Her Survivor: A Black Eagle Ops Novel (16 page)

She made sense. Her advice was wise. He nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I surely will.”

Junebug turned a stink-eye on ZQ. “You should have told him, son.”

ZQ’s jaw dropped. “But Kelcee said—
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“Kelcee was injured. Sometimes a woman doesn’t know what she needs.” Junebug shook her finger at her son. “Many a time, I’d be pissed and your dad would hug it right out of me. Kelcee needed Dust.”

He walked outside and called Clint. “How is she?” He leaned his forehead against one of the back-porch poles.

“Her arm was a mess. The break was clean through the skin when Fran and I first arrived on the scene. She was in a lot of pain. I know you wanted to be there, son, but a man feels pretty damn helpless when a woman he looks on as his daughter is hurting like hell. He’d do anything she asks.”

“I understand. God, I want to see her.” It took all his self-control to keep his voice from breaking. “Were the keys to her bookshop and apartment in the backpack? If so, she’ll be vulnerable. I’d like to change the locks. Maybe you and I could do a thorough walk-through of the building. Make sure it’s secure?”

Clint sighed. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll find out. We’ll take care of it together. Thanks for thinking of her safety.”

“How do you think she’d handle it if I went to the hospital to see her?”

“Women are funny, son. I know my Fran. She’d never forgive me if I didn’t show up, no matter how bad things were between us…and we’ve had our bad spells over the years.”

“That’s all I need to hear. Give me the name and address of the hospital. I’ll enter it into my GPS.” Dustin ended the call and hurried to his room for a shower. He was on his way to see Kelcee and give her hell for scaring him so badly. Or maybe he’d kiss her until neither one of them could remember what had driven them apart.

Kelcee was asleep when Dustin walked into her room. He stilled and observed the gentle rise and fall of her chest. His tensed muscles began to unwind. He’d driven like a maniac to get here, making two stops along the way. She looked pale, but she was alive. Her right arm was heavily bandaged above the elbow and there was a drainage tube.

The vase of roses he carried was placed on the hospital’s movable table. There were eighteen red roses and six white ones trimmed in red at the edges. The stuffed orange tabby cat, from a children’s toy shop, he gently laid on the bed next to her good arm. He wanted to reach out and stroke her fair skin; there were scrapes on the right side of her face. Her lips were parted gently and the urge to lean down and touch them with his was almost unbearable. Then he noticed the yellowing bruises on her wrists. Bruises he’d put on her. And he stepped back.

He never wanted to hurt this precious woman again. His love for her ran so deep. The sessions with the psychiatrist started tomorrow. He dreaded the thought of it—laying himself emotionally bare—but if it made him worthy of Kelcee, he’d gladly do it. No matter how long it took.

Standing next to the window and glancing over the city’s skyline, it occurred to him he’d driven through heavy traffic, handled the noises and crowds just to get to her. To see for himself she was alright. He glanced over his shoulder as sheets rustled. Green eyes stared at him.

“Kitten.”

“Big guy.”

He shifted to the side of her bed and kissed her gently. She seemed so fragile. “I came as soon as I heard. Junebug read the article in the newspaper to us over lunch.” He had to touch her. His hand cupped her face and she turned into it; the moistness of tears made her freckles glisten.

“What you must have gone through, baby.” He rubbed his cheek against hers. “I should have been there with you.”

“So you could say ‘I told you so’?”

He chuckled. “Baby, what are we doing to each other?”

She closed her eyes, those expressive windows to her beautiful soul. “You walked out on me.”

The door to her room opened and orderlies pushed a gurney inside. “The surgeon wants to remove the drainage tube and place a cast on your arm.” One looked at him. “It’ll be about an hour-long procedure, if all goes well.”

“Thank you for coming to see me. There’s no need to stay, Dustin.”

The woman he loved had just dismissed him. She was lifted from one bed to another, a surgical cap placed on her head, and the stuffed cat she clutched taken from her good arm. He watched her leave the room; both the door and part of his heart closed behind her.

Driving home was a futile struggle with his PTSD. He had to pull over twice and practically peel his hands from the steering wheel before he got out to walk around the car. He trembled, he was drenched with sweat, and he cursed his weakness. The second time he stopped, he called his mom and talked to her. She was slowly coming to understand the effects of PTSD. The familiar tone of her voice soothed.

The next day, he bought a new steel door for the front of Bookstore by the Falls from Mark McGrath at his feed and lumber store. Dustin grabbed a few paint chip strips to find the color of her porch railing so he could paint the gray door to match. Mark also helped him find a replacement lock for Kelcee’s back door, her apartment door at the top of the steps, and the sliding glass doors on her balcony.

Mark had Ennis, an employee, haul the door to the bookstore and, together, the two of them removed the old one and installed the new one. Ennis showed him how to remove the old locking mechanism and replace it with the new one. It wasn’t long after he left that Clint pulled in.

