Starfish Pier, page 16
If she hadn’t been so busy gawking at Steven arriving for church with his brother’s family, she’d have noticed the jagged piece of concrete in her path.
Now she was in for a fall.
A hard one.
As she pitched sideways, Steven glanced toward her—jolted to a stop—and launched himself her direction.
Too late.
No matter how fast he ran, he wasn’t going to reach her in time for a save, even though the fall felt like one of those slow motion dives in a movie.
But the wrenching pain in her left wrist as it connected with the cement when she tried to cushion herself was all too real.
Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, the sound of running feet pounding against pavement registered, but until Steven knelt beside her, all she could focus on was the throbbing ache radiating up her arm.
“Holly?” He touched her shoulder, his voice tight. “Are you hurt?”
She forced herself to concentrate on his question, rotating the ankle that had folded. No issue there. “Only my wrist.” A crowd began to gather, and warmth stole over her cheeks. Nothing like making a spectacle of yourself in front of half the town. “If you could help me up, I’ll be fine.”
He gave their audience a sweep . . . and lowered his volume. “Are you certain? If there are any other issues, you could compound them by moving.”
“No. Nothing’s hurt but my wrist—and my pride. I’m tuned in enough to my body to recognize malfunctions.”
After subjecting her to another thorough scrutiny, he gave a clipped nod, stood, and grasped her uninjured hand. “On three.”
With a large assist from him, she was on her feet an instant later—but she couldn’t contain a slight groan as her wrist protested the sudden change in position.
He tucked her against his side, urging her with gentle pressure to lean into him as he absorbed her weight.
She didn’t protest.
“I think we have the situation under control, folks. Thank you all for your concern.” Steven sounded calm as he spoke to the worried group gathered around them . . . but beneath her ear, his heart was beating in double time.
That was encouraging.
Steven didn’t seem like a man who spooked—or lost his cool—easily. If concern about her well-being had goosed his pulse, that had to be significant.
Didn’t it?
As the crowd began to disperse, Steven eased back to scrutinize her. “Let’s claim that bench over there.” He motioned toward the wooden seat on the side lawn of the church, near the fellowship hall.
“I don’t want to hold you up. Your f-family will be waiting for you, and the service will be starting any minute.”
He took her uninjured arm and led her toward the bench. “They’ll understand and go in without me. As for God—he’s waited this long to see me. He can wait another week.”
Holly didn’t argue. If he wanted to sit with her for a minute, why not let him? Hadn’t she been hoping to run into him again since that day at the tide pools?
Although a tumble in front of church wouldn’t have been her preferred method of bringing about another encounter.
She remained silent, cradling her injured wrist as they slowly walked toward the bench.
Once they were seated, Steven angled toward her and touched the long sleeve of her sweater. “May I? I have first aid training.”
So her assumption that day in the park during their impromptu taco lunch, when he’d referenced the Heimlich maneuver, had been correct. He did have medical knowledge.
And the quick but thorough inspection he gave her rapidly swelling, tender wrist suggested it was more than rudimentary.
If pain wasn’t stalling her brain, she might be able to ferret out the reason for his knowledge—but as her wrist ballooned and discolored, her thought processes became more and more sluggish.
“I see an X-ray in your future.”
Her stomach bottomed out. “You think it’s broken?”
“No—but I’m not a doctor. An expert should weigh in. What happened to the back of your hand?” He touched the bandage.
“Close encounter with a gorse bush in my backyard. I’m hoping your brother will get rid of it for me.” She briefed him on her encounter with Cindy at the Myrtle.
“If he doesn’t take care of it, let me know. Those bushes can be—”
“Morning, folks.” Logan West strode toward them across the lawn. “I heard there was an accident. I take it you’re the patient, Holly.” The town’s urgent care center physician gave her exposed wrist a scan.
“Guilty.”
“You okay otherwise?” He shifted his attention to her face, concern etched on his features.
“Yes.” Thank goodness she’d had the foresight to pay the urgent care facility a visit soon after moving here so they’d have her medical background in case of an emergency. Logan knew all about her SB issues.
“We should check you out anyway.” He turned to Steven and introduced himself as the other man stood.
“Sorry.” Holly did the return honors for Steven. “I thought you two would have met.”
“No. I’m a healthy guy.” Steven shook the other man’s hand.
Also a loner, from what she’d been able to gather. Despite her short tenure in Hope Harbor, it appeared she knew far more people than he did.
“I can come to urgent care later, after you open.” Holly adjusted the position of her wrist, but the pain didn’t dissipate.
“Let’s run over now.” Logan pulled out a set of keys, jingled them, and grinned. “Being the director has certain privileges. And given that we’re a small-town facility with a tiny staff, I even know how to run all the equipment. I’ll have you x-rayed, treated, and out the door within an hour.”
“But you’ll miss church.”
“I think God will understand. That has to be painful”—he indicated her wrist—“so why don’t I give you a lift to the clinic and run you home afterward? We can deal with your car later. I assume you drove to church?”
