by Stacy Finz
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes.” She sniffled, the start of a cold coming on.
He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. “You think you’re going into shock?”
“No.” Other than feeling sore all over and a bit jolted, Harlee didn’t think she’d suffered anything too serious. Although her ribs ached something fierce.
“Rhys is here.” They both heard his truck pull up.
The police chief walked up to the driver’s side and tapped on the window until Wyatt rolled it down. “You okay, Harlee?”
“Yeah,” she said, shuddering from the gust of cold that blew in.
Rhys came over to her side and opened the door, giving her a thorough perusal. First her eyes. She supposed he was checking for broken blood vessels or whatever you look for to determine whether someone has a concussion. Then he removed one of his gloves with his teeth and took her pulse.
“Okay,” he said, seeming satisfied that she wasn’t going to drop dead anytime soon. “We’ll take it real slow, with me leading. Wyatt, if Harlee starts feeling bad, you radio me, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
It took them nearly two hours to make the forty-minute drive to Plumas General, the same hospital where Colin had spent the night with the flu. Wyatt pulled up right in front of the emergency room and against Harlee’s protests carried her inside. Rhys held back, letting Wyatt tend to the details.
Despite a fairly full waiting room, they took Harlee instantly, ushering Wyatt to an empty bed, where he left her, told her he’d be waiting outside until the doc checked her over, and shut the curtain. Harlee lay back, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the man in the bed next door moan in pain.
During her reporter days, Harlee had been no stranger to emergency rooms. Like the time when a six-year-old girl had been struck in the neck by the stray bullet of a gang member while playing in her front yard. The girl’s parents had taken a shine to Harlee, and she’d been the only reporter allowed to hold vigil with them while the child clung to life. Four hours later, she came through the surgery, but would never walk or use her arms again. Stories like that had been difficult to cover, but there were others that made up for it.
For instance, the time a fourteen-year-old girl had been abducted by a registered sex offender and handcuffed to the seat of his car, yet managed to steal the key from his glove box, free herself, and flag down a passing truck driver, who drove her to the nearest police station. Harlee had gotten the tip, hauled ass to the station with a photographer, and been the only reporter there to document the girl being reunited with her parents. The scene had moved her to tears and she’d hidden her face behind the broad back of the photographer, surreptitiously wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve.
The doctor, the same one who had treated Colin when he’d had the flu, came in. “I heard you tangled with a tree.”
His examination mirrored Rhys’s, except the doctor used a penlight to scan her pupils. “How’s your husband?”
Harlee sat up, baffled. Then remembered her fib. “He’s good,” she said a little guiltily. “I can’t believe you remember me.” The man must see more than a dozen patients a day.
“I remember all the pretty ones.” He gave her a fatherly wink, and she smiled.
“Am I going to live?” she asked when he’d moved on to her ribs.
“Yep. But those airbags, while saving lives, can do a lot of damage. Breathe in and out for me, would you?”
He listened to her lungs with his stethoscope and pushed on her chest. “I don’t think you fractured any ribs. You tender?” Before she could answer he lifted her top, where she saw the beginning of two nasty bruises.
“Ah, Jesus.”
She and the doctor lifted their heads at the intrusion. Colin had come through the curtain without knocking and was staring at the contusions on her chest and stomach.
The doctor nodded a greeting as he continued his checkup. Colin moved closer to the bed and took Harlee’s hand.
“How’d you know I was here?” she asked him.
“Rhys called me.”
“I can’t believe you drove in this.”
“Guess I could say the same.” Colin turned his attention on the doctor. “Is she badly hurt?”
“Nope,” he said, wheeling his stool backwards, swiveling around and making a few notes in a file—Harlee’s file. “I’m writing you a script for eight-hundred-milligram ibuprofen. You’ll likely feel sore for a while, so it’ll help alleviate the pain and keep down the swelling. And then I’m cutting you loose.”
“Sounds good,” Harlee said, and looked over at Colin to find him scowling.
