by Anna Argent
After fifteen minutes with the woman, it became clear that Dr. Grace was smart, talented, kind and gentle. In fact, as far as Hanna could tell, there was no virtue this woman didn't possess.
Dr. Grace finished the last of the stitches and dressed the wound with expert efficiency. Hanna had hardly felt a thing after the first round of numbing medicine.
"You'll need to keep it clean and dry," Dr. Grace said. "The bandage is in a tricky spot to reach, so if you need help changing it, come by the office and the nurse will help."
"I'll take care of it," Nate said from his perch in the corner. He'd been there the whole time, despite his mother's not-so-gentle hints that he should leave.
In the end, Hanna had the final say, and it seemed mean of her to kick out Nate when he seemed so worried.
"It would be better if you came here," Dr. Grace said, pinning her son with a hard stare.
"She doesn't have a car to get here. She's staying at the Yellow Rose."
The doctor sighed. "That's a bit too far to walk, and those narrow, curvy roads aren't safe on foot, anyway. I guess you'll have to put up with my son's help until you're on your way." A brief pause. "When is that, anyway?" she asked, her grin a bit too bright and hopeful.
The good doctor apparently wanted Hanna out of town as much as she wanted to leave.
"As soon as my truck is fixed," she said, pretending the question had been innocent.
Dr. Grace scribbled on a pad and ripped off a single sheet. "Antibiotics to prevent infection. When was your last tetanus shot?"
"Three years."
"Okay, then. I think you're good to go." She rifled through a cabinet and tucked some gauze pads and tape in a sack. "This will get you started, but you'll need to change the dressing regularly, okay?"
"Will do," said Hanna, hopping down from the table.
"And you'll need to have the stitches removed in about ten days, so see a doctor wherever you are at that time."
Hanna knew that wasn't going to happen. She'd taken out stitches before, though never on her back.
"And don't do anything too strenuous. You need to give your body time to heal."
"I'll make sure of it," Nate said.
Hanna saw his mother's sharp look at him, and ducked her head so she didn't intrude on their private mother-son wordless conversation.
Not that she needed to see the exchange to know the gist.
Mom didn't approve of her son taking care of Hanna.
Then again, Hanna didn't approve, either, so at least they had that in common.
"A word, Nate?" asked Dr. Grace.
Hanna slipped down the hall, giving them their privacy. As soon as she checked out with the older lady at the front desk, she asked her to tell Nate that she was going to walk down to the pharmacy she'd spied a few blocks away.
Let mother and son take all the time they needed. Hanna had her own issues to digest.
She was so used to the men in her life being users and losers, she'd assumed Nate was the same. She was certain that a man as sexy as he was would take from her whatever he could get and then leave her when she needed him most. But now that she knew Nate, now that she'd seen him in action, and now that she'd met his family and seen what honorable, upright citizens they were, she knew the truth.
A few years ago, before Jack, things had been different. But now her future was no longer the bright, shiny place she'd dreamed of with her own business and happy clients lined up for months. She was homeless, between jobs, with no money and few possessions. It was just her, a bundle of clothes, and a beat-up truck running away from a shitty life and an even shittier family.
It was no wonder Nate's mom wanted to talk to him—warn him—because he wasn't the loser in this relationship.
Hanna was.
***
"This is a bad path you're on, son," Mom said as soon as the door to the exam room shut.
"What are you talking about?" Nate whispered.
"I know you want to help her, and I applaud that, but there are some things you just can't fix."
"Should I not have brought her here? That wound was too big to go without stitches."
"I don't mean the cut, honey. Of course, you should have brought her here. I mean the rest."
"What rest?"
Mom's mouth went flat. "I saw the way you looked at her. I saw the way you hovered over her and refused to leave her side. She's your latest project—a very pretty one—but it won't end well."
"First, she's a person, not a project. Second, how do you know how it will end? You spent all of fifteen minutes with her. You don't know a thing about her."
"I keep my ear to the ground."
"You mean you've been listening to gossip," he said, his tone sharp. The world would be a better place without the Tattletale Telegraph.
Mom straightened to her full height, and while it was impressive, she was still several inches shorter than her son. "Declan said she was sleeping in her car when you found her and probably can't pay for repairs on her truck. Flora said she wasn't able to afford food. Fern Simmons said that she lost her job in Cincinnati over some man. Those are things I would think a man as smart as you would want to consider before crossing a line."
"What line? It's not like I asked her to marry me. Hell, we haven't even slept together."
"But not because you weren't interested. Like I said, I saw the way you look at her."
"So what? I think she's hot. Does that mean I shouldn't lend her a hand while she's down on her luck?"
"No, but I know you. You have a pattern. You find some poor, wounded bird of a girl, then patch her up. And that's great. But when you're attracted to one, as you are to Hanna, your heart gets involved. Once she's back on her feet, she'll discard you and you'll get hurt. Again. A mother can only see her son repeat the same destructive behavior so many times before she does something to stop it."
Nate ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He wanted to yell, but couldn't bring himself to disrespect her like that. She was a great mom. She was only looking out for him. She didn't deserve his anger.
But she did deserve some boundaries.
