Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Sharp pains and a feverish heat draw me back to waking over the next several hours, but each time there’s a steady brush of fingertips across my forehead and a soothing voice telling me it’s okay. I can’t be sure it’s real, but I want it to be.
I wake sometime later to arguing. It’s dark outside my window and the lights are dim in the room.
“Do I have to get attacked by a bear so that you’ll remember I exist?”
I blink at the fuzzy form of Darienne framed in the doorway, her hands on her hips as she stares my father down.
“Darrie,” he chides.
In a blur of color, Darienne storms off.
“Hey, look who’s awake,” Dad says on the way to my bedside. He’s smiling, but his brows are knitted together in worry.
“Hey, Dad.” My tongue feels too big for my mouth, so I reach for the cup of water next to my bed. It’s gone warm and tastes of bleach, but I suck it down.
I don’t remember when I changed into a gown, but there’s plenty about this day that’s a blur. Could it have been him in my room, stroking my forehead?
“Sorry,” I say.
Dad’s brow furrows. “Sorry? Why?” He glances at the door, then smiles at me again. “She’s just in shock. Nothing for you to worry about.”
Except I think it might be. At first, Darienne was kind to me. We even bonded with a girls’ trip to Montana right before she and Dad got married. But based on how she treats me now, I don’t think her interest in me was ever genuine. Or maybe she’s changed.
It started last spring when Darienne pulled me aside with the news that she had donated the last of my things to Habitat For Humanity.
Okay so maybe I should have handled sorting through the last of my possessions myself, but Russel and I were separated and the timing wasn’t right.
Then when I was staying with them in Finn River to finalize buying the lake house last summer, she faked a renovation project in the guest room so I had to sleep on the couch and then threw a tantrum the day Dad was taking me to breakfast, so he cancelled.
I don’t believe Darienne has a problem with me specifically.
Underneath her behavior, perhaps she feels I’m some sort of threat?
It’s weird. But since she and Dad got together, I lose my dad a little more every day.
I didn’t realize how disconnected we’d become until the day I walked out of that San Diego hotel bar with my heart in pieces.
He’d always been there for me, and suddenly, he wasn’t.
It’s why I’ve been working so hard to make his retirement party perfect. Because maybe it’s not too late to get a piece of him back.
Dad pulls up a chair. “How are you feeling?”
I wish he’d hold my hand or hug me like he used to do when I was little .
Snap out of it, Meg . I’m twenty-seven years old, for crying out loud. Too old to be his little girl.
“Okay.” I try to scoot up in the bed because my bum is sore from lying partially propped up like this.
“I got the story from that firefighter who brought you in.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “What a lucky stroke that was, huh?”
Gratitude that I’m alive and in one piece washes through me. “Yeah. Lucky.”
I didn’t want you to miss me too much.
I take another sip of my water.
“It must hurt.” Dad winces as he stares at my bare leg, swollen and discolored a sickly shade of greenish purple.
“I think the painkillers are working because it’s a lot better.
” In the ambulance, I overheard Hutch tell Linden, “Time is tissue.” Meaning the longer it took me to get the anti-venom, the more damage to my body.
Is that why Linden carried me down the trail instead of waiting for an evacuation team, and drove to meet the ambulance? He knew .
“That’s good. The doctors say you’ll have to take it easy for a while.”
“Yeah.” I need to talk to my supervisor.
“You need me to call Russel?”
“No.” It comes out raspy. I fiddle with the sheet.
“Well, you need someone to take care of you.” Dad’s cell phone chirps. He gives it a glance, then stands. “I’m glad you’re okay, Meggers.”
And then he’s gone, the door thumping shut behind him.
I don’t have my phone or any of my belongings. My car is still up at the trailhead. How much longer am I going to be in the hospital? I close my eyes and try to do what the nurse told me and rest, but my thoughts start spiraling.
How soon can I get back on my feet? Back to planning Dad’s retirement party? Back to the job I love? Back to swimming in my favorite lake every day? Back to dancing my feet off with Quinn while buzzed on her homemade margaritas?
