by Kaylee Ryan
She doesn’t reply, just turns and walks out the front door. The guys chuckle, and I can’t help but laugh with them. She’s being a diva. I wave over my shoulder as I follow her out to my truck.
“Just take me home, Ridge,” she barks.
I don’t dignify her bitchiness with an answer, just put the truck in drive and take her home.
I pull into her driveway and don’t bother turning off the engine. She’s pissed, and honestly, I don’t care.
“I wanted to ask you something, but you were too caught up with the boys to spend any time with me.”
That’s a red flag. We don’t really call it ‘spending time together’—we eat and fuck, that’s it. “Well?” I say, prompting her to continue.
She blows her hair out of her face and takes a deep breath. “There’s a gala next week. It’s a big deal, showcasing my designs. I don’t want to go alone.”
Well, fuck me. “What day?”
“Friday.”
“Time?”
“We need to leave my place at seven. It starts at eight, but I want to be there early.”
I think about the bet. Shit, it’s the least I can do. I’m on the home stretch, and soon our time will end anyway. “Yeah, what do I need to wear?”
Her face brightens. “A suit?” she asks.
“Got it. See you then.”
She hesitates. “You want to get together this weekend?”
No. “I’ve got a lot going on with finishing up the Allen job. I don’t think I’ll have time. I’ll pick you up at seven on Friday.”
She doesn’t bother with a reply as she climbs out of my truck. I keep my headlights on her door and wait until she’s inside to leave.
Four more weeks.
Chapter 3
Ridge
Today has been one disaster after another. First, the job we bid on over on Southern Avenue called to let me know we were underbid. I have plenty of work, but I still hate losing. Although, with that particular job, I was as low as I could get. Not sure how the winning contractor is going to make money without cutting corners. Something else I hate.
When I arrived at my current job site, I found the wrong materials were delivered. The Lumber Yard mixed up the Jefferson and Williams jobs. It took me two hours on the phone to get them to bring a truck to each site to switch everything out. Their mix-up cost me and my guys a day’s work, putting us a day behind schedule, and leaving me the task of calling the customer to fill them in. Which led to my current situation. Did I mention that I hate to be off schedule?
I’ve spent my afternoon at the Jefferson job site, the final truck having just dropped off the correct supplies. Mrs. Jefferson was concerned that the materials would be wrong again, but I assured her they would be correct. In so many words, she insinuated that they better be or else. She’s a tough cookie, and was insistent that the job be complete before her sister and brother-in-law visit from California next month. To appease her, I stayed until the truck arrived, and checked the contents of the order myself. A hazard of the job is keeping the customers happy.
I was supposed to be ‘off,’—if that’s really even possible for a business owner—by five, because I have the gala tonight with Stephanie. Several times today, I thought about calling to cancel, but I gave her my word, and that’s not something I take lightly. Instead, here I am leaving the Jefferson site at six thirty, and to top off this fucktastic day, the skies open up and it starts to pour down rain.
The wipers are on high as they whoosh and skid across the windshield. I slow down when I see a car on the side of the road up ahead. As I get closer, I see a woman kicking what appears to be her flat tire.
Shit. I can’t in good conscience not stop and help her. I doubt she even knows how to change a tire.
Turning on my signal, I pull off on the side of the road, parking behind her. She’s wearing what looks like a nursing uniform and her hair is soaked. Reaching in the glove box, I grab two ponchos I keep on hand; you never know when Mother Nature is going to decide to open the floodgates. Working in construction, my supply has come in handy more times than I can count.
Tearing open one package, I slip the poncho over my head. Gripping the one I grabbed for her, I climb out of the truck. She’s watching me, her arms crossed over her chest. I see her car keys sticking out between her fingers as if she’s prepared to use them against me. Smart girl.
“Hi,” I yell over the rain. “Looks like you could use some help.” I hand her the poncho.
She hesitates, but the rain picks up and she relents, slowly reaching out to take the offering. I watch as she quickly unfolds the poncho and slips it over her head.
“I’m Ridge.” I point back to my truck marked with the Beckett Construction logo. “Just left the job site and saw you looked like you could use some help. Do you have a spare?” I ask.
She still looks hesitant; again, I think she’s being smart.
“I’m going to reach into my pocket and grab my wallet,” I warn her. Slowly, I reach around to my back pocket and pull it out. Opening it, I pull out a business card that has my full name and contact information and hand it to her.
The rain continues to beat down, and I will her to decide if she’s going to trust me so we can get this show on the road. I’m already late and can hear Stephanie whining already.
She studies the card, and then ever so slowly lifts her head and smiles warmly. Holding her hand out, she introduces herself. “Dawn Miller. Thank you for stopping. I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“I got this.” I wink at her. Even drenched, she’s beautiful, with big blue eyes and long blonde hair. “Pop the truck and get inside the car. There’s no need for both of us standing out here getting wet.”
She waves off my concern. “I’m not going to melt. I couldn’t sit in the car while you were out here, I’d feel guilty. I really do appreciate this, more than you know.”
