by LoRee Peery
“Ken. He’s OK, though. Will be.”
Dahlia sucked in a gasp.
“Dahlia?”
“I’m here, Mom. I’m at dinner with an old friend.” Holding herself together by the strength from keeping eye contact with Sloan, she swallowed. “Tell me what happened.”
“He’s OK,” her mom said. “They treated him in ER and plan to keep him overnight for observation.”
“Which hospital? I’ll come right away.”
“St. E’s. You don’t have to go. We were only allowed to see him a short time. The doctors requested he stay overnight just to make sure everything is all right. Carrie left her car at the boutique and is riding home with us. She’s not feeling well.”
Dahlia swallowed and cleared her throat. “What kind of accident? How bad was Ken hurt?”
Sloan slammed down his soda and motioned for the waiter to bring the check.
“Please. I need to know what happened.” Anger replaced the threat of tears. She ground her teeth together and held out the phone so Sloan could listen to her mother’s telling.
“An ammonia tank exploded.”
“His injuries?”
“His burns are superficial. He has extensive bruising.” Her mother sobbed, regained control. “The doctor gave him something for pain. He’ll be achy for a couple days. But I’m thankful. It could have been so much worse.”
“Walk me through it again. How can an anhydrous ammonia tank explode?”
Sloan turned the serious lawman. Rigid, he slammed his arms into his coat sleeves and reached for Dahlia’s. He settled his felt hat, and folded her powder blue coat over her shoulders. He marched them to the entryway and pulled out his own cell phone.
“The explosion came at him from below. It forced Ken upward. He wacked his head on the roof, and then he bounced forward onto the steering column. He was still bundled up because he’d been out since early morning.” Dahlia’s mother drew in a shaky breath, “Turns out his heavy coat was lined with fire retardant material. That’s what saved Ken. And the good Lord.”
“I can’t believe how blessed he is. OK, Mom. I’m leaving the restaurant. I’ll talk to you after you get home.”
Sloan met her at the outer door and helped her into her coat. “I’ll put someone at the hospital to keep an eye on Ken.”
“Thanks, Sloan.”
But pressure built while they walked to his car. He should have been protecting Ken.
“It better work. Your grand promise to keep Ken, I mean, your case safe, almost failed.”
“It’s natural to be angry. I am, too. This may have nothing to do with Rusty Ewing. I’m on it, but some things can’t be hurried.” His soft-spoken placating grated instead of soothed.
“I’m more than angry. I’m disappointed. You let me down. Maybe I should have asked for that other investigator to handle things.” She barreled ahead of him, resented his escort to her car. She grabbed the door handle, but she’d hit the wrong button and re-locked her hybrid.
“Settle down. Impatience will get you nowhere.”
She whirled and pressed into Sloan’s breathing space. “I’m so mad I could punch out your lights. You told me to trust you. You’d take care of it. Nothing would happen to Ken on your watch.”
“Hey, I can’t blame you for being mad. I’ve busted a couple knuckles in my time. It does no good to punch anything. Or anyone.”
How dare his lips twitch as if he tried not to grin? How dare his blue eyes sparkle under the outside lights? How dare he look so in control and handsome?
“You’re as out of control as a drunk.” He covered her hand with his and pressed the key fob so the alarm beeped. “Let me take you home or to the hospital.”
She recognized her own emotional state. The offer to see Ken in the hospital erased her hostility.
But as far as she was concerned, nothing had been resolved.
5
Dahlia jerked away from Sloan’s hand when he touched the small of her back on their way to his car.
Sloan read her well and made no attempt to talk on the drive to the hospital. It irked that he’d been right about her driving. She saw so much angry red she would have run red lights.
She hopped out of the car and almost ran through the parking garage in her eagerness to see Ken.
The hospital lights seemed overly bright.
Robot-like, she asked for Ken’s room number.
Sloan pushed the elevator button, and she counted numbers.
