Chapter 5 #2
The nurse lets out a breath and chucks a thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s get ya back then, huh?”
I give him a pointed look, spinning around him to move toward the room I’d just attempted to escape.
It’s impossible to ignore Noah as he enters the room behind us. His sand-colored boots scuff along the floor and he stands, feet spread wide, as close to the door as possible.
The nurse drags a clear bag off the counter and hands it to me.
There, clumped in a soggy wet ball, are my clothes. They’re so wet, a small pool of water has accumulated in the corner of the bag. I stare at him.
“These are the belongings you came in with.” He gestures toward my backpack resting on the chair. “And your bag of course.”
I hold up the plastic bag, balancing it on my pointer finger. “These are soaked. What am I supposed to change into?”
The nurse looks flustered, and he glances at Noah who shrugs.
“What about some scrubs, Sam? Surely there’s an extra pair floating around she could wear out of here.”
The nurse, Sam, I guess his name is, grimaces. “I’ll go check.”
After he scrambles out of the room, I drop the mushy bag of clothes. Woozy, I sway and backpedal toward the bed. My calves graze the side rail before my knees give out and I, not so gracefully, plop on the bed.
“Whoa. You okay there?” Noah rushes to my side, placing a hand on my back.
I blink. Then wiggle away from his touch. “Fine.”
“Have you eaten anything?” he asks.
I shake my head. Nope, but that breakfast cart sure looked promising.
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to pretend like this hospital stay is a five-star resort.
I need to get to my car. Check in with Mitch.
Pray my missed shift won’t get me fired before I’m ready to say goodbye to Pinebrook, to Yosemite.
“Here we go.” Sam whirls into the room, a pair of pink scrubs folded in his palm. He serves them to me like he’s waiting on me, and I wrinkle my nose at the color. Definitely not a go-to for me, but who am I to be picky when my hiking clothes are molding over as we speak.
I mumble a “thank you” and heave myself up to change in the bathroom. Before I walk in, I look over my shoulder to where Noah hovers beside the bed. He smiles at me and part of me wonders if it’s genuine. Or if his obligatory pickup and drop-off comes with the make-her-feel-safe special.
It takes me longer to change than normal.
My body is exhausted and stiff, but I work the scrubs on.
I pull my hair out of the neckline, allowing it to flow down and rest past my shoulders.
It’s frizzy and tangled, but at this point I’m indifferent to how I look most of the time—at least I thought I was.
I linger, considering myself in the mirror for another second before shaking myself free.
The scrubs are way too big on me, but I roll the pants and let the shirt hang free to midthigh before shuffling back into the room.
Nurse Sam holds out a packet of paperwork I recognize as the discharge papers and launches into a rehearsed presentation on care instructions, warning signs for concussion complications, and a reminder my appointment to have my stiches removed is in two weeks.
I nod, pretending to listen, all the while eyeing the door and willing the man to hurry.
When he’s finished, I’m left in the room with Noah. Alone.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yep.” I move toward my backpack, but he holds up a hand for me to stop.
“I’ll get it. You just focus on walking without getting dizzy.”
“I’m not dizzy, and I can carry my—”
He ignores me and moves to grab the bag. “Not a fan of people helping you?”
“Just not a fan of people expecting help in return,” I snap.
He studies me, those tawny eyes narrowing and gutting my insides.
Noah doesn’t strike me as the person to let something go. He has a Mr. Fix-It mentality. Most military or law enforcement seem to share this trait. It’s annoying as hell, and the last thing I need right now is Ranger Rob taking an interest in my life.
“Can we go?” I ask.
He steps aside, gesturing me through the door.
Once in the hall, I turn toward the elevator and march straight for it. Noah shoulders past me as soon as I step inside. He jabs the button for the parking garage, the elevator jolts to life, and we descend in silence.
When the door opens, flashing lights greet us, and as I step out, I realize he’s parked right at the elevator doors.
I scoff. Typical. Another prick law enforcement move—to park in a convenient spot outside the assigned spaces. The arrogance.
“What? No parking spots?” I say, glancing at the empty parking garage.
Noah smiles, moving my backpack from one shoulder to the other. “Dr. Young mentioned you’d be ready to go in the morning. Didn’t want you to have to wait. I know how eager you are to get home.”
I want to chuckle. To laugh off his answer or roll my eyes at what I’d hoped would be a sarcastic remark, but he looks … serious. Genuine.
