by Dorie Graham
“It’s okay. I don’t mind if it’s easier for you that way,” he said as he opened his door. “Cool, let’s tell Gram.”
She smiled. At least Grey was happy. Her mom was likely to be disappointed to not be spending more time with him and heaven knew Claire was apprehensive.
But then again, what wouldn’t she do for her son?
“Hey, Mom, I know why you like the coffee shop,” Grey said, turning to her, grinning, as they headed up the driveway.
“Really? Why?”
“The coffee-shop guy—he’s kind of cool.”
She stopped, surprised. “Lucas?”
Grey continued up the front steps. “Yes, ma’am, Lucas,” he said. “He’s a good guy. Don’t you think?”
“Sure,” she said, frowning. “But why would that make me like the coffee shop?”
His shoulders lifted in an easy shrug. “I think he kind of likes you.”
“What? Why would you think that?” Heat filled her cheeks.
“He gave you whipped cream on your Americano.”
“So? That doesn’t mean anything,” she said.
“Really?” Grey shrugged again. “It’s extra and you didn’t even ask for it, but if you say so.”
“I do say so,” she said. “It was just whipped cream.”
“Okay.” Grey smiled. “Well, either way, I like him. I think he’d be cool to hang out with.”
Claire stared after Grey as he reached the last step. He wanted to hang out with Lucas. She sighed. He still needed a good male role model. She’d have to suck it up and go back to the BBBS.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LUCAS INHALED THE scent of lumber as he headed into the building supply store. He needed Spackle to patch the hole in the wall of the stockroom and new brackets for the shelves he wanted to install once that was done.
A familiar female profile caught his attention as he passed the plumbing aisle. Claire Murphy stood before shelves of supplies, a tube of caulking in her hand.
“Claire,” he said. Unexpected warmth filled him at the sight of her. “Fancy running into you here.”
She glanced up, her brown eyes wide. “Lucas, hello.”
“Are you having plumbing issues?” he asked.
She nodded and hoisted the tube. “My sink and tub are a mess. I thought I’d give recaulking them a try.”
He moved beside her. “Ah, and are you a caulking expert?” he asked.
“Do I need to be?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed. “I mean, how difficult is it? Can’t I just finish peeling up what’s left of the old stuff and squeeze out fresh caulk?”
“You could,” he said, “but there is an art to caulking, if you care about how it looks and, of course, there’s the whole functionality aspect.”
“Oh. I thought it would be an easy do-it-yourself kind of project.”
“It is. You’ll do fine. Do you have caulk softener?” He scanned the shelves behind her and handed her another tube. “Here. You’ll need to apply this first and let it sit for a couple of hours. It’ll make cleaning off the old stuff easier. Do you have bleach, or some other kind of good cleaner?”
“I’m sure I do.”
“You’ll want to clean the seam really well after you get the old caulk off. It will help the new stuff stick better.”
“I see,” she said. “I didn’t realize there was so much to it.”
“Don’t worry. It’s easy.”
“I hope so, though now I’m not so sure,” she said, smiling tentatively. “I’m really not much of a do-it-yourselfer.”
She straightened. “It’s funny running into you. I never see anyone I know here, sometimes at the grocery store, but not here. I guess there aren’t as many do-it-yourselfers out there.”
“I guess you’re right,” he said, returning her smile. “So how’s everything going?” he asked.
She’d sat at her regular table today, the one by the window. He’d managed to leave her to her work for most of the afternoon, but he hadn’t been able to ignore how the sun lit up her hair, picking out red highlights he hadn’t noticed until today.
He was going soft, mooning over her hair.
Her smile faded. “Everything’s okay.”
“Good.”
“Lucas.” She bit her bottom lip. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” She glanced around. “But this probably isn’t the best place.”
“Oh?” Now he was curious. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Oh, no, please, it isn’t any trouble. I have time if you do. I was going to grab a bite to eat after this. I’d love some company if you don’t have to go home to Grey,” he said.
“He’s at his grandmother’s tonight. But you have shopping to do here. I don’t want to interrupt that.”
“I can come back.” He wasn’t about to pass this up. “Look, if I have a choice between shopping for building supplies or having dinner with an attractive woman on a Friday night, I vote for dinner.” He held up his hands. “Not that dinner means anything. We’re just eating, so we can talk about whatever it is you want to talk about.”
“We don’t have to do dinner. Maybe a drink somewhere.”
“All right, if that makes you more comfortable, but I need to eat at some point. Don’t you?” he asked.
“I suppose. If you’re sure,” she said, still frowning. “You can pick the place. I’ll follow you in my car.”
“I know a good Italian place that isn’t too far. Why don’t I walk with you while you pay for your caulk and we can go from there?”
She exhaled and then nodded. “Okay.”
* * *
“I DON’T mind driving, if you just want to take one car,” Lucas said ten minutes later as he motioned Claire toward his car.
She squeezed the strap of her purse. What did she really know about Lucas? Did she feel safe with him? “I can follow you. That way, neither of us has to come back here.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “It isn’t far, but do you want my cell number, in case we get separated?”