"I'm a grown man. I'll help who I want, when I want. I'll hire who I want. And—not that it's any of your business—I'll sleep with who I want."
Mom pressed a hand over his heart. "I'm really proud of you for having such a big heart and helping people, but that's not all this is. She's going to hurt you, Nate."
He covered her cool hand, willing himself to stay patient. "You don't know that. Even if I do get romantically involved with her—which I haven't…" at least not as much as I'd like, he silently amended, "…you have no way of knowing what the future holds."
"Maybe not, but I do know the past. Hanna is a lovely girl, but she's just like the others—a victim of her own bad choices. Saving her will make you feel good. It will make her feel good. You'll be her hero for about ten minutes, and then when the crisis has passed, she'll no longer need you. Until the next crisis, that is. Or worse, she'll be the kind of girl who's always in need—a victim. You deserve to share your life with a heroine, Nate, not a victim."
"You make it sound like I'm some kind of idiot, falling for the wrong women over and over."
"Do you remember Pamela, Rebecca, Carly?"
A sick, hot acid filled his gut. Those women had used him. He liked to pretend that it hadn't hurt—that he was tougher than that—but even hearing those names gave him a little jolt of regret. They'd all sucked him in with their sob stories, and he'd been certain each time that he could save them.
He'd been wrong. They'd all gone back to the making the same bad choices that had landed them in trouble to begin with.
"Hanna isn't like them," he said, though he wasn't as sure now as he had been five minutes ago.
"Maybe she is. Maybe she isn't. Either way, she's not staying in Whisper Lake. Why tie yourself in knots over her when there's no future in it?"
"Would it help if I told you I just wanted to scr
ew her?"
Mom gave him a sad, knowing smile. "You're not Declan. Your feelings have always run deeper than most. It's one of the things that I love about you."
Nate shook his head. "I'm done talking about this with you, Mom. I've told you before that meddling in my romantic life is not okay."
"I'm your mother and a doctor. I have no choice but to fix damage when I see it and try to stop it from happening again."
"Then don't try to stop me from doing the same. Hanna needs my help. I'm going to give it to her. Rest assured that she's not interested in anything more from me than a job and a way back on the road to her new life."
"She may not be the mother of my future grandbabies, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have the power to hurt you."
"So what if she does? You'll be able to tell me you told me so, which I know is one of your favorite phrases to utter." He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm a big boy. I'm doing the right thing by helping a stranger in need—what you taught me to do. Try to be proud you raised me right, rather than worrying about my feelings. I'm not delicate."
Mom sighed. "You really are a great man. Just do me a favor and work on protecting yourself before you save the rest of the world, okay?"
He kissed her cheek and gave her a wink. "Stop worrying. I've got this."
"For your sake, I hope so."
Chapter Seventeen
Hanna counted out pennies to pay for her prescription and bandages, squirming under the impatient gaze of a man in a white lab coat. The small bottle of generic ibuprofen sat to the side, already discarded as a non-critical expense once she'd seen the total she owed. She didn't know when payday with Nate was, and she still had truck repairs to make before she could leave town. Not to mention feeding herself. Every penny counted.
At least today's doctor's bill could wait until her first—or second—real paycheck on her job in Oklahoma. She imagined it would take them that long to send the bill. Plus, without an address and merely her promise of calling with one when she was settled, no bills could come until she was ready.
The idea of paying Nate's mom late disgusted her, but she knew how expensive moving could be and hoped that her initial expenses for rent and utility deposits were not too horrible.
Another problem for another day. Right now, all she wanted was to get out from under the uncomfortable stare of the pharmacist and find a way to hold her shoulder that didn't tug at the stitches.
She walked a few more blocks down the street to Declan's shop. The place consisted of a large metal building with three garage bays. Inside, along one wall was an office area and a waiting room with a glass picture window overlooking the action. The smell of new rubber and old oil filled the space, along with a citric hint of degreaser and pine air freshener.
No one was in the waiting room. The office lights were off. Several cars were parked outside, and the LED sign reading MECHANIC ON DUTY shone in the outside window.
Inside the relative cool of the shadowy garage bays, she found what she was looking for.
Rex's hood was up, with wires and hoses spewing from him like entrails. The sight made some vital organ clench hot and tight in her gut. He looked past all hope, but yet she couldn't bring herself to write him off as a lost cause. Not yet. Maybe never.
A big man was bent over the engine of a convertible, his muscular back flexing as he worked.
"Declan?" she called as she approached, hoping she'd found him and not some other random mechanic.
Declan straightened. A grin spread across his face before he'd come to a full upright position.
He was a handsome man in a reckless kind of way, with no rhyme or reason to his casual style. His hair was a bit too long, his face shadowed with a bit too much stubble. His jeans were a bit too tight, and that gleaming smile a bit too charming. But on him, all of it looked good.
He was tattooed, pierced, rough around the edges, and exactly the type of man she'd always fallen for in her long and disappointing string of bad romantic choices.
"Heya, sweet thing. What brings you to my lair?" He peeled greasy blue rubber gloves from his hands and flung them into a nearby trash can with the ease of an MVP.
"I was hoping for a little good news on Rex. I really could use some."
