One of the paramedics spoke up. “We’re going to lie you down, Miss—”
“I’m not getting on that thing!” she said with an authority she didn’t quite feel.
Three men stared at Logan.
He looked down at her from his imposing height, and her headache grew worse. She’d seen that expression before—on her mother’s face when she was about to lay down the law.
Josie gave a soft gasp as Logan scooped her up into his arms and started toward the door.
“Come on, Michael. And you guys, call Dr. Garza and tell him we’re on our way. Jamie, close up and go home. Come by tomorrow and make a statement.”
Josie felt too weak to struggle, but her weakness came partly from the intimacy she shared with him. It had been a long time since she’d felt a man’s arms around her, and no matter how impersonal it must be for him, Josie was unprepared for the sensuality of being held so intimately. His aftershave smelled nice—not like her attackers. Her arms wound around his neck, and her hands clutched solid masculine shoulders. She suddenly remembered her gaping blouse, and what was visible and close for his scrutiny. For a moment, she studied his face—just inches from her own—and when he met her gaze boldly, she looked away.
“Isn’t this against the law?” She asked in an effort to break the embarrassing silence.
“Lady, I am the law,” he replied bluntly. “It’s my job to make sure everyone is safe in this county. You’re hurt, and I’m guessing a long way from home, your son is tired from worrying about you, and you need to see a doctor.”
He was right, and she felt justly chastised. “I’m sorry. I know you’re only trying to help, and I must be making things worse for you.”
“Yep.”
He came to a halt behind the ambulance. The paramedics set the gurney on the ground, and he gently laid Josie on it.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital. You and Dr. Garza should hit it off great. He’s almost as stubborn as you.”
“And will he hold me hostage, too?” Josie’s attempt at humor faded, and she offered him a weak smile.
“You can ask him yourself.” He lifted her son in to join her.
As he was in the process of closing the doors, she spoke. “I want to wash my hair,” she muttered inanely.
Logan smiled and shook his head as he headed toward the Hospital. He understood her fear for her son. Wanting to wash her hair at a time like this, he did not. But then he didn’t pretend to understand women.
One message he’d gotten loud and clear, though: she was distrustful of men. He wondered why she felt that way.
Josefina Hughes was one pretty lady, and he tried not to think about how nicely she filled out her jeans. The rest of her wasn’t bad, either. He recalled how she’d tried to hold her blouse together without much success, exposing soft dusky skin. She wore her raven colored hair in one long braid, and for a moment he wondered how it would look hanging free around her shoulders.
Well, he’d better not think about her any more. She had a son, and most likely a husband somewhere. She’d been stranded in this town through circumstance, and would be leaving soon.
Yet he doubted he’d soon forget her dark earthy eyes or her sexy mouth. Her bottom lip had an unusual indentation, like a cleft, in the middle of it, which gave her lips a seductive pout. He turned on the radio, raising the volume louder than usual.
Ten minutes later, he pulled into the hospital parking lot and parked close to ER. He called his office again, to give them his new location.
By the time he found Josefina, she was safely nestled under the covers, leaning back against several pillows and already sedated. Dr. Garza stood beside her bed.
“I see he talked you into staying.” Logan smiled as he sat in a chair beside the bed. She looked small in the folds of the large hospital gown.
Josie eyed him warily. “You were right. The Doctor can be pretty persuasive.”
Dr. Garza set down a chart he’d been studying and shot Logan a stern glance. “I wouldn’t question her right now. Josie has a mild concussion, and she’s in no shape to do anything but rest. I want to make sure she doesn’t have a reaction to the medication.”
“Josie?” Logan asked.
She blushed. “Josie is what my friends call me.”
“Is that a fact.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then glanced around the room. “The accommodations aren’t bad. I’ve never been in this room.”
Dr. Garza smiled. “This room is used by whatever doctor happens to be on call for the night. One of our three physicians is tall and large, and he demanded we put a double bed in here.” He looked at Josie over the rim of his glasses. “It’s not being used tonight, so it’s perfect for you and your son.”
