by Taylor Hart
But he was already putting the brake on the wheelchair and then moving in front of her to open the truck door. Then he unlatched the brake and pushed her right to the opening. “You just stand and hold to the door and I’ll help you get into the car.
She wasn’t at all sure about this. “Henry.”
“Do it,” Henry barked, flipping into his usual military sergeant voice.
Sayla put her legs onto the pavement and reached forward, holding to the truck door and trying to reach the seat. She felt Henry push her backside to get her to a standing position. The she felt him pulling the wheelchair away.
Sayla was already swimming in her mind. She closed her eyes and tried to hold to the truck door handle. “Henry!” She could feel herself begin to wobble back.
“It’s alright.”
But he was too late. She fell bottom first onto the pavement, Henry catching her before she fell further back. Even though she was doped up on pain pills, she felt the pain jar through the lower part of her stomach. All the breath went out of her. Sayla felt cold and clammy and on the verge of fainting.
Henry was tugging on her, huffing as he tried to get her to a standing position, but she could hear him huffing. “I’m sorry, my dear.” He grunted some more and got her back to her feet. A light breeze could have blown her over. Sayla didn’t dare open her eyes, just held to Henry and allowed him to maneuver her into the truck.
The seat of the truck came up to her bottom and Sayla found herself gripping the dashboard as he worked to push her the rest of the way in. Her palms were slick with sweat on the dashboard and she could feel herself barely holding on to it, barely holding on to consciousness. The pain was spreading through her lower abdomen like warm water through a towel, but she didn’t want to inconvenience Henry any more than she was by complaining.
Pushing her legs up into the truck, Henry huffed and rested against her shoulder. “Okay. Hard part over. Let’s get you home.”
Somewhat secure in her seat, Sayla dared to open her eyes. She sat cattywampus in the seat, but with no way to keel over, the feeling of leaning over the edge of a cliff passed.
Henry leaned back and shut the door, but as he stepped back, he started falling, arms wind milling to catch himself.
Sayla didn’t see him hit the pavement, just heard his holler as he went down.
Chapter 7
Sterling jumped from the Porsche when Sayla went down, but was too late to catch Henry before he fell.
“Henry,” he said as he bent to help him up.
A plethora of curse words sounded out of the old man’s mouth and Sterling couldn’t help but smile. You could definitely hear the military in him at the moment.
Henry resisted at first. “How did you? What in the Sam Hill?”
When Sterling continued to position himself under Henry’s arm, the old guy finally relented and accepted the help. After getting onto his feet, Henry started to fall back again.
“My ankle.”
With one arm, Sterling dragged the wheelchair around behind Henry.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you to get your ankle checked.” Sterling insisted.
“I’m fine.” Henry grunted and tried to steer away from the wheelchair, but buckled beneath the ankle again. “It’s an old army sprain. Sayla needs help.” The last part was said in a more vulnerable way.
Sterling turned to look at Sayla. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, wincing. “Yes, please get him back to the hospital.”
Every ounce of Sterling wanted to take her with him, but he could tell by the way she held her stomach something was very wrong.
Quickly, he moved Henry toward the hospital, asking, “What’s wrong with her?”
Henry grimaced and frowned. “Outpatient woman’s surgery. Had to have some stuff done to her woman parts.” His face soured.
Sterling’s heart raced. He made a command decision. “I’m leaving you here at the hospital. Then I’ll bring her back in.” The double doors opened, and they wheeled through.
“No.” Henry commanded. “Take her home. She won’t be happy if you bring her back.
“You dropped her.” Sterling got Henry to a check in desk.
Henry let out a sigh. “Well, heck, see if she needs to come back, or take her to her place. That’s the easiest place for me to take care of her.”
But Sterling had seen her place and was now seeing Henry’s injury. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” He grinned at the nurse behind the desk. “Please fix him up.” Sterling dashed off. “I’ll check in on you later.” He called back.
“You better take good care of her!” Henry called out.
Sterling rushed to Henry’s truck. He could see Sayla looking at him with wide eyes.
He got to her side and opened the door. “Do you need to go back in?”
She shook her head. “No. Is he okay?”
“Are you sure?” He wanted to check her out, but he didn’t know how.
“Where’s Henry?”
“He’s going to get checked out. But you need help. I’ll get a nurse.” He was about to leave.
But she put her hand over his. “Please, just take me home.” She weakly turned to the steering wheel. “The keys are in the ignition.”
He ran around and got in, starting the old truck. “I’ll take you to my house. I have help there. We can take care of you.”
“No.”
He shifted the truck into drive and released the clutch. It’d been a long time since he’d driven a stick shift. “You need help.”
Her hand was on his forearm again. “Please, take me home.” Her eyes fluttered as she leaned back against the seat and puffed.
Worry fell through him. “Do you need to go back to the hospital?”
“No.” She insisted, still breathing in gasps. “I’ll be okay. I just need to get into my own bed and rest.”
Unsure, but wanting to help her more than anything, he started in the direction of her cabin. “Fine, but I’m staying with you.”
Her breathing slowed, and she let out a long breath, appearing to relax. “Thank you.”
