry for that, too. And I’ll pay for any damages to your bike—”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“But what I really need to apologize for is what happened at Ethan’s funeral. What I did. What I said.” She rubbed her sweaty palms across the tops of her thighs. “I should never have blamed you. It wasn’t your fault and I’m so very, very sorry I ever said that.”
“Hey, Rach?” He reached across the table and rested his hand next to her plate, right in her line of sight. When she looked up at him, she realized he was waiting for her to do just that. His dark brown eyes looked back at her with such kindness. “You don’t need to apologize. You were grieving. It’s completely understandable. Besides, it was a long time ago.”
The tears began welling in her eyes and she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop them. “Sometimes it feels like it just happened.” She hiccupped. “Other days it feels like he’s been gone a lifetime. Or that I imagined him in the first place.”
Rachel shielded her eyes from view as the tears spilled over and soaked her face. She was doing her best to not draw any attention, discreetly wiping away the tears, keeping her sniffles to a bare minimum. Then she felt a bump against her wrist and she lowered one hand to look at him.
“Here,” he said, offering her a stack of napkins.
She whispered her thanks and went about drying her face, hoping that she did a good enough job she wasn’t left with raccoon eyes.
“You know,” Rachel said after exchanging one dampened napkin for another. “He used to talk about you all the time. Lucky this and Lucky that. Always Lucky, Lucky, Lucky.” Her heart ached with the memory, but thinking of Ethan never failed to make her smile. “God. He made me crazy back then. Our brothers were so much older than him. They didn’t take time to teach him a jump shot or show him how to throw a curve ball. But you did.”
She looked up at him then, saw the smile on his face.
“He told you all of that?”
It was amazing the number of people that became irritated with her whenever she was overcome with sadness at her brother’s death, or even wanted to talk about him at all. But apparently her reminiscing didn’t bother Lucky. “Like I said, he talked about you all the time.”
“Ethan was a good kid. Funny. And, considering he liked to show up at the most inopportune times, a bit of a pest. Kind of reminds me of his sister.”
“Of me?” She furrowed her brows. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you recall walking in the exam room and having a good long look at my ass while my pants were on the floor and I was bleeding profusely?”
She felt her skin heat in embarrassment. “I wasn’t looking at your ass,” she countered. “I was admiring all those shoulder and back muscles. And you weren’t bleeding profusely. You barely even had a scratch.”
Lucky laughed out loud this time, a full-bodied laugh instead of just a chuckle. And then, much to her surprise, she caught herself laughing along with him for the second time since they’d sat down.
It was at that moment she knew they would become great friends. And she firmly believed that Ethan was responsible for the entire thing.
Chapter Four
RACHEL TURNED IN a slow circle, surveying the living space. While it was clean and the fixtures far newer than most of the rental properties in town, she just wasn’t sure whether she could live here. Even for the short term.
For one, the location was a little . . . remote. Sure, the owner was only a quarter mile down the lane. And not sharing walls and floors and ceilings with rowdy college kids was always a plus. The quiet during the day would be lovely. But the nights she would be home, they would be the scary kind of quiet. The kind where every creak, every coyote howl, every moonlit shadow, would have her heart racing in a matter of seconds.
Then there was the fact it was a mobile home.
Having been born and raised in Oklahoma and witness to twenty-nine tornado seasons, she knew just how mobile the suckers really were. Like, pick them up and dump them in the middle of a field a mile or so away.
“There’s a tornado shelter out back,” the owner said as if reading her mind.
She forced a smile. “Oh, that’s good to know.”
Walter Culpepper, the owner of said trailer, was a standard issue good ol’ boy. From the graying hair and receding hairline, she guessed he was nearing sixty if he wasn’t already. He wore the ranch owner’s uniform of Wrangler jeans, boots, and a plaid shirt with pearl snaps stretching over his potbelly.
“So . . . what do ya think?” With his thumbs tucked in his front pockets, he rocked back and forth on his feet, a hopeful smile on his face. Just like a little kid waiting to be told he’d “done good.”
“It’s nice. Quiet.”
“I liked it.”
“You lived here?”
His nod wasn’t more than a slight dip of the chin. “Bought this place and moved it here after I got divorced in ’04. My dad lived in the main house until he passed last spring.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
He waved off her condolences. “Mean ol’ coot lived to be ninety-six,” he said with a chuckle. “Definitely nothing to be sorry about.”
“So . . .” Rachel took one look around the empty living room, dining room, and kitchen. “Five hundred dollars a month. Is there a deposit?”
“To be real honest, I don’t know anything about deposits and leases and all that. Anyways, my ex-wife’s sister-in-law vouched for you, so that’s enough for me.”
She smiled at that. If there was one advantage to living in a small town, it was people knew each other. And desk clerk, Dottie, was her new favorite person. The only way Rachel had even found out about this place was because Dottie saw her checking rental property listings on Craigslist during her lunch break.