Josie nodded politely. “Thank you, Dr. Garza.
He gave her a fatherly pat on her hand. “You’re welcome. Try to get some rest. I’ll check on you later.” On his way out, he nodded to Logan. “I’d like to speak to you later.”
At the mention of Michael, Logan realized he wasn’t in the room.
“Where is your son?” he asked.
As if on cue, the bathroom door opened and Michael walked into the room, his face scrubbed clean of dirt and tears. From beneath the thread of light, he looked at Logan.
Logan froze, and stared in disbelief. For one awful moment, he thought he was dreaming.
The chair legs scraped the floor in a bone-rattling screech as he stood up.
“I’ve gotta go,” he said.
“Is something wrong?” Josie asked, but he was already out the door.
Logan barely made it to his car. Hot unshed tears burned behind his eyes. He leaned back and slumped against the car door, hearing nothing but his own panting breath. An excruciating pain welled up in his chest so strongly, it made his vision swim.
But it wasn’t physical pain that threatened to drive him to his knees. He could handle that. This was much worse. This came from the spirit—from the emotional and mental pain of losing someone.
His worst nightmare came rushing back through the black vacuum of his soul, like some grim harbinger from hell.
Damn it! Why hadn’t he noticed it before?
Michael was a mirror image of his own son.
The son death had cheated him of.
Logan realized why the resemblance hadn’t been obvious before. He hadn’t paid much attention to the boy, except to see he wasn’t injured. Michael had never looked directly at him. His baseball cap had shaded his tear-stained face.
Logan stared up at the thousands of tiny immortal stars dotting the midnight sky. He wondered if there was really a heaven. There has to be, he thought. He struggled not to remember, because remembering was his worst kind of hell. The memories intruded anyway, uninvited—of little feet running through the house, of lifting his son into the air and reveling in his warm rich laughter.
Of his death.
Logan clenched his fists. He wanted to yell, to smash something. His heart cried out for what he’d had, and what he’d lost, and reminded him of what a miserable failure he’d been as a husband and father.
Remorse and grief filled him with an unspeakable sense of loss, of loneliness. Why had the woman and her son shown up here now? He didn’t need anyone dredging up his past or his grief. He wanted to be left alone.
Because Logan was doing penance.
Josie’s eyes closed. She’d given up wondering why the sheriff had rushed out of her room without any explanation, giving no reason for being so rude.
Who knew what drove the man? Michael scooted closer, and she gave him one last maternal look before she pulled the cover up to his chin.
“Night, Mom.”
Josie kissed him on the cheek and whispered into his shoulder. “Good night, sweetheart. We’ll get through this, too. I promise.”
They’d been through so much together, and he had never once complained. Love welled up in Josie so deep she thought she would burst from it.
What if the Sheriff’
s office didn’t find her car? She was already homeless and broke. What would she do?
Whatever Dr. Garza had given her was working. She felt herself drifting. She’d worry about it all later.
Tomorrow she would face the world outside this door. Right now, she couldn’t keep her eyes open.
Sometime later, Josie sensed someone standing at the foot of her bed. She opened her eyes and recognized Logan’s brooding features and imposing height. The silence stretched between them as he watched her.
She didn’t know what to say to him, so she let herself fall back to sleep again.
Chapter 2
The nightmare jerked Logan from the edge of sleep. He awoke disoriented, breathing rapidly. He’d had it again— the recurring dream in which he reached out to save his son and the small hand always slipped out of his larger one. Only this time, the boy’s features had been those of Michael Hughes.
Logan shoved the covers aside and rolled to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to shake the feeling that he was coming to some crossroads juncture in his life.
Logan had no illusions. He was a simple man with simple tastes. He didn’t like change. That’s why he had chosen to stay in Sandera. There was no riddle in his future. He knew where he belonged.
