Chapter 3
Jude
“Ashe, come.”
The four-wheeler growls to life beneath us as I start a slow crawl back to the trail with the mysterious girl tucked tight against me. My chest expands with a deep inhale as I fight the urge to count. Numbers race through my head anyway. One through seven. One through twelve. One through three. One through eleven.
On and on as we travel slowly over icy snow and gravel terrain. I want nothing more than to hit the gas and get home quicker so that the urge to count will stop.
But it doesn’t. It’s been decades since I last felt the harsh pain of a belt tearing my youthful skin, scarring more than my back for the rest of my fucking life. The compulsion won’t stop until my brain is convinced that I’m safe despite the fact there isn’t any actual danger.
And with her tucked against me with a broken arm and who knows what other injuries, I can’t risk hurting her more just because I’m dealing with a little… discomfort.
Uncontrollable, all-consuming, anxiety-ridden discomfort.
I smother a frustrated sigh.
The wind pushes her hair into my face, tickling my cheeks with the loose strands. I sit tense, back straight, eyes aimed over her white-blond head at the path. The trees open and the trail ends, dumping us on the edge of the Sanctuary’s meadow.
She doesn’t say anything as my home and business come into view. The house on the hill with the gated front porch and Adirondack chairs facing the long driveway. The shed to the right and the intake building to the left where all our new dogs spend a few nights to adjust before meeting the rest of the pack.
I thank the foresight to leave the rest of the dogs inside while I searched for Ashe because I don’t have time to round them all up when I have an injured woman I need to rush to Fairview Valley’s local hospital. I’d prefer to call an ambulance and be done with her, but that would only delay her care. Small-town services aren’t as speedy here as in the city.
Tamping down the new sense of urgency isn’t easy as I slow to a stop beside the commercial white van I use for tracking down strays, which is typically the only time I drive other than picking up my weekly groceries.
“Get in.”
Her back tenses against my front, and I fight to ignore how quickly I notice the shift in her posture.
“You’re joking, right?”
“I don’t joke.”
“You have to see how ridiculous this is.” She waves her hand in the direction of my van.
My hand curls into a fist on the denim stretched over my thigh. “I see a way to get you to the hospital. But if you prefer the four-wheeler…” I shift into reverse.
“Wait! Okay. Damn. I’ll get into your van.”
“The alternative might have been a little bumpy,” I grumble quietly.
Her hips scoot forward, pulling her into the handlebars and away from my lap. I’m not sure if she’s attempting to get up or putting much-needed distance between us. I wipe my sweat-slickened palms on my jeans before I do something stupid like pick her up again.
“The alternative is climbing into a sketchy kidnapper van with a guy who found me alone in the woods. I feel like this is the opening scene to about a hundred different horror movies and true crime shows.”
“Sorry, we all can’t drive luxury sports cars.” I hop off the ATV with a little too much force, sending the shocks bouncing. I turn just in time to catch her grimace. Her mouth flattens into a tight, white line.
“Actually, this is more my style. I just don’t trust you any more than the last guy.”
The passenger door interrupts the conversation with an ominous creak. Frankie grabs the handle and begins to pull herself in while I hover like a fretting mother in case she slips.
“Is the last guy the one that made you bleed on your dress?” I lock eyes with her, then pull away before she can answer and I get lost in her stare. “Be right back.”
The few minutes away to let Ashe into the house and lock up allows me to clear my head. Forcing answers out of her will only satisfy my own curiosity. What’s it to me why she wound up on my property? I think I can make a fairly accurate and educated guess.
The focus should be on getting her out of here, dropping her at the hospital, and carrying on with my life. Her confusing circumstances are none of my business.
One of my brothers would have swooped in and played the savior part, but I don’t have the inclination to pretend that I have the first fucking clue how to be a shining knight on a white horse.
She’s silent as I hop into my seat and remains that way the entire drive to the hospital. The friction of the tires against the pavement plays us a monotonous tune.
I pull the van beneath the shade of the emergency overhang and shift into park.
“Thanks for the ride. I think I can take it from here,” Frankie says.
“I’ll walk you inside.”
“That’s not necessary. I didn’t injure my legs.”
I already have my door open, but I turn in my seat. “Did you hurt your head?”
Her brief pause is enough for me to swing my legs around and jump out. “I’ll walk you inside,” I order, then shut the door before she can argue.
She meets me on the sidewalk, shoulders held rigid with attitude and jaw tight with what I can only assume is an ass-chewing about her independence. But she doesn’t know I grew up with a mom and a sister who don’t take shit from anybody. Nancy and Cortney Powell are two of the most independent women I’ve ever met, and they’ve both taught me that even the strongest women need help despite being too stubborn to ask for it.
