Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Tex didn’t care what Chelsea said. She needed stitches.

He led her outside toward his truck.

“You don’t have to do this,” Chelsea murmured. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m taking you to Urgent Care.”

“But you’re here to see Gilbert. If you insist on me going, I can drive myself.”

“Wrong,” Tex stated. “You shouldn’t drive yourself with a cut like that. You’re losing blood, and you could get lightheaded. It would be unsafe—for you and everyone else on the road.”

Chelsea opened her mouth as if to argue, but then she shut it again.

Tex helped her into his black Dodge Ram, closed the door for her, and then ran around to climb inside himself. He cranked the engine and waited a couple of seconds for the heat to start blasting through the vents.

As the evening deepened, the temperature had dropped into the twenties. It was downright chilly.

He tugged his coat off and offered it to her. When she started to refuse, he said, “At least place it around your legs to keep you warm. My truck isn’t the quickest to heat up, and I know you’re cold.”

She shivered but then stopped as if trying to force herself not to look cold. “But?—”

“No buts. Just keep it. Please. For my sake if not yours.”

She opened her mouth again but then shut it. Instead, she stared out the window and frowned when she saw the wood covering the front window of Gilbert’s house.

It had been quite the night.

After typing the name of the nearest urgent care clinic into his GPS, Tex pulled away from the curb. His mind drifted back in time.

“Do you still hate needles?” he asked her.

“You remember that?” She let out a self-conscious laugh.

“It’s hard to forget. You literally did anything you could to avoid them. You even told the doctor once that you’d take your chances with anemia rather than face a needle.”

“Some things you never grow out of.” She glanced at the bloody napkin around her finger and frowned again. “Are you sure butterfly bandages won’t work?”

“You need to get that cleaned out. The last thing you want is for infection to set in.”

She didn’t argue.

Silence hung between them for a few minutes.

Then Tex said, “I can’t stop thinking about that brick being thrown through Gilbert’s window. Now that you’ve had some time to think about it more, do you have any idea why someone would have thrown that brick into his house? I mean, you’re his neighbor. Maybe he’s said something to you . . .”

“No, I really don’t know.” Chelsea shrugged. “Nor do I know who it was intended for. What if it’s you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Do you have an enemy who might have followed you here? It sounds like you might encounter lots of dangerous people in your line of work.”

He shrugged, unable to refute the statement. “I definitely do. But I’ve got a pretty good sense for things, and no one followed me here. I would have noticed. Unfortunately, one of the hazards of my job is that I always have to be on guard.”

“Well, whatever’s going on, I hope the person behind this backs off. You know this area as well as I do. It’s usually pretty safe.”

“So nothing’s really changed since I left?” Tex stole a glance at her.

His question had deeper meaning. He wanted to know what had changed with Chelsea.

His impression was that Chelsea wasn’t married. Had she ever been married? She was certainly pretty enough and nice enough to be married. But he didn’t want to ask. The question seemed too personal.

“No, not much has changed.” Yet her voice sounded strained as she said the words. “Life has gone on.”

Why did he feel as if there was an underlying meaning to her words?

They pulled up to the urgent care and parked. A few minutes later, they were inside.

The place was surprisingly empty of patients. Gel stickers that spelled “Merry Christmas” had been stuck to the window, and soft holiday songs played overhead. The smell of rubbing alcohol mingled with Lysol and peppermint—an unusual combination.

The nurse called them back almost straightaway.

Tex thought about letting Chelsea go into the back by herself. But, without asking if it was okay, he decided to go with her instead.

And he was glad he did.

When they got into the small exam room, a familiar face waited for them there.

Patrick Day. Dr. Patrick Day.

He was no longer the gawky string bean he’d been in high school.

This new Patrick Day looked confident in his white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck and a Santa hat over his blond hair.

Tex remembered what Gilbert had said about the problems the doctor seemed to be having.

This might be the perfect opening to find out some of those answers.

“Patrick,” Chelsea practically stuttered as she paused in the doorway of the room. “I didn’t know you were working here.”

Truthfully, she’d been avoiding the man. If she’d known he was here, she would have never come.

“I’ve been moonlighting here.” He shrugged. “Trying to pay off some medical school bills. All those student loans aren’t cheap, you know.”

“I can imagine.” She shifted awkwardly.

Patrick’s gaze drifted from her to Tex, and recognition filled his eyes. “Wait—Tex Thrasher? Is that you?”

“Patrick. It’s been a long time.”

The two did the obligatory part handshake, part hug, part pat on the back.

“I’ll get back to you in a minute,” Patrick said to Tex before returning to Chelsea. “First, what brings you in?”

She held up her hand. “I cut myself on some glass. I think I need stitches.”

Patrick had asked her out several times. The first couple of times, she’d said yes. When they had gone out, their time together hadn’t been unpleasant.

