The Twisted Road to You (Perfect, Indiana Book 4)

by Barbara Longley

  “The day my ex showed up,” Carlie told them. “Wes saved my life that day, and my son’s.” Memories of the past month played through her mind, especially the way Wes had raced through her house with his gun drawn.

  Every tender moment they’d shared since that day flashed before her: their first kiss, the way he protected her and Ty, his quirky sense of humor when he turned playful . . . Oh, God, she’d never told him she loved him. Her eyes filled, and she stared at Kyle helplessly.

  “OK.” He rose. “Ken will be back soon. I’m going to take these forms to the nice lady behind the counter, and then we’re heading to the emergency room.”

  She accepted the tissue Brenda handed her. Once Kyle returned, the two of them made their way to the emergency room, where she had to fill out forms of her own. Luckily, the waiting room was pretty much empty, and it didn’t take long before she was examined, X-rayed and declared bruised, not broken. She walked back to the waiting room and found Kyle reading a magazine. “Told you,” she said. “No broken ribs.”

  “Good. Now I don’t have to worry anymore.” He tossed the magazine back on the end table, rose and stretched. “Ready to head back to the surgical center?”

  “Yes.” She followed him to the elevator. “How much longer do you think it will be before we hear something about Wes?”

  “It’s hard to say.” Kyle hit the Up button. “It depends on what kind of damage the bullet did to him. Judging by the entry and exit wounds, his spleen, splenic artery, a kidney or renal artery could’ve suffered a hit or a nick. Then there’s the transverse and descending colon—possible damage to the lower ribs and diaphragmatic injury.” He glanced at her. “Which would explain why he was having difficulty breathing.”

  “Oh. Are any of those things life threatening?” She studied his face. He wasn’t giving anything away. “Brenda said Wesley was stabilized in the trauma center. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

  “Hard to say. We’re going to have to wait to hear from the surgeon.”

  Not at all what she wanted to hear. Needing distraction, she grasped at something else to talk about. “Ken said you were an emergency medical technician in the army. Is that why you decided to become a physician’s assistant?”

  The elevator door opened, and he gestured for her to exit first. “I do have a lot of experience, and being a PA makes sense. It’s good money and the hours are decent.”

  “Did you think about medical school at all?”

  “Nope. The time commitment for medical school is extremely intense. I’m thirty already. I want a family and a relatively normal life with time off for vacations.” He guided her toward the surgical waiting room. “Being a PA is the perfect job for me.”

  A normal life, family and vacations sounded like heaven to her, and just as far out of her reach. Once again envy reared its ugly head, and she immediately tamped it down. “I’m so excited for you and Brenda.”

  “Thanks. Me, too.” Kyle’s attention shifted to Brenda as they walked into the waiting room. He sank down on the couch next to her and reached for her hand. “Any news?”

  Wes’s dad shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

  Kenny lifted a cardboard holder from the end table and held it out to Carlie. It held the last cup of coffee. Hers. She reached for the to-go cup. “Thanks.” Taking a sip of the now tepid brew, she settled on the couch next to him.

  “That’s been sitting awhile. There’s a microwave over there,” Ken said, pointing to a table next to a vending machine in the corner. “Want me to warm it up for you?”

  “No. It’s fine.” She took another swallow and set it on the table. Then she leaned back and closed her eyes. All the tension she’d been under had taken a toll, and exhaustion closed in. She must’ve dozed off, because hearing Wesley’s name being called woke her.

  The Holts were standing. Carlie looked around, but she didn’t see a doctor.

  “Are you here for Wesley Holt?” the nurse behind the counter asked. Carlie stood up with everyone else, her stomach lurching.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Wes’s dad said with a nod.

  “Mr. Holt is out of surgery, and he’s being moved to his room now.” She checked the computer and wrote something down on a sheet of paper. “This is his room number. The surgeon will meet you in the reception area to go over everything with you.”

  “Thank you.” Kyle stepped forward and took the paper from her.

  “Take the hall to your left and follow the signs,” she told them.

