Chapter 4
Lili tucked a sweater into her suitcase, packing to move into her apartment, excited for this new venture but nervous at the same time.
Rose leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You know you don’t have to leave. You can stay as long as you want.”
“I know.” Lili folded another shirt. “And I do appreciate you so much. But you need your craft room back. Those googly-eyed reindeer pipe cleaner candy canes you and the kids are making have taken your kitchen table hostage.”
Rose laughed. “It’s a mess, but I have three kids. Everything is always messy.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Listen, I don’t care about the crafts.” Rose’s voice went soft. “I just got you back, and now you’re going.”
Lili stopped packing and glanced at her sister. “I’m moving two miles away.”
“I know.” Rose came into the room and sat on the edge of the air mattress. “After everything with David, after all you’ve been through, I wanted you close for the holidays.”
“I am okay.” She paused. “Or at least I’m getting there. Being in Kringle with you, Tom, and the children helps a lot.”
Rose shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I’m happy about the job. Miles is a good guy. But moving into his apartment—”
“You’re making too big of a deal. I’m not moving in with him. It’ll be my own place.”
“I know the difference. It’s just—” Rose peered down at her hands. “This is the most time we’ve spent together in years. The kids adore you. Tom thinks you’re a goddess. And I missed you so much, Lili. I don’t want you to go.”
Lili’s throat tightened. She sat beside Rose. “I missed you too. But I need to do this. To prove I can make intelligent decisions again. That I can trust myself.”
“What if you’re making the right decision and I’m just being selfish?” Rose quirked a grin.
“You’re not selfish. You just care, and I love you for it.”
“Help.” Emma burst through the door, one shoe on, one foot bare. “I can’t find my other shoe.”
Rose sighed. “Did you check under the couch?”
“Yes. It’s not there.”
“Check again, baby.”
“Can Aunt Lili help me find it?”
Lili stood. “Come on. Let’s solve this mystery.”
They headed downstairs. The morning routine was in full swing—Tom making coffee, the older kids arguing, and the dog begging for scraps.
Lili knelt by the couch. Emma crawled beside her, peering into the shadows underneath. She pulled out the shoe. Emma squealed and grabbed it.
“You have to promise,” Rose said. “You’ll drop by several times a week.”
“I promise.”
“And call me. A lot. Or text. Text will work.”
“Rose—”
“Lili.”
Her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. Miles’ name flashed.
Her stomach flipped. “Hello?”
“Hey. Sorry to call so early, but Scott Finley got kicked by a horse at the Rocking F. Jenny called, but I’m at the hospital delivering a baby, and I can’t leave immediately.”
“Oh no. How can I help?”
“I told Jenny to call 911, but she’ll need support. Can you go stabilize Scott until the ambulance arrives? I’ll break free as soon as I can.” He gave her the address.
“I’m leaving now.” She grabbed her jacket and keys, already running triage protocol in her head.
* * *
Seven minutes later, after exceeding the speed limit by ten miles an hour, Lili parked in the driveway at the Rocking F.
“Jenny.” she called, closing the car door. “It’s Lili Grant. Doc Miles sent me.”
“In the barn.” Jenny’s voice came out thin and shaky. “Hurry.”
Lili rushed inside, carrying the medical bag she kept fully stocked for emergencies. She found Scott Finley propped against a hay bale, one arm wrapped around his torso, his face ashen and contorted into a grimace.
Jenny paced nearby with baby Adam on her hip, the toddler’s face buried in her shoulder.
“Thank God,” Jenny said. “The ambulance is still ten minutes out, but—”
“Let me examine him.” Lili dropped to her knees beside Scott. Color poor, breathing shallow and guarded.
“Scott, I’m Lili. I’m a nurse practitioner, and I just started working with Doc Miles. Tell me what happened.”
“Daisy kicked me. Caught me in the ribs.”
“Trouble breathing?”
“Some. Hurts when I inhale.”
She placed two fingers on his wrist. Pulse thready, 120 beats per minute. Too fast.