But she also hadn’t felt a spark.

Her friends teased her all the time, saying she shouldn’t be holding out for a spark.

But how could she not? She didn’t want to settle.

Sure, she could probably have a happy life with someone she didn’t have strong chemistry with. But it wasn’t what she wanted for her future. People could call her foolish if they wanted. But she’d rather stay single than marry the wrong person.

Patrick’s gaze flickered from Tex to Chelsea again, and questions filled his eyes.

He’d probably assumed they were together.

His attention snapped back to her. “Have a seat on the exam table and let me take a look.”

She carefully climbed on the table and sat atop the crinkly white paper there.

Patrick took her arm by the wrist and leaned close as he examined her wound. “That’s a pretty deep cut. We’re going to have to clean that out, and I’m guessing it will take about five stitches. But I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

Something about the way he said, “I’ll take care of you,” with the emphasis on the I’ll made her uncomfortable.

Was he trying to show up Tex?

Then her thoughts shifted to his words. Five stitches? With needles?

Wooziness captured her at the thought of it.

She could be strong. The last thing she wanted to do was pass out in front of both Tex and Patrick.

As Patrick began pulling supplies from an organizer against the wall, Tex remained near the door with his arms crossed as if he were her personal bodyguard.

“So what brings you back here, Tex?” Patrick asked as he opened a package containing a sterile syringe. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Chelsea had wondered that herself. He’d never directly answered the question. There had to be more to the story, right?

“Gilbert asked me to come back for a visit,” Tex told him.

Patrick threw him a look with a raised eyebrow. “Gilbert did, did he? That’s interesting. I didn’t think he got attached to any of his foster kids.” A slight edge of bitterness crept into his voice.

Tex shrugged, unemotional. “Neither did I. When I first got the message, I thought he must be dying or something.”

“Is he?”

“I don’t think so,” Tex said.

“So why did he want you to come back?” Patrick paused long enough to observe Tex a moment.

“I’m still not 100 percent sure.” Tex shrugged again. “But I didn’t have any other plans for the holidays, so I thought I’d take a walk down memory lane.”

“Are you sure this is the memory lane you want to walk down?” Patrick cast him another look.

“Believe it or not, out of all my past experiences, living at Gilbert’s place isn’t nearly the worst.” He pressed his lips together and raised his shoulders as if he knew it might sound unbelievable.

Chelsea knew what he’d been through in his childhood. And if living at Gilbert’s had been decent, then she couldn’t imagine what terrible would be like.

Gilbert had no love or affection for any of his foster kids. He’d been a drill sergeant with them, punishing them for the smallest violations. None of them ever had time to relax. They were always working, oftentimes doing things to help Gilbert make more money.

When he’d decided he wanted to start a drop shipping business, he’d used his foster kids as free labor to make it happen.

Chelsea found the man to be despicable.

Patrick raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like you have some stories to tell.” He sucked up a saline solution into his syringe and then began to irrigate her wound, holding a plastic container below her hand to catch the liquid.

She flinched as her cut stung. If he hadn’t been holding her wrist, she would have probably jerked her hand away.

“I know it doesn’t feel great, but I’ve got to clean this out,” Patrick murmured.

“I know,” Chelsea said through gritted teeth.

Tex threw her a half-amused look.

Then he quickly sobered as if remembering they were no longer friends. All the memories they’d had together meant nothing anymore.

Chelsea had to remember that herself. It would be way too easy to step back into the friendship they’d once had. A friendship she’d missed deeply for so long.

Now, she needed to protect herself.

Tex was only in town for a few days. Then he’d be gone again, working all over the country protecting the rich, the famous, and the powerful. At least that was her perception of his job.

But she saw his war-torn eyes. Not only war-torn from battles he’d fought in the military. But war-torn from things he’d experienced that had broken his soul. As a fixer, Chelsea wanted more than anything to help heal his wounds.

But she couldn’t. It was too personal. She had to stay in her lane.

“And the two of you . . . ?” Patrick’s question hung in the air.

Chelsea almost wanted to make a smart remark. But she didn’t.

“We happened to run into each other at Gilbert’s,” Chelsea explained. “Then Gilbert’s window broke and?—”

“His window broke?” Patrick paused.

“Someone threw a brick through it,” Tex said.

Patrick’s face turned a little paler. “Wow. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He glanced at her before he reached for the needle he’d set aside.

Then he changed the subject. “I’m going to give you a shot to numb this, so the stitches won’t hurt as much, okay?”

Chelsea’s throat tightened, but she nodded. Patrick probably didn’t expect someone Chelsea’s age to be afraid of needles. She’d like to keep it that way. Her fear was downright embarrassing.

A moment later, Patrick held the needle in his hand and tapped the barrel to get the air bubbles out. Then he plunged it into her skin near the cut.

As he did, everything went black around her.