She continued to eye him. “When did you get appointed the boss?”
He smiled at her. “The minute you managed to get a concussion.”
“So, when my concussion gets better, then I get to be the boss?”
He laughed, the rich, deep sound filling the hospital room and momentarily making her feel better. “Yes, you get to be boss once you’re back on your feet and well,” he agreed.
She frowned, still confused about things. “I need to call somebody to pick me up from here.”
“You don’t need to call anyone. I’m your ride or die kind of guy. I’ll get you home safe and sound. Now, I think I hear the breakfast carts starting to make the rounds. Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Not at all.” The very thought of food made her feel nauseous once again.
“You should try to eat something,” he urged.
She shook her head and then winced at the pain the movement caused. “Maybe later.”
It was just before noon when Dr. Johnson came into the room. After greeting them both, he gazed at Miranda. “How are you feeling today?”
“Stiff and sore, and maybe just a little bit foggy in the brain,” she admitted. “But I need to go home. I want to go home.”
“The only way I’ll allow you to go home is if you stay down, and I do mean down for a week to ten days. You need to rest your brain, so no video games or surfing the web, and definitely no driving. You also should stay off that ankle and elevate it.”
She stared at him in dismay. How was she supposed to function with all those limitations? How was she supposed to be a teacher and a mother?
“What about my work?” she finally asked.
“No work for the time being,” Dr. Johnson said.
“It’s taken care of,” Clay replied. “I called Rudy and told him you needed a substitute teacher to finish out the school year.”
She frowned at him, unsure if she should be angry at his presumptuousness or grateful that he’d already taken care of it. She suddenly was overwhelmed. “I just really want to go home.” She wanted to be at her own house and have her children with her. She didn’t know how she was going to manage things, but somehow she’d have to figure it out. She just needed the fog to lift in her brain and for the pain in her head to ease a bit and then she’d be fine.
“Okay, as long as you understand your restrictions, I’ll release you,” Dr. Johnson said. “I’ll send in Katie to help you get dressed. Clay...walk out with me?”
Katie Francis was young with a bright smile. She had been Miranda’s student four years prior and had been stellar. When she entered the room, she had a pair of crutches with her.
“Dr. Johnson thought you might need these because of your sprained ankle.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s that bad,” Miranda replied.
It was that bad...and worse. By the time she was dressed and ready to leave, she almost wanted to crawl back into the hospital bed and forget about going home. Her balance was off and her headache had returned big-time. Her ankle was so painful she couldn’t put any weight on it and exhaustion tugged at her even though she had done nothing more than get out of bed and get dressed. She had never felt so bad in her life and she fought against tears that threatened to fall.
Clay returned to the room. “All ready to go?” He stepped close to her and grimaced. “You look like you could faint at any moment.”
“I’m fine,” she replied and tried to force a smile, but she knew it didn’t quite make it to her lips. “At least, I’ll be fine once I’m home.” For the first time she noticed that he wore a gun belt with a gun nestled inside the holster. “Are you expecting a shoot-out on the way out of here?”
“No, but if there is one then I’m fully prepared. You know, it’s a Boy Scout kind of thing...always be prepared.”
“Clay Madison, you are no Boy Scout,” she replied.
Once again he laughed. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
Katie walked out with them and it didn’t take more than two steps for Miranda to realize maneuvering the crutches was a particular form of torture.
Clay must have sensed her discomfort. “Stop,” he said before they had even reached the end of the hallway outside of her room. In one smooth movement he took the crutches from her, handed them to Katie and scooped Miranda up in his arms.
She wanted to protest and yet she wanted to lean her head against his broad chest. She was intensely grateful not to be trying to walk with the crutches, but still she stiffened up against him.
“Relax... I’ve got you,” he murmured softly.
She told herself it was nothing more than momentary gratitude that allowed her to relax into him. He didn’t really mean anything to her. He was just a physical convenience at this particular time. If he could simply get her home, he could get back to his life and she’d get back to hers. Once again, she fought against uncharacteristic tears.
She wasn’t a crier, never had been and hopefully never would be. When Hank had gotten drunk night after night during their marriage she hadn’t shed a tear. When she realized he’d been cheating on her, she hadn’t cried. So why did she feel like crying now?
She couldn’t deny the appeal of Clay’s strong arms around her. He smelled like soap and shaving cream and that hint of fresh-smelling cologne that belonged to him alone.
As he carried her out of the hospital, she gave in to her immediate desire and leaned her head against his broad chest. His heart beat strong and steady beneath her ear. She closed her eyes and didn’t open them again until she was tucked into the passenger seat of his truck.
As he drove her home, her brain worked to try to make sense of everything that had happened. “Where’s my car?” she asked.
“It needed to be towed.”
