Love Lies Bleeding (11 page)

“It’s not a ‘he’; it’s a ‘she.’ Roxy. And I know she needs help,” he interrupted, studying Sam. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Sam squared her shoulders and glared at him. “We’re not talking about me—we’re talking about that dog. And if you don’t take better care of her, I’ll report you to the ASPCA.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder against the side of the door. “Go ahead.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t care if I turn you in for cruelty to animals? They’ll fine you and take your dogs away.”

“I know.” Straightening, he reached into his back pocket. “Here’s my card. You want to make sure you get my name right when you turn me in,” he said, and handed her the card.

In the shade of the porch, she squinted to read the words.

The blood rushed to her face again, but not in anger—in embarrassment.

The card read
Greg Clemons, Animal Behaviorist, Scott County Animal Rescue League.

“You—you,” she stuttered.

His mouth curved in a smile. “Yeah, I foster abused dogs—”

Sam turned away before he could say anything else, but he reached out and, touching her arm, stopped her.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was only yanking your chain a little. Truthfully, I admire your passion,” he said with laughter in his voice. “Would you like to meet Roxy?” He looked over at Anne and waved.

“No, no, thanks,” Sam said, jerking away from him. Putting her head down, she hurried across the porch. She heard Anne cry out to be careful, but in her haste, she missed the first step. With a squeak, she pitched forward, and thudded to the ground at the base of the steps.

Her right leg crumpled beneath her and both Anne and Greg rushed toward her. Rolling over on her bottom, she pulled up into a sitting position.

Crouching, Anne ran her hand gently down Sam’s ankle. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Sam replied.

Anne looked up at Greg. “Nothing feels broken, but it’s starting to swell.”

“I said, it’s okay,” Sam argued as Anne and Greg helped her stand. A small groan escaped as she tried to put weight on her ankle.

“Wait right here,” Greg said, holding up both hands and backing away. Turning, he ran to the house, leaving Sam leaning on Anne. A moment later, he returned, now wearing a T-shirt and carrying keys in his hand. He hurried up to Sam and scooped her up as if she weighed nothing.

“Wait—stop.” Hating this stranger’s closeness, Sam struggled against him. “Put me down. What are you doing?”

“Taking you to the emergency room,” he answered, and gripped her legs tighter. “You need an X-ray.”

Sam squirmed harder. “No! No hospitals!” she cried with a helpless look back at Anne.

Anne came up even with them and placed a hand on Greg’s arm. “Wait. I’m pretty sure it’s not broken. It’s probably just bruised. Why don’t you take her inside and I’ll give Dr. Miller a call? See what he has to say about bringing her in.”

With a shrug, Greg reversed his position and carried Sam inside his cabin. Striding over to the couch, he deposited her on it, propping up her legs.

“I’ll get an ice pack,” he said, turning away and heading for the small kitchen off the living room. Anne followed, dialing her cell as she went.

Alone, Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. How could she have been so stupid? Yelling at a complete stranger then taking a header off the porch. If her father and Jackson found out about this, they’d have a fit. Looking down at her legs, she was more concerned about her father and her fiancé’s reaction to her fall than she was her ankle.

Her attention shifted to the small living room. A large sound system dominated the wall to her left and, in the corner, sat a basket full of what appeared to be chew toys.
At least those dogs weren’t forced to spend their entire lives outside,
Sam thought, spying several dog hairs littering the couch. Plucking at one, she turned as Greg and Anne entered the room.

“Well?” she asked, her eyebrows lifting.

“Dr. Miller said to wrap your ankle and ice it,” Anne answered.

“No X-ray?”

“Not now. But he’ll want to see you if there’s much swelling or if it isn’t better by tomorrow.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. “It will be,” she said, swinging her legs off the couch. “I think you’re making a lot of fuss over nothing.”

She made a move to stand, but before she could, Greg swept her off her feet.

“Not again,” she cried, pushing against him.

“I’m driving you back to your cabin,” he stated flatly as he carried her toward the door.

“I can walk.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Anne said from behind them. “Dr. Miller wants you to stay off of that leg as much as possible.”

“But I can walk to the car,” Sam argued, squirming in Greg’s arms.