“Sharp pain or dull ache?”
“Sharp. Left side.”
“Did you cough up any blood?”
“No.”
“Okay. I’m going to check your lungs.” She pulled out her stethoscope from the kit and listened.
Breath sounds diminished on the left. Possible pneumothorax. She palpated his abdomen with care, noting no obvious rigidity, but he winced when she pressed on the left upper quadrant. She took his blood pressure: 152/97. Pain rocketed it into the red zone.
She stayed beside him, monitoring. But over the next two minutes, things devolved.
Scott’s breathing grew more labored. His pulse climbed—130, then 135. She rechecked his blood pressure: 98/62. Dropping fast.
Adrenaline rushed through her system, but she controlled her own breathing, staying calm and in charge.
She palpated Scott’s trachea. It was deviated to the right. The jugular veins in his neck were distended.
Tension pneumothorax.
Life-threatening. She had seconds to save his life.
“Jenny, I need you to stay calm. Scott will be okay, but I have to perform an emergency medical procedure right now.”
Jenny blanched, but she nodded.
Lili turned to Scott. “I’m going to decompress your chest. You’re going to feel a stick, then immediate relief. Are you still with me?”
He nodded, too breathless to speak, his face devoid of all color.
She pulled the 14-gauge catheter from her medical bag. “Scott, I’ve got to lift your shirt.”
A grunt was all he could manage.
She pulled the fabric up, exposing his chest, and prepped the site with antiseptic povidone. She knew where to go. Second intercostal space, midclavicular line.
Deep breath. Here goes.
She inserted the needle-and-catheter assembly perpendicular to the chest wall. A loud hiss of air rushed out.
Jenny gasped. “Oh, dear God.”
Lili withdrew the needle, leaving only the flexible plastic catheter in place to continue venting air.
“Better?” she asked Scott.
“Yeah.” His voice was weak, but relief washed color back into his face. “I can breathe again.”
She secured the plastic catheter with tape and reassessed. His pulse was already dropping: 120, then 115. Blood pressure climbing back up. Color improving. Respirations less labored.
The immediate crisis was over.
She stayed beside him, one hand on his wrist monitoring his pulse, watching his chest rise and fall. Jenny knelt on his other side, holding his free hand, the toddler still in her arms.
“Is he going to be okay?” Jenny’s voice trembled.
“He’s stable now. The ambulance will be here soon, and they’ll get him to the hospital for a chest tube. But yes, he’ll be okay.”
Sirens wailed. The cavalry was on the way.
Miles’s truck pulled into the driveway seconds before the ambulance. He rushed into the barn, took one peek at Scott with the catheter in place, and met Lili’s gaze.
“Tension pneumo?”
She nodded.
Miles knelt, did a quick assessment, pulse, blood pressure, breath sounds, and glanced at Lili in awe.
“You saved his life.”
The ambulance backed up to the barn doors. Two paramedics jumped out, grabbed their equipment, and jogged inside.
“What’ve we got?” the lead paramedic asked.
Lili stood and gave them a clear, concise report. The paramedics transferred Scott to their gurney, securing the catheter and starting an IV line.
Miles gave them his contact information for the ER physician.
“Doc, you want to ride along?” one paramedic asked Miles.
“No, I’ve got patients at the clinic. But call me with updates.” He turned to Lili. “Unless you want to go?”
She shook her head. “They’ve got him.”
The ambulance pulled away, lights flashing. Jenny stood in the driveway watching until it disappeared, then burst into tears. Miles pulled her into a hug while Lili packed up her medical kit.
When Jenny pulled herself together and headed inside with Adam to call Scott’s folks, Miles turned to Lili.
“That was incredible work. Textbook needle decompression under pressure.”
“Just doing what I trained for.”
“No.” His voice was somber. “That was more than training. That was instinct, competence, staying calm when it mattered most.” He paused. “I’m really glad you were here.”
Warmth spread through her chest. “Me too.”