“I need to call my insurance, but how can I tell them what happened when I don’t remember the accident?” Anxiety rose up inside her. How had she managed to run into the side of a truck? Had she been daydreaming? Speeding? “I still don’t understand how this all happened.”
“I’ll help you with the insurance issue. You are not supposed to be thinking about or worrying about anything right now,” he replied in a chiding tone. “The doctor said your brain needs to rest.”
“I can’t help what my brain is doing right now. Thank God the kids weren’t in the car with me.” She looked at his handsome profile. “Thank you for thinking of my kids and seeing that they were taken care of.”
“I figured they might get scared if they got home from school and you weren’t there, and the last thing I wanted was for them to be scared.”
She stared at him for a long moment and then gazed out the passenger window. Having Clay with her now was every bit as confusing as everything else that had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours.
As they pulled into her driveway, she looked at him once again. “Why are you doing all this, Clay? Why are you helping me?”
He turned off the truck engine and turned to look at her. “Because you need the help and I’m able to help you.”
“I’m not going to sleep with you,” she said firmly. If nothing else was clear in her head it seemed important that she make that clear to him.
His lips turned up into his devastating smile. “Darlin’, I haven’t asked you to.” He opened his door. “Now, how about you give me your house key and let’s get you inside.” Thankfully her purse had been brought to her in the hospital.
She pulled out her keys and handed them over. As she tried to get out of the truck he stopped her and then hurried around and scooped her up in his arms once again.
At the front door he somehow managed to maneuver her and open the door at the same time. “Bed or sofa?” he asked as he stepped inside.
“Sofa.”
He eased her down and grabbed a throw pillow to put under her ankle. “Do you need a
blanket or maybe something to drink?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine. Clay, I really appreciate everything you’ve done. I’m sure Cassie could use you back at the ranch now.”
He sank down into the chair opposite the sofa. “Actually, I’m on vacation for the next couple of weeks. There’s no reason why I can’t stay here and help you out with the kids until you get better.”
She stared at him in surprise. “Stay here? Oh, that’s not necessary.” The last thing she needed was to have Clay in her house where she’d be able to smell his scent, hear his laughter and see his smile 24/7. She didn’t want to be beholden to him any more than she already was. He was a danger to her on an emotional level.
“How are you going to handle everything?” he asked. “Right now you can’t even put weight on that ankle and the doctor said you need to stay down for a week to ten days. You can’t get up the stairs to your bedroom. How are you going to take care of the kids? The most important thing you need to do is rest your brain. You have a concussion, Miranda.”
Once again her eyes burned with unshed tears. “My mom can help out some,” she replied.
“You know as well as I do that your mom can’t handle everything for any length of time. She has health problems of her own. I’ve got packed bags in the truck and I’m ready to move in.”
“I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. His eyes appeared to darken in hue and then he released a deep sigh. “Miranda, I didn’t want to tell you this until you were feeling a little better, but I guess I have to tell you right now.”
The grim expression on his face and an energy that suddenly seemed to waft from him made her heart beat faster and anxiety swell in her chest. “Tell me what?”
“Your car accident wasn’t really an accident. Somebody cut your brake line and disabled your air bag. Somebody tried to kill you, Miranda, and I’m not leaving your side until Dillon gets that somebody arrested and behind bars.”
She stared at him, and as his words sank in, the tears that had threatened all day exploded out of her.
* * *
She’d watched him for days, her heart aching with a need so great it threatened to consume her. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and smell his scent. She needed to brush his hair away from his forehead and gaze into his beautiful blue eyes.
However, she was afraid. She was so afraid of rejection, especially now that he appeared to have a woman in his life. Sooner or later she was going to attempt to step back into his life.
But it wouldn’t be today.
Chapter 7
Damn. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. He hadn’t even wanted to tell her the truth about the accident right now. He would have preferred to tell her when she was feeling better and stronger, but she had to understand why he needed to be here with her.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry.” He jumped up from the chair, walked over and sat on the edge of the sofa next to her hip.
Tears trekked down her cheeks as soft sobs escaped her. She waved him away and covered her face with her hands. “I never, ever cry,” she managed to gasp between sobs.
“I’d say, under the circumstances, you’re definitely allowed,” he said gently. What he wanted to do more than anything was take her in his arms and hold her close. He’d wanted to do that since the moment he first saw her so small and vulnerable in the hospital bed.
But he didn’t do it. It wasn’t what she needed right now. Instead he got up and returned to his chair as she quickly gained control of her tears. She swiped her cheeks one last time with an angry brush of her fingers.
“How do you know about the car?” she asked.
He explained to her about it being towed to the police garage where the mechanic had come to those conclusions. When he finished she gazed at him, not with tears in her eyes, but rather with a dark fear.
