His Christmas Gift, page 5
He frowned, his gaze going to his sister. It only took one glance at Lacey’s guilty, defiant face for Jenna to know Lacey hadn’t kept her brother abreast of the developments in her case.
“I didn’t want to say anything until it was certain,” Lacey said.
“Until what was certain?” Sawyer asked.
“Dave has recanted his testimony and given a new statement,” Lacey said. “Jenna’s been working with the DA to get me a retrial based on new evidence.”
Sawyer’s gaze remained on his sister, and even though Jenna barely knew him, even though his face was carefully neutral, she understood that he was both hurt and offended by his sister keeping such important news to herself.
“We just squeaked in under the wire to appeal based on new evidence,” Jenna said.
Sawyer shifted his weight. “You think she’s got a chance of getting her conviction overturned?”
“That’s what we’ll be aiming for, yes,” Jenna said.
“That’s great news. Good to hear,” he said.
He flicked Lacey one last look before pivoting on his heel and walking away.
Lacey made a frustrated noise and thunked her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Damn it.”
“I wish you’d told me you hadn’t said anything about the new trial,” Jenna said. “I would have kept my big mouth shut.”
“This is not your fault. It’s mine. As usual.”
Lacey looked like she wanted to kick something, and Jenna slipped an arm around her shoulder. “As your lawyer, I feel honor bound to tell you you’re being a little hard on yourself.”
Lacey’s forehead was creased with worry. “He’s going to go all hurt and quiet now.”
It was on the tip of Jenna’s tongue to ask how Lacey would possibly discern one brand of quiet from another, given they were dealing with the world’s most taciturn man, but she stopped herself. Lacey and Sawyer were brother and sister. They understood each other’s little signals and silences without even having to think about it.
It had been like that with her and Cassie. All her little sister had had to do was look at Jenna and Jenna had known what she was thinking.
Jenna gave Lacey’s shoulder a quick squeeze before letting her go. “I’m sure if you just explained to him why you didn’t tell him what was going on, he’d understand.” Jenna paused, then decided she might as well give voice to the question in her mind. “Why didn’t you tell him, by the way?”
“I wasn’t sure it was going to happen. I know you said it was looking positive, but there’s still no guarantee, and I figured I’d wait until I knew more before I got anyone excited about it.”
Jenna waited, sensing there was more. It didn’t take long before Lacey burst into speech again.
“Plus I’m sick of being the freaking basket case all the time. Believe it or not, being the family screw up isn’t as much fun as it sounds.” Lacey’s voice was sharp with bitterness.
“What happened to you wasn’t your fault, Lacey,” Jenna said firmly.
“Whose fault was it, then? I was a grown, adult woman and I had no idea that my boyfriend was using me as a drug mule. Exactly how dumb and trusting does a person have to be to let that happen?”
For a moment, Jenna thought Lacey was going to cry, but the other woman simply shook her head and turned away. Jenna sighed.
She had good news – a sound strategy for Lacey’s retrial, and positive conversations with the DA to report – but now was clearly not the time to get into any of that.
Chapter Four
‡
A retrial. Lacey was going to get a retrial.
Sawyer hefted a baled, seven foot Fraser fir onto his shoulder, his head still ringing with his sister’s news.
“Are you sure you don’t need help with that?” Mrs. Cavanagh asked, peering at him from behind her thick glasses.
She was an old family friend – his mother’s bridesmaid, in fact, way back in the day – and it was a tradition that the Gallagher family gave her one of their best trees every year. He’d set the Fraser fir aside for her yesterday when she called to let him know she would be coming today.
“All good. You still driving the little blue truck?” he asked.
“You’ve got a good memory,” she said, trotting beside him as he headed for the parking lot.
Sawyer was pretty sure that most people in Marietta could identify Joy Cavanagh’s car by sight – rusty, dented, older than the dinosaurs, it was a one of a kind vehicle.
“It’s a man thing. We remember cars,” he said diplomatically.
