Chapter 15 #2
Keely wasn’t safe until Dawson found him.
He put his leg down, trying to walk on his own, and stumbled.
“Stop,” Flynn said. “Sheesh.”
“Mars is still out there.”
“Yeah.” They reached the SUV, and Flynn opened her back door, like he might be a child. “There’s a BOLO out. He won’t get far.”
The darkness of it all settled in his chest.
Barking made him lift his head. “Is that Caspian?”
“I know you left him with Shasta, but when I stopped by the sheriff’s office, he was losing his mind. I had to bring him back with me.”
Someone had attached a lead to his collar, and now the dog jumped out, circling him, the lead on the ground.
Flynn picked it up as Deke helped him into the back of the car, and he slid in, his leg on the seat. Flynn opened the back, and Caspian jumped in but shoved his face over the seats.
“Hey, buddy.” Dawson rubbed the dog, still holding the bloody scarf to his face. But it seemed the bleeding had slowed. Now his face just throbbed.
He closed his eyes, pain shutting him down, and he lay back, his arm over his eyes.
And of course, Caspian scrambled right over the seats and lay smack on top of him, a blanket of comfort.
He put his hand on the animal’s head.
Flynn got in. “You okay?”
Not even a little.
Flynn started up the SUV. “Oh goody, the dark funk is back.”
His jaw tightened, and he said nothing.
Maybe it had never really left. Because clearly there was no light left to fight it.
Outwardly, she would survive.
Keely hopped off the exam table in the ER of the Copper Mountain medical clinic as the male intern handed her a cold pack.
“Just keep icing your face, twenty minutes at a time, for the next twenty-four hours. It’s a deep bruise, but it should stop swelling in twenty-four hours.
Then, wait a day and get some heat on it.
It’ll increase blood flow to the injury and break up the bruise. ” He paused. “I loved your last album.”
Oh. She gave him a quick smile. “Thanks.” Her voice emerged scratchy and broken, and she cleared her throat, but that only stuck burrs in it.
“Your voice should clear up too. You just need to rest and drink plenty of fluids.”
She had a list of home remedies, but frankly, maybe her voice was never coming back. Still, she nodded and smiled, then took the ice pack and headed out to the lobby.
No press, but no Dawson either, and stupid her, she had sort of thought . . .
“Stop being so dramatic.” Truth, because maybe she did live in fairy-tale land. Which might be worse than a Hallmark movie, because there were no villains in Hallmark world.
Except her.
She’d hurt him, and she knew it, and frankly, she didn’t deserve a guy like Dawson Mulligan. “Why don’t you call a press conference, tell the rest of my secrets.”
She couldn’t believe she’d said that. Sheesh—yep, dramatic.
Outside, the day arched bold and bright, the snow glistening in piles around the medical clinic parking lot. The scent of coffee wound through the lobby and roused a beast inside her. But she needed a phone first, get Goldie to wire her some money.
Arrange a nice safe car to drive her to Anchorage.
A map of the area hung on the lobby wall in a frame, and she walked over to it, staring at it, gauging the distance from here to the Gold Nugget Inn. Maybe Nora and Hal might grant her a phone call, a shower.
“Keely?”
The voice made her turn, and she startled as Donald Cooper emerged from the coffee shop at the edge of the lobby, holding a cup in his hand. He appeared better than the last time she’d seen him, distraught, wounded, desperate—
“Donald.”
Oh, her voice barely sounded. She cleared it and then held up her hand in greeting.
“Still fighting that cold, huh?” He pointed to his throat, then smiled.
Yes, definitely in better spirits. She nodded, shrugged. “How’s Wren?” she whispered.
He leaned close, as if to hear. “She’s better. They had to do a splenectomy.” He swallowed, the memory of it flickering on his face, then he sighed. “She’s upstairs if you want to see her.”
She nodded and stuck her hands in her parka hanging loosely over her. Probably she should return it to Donald anyway.
He walked over to the elevator and punched the button. “Moose got to us just in time. The storm came in after him, and if you’d waited any longer, she might have—” He closed his eyes, blew out a breath, then opened them. “Anyway, thank you.”
She nodded, but wanted to say that it was Dawson, really.
Dawson the hero. Saving everyone’s lives.
Her eyes burned.
She got onto the elevator behind Donald, took it up one flight, and got off, trailing down the hall behind him.
He went into a room with a colored picture of a unicorn taped to the door, and she followed.
Wren sat in the bed, her blond hair a disaster of knots, wearing a pony-imprinted hospital gown, an IV attached to her arm, a congregation of toys tucked around the bed—a Barbie doll, a plastic pony with purple hair, a stuffed bear.
Crayons spilled into a kidney tray, and she furiously colored a picture on the bed table.
Keely’s heart just turned over, a rush of relief, maybe.
“Look who’s here, Wren,” her father said.
She looked up. “Keely!”
Then, she winced, whimpered.
Donald sank into the chair by her bed. “Your stomach still hurt?”
Her face twisted. “And sometimes I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
He picked up an empty kidney tray on her bed. “Aim for this.”
Wren made a face, then picked up a crayon and offered it to Keely. “You want to color with me?”
Keely walked over, surveyed the picture. A princess with blond hair and a bright pink dress. She took the crayon, a teal, and pointed at the shoes.
Keely sat down and started adding in the blue.
“I missed you.”
“Missed you too.” Shoot, she hated the quiet of her voice. Still, maybe that’s exactly what Wren needed. Quiet. Calm.
Maybe they both did.
Wow, she missed the community. She looked at Donald. “Everyone okay after the fire?”
He’d leaned in to hear her, then nodded. “We closed in the back half of the barn and got the livestock back inside. When I left, Griffin was posting guards.”