  All six of them filed out of the waiting room, and Carlie took up the rear. What if nonfamily members weren’t allowed? Ken dropped back to walk beside her, and she shot him a grateful smile. She wasn’t the only outsider.

  They came to a busy hub staffed with nurses, with doors to rooms surrounding the circular counter like spokes in a bicycle wheel. A tall man in scrubs leaned against the counter with a chart in his hands. A surgical mask hung around his neck and paper slippers covered his shoes. “Holt family?” he asked, surveying the lot of them.

  “Yes.” John stepped forward. “I’m Wesley’s father, and this is his mother.” He put his arm around Maggie.

  The surgeon held out his hand. “I’m Dr. Sunderman.” He shook John’s hand. “Follow me, and we’ll go over everything.” The doctor led them to yet another waiting room, and they huddled around him.

  “Mr. Holt came through the surgery very well, and we expect him to make a full recovery,” the surgeon said. “We had to repair damage to an artery and a tear to his spleen, his diaphragm and a section of his colon. We’re keeping him until Friday morning. I’ll have directions for his aftercare, and prescriptions for antibiotics and something for pain to send home with him. Who will be picking him up?” Dr. Sunderman looked around their huddle.

  “I will.” Carlie stepped forward, her heart leaping around inside her chest. Wes would make a full recovery.

  Brenda moved to her side. “Here’s my brother’s wallet. His insurance card is behind his driver’s license, along with the card for prescription medications.” She handed the worn brown leather to her, and then she fished around in her purse. “Here’s his phone, keys and watch, too. I’m glad you’re going to take care of him, Carlie.”

  Carlie took Wes’s things, feeling like she’d been handed the keys to the kingdom or something. “I’ll take good care of him.”

  “We know you will,” John said.

  “Mr. Holt is still under the anesthesia, but if you’d like to stop into his room to see him, that would fine.” Dr. Sunderman gestured toward the door. “His vitals are good, and he’s resting well. If you have any questions, you can call the number at the top of this sheet.” He took a paper from the clipboard he held. “His room is the second door on the right. I’ll leave you now. I know you’re anxious to go see him.”

  Once the surgeon left, Carlie let out a huge sigh, and she wasn’t the only one. “He’s going to be fine.”

  “We should go check on him,” Brenda said. “Then I suggest we all go home and get some rest. It’s midnight, and I know some of us have to work tomorrow.”

  “We’ll stay for a while. The rest of you go on home.” Wes’s dad and mom led the way to their son’s room, which was the size of a large closet—there was hardly enough space to accommodate the six of them crowding in together. Wes was hooked up to monitors and intravenous fluids. Her heart wrenched at the sight of her big, strong Marine so still, pale and incapacitated.

  “Oh, he’s not going to take this well at all.” Ken frowned, looking down at the side of the bed.

  “Being helpless, you mean?” Carlie asked, puzzled.

  “Hell, no. I’m talking about the Foley catheter stuck up his you-know-what.” Ken shuddered. “Worst part of the whole ordeal, and I speak from experience.”

  Carlie giggled, a nervous reaction, no doubt, mixed with the heady knowledge that Wesley would be OK. Then Brenda let out a snort like she was trying hard not to laugh, and soon everyone was smiling. All the anxie
ty and fear dissipated. She swiped at her eyes, but this time her tears were tears of relief. Friday morning she’d bring him home, and she’d be the one to take care of him for a change.

  Carlie yawned as she stuffed clean clothes and Tyler’s toothpaste and toothbrush into a plastic shopping bag. How she was going to make it through her day at the diner on four hours of sleep was beyond her, but first she had to head out to the Langfords’ and get her son off to school. She grabbed Ty’s backpack, her jacket, and purse and hurried downstairs.

  Miguel met her at the bottom of the stairs. David and TreVonne looked up from their work. “How’re you holding up?” Miguel scrutinized her. “Kenny texted this morning with the news.”

  “Wesley is going to be fine,” she mumbled. “He came through the surgery well, and he’ll be home on Friday.”

  “We know all that.” Miguel’s eyes zeroed in on her. “How are you holding up, Carlie?”