The door opens and Linden slips inside with Greta, my day pack slung over one shoulder.
His deep brown eyes look tired, and he’s dressed in the same outfit from tree planting—a pair of broken-in Levi’s, scuffed boots, and one of his stupid t-shirts.
This one is dark blue with a giant turquoise anchor.
“I CAME TO GET DOWN” curves above it in block letters.
“Ohmigawd,” Greta says, racing to the side of my bed, her hazel eyes tense. “I can’t believe it. You got snacked on by a snake and you’re alive.”
I laugh. “Apparently I only got a small dose of venom.”
She takes a glance at my bloated, purplish leg and winces. “Jeez. I’d hate to see what a bigger dose would look like.”
A shiver rolls through me. Same, girl.
“Didn’t you hear it rattle?” Greta asks.
I shake my head. “It was breezy and the dead trees were squeaking.” And your dad was distracting me.
“You didn’t see it?” Greta asks, her eyes widening.
I hope someday I stop seeing it. “I did,” I say, meeting Linden’s gaze.
The planes of his face turn hard, and he looks away.
“I just didn’t, um, react…the right way,” I continue.
“We ordered pizza,” Greta says, tucking a stray lock of pink hair behind her ear. “Hospital food is garbage.”
“You can do that?” I glance from Greta to Linden.
“I ordered some for the staff too.” Linden shrugs. “Greta wanted to bring that fur monster of yours but I said pizza would be a better choice.”
“Can I do anything for you?” Greta asks, watching me with a solemn expression.
“Take care of Kody? I just got my last dose of anti-venom but they say I might be here another day. ”
“Of course,” Greta replies.
A nurse peeks into the room. “Pizza’s here.”
“I’ll get it,” Greta says, and rushes toward the hallway.
Linden sets my day pack on the foot of the bed. “Need anything out of here?”
“My phone, please. I need to call my boss.”
The door thumps shut behind Greta, and Linden sets my phone on the little side table.
“Thank you,” I say.
He places my day pack on the counter behind me. “How are you feeling?”
“Kind of tired. Groggy maybe? The pain’s better. I’m not hungry though.”
His brows knit together. “Still nauseous?”
“No.” Empty, yes.
“Maybe the scent of pizza will wake up your appetite.” He sits on the edge of the bed, his weight drawing the sheet tighter across my body. His serious brown eyes fix on me. “This is my fault, Meg.”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. “It was a dumb mistake.”
“It was one you wouldn’t have made if I hadn’t”—with a grimace, he rakes through his thick dark hair—“been an insensitive prick.”
“I think that rescue made up for it.”
With a tense sigh, he drops his hand to the side of the bed. “Not even close.”
Why does he blame himself? I don’t. “Think we’ll get out of the rest of community service?”
To my relief, he flashes me a half-smile. “It’s worth asking.”
His hand is resting on the bed an inch away from mine. The thought of him reaching out to touch me makes me jolt, and I pull my hand away. “You met my dad? ”
“We’ve met before, actually. He coached my brother in high school.”
This shouldn’t surprise me given the size of this tight-knit town. “Which one?”
“Everett.”
“The cop.”
Linden nods. “He only played for two years though.” He shifts on the bed, his eyes turning curious. “Was that your mom?”
A tiny spike of pain pricks my heart as I allow myself to yearn for my mom for one second. She would have stormed in and never left my side. She would have made friends with all the nurses. Asked all the questions. Made me laugh, even when I didn’t think I could.
“Stepmom,” I say.
“They didn’t stay.” His voice has turned gentle.
I shrug. “It’s okay.”
He watches me for a tense moment, then rocks to standing and scoops up my big cup of water. “Let me fill this.”
I lay back in the bed as he slips into the bathroom.
The door opens again and Russ walks in.
“Babe, I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says, his blue eyes wide.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap.
He puts his hands on his hips and scoffs. “I care about you, can’t you see that?” When his gaze sweeps over my ugly leg, he rears back, grimacing. “Holy shit. You know you can’t work with it looking like that. People would freak.”