The doors swished open and she snapped out of her daze. Through the corridor, she scanned the passing room numbers for the one that housed her brother.
They found the door to Ken’s room shut.
She pressured the latch and it opened silently. She left it ajar after she passed through.
The room was lit only by outside light peeking from around the curtain edges.
Creeping to his side, she spoke Ken’s name.
He didn’t respond.
She listened to the muted sounds coming from the corridor, and then focused on the quiet room. The usual beeps and clicks, blood pressure, and the bed pumps.
She leaned in close, cheek to cheek, and whispered, “I love you, Kenny.” She ran her fingers down his arm, past the hospital I.D. band, and placed her hand in his.
He squeezed, mumbled “Fleur,” and flicked his fingers in the direction of the door.
She smiled through her tears at his signal to say goodnight.
She opened the door all the way to discover Sloan standing right outside. When they left, she spotted a uniform seated down the hall.
Dahlia spoke before the elevator door shut. “Thanks for sending someone to watch over Ken. I think I’m still mad he got hurt, but I feel better after seeing him.”
Sloan’s smile stabbed her heart. “The deputy’s a buddy of mine. Remember, this may turn out to be an accident.”
They were silent on the return to his car.
“Give me your keys, and I’ll see that your car gets home. Will you be all right by yourself or should I take you somewhere else?”
“I’m fine. It helped to see Ken with my own eyes. I’ll be much better once I see him awake and at home. Thank you, and I’m sorry for losing it earlier.”
“No reason to apologize. And I’m sorry I compared you to a drunk. I can’t imagine you in such condition.”
She was a mess by the time he parked in her drive. Tears had nearly blinded her the last two blocks. She’d heard the expression broken heart all her life. Right now, her heart epitomized such an image, the scar cracking open where she’d closed it off years before.
He reached the stoop behind her before she could unlock the door.
She had trouble with the key.
“Here, let me.” Sloan turned the key, got them inside, and then opened his arms. He kissed her temple. “God will watch over Ken.”
Her bottom lip quivered.
The way He watched over me when I wanted to say good-bye to Grandma? Doubt it.
Dahlia lost the fight to contain her tears and left his embrace to hang up her coat. Her hand shook. A small sob escaped. Her forehead slumped against the solid woodwork of the door.
“Come here.” Sloan’s low command slid over her like a fleece blanket on a December night. He guided her to the leather loveseat and pulled her onto his lap.
“What are you doing?” she sniffed.
“Helping you cry.”
“I don’t want to cry. I’m too strong for that.”
“Come on, Dahlia. Even Jesus wept. I’ll help.”
She let lose. The anger lessened when she realized she had no control over what had happened. After a few moments, her tears dried up.
She snuggled in, tempted to heed her heart’s prompting to explore the muscular man beneath dress jacket and shirt. She lifted her arms and wrapped them around Sloan. He felt so warm. Besides, the heat of his body pleased her more than any imagined blanket.
“I’m done-in for now, Sloan. I would have
fallen apart without you. I’m glad you’re here. People have the instinct to be loved, wanted, and needed as much as they seek the basic needs of food and water.”
“I’ll add spiritual needs to the mix.”
She pulled out of his comforting arms. “So does trust, Sloan. Ken is still alive, but how did this happen? I thought you had someone watching my brother. And why didn’t you go ahead and arrest Rusty?”
“Think this through, Dahlia. Who prepares for a tank explosion? Besides, we can’t arrest anyone based on reading between the lines. Ewing never asked my man to do anything specific for a price. We have to have grounds to make an arrest.”
Nerves and anger built until she worked up a frenzy of inner pressure. She couldn’t remember being so close to losing it. She refused to admit helplessness because she’d always been strong. But frustration fed her anger. It didn’t help to know her thoughts were contradictory.
“Take a deep breath. Think about what you’re feeling and saying.”