The doctor handed Colin the prescription. When he left, Colin helped Harlee off the bed and pulled her into his arms. “You sure you’re okay? Jeez, Harlee, Rhys’s call took ten years off my life.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m fine. Really I am. You shouldn’t have driven here in this weather. Wyatt waited to take me home.”
“I sent him and Rhys on their way. We’ll get a room and stay in Quincy tonight. I want you near a hospital—just in case.”
She would’ve preferred sleeping in her own bed—or Colin’s bed. But given the dangerous road conditions, she didn’t intend to argue. “Okay. You have a place in mind?”
“There’s a small bed and breakfast down the road. Hopefully they’ll have a room.”
Harlee had only driven through Quincy a few times and didn’t know much about the town, which served as Plumas County’s principal city, housing the courthouse, the sheriff’s department, and a number of government buildings.
When they got outside, the snow had let up, but it had gotten dark and the temperature was still as frigid as Alaska. Colin wrapped his arm around her and walked her to the truck. When they got inside, he hiked up the heat and kissed her. As Harlee melted into the embrace she felt Colin tremble.
“You okay?” she asked him.
“No. You scared the shit out of me.”
It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was something. “Thank you for coming.”
“You think I wouldn’t have come?” He sounded gruff, almost angry. “If you’re in trouble, I’m there. That’s the way it is, Harlee.”
The B & B was lovely. It didn’t have as much character as the Lumber Baron, but it was cozy and sweet. Every room had its own gas fireplace and Harlee used the remote control to flick on the fake logs as soon as they shut the door. She’d tried to give the desk clerk her credit card when they’d checked in, but Colin had gotten huffy and paid. They were in the center of town, near a few cafés and restaurants, and a drug store where Harlee planned to walk later to buy them toiletries and clean underwear.
“You hungry?” Colin asked, running his hand down her back.
“I could eat. But I’m worried about my truck. I don’t even know how badly it was damaged.”
“I called Griffin on my way to the hospital.” Colin tugged her down onto the bed with him. “As soon as the weather allows, he’ll tow the Pathfinder back to his shop. He said he’d call as soon as he has a look.”
She shut her eyes. “I had to have hit that tree pretty hard to deploy the airbag, don’t you think?” If the truck was totaled, she didn’t know how she’d buy another one. She still owed her parents a substantial amount on the loan they’d made her.
“Harlee”—he cupped her chin in his large callused hand—“I’ll help you with this. We’ll work it out.”
A tear leaked its way down her cheek before he wiped it away with his lips. “You don’t have to. I’ll figure it out.”
He pulled up her top to look at her bruises again. They’d become deep red, on their way to turning purple. Gently touching each one with his lips, Colin bathed her in kisses.
“We’ll get dinner later,” he said, and proceeded to make love to her with his hands and his mouth, as if every electrifying touch was meant to convey all the words he couldn’t say.
Chapter 20
Harlee’s truck needed a thousand dollars’ worth of repairs. Colin doubted that the Kelley Blue Book value on the Pathfinder warranted the cost. But he told Griffin to fix it and he’d pay. Harlee would be angry, but she couldn’t afford the hit. And he could. Financially, the last year had been good to him. His furniture business had grown and he’d earned a solid reputation in the county as a reliable carpenter. Jobs kept coming his way.
DataDate had just started paying the minimum payments on Harlee’s bills. The woman had more clothes and shoes than a department store and thanks to him nowhere to wear them. He’d like to fix that. Nothing would make him happier than to take her out on the town—a nice restaurant in Reno or a show at one of the casinos.
Initially, when he’d first gotten out of Donovan, crowds hadn’t fazed him. In fact, he’d enjoyed eating in restaurants with Fiona, Steve, and his nephews, having the freedom to order off a menu filled with so many choices his eyes glazed over, drink from a real glass instead of a state-issued plastic cup, and eat with some assurance that he wouldn’t be shivved in the back. Often, while delivering furniture for Steve, Colin would pull off the interstate, find a truck stop or a nice bar, order an iced tea, and watch people interact. He’d reveled in the normality of it and sometimes he’d even gotten lucky with a pretty woman.
