Small-Town Redemption

by Andrews, Beth

  Char had only a small sip, then set her glass aside. She had to work in just over an hour.

  “Hard to believe out of the three Montesano siblings in committed relationships,” Sadie said, “James and I are the ones getting married first. Is that weird?” She nodded, took another drink. “That’s weird.”

  But she didn’t look freaked out by it. She looked...content. Happy. Her sister had spent most of her life searching for excitement, never staying in the same place long, never sticking with one job or one man. Now she was planning her wedding, her marriage and her life, with one of the most settled, grounded men Char had ever known.

  “Guess this is the beginning of the end of your adventurous days,” Harper said, her pretty face lit by a teasing grin.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Sadie admired her engagement ring, two round white diamonds glittering on either side of a larger blue diamond. “I thought I’d be nervous when he proposed. Unsure. But when he asked me to marry him it was so right. Life with James is...it’s everything. Fun and passionate, serious and emotional, and so very easy. I think being his wife, eventually having his babies, is going to be the best adventure ever.”

  Harper raised her glass. “Well said.”

  Bitterness coated Char’s throat and she wished she could down the rest of her drink, maybe finish off the bottle to wash it away. It wasn’t that she was envious of Sadie and Harper—much. She was happy they were both in loving, committed relationships.

  Was it so wrong to want that for herself?

  Except now she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Oh, she’d been sure. Had been convinced she knew exactly what her future looked like: married to a respectable, kind, easygoing man, one who wanted a family, a life right here in Shady Grove, who was nice and charming and socially conscious.

  Instead she couldn’t stop thinking about a wild-haired bad boy with too many tattoos and a cynical streak a mile wide.

  She would stop thinking about him. Even if he did slip into her mind every once and again, she wasn’t letting it stop her from moving forward with her plans. When Justin had called her Thursday inviting her to lunch that day, she’d readily accepted.

  That was how a relationship was supposed to work. A few casual dates so a couple could get to know each other better, followed by dinners out, maybe dancing or a show in Pittsburgh. So far, she and Justin were right on track.

  She’d have to make sure they stayed there.

  Someone knocked on the back door. Charlotte excused herself, then walked through the dining room to her small kitchen.

  And saw Kane scowling at her through the door’s large window.

  Her heart did one slow roll. Oh, this wasn’t good.

  She didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want him in her house.

  He knocked again, a light tap on the glass, then raised eyebrows as if asking her what she was doing. His eye was healing, the scratches fading, his hair falling over his stitches.

  She didn’t have a choice so she opened the door a few inches, only enough for her message to be clear: he wasn’t welcome.

  “Kane. Hello.” She wouldn’t stoop to his level. Would remain calm and polite no matter what. “What are you doing here?”

  “You have company,” he said, his tone accusing, his eyes narrowed.

  She didn’t have to wonder how he knew, since both Sadie and Harper had parked in her driveway. “Yes.”

  He glowered, his hair lifting in the warm breeze. “I thought you’d be alone.”

  “I’m not. And, as you can see—” she gestured to the mint-green scrubs she was wearing “—I’m going into work shortly so—”

  “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  She blinked, her hand tightening on the door. “Yes.”

  Hard to deny it when it was true. So she wouldn’t have to face Kane, she’d even had Estelle meet her for lunch downtown instead of picking the girl up. Afterward, she’d dropped the teen off in the parking lot, then shot out of there like a race car driver after a pit stop.

  “As scintillating as this conversation has been,” she said, her irritation at him growing—both for his behavior now and for what happened between them the other night. No, it wasn’t all his fault, but really, he did hold more than his share of blame. “I need to get going.”

  “Kane?”

  Char sighed and let her head hit the door.

  “Hi,” Sadie said, coming up behind Char, her glass in hand, a sunny smile on her face. “Did you hear the good news? Come to congratulate me?”

  “I’m not here for you,” he told Sadie, his gaze on Char. “I’m here for Charlotte.”

  Her throat went dry, but it was just because of how he said it, with determination and something else, something deeper and hot in his tone. It was the way he looked at her—not even sparing Sadie a glance. It was just her hormones forgetting she’d let them lead her before, and all it had done was leave her feeling confused and hurt.

  And, those hormones reminded her, very satisfied.

  Stupid hormones.

  “I’m sorry,” Sadie said with a laugh as fake as their mother’s blond hair. “I could have sworn you said you were here for my baby sister.”

  “You heard right,” Kane said. Then he snatched Char’s arm and tugged her outside, shutting the door on Sadie’s shocked face.

  Kept right on pulling her through the yard toward the large oak tree separating her property from her neighbor’s. The grass was cold and damp, wetness soaking into her socks as she struggled to keep up, to get free of his tight grip.

  She growled in frustration. Seriously, the man had reduced her to growling. “Have you lost what is left of your mind?” she snapped, too irritated to keep her voice down, too embarrassed at his high-handedness not to worry about someone hearing her. Seeing him drag her around like a damn dog on a leash.

  Not so much as glancing back at her, he lifted his left shoulder.

