Love Inspired March 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: North Country Family\Small-Town Midwife\Protecting the Widow's Heart (57 page)

“I made contact with my brother. He knows the area. He'll get help and bring them here.”

The man's head dropped back against the headrest, eyes drifting closed. Whatever he'd been rummaging for was forgotten. He was still as pale as toothpaste. “Good.”

“It could take a while. We're deep in the woods.”

He rolled his head toward her. Beneath the dome light, his eyes were green like hers, though darker and more intense. The knowledge gave Cassie a funny feeling, as if they were connected somehow. “How far to Whisper Falls?”

Talking seemed to take more effort than it should.

“The town or the waterfall?”

“What?”

He was either addled or a total stranger to the area. “Whisper Falls is both a waterfall and a small town up here in the Ozarks. It's a long story but basically the town council decided to rename the town for the waterfall to attract tourists.”

“And other things,” he murmured, a statement which made her wonder all over again about his mental acuity.

“The falls is north of town, not far from where I live. The town itself is another six miles east. If you're headed to town, you missed the turn.” Which made her wonder—why would a stranger be driving into Whisper Falls at this hour of the night?

Though the heater pumped out a warm hiss, it wasn't enough to penetrate the wet chill that had settled over her skin. Cassie shivered.

“You're cold.”

“I'll live.” She hugged herself, rubbing her hands up and down on her goose-bumped arms. She had a sudden memory of accident victims needing a blanket to keep from going into shock. Or something like that. There was no blanket available, but she had a suitcase full of clothes in the car. She could cover him with a sweater or two. “Are you warm enough?”

He didn't answer. He'd closed his eyes again and gotten quiet. Cassie fretted. Had his pallor increased? Was he asleep or unconscious? Remembering all the movies in which sleep was bad for a head injury, Cassie thought she should keep him talking. If there was one thing other than haircuts Cassie was good at, it was talking. “How's the leg?”

His eyelids fluttered but he didn't move otherwise. “Numb. Stuck. Frustrating.”

“That's an understatement.” She'd always been a talker, but years as a hairdresser had honed the skill. As her brother, Austin, often said, she could talk to a fence post. He should know. She talked to him, a man who'd rather have a stick in the eye as to carry on a conversation. “Do you hurt anywhere? Any other injuries you can determine?”

“A little headache.”

“Little? Or one of those headaches where a burly construction worker is slamming your brains with a hammer?”

“Yeah. Rattled my brains.” He drew in a shuddering breath, wincing at the effort. Something else hurt whether he acknowledged it or not. “Careless. I'm a better driver than that.”

Now they were getting somewhere. An entire coherent thought.

Encouraged, Cassie pushed on. “Male pride. You sound like my brother when a horse throws him.”

One corner of Heath's mouth moved the slightest bit as if he wanted to engage but didn't quite have the energy. “Cowboy?”

“Austin's a rancher. His place is a few more miles up this road and then back down a gravel road another mile and a half. Or did I tell you that already?”

“Boonies.”

The comment was both apt and revealing. “Where are you from, Heath? Are you a city boy?”

He went silent again though Cassie was pretty sure he was conscious. It was as if he had to think about his answers. Either he'd had his memory knocked sideways or he was avoiding the question, something that made no sense. The headache must be taking a toll on his thought processes.

Finally, as though his mouth was parched, he moistened his lips again and muttered, “Houston.”

“Texas?”

He managed a wry glance, one eyebrow arched the tiniest bit. “Is there any other?”

Good. He was sounding better. Texans were a proud lot.

“Surprised, because I'm from Texas, too. Austin and I moved here from outside of Dallas. We've been here a long time, but Mom and Dad still live there. That's where I've been this week. A friend got married and I was in the wedding.” She smiled a little at the memory of her old friend so much in love. She'd suffered a bite of the green-eyed monster, too, normal she supposed even though she never expected to fall in love again. “I did some shopping, ate Mama's cooking. Gained weight. Fun times.”

That brought about as much response as kissing a mirror. She glanced at the clock on the dash, fretting again. Where was Austin? He should have been here by now. She was growing weary of trying to carry on a one-sided conversation with a disturbingly attractive, head-injured man during a pretty scary thunderstorm. But keeping him alert, or at least awake, was imperative. Wasn't it?

She should have paid more attention in first aid classes.

“I do hair,” she said. Okay, that was lame, but what was she supposed to talk about to a total stranger who didn't give her much to work with? “I'm good at it, too.”

Not that you could tell right now, with her straight black layers plastered flat against her head and dripping all over his leather interior.

