He set the box on top of the stack. “You kept it,” he said, his voice husky.
Her heart did a ridiculous somersault. When months and then years had gone by without him coming home, she’d stuffed away her silly dreams along with the box. But she’d never quite been able to throw away the puzzle. “Mom brought those out when I was at the house. She thought they’d be a good distraction while I recuperate.” Of course, she’d avoided the teddy bear puzzle. Some wounds were better left scabbed over.
She splashed lemonade into the glasses. Okay, so maybe she’d never quite stopped hoping that one day he’d suddenly wake up and realize he was in love with her. But she wasn’t the reason he’d come back to Stalwart. And really...she scarcely knew him. She shoved the lemonade pitcher back into the fridge. A childhood crush was no basis for a lasting relationship.
Neither was his protecting her from some psycho stalker.
If she even had a stalker.
“You know—” she handed him a glass “—maybe I am Princess Dark Cloud like the guys tease. And bad things just happen to happen on my shifts.”
“Have you forgotten that someone else was in those woods? And whistled for the dog?”
She gulped. Oh, yeah.
“And it’s far too coincidental that he happened to drop my brother’s cell phone.” Cole sifted through the puzzle pieces scattered about the table and fitted one into the lake scene she’d been working on. “It was clearly a calculated move.”
The ice in her glass rattled, betraying her trembling as she strained to make sense of what he was saying. “You think this guy deliberately set up your brother?” She pressed her glass to her chest. “Why? He had to know you wouldn’t fall for it.”
“Because Eddie is an easy scapegoat. Your partner was already accusing him to anyone who’d listen. What better way to muddy the investigation than to throw more suspicion where it already lay? Not to mention pushing for other suspects would reek of a cover up with Eddie being my brother.”
Just like she’d accused. “I’m sorry I thought that.”
“It was a natural conclusion to jump to and my fault for not telling you about the phone in the first place.” Cole splayed his palm across the small of her back and nudged her toward the sofa.
Warmth slid through her the same as she’d felt when his voice had reached into her dream earlier.
“If you think about it,” Cole continued, “everything points to a setup. First the guy tells Eddie that stealing drugs from your ambulance will be easy. Next he calls to tell him about the drug house, claiming he wants to make up for getting him in trouble, which puts Eddie in the vicinity when you run into the booby trap. Then he drops Eddie’s phone in the woods to implicate him in the dog attack.”
“If it’s the same guy.”
“It seems likely, don’t you think?”
Taking a seat on the couch, she replayed the scenarios in her mind and had to admit it did. “Except he hadn’t counted on Eddie being with you at the time,” she whispered.
“Exactly.” Cole snatched up a couple of coasters from the far end table, then sat in the armchair kitty corner to her and set his glass on the table beside them. “That was his critical mistake.”
He took her glass and set it on the table. “How are you really doing?”
At the compassion in his voice, her gaze snapped to the table he’d grabbed the coasters from. She’d printed out a couple of articles on PTSD. Her pulse raced. Where did I leave them? Had he seen them? Was that why he looked so worried? Except they weren’t on the table. Thank goodness. “What...what do you mean?” Her mind scrambled to recall where she’d left the papers as her gaze skittered over the tape measure Cole had left on the table. The catchall drawer? She scooped up the tape measure and edged open the drawer. No papers. Whew!
She swallowed the lump in her throat and slipped back into her seat. “My shoulder has healed nicely. I’m fine to return to work tomorrow.”
“Are you?” His thumb tenderly stroked her fingers.
When had he taken her hand? She snatched it back. “Of course I am.” Why did she have to offer him lemonade? She should’ve shooed him out after assuring him she’d be on guard.
He didn’t attempt to reclaim her hand, but leaned closer, his eyes going irresistibly soft. “Sherri, having nightmares after a traumatic event is normal.”
Great, he was pitying her.
“Talking through them can ease the need for your subconscious to work through your fears while you’re sleeping.”
She forced out a laugh. “You sound like a psychology professor.”
“I took a few extra courses on the subject hoping to help my mom.”
“What happened to your mom?” she asked, latching on to the chance to get the focus off her.
His cheek muscle ticked. “The divorce put her emotions through the wringer.”
Sherri’s heart yo-yoed. She’d always adored his mother. And his father. He hadn’t seemed like the kind of guy who’d cheat on his wife. But that just goes to show how easy it is to make people see what you want them to see—she tucked her trembling hand under her thigh—unless they happened to catch you in the throes of a nightmare.
“I’m sorry about your mom and I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. I’ve scarcely had any nightmares about the dog attack.” They’d started long before that.
Cole lifted his lemonade glass and took an inordinate amount of interest in the condensation pebbling on the sides. “It’s not just the nightmares. When’s the last time you’ve hung out with friends?”
“I’ve been working a lot of shifts to get the hours I need to apply for the flight medic opening.”
“You’re distancing yourself from family, too.”
How would he...? She folded her arms. “What did Jake tell you?”
“That you’ve been detached. Uncommunicative.”
All symptoms of PTSD. She shook off the thought, rolled her eyes and sprawled back against the couch. “I’ve been busy.”
