This isn’t my first time helping someone as terrified as this woman, but it might be the first time someone has looked this crazed. And is that her . . . bra?
Forgetting about her clothing, I focus in on the job. “You’ll be just fine. I’m going to use this tool to break the glass.” I raise it up. “Not an ax. EMTs are on their way.”
“You won’t let me die?”
“No, ma’am. I won’t let you die. Now just scoot over—”
“It was a moose,” she yells, pressing her spare hand against the window. “A moose did this to me.”
I nod. Why the hell hasn’t she scooted to the side? And why are we still yelling at each other through the glass? “Okay, ma’am. We can discuss that after I get you out. Please move to the other side of the car.”
Cautiously she looks at me and then points her finger. “Don’t slash me.”
“I won’t slash you, I promise.”
Finally, she scoots over to the other side of the vehicle and curls up against the far door. I grip my rescue tool in hand, and with a quick punch to the window, I crack it and start pulling the glass toward me so I don’t get it all over her seat.
Once the window is cleared, I lean in and smile at the brown-haired, olive-skinned beauty inside. She’s wearing only a bra and jeans and is pressing a bloody, wadded-up T-shirt to her head. The green in her eyes reads scared, as does the slight tremble in her small body.
“Are you okay?” I dust off the seat of the chair, clearing out the glass shards.
“Did you punch the window and break it with your fist?”
I chuckle and shake my head. “No, I used my tool, but your confidence in my strength is gratifying.” I extend my gloved hand. “Come on, let’s get you out of here and get you to the EMTs. Looks like you have a nasty gash above your eye.”
“No thanks to my airbag,” she mutters as she crawls over the console.
When she gets to the window, I help her thread through the broken glass and take her into my arms, scooping her up easily.
Once she’s fully out, I ask her, “Think you can walk up the hill yourself, or do you need me to keep carrying you?”
She stares up at me, her eyes traveling back and forth over my features, almost as if she’s absorbing every line and indent. “I want to say I can walk myself, but I think I might be a little too out of it. For the life of me, I keep seeing two of you.”
Yeah, she’s not walking.
“Not a problem. I’ll carry you.”
Greg comes back down the hill and meets me halfway. “EMTs are here.”
“Great. I’ll take her up there. Hook up the truck and see if you can yank the car loose from between the trees.”
“Will do.”
“My clothes,” the girl in my arms shouts. “My clothes are in there, my suitcases! I don’t have anything to wear. I’m new to town and don’t know anyone. This is my first day; I need clothes!”
Not hard to believe, given that she’s wearing just a bra right now, and even though I’m the upstanding volunteer fireman, I can’t help but notice the swell of her breasts and the valley of her cleavage framed by the black lacy fabric.
“Greg, grab her suitcases from the back of the trunk and bring them up to me.” I speak to the lady. “Don’t worry; you’ll have clothes.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” She rests her head against my shoulder and sinks into my hold, and despite myself, the familiar feel of a woman in my arms is alluring.
You’re rescuing someone, not picking up a woman, Griffin. Christ.
The hill is pretty steep, and I’m knee deep in grass and mud, struggling more than I would have liked at being the knight in shining armor.
“Are you okay?” she asks as I grunt, my foot slipping on the slick grass.
“Yup, just slippery.” My voice is clipped, my mind focusing on one thing and one thing alone: not making myself look like a complete fool.
Falling down and tumbling head over heels on top of a partially clothed woman is not on my list of things to do today.
Just a few more feet.
“Do you need help, Griff?” Dave asks, popping his head out from the truck.
Ever the consummate hero, I shake my head and take the last few steps, nearly throwing my back out when I slip one more time, but I catch my balance in time to avoid the terrible tumble down.
Sweet Jesus, that was close.
I carry her over to the ambulance and set her down in the back on the ledge, where the EMTs, Jessica and Carly, start tending to the cut on her head, asking her a bunch of questions.
I walk over to the truck, where Dave approaches me from the side. “You know, there were plenty of us who could have helped.”
