“Like I said—” his voice was as dark and as deadly as the gun that had suddenly appeared in his hand “—you might want to reconsider.”
The smaller boy again looked like he was just an earring away from bawling, but the older one just looked resigned.
“You a cop?”
“Used to be.”
Snake closed his eyes and gritted out a raw epithet that would have singed Kate’s eyebrows if she hadn’t spent plenty of time in an E.R., hearing much worse than this gangsta wannabe could ever hope to dish out.
“Watch your mouth,” her patient said from the ground. “There’s a lady present.”
With the gun pointed at the two juvenile delinquents, Hunter fished out his cell phone and dialed 911 to report the armed robbery and assault.
“An ambulance is on the way,” he told them, after he’d summed up the situation and given their location in a brisk, efficient way, which said better than anything else that he still had plenty of cop left in him.
“What a bother. I don’t need an ambulance.” The older man’s voice was smooth, well-modulated, with only a slight southern accent. “He barely nicked me. I’ve done worse than this shaving.”
Hunter looked to Kate for confirmation, but she shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Mr….”
She knew he must be in pain but he still mustered a smile. “Mr. Henry Monroe, miss.”
Charmed again by his polite manners, she smiled back. “I’m Kate Spencer and this is Hunter Bradshaw. Mr. Monroe, I’m sorry but you’ve got a deep puncture wound that’s going to need several layers of stitches. I don’t think they’ll have to operate but you need to be treated at a hospital.”
He appeared to digest this information for a moment but it didn’t sway him. “Well, now, I appreciate your help, miss, but if I don’t get back to that gas station in a real hurry, I’m afraid I’ll miss the Greyhound. My granddaughter is dancing in
The Nutcracker
tonight in Memphis and I decided to ride up and surprise her.”
“We’ll find you another bus,” Kate promised. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you get to Memphis, won’t we Hunter?”
As sirens wailed in the distance, Hunter shifted his gaze from the two punks at the business end of his gun to her.
He gave her a long, inscrutable look out of eyes, the color of a stormy sky, then he shook his head and she could swear she saw one corner of his mouth turn up and amusement flicker in those dark eyes. “Sure we will, Mr. Monroe. Don’t worry about a thing.”
A squad car pulled up with a couple of Tupelo’s finest before she could say anything else and Kate turned her attention back to her patient.
Hunter leaned back in the uncomfortable chair in the E.R. waiting room of the Tupelo hospital and surveyed Kate in the chair across from him.
She had bloodstains on her shirt, her hair had slipped free of the casual ponytail she’d pulled it into that morning and her makeup had washed away in the drizzle that had descended on them while they were trying to get Mr. Monroe into the ambulance.
She looked bedraggled and tired and worried, and he had to just about sit on his hands to keep from reaching for her.
How was it that she seemed to grow more beautiful with every moment they spent together? Physically, yes, he had always thought her attractive. Even without makeup her features were elegant, soft and lovely like a woman in an old-world painting.
But more than that,
she
was beautiful, deep inside where the rest of the world couldn’t see. She had faced down two little dumb-ass punks to protect an elderly blind man with nothing more than her own courage—and now she refused to leave the hospital until they made sure she found the man’s treatment acceptable.
“It took three layers of stitches but everything’s closed up tight now. They’re just bandaging him up but I thought I’d better come find you to give you a status report,” she said.
“I appreciate that. You know, I didn’t realize part of our trip itinerary was a tour of hospitals across the country,” he couldn’t resist adding.
She made a face. “I’m sorry. I had to come along. I don’t suppose it makes sense to you but in a way Mr. Monroe feels like a patient of mine. I couldn’t just leave him alone in a strange city.”
As someone who used to have the same level of caring about his own job, he had to admire her dedication to her chosen profession; at the same time, part of him seethed with envy. How long had it been since he’d cared about anything that passionately? He couldn’t remember—and he wasn’t sure he ever would again.
“Are they keeping him overnight, then?”
“The attending physician is pushing hard for it. He seems like a bit of a jerk. But Mr. Monroe is a stubborn one—he insists he’s got to leave.
The Nutcracker
is waiting.”
Hunter studied her. “You want to take him to Memphis, don’t you?”
A hint of color dusted her cheekbones and she gave him a sheepish look. “The thought had occurred to me,” she admitted. “I just don’t feel good about sending him off alone on a Greyhound with his injury. If I really were his doctor, I would order him to bed for a few days but I don’t think he would take that advice.”