Then one night he’d sat in a honky-tonk just outside of Modesto, gazing into a flashing neon beer sign while he nursed a nonalcoholic beverage. It wasn’t a rough place, mostly just a hangout for locals and farmers looking to take a load off after a hard day’s work. He’d ordered a cheeseburger—in the beginning he’d binged on junk food, appeasing the seventeen-year-old he’d been before incarceration—from a sultry redhead. She’d flirted with him and everything had been good. Better than good.
Then two men had gotten into a shouting match over by the pool tables. Colin hadn’t paid attention to what they were fighting about. A woman? Money? Not his business. But in that moment, the din of the bar had risen to ear-splitting decibels, the walls had begun to fold in on him, his vision had gone fuzzy, and he’d had the petrifying sensation that if he tried to leave, the crowd would stomp him to death. So he’d sat there clutching his bar stool, gulping breaths of air to keep from suffocating, feverish and sweating.
He must’ve looked bad, even near death, because the redhead pulled him through the kitchen and got him outside, where he summarily threw his guts up. From that day on, more than ten people in a room and visions of violent stampedes filled Colin’s head. The demophobia soon expanded to a terror of small spaces to the point where Colin had feared that he’d never leave the safety of Fiona and Steve’s home, and focused on learning everything he could from Steve about mastering carpentry. The therapist had said his phobias were a combination of post-traumatic stress disorder and trouble assimilating to the outside world. After he’d learned about the breathing exercises and a few relaxation techniques, he’d taken to the road again, delivering Steve’s furniture. But he avoided public places like he avoided everything else that was bad for him, including alcohol and junk food.
Then he’d found Nugget. The magnificent countryside, with its regal mountains, awe-inspiring forests, and starlit skies, let him breathe again. And despite living mostly like a hermit, he’d learned to be social, even friendly when the situation called for it.
Still, it was beyond a miracle that a beautiful, well-adapted woman like Harlee didn’t find him a freak. He knew from her credit card bills just how much the woman liked to go out. In San Francisco, her social life had been filled with gourmet restaurants, expensive bars, and trendy nightclubs. And shopping. The woman was a fiend when it came to department stores.
“Hey, Colin, how’s that girl of yours?” Pat pulled him from his thoughts as the whir of a circular saw had Colin scrambling down a ladder to hear his boss. “Heard about her car accident.”
“She’s fine. Her SUV, not so much.”
“Well, I’m glad she’s okay. That was a bad storm we had.”
Colin nodded his head. “The inspector show up?”
“Not yet.” Pat sighed and looked around the kitchen, where Colin attached the last of the trim work. “In a couple of months we’ll stick a fork in this baby. Sophie and Mariah are anxious to move in.”
That, Colin knew, was a fact. Living above a bowling alley and restaurant with a newborn had started to wear on them.
“I just bid another job in Graeagle,” Pat said. “Plans for a big A-frame, perched above the Feather River. Beautiful spread. If I get it, you interested?”
“Sign me up.” Colin grinned. He’d have to work double time to build up his furniture inventory. Already, Harlee’s mom wanted more pieces. A friend of hers, who owned a shop in Carmel, wanted three rockers.
In the background, Colin could hear the crew packing it in for the day. He planned to swing by Griffin’s to leave a check before Harlee tried to pay for repairs on the Pathfinder herself. After that, he and Harlee would make dinner together and take Max for a walk if it wasn’t too cold.
They had a pretty awesome routine going. Colin couldn’t believe how happy he was. But always at the back of his mind he knew it would eventually come crashing down around him.
When he got to Griff’s, the Nugget Mafia sat around a space heater in the garage, playing pinochle. Colin eluded the group by sticking to the convenience store, where he paid Griffin and shot the breeze. The place was really shaping up. Griffin and his friend Rico had done the work themselves, and Colin thought it looked pretty professional. Griff showed him the area where he planned to sell hot dogs, soft drinks, coffee, and other assorted gas station food.
