by Sharon Sala
“Pretty much, but given the circumstances, I’m gonna let that slide. I stayed because I wanted to meet the donor who willingly interrupted her Christmas Day to save a stranger’s life. I didn’t know I was going to meet an old friend.”
“We’re not friends,” Mercy said, and then blinked as she realized that was what she said before, and added, “I don’t have family. Just a job. I was happy to do it.”
He heard a challenge in her claim…as if daring him to remark about her solitary life. But he wasn’t going to give her a moment of sympathy. “Yeah, same here. Cops and family aren’t necessarily synonymous. Most days I feel like my life is the job. At any rate, you are not what you seem, and I am impressed.”
All of a sudden, a quick wave of weakness washed over her. She bent over and put her head between her knees, trying not to pass out.
Lon caught her just as she was about to slide out of the chair as Jack returned with a bottle of orange juice, a packet of mini-doughnuts, and an iced honey bun. It was pure sugar overload, but Mercy knew it was what her body needed to offset the shock of blood loss.
“Here you go, Miss Dane. If you want more to drink, just let me know,” Jack said, and then pulled out a chair and sat down near her.
Duke was drawn to the woman by her beauty, and unhappy that it appeared the chief and the woman were already acquainted with each other. He followed his younger brother’s lead and sat nearby.
Mercy took a drink of the juice and then tore back the cellophane from the honey bun and took a bite as the chief’s radio squawked. Someone was trying to locate him.
“As you heard, my presence is requested elsewhere,” Lon said as he stood. “It was a pleasure to meet you again. Take care, Miss Dane, and have a safe ride home.”
“Thank you,” Mercy said.
She didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t help it. The years had turned him into quite a man. One thing was the same though. His butt still looked good from behind.
Chapter 3
Jack scooted his chair closer to her. His voice was trembling as he captured her attention. “Miss Dane, there aren’t words enough to thank you for what you’ve done. Hope means everything to me, and I thought I was going to lose her. You have given her a fighting chance.”
“I was happy to help,” she said.
Duke picked up the conversation. “Well, we certainly appreciate it. Hope has no family, so there was no option of having a relative donate, which would have been the normal avenue. She was adopted out of foster care.”
“Then she was lucky to get out. I grew up in foster care and aged out,” Mercy said, and took another bite of the honey bun.
“Where do you live?” Jack asked.
“In Savannah.”
Duke pointed at the helmet that she’d put between her feet. “Did you come here on a motorcycle?”
She nodded. “I don’t own a car.”
He frowned. “Wasn’t your husband upset about you coming all this way alone?”
Mercy resisted the urge to glare. He asked too damn many questions. “I’m not married, but that wouldn’t have mattered. I make my own decisions. No man tells me what to do.”
Duke heard the cold tone in her voice and unconsciously sat up and leaned back.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
Mercy sighed. She’d come on too strong to a family who was freaked out, and rightly so. “No. I’m sorry. I guess the defensive wall I keep between me and the world is a little steep.”
She finished off the honey bun and got up to wash the sugar from her fingers. When she came back from the bathroom, she glanced at the clock. Since it was still too early to leave, she took off the leather jacket and sat back down.
The moment she removed it, Duke saw the odd-shaped birthmark on her neck and did a double take. “Unusual birthmark you have there,” he said, pointing at the side of her neck.
“I guess,” Mercy said. “I forget it’s there.”
She drank the last of her juice and then leaned back in the chair, resisting the urge to close her eyes. It wouldn’t take much for her to go to sleep.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Jack asked. “I mean, you look a bit sleepy. I wouldn’t want you to have an accident going home.”
“Yes, actually I would. Coffee sounds like a good idea, but I have money to—”
“Please, let me,” Jack said.
Mercy didn’t argue. She understood his need to give back and closed her eyes rather than continue a conversation. This was a random meeting in their lives, and the sooner she was out of here, the better.
But Duke kept staring. After Jack handed Mercy the coffee and sat back down, Duke and Jack began talking in low tones.
Mercy wasn’t paying any attention until she heard a comment that startled her. “She sure looks like Hope, doesn’t she?” Duke asked.
Jack frowned. “Maybe.”
But Duke was insistent. “Same olive complexion. Same black hair and brown eyes.”
Then Duke realized Mercy was staring at them. “Sorry for talking about you like that,” Duke said. “It was rude.”
Mercy shrugged it off as Duke continued talking. She thought he talked too much, but now that he had her attention, he launched another conversation. “Hope had a little sister when she was in foster care. Her adoptive parents left her behind, and it broke Hope’s heart.”
“That’s too bad, but it happens,” Mercy said.
“She said her little sister had a birthmark on her neck that looked like a valentine heart lying on its side.”
Mercy grabbed her neck before she thought. She could feel herself flushing like she used to when a foster parent would decide she was too wild, too unwilling to conform, and her social worker would come and take her away. Why don’t you try to get along, he would ask.
She never knew what to say. She had no words to describe that she was afraid of everything. That she’d been hurt so many times that her defense mechanism had evolved to being the first to throw a punch or disagree.