“You do realize Memphis is more than two hundred miles out of our way round trip, right?”
She fretted with a loose thread on her sweater. “Yes. And you’ve already done so much for me, I know I can’t ask this of you, too. I don’t know, maybe I could call the daughter and have her come get him.”
“Would she have time to drive down here and still make it back in time for the granddaughter’s performance?”
“Probably not.” She fell quiet. “I’m willing to entertain other suggestions if you have any.”
He wondered if Kate was even aware of her habit of collecting strays. Mariah, Henry. Himself. She tried her best to heal the whole world, whether they wanted healing or were content to stay mired in the muck of their own angst.
Was it because she’d been a stray herself? Because she knew what it was like to be lost and alone and hurting and she couldn’t stand to see anyone else in that condition?
Two hundred more miles meant at least three more hours with her. A hundred-eighty more minutes for her to wrap her fingers around his heart and keep tugging it out of the cold, dark corner he’d shoved it into after Dru’s murder and his arrest.
He sighed. “What’s two hundred miles when we’ve already come this far?”
Chapter 9
“S
o there I was, blind as a bat, stubborn as a one-eyed mule and stuck out in that fishing boat with no idea which way to row toward shore.” Henry Monroe, seated in the back where he could theoretically stretch out, guffawed a little.
Despite the blood covering his shirt and the heavily bandaged abdomen Hunter knew was underneath that shirt, Henry sat up straight as an ironing board and never lost his smile the entire drive from Tupelo. It seemed as permanent on his features as that punk kid’s hissing viper tattoo.
“Let me tell you,” he went on, “I did some mighty serious praying that day. Turns out God
does
listen to stubborn old fools who ought to know better. Next thing I knew that fishing boat was touching bottom and I was touching dry land. That was the last time I tried that, you can be sure. I still go fishing but I now force myself to have the patience to wait until my good friend Lamont Beauvais can go along. He doesn’t hear too well and I don’t see too well so between the two of us we make a pretty fine team.”
Kate’s laughter bubbled through the vehicle like a spring deep in the mountains—sweet and clear and refreshing.
Hunter loved listening to that sound. It seemed to seep through all the bloody cracks in his soul like healing balm.
He hadn’t heard her laugh in a long time—not a real one, anyway, the kind of deep laugh that started low in the pit of the stomach and burst out like water from an uncapped irrigation pipe.
Amazing how one elderly man with a vision impairment and a cheerful smile could lighten the mood in the SUV so dramatically.
He wasn’t sure he had fully recognized how strained things were between him and Kate, the finely tuned tension always humming under their polite conversation, until Henry Monroe climbed in the back seat at that hospital parking lot and set about shaking things up.
He only wished they could take Henry along the rest of the way to Florida with them, but they were only about twenty minutes from Memphis and his daughter’s house.
Henry and Kate had gotten along like a house on fire. During the hundred-mile journey from Tupelo to Memphis, Hunter had listened while Henry told her about his life as a Baptist preacher and how his macular degeneration didn’t stop him from tending to his flock.
Kate, in turn, had told him the reason for their journey, about the stunning discovery six weeks earlier about her kidnapping, that everything she thought she knew about herself and her life had been a lie and how they were on a quest for answers.
Hunter had mostly been an observer to their conversation. Nothing new in that, he thought, suddenly realizing how detached he had been from life in the last three years.
Maybe it had been a form of self-preservation, the only way he had of protecting anything good and decent left inside him, but he had somehow distanced himself from the events that had turned his life upside down.
From the moment of his arrest for the murders of Dru and Mickie, he had retreated to a safe, private place inside his psyche. He was only coming to realize on this journey that a part of him was still inside that place peeking around the corner, afraid to venture out even though he knew the coast was clear.
“That fishing trip was in the early days after my vision started going south, when I was still fighting and bucking against fate. I’ve become a lot smarter since I hit seventy.”
Kate smiled but her eyes were serious. “It must have been difficult for you at first.”
“Oh, it was. I was angry for a long time. I fought against it as long as I could, held onto my driver’s license long after I could safely drive. That was the worst, giving that up. I still miss taking off in my old Mercury and driving for hours down country roads.”
