Fair Warning. Hannah Alexander
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waiting for him to argue, she slipped through the door and let it swing shut behind her.
Willow stood by Preston’s bedside and watched the rise and fall of his chest. His mouth hung slack, and the fan of his long black lashes seemed unsinged. His eyebrows hadn’t fared so well, and a blister framed the left side of his face.
Unwilling to awaken him, she watched in silence. I know better than to ask why, Lord. I know I won’t get an answer. But how about a “when”? As in “When will it stop?”
A film of tears blurred her vision. She sniffed and dashed them away, and when she returned her attention to Preston, his eyes were open.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said.
He reached his right hand out to her. She took it gently, feeling the calloused ridge along the top of his palm from too many hours holding a hammer while working on one of his rental properties.
He looked down at the hand he held in his. “You’re shaking.”
“Do you blame me?” She attempted her usual dry, casual tone with him. It didn’t come out right.
His gaze went to her bandaged forearm. “How bad?”
“Not too.”
“Graham fix you up?”
“How did you know?”
“He told me, dummy.” His teasing grin didn’t quite reach his eyes, but she could see it through the oxygen mask. The eyes held only worry, deep worry.
She shrugged. “He’s good.”
He nodded, satisfied, then indicated her apparel with a look. “Did you get a job here?”
She grimaced as she glanced down at the green scrubs. “One of your renters took pity on me and found these for me.” She gestured toward Preston’s upper lip, also visible through the mask. “Your mustache is in awful shape.” It, too, had been singed.
Preston shifted as if he would try to sit up.
“Don’t even think about it,” Willow said, pressing a hand against his shoulder.
“He still around?”
“Who?”
He scowled at her. “Who fixed your arm?”
“I don’t know where he went. Would you just relax and focus on getting well? I’m sure he told you they’ve got the fire under control, and he seems capable of taking care of the renters.”
Preston gave an impatient shake of his head. “I need to talk to him about—”
“You don’t need to do a thing right now, my friend.” A familiar baritone voice came from behind Willow’s left shoulder. “I’ve got a handle on it all, and if I can’t deal with it I know someone who can.”
Willow turned and looked at Graham Vaughn, struck afresh by his solid, friendly appearance. He had that “smile with your eyes” trick down perfectly. There was a warmth in his expression that would, of course, serve to encourage his patients to trust him.
In spite of what she’d said to him earlier this morning, he did have a good bedside manner, and he did engender trust. Willow knew she tended to be a little grumpy when stressed, and she was working on that.
“Willow, there’s someone I want you to meet as soon as you finish visiting with Preston,” Graham said.
“Someone like who?” she asked.
“Someone who can take you shopping for some necessary items until you receive the keys to your car,” Graham said. “You’ll also want some cash, and the claims adjuster will have that to us later this morning. I’ve got surgery today, but my sister can—”
“His sister can speak for herself.” A new voice spoke from the doorway.
Willow turned to encounter a fresh, smiling, freckled face. The woman, possibly in her late forties, had short, graying red hair the color of antiqued copper. She wore blue jeans and a chambray shirt that suggested she might have been working outside when she received the call from her brother and hadn’t taken the time to change.
“I’m Ginger Carpenter,” the woman said, stepping forward with an outstretched hand.
Willow took the hand, appreciating the firm grip. “Willow Traynor. I take it you’re the sister Graham mentioned?”
“Guilty as charged. Graham offered me the opportunity to help someone else spend money. That’s like a dream come true for me. We need to get you fixed up with some clothes, a place to stay until we can find something more permanent, and we’ve got some money to spend, courtesy of my brother’s bank account until the checks arrive later.”
“But I don’t—”
“Insurance money,” Ginger said. “I’ve turned shopping on a shoestring into an art form. You’d be surprised at the bargains I’ve learned to dig up in the Branson shops in the past few weeks. I could open your world to a new way of shopping.”
Willow gave her borrowed scrubs another perusal. “I wouldn’t mind a couple of pairs of jeans.”
Ginger patted her own well-endowed fanny. “Honey, I’d give you some of mine, but you’d float around in them. Let’s go paint the town green, okay? Looks like Preston’s in great hands.” To Willow’s surprise, Ginger leaned over the bed and gave Preston a quick, sisterly kiss on the cheek. “Loan Willow to me for a few hours, okay?”
Preston nodded. “You’ve got her. I’ll take a nap.”
Graham couldn’t help observing Preston’s watchful silence as Ginger cajoled Willow from the room. It was a foregone conclusion, at least to Graham, that no one but Ginger could have pulled off this feat. Willow tended to skitter away from people like a half-wild kitten. The woman was intriguing.
At this point, so was her brother. What was up with these two? Yes, they had been through quite an ordeal tonight, but Graham had noticed Preston’s body language when he’d spoken of Willow recently. He was worried about her. Preston didn’t worry about much, so when something concerned him, Graham homed in on it like a beacon.
With a final glance over her shoulder at Preston, Willow disappeared down the hallway with Ginger.
“I need your help,” Preston said quietly the moment the women were out of earshot.
Graham returned his attention to his friend. “You’ve got it, you know that. Don’t worry about a thing. Ginger can help with the renters until—”
Preston gave an impatient wave. “Not that. We can deal with the renters later. I’ve kept an off-site set of computer records for months now, so that’s no problem.” His voice grew raspy, and he raised his hand to his throat. “I need help with Willow.”
Graham reached for a couple of ice chips and gave them to Preston. “Sorry I can’t do any better than that, but you can’t have anything else so soon after surgery. Why don’t you stop trying to talk? You inhaled a lot of smoke, and you need to rest your voice.”
Preston took the chips, coughed, shook his head. “I need you to know some things about Willow.”
“You mean you haven’t already told me everything there is to tell?” He had heard Preston talk about his sister for several months. Obviously Preston cared a great deal about her.
“I haven’t told you everything,” Preston said quietly. “She’s afraid, Graham.”
“Of what?”
“That’s what we need to talk about. It’s complicated.” Preston placed the small ice chips in his mouth.
Graham pulled a chair over to the bed and slumped into it. Last night had been a hard one, and it didn’t look as if he’d be getting much