Gravel crunched underfoot as they crossed the parking lot.
“You and Lacey got much planned for Christmas this year?” Mrs. Cavanagh asked.
“Not sure yet,” he said. For all he knew, Lacey had a day full of plans that he knew nothing about.
“You two are welcome to come join us if you want. We can always fit an extra couple of seats around the table.”
“Thanks, Mrs. C. I appreciate the offer, but Lacey’s not big on socializing at the moment.”
“The sooner she grabs the bull by the horns and gets past the gossip and talk the better,” Joy said.
They’d reached her truck, and Sawyer let the tree slide off his shoulder before hefting it again and angling it into the pickup bed. The activity gave him the perfect excuse to avoid responding to Mrs. C’s words. It was all very well for people to say stuff like “get past the gossip”, and another thing entirely to live through the experience of becoming the local pariah. When Lacey had first been arrested, he’d run the gauntlet of curious stares every time he went into town, and once she’d been convicted and locked up, his friends had skirted around mentions of Lacey as though she’d died.
He could only imagine how much worse it was for Lacey, and he understood why she’d been pouring all her free time into working on an old steam train in the backwoods instead of staring down all the people who’d judged her. He understood exactly – which was why he was so damned pissed with her for keeping him in the dark over the new trial. She was his kid sister and what had happened to her had happened to him, too. From the moment he’d heard her thin, shaky voice down the line four years ago, telling him that Dave’s cabin had been raided and that she’d been arrested, his life had changed.
He hated what had happened to her, the way she’d been shafted by Dave and let down by the system. He cared deeply about her happiness – and Lacey couldn’t even see fit to share her good news with him.
Mrs. Cavanagh had brought a coil of rope to strap the tree down, and the tightly woven nylon hissed through the pickup’s tie-down points as he tied the fir securely, concentrating fiercely on the small task in the hope that it would distract him from his thoughts.
“That doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere fast,” Mrs. Cavanagh said approvingly when he was done.
“Just give it a tug here when you get home,” he said, indicating the release knot.
“Perfect. Thank you, sweetheart.” She lifted her arms for a hug, and he bent down to embrace her small frame. Like his mum, she’d gotten spare with age.
“Have a great Christmas,” he said, stepping back.
“Remember what I said about dinner, all right?”
“I will, thanks.”
He moved to one side as she got in the truck, his gaze shifting to the barn where he knew Lacey was working, finally admitting to himself that he wasn’t simply pissed at his sister because she hadn’t confided in him – he was hurt. Butt-hurt, if he was being honest about it.
Vaguely he was aware of Mrs. C starting her truck, the low rumble of the pickup’s aged engine echoing around the lot. His gaze remained fixed on the barn. Part of him was tempted to go in there and have it out with Lacey, but he didn’t want to make a scene in front of Jenna. And maybe there wasn’t anything to make a scene about at the end of the day. Lacey had clearly made a decision about the way she wanted to handle things. Maybe he should just take his cues from her, and stop giving a shit about what was going on for her.
He gave a disgusted grunt at the sulkiness of his own thoughts. What he needed to do right now was go cut down a few trees or something else that would allow him to expend a bit of pent up, unwanted emotion.
He took a step forward, completely lost in his own thoughts. The next thing he knew, he was on his ass on the ground, Mrs. Cavanagh’s pickup belching exhaust into his face, the white-hot burn of pain arcing up his left leg.
It took him a few seconds to understand what had happened – he’d stepped into the path of Mrs. Cavanagh’s reversing truck.
What a genius.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pushed himself up on his elbows as Mrs. C appeared around the side of the pickup, her face paler than the snow banked around the lot.
“Sawyer. Oh, my goodness, are you okay? Are you hurt?” She dropped to her knees beside him, plucking at his jacket, patting his face.
“I’m okay, Mrs. Cavanagh,” he assured her, even though the pain in his leg was becoming more intense, radiating up his thigh and into his belly to curdle his stomach.