I bite back the threatening lip twitch as we enter the emergency room. The place is nearly deserted. Besides a mom rocking her toddler on her lap in the waiting area, the only people here are behind the front desk.
“Jude?”
The familiar voice ensnares my attention.
“Whitney.” I greet Jack’s fiancée. I looked right past her face on my initial scan. Her eyes flick curiously between Frankie and me.
“Everything okay?”
I jerk my head in Frankie’s direction. “She needs to get checked out.” I slap my palm on the counter for good measure and take a large step back. “Broken arm. Head. The full workup.”
“I’ve got it from here.” Frankie steps to the left as if she could possibly block me from view. The soiled gown swishes at her ankles and sends a jab to my chest.
Christ, what possibly has to happen to a woman, on her wedding day no less, for her to wind up at a hospital in a bloodied, torn dress?
“Good.” My fingers relocate to the back of my neck. “I’ll just get out of here, then.”
“Hold up a second,” Whitney says, a finger waving in the air. “I have a question if you don’t mind waiting.”
Frankie’s shoulders rise toward her ears.
“I’ll be over here.” I shuffle to the chair next to the door and drop heavily onto my ass.
Every few seconds, my eyes find their way back to the two women conversing at the counter. I cross my arms over my chest and drop my gaze to the floor. I trace the edge of a long black floor mat until I find my attention back on Frankie’s skirt.
Shifting my legs into a widened stance, I plant my feet more firmly. An itch on the edge of my eyebrow commands my attention until I scratch it with the edge of my thumb. This restless energy has nowhere to go, and I’m about to get up and walk out the door back to my van when Whitney calls my name.
Fucking finally.
Heaviness weighs down each step as I return to the front desk. Frankie disappears behind the curtain of the third room to my right.
“What’s up?”
A conspiratorial gleam twinkles in her eye. “Who is she?”
I run my hand over my beard. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”
A lock of blond hair falls in front of her eye with her nod.
“I know about as much as you do.”
“Seriously?”
“I respect the shit out of you, Whitney, and I know Jack loves the hell out of you, but I’m not one of your gossiping girlfriends.”
“I’m not looking for gossip. I just want to know how you’re wrapped up in all of this.”
“You and me both,” I grunt, softening my tone a smidge.
She frowns. “Where did you find her?”
“She was at the Sanctuary.”
“Like that? My goodness.” Whitney stares in the direction of Frankie’s room as if she can see her through the curtain. “Does she need anything?”
“How would I know?” I drum my fingers against the counter.
“Was the drive here silent?” she teases. The smile melts off her face at my expression. She clucks her tongue at me. “Oh, Jude.”
“She wouldn’t answer my questions. Maybe you’ll get your answers directly from the source.”
“I don’t want to intrude. I just thought if she told you, the girls and I could round up some toiletries and a change of clothes.” Whitney leans forward and drops her voice. “She’s in a wedding dress.”
“I know,” I rasp angrily beneath my breath.
She sits back with a sigh. “Poor thing.”
I don’t think Frankie’s feisty attitude deserves any pity. In fact, I have a feeling it would only piss her off. The thought attracts a reluctant smile, but I lock it down.
The whoosh of the doors sliding open ends our conversation. I step to the side to give room to an apprehensive man pushing his very pregnant partner in a wheelchair to the front. He parks her and drops to a knee beside her. A knot of an unfamiliar emotion unfurls in my stomach as he tenderly kisses her knuckles.
“You’re doing great, baby.” He pushes the hair from her forehead. “I’ll check you in, and then I’m going to move the car, okay? I’ll be right back, and then we can meet our daughter.”
The woman grips her round abdomen with a pained groan. “Please don’t leave me. Please. I feel like I’m going to have this baby right here, and I don’t want you to miss it.”
He smiles gently and tries to remove his hand from hers, but she won’t let go. “You aren’t going to have her right here.”
“I—arg! Yes, I am!” Her pained cry heightens the tension around us.
“All right, let’s get you moving into a room, Mrs. Rossi.” Whitney moves to assist before this lady really has her baby in the entrance to the hospital. Pregnant dogs don’t scare me, but this pregnant woman absolutely does.
I walk up behind a fretting Mr. Rossi and hold out my hand. “I can park your car for you.”
The man looks between me and his wailing wife, torn by his distrust.
“I’m Jude Powell. Run the Powell Sanctuary dog rescue. That woman is my sister-in-law, Whitney Powell.” I gesture to her with a dip of my head.
“Thanks.” His hesitance melts away, and he drops his keys in my hand. “That’d actually be great.”