She pops the trunk and I make quick work of releasing the spare tire and jack. Just as I get the jack set, the rain lets up. I busy myself with taking off the flat tire and quickly replacing it with the donut version. “You’re going to have to get this taken care of. I hope you don’t have far to go. It’s not safe on these wet roads to be driving on this thing.” I point to the smaller tire.
“Not far. I’ll get it taken care of tomorrow,” she promises.
After making sure the lug nuts are tight, I place the flat and tools back in the trunk. “You’re all set,” I tell her, closing the trunk lid.
“Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing, just drive safe. It was nice to meet you, Dawn.” I offer her my hand.
She slides hers against mine and we shake. “It was nice meeting you too, Ridge. Thank you again, so very much.”
With a nod, I release her hand and jog back to my truck. I watch as she settles back behind the wheel and drives off. Grabbing my phone, I send a quick text to Steph.
Me: Running late, been one hell of a day.
Stephanie: Seriously, Ridge? You promised.
Me: Couldn’t be helped. I’ll be there soon.
I toss my phone in the cup holder and pull back out on the road. Mother Nature decides she’s not through torturing me today, as the rain once again unleashes. Huge, heavy drops hit the windshield and I have to slow to a creep, the visibility pretty much non-existent. I hope Dawn makes it to where she’s going.
A gust of wind hits the truck and I have to fight to keep it on the road. This storm just popped up out of nowhere. Readjusting my position, I grip the wheel and lean forward, keeping my eyes glued to the road. My phone alerts me to a new message, but it’s just going to have to wait. My gut tells me it’s Stephanie wanting to give me a hard time about being late. If that were Stephanie or my sister Reagan on the side of the road, I would want a decent guy like myself to stop and help them. There are a hell of a lot of creepers out there, and it’s just not safe. She’ll get over it, and if not . . . Oh well.
Eyes glue
d to the road, I stare hard, making sure I don’t hit stray tree branches—hell, even another car, for that matter. There’s debris all over the road, so I slow down, knowing the Jacksons’ curves are just up ahead. Old Man Jackson lives right in the middle of a hellish set of curves, and I’ve seen more accidents on this stretch of road than I care to count.
Just as I creep around the first set, I see lights. Lights that are coming from the other side of the small embankment. Fuck! That’s not a good sign. Today is just not going my way.
I pull my truck over to the side of the road. Reaching into the glove compartment, I pull out a flashlight. I’m still wearing my poncho, not taking the time to remove it knowing Stephanie was already going to be pissed. Not knowing what I’m going to find on the other side of the embankment, I grab my phone and shove it into my pocket.
As soon as I open the door, the wind blasts me and almost knocks me over. I fight against the gusts to slam the door shut, then turn on the flashlight and check both ways before sprinting across the road. It’s dangerous as hell, but my gut tells me that time is of the essence in this situation. I send up a silent prayer that I’m wrong.
What I find has me sprinting into action. A small SUV is turned on its side. Starting down the muddy embankment, I lose my footing. Slipping and sliding, I struggle to find my balance. I finally reach the front of the vehicle, but the headlights are blinding, making it impossible to see if anyone’s still inside. I’m mindful not to lean on the car, not willing to take the chance of causing it to tip and roll further down the hill. It’s too dark to assess the situation and the rain is still coming down in sheets. Better safe than sorry.
Very carefully, I make it to the driver’s-side door. I shine the light through the window and can see a woman lying on her side. Her eyes are closed. Shit! I know enough that I shouldn’t try to move her. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and dial for help. It takes me three tries, as my hands are trembling and wet from the rain.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“There’s been an accident,” I scream over the pounding rain. “I’m just off Anderson Drive, in Jackson’s curves.”
“Sir, are you hurt?”
“No, not me. I saw headlights, so I stopped. There’s a woman trapped.” I know I’m probably not making any sense, but my head is too jumbled. I need to help her.
“Stay with her, help is on the way. I have a team en route, less than five minutes out.”
“What can I do?” I plead with her.
I’m crushing the phone to my ear so I can hear her. The rain makes it an almost impossible feat. “Just hold tight, help is on the way. Do not try to move her unless you feel she’s in grave danger,” she yells over the line, cool as a fucking cucumber. I guess that’s why she’s in that position.
After what I’m sure is the longest five minutes of my entire life, I hear the sirens. “They’re here,” I tell the operator.
“Good, please remember to allow them to do their job.”
What the hell? Is this chick for real? “Got it,” I say and end the call. Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I wave my arms in the air. “Over here!” I call out. The two paramedics carefully slide their way down the hill, carrying a board. Just as they reach me, a fire truck and a sheriff pull off to the side of the road. The cavalry has arrived.
Thank goodness. I hope this woman is okay.
“Sir, are you hurt?”
“No, I was driving by and saw the headlights. I’ve been here a little over five minutes. I didn’t touch the car, just shined my light through the window. The woman behind the wheel seems to be unconscious. From what I can tell, she’s the only passenger. I was afraid to move her or the car,” I ramble over the roar of the rain, still falling in buckets from the sky.
“You did good,” he yells back.