A couple of customers joined them, faces creased with concern as they gathered around him.
Awesome, now he was officially becoming a spectacle.
“What are you doing?” Mrs. C asked a he pushed himself up into a sitting position.
“Getting out of the way so you can go home,” he said.
The pain intensified as he shifted his injured leg and sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Sawyer.” The raw fear in Lacey’s voice would have been reassuring under other circumstances, but right now it was all he could do to keep his lunch down as she threw herself to her knees beside him. “Did you hit your head? Are you bleeding?”
Like Mrs. C, Lacey plucked at his jacket as though the puffy fabric was hiding some grievous wound.
“I’m fine. Help me get up,” he said, lifting an arm for her to grab onto.
“Are you kidding? We need to call an ambulance. Where does it hurt? What if you’ve injured your back?” Lacey said. Her hands were shaking as she ran them over his body. When she got to his bad leg, he hissed out a warning before she could touch it and she froze. “It’s your leg? How bad is it?”
“Since I don’t have my handy-dandy portable X-ray unit on me right now, I have no freaking idea,” he ground out.
More customers had gathered around. This was turning into a three-ring circus.
“Will you help me stand, please?” he asked.
“You need to stay still until the ambulance gets here.” Lacey pulled out her phone and started dialing.
Frustrated beyond belief, pain making his vision blurry, Sawyer snatched the phone from her hands and tossed it to one side. A woman dodged hastily out of its path as it sailed past, and it was only belatedly that he realized it was Jenna.
“Hey.” Lacey protested.
“Help me stand,” he repeated.
“Jesus, you are a stubborn bastard,” Lacey said.
“I’m so sorry, Sawyer. I was sure I’d checked my mirrors,” Mrs. C said.
“It completely my fault,” Sawyer told her. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”
Lacey leaned down and he gripped her outstretched hand. Using her body weight as counterbalance, she leaned back, taking his weight as he bore down with his uninjured leg. He did his damnedest not to jar his bad leg, but the simple act of changing positions sent fresh waves of pain ricocheting through him.
“You okay?”
He swallowed against a surge of nausea. “That way,” he said, jerking his chin toward the nearby steps to the cabin.
“Are you sure? You look like you’re going to pass out,” Lacey said.
Stars danced before his eyes as he took one step, then two. Joy hovered at his other side, wringing her hands together, asking over and over if she should call an ambulance. Blackness teased at the edges of his vision as he took a third step, and suddenly Joy was gone and a second slim, strong arm was slipping around his waist, helping Lacey support him.
“Take it easy,” Jenna said near his ear, her hair brushing his cheek as she supported his torso with her own, helping him take the final step.
Between the two of them, Lacey and Jenna helped him pivot and then sink onto the second bottom step, his bad leg out straight in front of him. He was panting by the time they were done, his shirt clammy with sweat.
“Can I borrow your phone, please?” Lacey asked Jenna over his head.
“Just give me a minute,” he said.
“Your leg is broken, Sawyer,” Lacey said.
“Here.” It was Mrs. Cavanagh handing Lacey her scratched but otherwise intact phone.
“Thank you, Mrs. C,” Lacey said.
“Half an hour. Half an hour to see if the pain settles down,” Sawyer said.
Lacey threw Jenna a my-brother-is-crazy look. “Do you like pain or something?”
“It might not be broken,” he said stubbornly.
He couldn’t afford to have a broken leg right now. The farm was in the middle of its busiest, most successful season ever, and, even now, there were customers milling around, wanting to buy trees. He didn’t want them going home empty-handed because he’d been stupid enough to walk into the path of a reversing truck.
“Why don’t I roll up your jeans and take a look?” Lacey offered.
The thought of his sister even breathing near his leg made him want to dry heave.
“Can I make a suggestion?” Jenna asked.
Sawyer glanced at her and was momentarily distracted from the throbbing pain by the way the sunlight made her hair glow like copper.