“Yes. I can—”
“I’ll drive you to urgent care and take you home in your own car. Then you won’t have to worry about logistics.” Steven rejoined the conversation.
“But . . . how will you get home?”
“I’ll text Patrick. They can pick me up at your place after church and run me back here to get my car.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you both at the office in a few minutes.” Without waiting for a response, Logan strode off.
As if everything was settled.
Steven held out a hand, apparently under the same assumption.
She narrowed her eyes.
Having decisions made for her didn’t sit well.
However . . . while their take-charge manner rankled her independent streak, she probably ought to cut them some slack. A former big-city ER doctor and an ex-soldier were no doubt used to being in command. Plus, they both had her best interest at heart and were going above and beyond to help her.
But would either be doing as much if she didn’t have SB? Was their kid-gloves treatment due to her condition?
Impossible to know.
Whatever their motivation, though, she should be grateful. Her wrist hurt like the dickens, and getting to the clinic or home without their assistance would be a huge hassle.
“If you’re concerned I’m doing this because of your SB, the answer is no.”
She did a double take.
Was Steven a mind reader, or what?
He hitched up one side of his mouth. “In your shoes, that’s what I’d be wondering. I may not have attended church much in recent years, but I was raised with a firm foundation in Scripture—including the story of the good Samaritan. I’d have stepped in to help even if you were a stranger. Since you’re more than that, I hope I can also convince you to stop at the new coffee shop after we’re done at urgent care for a caffeine infusion—unless the wrist is too sore.”
A coffee date with Steven?
The definite highlight of this day.
And a little pain wasn’t going to stop her from accepting his offer.
“I’d like that. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Shall we?” He leaned down and cupped her elbow.
“Yes.”
The short ride to the urgent care center was mostly silent, and she let her eyelids drift closed as the pulsing ache in her wrist intensified.
Yet Steven’s presence beside her was more soothing than any pain-killing drug Logan could recommend.
It was also an opportunity.
Today’s meeting may have been happenstance—but if she wanted to get to know him better, this was her chance. All she had to do was muster up her courage and take the lead. Let him know in no uncertain terms that she’d like to see more of him.
Easier said than done—but she’d manage it.
Maybe he wouldn’t respond as she hoped, but if he didn’t, it wouldn’t be from lack of interest. Despite her minimal experience with men, she hadn’t imagined the electricity zipping between them at the tide pools . . . or read too much into the couple of loaded comments he’d made that day . . . or imagined his pounding pulse today after he feared she’d been injured.
The man was interested in her, no question about it.
If he walked away after she made her interest clear, lack of attraction wouldn’t be the cause.
And unlike her ex’s excuse, she’d be willing to bet Steven’s reason wouldn’t have a thing to do with her SB.
The question was—if he backed off, could she unearth the reason why he was skittish . . . and also find a way to overcome his reservations so they could explore the sparks that had ignited the first time they met?
Suggesting they have coffee together had been a mistake.
As Steven dropped into a chair in the waiting room at the urgent care center, he stared out the window at the tendrils of fog swirling past.
If she hadn’t given him that uncertain look—as if she suspected his kindness had been prompted solely by concerns about her spina bifida—he wouldn’t be in this pickle.
Horse manure, Roark. You wanted to ask her to coffee for one reason and one reason only. You like her.
Huffing out a soft snort, he retrieved his cell and began thumbing a text to Patrick to arrange pickup.
Fine.
He liked her.
That was not, however, sufficient reason to act on his feelings.
But now that he had, he was stuck.
They didn’t have to stay long, though. And what harm could there be in having a cup of coffee together?
His phone dinged, and he skimmed Patrick’s response.
No problem. Text when ready. Ingenious bail from church BTW
He shot off a reply.
Stop texting. Listen to sermon
I am
Expect elbow jab if u keep this up
Just delivered. Done 4 now
Lips quirking, Steven opened his browser and used the waiting time to supplement the research he’d done on spina bifida after Holly had dropped her bombshell.
None of what he’d learned was pretty—and today’s intel was no different.
While Holly didn’t have any major difficulty walking on level terrain and seemed to lead an otherwise normal life, SB could bring a host of other problems—and inconveniences, as she’d termed them—that weren’t readily discernible.
Ones that a potential suitor—like the jerk who’d dumped her—might not want to deal with.
But Holly claimed none of them would keep her from being a wife and mother, and there was no reason to doubt her. There were quite a few women on the net with SB who were married or in relationships and who blogged about it or posted videos that dealt frankly with issues related to the condition.
Holly’s SB wouldn’t be a game changer for him, as it had been for her ex.
His issues were the game changer in this relationship.
If he gave in to the temptation to spend time with her . . . if they clicked, as he suspected they would . . . in the end, he wouldn’t be the one doing the dumping.
Unless he’d totally misread her the day she’d come to solicit a donation for Helping Hands’ pro-life initiative, Holly would drop him cold once she learned his personal—and professional—history.
So why was he wasting any energy researching SB . . . and why was his traitorous mind trying to come up with another excuse to see her again after today?