I step back out of the way and let them go to work. My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Stephanie.
She’s just going to have to wait.
I stay rooted to the spot on the hillside just in case they need another hand. I watch as the firemen join us and survey the car, assessing the risk while they nod and use hand signals. They must say that all is safe, because they immediately get to work on trying to pry the door open. The paramedics are close by, waiting to get to their patient.
I don’t move a muscle; I stand in my spot, soaking wet and wait to see if she’s okay. I wish I could have done more. I make a vow to at least get my CPR certification. What could I have really done if she were awake, or if I had to try and drag her out of the car if there was more imminent danger?
My phone vibrates again, and I continue to ignore it.
My eyes are glued to the scene in front of me. I watch as the door—which will only open a fraction—is cut away from the car. The firemen are working carefully yet diligently. As soon as the door is removed, one of the men picks it up and throws it toward the rear of the car. I’m sure they’re operating on pure adrenaline; it’s their job to get to her as quickly as possible. You see this in the movies, hear about it on the news, but to be here and witness the determination and dedication these men and women have is awe-inspiring.
The paramedics swoop in and check on the driver. I see now that one of them is in the passenger seat. I guess that door opened just fine. Everyone works together assessing the situation. When they yell for the stretcher, my heartbeat accelerates. Is she going to be okay? Can they get her out? Do they have to cut her out? A million questions are running through my head, but I still keep my eyes glued to the car. To her. I need to see that she’s okay.
Minutes, hours—I’ve lost track of time. It’s not until I see them slowly and ever so gently lift her from the car and place her on the stretcher that I feel myself take a deep breath. From the ache in my chest, it’s as if it’s the first in a while.
The paramedics work on strapping her down. A fireman throws a big blanket over her body, followed by what looks like a tarp, an attempt to keep her dry in this torrential downpour. Mother Nature is relentless tonight. Tears from Heaven, as my mother always says.
Four of them flank each corner of the stretcher and begin the slow, slippery trek up hill to the ambulance. In the dark of night, I lose sight of them until they reach the headlight beams.
“Hey, man, are you good? You hurt?” One of the guys lays a hesitant hand on my shoulder.
I shake my head. “No, I just stopped to help,” I try to explain.
He nods, letting me know he heard me. This rain makes it damn difficult to have a normal conversation.
Turning, he heads toward the car. Reaching inside, he pulls out a bag.
Her purse.
What if she wakes up in the hospital all alone? How long will it take her family to get here? She’s going to be scared. It’s that thought that has me climbing the hill. I’ll go to the hospital and just make sure she’s okay, that she’s not alone. I’ll wait until her family arrives. Maybe I can answer any questions she might have. I can at least fill her in from the point that I found her in her car.
At the top of the hill, they already have her loaded in the ambulance. I’m headed that way when the sheriff stops me.
“Excuse me, sir, do you know the victim?” he questions.
“No. I was driving by and saw the headlights over the embankment,” I explain.
He nods. “I’m going to have a few questions.” He looks up at the rain still falling from the sky. “Can you come down to the station?”
“No. I’m following them to the hospital.”
Tilting his head to the side, he studies me. “I thought you didn’t know her?”
“I don’t. However, I do know what happened here tonight—after I found her, at least. I don’t want her to wake up alone. I’ll stay until her family arrives.” I give him the details of what I just decided only minutes before.
Understanding crosses his face. “I’ll meet you there.”
I give him a quick wave and hustle across the road
to my truck. Cranking the heater, I pull out my cell phone. Several missed calls and one text from Stephanie.
Stephanie: I can’t believe you stood me up.
Really? Does she not know me any better than that?
Me: Drove up on an accident. Stopped to help. Headed to hospital now.
Me: I’ll make it up to you.
After I hit send, I drop the phone in the cup holder and reach for my seat belt, securely fastening it. I wait for the ambulance to pull out, because I’m going to follow them, not knowing for sure where they’re taking her. I don’t have to wait long before the siren sounds and they’re moving. The sheriff pulls out behind them, sticking his hand out the window for me to follow.
Thankful for the escort, I put the truck in drive and follow close behind. The entire way, I pray she’s okay. I’m not really a praying man; I’ve done it, but don’t make it a habit. But something inside me needs her to be okay.
Chapter 4
Ridge
The drive to the hospital is a blur. My grip on the wheel is so tight my fingers start to ache. Thankfully, the rain has started to ease a little; however, it does nothing to calm my nerves. I follow the sheriff into the emergency room parking lot, and he parks behind the ambulance. I find the first available spot, throwing my truck into park. I tear off the poncho and throw it in the backseat of the truck, then grab my phone and keys and head toward the entrance.
By the time I reach them, they’ve already wheeled her back to an exam room. The sheriff is waiting for me just inside the door.
“Simpson.” He holds his hand out for me.
I take it. “Ridge Beckett,” I introduce myself.
“They have a room we can use. I turned over her belongings, so they’re going to try and contact her family.”
“Do we know who she is?”
He gives me a sad look. “She had her ID in her wallet. Unfortunately, I cannot divulge that information.”