Hell. There’s no laughing at that.
The truck is already on, and when I open the passenger door, I understand why.
Max whines in the back seat, tail wagging, tongue panting. Drool drips over the center console as he stares at me. I swear if dogs could smile, this guy would be in a full-fledged grin.
Ugh.
Noah opens the back door and tosses my backpack in on the floorboard.
“Don’t even think about it,” I snarl at Max as he shifts to sniff the air around my bag. It probably smells like blueberry vape. The little traitor.
As Noah climbs in, Max sits in his seat, and I shake my head. He’s like a damn kid, and I pull on my bottom lip, tugging back a soft smile.
It’s not long before Noah pulls out of the parking garage and navigates to the main road.
Pinebrook Hospital sits on the edge of town and to get to the park the quickest route is through town.
“Where to?” Noah asks.
“My car.”
“Dr. Young said it wasn’t a good idea to drive for a couple of days. Let me take you home. I’ve already let the rangers know your car is fine where it is until you can get back to it. It won’t be towed or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I glance sidelong at him, my focus dipping to the thick columns of muscle in his neck. I can only imagine what the rest of his body looks like, if the straining muscles there are any indication. Most likely honed by years of sports and training.
Stupid—looking at him like this.
An upstanding ranger. A do-gooder willing to take a stranger to her car. This man’s a golden boy—probably never had a day of trouble in his life. I bet he makes it his mission to snuff out problematic people like me.
“Just take me to my car.” I wince. “Please.”
Noah shifts, the leather seat creaking. “How much did that pain you? To say please.”
I glare at him, and he cracks a lopsided smile.
“To your car it is then. Although I do have to state for the record I think it’s a bad idea. Should follow the doc’s recommendations.”
I raise my eyebrows. “How did I figure you’d say something like that. Must be all that law abiding compulsion.”
Noah grips the wheel one-handed, his knuckles tightening. He shoots a look at me, then toward the road. “Have something against law enforcement?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Huh,” he huffs, but asks nothing further, and I occupy myself by staring out the window.
Familiar buildings and businesses stream by, and as we pass the downtown historic motel, I realize I should stop at the diner. I was off yesterday … but unfortunately I was due in today.
I point up ahead. “Mind if we stop? I should check in with my boss.”
Noah studies the diner signage and then slows, pulling into the street parking out front.
“You work here?” he asks, putting the truck into park.
“Yep. I’ll just be a sec.” I haul out the door and jog up to the single glass door. It chimes when I enter.
The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee, the kind that’s been percolating in our commercial-sized pots since five in the morning, hits me.
The smoky, savory aroma of sizzling bacon and sausage mingles with the sweetness of griddle pancakes and waffles, hinting at the blueberry and banana specials Mitch often cooks.
My stomach growls.
The booths are upholstered in a cherry-red leather and set against sun-faded windows that look out onto Pinebrook’s historic main street.
There’s a vintage jukebox that sits past the narrow rows of booths at the end of the diner.
It’s the kind where you can flip through song titles and pick a classic for a quarter.
It’s one of my favorite things about this place—one of the reasons why this is my favorite place I’ve worked in my travels.
Another is the robust mix of visitors headed to Yosemite and local regulars who congregate here every morning. I think in a way it reminds me of Ruin and the small coffee shop there. The older folks in my hometown spend their mornings sipping drip coffee and gossiping over the latest town news.
The diner has that small-town charm with a slice of classic Americana. Er, sort of.
“Lily! Where have you been?” Mitch calls out from behind the ordering counter. He’s inputting a customer’s order beneath the glowing neon sign, the scripted words PINEbrOOK DINER in bold.
I glance down at the checkerboard-tiled floor. “Sorry, Mitch. I had an accident. Was in the hospital for the night.”
His eyes widen.
“B-but I’m fine now. Just going to get my car then I’ll be all set for my next shift. Promise.”
The middle-aged woman he’s ringing up slides into one of the chrome stools at the counter, topped with a red cushion. “It’ll be just a moment, Sue.” He turns to focus on me, or my pink scrubs, I’m not sure. His mouth drops open. “The hospital? Damn, girl. What the hell?”
“I was hiking yesterday. With the storm and the—”
“Can I help you?” Mitch interrupts me, eyes lit with his usual customer service charm, as he stares past me at the door. The rusty chime jingles as it shuts.
“Sure. A coffee to-go and whatever she wants.”