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“I have a few bumps and bruises,” she answered, “but nothing hurts, and there’s no numbness, either. I guess I’m shaken up, is all—that was a close one.” She bit her lower lip before going on. “If you hadn’t been here—” She stopped, shook her head again and wiped her eyes with the back of one hand.
“I was, though,” he said gently. “We’ll get you checked out, just to be on the safe side.”
Her response was a disjointed jumble of words, partial sentences. “The car—it’s a rental—I’m not sure I signed up for the extra insurance.”
“Let’s worry about that later,” he told her. “Right now, we’re headed for the hospital.”
“I really don’t think I’m injured—”
He held on to her arm with one hand while he bent to retrieve his phone from the asphalt. It looked a little the worse for wear, although it probably still worked just fine. “If it’s all the same to you,” he said lightly, “I’d rather hear that from a licensed medical professional.”
She sighed.
“Plus, this rain isn’t helping,” he added, squiring her carefully toward his truck. It would’ve been faster to pick her up and carry her, but if she was hurt, it wouldn’t do to jostle her around like a sack of feed.
They reached the truck, and he opened the passenger door, but before he could offer any assistance, she’d climbed onto the running board under her own power and then settled herself in the seat. For the briefest of moments, looking into her face, Mace had the impression that he knew this woman from somewhere.
“If I thought it would do me any good to argue,” she said with a hint of a smile, “I’d repeat what I’ve been saying all along. I don’t need to see a doctor. Besides, you’ve done enough already.”
“You’re at least partly right,” Mace responded. “Arguing won’t do a damn bit of good, and I only did what anybody else would have done, under the circumstances. As for not needing to see a doctor, well, that’s debatable.”
“Seriously. I’m absolutely certain that all I need is a hot bath, a couple of aspirin and some sleep. So if you’d just drop me off at my hotel—”
“Sure thing,” Mace agreed amiably. “I’ll do that—after the doc looks you over and says you’re good to go.”
“I’m fine.” She was certainly persistent, not to say stubborn, but this time, she’d met her match. He was as bullheaded as they came.
Mace shut the truck door without answering. Maybe she was right, and she really was okay, but he didn’t intend to take the chance, and he was tired of standing there in the rain, yammering.
As soon as he was behind the wheel and under cover, the rain slowed to a drizzle.
It figured.
She was shivering, arms wrapped around her ribs, and staring bleakly through the rain-speckled windshield.
Mace cranked up the heat, glad he’d left the engine running earlier, and looked over at her. Tried for a grin and fell short. “Hey,” he said gruffly, switching on the wipers to clear the windshield. “You’re safe with me, if that’s what you’re worried about. I might be a stranger, but I’m also one of the good guys.”
She glanced at him curiously. “But you’re not a stranger.”
So, he’d been right. This wasn’t their first encounter.
Damned if he could recall where and when they’d crossed paths before, though. And that was odd, because even wet and bedraggled and more rattled than she probably thought she was, she wasn’t the kind of woman a man forgot.
“I’m not?” he asked, checking the mirrors before making a wide turn and heading back toward Mustang Creek.
She sighed, rested her head against the side window. She sounded almost wistful when she responded. “You don’t remember?”
“I know we’ve met someplace,” he replied. “But that’s all I’ve got at the moment.”
There was a long, slightly forlorn pause. Another sigh. “Maybe we could talk about old times another day,” she said at last, seeming to shrink into herself. “I’m so tired.”
Normally, Mace wasn’t the type to put things off, but he wasn’t going to press for particulars. Not yet, anyhow.
“Just don’t fall asleep,” he said.
“Why not?” she asked with another sigh and a small yawn. “I’ve had a long, hard day.”
“Because you might’ve hit your head.”
She opened her mouth, obviously intending to protest, but then she must have thought better of it. Or maybe she was too exhausted to put up an argument.
“Thanks,” she said. “For everything.”
Mace acknowledged her words with a slight inclination of his head, keeping his eyes on the road. Several minutes passed before he broke the silence. “What happened back there?”