Her fingers felt stiff and clumsy as she entered his information into her contacts. After Grey’s comment about hanging out with Lucas, all she’d been able to think about was Lucas mentioning something about the PTSD articles to Grey. Not that that scenario was even slightly likely. But what if Lucas asked her about them and Grey overheard?
“Ready?” he asked. “I’ll pull out and wait for you here.”
With a quick nod, she headed toward her car. Claire inhaled slowly, trying to relax. She refused to let her nerves get the better of her.
Five minutes later, she was heading along 400 north, following Lucas. Suddenly, a truck slammed into the car in front of him. The boom of the impact swept over her. She braked hard and her car spun sideways. Claire gasped as the squeal of locked tires tore through the air. Another car plowed into the truck. The sound of crunching steel filled her ears, its echo drawn out as if time had slowed. Then all at once, she was still and silence descended.
She barely had time to pry her hands from her steering wheel when Lucas yanked open her door. Miraculously, no one had hit her and she’d stopped mere inches from his car, which itself was just short of the wreckage.
“Are you okay?” Lucas’s hands skimmed over her.
“Yes...I’m fine,” she said.
He didn’t apologize for touching her—he’d been all business in his quick assessment. Once that was done, he simply reached between her and her steering column to turn on her emergency flashers. Then he was heading for the first vehicle that had been hit.
With her hands shaking, she unbuckled her seat belt, and followed. Lucas had to climb through the passenger door to get to the driver. His shoulders blocked her view, but he turned to her, his cell phone pressed to his ear as he spoke. “We’ve got a male Caucasian, late twenties to early thirties, unconscious. Laceration to the right temporal brow.”
He glanced at her and swiveled the phone away from his mouth. “His air bag didn’t inflate. I need something to stem the flow of blood.”
“Oh.” She glanced around.
“Here.” He stripped off his outer shirt. “This will work. I need you to hold it in place.”
She took a step closer as Lucas shifted and the driver came into view. A large gash split his forehead. Blood covered his face and ran down his neck, pooling in a deep stain at his collar. Her stomach pitched as Lucas pressed the shirt to the wound. Her fingertips tingled as pain squeezed the base of her skull.
“I need you to take this. Just apply pressure,” he said.
When she remained glued to her spot he let go with one hand to motion her forward. “Can you stay with him?” he asked.
She stared at him—at the blood covering his hand—as a ringing started in her ears and her heart thudded. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t form a thought, let alone a sentence.
“Claire, I need to check the other drivers,” Lucas said, keeping his voice calm.
She nodded, her stomach knotting. She squeezed into the passenger seat and took hold of the blood-soaked shirt as he shifted out. He touched her shoulder as he moved past her. She closed her eyes and pressed hard as the wet warmth seeped around her fingers. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths.
Lucas’s voice floated to her as he reported the other driver’s condition to what had to be a 911 operator. The man beside her groaned and she jumped, nearly letting go of the shirt.
With another deep breath, she pressed down again and said, “Sir, you’ve been in an accident. An ambulance is on the way.” She was surprised at how calm she sounded. “We were right behind you and my friend is a former EMT. He was just here checking on you and he called 911. He’s checking the other drivers now, but he’ll be right back.”
At least she hoped he would be.
The man didn’t respond. Loud voices reached her as a siren wailed in the distance. She glanced over her shoulder as a big man, nearly as tall as Lucas and twice as wide, weaved toward her, his left arm hanging limply at his side. Rage contorted his features as his gaze locked with Claire’s.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, his tone angry. Expletives spewed from his mouth, his words slurred as he staggered toward her.
Despite her fear, Claire stayed beside the injured driver, keeping steady pressure on his wound though her fingers had gone nearly numb. The man lurched another step forward, still cursing, his face red. He reached for Claire with his good hand and she couldn’t breathe.
Suddenly Lucas appeared, filling the space between her and the man. “I know you’re hurt,” he said, “but you need to calm down and back away, or you’re going to be hurting a whole lot worse.”
The man stopped. He stood, scowling at Lucas. “Idiot driver pulled right in my way,” he slurred. He gestured toward Claire. “She shouldn’t be helping him. This is all his fault.”
“He was only in your way because you swerved across two lanes and T-boned him,” Lucas said, the anger in his voice barely contained. “From the smell of it, your blood alcohol level will be off the charts.”
The man swayed a little as he narrowed his gaze on Lucas.
Lucas grabbed the elbow of his good arm. “I suggest you go back to your truck and wait for the police,” he said. “Your shoulder is dislocated, but considering this driver has a serious head wound, I’d say you got off easy.”
The man muttered another expletive and stood his ground. Lucas turned him toward his truck. “You’re done here. And trust me—you don’t want to push me right now.”
Claire exhaled as the man moved away. Thank God Lucas had been there. Before she could thank him he slipped to her side.
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“I’m okay.” She nodded toward the injured driver as the sirens wailed ever closer. “I thought he was coming to.”
“I can take it from here.”
She nodded again and moved aside, being careful to keep the pressure steady as he slipped his hands under hers. She scooted out, but stayed close, glancing at the truck driver. The tingling sensation in her fingers intensified and she clenched her hands into fists, closing her eyes to the blood staining them.