“Are you sure?”
“To be honest, I don’t really need the money. This place is paid for, but I thought if someone wanted to rent her for a bit, then I’d use that money to haul her over to a lot on the lake. But I’m not in any hurry though. So—” Walt clapped his beefy hands together “—let’s just do five hundred a month and that’ll include your water and power and trash. If you want television you could hook up the satellite dish in your name. Afraid there’s no cable out this way.”
Finally some good fortune was coming her way.
Rachel fought to contain her excitement, just so Walter wouldn’t suddenly realize he could charge her a heck of a lot more. “That’s fine. How soon can I move in?”
“Anytime you want.”
“I work weekend nights in the ER. So . . . next week? Would Monday be too soon?”
“Like I said, anytime you want will be just fine.” Walter smiled and handed her the keys. “Just lock her up on your way out.”
“Oh . . . okay. Thank you!” she called to him as he headed out the front door.
She curled her fingers around the two brass keys on a plain key ring. For the first time in her life, she would be completely on her own. Living alone, paying her own bills, answering to no one but herself. While the idea of a new beginning was exciting, it also scared the total crap out of her.
Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket for the third time in ten minutes. She didn’t need to look at it to know it was
Curtis. Wondering where she was, when she was coming home, whether or not she was stopping at the grocery store and bringing home breakfast.
Instantly, her previous fears vanished.
She needed to focus on the positive. Like the fact she’d crossed the first major item off her first list—find an affordable place to live. Was it her dream home? Not even close. But was it affordable enough she didn’t require a roommate? Absolutely.
Now all she needed to do was find someone who didn’t know Curtis and would be willing to help her move.
And she had just the man in mind.
IN THE SHORT amount of time he’d worked at the hospital, Lucky had gained quite a reputation for himself. When he saw nurses or other techs having a hard time drawing blood or starting IVs, he’d politely offer his assistance. Time and time again, he succeeded when others had failed.
It also helped working with docs like Chad Ferguson, guys who appreciated Lucky’s medical training and battlefield experience. Chad knew Lucky’s qualifications far exceeded the medical certification given to him by the state and so he trusted him completely to handle patients others might have found challenging. Like Mrs. Hembree, a little old lady with bad veins and suffering from dehydration. Plenty of people would have a tough time with her. But for Lucky, treating a patient under good lighting and a sterile environment was a cakewalk.
Lucky pulled back the curtain to find a tiny slip of a woman, not more than ninety pounds, curled into the fetal position on the gurney. Sitting next to the bed was the granddaughter, a heavyset woman probably not much older than him.
“My name is Lucky,” he said, offering his hand to the granddaughter. “I’ll be helping to take care of your grandmother.”
Immediately she hopped to her feet with a smile conveying a far happier disposition than she should have considering the circumstances. Not that there were any indications that Grandma was on the verge of death or anything. But still.
“Angela.” She shook his hand while simultaneously fluffing her hair with her free hand. “Are you a doctor?”
“Afraid not.”
Her smile slipped and she released his hand. “Are you a nurse, then?”
“No, I’m a technician. Kind of like a paramedic.”
A full-fledged scowl replaced her smile. “I want her to see a doctor.”
“And she will. Dr. Ferguson will come in when he’s available.”
What he didn’t tell her was that Chad was currently taking a well-deserved nap in the exam room next door and had left specific instructions to only disrupt him if something critical, exciting, or unusual came in. Dehydrated little old ladies, unfortunately, didn’t fall into any of those categories. It was likely Chad would only come in once all the labs were run and Mrs. Hembree was ready to be admitted upstairs.
Angela dropped back into her chair with a huff as he turned his focus to the patient.
“Mrs. Hembree,” he said, taking her hand in both of his. “Since you’ve been running a fever for a couple of days, we’re going to start with an IV. Once we get some fluids in you, we’ll draw some blood and figure out what’s going on here. Okay?”
The little old woman looked up at him with sad, blue eyes. “I hurt all over.”
“I know, sweetheart. We’ll take good care of you. I promise.”
Rachel arrived with an armful of blankets from the warmer and helped change Mrs. Hembree into a hospital gown. After piling the blankets on top of her, Lucky wrapped an extra blanket around her arm to help bring her veins to the surface, all while the granddaughter watched him with an eagle eye.
As he waited for the blankets to work their magic, he did a second check of her blood pressure, pulse ox, and temperature, then reviewed the medications listed on her intake chart. Several minutes later, he unwrapped her arm and lowered it below heart level, looking for a vein. Rachel stood behind him, careful not to block his light as she leaned over his shoulder to watch.
“If you’re the nurse, why aren’t you doing this?” the granddaughter asked Rachel as he began palpating the veins in the antecubital space. “I don’t want my nana being used as a training dummy.”