  She clenched her jaw to stop a scream from finding its way out. While it fit the situation of being forcibly abducted from her home, it also seemed overly dramatic for this particular situation. No sense causing a scene. Or scaring the neighborhood kids racing their bikes up and down the sidewalk.

  Someday, she thought, marching behind Kane, her kids would do the same. Ride their bikes with their neighborhood pals, play kickball in the backyard, have picnics right under this tree. It was all part of the plan. The house, her pursuit of a suitable man to become her husband, were all steps she’d carefully laid out, steps that needed to be taken to achieve her goals.

  But when Kane stopped at the tree and faced her, eyes glittering, mouth unsmiling, all those plans went poof!

  And when she imagined her future offspring, those adorable, bright, funny children she someday hoped to have, they all had dirty-blond hair and cool green eyes.

  * * *

  CHARLOTTE WAS RIGHT. He’d officially lost his mind.

  Her fault for making it so damned difficult for him to apologize to her. He’d tried calling and texting and had, at one sad, sorry point, resorted to driving past her house. She hadn’t been home. So he’d waited, had tried to catch her when she’d dropped Estelle off the other day but he’d been too late.

  Now he’d resorted to this, yanking her from her home in just her socks and dragging her across the yard in the hopes of getting a few minutes of privacy.

  Yep. Mind gone.

  She tugged on his hand again, but he was afraid if he let go, she’d take off. She looked so irritated, her hair spiky, a little wrinkle forming in her forehead. Looking at her made his chest hurt, as though he couldn’t take a full breath.

  He’d always known someday a woman would be the death of him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He winced. He hadn’t meant to spit the words out that way, angry a
nd frustrated. But apologizing had never been easy for him. Bartasaviches didn’t apologize.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, softening his tone to a rough growl, “for what happened the other night. I acted like a prick.”

  She studied him, trying to decide if she should believe him or not. “Fine,” she said, all long-suffering and benevolent. “I forgive you. Now can I please go back inside? I have guests.”

  “They can wait another minute.” Letting go of her hand, he quickly pulled the small box from his front pocket, shoved it at her. “Here.”

  She fumbled it. Held it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger, as if he’d just handed her a ticking time bomb. “What is it?”

  He wanted to smile at the suspicious note in her tone, but didn’t dare. “Open it.”

  Her top teeth sinking into her bottom lip, she lifted the lid. Pulled out the delicate silver chain. The pendant was an irregular circle, as thick as a ring, the bottom flattened.

  “This above all,” she said, reading the inscription, “to thine own self be true.”

  He’d made a mistake with her the other night, more than one. The first had been opening up to her, telling her about the accident. He’d been confused by his sudden need for her, his emotions tangled in knots. Angry still, at himself, at his past. He’d taken his anger out on her. This was his way of telling her he respected her decision. He respected her.

  “It’s...” She stopped. Swallowed, fisting her hand around the necklace. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

  And she smiled at him, a warm smile filled with understanding. Forgiveness.

  It roared through him, blowing away all the bullshit reasons he’d told himself he was here, all the lies and excuses as to why he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  “Have dinner with me,” he heard himself say, sounding as desperate as some loser who’d never had a date with anyone other than a blow-up doll.

  Her smile faded. “What?”

  He stepped closer, told himself he deserved it when she edged back, watched him warily. “Have dinner with me,” he repeated, softer this time, less a desperate demand and more of a request. “Please,” he added when she gaped at him.

  See? He could be polite. He’d been taught social graces from the time he was old enough to walk, and at times, he even still knew how to use those charms.

  “No,” she said.

  Did she have to sound so damned emphatic?

  “A date,” he pressed. “One date. We’ll go into Pittsburgh. Hell, we can go wherever you want. New York City. DC. You name it.”

  “I’m not going out with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why not.”

  She turned to go, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I want to see you, Charlotte,” he said, letting his voice go low and husky. “I want to spend time with you.”

  “Why?”

  How was he supposed to answer that without sounding pathetic? When he couldn’t even explain it to himself. “I...I like you.”

  Christ, that was worse. Now he sounded like a pimply thirteen-year-old sending notes to his crush during study hall.

  But it was the truth. He did like her. Liked her humor and her strength. Her honesty and pride.

  “Don’t,” she said quietly. “Don’t do this.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Don’t tell me you like me. Don’t ask me out. What would be the point? We want different things. I’m looking for someone I can spend the rest of my life with, someone I can commit, fully commit, to. And you’re biding your time until you can move on again.”

  True. He didn’t even think about his future, didn’t plan on ever settling down with one woman. The idea of marriage, more kids, promising to be there day after day, all the things that were so important to her, left him cold.

  “You’re right.” He stepped back, the cast on his arm feeling heavy, his chest aching in a way it hadn’t in days. “Guess I’ll see you around, Red.”

  Her mouth turned down slightly at the corners. “Goodbye, Kane.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from watching her walk away, the subtle sway of her hips, her long strides, the way the sun glinted off her hair. And wished like hell he had the strength to call her back.

