“Yeah, the DEA and local Feds, they found the guy—the pilot—in the woods. Got the dogs out on him and everything. The pilot is a drug smuggler. It’s on the news. You’re famous!”
“Ah, thanks, Bill. I need to go inside.” She couldn’t compute half of what he said.
When she moved, pain zigzagged through her chest, and her breath caught in her throat. The doctors said she’d be bruised and sore, but they never said the pain would bring her to her knees. The meds weren’t doing their job. Or maybe their full punch required more time to work?
She sagged against James, who scooped her up and carried her. The jarring from each step made her head hurt more, but if she had to walk the twenty feet, it would take her all night.
“Hey, Bill. Make yourself useful. Unlock the door for Miss Lind,” James told the painter. “Keys are in my back pocket.”
Bill grabbed the keys and raced ahead. He swung the door open wide. “I stayed around to see how you are. I’ll be back to finish painting tomorrow.”
“Sure,” she mumbled before Bill took off again.
“The couch?” James asked. “It’s warm in here. Do you want the air conditioner on?”
“Bedroom first. Yes, A/C. Tea, please. It’s in the kitchen.”
James placed her gingerly on her bed, then headed back down the hall. She heard the air conditioning click on before he entered the kitchen. She rose slowly and inched her way to the dresser. Her reflection in the mirror confirmed that no one looked good in a hospital dressing gown. She’d used it to cover her bloodstained blouse, it could be a wardrobe prop for a zombie movie.
She managed to stand, undress, and then tossed the wadded up blouse into the corner near her closet. Carefully, she pulled on yoga pants and eyed her bed like a kid eyeing a candy counter.
Maybe the painkillers and muscle relaxers had kicked in? That could be an explanation for her desire to have James undress her, and then crawl into bed beside her. Under other conditions, modesty would prevent her from asking for his help. The drug-induced relaxation wiped away inhibitions. In fact, she could make a sound argument that he
must
cuddle with her, the warmth of his hands on her body would calm her nerves. He had a healing touch.
In slow motion, she pulled on a loose fitting shirt, an old cotton one of her fathers. She left a couple of buttons undone at the top and the bottom. Taking a step, she wobbled in her bedroom doorway.
“Let me help you,” James said.
“Don’t pick me up,” she begged.
He walked her step-by-step to the living room, allowing her to take the time she needed. She sat slowly, with his support, at one end of the couch, then lifted her legs, stretching them out long. James disappeared down the hall. He returned with pillows from her bed.
“There’s a quilt in the hall closet.” She pointed. Homesickness trumped bravery. She needed a reminder of home. Comfort. The handmade quilt had been a gift from Great Grandmother Marie. The faded squares sewn together, with their washed-in softness, would ease her unseen pains.
“I raided your kitchen. Here’s some chicken broth and tea.” James set a cookie sheet with two cups of steaming liquid on the table in front of her. “I do pretty well as a cook.”
He must have seen her wince and thought it was because of his offerings.
“Would you like something else?”
“No. Thanks. This is fine. Tea for me. “
Wearing a curious expression, James cocked his head and looked at her as though he contemplated something.
Had she spoken her reply or just heard the words in her head? The drugs provided an “out-of-control” sensation, and if she ever thought to audition for a role in
Dr. Who
, she could call on this experience for help.
“I’m just killing pain with humor. Or maybe killing humor with drugs? I don’t know which.”
Shaky, certain that at any moment might she break down, she fought to hold back tears. She wanted her mother, wanted comfort and support, but she had to navigate a recovery without leaning on family. She could do it. The emotional need pounding in her heart was not a life or death matter. Grown women weren’t supposed to cry for their mommas, right?
Sitting in the chair across from the couch, James rested his forearms on his thighs and scrutinized her. She shifted and pulled the quilt up to her neck, then reached for the cup of tea.
“I appreciate your kindness. You don’t have to stay. I’ll be all right.”
“I could call Sadie. She’d come and stay with you. If you’d feel more comfortable with a woman.”