Please let the ground remain steady beneath my feet. Now was not the time for an anxiety attack.
“Ma’am, are you hurt?” A young female voice startled her. A woman with medic patches on her sleeves and a crash kit in her hand stood beside her.
Claire shook her head and pointed toward Lucas and the driver. “I’m fine. This isn’t my blood. He needs you.”
The next half hour passed in a blur. As the medics loaded the driver of the first car into the ambulance and the police arrested the driver of the truck, Lucas squeezed her hand. She stared at his bloodstained fingers threaded through her own, as though she were watching someone else. She should be able to feel him touching her.
“Claire?” Lucas asked and folded his other hand over hers.
She met his gaze. In his eyes she found compassion, understanding—a connection. The strength of his presence wrapped around her, comforted her in a way she hadn’t experienced once in the past year. Her throat tightened and the night blurred.
“I asked if you’re still hungry,” he said. “The police said they’d call if they have any more questions. We can go.”
“Hungry?” she echoed, the word magnified in her ears.
He grinned and somehow that warmed her even more, brought her back to herself. She gave his hand a return squeeze. “You want to eat after all this?”
He gestured to their attire and said, “I think we can wash most of the blood off. Our clothes are no worse for wear, except for my shirt, which I’m tossing.” He tugged on the hem of his long-sleeved T-shirt. “We’ll go someplace casual.”
“Someplace close?” she asked as her stomach growled.
“Yes,” he said, nodding, his hands still holding hers. “Unless you’re in a hurry to get home.”
“No.” At the moment, with the warmth of his fingers surrounding hers, home held even less appeal than usual. “Did you say Italian?”
* * *
THE TINKLE OF silverware and clattering of dishes followed Lucas as he passed the kitchen of the small hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant he and Claire had found not far from the crash site. His pulse quickened. She’d seemed so serious when she’d said she had to talk to him. Was it about the articles in her book bag? He couldn’t imagine anything else.
He rounded the corner toward their booth. Their waiter leaned against the table beside Claire, smiling and shaking his head as she spoke. The poor guy probably couldn’t help himself. Claire was way too appealing for her own good. Their waiter had been eyeing her since their arrival.
Honestly, Lucas couldn’t blame him.
Lucas slowed his pace, letting his gaze drift over her profile. It wasn’t that Claire was drop-dead gorgeous, but there had been times tonight when her brown eyes had drawn him in, engaging him on a level he wasn’t sure either of them was ready for. And her mouth... He exhaled. He couldn’t bring herself to think about her lips, how just when he thought it was impossible to make her lighten up, her mouth would curve into a shy smile.
How would her lips feel if he pressed his fingertips to them?
He dismissed the thought. He shouldn’t be thinking about her along those lines. She’d held it together during that collision and then afterward, dealing with all that mess until the EMTs had arrived, but if her shaking hands and distressed eyes were any indication, she’d fought to do so.
Whatever Claire struggled with, he needed to tread carefully.
“There you are,” she said, smiling up at him tentatively.
She hid her smile almost immediately, but not before its warmth sank into him. If the fright of their near accident and the trauma of dealing with the aftermath was what it took to make her trust him, then he was grateful for the opportunity.
/> He retook his seat as the waiter edged away from the table. Lucas dropped his gaze, forcing himself not to drink in the sight of the candlelight flickering across Claire’s face. He warmed with the awareness of her gaze on him.
He inhaled slowly, calming the beat of his heart, surprised at his own reaction. The old excitement rippled through him, the excitement of being in the presence of a desirable woman.
They placed their orders and the waiter left. Claire leaned toward him. “I’m amazed at how cool you were through that whole thing. I was such a basket case.”
“I was an EMT and medevac pilot in the marines.” He squeezed her hand, the gesture feeling natural now. “I thought you did okay.”
She lowered her gaze, but didn’t let go of him. “I did okay because you were there.”
“Yeah, must have been all that coffee-shop training. You never know when cleaning up lattes will come in handy.”
She smiled again, a little longer this time. “Was that something you always wanted to do? Own a coffee shop?”
“I can’t say it was. I finished my last tour with the marines and I just... I wanted normal and I thought running a coffee shop would be low-key, but sustaining.”
“I understand wanting normal,” she said. She straightened and pulled her hand from his, tucking it in her lap. “I wanted to talk to you about those articles in my book bag.”
“Claire, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“The problem is...” She squeezed her hands into fists. “I’d actually rather not say anything...I mean, you hardly know me, but I’m so...neurotic that I can’t stop thinking about Grey somehow overhearing something. I’ve been torturing myself with the thought that now that you’ve seen them he’ll find out.”
“Grey won’t hear anything from me,” he said.
She nodded, her gaze lowered. “Thank you. It’s just that he worries enough as it is.”
“And if he knew you had PTSD he’d worry more?”
Her gaze met his, her eyes rounded. “He’d want to know everything about it and why I have it.”
His stomach tightened as she confirmed his suspicions. He hated that he’d been right. He wanted to take her hand and reassure her, but at the same time memories of Toby swamped him, bringing with them that familiar heaviness.