"Aww. Poor little girl having a hard day? I'd offer to kiss you and make it better, but Nate would thump me for trying. My cousin's got a thing for you, sweet cheeks." His gaze warmed and dipped as he spoke, as if he could actually see how sweet her ass cheeks were through her body if he tried hard enough.
"Has the part come in?" she asked, working to steer this conversation back on track.
"I'm expecting it later today. I was just clearing the way so I could get it in nice and quick. I know what a hurry you're in."
"I appreciate that."
"You know, this place isn't half bad. You could stay a while. Enjoy a little R&R before the big new job starts. I bet Nate would be happy to show you all the sights. Handshake Rock is my personal favorite."
"I don't have time for sightseeing. I was just in town, so I thought I'd stop by and check on my buddy, here."
Declan's gaze dropped to the white paper back emblazoned with a large red RX symbol. "You okay?"
"Just a little mishap." One that was beginning to throb in time with her heartbeat.
Maybe leaving that ibuprofen behind had been a bad idea after all. She didn't know how she was going to keep working on the Yellow Rose without hurting herself, but she had to find a way to manage—even if it meant going back and suffering under the impatient gaze of the man in the white lab coat so she could count out more pennies to buy the little bottle of painkillers.
"It was a hell of a lot more than that," Nate said from behind her.
She jumped slightly, and the movement made her stitches pull tight. She winced and heard a small noise of pain pass through her lips before she could stop it.
He sounded upset when he spoke to Declan. Almost angry. "Mom had to sew her back up again."
She turned and saw a white sack matching her own clutched in his hand. He thrust it at her. "I went looking for you. You forgot this."
She took the sack and peered inside. In it was a bottle of painkillers, but not the tiny one she'd picked out. Nate had bought her the giant economy sized bottle of the name brand stuff that was supposed to work even faster in its fancy liquid form.
She knew how much the medicine cost.
He wasn't the loser in this relationship. He wasn't the one who couldn't afford a fucking bottle of pills.
"I don't need it," she said, thrusting the bag back at him. "Take it back."
"Like hell."
"What's got you all riled up, cousin?" Declan asked. "Did you get grounded?"
"Screw you, grease monkey. Next time my mom comes by trolling for gossip, just keep you damn mouth shut, okay?"
Hanna looked between the men, trying to figure out what was happening.
Declan shrugged one shoulder under his torn T-shirt. "No one denies Dr. Grace what she wants and lives to tell the tale. I was just playing nice, telling ol' auntie like it is."
"Next time, leave Hanna out of it."
Now she was really confused. "Leave me out of what?"
Declan leaned one hip casually against the bright red convertible. "The Tattletale Telegraph. Moves at the speed of sound, leaving no juicy bit of gossip untold and no wayward son unpunished."
That last part was about Nate. She could tell by the way his lip curled in a near snarl.
"Punished?" she asked. "For what?"
"Drop it, Dec," Nate warned.
Declan held up his hands in surrender, revealing a grease smear on one thick forearm. It was rusty brown against the black ink of his tattoo, obscuring the words written there so that Hanna couldn't read them.
"It's dropped. You all go on with your day and leave me to mine. I have a lot of work to do before I can get Sweet Cheek's beater all patched up and working right."
"Just the bare m
inimum," she reminded him. "No bells or whistles. I don't need radio or air conditioning or anything else. Just get Rex's wheels turning and let me be on my way."
Declan let out a deep belly laugh. "Have you ever been to Oklahoma in the summer, sweet thing?"
"Don't call her that," Nate said.
Declan ignored him. "It's hotter than Satan's anus. Air conditioning is neither a bell nor a whistle. It's a necessity."
"I've lived through hot summers before without air. I can do it again."
Nate shook his head. "I told him to fix it. I don't want to read about your mummified corpse on the side of the road."
"I can't afford it," she said, feeling her blood pressure rising along with her irritation. She bet neither of them had to worry about things like not being able to keep a decent car running.
The wound on her back throbbed in vicious retaliation for her emotional outburst.
Declan and Nate exchanged some silent communication that only men could understand.
"It's not that pricey," Declan said. "No worries."
Not pricey to him, maybe, but neither of them knew just how bad things were for her.
She didn't want them to know.
Nate held out his hand. "Let's get you home to bed, Hanna. You need to rest."
She realized in that instant that she was being handled. By both of them. And while being teamed up on by a pair of men as hot as these two was every girl's naughty little fantasy, this wasn't like any daydream she'd ever had.
To Declan, she said, "He's my truck. He may not be much, but he's mine. I get to say what gets fixed and doesn't." She turned to Nate. "And I'm not some china doll with a cracked head. It's a little cut. I'm fine to work."
She needed to work. How else was she going to get back on the road, away from Nate where she couldn't sully him with her loser ways?
"Over my dead body," Nate said, his gaze hard and unyielding.
She couldn't deal with this. She was tired, hurting, frustrated and overwhelmed. She would not be bullied on top of it all.
Hanna turned on her heel and left the shop to walk back to the Yellow Rose and prove she wasn't broken and helpless. Over her shoulder, she said, "Pay me or not, Nate, but I'm going back to work."