by Eve Gaddy
The light changed while she was daydreaming, and Gabe’s truck pulled out into the intersection. She put her foot on the gas and started forward when she glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye. Braking, she turned her head, and saw a huge truck barreling out of the darkness, heading straight at Gabe’s truck.
She sat frozen, staring at it with her mouth agape. Oh, my God, it’s not going to stop. Before she could even touch the horn, there was a horrendous crash of shrieking metal and broken glass as one truck plowed into the side of the other.
An engine revved. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t even comprehended what had happened when the second truck backed up and peeled out, tires screaming. She watched it go in horror, then found her purse and took down the license number, grabbed her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1 before flinging open her door. She ran to Gabe’s truck. Please, God, let him be alive.
The operator answered as she reached the heap of twisted metal that had once been a shiny black pickup. She gave what details she could and hung up quickly. The front end and part of his door was all but totaled, and there was no way she could open that door. She ran around to the other side, opened the door and crawled in.
“Gabe, can you hear me?” The air bag had deflated and she reached for his neck, trying to find a pulse. He groaned when she touched him. “Thank God. Are you conscious?”
“What—happened—shit,” he said on a cry of pain. “My leg—can’t move—”
“Don’t try,” she rushed to say. Keeping him still and as calm as possible was important. “EMS is on its way. You need to be still so you don’t injure yourself further.”
He leaned his head back, the muscles in his neck cording. “Can’t—God—hurts.”
“I know. Help will be here soon.” She wished she could do something, could at least assess his condition, but she didn’t have any of the instruments she needed to do that. Best she could do was wait for EMS. In the meantime, she would try to keep him quiet and still.
“Where does it hurt?” She could see him, though not clearly, in the light thrown off by the street lamps. His forehead was bleeding. Broken glass, she thought, because she knew he hadn’t gone through the windshield. The airbag had done its job. And he wore his seat belt, which was probably why he was alive right now.
“Gabe, are you still with me?”
“Yeah. Side…hurts. My leg. Hurts. Feels…weird.”
She looked down at his left leg. What little she could see wasn’t good. It was wedged against the crushed door and covered in blood. “Hang in there. You’re going to be fine.” He sounded groggy. Probably going into shock. She took his hand and squeezed it. Where the hell was the ambulance? Or at least a cop? It seemed like hours had passed since the accident. Was he going to bleed out before they arrived?
“So…am I—gonna die?”
“No, of course not.” She had no way of knowing how serious his injuries were, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Really…hurts,” he said again, then lapsed into silence.
She kept holding his hand, for lack of anything more constructive to do, and silently cursed the emergency team for taking so long to arrive.
“Why…so nice…” he said after a moment.
“Why am I being nice to you?”
“Yeah. Not dying.”
If the situation hadn’t been so desperate, she’d have smiled at the comment. “You don’t have to be dying for me to be nice to you.”
“Coulda…fooled me.”
The blessed sound of sirens filled the air. “You’re going to be fine, Gabe. The ambulance is here.”
A few moments later the police, an ambulance and a fire truck arrived together. She stood aside and watched them extract Gabe from the truck and place him on the backboard. They started an IV and then one of the techs motioned for her to come over.
She walked over and took Gabe’s hand. She couldn’t help looking at his leg. It was worse than she’d first thought, a compound fracture—she could see the bone sticking out through the skin. They were trying to stop the bleeding and apparently not having an easy time. She lifted her gaze and saw one of the techs give a barely perceptible shake of his head. Not good, his expression said.
“You’re okay now,” she said to Gabe. “They’re going to get you to the hospital right away.”
His eyes filled with pain and cloudy with shock, met hers. “Thanks.” He let go of her hand and they loaded him into the back of the ambulance.
From her comments as they worked to get him out, the officer at the scene, Maggie Barnes, knew Gabe well. She watched the ambulance go, then turned to Lana. “I have to call his family. He’s in bad shape, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is,” Lana said.
Maggie, her expression hardening, said, “If I can find out who did this, it’s going to be a pleasure to put him in jail.”
“I can help you there,” Lana said. “I have the license number of the truck that hit him.”
CHAPTER TWO
Three months later
GABE SAT in the orthopedist’s waiting room and checked his watch for the fifth time. He was sick and tired of hospitals. He was sick and tired of doctors. And he was really, really sick and tired of being a cripple.
He’d made progress. According to the physical therapist, remarkable progress, considering…
No one ever finished that sentence, but Gabe knew what they meant. Considering what a freaking mess his leg had been after the accident, he was doing well.
Personally, he didn’t consider still being on crutches after three months a boatload of progress.
Fifteen minutes later they took him back to an exam room. His new set of X-rays were hanging on the view box. Dr. Black looked at them without saying much, then poked and prodded him, again, asked him to move his leg, move his knee, again… Same old stuff that happened every time he came in. He didn’t see the point. Finally the doctor told him to get dressed and come into his office.
Gabe wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. He took a seat in one of the side chairs, carefully arranging his leg so it was in the least uncomfortable position. No position was entirely comfortable. In fact, his leg throbbed like hell eighty-five percent of the time.
