by Helen Lacey
“Thanks,” Brody said, but fault didn’t matter, nor did her character, since it looked like everyone expected him to pick up the pieces. Even though he hadn’t even met his nephew yet, Brody felt responsible for him, protective of him. And Mary, too. “I don’t know her, despite the connection she’s claiming through her son. I haven’t spoken with Roger since our father’s funeral. Not that I’ve ever been privy to his love life, thank God.”
“Do you—” Riley paused to open the exit door and glanced around “—want me to run a check on her?”
“Nah.” Brody’s chest tightened as the image of Mary’s dark, distress-filled eyes popped into his head. If they hadn’t brought her son to her by the time he got back, they’d have him to deal with. Something about this woman pulled at him, touched something he kept buried deep.
After the nurse left with a promise to bring Elliott, Mary unfolded the scrubs, stuffed her legs into them and eased off the gurney to pull them up, careful not to jostle her pounding head too much. At least these pants fit better than the shirt, but she still hated Brody seeing her like this. She would’ve sworn the thoughtless comments from foster parents no longer had the power to wound, but in times of stress those voices from the past threatened her self-confidence.
Even with her occasional blurry vision from the concussion, she’d noticed how Brody’s slim-fitting Western-stitched chambray shirt complemented his wide shoulders, and the rolled-up sleeves had revealed the corded muscles on his tanned forearms. His faded jeans had showcased his long legs. All that, and the scuffed boots, made Brody Wilson appear more cowboy than farmer. Having lived in Connecticut, she had no idea what Vermont farmers looked like. Maybe they were all just as mouthwatering as Brody.
It was crazy, but she’d thought about him from time to time since that brief meeting at the funeral. At times she’d wondered if her imagination had conjured up those deep blue eyes fringed with sinfully long eyelashes or the sculpted cheekbones. Nope. If anything, her memory hadn’t done him justice and her guilt deepened. She’d had no business noticing Brody while she’d been dating his brother, even if the cracks had already begun to show in their fledgling relationship.
She touched a hand to her brow. Plan your work and work your plan, Mary.
She’d tracked him down so Elliott could connect with family. So much for her plan of getting to know Brody, making sure of his character, letting him get used to the idea of being an uncle to Elliott. She didn’t want or need romance of any kind in her life, no matter how tempting the depths of those blue eyes. Roger had fooled her with his charming façade, and she wasn’t about to jump into another relationship. She blamed herself for not realizing Roger was one of those men who enjoyed the pursuit but not so much being a couple. And definitely not being a father. More fool her if she turned around and got involved with Roger’s brother, of all people. She had a son to consider in all her decisions from this point forward.
Pushing unproductive thoughts aside, she secured the drawstring at her waist. Too bad the deputy couldn’t get to her suitcase with her clothes. But at least with her purse and credit cards she could buy new clothes and pay for a motel room and anything she or Elliott needed. She’d received a severance package that included insurance for a short time and her natural tendency toward frugality ensured she had a decent bank balance to fall back on until she secured another job. She’d researched opportunities in the area and hoped to find something not too far away from Loon Lake and Elliott’s uncle.
Rather than try to get back on the gurney, she perched on a hard plastic chair to put her socks and sneakers on. Maybe the faster she got dressed, the sooner they’d bring Elliott. But when she bent over to pull a sock on, her headed pounded and the room swayed. She straightened, fighting the dizziness.
“Hey, hey, should you be up?” Brody dropped several bags and an empty car seat on the gurney. “Where’s Jan?”
“Who?”
“The nurse.” He glanced around the enclosed area as if he expected to find the missing nurse lurking in the corner.
“She went to get Elliott. They tell me he’s okay, but I need to see for myself.” She wanted her son, needed to feel his reassuring warmth and sturdy little body. Except for when she’d been working, she’d rarely been separated from Elliott. Even at work, he’d been in the nursery her employer had on the premises, so she often spent breaks or lunches with him. “Why won’t they bring him to me?”
Brody studied her for a moment, opened his mouth but shut it again. He bent and snagged the sock from her fingers. “Here, let me help you.”
He crouched in front of her and lifted her foot to rest on his thigh.
She drew in a sharp breath at the contact with his hard thigh muscles. Brody didn’t have the physique of a bodybuilder, but he was leanly fit, the kind of strength that came from physical labor, not hours in a gym.
“You okay?” He peered up at her. “You look kinda peaked again.”
“Yes... I’m...yes.” He was so close, the dark blue outer ring around his irises fascinated her.
He gave her one last look, then arranged the sock over her toes and slipped it on, repeating the process with the other.
The warmth from his thigh seeped into her foot. Her eyes stung and her throat clogged with emotion. When was the last time someone had treated her with such caring and kindness? Roger had given the appearance of solicitousness, but with the help of hindsight, she realized that’s all it had been—a façade. But this was real and what had started as an embarrassing situation had turned into something that felt intimate.
“Mary?” He looked up. “Where are your shoes?”
Pay attention to his words, not his lips. She scowled at the gold toes on her socks, but it was like trying to make sense of a spreadsheet written in Sanskrit. Why couldn’t she—Oh, yeah, she’d been attempting to put her socks and shoes on when Brody came in.
