Private Eye Protector. Shirlee McCoy
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said he didn’t realize how late it was until he’d already dialed.”
“Who doesn’t know what time it is?”
“Michael. Were you able to find a nurse?” She changed the subject, and he went with it.
“Yes, I had to find the doctor and get him to write the order first. Sorry it took so long.”
“Actually, I dozed off for a while and woke up when the phone rang, so it didn’t seem like that long at all.” She smoothed hair away from her bruised cheek, her hand trembling slightly.
From pain?
Fear?
Fatigue?
The phone call?
“Are you sure you’re up to leaving?”
“I know I’m not up to staying.” She stood and swayed, her eyes closing as she sagged toward him.
He grabbed her waist, his palms pressed against cool cotton and taut muscles.
“Sorry. I think I got up too quickly.” She eased away, and he had the urge to tighten his grip, hold on a little longer.
Not a good direction for his thoughts to be going.
“You’d better sit back down.” His tone was gruffer than he’d intended, but Rayne didn’t seem to notice.
She also didn’t seem to have noticed that he’d told her to sit down.
She crossed the room, and dug through the bag of things his mother had packed and brought to the hospital earlier. He hadn’t looked inside but, knowing his mother, it contained everything Rayne would need for a month-long stay.
“Did you pack all this?” Rayne asked, pulling out a blue shirt, her hands still shaking.
She definitely needed to sit down.
“My mother did. Now how about you do what I suggested and sit before you fall?”
“I’m not going to fall.” But she sat anyway, dropping into a chair so quickly he wondered if her legs had gone out from under her.
He grabbed a pitcher of water from the table near the bed and poured some into a paper cup. “Here, drink this.”
“I’d rather not.”
“And I’d rather not watch you pass out.”
“Would you rather watch me lose my lunch?”
“That bad, huh?” He grabbed a paper towel from the bathroom, wetted it and pressed it against the back of her neck. Silky curls fell across his knuckles, and he caught the muted scent of flowers and rain drifting from her hair. A breath of spring amid the antiseptic smells that lingered in the hospital.
“I’ll be okay. I just need some fresh air.”
If her pallor was any indication, she needed more than fresh air, but before Chance could say as much, a nurse bustled into the room, eyeing Rayne with the same concern Chance felt.
“I hear you’ve decided to leave us,” the nurse said, and Rayne nodded.
“I have to get home to my daughter.”
“How will you care for your daughter if you can’t care for yourself?”
“I’ll—”
“My mother will help out,” Chance cut in. Arguing wasn’t going to do any of them any good. Rayne had made up her mind. The best thing they could do was move things along so he could get her home where she could rest—and where he could keep her safe.
The nurse took out the IV, and Chance walked out into the hall, waiting there while Rayne changed.
Definitely a long day working its way into a long night, and he wasn’t even sure why he was at the hospital waiting for Rayne. She’d made plenty of friends since she’d moved to Spokane. He could have called any one of them.
He hadn’t.
“All right. We’re ready.” The nurse wheeled Rayne into the hall, and Chance followed them down to the lobby and out into the early-morning darkness. Beyond the portico, the pavement glistened with ice, the winter storm still howling.
Why had Rayne left a meeting with a client and driven to the airport on such a terrible night?
He drove his SUV to the portico, helped Rayne into the passenger seat.
“We have a twenty-minute ride ahead of us. Why don’t you rest for a while?”
She didn’t respond, just leaned her head back and closed her eyes, the bruises on her face dark and angry-looking.
He pulled out onto the highway, ice turning to snow as he crawled along the slick road and into the hills of Green Bluff. Within minutes, white powder covered the road and the thick evergreens that lined it. The world lay silent and still, everyone and everything taking cover from the weather.
The dirt road that led to the farm and orchards where he’d grown up curved around barren fields. He passed the cottage he’d been living in since he’d left the army. Passed the matching cottage that his mother’s only farmhand used.
The farmhouse stood a quarter mile away, the porch light burning brightly the same way it had every night of Chance’s childhood.
Home.
That’s what it felt like. As a kid, he’d dreamed of big cities and exciting people. He’d wanted the thrill that came with new places and new faces. Working as an army chaplain had given him an opportunity to experience those things. For ten years, he’d served God, served his country, served his own desire to explore the world.
Now …
What?
He was backtracking, finding the easy pace of small-town life more fulfilling than he’d imagined it could be. Finding that serving God could be done just as easily at home as it could far away and finding it way too easy to forget the mistakes of the past and embrace something new.
He frowned, glancing at Rayne as he pulled into his mother’s driveway.
He wasn’t embracing anything. He was helping out a coworker, bringing a young mother home safe to her daughter, doing the kind of thing he’d done dozens of times over the years.
He was helping. Then he was going home and getting a few hours of sleep before the sun came up and another day began. He had a client to meet with in the morning. A fence to fix at the edge of the orchards. A to-do list half a mile long.
Rayne was just one more thing on that list.
Get her home safe.
That’s all he’d needed to do.
He’d done it.
Mission accomplished.
Somehow, though, as he opened the door and rounded the SUV, he had a feeling there was going to be a whole lot more to keeping Rayne safe than simply getting her home.
THREE
“Rayne?” Someone nudged her shoulder, and Rayne pushed the hand away, wanting to sink back into dreams and away from the throbbing pain in her head.
“Go away.” She didn’t open her eyes. No sense doing that, seeing as how she had no intention of moving. Every breath, every heartbeat brought more pain, and she had no desire to see what would happen if she actually did more.
“Come on, Goldilocks, are you really going to make me carry you?” The words were muttered against her ear as she was scooped up, pressed close to a hard chest.
Goldilocks?
Not Michael, then. He only ever called her Rayne. No sweetie or darling or honey. Just Rayne.
“I