Now wide awake, he suddenly recalled that Dr. Garza had wanted to speak with him last night, but he’d been in no mood to stay and chat.
Today was his day off. He could put off the meeting with the doctor and send one of his deputies over to take the woman’s statement, but he knew he wouldn’t do that. Logan always saw things through to the end.
He closed his eyes, relaxing for a moment. Against his will, her image came to him. Last night, when he’d carried her in his arms, their eyes had held, and Logan sensed a sweet vulnerability about her, a sadness. For a heartbeat, he had felt a connection with her.
And that’s where the danger lay. Josefina Hughes and her son were a package deal. And every moment Logan spent around her son would be a moment in hell.
But he didn’t want to think about all that right now. What he wanted—needed—right then, was his morning coffee. He rose and headed for the shower.
Dr. Garza, a short, slender man, looked dwarfed behind his massive desk. At the moment his attention was focused on a large medical journal, which made him appear even smaller.
“You busy?” Logan asked from the doorway.
The doctor stopped reading and glanced up. “Come on in and sit down, Logan. What happened to you last night?” He said, setting the journal aside.
“I was plumb worn out.”
“Well, it doesn’t look like you got much rest. You look awful.”
“Thanks, doc, you always make me feel good,” Logan said as he sat on the chair closest to the desk.
The doctor shrugged. “You should take better care of yourself.”
Logan gave him a tolerant smile. “Maybe I’ll go fishing next week. What did you want to talk to me about?”
Dr. Garza removed his glasses and squinted as he held them up to the light. Picking up a felt cloth from his desk, he wiped the lenses. “Our young lady seems to be doing better this morning, but I’m still worried about her. We’re monitoring the head wound, and she has bruises on her neck and shoulders.” He slipped his bifocals back on and glanced at Logan over the gold rims. “She needs to stay in town at least for another day. I need your help to convince her, because I don’t think she’s going to agree.”
That fishing trip beckoned.
Logan leaned back and stretched his long legs. “I don’t see how I can talk her into staying if she has her mind set on leaving.”
“Sure you can,” The doctor persisted. “I’ve seen you charm the ladies—especially Sarah Gonzalez, and she’s a dragon if I ever saw one.” His tone sobered. “Josie and her son need our help.”
“Has she told you that?”
Dr. Garza wore one of those looks that told Logan he wasn’t happy with the way the conversation was going. “Unless you find her car, Logan, there’s no way out of here.”
“There’s a bus.” Logan didn’t care that he was being stubborn, and the doctor’s censoring eyes weren’t going to make him feel any different.
“Logan, that little lady got hurt in our town. She has no money, no job, and no car. And not much telling what this ordeal has done to her son.”
“What about the boy’s father?”
“She informed me she’s divorced. At this moment, her ex-husband is in the middle of the ocean on his honeymoon.”
Logan’s gut began to hurt.
Dr. Garza shook his head. “No, Logan, we can’t just throw her out.”
Watch me, Logan thought. He couldn’t look into that boy’s face again and again.
Logan tried to muster some pity for the woman and her son, but he couldn’t come up with any. He wanted them gone—out of his life, out of his town, and out of his mind. “What?” he asked, losing the thread of their conversation.
“I said, just think about it.” The doctor stood up, picked up a file off his desk, and slid it over in front of Logan. “Here’s that information you asked for about the Miller case. I have to go check on a patient.”
Logan leaned forward and picked up the manila folder. He was three quarters of the way through the file when his cell rang.
Josie stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had just showered, and shampooed her hair. Her brush and comb were in her purse, and God only knew where the purse had ended up, or if it would ever be recovered. She ran her fingers through the wavy strands, trying to untangle them, but finally gave up.
She touched her scalp and winced. It still stung where he had yanked on her braid. Josie shuddered, trying not to think of those horrible hands on her—in her hair, on her body. She had felt dirty. Thank God she and Michael had both come out of it alive.