“'Scuse me?” His eyelids lifted to half-staff. He had noticeably long lashes, thick and spiky, that shadowed his cheekbones. Thick eyebrows slashed above his eyes. No wax. She would know. She did plenty of wax jobs, even on men, though some of them swore her to secrecy.

“I'm a hairstylist. I do nails, too. My partner, Louise, and I run the Tress and Tan Salon in Whisper Falls.” She wiggled her fingers at him. Her nails were acrylic, a tidy length but decorated with tiny tuxedoes in honor of the wedding. “Need a mani-pedi?”

His face was still too pale, but he managed a faint smile. More of a grimace, really, but an attempt to stay awake. “If I have any toes left.”

Ouch. “My brother should be here soon. Don't worry. We'll get you out of here and that pedicure will be on the house. All ten toes.”

“Optimist.” The word had weakened, tapering off at the end so that it sounded more like ‘optimisss.' Not good.
Come on, Austin.

“Do you always drive off into strange places during raging thunderstorms? And why Whisper Falls? Visiting relatives?” When he didn't answer, she touched his arm. “Come on, Heath, stay awake.”

“Late start.” He was trying. She'd give him that much. “GPS...not too dependable.”

“You got lost. Figures. Anyone can get lost out here.” And he probably had been too proud and stubborn to stop and ask directions. Darrell had been like that, confident the location was right around the corner. “Mountains and trees are not impressed by modern technology.”

He closed his eyes again, worrying Cassie. The car engine was still engaged, and a quick glance at the dash indicated plenty of gas. At least he'd had the presence of mind to fill up sometime in the recent past. They were warm and secure, the thunderstorm subsiding somewhat as it moved toward the east, though the rumbles continued and lightning flickered.

“Thunderstorms here are pretty spectacular. The noise echoes for miles.” His cheek twitched but he didn't answer. Cassie reached for his pulse. “Are you still with me?”

“Yeah.” The word was barely a whisper.

Was he bleeding internally? Going into shock? Cassie's mind raced, but all she could come up with were scenes from
General Hospital
and crazy words like
subdural hematoma.
Whatever that was.

The car grew silent. Cassie thought she should be doing something proactive but didn't know what. So she sat beside the injured man and chatted away about Whisper Falls and every single head of hair she'd ever groomed, praying that Austin and an emergency crew would get here soon. The man would know more about Whisper Falls than she did—if he could remember.

“Heath?” she said, shaking his shoulder.

His eyes fluttered up. Did they look more glazed now than before?

“You're pretty,” he mumbled. “Got a boyfriend?”

Yes, he was delusional. Delirious. Poor man.

“No. My husband died.”

“Sorry.”

Not wanting to discuss Darrell's death, she shifted the topic to him. “What about you? Any significant other I should call? Girlfriend? Wife?”

“No more.”

Okay, so he was either divorced or had recently broken it off with a girlfriend or worse, like her, his spouse had died. A curl of empathy circled through her. Being alone hurt. No matter how she'd tried to fill her life with activities, she missed the closeness of being a couple. She missed Darrell. In fact, she'd been missing him the day she'd climbed Whisper Falls. And guess what? Her prayer hadn't been answered. She was still laughing at herself over that silly episode.

“Who are you visiting in Whisper Falls?”

“Police chief.”

“JoEtta Farnsworth?”

“Know her?”

His words were definitely slurring.

“Everyone in Whisper Falls knows Chief Farnsworth. Tough, fair and...eccentric to say the least. Are you related?”

The chief had kids somewhere but Cassie couldn't recall whether they were male or female or where they lived. One thing for certain, they didn't come around Whisper Falls too often. Heath's last name was different but that didn't mean much these days, and if Heath was the chief's son, he was a jerk of the first order for never coming to see his mother. JoEtta was gruff and rough but a good person.

Whatever the connection, Heath didn't answer. The car went silent again except for the endless drip of rain from the overhanging trees.

“Heath?”

He didn't move.

She touched him. “Heath.”

He didn't respond.

“Come on, pal, stay with me. I don't like it when you take naps. It's not fair. You can't nap if I can't.”

Heart in her throat, she grabbed his wrist, felt for a pulse. A thready beat pulsated against her fingertips.

“Heath, wake up. Talk to me.”

He didn't.

Help needed to get here and it needed to get here now.

Copyright © 2014 by Linda Goodnight

ISBN-13: 9781460327975

PROTECTING THE WIDOW'S HEART

Copyright © 2014 by Lorraine Beatty

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been
granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of
this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any
information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether
electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented,
without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises
Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and
any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments,
events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by
arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated
with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark
Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

www.Harlequin.com