“I’m not sure,” she replied, and her voice was slow, sleepy. “One minute, I was cruising along, looking for the turnoff to the resort. The next, I was hydroplaning. Maybe I blew a tire or something.”
“You were speeding,” he commented blandly.
She frowned. “Are you going to lecture me on road safety? Because I’m really not up for that just now.”
He grinned. “Unfamiliar roads, heavy rain—”
“I was in a hurry.”
“To do what?”
“To get to my hotel. As I said, I was ready for this day to be over.”
The outskirts of Mustang Creek were in sight by then; the small regional hospital was on the far side of town, about ten minutes away. He wasn’t given to cop fantasies, but at that moment he wished for a light bar and a siren.
“Another few seconds and your life might have been over.”
“Thanks for that,” she retorted with a new briskness Mace found reassuring, despite the tartness of her tone. “I might not have figured that out on my own—how I could’ve been killed, I mean.”
Keep her talking, he thought. If she’s pissed off, oh, well. At least she’s awake.
Although she’d been slouching before, she suddenly sat bolt upright, making patting motions with her hands. “My purse,” she said, her voice fretful. “It’s still in the car.”
Mace was always astonished by how dependent women were on their handbags, as if the things were a necessary part of their anatomy rather than an obvious burden. Something else to keep track of. “It isn’t going anywhere,” he said quietly and with a note of prudent caution.
Her eyes were big with alarm when she turned to look at him, and patches of pink pulsed impatiently in her cheeks. “My entire life is in that bag!” she cried. “And it’s a Michael Kors, too.”
A purse with a name, he thought, but he wasn’t stupid enough to offer up the quip when she was clearly riled. Keeping her awake was one thing; causing her to blow a brain-gasket was another.
“I’ll make sure you get it back.”
“Suppose it’s underwater? My phone—my wallet—do you know how much a designer bag costs? And what about my laptop? My clothes?”
“I guess that’s a possibility,” Mace observed casually, “given the laws of gravity and everything.”
“How can you be so calm?” she asked, fuming. Then she answered her own question. “I’ll tell you how. It isn’t your purse!”
“You have me there,” he admitted, not unsympathetically. “I don’t own one, as it happens. Reckon if I did, though, I’d keep that fact to myself.”
Her cheeks flared brighter, but a giggle escaped. “This is serious,” she said.
Mace shook his head. “No, ma’am,” he said, navigating the familiar streets of his hometown. “Car wrecks are serious. Concussions and busted spleens are serious. But a bag named Michael winding up in a creek? Not so much.”
“I should call the car rental company,” she said, apparently not one for segues.
Mace got his cell from his shirt pocket and handed it over. “If that’ll make you feel better, have at it,” he said.
She took the phone, then simply stared down at the screen, blinking. “I don’t know their number. The contract is in the glove compartment, possibly submerged.”
“Plenty of time to get in touch with them,” Mace said. They were almost through Mustang Creek; the turn for the hospital would be coming up in a minute or so. “Might be a good idea to call your family, however.” When she didn’t answer right away, he offered suggestions—with an agenda. “Your folks? Husband? Boyfriend?”
She huffed out a frustrated breath. “My parents are on a cruise through the Greek Islands,” she said. He caught the sidelong look she threw his way, although he was still gazing straight ahead, slowing for the turnoff. “And I don’t have a husband or a boyfriend, for your information.” A few seconds passed. “Do you?”
He laughed, swinging onto the paved stretch leading to the hospital. “Do I have a husband or a boyfriend?”
She worked up a good glare, but it fizzled into a wobbly smile before they reached the parking lot near the entrance to the emergency room. “I was joking,” she said.
“I laughed, didn’t I?” Mace parked the truck, shut off the engine, then came around to her side to open the door and help her down. This time, she let him, and as soon as her feet touched the ground, she swayed and put a hand to her forehead.
Mace slipped an arm around her waist, supporting her. Once again, he considered carrying her; once again, he dismissed the idea as too risky.
“I’m just a little dizzy,” she murmured as they entered the well-lit reception area. “No big deal.”
Ellie Simmons was behind the desk, and she stood immediately. She and Mace had gone to school together.