In the rearview mirror, Hunter saw him shake his head. “I spent many a night on my knees crying out to God, asking why I was being punished so. First he took my wife Eleanor, then he took my vision so I couldn’t even see the faces of the children and grandchildren my Ellie left behind. It seemed a mighty cruel trick to play on a man who had tried to spend his whole life in service to him.”
Hunter thought of the long nights in prison when he had cried out to anyone who might be listening. He too had felt forsaken, forgotten. Prison is hell for an innocent man and day by day his faith had dwindled. He wasn’t sure now that he could ever find it again.
“What changed?” he asked suddenly, earning a surprised look from Kate. “You seem to have accepted your condition now. How did that happen?”
In the mirror, he could see Henry’s soft smile. “I realized I had two choices. I could sit there in my house until I died, scared and angry and bitter. Or I could go on living. I decided to go on.”
That’s what Hunter hadn’t done, he realized. He had been out of Point of the Mountain for six weeks but his bitterness against Martin James for what he had done was keeping him in another kind of prison, one with bars just as strong.
He would stay there, hiding inside his anger and betrayal, until he made the choice to go on living.
He wasn’t sure he could. After three years of believing he would be executed, he was finding the transition to contemplating a future a little difficult to maneuver.
He was still lost in thought as they drove the rest of the way to the comfortable suburban neighborhood where Henry directed them.
“It’s a mighty kind thing you folks have done here, driving me all this way,” Henry said as they neared his daughter’s home.
He wasn’t kind at all, Hunter thought. He just couldn’t say no to Kate Spencer.
“We’re happy to do it, aren’t we, Hunter?” she said.
Just hearing her say his name shouldn’t send heat trickling down his spine like the rain dripping down the windshield, but there it was.
“Right,” he murmured.
“I can’t thank you enough. I’d have been in a real fix if you all hadn’t come along when you did.”
Kate smiled. “I’m just glad we were there to help.”
“Is this the right place?” Hunter asked as he pulled up in front of the address Henry had given. “It’s a white house with green shutters and a tire swing in a big maple.”
“That’s the one.”
Hunter pulled into the driveway. He turned off the Jeep then climbed out and opened the passenger door to help Henry from the back seat.
He wasn’t at all surprised when Kate climbed out too and came around to offer her other arm.
“Oh now, you don’t have to mollycoddle me. I’m just fine.”
“I want to talk to your daughter about caring for your injury,” she said firmly.
They made quite a trio, Hunter thought as they made their way with slow care through the light drizzle to the front porch hung with garlands of fragrant pine.
Henry rang the doorbell and a few moments later a young woman with long bead-tipped braids and a harried expression opened the door, sending out a rush of warm air that smelled of gingerbread and cinnamon and sugar cookies.
A coltish little girl about eight with Henry’s warm eyes peeked around her.
Hunter decided the whole detour was worth it to see the stunned glee in the little girl’s eyes.
“Grandpa! You came! You came!”
She rushed to throw her arms around Henry, something that would undoubtedly have been painful with his injuries, but Kate stepped in front of him first.
“Grandpa, you’re bleeding!” the little girl said, her voice suddenly fearful. “What happened?”
The daughter’s eyes were wide with shock. “Dad? What are you doing here? Who are these people? What’s going on?”
“I came to see
The Nutcracker
. I couldn’t miss my little Antonia. On the way I was in a little accident but I’m fine. Just fine. Don’t you worry, Raquel. My friends Hunter and Katie here helped me out and offered to give me a ride from Tupelo.”
“What kind of accident?”
“Now that’s a long story. The important thing is I’m fine and I made it here. I may need to borrow one of Marcus’s shirts, though. I’m afraid this one is beyond saving.”
He bent to his granddaughter. “I see pink. Are you wearing your costume? You’re going to have to tell me all about it.”
Antonia dragged him over to the couch and started describing her frothy tulle costume. Hunter didn’t miss the way Kate made sure he was settled before turning back to the daughter.
In her calm, clinical way, she described the attempted mugging and Henry’s subsequent injury, assuring Raquel quickly that his injury wasn’t serious.
She then gave the woman Henry’s hospital discharge papers and explained the care his wound would need.
The daughter was effusive in her gratitude for what they had done. She insisted on sending them on their way with two huge bags of home-baked goodies—several kinds of holiday cookies, a tin of fudge and thick gingerbread.
Finally, they said their goodbyes, again with Kate leaving her contact information and insisting Henry e-mail her and let her know how his wound was healing.