“I know,” I answer, digging around the back until my hand connects with something soft. Just what I was looking for.
“You should have at least waited for one of us to help you.”
I open up the T-shirt and shake it out, making sure it’s the clean one I keep stashed away for reasons just like this. “She was scared, Dave, and bleeding. She was able to fully hold a conversation with me and wanted out of the car. I took action.”
“She could have a hurt neck or—”
“She doesn’t, okay? Just a bump on the head.”
I’ve turned to walk away when Dave calls out, “When did you become a medic?”
Walking backward, I grin. “Earned my certification this morning.” Dave reads my sarcasm well and mutters something under his breath as he heads down toward the car to help out the rest of the guys while I check on the girl. I let out a deep sigh. Yeah, I should have waited, should have maybe assessed the situation better, but there was something about her that struck me deep in my core, a look that reminded me of Claire, and hell if I didn’t step into action right away.
“You should have seen it, came out of nowhere,” the girl says, waving her arms about, making Jessica and Carly’s ability to assess her for injuries harder than anticipated.
Stepping up, I hold out the T-shirt. “Something to cover up with.”
The girl looks at the shirt and then back up at me, her eyes watering, her lip trembling. Oh Christ.
“That is the . . .” She sucks in a deep breath and calms herself. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever done. Thank you.”
A shirt is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for her? Where is this girl from?
“We’re going to take you in for some scans just in case.” Carly hops down from the back of the ambulance and heads toward the front while Jessica straps the woman into the gurney.
“Is that really necessary?”
“You drove off the road and got stuck between two trees, and you have a nasty cut on your head. We want to make sure everything is good and you don’t have any swelling in your brain.”
The girl bites her bottom lip and then looks up at me. “I’m really okay.”
“It might be good just to double-check,” I say, helping out Jessica and Carly. “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure your clothes get to you.”
“You would do that?”
“Sure.” It’s not like I have a busy gift shop to get back to or a shift to finish with the fire department. I actually like the distraction. It gives me something other than the mundane schedule of my life to follow. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
I step into the ambulance, gripping the top of the doorframe with my hand as Jessica starts strapping up the woman.
“Ren. Ren Winters. I’m new to town. I’ll be teaching algebra in the fall, and I would really like to know what happened to the suicidal moose that stepped in front of my car. Is he dead?”
I chuckle and take her hand in mine. “I’m Griffin, and I can promise you, the moose is fine. You’re the one we need to worry about. Now listen to these two women; they know what they’re doing.” I give Jessica a high five before hopping out the back. “Get better.”
I help shut the ambulance doors and give them a pat on the back to let Carly know she’s goo
d to go. Hands on my hips, I stare down the red taillights of the vehicle. Ren Winters, algebra teacher. I wonder if she’s the same woman moving in a few houses down from me, the one who rented the Alabaster Haven, a.k.a. the white cottage on Seagull Lane.
I’ll have to ask my brother.
“Rogan, what’s up?”
The Har-Bahr, Port Snow’s local bar, is buzzing more than normal. I sit down next to my brother and raise two fingers to the bartender, Calvin, signaling my usual. Water and ice. I don’t drink much, especially when I told the fire station I could be on call anytime; it’s not like I have anything else to do with my nights.
“Heard about your Hulklike powers stomping up the side of a hill today. Showing off?” Rogan winks at me and takes a sip of what I know is water as well. We’re probably the only two who come to the bar not for the drinks but just to get out of our heads and our houses.
“Word spread already? That was fast.”
Growing up in Port Snow, population eight thousand, had its pluses and minuses. The community is like a close-knit family, and whenever someone is in need, we’re there for them. When they say it takes a community . . . Port Snow is that place. But on the negative side, as kids, my raucous brothers and I never got away with anything.
Accidentally breaking Old Man Wickham’s window while playing baseball.
Toilet papering every house on Whisper Way.