“Congrats on the baby.” I spin around and stalk outside.
The first thing I do is suck in a breath of fresh air to clear the past five minutes from my head. Hell, the past hour. Then I move Mr. Rossi’s car.
On my walk back to return the keys, I notice my van parked at the edge of the sidewalk. Technically, this area is a drop-off zone, but this town is so small, it’d be rare the folks here would need the entire lane clear.
Even so, I hop into my—what did Frankie call it?—serial killer van, and move it into a designated parking spot.
“Here.” I drop the keys on the front desk.
“Thanks. That was really nice of you,” Whitney says as she collects them.
My chest expands as I drudge up a rumble in response. I fight against looking at curtain three.
“You out of here?” Whitney gives me a curious scan. Her question sounds more like a prompt to hit the road.
“Yep. I have to prepare space for a transport coming in this weekend. We’re taking in eight dogs that were on a euthanasia list at their previous shelter.”
“Jack was telling me about that. I’m so glad you guys are able to help them.”
“Me too.” I lose the battle and my gaze flicks over to bay three.
“She isn’t in there right now.”
Busted.
“Want me to give her a message for you?”
“No.”
“If you say so.”
“Goodbye, Whitney.”
She laughs lightly. “Bye, Jude. See you Sunday.”
I nearly turn back around to ask if Jack told her to say that. Everyone in this damn family is hell-bent on making sure I show up for dinner this week.
Leaving the hospital feels wrong for some reason. Not unlike when I forget my cell phone at home. Something in my gut disagrees with walking out that door without knowing if Frankie has the means to take care of herself despite her no longer being my problem.
“Hey, Jude!”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling. I’m never making it out of this fucking hospital.
“Sutton. How’s it going?”
Fairview Valley’s beloved cop tucks his hands in his vest and rocks back on his heels. The Stone brothers have always been close with us Powell siblings, having grown up together, but after what he and his brother Silas did for Whitney’s kids last year, they’ve become as close as brothers to us.
“Can’t complain. Surprised to see you around here. Everything okay?”
The immediate dip of his brows conveys his confusion. Anyone who knows me knows I’m not the type of guy you run into in town. I stay close to my property and my dogs.
“Just helping out someone who needed a ride.”
“Huh. Anyone I know?”
“Just a friend.”
“You pulling my leg?”
“I’d think of something a lot more interesting if I was trying to prank you, Sutton.”
“Speaking of interesting, you’ll never guess the wild tale Lonnie was telling me from the back of my squad this morning.”
I settle my weight back into my heels. “When isn’t Lonnie telling a wild tale?”
Lonnie is the town drunk in the form of a sixty-two-year-old, six-foot-three, three hundred pound teddy bear. Unlike the belligerent trash Sutton and Silas have to chase out of the local bars from time to time, Lonnie wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“True, but I’ll tell ya, the way he was going on and on about some girl falling out of a car, I considered asking him what he’d been drinking and getting myself some for after this shift. Seeing as I picked him up from The Rocks, I can deduce it was nothing more than his usual gin and tonic. Bobby never serves him anything else. Says whiskey puts him in a bad mood.”
Everything Sutton said after the part about some girl fades into background noise. The saliva dries from my mouth and sticks my tongue to the roof as I fight to keep my jaw from falling open.
“Say that again?” The words are slow, forced out between my teeth.
“Yeah.” He laughs and scrubs his hand over his brow. “Lonnie claims he was driving on the north side of town. He made sure to state he wasn’t drunk multiple times as if he already wasn’t on his way to the drunk tank. Says he saw a woman fall out of a car driving slowly down the highway. And get this…”
I nearly start to count with the anxiety creeping in from his long pause.
“What?” I bite out.
“She was supposedly wearing a wedding dress.” He chuckles.
My gaze settles on the swishing curtain of bay three.
“No shit?” I mutter, eyebrows flying high on my forehead.
“He was so certain he made Silas check for a report. But of course there wasn’t one. I think I’d have heard if a bride-to-be fell out of a car in my town. And where’s the fiancé? Surely he’d be looking for his beloved.”
“Indeed.” The ominous rasp escapes Sutton’s notice. He’s too busy puffing his own chest to realize I’ve gone deadly quiet.
The radio strapped to his torso crackles to life.
“Duty calls. I’ll see you around, yeah?”
My head bobs in a jerky nod. “Yeah.”
Sutton departs.
I should too. I should turn around and follow him straight out that door but for some reason, I find myself moving in the other direction.
Across the emergency room, I don’t stop until I’m parked in front of room three.
I cross my arms and wait.