During Dr. Garza’s visit that morning, he had suggested she spend another day, explaining that it wouldn’t be a good idea for her to travel. Josie had politely told him she would think about it, but that she had to consider her son. The hospital would be too confining for Michael and her stomach tightened in concern. If her car wasn’t found today, she would have to call her aunt to ask for a loan. Where else could she get bus fare?
Stepping out of the bathroom, Josie glanced over at Michael. At the moment, the cartoons on television held his interest.
“Hello, anyone home?”
Josie turned to see a beautiful Hispanic woman standing in the doorway. She stood an inch or two over Josie’s five foot, four-inch frame. Tucked into her snug black jeans was a red sleeveless shirt. Around her small waist lay a silver hip-slung belt.
That wasn’t all that drew Josie’s attention. A flat-crowned, black, western hat sat low on her head, and snuggled halfway inside the hatband was an Eagle feather. Beneath the hat, the woman’s midnight hair hung straight, reaching almost to her waist. Scarlet western boots completed her outfit.
“Hi, I’m Consuelo Rodriquez.”
Josie shook Consuelo’s outstretched hand. One thing she knew for certain—Consuelo Rodriquez would never walk into a room unnoticed.
“I’m Josie Hughes,” Josie said, thinking the woman must be in the wrong room.
Consuelo smiled. “I know. I came by to see how you’re feeling.”
“I’m fine.” Josie lied. Why was this woman showing concern for a stranger?
“And your son?” Consuelo’s whiskey colored eyes swept over Michael.
“He’s fine, too,” Josie answered awkwardly.
“Good,” Consuelo replied. “By the way, Dr. Garza is my uncle.”
Josie found it difficult to believe that this dramatic woman was sweet Dr. Garza’s niece. Surprise showed on her face, and Consuelo grinned broadly as she walked over to the bed.
“Here. These should fit.” Consuelo laid a brown grocery sack on top of the bed, then took a small bag from her purse and handed it to Josie. “The brush and comb are new just in
case you’re curious. And from the looks of your hair, I came just in time.”
Accepting the gift, Josie smiled brightly. “Oh, thanks. Yes, I could really use a comb right now.”
“Go ahead and comb your hair. Wait a minute, you probably want to change your clothes, too.”
Josie watched, fascinated, as Consuelo reached into the sack and brought out a pair of jeans, a skirt, several T-shirts, and a blouse, and two T-shirts for Michael. She laid them across the bed. “I didn’t know whether you preferred jeans or a skirt, so I brought both,” Consuelo offered.
Josie glanced over at Michael. Cartoons were forgotten as he stared at Consuelo, entranced.
Josie introduced them.
Consuelo winked and said, “Look Michael, I also brought a gift for you.”
Michael’s eyes grew large. He hesitated and looked up at Josie. She nodded. Then he reached for the coloring book and crayons.
“Thank you.” He smiled shyly.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll only be a minute,” Josie said as she grabbed the jeans and the white T-shirt and hurried into the bathroom. She changed quickly, then reached into the small bag and brought out the comb and brush. A compact and lipstick rolled out, and Josie’s eyes misted over with gratitude. She looked in the mirror in disgust. Her hair had dried, making it difficult to comb. She leaned over and stuck her head under the faucet and turned on the water.
When Josie returned, Consuelo was sitting in the same chair Logan had vacated the night before.
Consuelo looked up and smiled. “Those clothes look better on you than they did on me.”
Josie doubted that. “Thank you. But how did you know they would fit?”
“I asked Logan. He said you and I were almost the same height and about the same size except that you were more ... ah...,”—Consuelo glanced at Josie’s chest— “well-endowed.”
“Logan told you about me?” Josie asked as she sat on the edge of the bed.
“Actually, no,” Consuelo admitted. “He was at my place this morning, and Jamie walked in and started discussing what happened last night.”
Destination: Love (The Sandera, Texas Series) Page 2