Floating a candy bar in the community pool, pretending it was something else . . . yeah, that was a gross one.
We were caught and turned in to our parents every single time.
It made dating and breaking curfew extremely hard, but we had our ways.
And even though getting in trouble with my parents isn’t a concern anymore, gossip still spreads like wildfire; it’s impossible to do anything without the entire town talking about it, including my brothers.
“Franklin over at the deli said you were huffing and puffing up the hill so much that your shirt ripped open, and you had to grab a new one from the truck. Called you a living legend with pecs for days.”
Franklin has an appetite for gossip and burly fishermen, not to mention a rather impressive imagination. He’s probably the worst gossip in town besides the old hens who hang out with Mrs. Davenport.
Calvin sets a water in front of me and moves on to the next customer. We leave a tip every time, so he doesn’t mind us taking up real estate at his bar.
I take a gulp of water. “I can agree with Franklin on the ‘pecs for days’ comment, but there was no shirt ripping. The woman I helped out of her car actually needed a shirt. She used hers to stop the bleeding on her head, so I gave her a spare.”
Rogan shakes his head. “News spreads around this town like the worst game of telephone ever played.”
Couldn’t agree more, but I won’t voice my opinion on the matter. Rogan is a little more jaded when it comes to Port Snow. He’s always had plans for bigger and better things, so I try to tamp down the negative aspects of the town whenever he’s around. I don’t want to push him further away from the family than he already is. He’s one job offer away from moving the hell out of here, and seeing as he’s the brother I’m closest to, I don’t want to see him leave.
Selfish move, maybe, but he needs this town; he just doesn’t see it yet.
“Speaking of the rescue today, her name was Ren Winters. Is she the woman who’s renting Alabaster Haven?”
“Hell if I can remember.” Rogan drags his hand through his hair and pulls his phone from his pocket, unlocking it and opening his email. “Uh, Ren Winters, Alabaster Haven . . . yup, that’s her. Is she not staying now?”
“I have no idea. I just have her luggage in my truck and figured I would ask so I could drop it off.”
“Ah yeah, it’s her first day in town, right?” Rogan shakes his head and pockets his phone again, eyes cast forward. “Rough first day in Port Snow. Think I should send her an email and tell her to run the fuck away as quickly as she can?”
“No.” I take another gulp of water. “Is the key to the house in the lock by the garage?”
“Yup.”
“So you’re not going to greet her? Welcome her to Port Snow?”
“Not even a little.”
“You’re a shitty landlord, you know that?”
He takes another sip of his water and nods. “Well aware, bro. But to ease your mind, I’m meeting with her tomorrow to sign her lease. I’ll be sure to ask about your ‘pecs for days.’”
I chuckle. “Fuck off, man.”
CHAPTER FOUR
REN
When it comes to parents, a child has the right to filter their life. Meaning we have the right to tell or not tell them everything that’s happening in our lives. This is out of pure preservation. You’re saving them from worry—and saving yourself from the headache of dealing with them.
To put it simply, there is no way in hell my parents will hear about my little moose encounter.
Not even a chance.
Because if they knew I spent my first day in Port Snow trapped in a car and bleeding from my head because a moose decided to test the boundaries of spatial awareness with vehicles, they would be flying out to Maine tomorrow to take me home.
Nope, they don’t need to know about that little incident, or the stitches in my forehead, or the fact that I’m going to have to spend a nice little chunk of change fixing a car I just got. By some miracle, when I spoke briefly with the automotive shop, they said that little cretin of a vehicle isn’t completely totaled. All it needs is some bodywork and a new radiator, and that’s it. What are the odds?
Inconvenient ones, that’s for sure.
“New to town?” the Uber driver asks, glancing in the rearview mirror as he hits the brakes at a four-way stop.
“Yes, just moved from Los Angeles.”
The driver nods. “You’re the woman Griffin Knightly saved, right? I can’t believe he rescued you from the treetops and swung from branch to branch to safety with you strapped to his back. The man is a real hero.”