I open my mouth but the words skitter up my throat.
“Look, I’ve got it all worked out,” he continues, unaffected by my reaction. “I’m moving in so I can take care of you. Until you’re back to um, normal.”
“Who the fuck let you in here?” Linden says in a firm tone, his heavy boots tapping hard against the linoleum as he returns from the bathroom .
Russel whirls around. “And who made you the gatekeeper? I have a right to see her.”
Linden reaches across my lap to set down my cup of water, forcing Russel to take a step back.
“Out.” Linden’s tone is firm and rough, like he’s gritting his teeth.
Russel tries to step toward me.
“Nuh uh,” Linden says, blocking him. For someone so big, he moves like a prizefighter.
“I just need your keys,” Russel says to me.
“No,” I say.
“Who’s gonna take care of you?” Russel whines.
Linden takes a step closer to Russel, dwarfing him. “Me, asshole.”
Russel scoffs. “You don’t care about her like I do.”
“That’s debatable. Now are you going to be an obedient little soldier and march out of this room or do you need assistance?”
Russel stares Linden down, then his eyes meet mine. “You’re making a mistake.”
Linden glances at me, and I get the sense that if I asked him to, he’d slug Russel for me right here in the middle of the hospital room.
“Go,” I tell Russel, my throat so dry the word comes out like a croak.
Russel gives Linden one last scathing glance, then hurries through the door.
“Sorry. He must have come in from the stairway,” Linden says, watching me carefully.
“Have you been keeping him out this whole time?” I ask.
Greta steps into the room holding a pizza box piled with napkins and paper plates.
“There was a mix-up of the Canadian bacon and pineapple with a gluten free Margherita so we had to do some swapping. I promise I washed my hands.” She glances at me, then her dad, as if sensing the tension between us. “You guys okay?”
Linden arches an eyebrow at me.
I let my gaze linger for a fraction of a second on his face before forcing my eyes away. “We’re good.”
I manage to nibble a little bit of the pizza but the cold cran-raspberry juice from the vending machine is the real winner.
When Linden and Greta are cleaning up, I call my supervisor and leave a message.
I’m not scheduled to fly again until Wednesday—a five day Seattle-Alaska loop.
I have plenty of sick leave, but I hate letting my crew down.
If I was back in Seattle, I would have a room full of my friends and colleagues ready to help me out. In Finn River, I only have Annaleise and my dad.
I text Quinn and Annaleise an update in the group chat Annaleise has renamed “Finn River Snake Charmers.”
MEG:
Doctors think I might be here a few days
QUINN:
How are you feeling?
MEG:
Tired, but I’m okay.
ANNALEISE:
I heard that a hot cowboy firefighter is part of that equation
MEG:
It’s not like that
QUINN:
I think I hear a horse that needs saving
I don’t point out that Linden isn’t even a cowboy because that’s not exactly true.
I know he helps out at his family’s ranch at Ruby Gulch thanks to what Greta shares, and a series of handsome black and white pictures hang on his walls that capture the cowboy lifestyle so perfectly they should be hanging in a gallery somewhere.
A herd of black cows with a sweeping prairie backdrop rising to meet the craggy Bitterroots.
A bonfire at dusk surrounded by jean-clad men with weathered faces. A young Greta astride a spotted horse.
A nurse comes in to take more blood, then to my relief she shoos everyone out so she can help me use the bedpan. Then she gets me settled for the night, administers something into my IV, and turns out the lights.
In the stillness, lulled by the beeps and chimes from the machines, I shut my eyes, but the conflicting emotions swirling inside me dominate my thoughts.
Darienne’s little temper tantrum. My dad’s quick departure. The hard planes of Linden’s face. His pledge to take care of me. Even though in no way do I blame him for this.
I meant what I told my friends. It’s not like that .
The man is irritating as hell. And not just the ridiculous t- shirts and his obsession with power tools and practical jokes, he now knows about my private form of self-care.
But it’s even more twisted than that.
I now owe him my life.