An Accidental Hero. Loree Lough
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A pain like none she’d experienced sliced through Cammi’s midsection.
Reid was on his feet and beside her in a heartbeat. “What’s the matter?”
Try as she might, Cammi couldn’t find her voice. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gripped her stomach and prayed. Not the baby, Lord. Please don’t let it be the baby….
“Georgia,” Reid bellowed to the diner owner as he scooped Cammi up in his powerful arms, “call the emergency room. Tell them we’re on the way.”
“Don’t look so scared, pretty lady,” he said after he gently deposited her inside his truck and buckled the seat belt. “Everything will be all right.”
Leaning against the headrest, she closed her eyes. Stay calm, she told herself. The Father is with you.
Reid reached across the seat to squeeze her hand. “Keep a good thought, okay?”
“Pray, Reid,” she managed to say. “Please…pray for me….”
LOREE LOUGH
A full-time writer for many years, Loree Lough has produced more than 2,000 articles, dozens of short stories and novels for the young (and young at heart), and all have been published here and abroad. The award-winning author of more than thirty-five romances, Loree also writes as Cara McCormack and Aleesha Carter.
A comedic teacher and conference speaker, Loree loves sharing in classrooms what she’s learned the hard way. The mother of two grown daughters, she lives in Maryland with her husband and an old-as-dirt cat named Mouser (who, until recently—when she caught and killed her first mouse—had no idea what a rodent was).
An Accidental Hero
Loree Lough
MILLS & BOON
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…wait on the Lord, and He shall save thee.
—Proverbs 20:22
To my family,
whose loving support gives me courage, and to the
heroes who save us from all manner of danger
without a second thought for themselves,
for that is true courage.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
Cammi Carlisle had been heading east on Route 40 since dawn, doing her level best to keep her mind on the road rather than the reasons she’d left Los Angeles. It would take Herculean strength and the courage of Job, too, to tell her father everything she’d done since moving away from Texas….
Sighing, she looked away from the rain-streaked windshield long enough to glance at the blue-green numerals on her dashboard clock. Fifteen minutes, tops, and she’d be home. Dread settled over her like an itchy blanket.
Her dad would never come right out and voice his disapproval of her decisions. Instead, he’d shake his head and say, “It’s your life…but I think you’ll be sorry….”
He’d said it when she signed up for Art instead of Bookkeeping in high school, when she traded her scholarship to Texas U. for acting lessons at the community college, when she announced her plans to move to Hollywood and try her hand at acting.
Cammi sighed, wondering how old she’d have to be before her dad no longer made her feel like a knobby-kneed, silly little—
From out of nowhere, came the angry blare of a car horn, the whoosh-hiss of tires skidding on rain-slicked pavement, the deafening impact of metal smashing into metal…. Then came an instant of utter stillness, punctuated by the soft tinkling of broken glass peppering the blacktop.
Cammi loosened her grip on the steering wheel and took stock. She’d been traveling north, but her fifteen-year-old coupe now faced south in the intersection of Amarillo’s Western Avenue and Plains Boulevard—the very corner where, thirteen years earlier, on a rainy night much like this one, her mother had died in a fiery car wreck.
Still reeling from the shock of the impact, Cammi stepped shakily onto the pavement. She didn’t seem to be hurt, and prayed whoever was in the other car had been as fortunate. Not much hope of that, though—the vehicle reminded her more of a modern-art sculpture than a pickup.
The truck’s side window had shattered on impact, making it impossible to see the driver. Gently, she rapped on the crystallized glass. “Hello…hello? Are you all right in there?”
“I’m fine, no thanks to you,” came the gruff reply.
The door slowly opened with a loud, protesting groan. One pointy-toed cowboy boot thumped to the ground, immediately followed by the other.
“Are you crazy?” the driver demanded as he stood and faced her.
Pedestrians had gathered on the street corners as the drivers of other vehicles leaned out of their car windows: “Anyone hurt?” one woman asked.
“Doesn’t appear so,” a male voice answered, “but I’m gonna be late, thanks to these idiots….”
Good grief, Cammi thought. As if her reasons for coming home weren’t bad enough, now she’d have to add “caused a car crash, smack-dab in the middle of town” to the already too-long list. Suddenly, she felt light-headed and grabbed the gnarled fender of the cowboy’s pickup for support. He waved back the small crowd that had gathered, and steadied her, two strong hands gripping her upper arms. Crouching slightly, he squinted and stared into her eyes.
“You okay? Should I call 911?”
The dizziness passed as quickly as it had descended. Cammi shook her head. “No. I’m okay.” And to prove it, she stepped away from his truck and smiled.
He thumbed his Stetson to the back of his head and looked her over from head to toe. Satisfied Cammi was indeed all right, he nodded and crossed both arms over his chest. “Did you even see that red light?”
Blinking as the cold October rain sheeted down her cheeks, she stared, slack-jawed and silent, as her gaze slid from his dark, frowning eyebrows to his full-lipped, scolding mouth. Not a bump or bruise, Cammi noted, not so much as a split lip. Thank God for that!