It didn’t make sense.
For a man who thrived on logic, who scoped out every move to the nth degree and considered all the ramifications of every step he took, his irrational behavior was more than a tad disconcerting.
And thirty minutes later, as Holly emerged from the treatment area, her wrist wrapped in a compression bandage, he was no closer to figuring out how to deal with his illogical inclinations than he’d been when they arrived at the urgent care facility.
He rose, putting his dilemma on ice for the immediate future. Until he delivered Holly to her house, her comfort was his top priority.
“What’s the verdict?”
“It’s not broken.” Holly joined him, Logan on her heels.
“What grade is the sprain?” He directed his question to the doc.
“One. It could have been much worse.”
Yeah, it could have. Pain and swelling were far preferable to a torn ligament or the loss of function characteristic of higher-grade sprains.
“So it will heal on its own.” He slid his phone into his pocket.
“More or less. As I told Holly, she can help the process by resting the wrist and using ice packs for the next forty-eight hours. It should be back to normal in two to four weeks.” Logan refocused on his patient. “Remember to keep your wrist elevated above your heart whenever possible, and don’t try to tough out the pain. Take over-the-counter anti-inflammatory medicine if it gets too uncomfortable.”
“Got it. Thanks again for opening up early for me on a Sunday.”
“I took the Hippocratic Oath seriously.” He grinned. “Besides, during my tenure as an ER doctor, Sunday morning emergencies were par for the course.”
He walked them to the door, and Steven took Holly’s arm as they exited.
“You still up for coffee, or would you rather go straight home? I know how painful even minor injuries can be.”
Cradling her wrist, she searched his face. As if she wondered whether he was having second thoughts about his offer.
Smart lady.
But despite any qualms she picked up, she didn’t let him off the hook. “A cup of coffee would hit the spot.”
Relief and dismay butted heads—but dismay triumphed. Spending another hour in Holly’s company wasn’t going to benefit either of them in the long run.
So he’d conjure up an excuse about not wanting to interrupt his brother’s Sunday any more than necessary and keep this short.
“Okay. Let’s do this.” He coaxed up the corners of his lips. No reason to ruin Holly’s morning coffee. “Have you been to the new shop yet?”
“No. I was hoping to stop by for the grand opening last week, but school was crazy and I was too tired at the end of the day to do anything but go home and crash. Have you tried it?”
“Yes. I swung by after a charter fishing trip—but since I reeked of fish, I didn’t linger. I doubt the owner would have appreciated me stinking up his shop. The java was first class, though. It’s about time Hope Harbor had a real coffee shop.”
He opened the door of her car, helped her in, and took his place behind the wheel. The shop on Main Street was walking distance—what wasn’t, in a community the size of Hope Harbor? But hiking around town under normal circumstances might be taxing for Holly . . . and with an aching wrist it would be torture.
Less than five minutes later, he pulled up in front of the Perfect Blend and peered into the dark interior. “Huh. It doesn’t seem to be open. Sit tight and let me find out what’s going on.”
He slid out of the car, noted the hours on the placard in the front window, and rejoined her.
“What’s the story?” She hiked up an eyebrow.
“Closed on Sunday.” He scanned the shop again as he shut his door. “He’s losing serious revenue by shutting down on a weekend. That’s when we have the bulk of our tourists.”
“Could be he believes in honoring the Sabbath. Did you meet the owner?” She examined the storefront.
“Yeah. Zach Garrett. Pleasant guy. I’m sorry I couldn’t introduce you to his barista skills.”
“We could always try again another day.”
He let her comment pass and twisted the key in the ignition. “You should probably elevate your wrist anyway—and that will be easier to do at home. You’ll have to direct me.”
She did, leading him north of the business district to a small street on the fringe of town that dead-ended at the sea.
“I’m the second house from the end.” She indicated the tiny bungalow as they approached.
He swung into the driveway and set the brake as a car pulled out of the driveway next door, an older man behind the wheel.
Holly lifted a hand in greeting, and the man gave her a brief wave. “I’m hoping to hook him up with your brother.”
“Does he need help with yard work too?”
“Not that he’s admitted—but yes, he does.” Twin creases dented Holly’s brow as she surveyed the small house next door. “He has . . . issues.” She sighed and turned back to him. “Thanks for bringing me home.”
“My pleasure.”
“I guarantee my coffee won’t live up to our new barista’s, but let me make you a cup while you wait for your brother.”
“Thanks, but I’ll text him after I walk you to the door, then stroll back toward town. I may get to church before the service ends and save him a trip.”
“It’s a long walk.”
For her, perhaps. Not for someone who’d trekked mile after grueling mile in high desert and harsh mountain terrain toting a ton of gear—and on red alert for a sudden attack.
“I prefer to think of it as a chance to give my leg muscles a workout. I’m still not used to being confined to a boat for hours at a stretch.”
She bit her lip. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your fitness regimen . . . but I could use some advice about my neighbor if you have a few minutes to spare. I won’t delay you long.”
