Forever After

by Catherine Anderson

  Sammy came running to Meredith’s side. “Mommy? What—?” The child’s eyes went wide with fright. “Oh, Mommy!”

  “It’s nothing, sweetheart. Just a little cut.”

  Using her other hand, Meredith pressed down hard over the wound, but it didn’t seem to staunch the bleeding. Gingerly, she assessed the damage. The cut had deeply severed the web between her thumb and forefinger and ran halfway across her palm.

  Stay calm. She shoved her hand back under the water, feeling as if she might vomit. For the life of her, she could remember very little of the first aid training she’d had. Black spots danced before her eyes.

  “Sammy, love, I need a towel.”

  The next thing Meredith knew, Heath was standing behind her, his muscular arms bracketing her shoulders like steel parentheses.

  “I’m all right,” she said tremulously, craning her neck to locate her daughter.

  All she could see was blue chambray. Heath had sandwiched her between his body and the counter, his hard shoulders hunched forward. When he saw how deep the cut was, he cursed again, this time under his breath.

  “Really, I’m fine. I’ll, um…just wrap it. No big deal.”

  “God, I’m sorry about this.” His voice gravelly with regret, he shoved her hand back under the water. “I just wanted to warn you about using the front door. With most of the porch missing, it’s quite a drop to the ground.”

  Meredith blinked, trying to clear away the black spots. The rush of the water echoed inside her head. “Sheriff Masters, it’s not your fault.”

  “Like hell. I should’ve gone to the back door. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  The ragged edge of his breathing told her how worried he was. “I’ll be fine, really.”

  A sudden brightness gilded the kitchen, and Meredith felt as if she were peering at everything through the illumination, her mind strangely separate from reality. Big, tanned hands, one clamped over her wrist, the other applying pressure to the cut. The floorboards creaking under their feet. Sammy’s small face, as pale as a whitewashed picket, reappearing beside them. A deep, masculine voice saying the words “stitches” and “emergency room.”

  She forced her gaze away from the wound, which gaped open.

  “You aren’t going to faint on me, are you?” he asked.

  “No, of course not. Blood doesn’t bother me.” Seeing her own meat and muscle was another matter entirely, though. Every time she drew a breath, her lungs hitched. “It’s not really all that bad. Is it?”

  “Well, it’s not exactly a nick.” He shifted behind her. “Sammy, can you get me a clean towel?” Meredith heard chair legs scrape the floor. “Don’t fall, sweetcakes.” A second later, the patter of Sammy’s sneakers came up beside them. “That’s a girl,” Heath told the child. “This towel will work great!” As he turned back to Meredith, he said, “Are you all right, honey? You’re pale. Maybe you should look at something else.”

  Honey.

  Hearing him call her that, his voice so deep and close to her ear, made Meredith miss her dad. Right then, she would have given almost anything to have his strong arms around her. To feel safe and loved. To know that nothing could ever hurt her again.

  “Meredith? You still with me?”

  “What?” She glanced down to see that Heath had cinched the towel around her palm. Crimson already seeped through the cheerfully striped linen.

  He gave the towel a jerk, tightening it over the wound and applying pressure with the grip of his fingers. The faucet squeaked as he turned it off. Then he guided her to the utility porch and out the door, his broad chest like a boulder against her back. He held her with one arm clamped around her ribs, his hand splayed under her left breast.

  She hoped he didn’t notice the padding in her bra. The thought made her stumble, and she had to execute some fancy footwork to get back in stride with him.

  When they reached the fence she’d built to enclose Sammy’s play area, he jerked the wire loose from the house with one mighty tug. After assisting Meredith through the opening, he helped Sammy, cautioning her to be careful of the ragged edges.

  “We don’t want you to get cut, too,” he told the child, giving her head a pat.

  At the Bronco, he lifted Meredith onto the backseat, handling her weight as easily as he had the lumber. Once she was settled, he boosted Sammy up. Then, leaning in, he drew the seat belt strap across Meredith’s body. Startled by his touch, she clutched his wrist. The corded tendons in his forearm went hard beneath her frantic fingers.