“You’re right.” She rose to her feet and went to the sideboard where she had set her bag. Normalcy returned when she planned which holiday clutch to replace her over-sized hobo bag. “I’m together now. I’m not one to fly off on such a tangent, I’m a woman of action. I can’t believe I let loose like that.”
“No problem, Dahlia. I’ll help you cry any time.”
“Your lap’s not so bad for helping me cry. But for the record, you’re around here to prevent accidents like that from happening to Ken. I still don’t know how Rusty pulled it off, but I know in my gut he had a hand in it. Why wasn’t one of your guys watching Ken?”
“Can you please get over blaming me?” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth.
She closed it and waited him out.
“Again, Rusty Ewing hasn’t hired a hit man, so the county can’t provide manpower. Rest assured my man is on the job. He’s waiting for Ewing to call, and a deputy is watching over Ken throughout the night. We may never know how this supposed accident happened, but we will try our best to find out. If it was set in motion, Ewing jumped the gun. He may have put his plan into play so he doesn’t have to pay, maybe even before we concentrated on the meet at the Willow bar.”
“Now, aren’t you one to play with words. I know my brother. He checks his machinery. I suppose you’re right. We won’t know until you can prove something.”
“Now you’re talking like the intelligent woman you are. I need to head on out.” He reached for her hand and they turned to the door in a side step. “Sure you’re all right?”
She couldn’t look away from his penetrating eyes.
“Ask the Lord to help you have a calm night. Take whatever is left of your frustration and anger at Him with you to church in the morning. And then we can go see Ken together. I’ll drive you.”
We’ll go see Ken, but I don’t even know which church to go to anymore.
He pulled her to him with the force of his gaze.
She swallowed and fought not to get lost in his brilliant blue eyes.
His expression softened, and he kept eye contact while he planted a soft butterfly kiss at the underside of her wrist.
Then he was gone into the night before she could say a word.
She held the door ajar, watching.
He turned back. “By the way, I get that you have trust issues. I once let you down. But it was a long time ago. Now you need to rely on the Lord the way you used to.”
“He let me down, too.”
Sloan backed her across the threshold and shut out the cold night. Moisture filled his eyes. “I’m trying to understand how you feel. But use logic. He didn’t leave you. I can’t figure out where you left Jesus.”
Why did Sloan have to be so real? So caring? He made her feel like a heel.
She swallowed. Cleared her throat. “I don’t know. I got busy. I’ve been doing things alone a long time.”
“I’ll pray you find Him. He isn’t lost.”
“Then I suppose I left my belief behind. I begged Him to give me a chance to say good-bye to Grandma. She slipped away in her sleep, and I never looked into her eyes again. I used to cling to ‘Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you.’ He wasn’t there when I cried for the forever you promised. And I felt He ignored me when Grandma was dying.”
“Look into my eyes, Dahlia. You can trust me to do my job to keep Ken safe because the outcome is in God’s hands. I want to give you the chance to get to know I keep my promises. I believe God does as well. You and I both deserve the chance to see what we can be together. I want to see you believe in God’s promises again. As soon as this is all over.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of telling me I need Him? Goodnight, Sloan.”
After he left, she rattled through her rooms. Looking for a diversion, she planned her wardrobe for Sunday. She set out high-heeled blue suede boots. Jeans in a lighter shade with fake azure and sapphire jewels decorating the outside seam. She paired a wine-red lace cami with a shirt that always reminded her of a ripe plum. Her lined denim jacket, trimmed in a tiny feminine ruffle, finished the look.
She couldn’t sleep and still fought the urge to return to the hospital and ease down beside Ken. Close enough to take some of his pain.
Then she alternated between sad and mad. Could Carrie possibly be involved with Rusty? Had she indeed made him believe she’d trade him for Ken? If Rusty Ewing came so close to getting away with murder, wouldn’t he, or the guy he tried to hire, attempt murder again? That would be Sloan’s man.
She needed sleep. Calm down.
What could Dahlia do about it other than what she had?