“Never mind. I see them over there.” He stood and retrieved her sneakers from the other side of the gurney.
Mary reached for the shoes. Despite looking like a pauper, she wasn’t someone who needed rescuing. She’d been taking care of herself for most of her twenty-six years. “I can do that.”
He ignored her outstretched hand. “I got it.”
He crouched again and put her sneakers on and tied the laces.
“Thank you.” So much for all her plans to demonstrate how she had everything under control, how she wasn’t looking for charity, how she was a strong, twenty-first-century woman. Brody needed to see her as Elliott’s mother, not as someone he needed to take care of, or worse, pity. Never again would she allow anyone to cluck over her and murmur, “You poor thing,” as those caseworkers had done. She and Brody were close enough in age to be considered contemporaries, equals.
“Someone’s been waiting to see you.” A nurse around Mary’s age came in carrying Elliott, who was babbling to a teddy bear clutched in his hands. He glanced up, and as soon as he spotted his mother, he burst into tears and reached for Mary.
Brody rose to his full height of several inches over six feet and stepped aside, but Mary wasn’t aware of his presence as she reached out to enfold Elliott in her arms. Ignoring her protesting muscles, she clasped onto his warmth, the stuffed animal crushed between their bodies, and rained kisses into his dark hair. Sobbing in earnest now, Elliott clung to her, his chubby fingers clenched around the soft flannel of her shirt. She rubbed his back in soothing strokes. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetie, Mommy’s here. Mommy’s got you.”
He lifted his head, tears clinging to his lashes, and sucked in air in short sobbing bursts. She could still hear the crunching noise as cars collided, feel the impact, and he was so young he wouldn’t understand what had happened. “Mommy’s here, sweetie.”
Mary’s brow furrowed as she spoke to the nurse over Elliott’s head. “Are you sure he’s okay?”
“Physically he’
s fine. He’s had quite a fright. I ’spect he’ll be emotional and clingy for a few days. He’s not at the stranger-anxiety stage yet, so he did well with us until now.” The nurse rubbed a hand over Elliott’s riot of dark curls. “He’s just happy to have his mama.”
Brody watched the tearful reunion, his brows drawn together in a frightening glower. Her stomach clenched. Had she been wrong about him? Maybe he wasn’t the person she’d imagined him to be. She’d been wrong about Roger, so it shouldn’t be a surprise if she’d be wrong about Brody, too. Maybe this was a wasted trip.
“Brody?” An elderly woman with a purple volunteer button pinned to her chest appeared outside the opening to the curtain. “There’s a phone call at the desk for you.”
“For me?” He jerked his head back and turned to the newcomer. “Tell them I’ll be right there.”
The woman left, and he glanced back to Mary. “Wait right here. I’ll go see what this is about.”
“As if you wouldn’t want to wait for him.” The nurse sighed, then leaned toward Elliott. “Are you going to let me fasten you into your seat, sweetie?”
Elliott clung tighter, babbling something that ended with a hiccup.
“We’ll let him settle for a few more minutes,” the cheerful brunette said.
Mary hugged him close, needing the contact as much as he did. She tugged the toy clear of where it was wedged between their bodies and held it up. “Who’s this? Have you got yourself a new friend?”
“One of the police officers on the scene must’ve given it to him.” The nurse removed the sheet from the gurney and rolled it into a ball. “The women’s group at the church collected donations last year to buy enough stuffed bears so each of our deputies would have several in their cruisers for emergencies involving children.”
Mary’s throat clogged as she recalled the glimpse she’d had of a state trooper cradling her son while paramedics put her on a stretcher. “I’ll be sure to thank them.”
The nurse tossed the discarded hospital gown onto the sheet. “People around here stick together and help one another. It’s a wonderful community. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.”
Mary envied the other woman’s ties to a community. Would she and Elliott be accepted, grow roots here, if she found employment and decided to make Loon Lake her permanent home? “Do you have Uber around here? Or should I call a cab?”
“No Uber that I know of.” The nurse picked up the pile of laundry. “But don’t worry, I’m sure Brody will take you wherever you want. Did you have someplace in mind?”
“The nearest motel, I guess.” What else could she do? Driving back to Connecticut or anywhere was out of the question until she could rent a car.
“Oh.” The nurse paused, adjusting the bundle in her arms. “I’m not sure the doctor will agree to that.”
Mary had been digging one-handed in her purse for her phone, but the nurse’s words halted her search. “Why can’t I go to a motel?”
“It might take a day or two for the effects of the concussion to go away, and it’s best that you not be alone during that time.”
“But, I—”
“That’s no problem. Mary and Elliott will be coming home with me,” Brody said from the opening in the curtain.
Copyright © 2019 by Carol Opalinski
Keep reading for an excerpt from Flare Up by Shannon Stacey.
Special excerpt from
Meet the tough, dedicated men of Boston Fire—and the women who turn their lives upside down.
Keep reading for a special excerpt of Flare Up by New York Times bestselling author Shannon Stacey.