  He hesitated and glanced up, his gunmetal eyes filled with questions. Her cheeks went hot. It wasn’t as if he were taking liberties. She released his wrist. He fastened the buckle, then slipped his fingers under the strap to settle it between her breasts.

  “Sammy, I’m gonna need you to be my medic. Can you do that for me?”

  Her eyes as round as saucers, Sammy nodded. Heath smiled and positioned her tiny hands, showing her how to hold pressure on the wound.

  “That’s the way,” he told her. “While I’m driving to the hospital, you’ll have to squeeze real hard the whole time. Think you can handle it?”

  The calm certainty in Heath’s voice seemed to reassure Sammy, and once again, she nodded solemnly. Meredith insinuated a thumb between her daughter’s small fingers to help hold pressure. The towel was already soaked with her blood.

  “How far is it?” she asked when Heath climbed in behind the steering wheel.

  He glanced at her in the visor mirror. “About fifteen miles,” he said with a wink. “Don’t worry. I’m a certified first responder, one of my job requirements. It’s a deep cut, but the bleeding’s slowed down. With a few stitches, you’ll be good as new.”

  Meredith settled back, trying not to watch her blood drip from the towel.

  A perk of Heath’s job was receiving VIP treatment in Wynema General’s ER, whether he sought medical treatment for himself or a prisoner. In his rookie year, he’d felt guilty about that. Now he didn’t hesitate. Working the hours he did, and sometimes nearly getting his head blown off in the process, had to be worth something, and he sure as hell didn’t draw a big salary.

  Because he’d radioed ahead, a nurse waited inside the glass doors when Heath parked by the ambulance ramp. After quickly buttoning and tucking in his shirt, he helped his passengers from the rig and up the short flight of steps. When the automatic doors opened, the nurse slipped an arm around Meredith’s shoulders.

  “Hi, Peg,” Heath said. “Meet Meredith Kenyon, my new neighbor. She’s had a little accident. Meredith, this is Nurse Staley, head honcho of the ER.”

  The nurse smiled. “It looks like you tangled with something mean and lost.”

  “A paring knife,” Heath explained. “You better get someone from orthopedics on the horn. It’s a pretty deep cut.”

  A plump redhead, Peg was a veteran at Wynema General, and she and Heath had forged a casual friendship that went back a long way. “When you gonna learn not to tell me my business, Masters?”

  “Probably never. It’s my mission in life to aggravate you.”

  Peg winked at Sammy. “And who is this young lady with the pretty blue eyes?”

  “My daughter, Sammy. I’d like to take her in with me. She’s shy with strangers.”

  Peg shook her head. “It’ll be better if she waits out here.”

  Meredith glanced at her daughter. “I’m not sure—”

  “She’ll be fine,” Heath cut in. “I’ll watch her.”

  “But she’s—”

  “It won’t take long,” Peg assured her. “You’ll be back before Sammy knows it.”

  Meredith looked at Heath. “You don’t mind?”

  “If he does,” Peg inserted, “I’ll knock him up alongside the head.” The nurse grinned at Heath. “You want me to get someone down here to park that blasted Bronco of yours? As usual, you’re blocking our loading zone. That space is reserved for—”

  “Ambulances, I know,” Heath said w
ith a chuckle. “And, yeah, get someone down here, would you, Peg?”

  As the nurse led Meredith away, Sammy tried to follow. Still holding the child’s hand, Heath hauled her up short. “Sorry, honey. It’s real busy back there, and little girls can’t go in unless they’re sick or hurt and need to see a doctor.”

  Sammy’s response was to rub her eye with a grubby little fist, her mouth quivering. Realizing she was about to cry, Heath started to feel panicky.

  “It’s all right, honey. Your mama will be right back. You’ll see.”

  She peered up at him around her knuckles, her expression both disconsolate and hopeful. Heath could only pray the latter emotion won the war.

  Only a few seconds later, a blue-suited custodian came trotting up the wide hallway, the rubber soles of his work boots squeaking on the gleaming green tiles. “Howdy, Sheriff. I hear you need somebody to park the tank again.”

  Keeping a firm hold on Sammy’s hand, Heath fished in his jeans pocket for his keys. “Anywhere in ER parking will do, Jim.”