The muscle twitches in Cole’s cheek grew more pronounced. “Why are you getting defensive? I’m trying to help you.”
“By cataloging my social faux pas?”
He set down his glass. “No, Sherri...I think you might be suffering from PTSD.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She sprang to her feet and scanned the dining-room table, the countertops. “Do I look depressed to you? I don’t drink. I don’t do drugs.” She didn’t have PTSD. He had to have spotted the article and just assumed.
She stalked down the hall to her bedroom where Cole had come in and scanned the night table and dresser. The PTSD article wasn’t anywhere to be seen. So where had he gotten the idea from?
She jolted at her reflection in the dresser mirror—the sunken eyes, the purple smudges beneath them. She smoothed her sleep-mussed hair. Oh, this was worse than she’d thought. If he suspected after only a couple of weeks in town, how long before her boss clued in and took her off duty?
* * *
Cole sprang up from the armchair to go after her. Except...darkness crept into the edges of his vision and he crumpled to the floor with a thud.
“Cole!” Sherri skidded to her knees at his side, sounding as frantic as the rain lashing the windows. Rain? When did it start raining?
He blinked open his eyes. The doctor had warned him that head injuries could trigger delayed symptoms. Had he actually passed out?
“Cole, what’s wrong?” The concern in Sherri’s eyes made his heart hammer. Her fingertips found the pulse point at his wrist, sending tingles charging up his arms as her gaze shifted to her watch. “Your heart is racing.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, having a gorgeous woman fuss over him will do that to a guy.” He turned onto his side to push to his feet.
“Whoa.” She pushed his shoulder back to the floor. “What do you think you’re doing? You need to lie still.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You just passed out.”
/> He wedged his elbows behind him to raise his head closer to her eye level. “I’m fine.” But...her breathing didn’t sound too good, and the fear that he’d heard in her voice when he came to had crept into her eyes. In her nightmare, she’d begged him not to die. Had finding him on the floor triggered a flashback?
“We’ll see,” she said. “A few simple tests should tell me if you need to go straight to the ER. First, can you tell me the date?”
He twisted his arm to capture her hand still resting at his wrist. “I’m sorry I upset you. That wasn’t my intention.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m more concerned about you at the moment. Do you know the date?”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let you give me your tests, but in return, I want some honest answers to a few questions.”
She slipped her hand free of his grasp, sat back on her heels and pulled the cardigan she must’ve grabbed from her bedroom across her middle. For a long moment, she just stared at him. “What kind of questions?”
“For starters, I’d hoped you’d tell me about your nightmares. Just before I nudged you awake you’d been begging me not to die.” Not the way he wanted to fill her dreams. “I thought if we talked about them, they might ease.”
She gulped, her gaze shifting to the rain-splattered window. “Did talking about her nightmares help your mother?”
“Yes.” He eased into a sitting position, not wanting to trigger another blackout. His head was pounding, but Sherri didn’t need to know that just yet. “At first I ignored her cries in the middle of the night, assuming she’d be embarrassed, but after I finally got up one night and made her a cup of cocoa and urged her to talk, the nightmares began to let up.”
A hopeful light flickered in Sherri’s eyes. “Really?”
“Yes.” He leaned back against the front of the armchair. “So what do you say you sip your lemonade and tell me about your dreams?”
She arched one eyebrow in a perfect imitation of his first-grade teacher’s reaction when he’d thought he’d talked his way out of something.
Not good.
“What’s the date?”
He grinned. “June fourteenth. My birthday is June twenty-eighth. And in case you’re interested, I love caramel and pecan-filled chocolates. Your birthday is May twelfth.”
Her eyes widened.
“You shouldn’t be so surprised. We were neighbors for how many years? Do you know how many little girl birthday parties you had in your backyard in that time?”
Her melodic laugh warmed him. “As I recall, you and your brother would always happen to lose a baseball over the fence at about the time the cake and ice cream were served.”
“Yup.” He winked. “Good times.”
“Okay, stand up. Hold out your arms. Close your eyes. Touch one index finger to your nose. Then the other.”
He obediently did as she asked, although he was pretty sure the test was for sobriety, not a concussion “Okay, your turn.”
She closed her eyes and touched her nose.
“Very funny. That’s not what I meant.”
Her mouth quirked sideways. “If I tell you about the dreams, will you promise not to say anything about them to anyone else?”
“Of course.”
She opened her catch-all drawer and fished out a small penlight. “Not to my family? Or to Jake? Or...to my boss?”
Ah. He was beginning to see what she’d really been worried about with his PTSD theory—that she’d be forced to stay on leave if it proved true. He sat on the couch. “It’s between you and me.”
She silently considered his offer. At least he hoped that was what she was doing as she flicked the light across one of his eyes and then the other. “Because, like you said, nightmares are natural after a traumatic event. They don’t mean I have PTSD.”
“You have beautiful eyes,” he interjected before he could censor the thought. Maybe that bonk on the head was worse than he’d thought.
The corners of her mouth tipped up. So apparently she didn’t mind. She pocketed the penlight, seemingly satisfied with his response. “If I did have PTSD, I’d be avoiding activities similar to those that triggered the nightmare. Right?”