  “I don’t know.” It had to be exhaustion and the aftermath of everything that had happened, but the need to purge had her in its grip. “Last night . . .” Her jaw clenched for a second. “Last night I was held at gunpoint by my ex, who swore he would put a bullet in my head and dump my body in a ditch if I didn’t go along with his plan to take Tyler. Then I saw Wesley fall to the ground after my ex shot him.”

  She gripped the plastic bag holding her son’s things with both hands. “My yard is now wrapped in yellow crime-scene tape, with a white outline of Jared Baumann’s body right where he dropped. Can I get back to you on that question? I . . . I have to get these clean clothes to my son. He spent the night at the Langfords’, and I need to make sure he gets off to school in clean clothes.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to tell Tyler about . . . about Wes and . . .”

  Miguel shared a look with the other two men. “You’ll let Noah know I left a little early to look after Carlie?”

  “Course we will.” TreVonne nodded. “Go. We’ll put your tools away.”

  “Come on.” Miguel crossed the room and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll take you to the Langfords’. I don’t think you should be driving today.”

  “I appreciate the help.” She blinked against the sting in her eyes. “I don’t think anyone is safe with me on the road right now. Only got a few hours of sleep last night.” She followed him out the back door, and for once, she didn’t check the shadows for a threat. Miguel opened the passenger side of his car for her, and she slid into the leather seat. “Thanks, Miguel,” she said as he started the car down the alley.

  “No problem. You need anything, you just let me and the guys know. Wesley . . . well, he’s important to us. You know?”

  “I do know. He’s important to me and Tyler, too.” She sighed, making a mental list of everything she had to do to get through today.

  “Me and the guys are going to head out to Boonville to visit Wes this morning.”

  “He’ll like that.” She smiled. “Tell him I’ll be by later, after I meet with the marshals.” Giving her statement would finally give her closure where Jared Baumann was concerned. It hadn’t completely sunk in yet. No more worrying about when or where he’d show up to wreck her life anymore. His reign of terror was over. Still, the cloud casting a shadow over her life in Perfect lingered, and the only way to free herself was to expose her past to the light of day. Only then could she move forward, free of shadowy secrets.

  Carlie glanced at Tyler, who was sitting next to the babysitter on Wes’s couch. Brenda and Cory stood by the door, waiting for her. “We’re going to go visit Wes at the hospital. I’ll be home in a few hours, Ty. You be on your best behavior for Allison, all right?” Ty nodded, not taking his eyes from the pretty teen. “You have my number, Allison. Call if you need anything. Make sure Tyler brushes his teeth before he goes to bed.”

  “I will, Ms. Stewart.” Allison smiled. “Bedtime at eight.” She lifted the sheet of paper with the instructions Carlie had written for her. “Got it.”

  Satisfied, Carlie walked out of the apartment with her friends. “I think my son has his first crush.”

  Cory laughed. “I think you’re right.”

  Ceejay and Paige were parked out front in the Langfords’ van. She and the other two women climbed into the back. Ceejay pulled onto the road toward Boonville. Carlie sucked in a fortifying breath. The women in the van had come to mean a lot to her. She had to trust that they’d accept her despite the things she’d done when she was a teen, and if they didn’t . . . well, then they weren’t the friends she’d thought they were. “I asked all of you to join me tonight because there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “You’re in love with my brother?” Brenda asked, grinning at her.

  “No . . . well, yes, but that’s not what I wanted to tell you.”

  “Ha!” Brenda laughed. “Knew it.”

  “We all know she’s in love, Bren.” Cory looked askance at her friend. “Let the woman speak.”

  Carlie’s gut clenched. So they knew she was in love. That didn’t mean Wes would ever allow himself to feel the same for her. “OK. Here goes. There are things I want you to know about my past, and it’s not pretty.” It took her the entire drive to St. Mary’s to tell her story, and she didn’t leave any of the ugliness out.

  Ceejay found a parking space, pulled the van into it and shut off the engine. Carlie held her breath, waiting for a reaction. Silence filled the van, and her heart sank.

  “You didn’t have to tell us, but I’m glad you did, Carlie.” Cory patted her hand. “For your sake.”