“You heard Anne,” Greg said, his tone short. “And, lady, if you don’t stop wiggling, I’m going to wind up dropping you.” He leaned his head closer to Sam. “Then your ankle won’t be the only thing that’s bruised.”

Chapter Nine

A
nne stomped into her house and threw her bag on the nearest chair. She’d had it. Samantha Moore was impossible. She’d overlooked the young woman’s contrary attitude while she used every ounce of experience she had to help her, and what does Sam do? Ignores her pleas for caution and falls off a porch, wrenching her right ankle. Anne tugged at her thick braid in frustration. Then she had the audacity not only to argue with Greg as he carried her in and out of the car, but to kick Anne out after she’d settled her in bed.

How in the hell did she think she could manage? Anne had half a mind to let her try. Call Lawrence Moore and tell him she quit. Working at a bar and handling drunks had to be easier than dealing with that woman. No, wait—the care facility over in Hankton. Sure—the salary wouldn’t be as high, and the cost of driving the eighty-mile round-trip would take out a chunk, but it would be better than putting up with Samantha Moore’s drama. She’d drive over there tomorrow and at least check it out.

She paced into the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator. No, she couldn’t do that. She’d never abandoned a patient before, but God, it was tempting. She’d go back to the cabin tonight, but keep the idea of resigning in mind. It wouldn’t hurt to ask around. Maybe she could find another patient. Hearing the front door slam, she turned to see Caleb stride into the kitchen. He took one look at his mother’s face and skidded to a halt.

“What’s wrong?”

Anne blew out a long breath. “Sam fell,” she said, shutting the door, “and—”

“Is she okay?” Caleb’s eyebrows shot up. “Did she fall during therapy?”

“She’ll be fine. It’s a minor injury and should be okay in a couple of days. And no, it happened at Greg’s . . . long story.”

“You know, Mom, people around the lake are talking about her.”

“Who?”

Caleb shrugged. “Esther Dunlap—”

Anne cut him off. “You haven’t been charging at Dunlap’s again, have you?”

“No. I paid cash,” he replied defensively. “But I ran into someone down there and they were asking me all about Miss Moore. They said they’d heard stuff about her from Mrs. Dunlap and Mr. Thorpe.”

Figures,
Anne thought with disgust. If Fritz mentioned his encounter with Sam to Esther, she would’ve passed his tale along to everyone she knew. And once the story hit the rumor mill, the degree of Sam’s antisocial behavior would’ve grown with each telling.

“Who wanted to know about her?”

Caleb’s gaze wandered around the room as he refused to meet her eyes. “Just someone.”

Anne knew immediately who’d been quizzing him. “Teddy Brighton.”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, returning his attention to her, “but I wasn’t hanging out with him. I just ran into him at Dunlap’s.”

She eyed him with skepticism, making him squirm.

“Honest. I only talked to him for a couple of minutes.”

“I hope that’s true, Caleb,” she replied sternly. “And I hope you didn’t tell him anything I’ve told you about Samantha Moore.”

“Nah, he seemed more curious about where she was living. He said he’d heard something about the woman who used to live there and his grandfather. He said—”

Blanche Jones and the first Theodore Brighton
. Anne held up her hand, stopping him. She’d heard those stories, too, but she didn’t intend to discuss old gossip with her teenage son. She had enough to think about dealing with the present; forget about something that happened decades ago.

Anne reached up and tousled Caleb’s hair. “I have to go back and I’ll probably be spending the night,” she finished, trying to keep the dread out of her voice. “You’ll be okay here alone?”

“Ah, Mom,” Caleb replied, dropping his chin. “I’m not a little kid.”

“I know, but I don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

His head lifted. “Like what?”

“Like inviting Teddy over.”

“Mom, forget about Teddy,” he argued. “You told me to stay away from him and I have.” He scuffed a tennis shoe across the floor. “Besides, Teddy’s too busy entertaining a bunch of his city friends.”

“Good,” she replied emphatically. “Let them get in trouble instead of you.”

“Mom—” He cut himself off and chewed on his lip. “Why didn’t you tell me you talked to Mr. Thorpe?”

Anne looked away, missing the sudden light in Caleb’s eye.

“He said you don’t want me to play in the Fourth of July concert,” he continued.

She waved away his words. “I didn’t think you’d have the time to practice, what with your job and getting ready for your senior year.”