  * * *

  ESTELLE RUBBED HER hands up and down her arms, but couldn’t get warm. Chills racked her body, shaking her limbs, making her legs unsteady. The hospital loudspeaker squeaked, then someone paged a doctor. Behind the glass of the little cubicle thingy, a woman with gray-streaked dark hair frowned at her.

  Too bad. She probably wanted Estelle to stop pacing, but the movement—around and around the tiny E.R. waiting room—was the only thing keeping her from going crazy with worry.

  Where was her dad?

  As if she’d conjured him up, the automatic door opened and he strode in, tall and broad-shouldered and strong. She threw herself at him, tears streaking her face. “Oh, Daddy!”

  His arms came around her as she knew they would, comforting and warm. He hugged her tight. “It’ll be okay.”

  She leaned back. Sniffed. “You don’t know that.”

  “I know my old man,” he told her, leading her to a set of chairs by the window. “He’s too stubborn to die.” He glanced around at the empty room. “What did the doctor say?”

  “Nothing yet.” She pulled a tissue from the box on the table next to her. Pressed it against her eyes even though it would make her mascara smear. “They took him back for some tests and said someone would come out as soon as they knew more.”

  “What happened?”

  “We...” She inhaled shakily. Blew her nose. “We were at the restaurant eating dinner.” She’d seen her grandfather at least once a day since he got to Shady Grove. Tonight, he was to take a red-eye back to Houston. “Granddad started acting funny. Like, confused. He thought we were back in Houston and then his words started slurring. He said he was having a hard time seeing and he just...dropped his fork.”

  She’d never forget the way his arm had fallen to his side, as if he had no control over it. How he’d leaned to the right, half of his face drooping.

  She’d never forget how scared he’d looked before he’d slumped over.

  “Someone in the restaurant called 911,” she continued, her voice breaking. “The ambulance picked him up and brought him here. One of the waiters gave me a ride.”

  Her dad ran his hand through his hair. Exhaled heavily. “Let’s see if we can find someone to tell us what’s going on.”

  As they stood, the door next to the cubicle opened and Charlotte came out. Estelle hadn’t even known she was working tonight.

  She rushed over to Char and grabbed her hands. “Did you see my granddad? Is he all right?”

  Char tugged her back to the seat, barely glanced at her dad. Nothing new there. Estelle had noticed there was usually a weird vibe between those two. “They’re still running tests. But he’s stable.”

  Stable. That was good, right? Stable meant holding his own.

  Stable meant not dead.

  “When will they be done? When will they know if he’s going to be all right?”

  Char squeezed her hands. “I can’t give you a time frame. I’m sorry. But I’ll do my best to keep you updated.”

  The last bit she spoke to Kane.

  He nodded. “I appreciate it.”

  “If you need me, have the receptionist page me,” she said, standing and indicating the woman behind the glass. “I’ll come back out as soon as I hear anything.”

  “Thank you,” Estelle told her, trying to get a hold of herself. Her sniveling and bawling like a baby wouldn’t do Granddad any good.

  But when her dad wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, the tears came back. She sobbed agai
nst his chest.

  And wished her mother were here.

  * * *

  AT MIDNIGHT, CHAR found Kane still in the waiting room, Estelle curled up awkwardly on the chair next to him fast asleep, her head resting on a jacket in his lap.

  He looked up when he heard Char come in, his gaze giving nothing away.

  She sat on his other side, kept her voice low. “They’re moving your father to the ICU. Dr. Lamberson will be down shortly to talk with you, but I wanted to check on you both, see how you were doing.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  “I know.” She’d wanted to, despite what had happened between them earlier at her house. And not just because she wanted to offer Estelle her comfort. She wanted to help Kane, too.

  She’d been working only a few hours when they’d brought Clinton Bartasavich in. She’d known, from her time spent with Estelle Friday, that Kane’s father was in town. The EMTs had told her the patient’s teenage granddaughter was with him at the restaurant when he’d fallen ill, so as soon as Char had gotten a spare moment, she’d hurried to the waiting room, not wanting Estelle to be alone.

  Only to find Kane sitting there, stoic and unemotional.

  “It was definitely a stroke?” he asked now.

  She nodded. “A blood vessel ruptured and leaked into his brain. He’s on medicine to help reduce brain swelling. He’s also on a ventilator to assist his breathing.”

  The doctor would explain all of that and more to Kane, but she didn’t want him to sit and wonder what was going on when she could give him some answers.

  “How bad was it?”

  “We won’t know the extent of his injuries until—”

  “You know something,” he said, his voice low, his eyes tired. “Tell me.”

  She licked her lips, glanced around, but the only other person in the room was a twentysomething man listening to an iPod. “The damage was severe.”

  He stiffened. “What do you mean? Brain damage?”

  “Possibly.” She wouldn’t lie to him, not even when the truth was difficult to hear. But telling the truth to the loved ones of patients was one of the hardest parts of her job. “There could be long-term side effects, both physical and cognitive. Paralysis, pain, fatigue. Difficulty with speech, memory loss. The good news is he was brought in right away, which gives him the best possible chances, not only for survival, but for his recovery.”