“So, what’s the verdict? When am I going to get off the crutches and when can I go back to work?”
Dr. Black folded his hands together on his desk. “No one can tell you absolutely. Your physical therapist says you’re progressing well. You won’t need the crutches much longer.”
“A couple of weeks.” If he was lucky. Which meant never, if his luck ran the way it usually did.
“You’re doing nicely, Gabe. Your injuries, particularly to the knee, were extensive.”
“Yeah, I know. But that doesn’t pay my bills. I’m self-employed. I don’t have disability insurance or workman’s comp, Doc. When can I expect to go back to work?”
Dr. Black looked surprised. “You didn’t get a settlement from the driver of the other car?”
Gabe laughed humorlessly. “Son of a bitch was driving with a suspended license and no insurance. Can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip.” But at least they’d found him, thanks to Lana McCoy writing down his license plate. “Bottom line is, I need to get back to work. How about it, Doc? How much longer am I going to be out of commission?”
“We need to talk,” Dr. Black said.
Gabe stared at the doctor. He knew he didn’t like the sound of that.
“Have you ever considered another career?” Dr. Black asked him.
“No. And I’m not going to now. Why should I?”
“Like I said, your injuries were extensive. Rehabilitation is not a fast process in some cases.” He looked at him and added, “You’re almost certainly going to be looking at more surgery on your leg.”
Gabe had known that was a possibility but no one had stated it so bluntly. “But then I’ll be all right.”
“We hope so. That’s our goal.”
“But you can’t guaran
tee it.”
“I can’t guarantee you won’t limp, but you should regain most of your mobility. Eventually you might need an artificial knee, but given your age, we don’t want to go that route unless we have to.”
“Time frame, Doc. Can you give me some idea of how long before my leg’s back to normal?” More surgery meant more recovery time, physical therapy, everything he’d been going through for the past three months. The doctor looked uncomfortable, but Gabe didn’t care about that. “The truth, Doc. I need to know so I can plan what I’m going to do to get by.”
“Two years. Possibly more. But be aware, that’s an estimate. It could be less.”
Gabe just stared at him. Two years. Or more. And even then, his leg might never be back to normal. He might never be back to what he was before the accident. And even if he did get most of his mobility back, he couldn’t afford to wait that long. He would have to sell his boat, and the sooner the better.
HE DIDN’T KNOW how he made it out of the office without getting sick. He shut the office door behind him and leaned against the wall, struggling to make sense of the words. Two years. Maybe more. He kept hearing them, repeated in an endless loop.
“Gabe?”
He looked up at the sound of the female voice. Just what he didn’t want, to see anyone he knew.
“It’s Lana McCoy,” she said, looking at him closely. “Are you all right?”
“Peachy. And I know who you are.” How could he forget? He hadn’t seen her since the night of the accident. She’d come by to see him a couple of times while he was in the hospital, but he’d refused visitors. If he could have thrown his family out, he would have done it. But while he had to suffer them, he didn’t have to be on display to anyone else.
God, she was pretty. Walking along as if she didn’t have a care in the world. He turned his head and hoped she’d take the hint. She didn’t.
“Maybe you should sit down. I don’t mean to be pushy but you don’t look very good.”
He turned his head around to look at her. “Neither do you.” That was a lie if he’d ever spoken one. Her pale blond hair looked soft and shiny, the kind of hair that begged you to touch to see if it was as baby-soft as it looked. Her ocean-blue eyes were gazing at him with concern and compassion. She wore a soft pink blouse, open at the neck and a short white skirt that showed off incredible legs.
She looked great. Classy, sexy. But he wasn’t interested in women right now, classy or not. He figured his comment would make her leave him alone.
She looked a little taken aback, then laughed. “It didn’t work. You’ve only made me curious. Why don’t you let me buy you a cup of coffee?”
He shifted his crutches to a more comfortable position and resigned himself to the inevitable. “Make it a Scotch on the rocks and you’re on.”
“You shouldn’t mix alcohol and pain meds.”
“I’m not on any medication.” He’d taken himself off the drugs and didn’t mean to go back. He didn’t like feeling dependent on the pills. And he didn’t like the temptation of having them so handy. Whenever the pain was really bad, he took over-the-counter painkillers.
“All right. Where do you want to go? Do you have your car?”
He shook his head. What car? His truck was gone and his own insurance company was dragging its heels on paying up. He could use his pitifully small savings for a down payment. Or some of the proceeds from the sale of his boat. Assuming it sold. He pushed that thought away.
“I took a cab.” Because he didn’t want to have to ask his family to drive him again. He was sick of asking them for help. They didn’t begrudge it at all, but a man had some pride. Even if that’s all he had.
“I want to go anywhere they don’t know me.”
“Meaning nowhere in Aransas City. Got it,” she said, and started walking.
He followed her out to the parking lot on his crutches. Slowly. When they came to some stairs she detoured and took the ramp. “I can handle stairs,” he said.
“I’m sure you can. But there’s no reason to if you don’t have to.”
They reached her Porsche. With a pang he thought about his truck. A sweet black beauty that really hummed. Had hummed, he reminded himself.