“I do remember Hope talking about that,” Jack said, and looked at Mercy anew.
“She said her little sister was only three when that happened,” Duke said.
Mercy stood abruptly. “What you’re implying is impossible. Why are you doing this? You know my name. It was never changed, so obviously, that’s not me.”
“Hope said she always called her Baby Girl. I don’t think I ever heard her mention anything but that.”
Now the room was beginning to spin again, but this time from fear, not weakness.
All of a sudden she was remembering a gritty floor against her bare legs and old shoes on her feet so scuffed they no longer held color. Someone was hugging her and patting her on the back. Don’t cry, Baby Girl. I’ll tie your shoes.
She blinked, and the memory was gone, but she felt off-center and anxious. When she began gathering her things, Duke stood.
“Aren’t you curious?” he asked. “What are the odds that a donor with the same rare blood type as Hope’s, who also looks like her, has the same general coloring, and the same identifying birthmark as the missing sister, isn’t connected?”
Mercy was beginning to shake. She’d been alone all her life, and this felt scary. She was afraid to buy into something only to be disappointed again when it wasn’t true. “It’s not possible,” she said.
“Then let’s determine it right here and now,” Duke said, and pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to a friend who worked in the hospital.
Within moments he got a text back. “My friend, Mark, works in the lab. He’s coming up to get a swab for a DNA test. Is that okay?”
Mercy wanted to run, but the thought of actually having family was beyond anything she’d ever dreamed. “I guess,” she said, and sat back down.
A few moment
s later, Doctor Barrett, the surgeon who had operated on Hope, came into the waiting room.
Jack immediately stood. “How is she, Doctor Barrett?”
“I’m cautiously optimistic,” he said. “I just wanted to let you know her vital signs are improving. She’s not out of the woods by any means, but getting that transfusion was vital.”
“Oh, thank God,” Jack said, and grabbed both of Mercy’s hands. “And thank you again.”
“You’re the donor?” the doctor asked.
“Yes.”
“Then I’m thanking you too. Hope is a good woman and a fine nurse. What you gave her was a chance to live.”
Mercy was blinking back tears as the doctor left and fighting an urge to run. But if she left now without following through on this sister thing, she would live the rest of her life wondering what would have happened had she stayed.
A few minutes later, a short redheaded man in a lab coat came hurrying into the waiting room. “Is this the lady in question?” he asked.
Duke nodded. “Mark, this is Mercy Dane. Mercy, this is my friend, Mark Lyons.”
Mark smiled. “Hello, Miss Dane. This will only take a few seconds. I just need to get a swab from inside your mouth, okay?”
She nodded.
When he pulled the long swab out of the wrapper, she opened her mouth.
Mark got the sample and secured it. “All finished. When we get the test results, I’ll let Duke know.”
“How long will it take?” Duke asked.
“Hard to say. They’ll take all of the regular requests for people who are waiting for treatment first.”
“Okay then,” Mercy said, and headed for the door.
“Wait!” Duke said. “How can I contact you?”
She wasn’t about to give him her phone number or address. “You can reach me at the Road Warrior Bar in Savannah,” she said, and walked out of the waiting room, then out of the hospital.
The sun was bright as she headed toward her bike. The urgency of her arrival was no longer an issue as she slipped the helmet over her head, mounted the Harley, and started it up. The pipes rumbled as she rode out of the parking lot and back toward Main Street.
* * *
Lon was standing outside the police station talking on his cell phone when he heard the motorcycle. He ended the call as she approached, and on impulse, waved her over.
Mercy sighed. This meeting had to happen to get past it, so she turned toward the curb and pulled into a parking space. She killed the engine, took off her helmet, and cradled it in her lap as he walked toward her. “Am I in trouble again?” she asked.
“No ma’am, you are not,” he said, and handed her a card. “This is my business card, but the number on the lower left is the number to my personal cell phone. I would sincerely appreciate it if you gave me a call when you get home, just to let me know you arrived safely. I am a bit concerned about the long ride you’re going to have to make so soon after donating blood. I want to know you made it home in one piece. Unlike the last time we parted, when I worried myself sick for some time, wondering what happened to you. Wondering if that thief had come back and taken you away.”
Mercy’s heart skipped a beat as he laid the card in her palm. She’d been so beaten down and wounded by life that she never thought of his feelings when she’d left. “Are you serious?” she asked.
Lon frowned. “Yes, I’m serious. Why would you doubt that?”
She shrugged. “Nobody ever cared.”
He heard a slight tremble in her voice. “Well, I’m not nobody, and I cared before, and I care now.”
She slipped the card into one of the pockets in her jacket and then zipped it up for safekeeping. She didn’t what to think about him. “I never had to check in with anyone before.”
Lon felt like he’d been sideswiped, but didn’t let on. He’d thought it that night together so long ago, and he was thinking it again this Christmas Day. He’d never met anyone like her—a matter-of-fact woman who said what she thought and didn’t use the situation in her life to gain attention or pity.
