Chapter 9 Holt
HOLT
Ignoring the sharp pain that lanced through his ribs and the burning sensation in his thigh, Holt adjusted his grip on June and followed the young woman as she led them away from the beach.
June felt lighter than he remembered, more fragile somehow, and he was acutely aware of every labored breath she took against his chest.
“This way,” the young woman said, then suddenly stopped. “Wait!” She looked awkward as she called out, “Blaze, come here, boy!”
A Dalmatian bounded toward them, and that’s when she spotted Duchess trailing behind Holt, panting from the excitement.
“Isn’t that Duchess?” she asked, pointing at the basset hound.
“What?” Holt was momentarily confused, his focus entirely on the unconscious woman in his arms.
“That’s Tyler’s dog, Duchess,” she said, pointing suspiciously. “Why do you have Duchess?”
“Oh, Tyler’s my grandson,” Holt said, shifting June’s weight as his injuries began to protest more loudly. “We need to get your...”
“Grandmother,” she finished. “I’m Grace, June’s my grandmother.”
“Hello, Grace,” Holt managed, though his breathing was becoming labored. “It’s great to meet you. I’m Holt, Tyler’s grandfather, but could we get your grandmother inside...”
His eyes dropped to June’s pale face, and Grace immediately understood.
“Oh, yes, this way,” Grace said, quickening her pace toward the large house perched on the edge of the sand dunes.
Holt barely noticed the architectural details of the sprawling beachfront home as Grace led him through sliding glass doors into a comfortable living room. He laid June gently on a cream-colored couch, careful not to jar her as he settled her against the cushions.
“Grace? Gran...” Another voice called from somewhere in the house, followed by running footsteps.
A younger girl burst into the room, her dark hair flying and her face flushed with concern. She skidded to a stop when she saw Holt standing beside the couch.
“Becky,” Grace started, reaching out to her sister. The younger girl immediately moved closer to Grace, eyeing Holt warily. “This is Tyler’s grandfather. Gran passed out on the beach.”
“I told you not to go walking so far,” Becky said, shooting an accusatory look at Grace. “Mom is going to be so mad when she finds out.”
“Why is your mother going to be so...” Another voice, one Holt recognized with a jolt of shock, cut through the room.
Carmen Grant stood in the doorway, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. She looked older, her dark hair now streaked with silver, but her eyes were just as sharp and assessing as they’d been thirty-eight years ago. Those eyes immediately darkened and narrowed when they focused on him.
“What are you doing here?” Carmen’s voice was flat, unwelcoming.
“Aunt Carmen?” Grace said, confusion evident in her voice. “This is Tyler’s...”
“I know who he is,” Carmen interrupted, then her gaze shifted to June on the couch. She dropped her purse and coat on a cabinet and rushed forward. “June.”
“We were walking on the beach,” Grace began.
“I told her not to go so far,” Becky talked over her sister. “But she wouldn’t listen, and then...”
“June passed out,” Holt explained through the chaos of the two girls. “I helped Grace bring her inside.”
“Thank you,” Carmen said, standing and turning to face him. Her expression and rigid posture made it clear that his assistance was no longer needed or wanted. “We appreciate your help.”
“I’d like to know if June is okay,” Holt said, standing his ground despite the obvious dismissal.
“She will be,” Carmen replied curtly.
“Gran was in a really bad car accident about three weeks ago,” Becky said, her innocent concern cutting through the adult tension in the room.
Shock waves vibrated through Holt’s chest. “What?”
“June is fine, and she’s healing,” Carmen said firmly, positioning herself between Holt and the couch. “She probably just overdid the walk on the beach.”
“I’d like to know if she’s okay,” Holt insisted, taking a step forward.
“She will be,” Carmen repeated, her voice brooking no argument.
“I’m going to get Gran some water,” Grace said awkwardly, clearly sensing the tension between the adults. “Come on, Becky.”
“But I want to...” Becky started.
“Come.” Grace’s voice carried the authority of an older sister accustomed to managing family crises.
She dragged her reluctant sister from the room, leaving Holt and Carmen facing each other across decades of history and hurt.
“I just want to know that June is okay,” Holt said quietly.
“I’m sure she will be,” Carmen repeated. “And if you leave, I can check her over properly.”
Holt stared at her for a long moment, recognizing the protective steel in her voice that had always been there when it came to her younger sister. Finally, he nodded.
“Tell June I’m sorry if I startled her,” Holt said.
“I’ll tell her,” Carmen said.
Holt saw himself out, pausing on the porch to look back at the house where June was slowly returning to consciousness.
He could hardly believe he’d just run into her in the same town where they’d first met all those years ago.
It felt like fate coming full circle, though he wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.
The walk back to the lighthouse cottage was longer than he’d anticipated, and by the time he reached the lighthouse, Holt was breathing hard and feeling lightheaded. He looked down at his shirt and cursed under his breath. A dark stain was spreading across the white fabric.
He must have pulled some stitches when he’d caught June.
“Holt?” His mother’s voice carried concern as she met him at the front door. “What happened to your shirt?”
“I think I pulled a stitch,” he said, trying to sound casual despite the throbbing pain in his chest.
“Let me see,” she commanded, and Holt knew better than to argue. His mother had been a nurse for over sixty years, and her medical instincts were still sharp.
She lifted his shirt carefully, and her expression grew serious. “You’ve opened up several stitches. We need to get you to the clinic.”
“It’s not that bad,” Holt protested weakly.
“It’s not that good either. Get in the car.” His mother’s voice brooked no argument.
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in the waiting room of the Sandpiper Shores Medical Clinic. The building was small but modern, clearly designed to serve the needs of both year-round residents and summer visitors. When Dr. Lucy Tanner appeared to call him back, Holt felt a wave of nostalgia.