The old truck had little in the way of shocks, so Sterling drove slowly through town and even slower when he turned onto the gravel road near her cabin. All he could think about was her. Helping her.
As the truck began jouncing on the uneven road, Sayla lifted her head then lowered it again, closing her eyes.
“You okay?” All this fierce protectiveness fell through him like never before in his life. Well, except when he’d taken care of his mother. He thought of Sayla, the only thing he knew was she only had an old, grumpy former soldier to take care of her.
He pulled up in front of the cabin and rushed around to Sayla’s side, gently pulling open the door. She jolted at his touch and opened her eyes for a second, but she was so weak.
After lifting her gently into his arms, he took her up the steps of her house and swung open the screen door. Her head was against his chest, which he knew meant she wasn’t doing as well as she led on.
“The key’s under the frog,” she whispered.
A small porcelain frog squatted next to one of the rocking chairs. Keeping her in his arms, he tapped the frog out of the way with his foot. Unfortunately, his kick landed harder than he expected, and the frog broke into pieces.
She frowned. “I liked that little guy.” Her eyes were still closed, and her head still rested against him.
Sweat began to roll down the lower part of his back, but all he could think about was making sure she was okay.
Jimmying the key to get it to turn, he pushed the door open.
The place was clean. Granted, it was sparsely furnished. In fact, the only furniture was what he’d seen earlier that day in the kitchen. Two stools, a small table, and chairs. The posters all over her walls turned out to be photography of landscapes. The small living room had a little bit more furniture—an old stove, a couch, a coffee table, and one chair. There
was a record player in the corner and a small rug on the floor.
“My room is the only one.” She still clung to him.
He passed a small bathroom and then found her room. She had a double bed with a quilt for a bedspread. He tugged back the blankets and laid her down.
She was wearing loose shorts and a t-shirt. As her head hit the pillow, she opened her eyes and stared at him. “I guess I don’t look as good without the mask.” A faint smile crossed her lips. She winced in pain, putting her hand on her stomach.
“Are you okay? Should I take you back?”
“I’m fine.” She kept her eyes closed, snuggled in, and fell asleep.
He frowned and pulled off her flip-flops then pulled the blankets up to her chin, smoothing them around her. Her red hair, pulled back into a ponytail, was vibrant and stark against the paleness of her face. He imagined the pallor was due to the surgery and the narcotics. She looked innocent. Vulnerable.
Gently, he put his hand on her forehead. “I like seeing you without your mask.” His instinct was to lean forward and kiss her head. But he didn’t.
Thoughts of what Caleb said about him—looking for a woman to save—flashed through his mind. He pushed the thoughts away. So what if he liked women that were more … pure? Not the Hollywood, eat-you-up, spit-you-out, and use-you-for-career-image type. Did that mean he had a problem?
So what if he’d never found any who fit that type?
Just in movies.
Just in the scripts they acted out.
No one like Sayla. Not that she wanted saving…but she was vulnerable. Even if she didn’t want to be.
Shaking his head, he took one step back and then another until he was out of the room. He rushed back to the truck. He got to the truck and took out her bag. He went inside and put it onto the small table, opening it and seeing instructions for some pain medications. He also saw a packet of papers explaining how to care for yourself after the procedure.
It worried him that she’d had actual surgery. On the paper, it said she should be down for seven to ten days. Had Henry actually thought he could care for her?
He grunted and put the instructions down then took the pills and put them next to the kitchen sink. The clock on the wall said six-fifteen, so she’d probably need more pain meds a little after nine. He went back to her bag to look for her phone before remembering she didn’t have one.
He couldn’t leave her here by herself, but he also didn’t want to abandon Henry at the hospital.
So he pulled out his phone and called for reinforcements.
Hunter answered on the second ring. “Sterling! Are you loafing around town, scouring the nightclubs for women? It’s a shame that Cooper closed his retreats for now. That would be nice for a desperate guy like yourself.”
“Hunter, listen, I need your help.”
“Okay.”
“The woman you met the other night at the party had surgery. It’s … a long story, but would you mind going to the hospital and picking up a guy named Henry? I don’t know his last name. He owns the marina and the cabins around Teton Lake.”
“O-kay.” He sounded skeptical. “I’m getting in my truck now.”
Once again, one of the Junto boys had come through for Sterling. He looked around the kitchen, opening up the fridge and the cupboards. “Wait, on your way will you stop and pick up milk, bread, butter, chicken, fish …” he listed off a plethora of spices and various other things he knew he could use to whip up a couple of meals. The best part of playing a lot of parts for different movies was everything he learned during the prep work. Two years ago, he’d been trained by a professional chef prior to a role as an undercover spy whose cover was a chef. Sterling had always liked to cook, and the training had increased his know-how.
“Is there anything else, Your Highness?” Hunter asked.
Sterling laughed. “Thanks, dude. I … I’ve ended up thrown into something, and I just can’t leave this girl.”
Hunter’s diesel truck roared to life in the background. “I’ve got a few minute’s drive. Tell me about it.”