“I could have not only have been killed in a careening car with no brakes, but I also could have killed somebody else. I just don’t understand this. Why...and who is doing this to me? What is happening in my life?” Her gaze went from his face to the gun on his hip. “That’s why you’re wearing your gun, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you or the kids. That’s why I’m moving in.” He leaned forward. “You need somebody here at all times, Miranda...and that somebody is me.”
“The guest bedroom is up the stairs and the first room on the left,” she finally said after a long pause. She then leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
Clay remained seated for several minutes until he realized she’d fallen asleep. Quietly he got out of the chair and went to retrieve his duffel bags and the crutches. Before going back inside, he looked up and down the block, making sure nothing appeared amiss.
When he came back inside he made sure the front door was securely locked and then went upstairs and into the bedroom where he’d be staying. It was a pleasant room with a double bed covered in a pale blue spread. It didn’t take him long to hang his clothes in the closet and put underwear and socks in a drawer in the dresser.
He carried the smaller duffle bag into the bathroom next door with the intention of unloading some things. But it was obvious this was the children’s bath. The shower curtain boasted two smiling starfish and there were matching towels. Several large bottles of bubble bath sat on the floor next to the tub.
There was no way Clay was going to leave his razors in here. He carried the duffle back to his room without unpacking anything.
He left the room and went into the other bedrooms to check the locks on the windows. Assured that the locks were all in place, he walked back down the stairs to check all the windows and doors in the living room and kitchen. Finally, confident that nobody could easily get into the house, he eased back down into the chair across from where Miranda slept.
Questions once again began to whirl in his head, making him half dizzy. Who? Who was behind these attacks on her? Unfortunately anyone could have had access to her car with it parked in the school parking lot. Teenage boys might know how to cut a brake line, but so might a lot of other people in town.
Was it possible one of the three boys who had accosted them at the carnival was responsible? Or was there somebody else at the school who had a seething, secret hatred of Miranda? A fellow teacher? Somebody working in maintenance?
He was confident Dillon would be working every angle possible, but that certainly didn’t stop Clay’s burning curiosity. Was it possible Hank was behind the attacks? Did he want full custody of the children? That scenario rang false. Hank was hardly an involved father, and he and Miranda seemed to share a decent relationship. He couldn’t see the man who was drunk most of the time having the capacity to plot and then carry out such actions.
A loud knock sounded on the door, waking Miranda from her sleep. It was too early for Katherine to be bringing the kids. He’d spoken to her on the phone earlier that morning and they had agreed that she would feed the children dinner and then bring them home.
He glanced out the peep hole. Well, think of the devil. He opened the door to Hank and Lori. “Where is she?” Hank pushed past Clay. Lori followed him, her hands filled with a large casserole dish covered in foil.
Hank stopped in his tracks as he saw Miranda on the sofa. “Jeez, you look awful.”
“Hank,” Lori said in a chiding tone.
“Well, it’s the truth,” Hank replied. “Look at that bruise on her forehead.”
Miranda raised a hand to her head and winced. “At least it’s just a bruise and not a cracked skull.”
“Well thank God for that,” Hank replied.
“Miranda, I brought you that Mexican taco bake that the kids like so much,” Lori said. “All you have to do is warm it up. I hope you’ll tell us if there’s anything we can do for you. If you need us to keep the kids for a few days then you
just have to say the word.”
“Thanks, but we’ve got things covered here,” Clay replied. He took the casserole dish from Lori and walked it into the kitchen while Hank asked Miranda questions about the accident.
He found it interesting that Miranda told Hank she didn’t remember the accident and so didn’t know how it had happened. Even more interesting was that she told him her brakes had failed but didn’t tell him that her car had been criminally messed with. Thankfully the two didn’t stay long.
“You didn’t tell him about the car being tampered with,” Clay said when they were gone.
“I know eventually he’ll find out about it, but I didn’t want to hear him bluster and cuss about Dillon not doing enough. My head aches enough without hearing Hank go ballistic. Still, it was nice of Lori to bring the casserole.”
“Speaking of food, what can I get for you to eat? Do you want a little dish of the taco bake?”
She frowned. “I’m still really not hungry.”
“Honey, you have to put something in your stomach. Do you have some soup in the kitchen?”
She nodded and then winced. “There’s some chicken noodle in there.”
“Chicken noodle soup coming right up.” Before she could protest again he went into the kitchen. He found the soup in the pantry and a large microwavable soup cup in the cabinet.
Within minutes he’d served her the soup with some saltine crackers on the side and then he sank back down in the chair across from her. “You’re worrying,” he said. “I can tell by the frown on your face.”
She ate a spoonful of the soup then released a deep sigh. “It’s just... I’m worried about Jenny and Henry.”
“What worries you about them? There’s no reason to think they are in any danger.”
“That’s not what’s worrying me.” She took another spoonful of the soup and looked back at him. “You aren’t exactly known around town for your domestic abilities.”
Cowboy Defender Page 9