“No. I can’t ask her. It would be awkward.”
“Then, I’ll stay.”
“I’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Okay. Be fine with me here.” He laced his fingers together and put his hands behind his head, making himself comfortable in the chair. “Here are the facts. You’re on drugs right now that reduce your ability to think clearly. Also, they can impair your physical abilities. I won’t leave. We can’t have you drown in a tub or fall down, knock your head, and bleed out.”
Her bottom lip trembled. She took a sip from the cup, then drew a ragged breath. “I keep thinking that I could have died.”
Immediately, James rose. He motioned for her to make room for him on the couch. He sat, then scooped her up and held her. He cradled her with one arm and with the other, wrapped the quilt around her back, tucking her into a cocoon with him, her head on his chest.
“It’s okay to cry, Branna.” His words were almost a whisper.
Her body started to shake. Tremors passed through her, but she fought against the tears.
“Let go,” James urged.
Her first wail sounded foreign to her ears. The next few came in a wave. She tried to catch her breath between each raspy sob. Inhaling was more like hiccupping.
“I’m here. I’m here,” James whispered.
His words became a healing mantra as he gently rocked her. She cried until she was cried out. The heat of his body soothed her. When the tears finally stopped, she snuggled close and rested her head on his shoulder. Not many men could handle a woman’s tears as he had. She didn’t care if he thought she was childish or not, as long as he continued to hold her.
Forever might not be long enough.
Chapter 26
James closed the shutters in Branna’s bedroom and pulled back the covers on the bed. He returned to the living room and carried her back to her room. Hopefully the prescription drugs would do their job, and she’d sleep undisturbed. At least until he had to wake her according to doctor’s orders. As he pulled a sheet and blanket to her chin, she puffed out little breaths while lost in deep sleep. She’d never looked as vulnerable as she did then. That vulnerability tugged hard at his heart. The usually commanding Branna Lind now looked angelic, and that pushed all of his protective buttons.
“Sleep, sugar. I’ll be right out there,” he whispered for his ears only.
He’d done everything backward with this woman. They were lovers when they were barely friends and barely friends before they were technically colleagues. Their night of lovemaking was more than a one-night stand to him. But could he convince her of that?
“Christ, we were supposed to be only colleagues,” he muttered.
Walking back to the living room, he looked for insights into the woman that had given his heart a jolt. Everything in view appeared in its proper place. She was neat and organized. A decorator probably had a clever technical word for Branna’s style. A mix of modern and antiques furnishing. The room exuded comfortableness without being feminine fussy. A place where a guy could hang and feel at home, even put his feet on the old trunk used as coffee table.
The artwork over the fireplace drew his attention. Vibrant colors, a type of abstract. A street scene obviously in New Orleans’ French Quarter. A Creole cottage with shutters next to a two-story building with lacy ironwork rails. The painting reminded him of Branna. Colorful, detailed, and full of movement.
With nothing else to do, he settled on the couch, picked up the newspaper, and started to read. The letters blurred. His eyes couldn’t follow the words. He leaned his head on the back of the couch to rest.
When the phone rang, he snapped awake, then sprinted toward the kitchen to find it, hoping it wouldn’t wake Branna.
“Hello?”
“Dr. Brown here. Branna was gone by the time I arrived at crash site. How is she now? May I speak with her?”
“She’s sleeping.”
James noted the long pause on the other end of the line. He wondered what Dr. Brown was surmising. About Branna. About him.
“I see. Tell her I’ve worked out a schedule to cover her classes for the rest of the week. Do you know anything about her condition? Will she be back next week?”
A muffled ring caught James’ attention.
“Gotta go. Her cell phone’s ringing. Don’t want it to wake her up.”
“Call me back if I can do anything.”
James hung up and sought out the sound, hunting it like a bird dog follows a scent. He ran to the bedroom and closed the door, not wanting anything to disturb her. Grabbing Branna’s purse from the chair, he pulled the ringing phone from it. The shrill of
Fur Elise
blasted louder.