“Typically, that’s true, yes.” He had a bad feeling that he’d been closer to the truth than he’d realized. Could she have countered the most common reaction—avoidance of similar situations—by sheer willpower?
She relaxed and joined him on the couch. “Okay, then as long as you promise, I’ll tell you.”
“I promise,” he said, and prayed he wouldn’t regret it. She’d seemed to be functioning fine on the job. None of the other paramedics had made any disparaging comments about her competency. If she’d suffered flashbacks or anything else on the job, surely someone would have noticed.
“And promise me you’ll go see your doctor first thing tomorrow. We’ll skip our morning jog. You shouldn’t be doing anything more strenuous than pencil pushing if you’re still getting headaches. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I never would’ve let you come with me.”
Yeah, that’s why he hadn’t told her. “I promise.”
“Okay.” She sucked in a big breath and stared at her hands folded in her lap.
His arms ached to hold her, to ease the anxiety that had to be writhing her insides worse than she was twisting her hands. He cupped his hand over hers.
“The nightmares started after Luke’s shooting. He was shot in the chest and in my nightmare his blood seeps over my hand as I try to stop it.” She pressed a palm to the left side of her chest.
Cole recalled her doing the same thing when he’d asked about Luke in the hospital. Had she been having a flashback then?
“In reality, I didn’t apply pressure to his wound for very long, because Luke said he could do it and he begged me to save the patient and her unborn child. The woman’s husband had pushed her down the stairs then kicked her in the stomach and she was hemorrhaging badly.”
“Did you save them?”
Sherri’s hand dropped back to her lap along with her gaze. “Yes.”
The deep sadness in her voice didn’t match her answer, and he knew she was thinking about who she’d lost—Luke.
With another deep inhalation, her expression blanked. This must’ve been what Jake had been talking about. She seemed to stuff away all her emotions. He wanted to ask if she blamed herself for Luke’s death, but was afraid the question would open up wounds best left alone. The silence lengthened and he waited, remembering how it had taken awhile for his mom to work up the courage to share.
Sherri finally continued. “After you got blown off your feet in the house explosion, the nightmares morphed. Sometimes you, not Luke, would be bleeding out on the patient’s porch.”
Cole groaned. She’d relayed the experience without emotion, but the flatness in her eyes betrayed her torment.
“Then after the dog attack, sometimes a dog would show up in the dream, too.”
An image of the dog ripping into her shoulder flashed through his mind, and he shuddered.
“Yeah, not pretty. So you can hardly blame me for not wanting to burden my family with it, let alone talk to anyone else.”
He squeezed her hand. “It’s not a burden to me. Your trust is a gift.”
A gorgeous blush bloomed on her cheeks. “Well, my boss wouldn’t think so. He’d stop me from working, from doing what I’m supposed to be doing. And...” She fluttered her other hand. “Guys wouldn’t exactly clamor to marry a woman who might whack him in the throes of a nightmare every night.” She laughed on a huff of air, clearly trying to make light of her revelation now. But his expression must’ve given away where his mind had veered at “marry a woman,” because her blush deepened. “Not that I think we’d...” She waved her hand as if to wipe out what she’d said, looking more flustered by the second. “I meant—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “It’s okay. I understand.” Oh, wow, her lips were soft. And despite
his vow to stay unattached, he suddenly had the indefensible impulse to kiss her. To wrap her in his arms and feel the steady beat of her heart against his. To hear her whisper his name in a contented sigh, because she knew he’d keep her safe.
TEN
Just before three the next day, Ted’s vintage orange Chevy Nova pulled out of an apartment complex around the corner from Sherri’s.
“That’s his car.” Cole pointed.
Zeke tailed it. The sunny day had been a quiet one for the sheriff’s office, so Zeke hadn’t balked at Cole’s suggestion that they concentrate their patrols around Ted’s neighborhood. In fact, from the zeal of his cat-and-mouse maneuvers through traffic, he looked as if he was enjoying himself. “You do know that unless an ambulance call came in that we didn’t hear about, Ted’s not going after Sherri.”
Cole strained to see around a truck that had pulled in front of them. “I still want to know where he’s going.” What he really wanted was a look in the man’s medical records. The odds that he’d happened to be walking past Sherri’s apartment when she screamed were slim enough, but his intense gawking once inside had sent all Cole’s alarms bells clanging.
Eight minutes later, Ted parked in front of the mall and stepped out of his car dressed in a custodian’s uniform.
Zeke cruised slowly down the next lane. “Well, he won’t be bothering Sherri for the next eight hours if he’s reporting to work.”
Cole swept his gaze across the store signs—fourteen on this side alone. “I don’t know. A mall this size must have a large cleaning staff. Would be easy enough to slip away for an hour with no one the wiser.”
Zeke snorted. “I’m telling you, your brother’s the one we should be keeping an eye on. This guy didn’t strike me as a mental case. The department didn’t have a shred of paperwork on him.”
“Doesn’t mean he’s not.” The guy was fixated on Sherri. Of that much Cole was certain.
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