“Let me move the seat back. I think you can fit.”
Having no choice, he let her. Then he eased himself in. It took a while and he didn’t like her seeing him struggle, but again, he had no choice. She didn’t comment, just took his crutches once he was settled and stuffed them in the back before going around to the driver’s side and getting in.
“When will you be able to drive again?”
“I could drive now. An automatic, anyway.” His left leg would have to get a whole lot more mobile before he could drive a stick again. “Doesn’t much matter. My truck was totaled in the wreck.”
“I remember. I’m sorry.”
He shrugged and looked out the window, then back at her. Her profile was as classic as the rest of her. Man, she was some gorgeous woman. What was she doing with him? “Why are you doing this?”
She glanced at him, then turned back to the road. “Doing what? Having a drink with an attractive man?”
He snorted. “A man who can’t walk without crutches. Who may never be able to walk worth a damn again.” He thought, but didn’t add, A man who was going to be flat broke in a matter of months.
“With that attitude you won’t.”
So she was a hard-ass. Oddly enough, that cheered him up. He liked that about her. “You wouldn’t go out with me before,” he reminded her. “I don’t need a mercy date.”
“We’re having a drink,” she said mildly. “I wouldn’t call it a date.”
“You don’t need to call it a date, for it to be a date.” He repeated the words she’d used at Gail’s party. Then let the subject drop. He didn’t really care why she was going as long as she took him somewhere he could get a drink. “Why did you come to Aransas City? You’re obviously a city girl.”
“I had my reasons.”
“Such as.”
“Private reasons. How does this look?” she asked, pulling up in front of a place that was sparkly, shiny new, with lots of glass windows and plants everywhere.
Too rich for his blood. But he didn’t say that. “Looks fine.” What the hell, it wasn’t every day you found out you were soon to be broke and jobless.
She had to help him get out. There was no possible way he could make it out of that low-slung car on his own. He gritted his teeth and let her pull him up, hating the humiliation of needing assistance, hating that it hurt like hell just to get out of the car.
She was stronger than she looked, which was good considering he pushed one-eighty. Or he had before the wreck. He’d lost weight, and it didn’t look good on him.
She got out his crutches and handed them to him. “Gabe, it’s not a big deal.”
“Maybe not to you.”
They found a table in the corner where he was able to sit on the soft bench and stretch out his leg. It ached like crazy, not a surprise considering he’d been on his feet all day, and he massaged it surreptitiously. Lana ordered a glass of white wine and he ordered Scotch on the rocks.
“And keep it coming,” he told the waitress.
Lana took a sip of wine and watched him down half his drink. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Yeah, that’s just what I like to do with a beautiful woman. Talk about how miserable my life is.”
“You’re alive. As I recall, that was in doubt for a while.”
Yeah, he was alive. Big deal. “Is this where I’m supposed to thank you for saving my life?”
“I didn’t save your life. The EMS team and emergency room doctors did that. I just called for help.” She sipped wine.
“You got the license number of the truck that hit me.” Which he’d yet to thank her for. “Thanks.”
She just nodded and took another sip of wine. “What happened with your doctor that upset you so much?”
�
��Why do you care? You hardly even know me.” He knew he sounded surly, but he didn’t much care.
“True, but I know a lot of people who know you. Who care about you, so I assume they can’t all be wrong. You’re my partner’s brother-in-law. Jay cares about you. He’s a friend of mine.”
At least she wouldn’t mouth platitudes at him and try to paint a rosy picture like his sisters insisted on doing. His brother Cam didn’t say much at all, not being a very good liar. Neither of his brothers-in-law said much, either. Mostly because he avoided them whenever possible. Like he wanted to avoid everyone he knew.
“I just got the death knell on my job.”
“Your charter fishing service?”
“Yeah. It’s going to take longer than I thought for me to get back to work. I can’t afford to let my boat sit idle.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Sell it.” God, it hurt to say that. Hurt to even think it. He loved his boat. Loved his work.
“How long does Dr. Black expect your recovery to take?”
“He didn’t want to commit, but his best guess was two years for a full recovery. Or more.” Gabe shook his head and knocked back another dose of forgetfulness.
“And you can’t afford to keep your boat until you recover.”
“Nope.”
She was quiet a moment, then said, “Well, that blows.”
He laughed. For the first time in three months he found something amusing. “Yeah, it sure does.”
“You love your job, don’t you?”
He thought about it. Something he’d tried really hard not to do in the past three months. “Sometimes, in the middle of summer, you go out to the blue water and it’s so still you almost can’t catch your breath. Not a breeze stirring, nothing but you and that hot, still air and rolling blue water. That’s what they call the deep water where the big fish are. Blue water.”
She was looking at him now, and he could see she was really interested in what he was saying. “The sky’s blue, too, not a cloud in it, so clear you can’t see anything but blue forever, and so damn bright it hurts your eyes. You run, trolling the bait behind you, watching the flying fish skip over the waves and the gulls circle overhead, looking down in the water for signs of the big ones, the marlin and sail. If you’re lucky, really lucky, you’ll hook one.”