“Hello. Branna’s phone.”
“Who is this?” a woman’s voice on the other end demanded.
“James Newbern. A friend of Branna’s. To whom am I speaking?”
“I’m looking for my daughter.”
“Ah, Mrs. Lind. Well, she’s had a slight accident.”
“An accident? No. How is she? Who-who did you say you are?”
He kept his tone level in hopes of conveying the information so she wouldn’t be alarmed. No need to frighten Branna’s mother.
“I’m James. Branna and I are colleagues at the college. She’s going to be fine, but she’s sleeping right now. She sustained some minor cuts and bruises, and a mild concussion. Mostly, she’s shook up from the car accident.”
“Oh, God! Where is she? In the hospital? How’d this happen? When?” Then he heard a muffled plea on the other end of the phone. “Charles, come quick. Branna’s been hurt.”
“You’re on speaker phone,” a man’s voice said. “Who are you?”
“I work with your daughter. I’m Dr. James Newbern. Professor. Branna is resting at home. She’s asleep. The doctors say she’ll be fine in a few days. She needs some rest.”
“You’re sure?” Mrs. Lind clearly doubted his word.
“Yes Ma’am.”
“This is Charles Lind, Branna’s father. How did this happen?”
“Well sir, I didn’t witness the accident. Came upon it afterward. A plane ran off the runway and hit Branna’s car.”
“A plane!”
“As I understand it, she swerved to avoid it, left the road, and the impact happened at the tree line. Branna’s car hit a tree, and the plane hit her Volvo.”
“Oh, Charles! I can’t believe this. I have to go to her.”
“This happened on the road to the college?” Mr. Lind asked.
“How seriously is she hurt?” Mrs. Lind pressed.
“She needs a few days to recover. No complications are expected. Mr. Lind, an airport runway runs perpendicular to the road leading to the college. You’ll both be happy to know, Branna’s become a local celeb—” The doorbell interrupted him. “Hang on. Someone’s at the door. I don’t want them to wake Branna up.”
He raced to the front door and opened it, ready to tell the intruder to lay off the bell. Sadie smiled wide and offered up a pot that smelled a lot like chicken soup.
“Let me in. A van pulled up. There’s a reporter and camera crew on my heels. We can talk to them together after I put this pot down.”
James moved aside. Sadie slid past him as he stepped outside and closed the door behind him. He tried to wave away the TV crew rushing at him.
“Peter Simmons with WTFL news. I would like to speak with Ms. Lind.”
“She’s not available.”
“What’s your name?” The news reporter asked as he stuck a microphone in James’ face.
“Ms. Lind isn’t at home. I suggest you call before coming back. Please leave.”
“Who was that woman who just entered? Was that her?”
“No. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” James turned to open the door.
“Aw, c’mon man. The lady’s a hero! It’s not often a woman single-handedly stops a drug smuggler’s plane in our neck of the woods.”
“You aren’t from our neck of the woods. You’re from a TV station down in Gainesville. We
do
watch TV up here. Now, once again, call before you come back. If the lady wants to talk with you, she’ll let you know.”
“Give her my card.”
James took the card, then entered the house. Sadie met him with a frown. “Why didn’t you wait for me? They could have interviewed us together.”
“They didn’t interview me. I’ve got Branna’s parents on the phone.” He spoke into the receiver. “Sorry about that, Mr. and Mrs. Lind. I guess you heard most of it. Our administrative assistant, Sadie McGee, is here. As soon as your daughter wakes up, I’ll have her call you.”
“Yes, please do. It doesn’t matter the time,” Mr. Lind said.
“Charles, I’m going to her as soon as I can pack a bag. I’ll have Gill fly me over. I can’t wait for a phone call.”
“James, we’ll call you back if Mrs. Lind decides to come.”
“I want to assure you, she’ll be fine. However, I’ll help on this end in any way I’m able.” He closed the phone when Branna’s parents ended the connection.