Brow furrowed, I lean forward so I can hear him a little better. “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, heard he grunted like Tarzan while doing it.” He shakes his head in amazement. “That Griffin Knightly, a true treasure in this town, at least when it comes to rescuing people. But even if you find his Tarzan ways attractive, I would stay far away from the man. He’s had a bad case of love.”
I pull on my ear, making sure I heard him correctly, unsure how to take any of it. “Swung from a branch? I think you might be mistaken, sir. He popped my window open and then carried me up a hill. There was no Tarzan swinging or clinging to his back.”
“Really?” The man’s eyes narrow before lighting up again. “Ahh, I like my story better. Has more flair.”
Flair, for sure, but completely and utterly wrong.
“Are you okay? Heard you had a concussion and five broken plates in your skull.”
Goodness, who is this man’s source?
“Not to be rude, but where are you getting this information from?”
“Oh, you know”—he waves his hand around—“here and there.”
“Well, your ‘here and there’ isn’t quite accurate. I just got a bump on the head and a few stitches, with a minor concussion. That’s all.”
“Huh, really?” He thinks about it for a second. “Broken brain plates sounds better, more traumatic. You should really stick with that story.”
This man is insane.
With the sun setting in the rearview mirror, he drives down a narrow road toward the edge of the water, little coastal houses on either side. A path at the end of the road leads to the beach, the waves reflecting hues of pink and orange from the sky. The scenery, the proximity to the beach, was one of the reasons I chose to rent the Alabaster Haven—not only because the name is a dream, but because it’s so close to the ocean.
“This is it, cute little . . . oh, look who it is: Tarzan himself.”
Huh?
I tear my eyes away from the ocean to find Griffin standing on the front porch of the little cottage, tall and handsome in a pair of worn jeans and a tight-fitting white shirt with a lobster on the front, which I notice squeezes his biceps. Oh my, how did I miss the fact that this man is a stone wall of muscle? Maybe because I was bordering the line between scared to death and hysterical.
I’ll be honest—despite my embarrassment over what happened, I’m not mad that he’s here. I’m just wondering why.
“Uh, thank you for the ride.”
“Not a problem. My name is Wallace, and there is one other guy who drives around town as well. Make sure to rate me five stars. Bart, the other driver—rate him as a four.” I slide out of the car, and he gives me a wink just before I shut the door. Only two Uber drivers? How does that work?
Trying not to think too much of it, I walk down the cute cobblestoned pathway that leads to the house, eyes trained on the man in front of me; he has his hands stuffed in his back pockets and a sincere expression on his face.
Shyly, I wave. “Hello again.”
“Hey.” He steps down from the porch, and that’s when I see my luggage, just like he promised. Oh, thank God. “How are you doing?”
The smooth rumble of his voice ignites a wave of heat inside of me. I try to act as casual as possible even though I’m wearing his shirt and have a giant bandage on my head, and only a few hours ago he saw me crazily pressing my bloody face against a car window.
“Good. A minor concussion and a few stitches, but nothing to worry about. I didn’t even think I had a concussion. I don’t remember blacking out. But you know what I do remember?” I shake my finger at him. “That moose. What kind of animal goes suicidal on a country road? I don’t get it.” Frazzled from seeing him again and suddenly self-conscious, I add, “Do you have a lot of moose like that around here? Risk-takers?”
The chuckle that resounds from his chest easily cloaks me with a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time. “Risk-taking moose? Yeah, we do. A lot of the calls I get at the station have to do with cars and the moose popping out of nowhere. Although yours was the first car that was sandwiched between two trees and suspended off the ground. That was impressive. We took pictures for you, in case you wanted to see the type of driving you’re capable of.” He flashes me a smile, and a wave of butterflies takes flight in my stomach, sending my hormones into a frenzy. “But in all seriousness, you’re lucky you were able to somehow direct your car between the two trees. Not sure what the outcome would have been otherwise.” He smiles. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
That Second Chance Page 4