“Gee”—he hiked his pants over his slight paunch—“didn’t know you were buying a whole new door. Looks good.”

“I thought steel would be safer for her. It’ll look better after I get it painted.” He handed the chip strips to Clint. “What color do you think the porch posts and railings are?”

“Waterfall blue. I helped Frank paint the trim after he had the ivory aluminum siding put on.” Clint tapped a color. “Here ’tis. Whew, did me, Owen, and Frank get drunk that day.” He snorted. “Had more paint on the bushes than we did the porch. Owen got to giggling, fell off the ladder, and twisted his ankle.” Clint shook his head. “Paint and beer just don’t mix, son.”

“My team and I have a few stories like that of our own. Let’s replace these other locks and then do our inspection of the premises. Make sure no one’s hiding in some dark corner.”

“Sounds good. Kelcee was out of bed walking around her room when Fran got there this morning. She said you’d been there with roses and a stuffed cat. Kelcee has a cast on now. She’ll be coming home tomorrow. Some slight exercises like a squeeze ball to keep her muscles strong and the blood flow consistent to her hand. She’s over the concussion.”

“That sounds great. Who’s going to run the store for her?”

“Fran. They’re going to change some of the hours, so Fran will be home to make dinner most nights. I’ll come in to help out, too.”

Once they had the locks changed, Dustin watered Kelcee’s plants and washed out her coffeepot. Then they searched every corner of the building for any hiding places. Finding none, they locked the place. Dustin gave Clint both copies of the keys, keeping one of the front-door keys for himself so he could do the painting.

By nightfall, Dustin had two coats of paint on the door, waterfall blue on the outside and white on the inside. Between the coats, he’d walked up to Reed’s Antiques where he found a Victorian chair and matching stool. He wasn’t so sure Kelcee would love the style, but she’d like the floral upholstery. She could sit in the bookstore and rest her arm while Fran ran things. Two trips and he had the two upholstered pieces and a little round stand for her coffee cup in the store, placed so she could also watch the falls.

Did it make him a crazy man to want to care for a woman who was royally pissed with him? Frankly, he didn’t give a flying fuck. He loved the woman. So much that he’d walked away, putting her safety ahead of his desires and hopes for a permanent relationship. Sometimes, love meant sacrifice. Even so, he’d always be in the background to take care of her.

Before turning out the lights and locking the door, he dialed the local pizza joint and ordered a large, loaded to the gills with everything. He’d eat it at the ranch, maybe grab a few beers from Junebug’s fridge.

Flames flickered in the fire pit when he pulled into his parking spot at Eagle Ridge Ranch. ZQ, JJ, and Nance were sprawled out around the fire, a cooler of what Dustin presumed were beers sitting between them. He carried his pizza over and flapped the lid so some of the tempting aroma got to their noses.

JJ snagged a slice. “Share the wealth, man. Grab a beer and tell us what you’ve been up to all day.”

He wolfed down one slice and answered JJ’s question while he chewed. “Fhanged Fel-fee’s wocks.” He swallowed. “Uh…changed all of Kelcee’s locks at the bookstore. Her keys were in the backpack the bike rider stole. Thank goodness, her wallet wasn’t. Just some cash for a haircut. Clint and I did a search through the building to make sure it was secure.”

“Good idea.” ZQ held his crust out for Nance, who glanced at JJ first.

“It’s okay, baby girl. Pizza night.”

Nance took the crust and chewed it with obvious glee.

“Kelcee’s coming home tomorrow. I wanted to make sure she’d be safe. A SEAL protects.”

ZQ raised his beer in salute. “Fuckin’ A.”

Kelcee’s arm ached with every jar and minute shimmy of Clint and Fran’s car. Braking and accelerations both took her breath away and not like Dustin Franks did with his kisses. She glanced at the stuffed cat in her lap. One day as they drove through town, a cat similar to this one crossed the street in front of them. She’d remarked how much she’d always wanted a cat like that. Marmalade, she’d call it.

Dustin had remembered and bought her a foam-filled plush imitation. He had a way of doing thoughtful things like that. If only he didn’t believe he’d hurt her as he worked through his PTSD issues. Stubborn man.

Clint finally pulled in front of her bookstore. Her plants were full of blooms as if someone had watered them every day as she did. The front door was different. “That’s not my front door! The windowpanes are divided instead of one big one and the paint looks fresh.”

“Nothing wrong with your eyesight.” Clint’s arm shifted to the top of the car seat. “Dustin was worried about the biker having your keys. He changed all the locks, so that lowlife couldn’t get in. He and I did a thorough search of the whole place to make sure he hadn’t already been there or was, in fact, hiding somewhere. Dustin also replaced your old wooden door with a steel one. Safer. Insulated.”

“Land sakes, he even put a brass kickboard across the bottom to dress it up and handle knobs instead of round doorknobs. I bet he thought they’d be easier for you to operate.”