“But—”

The sudden ringing of the phone interrupted him. Happy to end the conversation, Anne grabbed it on the second ring.

“Hello.”

“Ms. Weaver?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Joseph Marshall with Scott County Bank—”

Anne’s hand on the receiver tightened.

“This is in regard to your Visa payment,” he continued.

Glancing at Caleb, now perusing the contents of the refrigerator, she walked slowly into the living room as she kept her voice low. “I made a payment last week.”

“Yes, I see that,” the voice on the phone answered smoothly. “But were you aware that your minimum payment has increased?”

“No,” she answered as her heart picked up its rhythm. “How much?”

“It’s now one hundred and fifty dollars and—”

“But that’s doubled,” she cried.

“You were sent a notice,” he replied calmly.

“I can’t afford that.”

“You do have the choice of paying off the entire amount.”

“Sir, if I can’t afford a hundred and fifty, what makes you think that I can afford a couple of thousand?”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Weaver, but if you can’t catch up on the payments, we’ll have no choice but to turn the matter over to a collection agency.”

A wave of nausea hit her. If the bank turned her bill into collections, it would ruin her credit rating, and make it impossible to get any loans for Caleb’s college.

“Which will it be, Ms. Weaver?”

“Can’t you give me more time?”

“You have ten days,” he answered.

Anne hung up without replying. Walking over to the couch, she sank down and buried her face in her hands. What did she do now? So much for telling Lawrence Moore she quit. Maybe, just maybe, if she saved every dime, with her check from the Moores, she and Caleb could squeak through the summer and she could pay the extra money on her credit card. Then this fall, if she got her job back at the hospital, they’d be okay.

“Mom?”

Anne dropped her hands and turned to see Caleb standing in the doorway, holding a thick sandwich.

“Who was that on the phone?”

She couldn’t let him see her fear. Schooling her face, she pinned on a tight smile. “Telemarketer,” she lied. Slapping her thighs, she stood. “I’d better get going. I don’t want to leave Sam alone for too—”

The jangling of the phone interrupted her again. Great, probably the bank calling back with more threats. Angrily, she grabbed it. “Yes?”

“Anne? Lawrence Moore here.”

Anne rolled her eyes. The old saying “when it rains, it pours” sprang to her mind. She’d hoped to avoid discussing Sam’s little mishap with her father, but evidently it was too late for that. Sam probably called him to complain the instant Anne had left the cabin.

“Mr. Moore,” she said, motioning Caleb out of the room, “I’m so sorry about Samantha’s fall.” The words came rushing out. “It all happened so fast and—”

“What are you talking about?” he barked. “What fall?”

“Uh . . . well . . . she didn’t call you?”

“No,” he answered tersely. “I think you’d better explain yourself.”

“Samantha’s fine,” she hurried on. “Just a little sprain. She tripped going down some steps and twisted her right ankle. We have ice on it and it will be okay in a couple of days. I’m on my way back over there now.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

“I see,” he finally said. “And where were you when this happened?”

“I was there,” she answered defensively, “but not close enough to prevent the fall.”

“Need I remind you that you’re being paid not only to help my daughter with her therapy, but also to keep her
safe
?”

“No, of course not, Mr. Moore. I assure you I don’t take my responsibilities lightly, but really there wasn’t much I could do. She—”

“I’m afraid, Ms. Weaver,” he said, cutting her off, “that this incident will require us to seek someone else to care for Samantha.”

“You’re firing me?” Anne gasped.

“We can’t afford to have your inattentiveness impede Samantha’s recovery.”

“Mr. Moore,” she began.

“We’ll expect you to continue you duties through this weekend,” he interrupted, not letting her finish. “I’ll send you a check next week.”

The line went dead.

Anne stared at the silent phone in the palm of her hand. She thought back to her earlier plans to quit. Well, she didn’t have to worry about that decision anymore. Lawrence Moore had made it for her. What if she couldn’t find another summer job? She’d have to dip into her savings account to make it through until the hospital called her back this fall . . .
if
they called her back. And now there was that damned Visa bill. No matter how she looked at it, it meant less money for Caleb’s college. After all her years of careful planning, her dreams for his future were slipping away. Tears sprang to her eyes. It wasn’t fair. She’d worked so hard to give Caleb the chances that she’d thrown away when she’d been his age.