Chapter 3
SAVANNAH
My hands grip the steering wheel tight as I drive toward Cherry Hollow Medical Center, the tiny hospital just outside town. I keep my eyes on the road, taking deep breaths and trying to wrap my head around what’s happening right now.
The hottest man I’ve ever seen is sitting right next to me.
And I just hit him with my car.
I’m still shaking, adrenaline buzzing through me. It doesn’t help that the man is staring at me from the passenger seat, his striking blue eyes drilling holes in the side of my face. I catch his woodsy scent—musk and pine—wrapping around me like a blanket as I drive.
“I—I’m so sorry again,” I say, desperate to fill the silence. “A squirrel shot out right in front of me…I swerved…my car skidded on ice.”
The man makes a noise deep in his throat. “Least you hit a person instead of a squirrel.”
“I know it was dumb.” My face reddens at his sarcasm. “I shouldn’t have swerved.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s really not fine. I’m so sorry—”
“Stop apologizing.”
His voice is stupidly deep, rumbling with authority and sending shivers down my spine every time he speaks. My instinct is to keep apologizing anyway. Heck, it’s hard to stop saying sorry to the person you just knocked over, but I bite my tongue.
“I’m Savannah, by the way,” I offer after a few more beats of silence.
“Clay.”
He doesn’t say anything else, but that doesn’t stop me being distracted by him.
He seems to take up the whole car, head flush against the ceiling, his body too big for the space.
This goliath of a man must be nearly a foot and a half taller than me.
Heck, I almost fainted when he got up from the road and straightened to his full height.
I chance a glance over at him as we approach the hospital. It’s barely half a second before my eyes slide back to the road, but it’s enough to make my heart do a backflip.
He’s so freakin’ handsome.
Clay is a mountain of muscle, every inch of him thick and bulging beneath his flannel shirt.
The fabric strains around his broad shoulders, tattoos poking out from under his sleeves like dark tendrils of ink creeping across his skin.
A thick beard—black and silver-streaked—covers half his face, framing his downturned mouth.
His steely eyes are shadowed by a pair of heavy brows, drawn into a frown that makes him look permanently annoyed.
I thought maybe it was just the circumstances making him grumpy.
But no—his frown lines run deep across his forehead, grooves carved into his skin from years of scowling.
I probably shouldn’t find his grumpiness so attractive.
Heck, I shouldn’t find him attractive, period—he’s twice my age and probably hates my guts right now.
But I can’t help melting like butter every time his eyes meet mine.
They’re impossibly blue, like vivid mountain lakes caught in the moonlight, and I want to dive right into them.
But I keep my gaze on the road.
The last thing I need is to cause another accident.
When we reach the hospital, I pull into the tiny parking lot and jump out of the car. Clay gets out more reluctantly, his gaze clouding over as we head toward the squat building up ahead.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Don’t like hospitals.”
I see his hand move instinctively to his left leg.
There’s a dark socket covering his knee, tapering into a metal pole that disappears into his boot.
It’s none of my business, but I can’t help my curiosity as I watch him walk ahead of me.
Was his leg amputated? Was he born without it?
Either way, he moves confidently on his prosthetic, his strides difficult for me to keep up with as we head through the automatic doors into the hospital.
We enter a tiny waiting room—totally empty except for a nurse passing through with a clipboard.
I tell her what happened and she whisks Clay away through a pair of double doors, while I head for the desk to give the receptionist my insurance details.
Then I sit down on one of the vinyl chairs, tapping my foot restlessly while I wait.
I stare at the wall posters, reading about flu statistics and frostbite symptoms as the clock ticks in the corner.
God, I hope Clay is okay.
An hour passes with no news, and anxiety claws at my gut. Maybe he’s really hurt. Maybe the tests showed he was bleeding internally. Heck, maybe he’s dying on an operating table right now.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to quell my growing headache.
Please let him be okay.
After two hours have passed, I can’t bear it any longer. I get up and head back to the desk.
“Excuse me,” I say.
There’s a different receptionist here now—a middle-aged woman with blonde curls and a name tag that reads Sheila.
“Hey, honey,” she says in a soft southern twang. “What can I do for you?”
“I brought someone here a couple of hours ago. I just want to know if he’s okay.”
“What’s his name?”
“Clay.”
Sheila nods, typing something into her computer. “Clay Benson?”
I have no idea what his surname is, but I figure there’s only one Clay in this tiny hospital.
“Yeah, that’s him. Can I please go see him?”
Sheila looks at the clock, then back at me. “Only if you’re a spouse, partner or close family member. Those are the rules after five, honey.”
My heart sinks. I don’t think hitting someone with your car makes you any of those things, but I’m getting pretty desperate. If I’ve injured Clay by swerving like an idiot to avoid a squirrel, I’ll never forgive myself. I need to see him.
“I’m his partner,” I say, the lie coming fast. “His girlfriend.”
Sheila’s eyes narrow slightly, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle written on my face.
Does she know I’m lying?
Eventually, she asks, “Do we know each other, honey?”
Her question throws me. “Uh, no, I don’t think so.”
“Hm.” She considers me for a moment longer. “Give me a second, okay? I’ll call through and ask if your boyfriend’s ready for visitors.”
The word “boyfriend” makes my stomach jolt, and I stutter a little as I thank Sheila. She’s still looking at me as she picks up the phone and holds it to her ear, but before she can press any buttons, her eyes light up with recognition.
“Savannah! Bonnie Lawson’s granddaughter, right?”
I nod, totally unsurprised that this woman knows my grandma. “That’s me.”
“I have book club with Bonnie.”
“Oh, neat.” I force a smile, willing her to finish dialing so I can go see Clay.
“Ah, your grandma…” Sheila continues. “What a lady! Did you know she’s always trying to set you up? Every book club meeting starts with her asking if our sons or nephews are single!”
My cheeks burn. I want the floor to swallow me whole, but I force myself to smile.
“Yep, that definitely sounds like Grandma.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you found someone, honey.” Sheila finally starts to dial. “Hope he’s doing okay.”
At that moment, the double doors open to our left and Clay steps out.
“Oh, thank God,” I mutter, a warm wave of relief crashing over me.
I watch him approach, feeling a crazy urge to run up and throw my arms around him. His eyes are fixed on me, his usual scowl in place, but I don’t care how grumpy he looks.
All that matters is he’s alive.
“Huh. Good timing.” Sheila sets down the phone when Clay reaches us, beaming at him. “Hi there. Glad you’re doing okay, honey. I was just telling your girlfriend—”
My heart lurches. I grab Clay’s wrist and pull him toward the exit before Sheila can say anything else.
“Bye!” I call back to her. “Thanks so much for your help!”
I keep my gaze straight ahead, not daring to look at Clay as we head through the automatic doors and into the parking lot. Tension roars in the cold air around us. I drop his wrist, making a beeline for my car, but I can feel those piercing eyes on the back of my head.
Please tell me he didn’t hear Sheila call me his girlfriend.