Flare Up
by Shannon Stacey
Chapter One
Grant Cutter had figured this was about as bad as a scene could get. The temperature with wind chill well below zero. Their gear and lines freezing up. Stalactites of ice hanging from his helmet blocking his vision until he took the time to break them off with a swipe of his stiff glove. And the water was a hell of a lot more effective at turning the house and street into an ice sculpture than putting out the flames.
But he was wrong. It could always be worse.
The fire had not only jumped, but it jumped to an apartment building they couldn’t confirm had been fully evacuated, so the incident commander was sending them in.
Canvassing a residential building that probably should have been condemned by the city before he was even born wasn’t exactly the reprieve from the cold he’d been looking for but, after checking their gear, he and the other guys from Engine 59 and another crew went inside.
“Fast but thorough,” Danny Walsh said. The LT led the way up the stairs since they’d start at the top and work their way down. The other crew would pound on doors at ground level and, if all went well, they’d meet in the middle and get the hell out before it got bad.
The smoke thickened as they reached the top floor. A bare-chested, barefoot guy in undone jeans passed them on the stairs. He was coughing, but waved off their attempts to assist him.
“Is there anybody else up there?” Danny yelled.
“Dunno.” The guy didn’t even pause.
“Asshole,” Scott Kincaid muttered into the radio, but Grant wasn’t surprised. They’d responded to these buildings before and they didn’t seem to attract the kind of residents who gave a shit about their neighbors.
They started pounding on doors, which was all they could do, but they didn’t get any response until they’d worked their way down to the next floor.
“I hear something,” Aidan Hunt yelled, pounding a third time on a door. “Something banged. Maybe coughing.”
Grant was closest to him, so he used the Halligan bar to pop the door. Smoke billowed out, so dense they could barely see, and he followed Aidan in. The apartment was small—one room and probably barely legal—so it only took a few seconds to follow the coughing to the person on the floor near the window. While Aidan did a quick check of the bathroom and under the bed to make sure there was nobody else, Grant crouched down next to the person he was pretty sure was a woman, despite having a throw blanket over her head.
“Fire department,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Her cough was so weak and ineffectual, he didn’t bother asking if she could get up and walk. Instead he rolled her, intending to lift her and carry her out.
Then the throw blanket slipped away from a sleep-tangled mess of blonde curls, revealing dark blue eyes he saw in his dreams, and Grant’s world stopped.
“Wren.”
He hadn’t seen her in five months, since she’d told him on the phone she didn’t want to see him anymore and then ghosted. No explanation. No compromise. Nothing but five months of a broken heart that hadn’t even begun to heal yet.
What the hell was she doing in this place?
Grant. Her mouth formed his name, though no sound got through her constricted throat. The grayish cast of her skin and lips terrified him, and he started to hoist her up.
Aidan was at his side. “I’ll carry her out.”
“I’ve got her.” Despite the shock and pain from seeing her again, Grant wanted to hold her. He wanted to cradle her in his arms and feel that sense of contentment holding her had always brought him in the past.
There was no time for that. After draping her over his shoulder, he stood and headed for the door. It wouldn’t be a comfortable ride for her, but the only thing that mattered right now was getting her out of the building and to an ambulance, where they could give her oxygen. Her body had gone totally limp by the time he reached the stairs, but he refused to consider the possibility she’d need medical care beyond that.
They’d gotten there in time, and that’s all there was to it.
He heard voices in his radio and was aware Aidan stayed right behind him, but Grant didn’t stop moving until he hit the clear
, frigid air.
He paused to get his bearings and then headed for the ambulances on standby. Some of those voices in his radio must have warned them he was coming, because Cait opened the back of her truck and waved at him.
Cait Tasker was not only an EMT, but she was engaged to Gavin Boudreau, who was Grant’s best friend and with the Ladder 37 crew. E-59 and L-37 were parked side-by-side in the firehouse and always rolled out together, so Gavin was on scene, too. And Cait knew Wren. The four of them had spent a lot of time together before Wren walked away from him and didn’t look back.
By the time he reached the ambulance doors, he could feel her stirring. Not a lot, but she had to be breathing in order to regain consciousness and that was enough for now.
Because it was so damn cold and she was small, they didn’t bother with the stretcher. He handed Wren up to Cait’s partner, Tony, who turned away with her.
“Oh my God, Grant.” Cait looked at him, her expression mirroring his thoughts. “What the hell was Wren doing living here?”
“I don’t know. She’ll be okay, right?”
“We’ll take care of her. Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer. As he watched Tony fit a mask over Wren’s face, her eyes met his and, no, he wasn’t okay.
Questions tumbled through his mind. Why was Wren living in this place? Why had she disappeared from his life so abruptly? How could she still be in the city and not miss him enough to at least send a text message?
Had she known he’d been days away from buying her a ring and asking her to spend the rest of her life with him?
“Cutter,” he heard Walsh bark into the radio. “Where the fuck are you?
He had a job to do and people’s lives depended on him doing it. But as he started to turn away, his gaze caught Wren’s again and he felt the impact all the way to his toes.
God, he’d loved her. And he didn’t think he’d ever really be okay again.
* * *