“I’m thinking of putting a few of your rocking chairs on the porch.” Griffin had torn out the dry-rotted small deck at the front of the store and replaced it with a new one. “It’ll give it a country look, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Colin said. “But I’d wait until spring.” No one in his right mind would sit out in these freezing temperatures.
“I plan to put one of those old-fashioned coolers out here with soft drinks and ice cream.”
“Nice. How you doing otherwise?” The question specifically pertained to Lina, but Colin didn’t want to come right out and say You over the girl yet?
Griffin lifted his shoulders. “I’m getting there. How’s Harlee doing?”
“She’s good. Sore as hell, though.”
“Good thing she was in the Pathfinder and not the Mini Cooper.”
Colin didn’t want to think about that. “How soon you think you can get the truck up and running?”
“A week and she’ll be like new. Harlee have something to drive in the meantime?”
“When I can, I’ll lend her my truck and take the bike.”
Griffin gazed out at the mounds of snow that had been plowed to the edges of Main Street. Not exactly motorcycle weather. “The Harley?”
Colin knew Griff drove a Ducati, although he made custom bikes that sold in the high five figures. “Yeah, you ought to get yourself one.”
Griffin snorted as if he wouldn’t be caught dead riding something so lowbrow. “If she’s in a bind I can probably scrounge up a junker for her to use until the Pathfinder is ready.”
“We’ve got it covered.” He’d prefer Harlee didn’t drive for a while. Give him a little peace of mind. “Thanks for the tow. I guess I’ll see you in a week.”
Colin headed up Grizzly Peak, planning to pick Harlee up at the cabin and bring her back to his place. Once again he gave praise for the woman. Colin wasn’t a religious man, but someone, at least in the last few months, had been looking out for him.
But when he drove down Harlee’s driveway he no longer felt so fortunate. A Ford Explorer with an Oakland PD bumper sticker sat in the Pathfinder’s usual spot. It was too late to leave; Harlee must’ve heard his truck wheels crunching down her gravel road.
No, he’d have to go in and face her brother, the cop.
Brad Roberts stuck out his hand and sh
ook Colin’s, giving him the once-over as he came in the door. “Heard a lot about you,” Brad said, his voice neutral but not particularly friendly.
The guy had the same blue eyes and dark hair as Harlee. No one would miss that they were siblings. And no one would miss that Brad was sizing Colin up like a boxing opponent and deciding whether he was worthy of his little sister. Colin didn’t know what Harlee had told her brother about their relationship, but clearly Brad knew that they were more than neighbors.
Harlee waved from the kitchen. “Hey. How was your day?”
“Good.” He waved back. “What about yours? You rest?”
“I slept until Brad got here about three hours ago.” She shut the refrigerator door with her foot. “My parents made him come to check up on me. I’ll be right in.”
Brad and Colin moved to the couch, taking seats on opposite ends. “Harlee says you make furniture.”
“Mom’s been selling his pieces like crazy,” Harlee interjected, bringing a plate of cheese and crackers from the kitchen and setting it down on the coffee table.
“You can make a living like that?” Brad asked, sounding doubtful.
Colin nodded. “I also do construction, mostly carpentry.”
If the man wanted to give him the third degree . . . bring it! It couldn’t be worse than the alternative, Brad running Colin’s name through the police database. Or maybe he’d do that too. Time would tell.
“You should see his house, Brad. He built it himself and it’s gorgeous.”
“I had help from my brother-in-law.” Colin winked at Harlee, thinking she was trying a little too hard on his behalf, but was warmed by her loyalty.
“How long have you lived here?” Brad asked.
“About three years.” Colin decided to fill him up on information so he wouldn’t ask too many questions. “I inherited my mother’s Hollywood Hills house when she died, sold it and bought my property here. The place had been in foreclosure, so I got a good deal. Bought one of those log-cabin kit plans and modified it.”