  Jim glanced at the child. “As perps go, this one’s a shade on the small side. What’d she do, rob a bank?”

  “This is Sammy, my new neighbor. Her mother cut her hand.”

  Jim grinned, his dark hair tousled, his boyishly plump face flushed from running. “No unruly drunk with his head laid open today?”

  “Nope.”

  “No criminals in handcuffs?”

  “Nope, sorry.”

  “Well, heck. Nothing exciting has happened around here in almost a week.” Jim took Heath’s car keys and gave them a jaunty toss. “If there’s no prisoner, why’d they call me? You don’t need a parking attendant, man. You need some action to keep your life interesting.”

  Heath gestured at Sammy, who was staring at Jim with wide-eyed wariness. “My sidekick here is a little worried about her mama. I’d just as soon not make her leave the hospital. Besides”—he patted Jim’s protruding waistline—“you can use the exercise.”

  Jim wiggled his eyebrows at Sammy. “Worried about your mama, are you?” He gave the child a thumbs-up. “She’s in good hands. Best doctors in the state.”

  “Sheriff?” the receptionist called softly. “Are you ready to fill out the forms?”

  “Yo.” Heath slapped Jim on the shoulder then stepped toward the desk, forgetting until he nearly jerked Sammy off her feet that he had a short-legged person attached to him. “Sorry, sweetcakes. You okay?”

  The pained look on Sammy’s face spoke volumes. Heath had an awful feeling he’d nearly jerked her shoulder out of socket.

  He shortened his stride, which still forced the child to run to keep up. He noticed that an older woman sitting in the front waiting area was watching him with one eyebrow raised. Putting another half hitch in his get-along, he covered the remaining distance to the desk, acutely aware that Sammy’s sneakers still slapped the tile in a rapid tattoo.

  “All I know is the lady’s name and address,” he told Trish, the slender receptionist, as he drew up in front of her station. “Meredith Kenyon, 1423 Hereford. You’ll have to get any further information from her.”

  “I don’t suppose you know if she has insurance.”

  “Somehow, it slipped my mind to ask her that.” Heath thumped his forehead. “What the hell was I thinking?”

  Trish rolled her eyes. “I just asked. Don’t make a major production.”

  He grinned. “Do you ask if your neighbors have insurance?” Then, “Never mind. Knowing you, probably.”

  Jim came jogging back into the hospital just then. Tossing the car keys to Heath, he said, “First row, third spot down.”

  “Thanks, Jim.”

  Putting the keys back in his pocket, Heath turned from the desk and nearly ran over his small charge. He bent down. “You want a soda, sweetcakes?”

  Big, bewildered blue eyes lifted to his. Thinking that maybe she’d never heard a soft drink referred to as a soda, Heath rephrased the question. “You wanna pop?”

  Her eyes went even wider, and she hunched her shoulders, trying to tug her hand free. Heath had a feeling he’d said something that frightened her, but he couldn’t think what. He got a firmer hold on her hand to make sure she didn’t haul ass.

  “A Pepsi?” he tried.

  Bingo. She looked at the soft drink dispenser against the wall, shook her head, and started rubbing her eye again. If she kept it up, she wouldn’t have any lashes left.

  “Well, I need to wet my whistle.” Heath led her to the machine. Angling his free arm across his body, he dug into his left pant pocket for change. The dispenser clanked as it gulped the quarters. He pressed his selection. Nothing happened. Damned thing. Familiar with the contraption’s quirks, he thumped it with the side of his boot. Sammy jumped when the pop can came tumbling out into the trough.

  “Whoa, there, honey,” Heath said in low, soothing tone as he bent to retrieve the soft drink. “I’m just getting this cussed machine to cooperate, that’s all. Sure you don’t want a Pepsi? I’m buying.”

  Standing well back, her captured arm extended as far as it would stretch, Sammy hid her face against her shoulder. Heath guessed that meant no.

  Taking itty-bitty, pain-in-the-ass baby steps, he led her to some seating in a cheerful yellow alcove that resounded with the blare of an overhead television.