* * *
After lunch with Rose at the Kringle Kafe, where her sister lauded her as a hero to anyone who would listen, Lili moved her meager possessions into the apartment.
Feeling lighter than she had in months, she hummed as she unpacked. Sheets on the bed with proper hospital corners. Toiletries arranged in the bathroom. Clothes hung in the closet. Laptop on the counter.
Simple. Clean. Hers.
She stood back, surveying the small space with satisfaction. This would work. She could see herself here, working at the clinic, having dinners with Rose and her family, perhaps even staying past the holidays.
David wouldn’t be out of jail until next June. She had time. Months to figure out where to go next. For the first time since the divorce, she felt safe.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
Unknown number. A text. She glanced at the screen, expecting spam.
I know where you are.
The world halted. Time stopped. She ceased breathing as the old fears rushed in.
Lili stared at those four words, her brain refusing to process what they meant. She read them again. And again.
I know where you are.
“It can’t be David,” she said aloud. “He’s only six months into his sentence.”
Must be a prank. A wrong number.
Yes, that was it. Not David. Couldn’t be. Unless—
Early release. Good behavior. Overcrowding. A dozen reasons the system let men out before they should be. If it was David, it meant the first thing he’d done was hunt her down.
A sound tore from her throat, raw and terrified. Her phone slipped from her hands, clattering onto the counter.
No, no, no, no.
Her chest constricted. She couldn’t breathe. The apartment that felt safe a minute ago now felt like a trap. Windows he could see through. One door. Nowhere to hide.
She thought she had time. Months. She had let herself relax, settle in, and start to believe she might actually be okay here.
And he was out there. Watching. Waiting. Letting her think she was safe before letting her know he found her.
Her hands shook as she grabbed the phone and blocked the number. Pointless. Useless. He’d just use another number.
Tears blurred her vision. She pressed her palms to her face, trying to muffle the sob building in her chest.
The twelve-month sentence had been her lifeline. Twelve months to breathe, to heal, to figure out what came next. She built everything around that number, coming to Kringle, taking her time with job applications, letting down her guard.
And now—
Her gaze snapped to the closet. The suitcase on the shelf. She could leave. Right now. Tonight. Pack everything and just go.
But where? He found her here. He could find her anywhere.
She took a step toward the closet, then stopped. Her whole body was shaking now, trembling so hard she could barely stand.
Don’t panic. You’re letting your fear get out of hand.
A knock on the door startled her. She gasped, spun, and slapped a palm to her chest. He was coming for her.
“Lili?” Miles’s voice came through the door.
She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t make words work past the fear strangling her.
“Lili?” More urgent now. “Are you all right?”
She stumbled to the door and opened it.
Miles stepped inside. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I’m—”
“You’re trembling.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m fine.”
“Lili.” He studied her face. “What’s wrong?”
She reopened the message and held out the phone.
He took it, read the screen, and his jaw tightened. “Who sent this?”
“I believe it’s from my ex-husband, David.” She gave him a curated version of her history with her ex.
Understanding crossed Miles’s face. “You think he got early release?”
“I don’t know. Or maybe it’s not even him. I might be panicking over nothing.”
Miles pulled out his phone. “We’re calling the sheriff.”
“No. It’s just a text. Four words from an unknown number. I can’t prove it’s him.”
“You have a restraining order—”
“Which he violated seven times before they arrested him for something else.” Her voice went flat. “One text won’t be enough. They’ll tell me to document it and call if he contacts me again. That’s it.”
“Then we document it.”
She looked at him. “Right now I just need to think.”
Miles hesitated, then put his phone away. “Okay. But if he contacts you again—”
“I’ll call. I promise.”
He studied her face. “You want to leave. Tonight.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t know what I want.” She stared at her hands. “I was unpacking, humming, feeling safe. And then—” Her voice broke.
“Don’t decide right now,” Miles said. “Not while you’re terrified. Sleep on it. If you still want to leave tomorrow, I’ll help you pack.”
“You’d do that?”
“If you need to run, I’ll help you run.” He paused. “But I really hope you stay.”