“I don’t have my ID or my insurance card,” said the woman whose name Mace suddenly realized he didn’t know.
“She was in an accident,” he told Ellie, relieved by his friend’s affable competence. “South of town.”
Ellie rounded the long desk and conjured up a wheelchair, eased the patient into the seat. “What about you, Mace?” she asked. “You hurting anywhere?”
Mace shoved a hand through his wet hair. Wet as he and his companion were, he figured they might have passed for shipwreck survivors if there’d been an ocean within a thousand miles. “I just happened along,” he said.
“I do have insurance,” the wheelchair occupant piped up.
“We’ll get to the paperwork in good time,” Ellie said, already wheeling the new arrival away from Mace toward an examination room. She bent her head, addressing the patient. “What’s your name, honey?”
The passenger hesitated long enough to prompt an exchange of glances between Ellie and Mace. Ellie raised an eyebrow at him in silent question.
Mace shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Kelly,” the woman in the wheelchair said in the tone of someone experiencing a revelation. “Kelly Wright.”
“Well, Kelly Wright,” Ellie said as they disappeared into the ER, “you’re in luck. Dr. Draper is on duty tonight, and she’s the best.”
Mace watched until they were gone, suppressing an urge to follow, ask a lot of questions, make damn sure Sheila Draper ran all the right tests.
Whatever the right tests happened to be.
Since Ms. Wright still had his cell, he went to the pay phone, a near relic in this day and age, dug in his jeans pocket for coins and called his friend Spence Hogan, Mustang Creek’s chief of police.
Spence took a while getting to the phone. When he did, he spoke in his usual brusque manner. “Hey, Mace,” he said. “What’s going on?”
Mace explained, none too succinctly.
“Sam Helgeson called it in five minutes ago,” Spence said. “I’ve already got a squad car and a wrecker on the way.” He paused. “You okay, buddy?”
“I’m fine,” Mace said. Where had he heard that before?
“You sure? You sound pretty jumpy to me.”
Mace gave a long sigh. “I’m sure,” he said.
“Hold on a second,” Spence muttered. “Deputy Brenner’s on the radio. He’s at the scene.”
Mace waited. He heard some back-and-forth on Spence’s end, although he couldn’t make out what was said. He was too busy wondering what was going on with Kelly Wright back there in the exam room and, at the same time, rifling through his mental files, which—when it came to women, were considerable—in search of a connection.
He came up dry.
He’d probably known half a dozen Kellys in his time, gone to school with a few of them, dated one or two on the rodeo circuit, but the name Wright didn’t ring a single bell.
Spence came back on the line. “You said there was only one woman in the car before it went over the bank, right? No other passengers?”
“Just her,” Mace replied. “Doc Draper’s checking her out now.”
Spence released an audible breath.
“What?” Mace prompted, worried by Spence’s hesitation.
“According to my deputy,” Spence said, “he and the tow truck driver were taking some personal items out of the car when they smelled gas. They hightailed it uphill with whatever they’d managed to gather, and it’s a good thing, because the rig burst into flames and then blew sky-high. Fire department’s on the way, to make sure it doesn’t spread. Thank God for this rain.”
Mace squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again. “Christ,” he breathed, the blaze as vivid in his mind as if he’d witnessed it. He thought how close he’d come to stopping by his favorite bar for a beer after his afternoon meeting with the guy who maintained his website, how he’d have lingered there awhile, shooting the shit with friends and neighbors, maybe playing a round or two of pool. If he hadn’t remembered that Harry, the family’s longtime cook and housekeeper, was serving her legendary sloppy joes for supper that night, if he’d thought there’d be leftovers once his two older brothers, Slater and Drake, ate their fill—
If.
Most likely, the Wright woman—Kelly—would’ve been trapped, unable to push open the driver’s door, with the rig on a slant like that. She would have gone over the cliff along with her car and, if by some miracle she’d survived the rollovers without losing consciousness, burned to death.
He swore under his breath.
“Reckon this makes you a hero,” Spence put in, gravely wry.
“I was there, that’s all,” Mace said. “Right time, right place. You would have done the same thing if you’d been there, and so would just about everybody else around here.”