Sterling’s heart plunged into his gut. How did he explain? The date. “She was a paid date the other night that my agent set me up with. Because of all the crap with Kim, Caleb doesn’t want me to wreck my image before the next movie. I had to go to the party at Harold’s because I needed a chance—”
“To kiss his butt so you can direct with him.”
“Right.” Sterling smiled. It annoyed and amused him how Hunter could always get to the crux of an issue.
“Anyway, I had a connection with this woman. She doesn’t have anyone, and she just had surgery. The guy who was supposed to take care of her—”
“Is at the hospital.” Hunter filled in. “Wait. Please tell me I’m not going to pick up Henry, the boyfriend.” Hunter groaned.
Sterling laughed, knowing how protective Hunter could get. How territorial. It was his nature, but it was also the military in him too. What mission was Sterling deploying him on? Who did he have to take down, and how long did he have to do it? That was always Hunter’s M.O.
“No. He’s old. He’s like her grandpa. He owns the marina, and she works for him. Lives in his cabins. She … her husband died a year ago.”
Hunter let out a laugh. “Man, you do like complicated.”
“I guess so.” Sterling walked back to her room and peeked in, not saying anything for a moment because he didn’t want to disturb her.
“I’ll see you in a bit,” said Hunter. “I’ll call and let you know how the old guy’s doing.”
Sterling grinned, relieved he could count on his friend. “Sounds good.” He put his phone on the table, and started a more thorough investigation of her place.
To his disbelief, there weren’t many possessions other than the ones he’d already noticed. The poster-like landscapes filled the walls. He got closer and saw they were laminated and stuck in with pins. But they were good. Breathtaking. Sunsets, sunrises. Different angles of the tree lines against the Tetons. The sky. Pinks, oranges, yellows, blues across the lake. He found himself holding his breath. This was good stuff. In the living room, he noticed a camera on the coffee table in front of the couch. Sitting, he picked it up. An old Canon. Then it dawned on him. Sayla shot those photos. A healthy surge of appreciation and admiration fell over him. She was an artist. She didn’t do the kind of art he dealt in, but he could definitely appreciate it. He stared at a picture over the fireplace, propped against the stonework. The edge of the sun glowed against the sky as the day came to a close. It was … perfect. Lightly he reached out and touched it. The picture was amazing.
Turning, he found himself lost in the fields of natural flowers that grew on the side of Jackson Hole Mountain Resort. He knew the exact place she’d taken this picture. He kept moving around the room then into the hallway. No more landscapes, no more laminated photos.
Now it was pictures torn from books. Pictures of Rome. The Colosseum. The Forum. The Trevi Fountain. The Spanish Steps. He paused next to a picture of the Travertine Ghetto, the peninsula in the center of the river. He saw a picture of Gillatas, a restaurant where he’d eaten and fallen in love with gelato. The picture brought back the rich taste and texture as if he’d only had it yesterday.
He was shocked at how much of the history of Rome had affected him on that visit. How much he’d wanted to spend more time with his pretty, blonde guide and tour more around the city. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to. When he was shooting a film, it was always on a grueling schedule. He’d told himself it was okay because he would go back someday.
He thought of going with Sayla. Thought of how she would look in her hiking boots, khaki shorts, and a tourist “I love Rome” t-shirt with a camera around her neck. She would love it. Instinctively, he knew it. Judging by the photos on her walls, he could only imagine how much she would love to photograph Rome.
Once again, he pushed the door open and stared at her sleeping form from the doorway. Hearing
only the deep breathing of blissful, pain-medication induced sleep,he smiled.
Without warning, guilt assaulted him. What in the world was he doing staring at her while she slept?
He went out of the room and then back down the hall, passing the kitchen and going straight to the door. The sun beat down on the porch. He went to the edge and looked out at the lake. He saw some boats out on the water, some families paddle boarding, and others playing on the shore. It all seemed so natural. Standing there on the porch of her tiny cabin.
This was insane. He didn’t even know her. One date and here he was. He’d followed Henry to the hospital, butted in against both of their wills, and brought her back here.
He went inside and sank into the rocker feeling … not regret, but … kind of stalkerish.
The only reason he was able to bring her home was because she was too weak to resist. What would she say when she woke up?
He shook his head and realized he was such a fool. Closing his eyes, the unbidden memory of the feel of her lips found its way into his memory. The smell of her and the way they’d connected and how she’d actually seen him.
For the first time since his mother died, someone had seen him.
It’d felt amazing. Like he’d played a part his whole life, but this was different. He couldn’t help smiling. He stayed in the rocking chair for a long time with all sorts of thoughts going through his head.
An idea hit him, and he googled her. Sayla Jones.
Nothing came up, so he added “car accident.” On the second page of results, he saw it. Coverage of the accident.
“Robert Jones, age twenty-eight, of Fort Collins passed away Tuesday night following a horrific accident on I-70 after leaving the community outreach event where Jones was being honored for his commitment to high school coaching. It was rumored he would have taken over as head coach at Fort Collins High School next season. The loss of life is tragic, and the communities of Fort Collins and Loveland mourn him. Robert is survived by his parents, Gwen and Steve, and his wife, Sayla. Donations for his funeral can be made to Ockland Mortuary.”
Hollow. That’s how Sterling felt reading the news coverage.