“You’re not checking in with me, Mercy Dane. If this insults you, then don’t call. But like before, be aware that I will worry, and I will wonder if you ever made it home. I will be grateful if you call. Ride safe. Both times we have crossed paths in sad circumstances. I never got a chance to say it before, but I am truly glad to have met you.”
All of a sudden Mercy was looking at him through a veil of tears. She took a quick breath and jammed the helmet back on her head.
“Thanks for not giving me a ticket,” she said, and started the engine and rode off.
Lon stayed where he was and watched until she disappeared from view—still remembering what it felt like to come apart in her arms.
* * *
Mercy was shaken by the encounter and didn’t feel easy until she’d put several miles between herself and Blessings. The town was small by Savannah standards, but there was something about it. Some people might have called it quaint. But that wasn’t the adjective Mercy would have used. It took her a few moments to put a name to the vibe she’d gotten just from being there, but when the word came to her, it felt right.
There was an innocence to it. Maybe it had to do with small-town living. She’d never thought about living in a place where you knew most everyone who lived there and had known them since birth. She kept thinking about the depth of concern everyone had for the injured woman…for Hope Talbot. Everyone seemed so friendly, so kind and caring, both for her health and safety, and for Hope.
As for that cop, she didn’t quite know how to feel about him. He didn’t hit on her. He didn’t ask for her number like most of her customers did in the bar. He just wanted to know that she made it home. How had he worded it? Oh yes. In one piece. If she made it home in one piece.
Almost as suddenly as that thought slid through her mind, a car on her left in the passing lane suddenly swerved toward her. She turned toward the ditch, certain he was going to hit her. At the last moment, he overcorrected too much and drove into the center median.
She caught a glimpse of the car as it began to roll and breathed a shaky sigh of relief that she wasn’t the one rolling. She glanced in her side mirror and saw a number of cars were already stopping, so she kept on going, grateful it had not slowed her mercy mission.
About forty-five minutes later, she hit the city limits of Savannah and took an exit ramp that would take her home.
Fifteen minutes more, and she had arrived at her apartment complex and locked up her bike. She paused to stretch before going upstairs and gazed around the complex, noting the number of Christmas wreaths and big red bows decorating doors and balconies.
It was almost noon on a clear, cold Christmas Day.
She thought about the cop’s card in her pocket, and on impulse pulled it out and gave him a call. When he answered, she realized she’d been holding her breath for the sound of his voice. “Hello?”
“It’s me, Mercy. I’m home.”
“Good news! Are you feeling okay?”
She shivered as the deep rasp in his voice rolled through her. “Yes, Chief, I’m fine, and thank you for asking.”
“Thank you for calling to ease my mind. Next time we meet, call me Lon. Merry Christmas to you, Mercy Dane.”
“Merry Christmas to you too,” she said, and disconnected.
She started up the steps to her apartment with a bounce in her walk. It was a good day.
* * *
Lon was still smiling as he dropped the phone back in his pocket. For a day that had started out in a near tragedy, it was turning into a really good day.
Chapter 4
Ruby Dye, who owned the Curl Up and Dye hair salon on Main Street, was at home in her kitchen and taking a pecan pie from the oven. The pie was for tonight. She had friends coming over to watch a footb
all game, and she always had desserts ready for them to snack on. And then, in the middle of her party preparations, she thought again of the crazy way her day had begun.
The first incident had been a knock at the door, but by the time she answered, no one was there, just a beautifully wrapped present and a card from a secret admirer.
Before she could go back inside, she had heard sirens and then the sound of a motorcycle racing through the streets. Suddenly, the motorcycle shot out of the alley to the left of her house and went straight up the alley across the street and disappeared.
She only had a glimpse of the rider—black leather, long legs, and a swath of long, dark hair flying out from under that silver helmet like a cape, before he disappeared from view.
The sirens were louder now. He was obviously being chased.
In a fit of good cheer, and because it was Christmas Day, Ruby had shouted aloud, “Ride safe and ride fast, whoever you are. God is in His heaven, and the Devil’s on your tail.”
Then she went inside out of the cold and sat down to open her gift. An hour later she was still puzzling over the identity of her secret admirer. Whoever he was, he had good taste. The ruby glass candy dish that had been in the box was now sitting in a place of honor on the dining room table, catching bits of sunlight in the facets of the glass.
She hadn’t had a man friend since she’d come to Blessings. She’d arrived here straight out of an ugly divorce, and the last thing she’d wanted was another man in her life. And all this time, she hadn’t even given a single thought to looking for one.
Now this.
But the idea was intriguing, and certainly something to think about for the upcoming year.
* * *
Mercy had been home two days and was finally on her way to the grocery store. She had just pulled up and parked when her phone signaled a text. She frowned, wondering if Moose was calling her in to work. It was her day off, and she sure hoped it stayed that way.
Then she pulled up the text.
It’s me, the cop, wanting you to know someone is thinking of you. Hope you are well. I have the flu. Feeling sorry for myself. Going back to bed now.