  “Wow,” Brenda said. “I think you ought to write a book about your experiences.”

  “You should,” Cory added. “Just think of the women you could help by sharing your experiences. You are an inspiration.”

  “So are you.” Carlie’s eyes widened. Cory had been sexually assaulted by her staff sergeant, and the army had given her a dishonorable discharge rather than deal with the issue. “You fought the entire US Army and won. All I did was—”

  “You’re both amazing, strong, intelligent women.” Ceejay unbuckled her seat belt. “Maybe the two of you should write a book together.”

  Paige twisted around to grin at both of them. “I’m proud to know you both. In fact, I’m proud to count all of you as my friends.”

  “Aw, shucks.” Brenda sniffed dramatically. “We’re having a bonding moment here, aren’t we?”

  Laughter filled the van, and they all got out. Carlie floated to the hospital entrance, her heart and soul unburdened and free. No more running. She’d found her permanent place. She and Tyler would put down roots and build a life in Perfect. She had friends. Glancing at the women around her, her chest swelled. Good friends who accepted her for who she was. She had a job she loved, and a community where she belonged. And when the situation arose, she’d be there for her friends the way they’d been there for her.

  Now, if only she could find a way through the labyrinth of Wesley Holt’s PTSD and trust issues. If only she could find the way to unlock his heart. . . . Her breath caught and her insides fluttered. He’d told her he wasn’t partner material, that he no longer had it in him to give his love. He was wrong, but could she convince him?

  They reached Wes’s room, and she heard the hospital TV flipping from channel to channel. Brenda led the way, and she was next as they all entered the tiny room.

  Wes frowned. “It’s been like Grand Central station all day in this closet they call a room.”

  Brenda kissed his forehead and fluffed his pillow. “A little surly, are we?”

  “A lot restless.” Wes rearranged the blankets, covering the plastic bag of urine hanging from the rails of the bed. “I’m ready to go home, and the doctors won’t let me.”

  “Aw, poor baby.” Cory grinned.

  “Your color is much better than it was yesterday.” Carlie wanted to throw her arms around him, kiss him all better, like she did with Tyler when he had a scraped knee or elbow. She moved to his side. “Surly or not, it�
��s good to see you alive and breathing.”

  His gaze sought hers and held. “It’s good to be alive and breathing.” One side of his mouth turned up. “How did it go with the marshals today?”

  “Fine. They took my statement at the diner before I picked Tyler up from school.”

  Wes laid his head back on his pillow. “I hear they stopped by the hospital, but I was out. Don’t know when they’ll be back.” The stand holding plastic bags of fluid next to him made a whirring sound, probably sending a dose of painkiller into his vein.

  Cory stood at the end of the bed. “Does it hurt much?”

  “Only when I’m awake.” Wes nodded toward the bags hanging from the stand. “I’m on some pretty powerful painkillers.” He yawned. “Can’t wait to get out of here. I have twenty staples in my side. Damned uncomfortable.” He peered at Carlie, his eyelids drooping. “They tell me to rest, but then they won’t let me. Every four hours some sadistic soul in scrubs comes in and starts poking, prodding and sticking me with needles.”

  “Friday.” Carlie straightened his blankets. “I’m coming to pick you up Friday morning.”

  “Not soon enough,” he groused. “I’m tired. Drugged. Not good company.” His eyes drifted shut.

  She took the remote control from his hand and set it on the table next to his bed. Carlie brushed her lips across his forehead and straightened. “What he means is . . . thank you all for coming to visit.” She smiled, gazing down at her wounded Marine.

  “He’s going to be a bear to take care of once he’s home. Whiny, churlish and demanding.” Brenda snorted. “You are a brave woman, Carlie Stewart, and I don’t envy you.”

  “I can handle it.” In fact, she couldn’t wait. He’d nurtured and protected her for more than a month. Hell, he’d taken a bullet for her. Now it was her turn to take care of him. Wesley would have to learn to trust and rely on her for a change.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE HOSPITAL ORDERLY SET A covered bowl and yet another plastic container of green Jell-O on the wheeled tray, raised the back half of Wes’s bed and positioned the tray in front of him.