She glanced at Wren, then back to Donald. “No need. The, um, trouble, followed us.”
His eyes widened. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Not even a little, but that was partly her fault, wasn’t it?
“Are you coming home with us?” Wren dropped her crayon into the tray and grabbed a purple one.
Keely glanced at Wren. Shook her head. “I have to . . .”
“Sing?” Wren smiled. “I like it when you sing.”
She shrugged. Maybe.
“My mommy used to sing to us. And tell us stories.” She looked up at her. “Are you a mommy?”
“Wren!”
Keely held up her hand to Donald, looked at Wren, and then, for some reason, nodded.
“I thought so,” Wren said, dropping the purple crayon back into the tray. She picked up the picture. “This is for you.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, and her eyes burned again.
A nurse came into the room, a stethoscope around her neck. “How’s Princess Wren this morning?” She walked over to the IV bag. “Thirsty, I see.”
“My tummy still hurts,” Wren said, and made a face of pain.
“Could be the stitches.”
Keely got up to let the nurse in on her side. Caught the name on her badge. Alicia.
The woman clipped a pulse oximeter to Wren’s pointer finger, then affixed the stethoscope to her ears to listen to her chest.
Keely should go, probably. She folded her arms over her, glanced at Donald.
The nurse moved the stethoscope lower, frowned.
Donald sat up.
“Honey, have you gone to the bathroom since you had surgery?” She wound the stethoscope over her neck and lightly touched Wren’s abdomen.
The little girl howled.
Okay, yes, Keely should leave.
“What’s wrong with her?” Donald clutched Wren’s leg.
“Let me call the doctor.” She smiled down at Wren. “Would you like something to eat?”
“I’m not hungry,” Wren said, tears squeezing out of her eyes.
“Okay. I’m going to set up her blood pressure, and then I’ll call the doctor.”
Donald took his daughter’s hand. The nurse set up the blood pressure cuff, then stepped out of the room.
Silence followed, just the sounds of the cuff tightening and Wren’s hiccups. And Keely just wanted to weep.
“Are you a mommy?”
“I should go,” she said quietly.
Donald met her eyes. “Thank you.”
She leaned down to Wren, wiped a tear off her cheek. “Be brave, Wren.” She kissed her forehead.
Wren nodded. “Don’t forget your picture.”
Keely found a smile from parts unknown and took the picture. Held it to her heart.
The nurse and a female doctor passed by her as she headed down the hallway, down the back stairs, and then outside.
The wind wasn’t brutal, the smell of pine fresh in the air. She folded the picture, then zipped up, pulled up her hood, and headed toward the Gold Nugget Inn.
Please, God, keep Wren alive.
Funny, she’d been doing a lot more praying lately.
The town lay buried, locals still digging out.
A snowplow worked Main Street, shoving snow along the edges, while another pushed the edges down the road, toward a park.
Someone had shoveled a path along the building fronts, and she followed it, crossing the street so she didn’t have to pass the Midnight Sun.
Because . . . yeah.
Vic knew.
And Keely didn’t know what to make of Dawson’s words, now pounding in her head. She probably needed to add ice to her face, maybe her heart.
“Vic already knew who you were!”
Already knew. Since when? When she arrived at the Midnight Sun? When she’d confronted her before Keely left and said nothing? Clearly intending to let Keely walk out of her life without saying a word?
So much for wanting to see if Vic had any regrets. Clearly not.
She headed down a block. Snow piled along the cleared walkway and porch to the inn. Please let Nora have a phone—
“Keely.”
The door opened even before she finished climbing the porch. Nora stood in her apron, shaking her head. “I heard about the crash, and I’ve been worried sick.” She reached out and pulled her into an embrace.
And Keely couldn’t move. Just . . . what?
“Listen, I have fresh bread and jam waiting, and a lovely venison stew on the stove.”
Keely wanted to weep. “Can I borrow a phone?”
“Of course.” They went into the house and Nora shut the door behind her. “Oh, honey. Your poor voice. You must have worn it out in all the trauma.”
Something like that.
“Hang up your parka and boots by the door. And by the way, Moose Mulligan retrieved your suitcase and belongings. Hal brought them to your room.”
Her room?
“Here’s your phone. I took the liberty of charging it.”
She stared at the phone, the gold bling case, the cracked window, the picture of her and her mom on the lock screen.
“Maybe run yourself a bath. I’ll get you that bread and jam, and bring it up. Along with cocoa, huh?” She winked.
Keely stared at her. And then, oh no . . . “You know.”
Nora frowned. “Know what?”
“Know about . . .” She unlocked her phone and swiped it open. A picture of herself as Bliss, the one from the cover of Vogue, filled the screen. “Bliss.”
Nora looked at it, frowned, cast her gaze back to her. “I don’t know who that is.”
Oh.
“Get yourself upstairs.” She headed for the kitchen.
Keely stood a moment, then okay. Headed upstairs to the cozy room where she’d stayed what felt like a millennia ago.
Her carry-on, slightly dented but cleaned, sat on the bed. She ran her hand over it, then headed to the adjoining bathroom and ran water into the claw-foot tub.
She started to call Goldie, then hung up and texted instead. No need to freak her out.
Hey. Just checking in. Big blizzard here—no cell service. But I’m ready to leave. Can you hire me a car and have it pick me up in Copper Mountain?
She set the phone down and headed back to the tub to test the water.
That’s what she needed. A hot bath, something to forget the past five—or six, whatever—days and get back to her life.
A knock at the door, and she got up, her stomach already churning. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate.
She opened the door.
Stilled. What—?
Vic stood at the door, holding her tray of bread, jam, and hot cocoa, like a surreal maid service.
“Can we talk?” she said quietly. “Because it’s time you heard the entire story.”