“We put him out of his misery?” Lacey suggested.
“I drive Sawyer into town or to wherever the hospital is, and you stay here and look after things. That’s what you’re worried about, right? The business?” Jenna asked him, her cool, green eyes very direct.
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you kidding? You just got hit by a car, Sawyer. Who gives a flying fig about the business?” Lacey said, frustration rich in her voice.
“I do,” he said. It had taken him years to build the farm to the point where they were this busy. He didn’t want to give anyone a reason to think twice about making the ten minute drive from town when he knew there were cut trees on offer at the supermarket and one of the gas stations.
“You’re insane,” Lacey said.
“I could drive you,” Mrs. C said, her face still pale with shock. “It would give me a chance to make it up to you.”
“You don’t have anything to make up,” Sawyer said. “And I’m thinking I might need to stretch my leg out along the backseat.”
“I think you’re an idiot,” Lacey said, throwing her hands in the air. “‘But if that’s what you want to do, we’ll do it.”
Under other circumstances, Sawyer might have allowed himself a small moment of triumph at his sister’s capitulation, but he’d already moved on to worrying about the next challenge – making it to Jenna’s Volvo without passing out from the pain.
Damn, but that was not going to be fun…
*
Jenna tightened her grip around Sawyer’s rib cage as they neared the rear door of her car. Lacey was on his left, Jenna on his right, both of them taking as much of his weight as possible as they made their slow way across the lot. She could feel how much he was trembling, how much this show of stoicism was costing him, and she privately marveled at the stubbornness of the man.
She was pretty sure she’d be screaming for pain relief and a doctor if she’d been hit by a car and broken her leg, but Sawyer was handling the whole situation with the same solid, calm acceptance he seemed to bring to everything.
The older woman who’d been driving the truck that hit Sawyer raced ahead of them to open the rear passenger door, and Jenna and Lacey performed the delicate dance required to turn Sawyer and help lower him butt-first onto the rear seat. He was deathly pale by the time he’d scooted himself backward along the seat, and he tipped his head back, his eyes closed as he fought some internal battle with himself.
Lacey muttered something under her breath before shutting the door and turning to Jenna.
“He looks terrible.”
“I’ll call you the moment we know anything, okay?” Jenna slipped behind the wheel and started the car. “I’ll be as careful as I can,” she said, glancing in the rear view mirror to check on Sawyer.
His head was still tilted back, his eyes still closed.
“Pretty sure that’s not going to make much difference,” he said.
Jenna reversed slowly, then turned into the driveway. The car rocked and wallowed as it hit a rut and she checked the mirror again. Sure enough, Sawyer was wincing, his face angled away from her to try to disguise his pain as much as possible.
“It’s okay, I know you’re in pain. You don’t have to play the tough guy for me,” she said.
“Who said I’m playing?” he said between gritted teeth.
Under other circumstances she might have laughed, but the poor guy was clearly in agony.
“Won’t be long,” she said, putting her foot down as she turned onto the highway leading into Marietta.
Once she hit town, Sawyer began giving her directions, and soon she was pulling up in front of the emergency entrance to the hospital.
“We don’t need emergency,” Sawyer said, waving for her to keep driving.
She rolled her eyes. The man was a danger to himself, he was so damned good at the stoic thing.
“Trust me, we do,” she said, climbing out the car as a nurse approached to see if she needed assistance.
A second uniformed person came forward to help, and soon there was nothing for her to do but stand aside as Sawyer was helped onto a gurney and wheeled away. She parked her car in the visitors parking area, then went in search of him.
The department was having a slow afternoon, and Sawyer was whisked off to X-ray almost immediately. It didn’t take them long to confirm he’d broken his shin bone.
“It’s a good break, if there can ever be such a thing,” the grey-haired doctor explained to Jenna. “It’s a clean break, and stable, which means it probably won’t need to be operated on. Basically, after his pain relief has kicked in, we’ll pop him in a splint and he’ll be ready to go home.”