  Heath sat down, propping one booted foot on his knee. Sammy backed up to the lime-green cushion beside him, went up on her tiptoes, and finally, after a great deal of wiggling, managed to get one cheek of her fanny parked. Heath let go of her hand just long enough to grab the back of her pink britches to haul her up the rest of the way.

  Flipping up the tab of his soft drink can, he took a long swallow, then whistled appreciatively. “Good stuff.” He shoved the can toward her. “You sure you’re not thirsty, honey? I don’t mind a little backwash if you don’t.”

  She looked at him as if he were jabbering in Spanish. Hell. Usually when he dealt with youngsters, he was taking a minor to the juvie or providing transport for a child who’d become a ward of the court. In situations that involved a child Sammy’s age, he always recruited Helen Bowyers, a female deputy, to accompany him.

  Uncomfortable with the silence and the way she was staring at him, he met her gaze warily. Her hand felt so small. Little fingers, all squished together within the circle of his. Accustomed to large, man-sized things—his dog, his cattle, his horses, his Bronco—Heath felt increasingly uneasy. She was shaking, and he wondered if he was hurting her. He lightened his grip, but she continued to tremble.

  “Your mama’s gonna be fine. All she has is a little cut. The doctor will fix it and give her something to make it stop hurting. Then we’ll take her home.”

  He waited for her to smile. Those big, frightened eyes remained fixed on him.

  He decided to try ignoring her. Staring at the television, but not really seeing it, Heath remembered how wary of him Meredith had seemed last night. It stood to reason Sammy would share her sentiments about most things—their neighbor, included.

  What had happened to make the two of them so distrustful of men? He’d been friendly and polite, even going so far as to volunteer his time to repair their house. Yet the sound of his voice had startled Meredith so badly that she’d cut herself. Something about this whole situation didn’t feel right to him.

  Not my problem. He’d volunteered to fix their house, yes, but not their lives. Stay out of it. Look the other way. Don’t get any more involved than you already are.

  Hell, he’d already broken nearly all the rules, self-imposed and otherwise. When Meredith had cut herself, the first thing he should have done was get the first aid kit out of his Bronco. Instead, he’d taken one look and rushed indoors. No rubber gloves. All that blood. Never once had he thought to protect himself. If he had caught one of his deputies taking a risk like that, he would have been furious.

  No two ways about it, he needed to back off. Keep his distance.

  That was a fine and dan
dy plan, but easier said than done. For starters, it was his fault Meredith had cut herself. He felt bad about that. He’d realized from the first that she was skittish. He should have had the good sense to walk around back and knock on her door. That was the normal way of doing things.

  Now he was in charge of a little girl who looked as if she’d just eaten Mexican jumping beans.

  “You ever been in an emergency room before, Sammy?”

  She hunched her shoulders and hid her face again.

  Uncertain if that meant yes or no, he decided to wing it. “I bet it seems scary.”

  A voice blasted out over the loud speaker above them, and she jerked.

  “That’s just a lady talking into a microphone,” he explained. “Little speaker wires carry her voice through the building, and the sound comes out of those little square things in the walls.” He pointed at the speaker, silently congratulating himself on handling this situation fairly well. Little kids weren’t beings from another planet, just pint-sized adults. “That way, when somebody needs treatment, the lady can call the doctor, and her voice goes everywhere in the hospital.”

  The child peered up at the speaker, her small face solemn, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

  “Inside the emergency room where your mama went, there are beds lined up along the wall, with pretty striped curtains to pull closed around each of them. Peg, the nurse you met, will stay with your mama until the doctor comes to take care of her. Pretty soon, when she’s all fixed up, she’ll come out those doors right there.”

  As she looked at the double doors, he felt a tug on his heartstrings. Though his sister Laney had been ten when their mother died, Sammy reminded him of her. The same sorrowful, lost expression. He wanted to hug her close and make her feel better.

  He drained the pop can, set it on the table near his elbow, and tried to concentrate on the television program. Some broad with frizzy red hair was interviewing a bunch of married couples. Heath listened for a minute or two, realized the topic was about men who had an underwear fetish, and wished he had a channel changer. The stuff they aired in the afternoon when little kids might be watching was mind-boggling. There oughta be a law, he thought, glancing uneasily at Sammy.