Lucky bit down on the inside of his lip to keep from saying something that’d get him fired.
Rachel must have sensed he was pissed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I promise you, your grandmother is in excellent hands,” she said with a syrupy sweet tone. “She’s definitely got the best man for the job.”
What this woman didn’t know was that Rachel wasn’t standing there to supervise, but to learn. When the triage nurse offered Rachel Mrs. Hembree’s chart, she readily admitted she had a horrible time with dehydrated geriatrics. It just so happened that Doc Ferguson overheard and suggested she watch Lucky to see how he did it. After all, he’d spent a lot of time deployed to the sandbox where treating dehydrated patients was a common occurrence.
Unsatisfied with Rachel’s answer, the granddaughter huffed. And kept huffing. So much so, Lucky wouldn’t have been surprised if she passed out as a result. Then, with one last, dramatic huff, the woman rose from her chair and stormed out of the curtained area.
Lucky glanced back at Rachel and chuckled when she widened her eyes and whispered, “Uh-oh.” They both knew what was coming next. And Lord help the person who woke Doc Ferguson from his nap for a dehydrated geriatric.
“Since she’s gone, tell me exactly what you’re doing. Step by step.” Rachel leaned closer, the scent of her shampoo tickling his nose.
He’d dealt with all kinds of distractions over the years, but never one quite like her.
Lucky took his time, showed her how he used the 22-gauge needle and went at the vein from the side to keep it from rolling on him. “Because she’s dehydrated, you have to take your time,” he explained. “Otherwise, you’ll blow the vein.”
She watched closely as he waited for the flashback, pushed a little fluid, and secured it with tape.
“Voilà,” he said. “Success.”
Rachel offered him a polite little golf clap. “Nicely done.”
Within thirty minutes, Mrs. Hembree had perked up quite a bit, although she was still running a fever. Thankfully, the granddaughter had only returned briefly during that time, then quickly excused herself to make a phone call.
Lucky closed off the IV and waited a few minutes, preparing to draw blood from her other arm.
“You remind me of my Harold.” While her voice was soft and shaky, Mrs. Hembree’s eyes were clear and focused.
“And who would that be?” Lucky strapped the tourniquet around her arm, formed her fingers into a fist, and held them there.
“He was my third husband.”
“Third?” He inserted the butterfly needle into her arm and waited for the first collection tube to fill.
“Oh, yes. My first husband was a boy I went to school with. He lived on the farm next door so we walked to school together. And when we were older, we wandered off into the woods together to do other things.” Her eyes twinkled with mischievousness. “He was killed in a tractor accident just months after we were married.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me, too. But it’s nice to think he’ll always be young and beautiful.”
“What about number two? Was he young and beautiful as well?” He removed the first tube and tipped it side to side before placing it on the tray.
“My second was a rat bastard of a man who drank our bank account dry. I wasn’t sorry when the sheriff showed up on my door to tell me they’d found his truck at the bottom of a ravine.” She paused. “He died.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. Many prayers were answered that day.”
Lucky could only shake his head. Never in a million years would he ever have imagined this sweet old woman would say something like that. He inserted the second collection tube into the holder an
d waited.
“But like I said, you remind me of my Harold. Such kind eyes.” She smiled at him. “I was only twenty-four when my second husband died and in our small town rumors began to circulate that I was cursed. Men would cross to the other side of the street when they saw me leaving the market as if I had something to do with my previous husbands’ deaths. Like I was a witch or something.
“I was alone for a long time until I met Harold. He fought in the war and survived being shot several times during the Battle of the Bulge, although he used a cane the remainder of his days. Despite being ten years older than me, he asked if he could walk me home one Sunday after church. Told me I was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. We married three weeks later and had five children together. Such a smart man. Great with numbers. Sadly, he died seven years ago.”
With the final tube filled, he removed the needle and replaced it with a cotton ball, taping it down to hold it in place. “Any plans to remarry?”
“Me? Heavens, no. If I were to meet anyone now I’d do just like you young kids do and live in sin.”
He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “That’s what my father and his girlfriend are doing. Living in sin.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. They’ve only been living together a few months. Her husband died a few years ago and if she were to remarry she’d lose his government pension.”
“Smart woman. Are you married?”
“No, ma’am.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “And why is that? You’re not a rat bastard, are you?”
“I certainly hope not,” he said with a chuckle. “I just don’t have time to date.”
“I find that hard to believe. What about that nurse that was in here earlier? She’s pretty.”
That was true. Instead of a sleek ponytail, today Rachel wore her hair clipped up in a twist. Fine strands that had escaped their hold framed the sides of her face. The royal blue scrub top only made her eyes looks that much bluer, despite the dark circles shadowing her eyes. A sure sign she was still trying to adjust to the vampire shift schedule. And, as always, she smelled fantastic.
Here And Now (American Valor 2) Page 4