Besides, if Ken thought enough to call her flower, he was going to get through this.
She concentrated on blue hues behind her closed eyelids: all the beautiful blue things in The Blue Dahlia, from peacock feathers to periwinkle to cobalt and beyond. She pictured the dark flocked tree that glowed blue in the night-lights she and Carrie had had so much fun decorating.
Suddenly, the oddest sensation washed over her. To thank the Lord. After all, Christmas was the celebration of His birth.
Calmer, she remembered reading somewhere in the Bible that the night makes life’s issues more problematic than in the light of day. But why, after so many years away from God’s Word, would she wonder about a passage in the Bible?
Sloan.
Would God use Sloan in her life for more than Ken’s protection?
From out of the blue, she formed a prayer.
Forgive me, Lord. Help me discern what I can do on my own, and what I need Your help with. I want to trust in You again. But I don’t know if I’m ready. Show me a fulfilled promise. Then again, I admit I’m afraid to trust. It would hurt too much to be let down again.
6
Sloan turned into Dahlia’s driveway shortly past noon on Sunday. He had to help her, convince her that if she couldn’t find it in herself to trust him fully, she needed to make things right with the Lord. Where did she attend church these days?
She breezed through her front door before he could shut off the motor. He would be all puffed up if her eagerness to go was about him. But he knew the urge to see how her brother fared overran her desire to see him.
“Sloan! Is this…?” Surprise stopped her momentum.
No one could guess she’d cried her eyes out the night before. And to think this classy lady full of chic had clung to him while seated on his lap. Upon closer inspection, she looked more rested than he felt.
“Yeah. The same honey Dad stored in the shed behind our house. Wondered if you’d recognize my sweet truck. Took me years to find authentic parts and restore her to her shiny red glory.”
“It’s amazing. You did a great job. Makes me want to go to a car show.”
Dahlia at a car show? Such a picture of her had never entered his mind. What dude got her interested in car shows? What happened overnight for her to be so exuberant? Did she have a dude in her life after all?
“How’s
Ken? I’ve been praying for him.”
“Thanks again for taking me to see him last night. I spoke with Ken first thing this morning. He wanted to get home right away and back on a tractor. I reminded him how fortunate he is to be alive. He conceded enough to admit to a few aches. The doctor said Ken still needs to rest today. Mom is calling his survival a miracle.”
Sloan guided her to the passenger side of his truck. “I believe in miracles.”
Before they left the driveway, he reached for her hand. He couldn’t help himself. He kissed the underside of her wrist, for no other reason than to follow the need to touch her and absorb her scent. The elusive floral mixed with spice made him think of mysterious feminine secrets. Dahlia was one fabulous package.
Oh, Lord, how soon can I tell her how much I believe she’s supposed to be with me for life? Make that forever, the way we once dreamed of?
After a moment, she unclasped her hand and buckled herself in.
Sloan handled the antique pickup with pride. They were in the country in minutes. He stroked the steering wheel the way he petted a dog’s back. He got excited over the sound of the purring engine. As soon as he’d caught sight of the new paint job, he dubbed it Jazzy Red. Now though, the expanses of fallow fields with only occasional driveways to break the landscape agitated him.
“The dice are a great touch.” Dahlia reached up for a squeeze. “They’re perfect, bouncing off the mirror. This ride is right out of the classic teen movies. Or a classic antique show.”
“You surprise me. Second time you’ve said that. How’d you get into antique cars?”
“I didn’t know I liked them either until a car club rep asked to use my mall parking lot to line up for a parade. Now I let a couple classic car groups meet there and show off in the parking lot adjacent to Yankee Hill. I rode in a parade once and tossed candy out the window to the kids.”
“I can see you waving from a convertible.”
“Don’t think so. I prefer keeping my hair in place.”
They grinned at one another, and then grew silent, individually tapping rhythm while a rock and roll Christmas song played from the radio. He kept sliding glances her way, again taking in her profile.