“Hello, Holt,” Lucy said with a warm smile. “I heard through the grapevine that you were back in town.”
“Hello, Lucy,” Holt replied, standing carefully. “Sorry…” He read her name tag. “Dr. Tanner.” He smiled. “It’s good to see you.”
He’d known Lucy since childhood, back when her name was Lucy Hoops, and she was just another kid running around Sandpiper Shores, where they had both been born. She’d grown into a competent physician who’d chosen to return to her hometown rather than chase prestige in a big city.
“Hi, Mina. If you don’t mind waiting out here?” Lucy said, smiling at Holt’s mother.
“Of course,” Mina said. “I’ll go get a coffee.” She smiled. “I love this clinic as you have real coffee here.”
“We actually have a wide range of tea now, too,” Lucy pointed out.
“Fancy,” Mina said, then kissed Holt on the cheek. “Be good.”
“I’m sixty-one, not ten, Mom,” Holt said on a sigh.
“You’ll always be my baby,” Mina pointed out. “I don’t care how old you are.” She looked at Lucy. “Take good care of my baby.”
“I will,” Lucy promised, then led him down a hallway lined with examination rooms. “Let’s hope this won’t take too long.”
Once they were alone in the small room, Lucy gestured for him to sit on the examination table while she washed her hands and pulled on gloves.
“So what happened?” she asked, approaching him with professional efficiency. “Can you pull off your shirt?”
Holt nodded, taking off his shirt, and found himself blurting out the truth before he could stop himself. “I ran into June on the beach. She fainted, and I caught her. I must have pulled the stitches then.”
Lucy’s hands stilled for a moment, and she looked at him with concern. “June fainted?”
“Carmen is with her,” Holt said quickly. “She’s taking care of June.”
“Good,” Lucy said, though she still looked worried.
“Do you know about her accident?” Holt asked.
Lucy raised her brows. “You know I can’t discuss my patients with you.”
“So she is your patient,” Holt said immediately.
Lucy rolled her eyes. “You always were too observant for your own good. Now let’s focus on your wounds. What exactly am I dealing with here?”
Holt gave her a brief overview of his injuries, telling her about the three gunshot wounds, the head trauma, and the surgery he’d undergone in Miami. Lucy listened with professional interest, asking clarifying questions and making notes on his chart.
“Okay,” Lucy said. “That’s quite a story.”
Holt nodded distractedly. “How long has June been back in Sandpiper Shores?” he asked as Lucy prepared to examine his chest.
“I think it was today,” Lucy said evasively. “When did you get back into town?”
“A couple of hours ago,” Holt answered.
Lucy sighed and shook her head. “And you’re already popping stitches. Some things never change.”
Holt laughed despite himself, remembering all the times he’d landed up in this very clinic. But back then, Lucy’s father was the doctor. “Yeah, it seems so.”
“I’m going to stitch you back up and give you a local anesthetic so you won’t feel it,” Lucy said. As if on cue, a nurse appeared in the doorway, and Lucy rattled off a list of supplies she needed.
“I’m also going to need to check your other wounds,” Lucy continued, reaching into the nightstand and pulling out a clean hospital gown. “You’ll need to put this on, please.”
Holt groaned. “The rest of my wounds feel fine.”
“I could always keep you here for observation for a few days,” Lucy warned with a smug smile.
Holt sighed in defeat. “Fine, give me ten minutes to change.”
“I’ll give you ten minutes,” Lucy agreed, leaving him to change, pulling her gloves off, and popping them into a bin as she left.
While he struggled out of his bloodstained shirt and into the hospital gown, Holt let himself think about June and the shocking news of her car accident. He made a mental note to call some of his contacts in the Miami Police Department to see what he could find out about what had happened to her.
A few hours later, his mother was driving him home and lecturing him about going off on his own when he was supposed to be resting and recovering.
“I know, I know,” Holt said, settling gingerly into the passenger seat. “I’ll be more careful.”
“You’d better be,” she said, then paused. “How did you manage to pull those stitches anyway?”
“I fell,” Holt lied, not wanting to get into the complicated truth about June being in Sandpiper Shores. He could hardly believe it himself, let alone explain it to his mother.
Then something else occurred to him, a connection he hadn’t made earlier. As they pulled up to the lighthouse, he turned to his mother.
“Willa Parker,” Holt said. “Rad mentioned she has two daughters?”
“Yes,” his mother nodded. “Grace and Becky.”
Holt’s eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. “Is she June’s daughter?”
“Yes,” was all his mother said as she turned off the engine and climbed out of the car.
“When Willa walked into the cottage earlier, I was floored by how much she looked like June,” Holt said, following his mother toward the house. “June with beautiful blue eyes.”
“June has green eyes,” his mother pointed out.
“I know,” Holt said. “Willa obviously got her eye color from her father.”
“That’s exactly what I think too,” his mother said in a voice that made Holt frown, as if she knew something he didn’t.
“Did you know June’s late husband?” Holt asked, and his mother’s eyebrows shot up.
“How do you know June’s husband is deceased?” She looked at him suspiciously.
Caught. Holt gave her a sheepish grin. “I’m in the FBI. I know things.”
“Uh-huh,” his mother said skeptically.
“Actually,” Holt raised an eyebrow, remembering that someone else had told him about June’s husband, “you were the one who told me eighteen years ago when it happened.”
His mother nodded as the memory of telling him occurred to her. “Yes, of course.”
They walked inside together, and that ominous feeling Holt had experienced when they’d first arrived in Sandpiper Shores returned with renewed intensity.
Now he understood why. His past had caught up with him, and fate had placed June and him back in close proximity in the very place where they’d first met over forty years ago.
Was this destiny drawing them back together or was it fate playing a bad joke on them both?