At the rate she was acquiring her strays, she would have e-mail penpals across the country.
Though they urged him to rest, Henry insisted on walking them to the door. He shook Hunter’s hand solemnly, then hugged Kate.
“I hope you find the answers you need,” he said, those blind eyes filled with more wisdom and serenity than Hunter could ever hope to gain. “Both of you.”
With that advice, they walked out into the cold drizzle.
Kate didn’t know what kind of magic wand Henry Monroe had waved inside at Hunter before they dropped him in Memphis, but whatever Baptist-minister voodoo he’d whipped up packed a heck of a punch.
Hunter seemed like a completely different man than the one she had traveled with for three days. He seemed younger, somehow. Lighter.
He had smiled more on the stretch of road between Memphis and Atlanta than he had the entire trip and she could swear she’d even heard him laugh once, though it had been so fleeting she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure.
How long had it been since she had seen him like this? she wondered. Probably since before his arrest. No, before he became tangled up with Dru Ferrin and her lies.
She wasn’t sure what had caused the big change and she couldn’t take the time to figure it out—not when it was taking every iota of her strength to protect her heart from this version of Hunter Bradshaw.
She had a tough enough time trying to resist him at his most terse and moody. This relaxed, teasing man was positively dangerous.
Maybe the magic taking away that haunted look in his eyes had something to do with Raquel Monroe-Payton’s fudge. Hunter certainly seemed to be enjoying it.
He grabbed for another piece out of the tin, then made a face. “Sorry. I’m being a pig, aren’t I?”
“Eat it all. I’m not a big fan.”
“I am. Always have been. In fact, I dreamed of fudge in prison. That sounds really stupid, doesn’t it?”
She laughed a little but shook her head.
“Yeah, it does,” he said. “After my mother died, we had this housekeeper who made this absolutely incredible fudge. Real butter, walnuts, the works. I think she sold her recipe to one of the big Salt Lake candy companies. Made a fortune. Anyway, she used to make it for Taylor and me whenever we were upset about something. A punishment from the Judge, a bad grade on a test. A particularly bad day when we were missing having a mother. Whatever. Helen McKay’s fudge is exactly what I think of when I hear the words
comfort food
.”
If ever there was a time he had needed solace, it was during his prison time, she thought. “You should have told Taylor about your craving,” she said. “I’m sure she would have moved heaven and earth to keep you permanently supplied.”
“It was hard to admit I needed anything,” he said, his voice low.
In that moment, with the soft rain falling on the roof and the smell of leather seats and fudge and Hunter surrounding her, Kate faced the truth.
She had worried earlier that morning about trying to protect her heart from him, but the damage was already done. This was no silly schoolgirl crush.
She was in love with him. She suddenly realized that she had been for a long time, probably as long as she’d known him. She loved his honor, she loved his strength, she loved the small kindnesses he always seemed a little abashed to show.
“Kate? Everything okay?”
She fought the urge to press a hand to her feckless, destined-for-disaster heart. “Um, fine,” she lied. “Great. Why do you ask?”
“You just looked a little funny there for a minute. Are you a little carsick? Need me to stop?”
“No. I’m fine.”
Though he still looked concerned, Hunter let the subject rest. Kate gazed out the windshield, her thoughts whirling. What was she supposed to do with this information now? Her first instinct was to tell him to drop her off at the next airport so she could catch a flight home. Even as the thought whispered in her mind, she discarded it. She couldn’t do that. She had to stick this out, no matter how difficult the road.
Maybe she shouldn’t be looking at this time together as torture, she thought, but as an opportunity to store up as many memories as possible. After this trip, they would go their separate ways, but for the next several days at least, he was hers.
Her cell phone bleeped just as she drifted off to sleep in a hotel room that seemed to whirl around a little like she was still riding shotgun in Hunter’s Jeep.
Kate thought about ignoring the blasted thing. In the chaos of their quick trip, she had forgotten all about it in the bottom of her purse until she went digging through for a business card to leave for Henry. Now she wished she’d left it off.
It bleeped again, vibrating on the bedside table like a tiny angry cat. The temptation just to let it ring was overwhelming, but then she thought of the dozen messages she had yet to check and sighed.
She had ignored real life for three days, cocooned in Hunter’s SUV, loathe for some strange reason to let the world intrude on their quest. What if she’d missed something important?
With another sigh she grabbed it and hit the talk button just before the call would have gone to voice mail.