Kelcee was touched. So affected emotionally, she wanted to give Dustin a huge, one-arm hug. But he’d probably shy away from that, being the potential abuser he feared he was.

“Let’s get you inside, Kelcee.” Clint rubbed Fran’s shoulder. “Sugar Loaf, when is she due for her next pain pill? She looks a little wan.”

Fran glanced at her watch. “In about fifteen minutes. I’m sure the long ride home was hard on her.”

“You ain’t just kiddin’. I’ll take that pill as soon as we’re inside.” Her arm was really throbbing now.

Clint helped her out of the car and up the steps. Unnecessarily, really. It was her arm that was broken, not her leg. He unlocked the door and she stepped inside. Her gaze swept affectionately over her little shop, landing on a wingback chair in front of the window. It had engraved wooden flowers across the top and upholstery with ferns and pink lilies on it and the matching ottoman. Beside it sat a little table big enough for a cup of coffee.

“What’s this?”

“Dustin called and said he’d gotten you a chair so you could sit and keep me company while I run the store. Isn’t that the sweetest thing?” Fran’s hand went to her breast. “I wish you two could work things out. He’s almost as thoughtful as my Silver Stud.”

Kelcee removed her cellphone from her skirt pocket. Thank goodness she’d had it in the pocket of the jeans she wore the day of the accident. She thumbed through until she found Dustin’s number.

“Kelcee?” His deep voice washed over her, taking away the chill of loneliness.

“Yes, Dustin. It’s me. I’m home. I wanted to thank you for the new locks and front door and the chair and footstool. I’m very grateful.” She was, for they showed he cared.

“They were all things you needed. I was glad to provide. How was the ride home?”

“Rough. Fran’s getting me water now to take a pain pill.”

“I’m glad you’re home. If you need me, call.” He hung up. Just like that the man hung up on her. How was she to interpret that? He was the expert at sending mixed signals.

She took the pain pill, and feeling depressed, headed for the stairway to her apartment. “Fran, we’ll open the store again on Wednesday. Could you make a sign and tape it to the window? ‘Open for Business Again on Wednesday, Nine a.m. Until Noon.’ ”

“Sure.” Fran took a sheet of paper and a marker, writing down the information, taping it to the front door.

At the top of her steps, a note was taped on her door. “Open carefully. Little guests inside.”
What the hell?

Clint handed her the new key for her apartment, she opened the door, and one ball of orange fur and another of gray flew out of a small pet bed and skittered around the corner. A sign over the roof of the little plush bed read: “Welcome Home, Marmalade and Sox. We’ve been flea-dipped and dewormed. All we need is your love and a place to snuggle.”

“I’ve got kittens!” In the kitchen were automatic dry-food and water dispensers. A litter box sat at the end of the hallway. “I’ll lay on the bed and see if I can charm them out of hiding.” She toed off her shoes and crawled under her bedspread. “Marmalade and Sox, it’s Mommy, come home to spoil you.”

A small meow came from under the bed.

“Well, land sakes, I never knew you wanted a cat, let alone two.”

“I have for a long time and the only person I told was Dustin. He mentioned Junebug had a litter of kittens she was ready to look for good homes for and I said I’d take two, so they’d have company while I worked. Sometimes, I think he recalls everything I say.”

“Well, we’ll go home if you’re sure you and the new family will be okay.” Clint wrapped his arm around Fran. “Sugar Loaf’s taking a copy of the key to your front door and your apartment, so she can check on you tomorrow. The rest of your keys and your meds are on the kitchen counter. Keep your cell under a pillow so you know where it is in case you need us during the night.” Clint patted her head and herded Fran out.

Kelcee wiggled around in the bed to find a comfortable spot. Being in her own bed was heaven. No more lumpy hospital beds or intercom announcements or “May I have your name and date of birth, please?” She was home.
Halle-freakin-lujah!

Two tiny heads and four paws peered over the side of her bed where they evidently stood on the stack of books she kept on the floor. Their cute little eyes examined her from top to bottom. “Hello, Marmalade. Hello, Sox.” Their claws dug into the sheet and they ventured onto the bed. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. Come on.” She patted the bed and they zeroed in on her moving hand. Kelcee blinked to keep herself awake, but she knew the pain medicines were pulling her under.

Little feathery touches and faint squeaky noises, as if she were being smelled, woke her. The kittens were checking out her face and hair. What a sweet way to wake up. The bed had been so empty since Dustin left. A quick glance at the clock told her she’d been asleep for nearly three hours. Yikes, wouldn’t the kittens need to use the litter box? She sat and lifted one at a time onto the floor and they ran around the corner. Frantic digging could be heard, and Kelcee shook her head in amusement. Her little apartment wasn’t going to be so quiet anymore.

The next couple days were a series of adjustments. Bathing with a cast on her upper arm. Getting dressed with one arm. Fixing light meals with her arm in a sling. Watching where she walked so she wouldn’t accidently step on a kitten.