Chapter 5

5

EMMA

There’s a moment after I wake up from a really deep sleep when I wonder what day it is, where I am, or how long I’ve been asleep. Those questions all filter through my head as I take in the bright, airy room. Two large windows face a rolling green plain and a gray sky. The comforter is white and fluffy—so similar to the one I have. I start to sit up, my movements shaky, and I almost fall out of bed when I see him . A gorgeous man with short, dirty-blonde hair and thick, full arms tucked under his head as he sleeps folded over on the edge of my bed. My jerky movements must have woken him.

His body blocks the window as he stands. Is this the same man from last night? Shaking the thought, I blurt out, “What’re you doing here? Where am I, and who are you?” Each question causes a stabbing pain in my head. My hands instinctively reach up to press firmly into each temple; I wince as I feel the cut on the right side. My mind flashes back to the conversation from earlier and the butterfly bandages I applied while said giant watched.

The man steps back and puts his hands in the air, “Hey! Woah. You’re okay! I'm Hunter White.”

This is Hunter White.

The man who spoke to me on the phone and hired me for the clinic. His voice is soft and soothing in contrast to his hard body.

He continues, “We’ve spoken on the phone. I helped you home last night and stayed to make sure your concussion didn't kill you,” his tone hinting at the offense that I’d dismissed him.

I finally pull my eyes up to meet his, and a current shoots through the air between us. His eyes suck me in as I stare into their blue depths; these blue oceans have the power to drown me.

My eyes track the rigid edges of his chiseled cheekbones and sharp jawline, lingering a little longer on his full lips that seem to oppose the harsher features of his face. My gaze sweeps down his body. Every part of this man is powerful. Even his posture screams that he demands respect. That fact alone has all of my faculties on full alert, especially with the lingering ache in my wrist.

“Why did you stay here?”

He flinches back as if I’ve hurt him, but I continue, “I thought I told you last night I was fine.” I shift on the bed and look for an escape.

His tone gets softer. “I told you. I didn’t know if your concussion was serious. We don’t have a running clinic, and you're the doctor, so I thought it was better to play it safe and stay here with you.” His eyes drag up my body as if he’s taking inventory of everything that's hurt.

Huffing indignantly, I push out of bed, the momentum sends me tumbling.

Hunter is at my side, catching me before I fall.

Where did he come from? I thought he was on the other side of the room .

“Take it easy there, killer. You probably do have a concussion. I’m not sure moving quickly is in your best interest.”

My eyes lock onto his large hand wrapped around my elbow, and I instinctively pull my arm out of his grasp and my body drops back down on the bed. I mistakenly look back into his icy blues, his brows furrowing, and the apology I’m used to sharing slips out like an old habit.

“I’m sorry…” I shake my head. “You’re probably right. I wasn't thinking. I’m okay, though.” My attempt at dismissing him again goes unnoticed as he steps back and studies me.

“You don’t need to apologize for protecting yourself. I'm sorry I touched you.” His gaze feels intimate as it drags down my body. I follow the trail his eyes left and find the dried blood dripping down my shirt. In a slow montage of memories, everything that happened yesterday flashes behind my eyes as I sweep my hand over the tender flesh. The bruise is worse than I thought, and it scares me how easy it was for Cole to hurt me.

Hunter's voice is a deep rumble. “You said that happened last night in the accident.”

The statement is phrased as if he doesn't believe me, but it's the story I’m sticking with, even though you can clearly see the outline of fingers.

I keep my eyes down and nod. “Yeah, must’ve.”

Then I see his feet move, and my eyes jerk up to watch him. He makes a small, pained sound of anger as he steps back into what I assume is a bathroom because he comes back with a washcloth.

Delicately, he steps up to me, arm outstretched with the cloth. “Here. For the blood on your face.”

Cautiously, I take the cloth, and he quickly pulls back, giving me space—space I appreciate and space I didn't know I needed.

I work the warm cloth over my face, only to close my eyes to see Cole's face burned into my memory, the snarl from yesterday's encounter. After I left Anchorage, I decided to say goodbye and close that part of my life, blocking Cole’s number. Several hours into the drive, I got a call from an unknown number. A shiver runs through my body at the memory. It was Cole's cold voice playing through the speakers surrounding me in the car. “Emma, I know where you’re going…”

I ended the call immediately. As I looked up, a deer was standing directly in front of my car. I swerved off the road to avoid hitting it.

Hunter's voice breaks my memory. “What happened last night?”

I meet his gaze, shaking my head. The motion sends a pulse of pain through my body. “I saw a deer on the road, and it scared me. I jerked my wheel too hard and ended up in the bottom of a gully.”

His iceberg blue eyes pinch in wariness. He doesn’t believe me. I don’t have any reason to tell him about my past, and I don’t think it’s his business as long as it doesn't affect my work. I want to be in control of the narrative this time.

Taking the formal approach, I try again to send him on his way. “Mr. White, I’m fine. And I really would like to be left alone.” My tone is cold, but it lands like I want it to.

He takes another step back, clearing his throat. There’s a small flash of hurt. “Please, call me Hunter,” he says, shifting on his feet. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

I watch him leave with equal amounts of relief and disappointment. He seems…nice, like he wants to help. Then, that small voice adds in. So did Cole at first. Once I hear the door shut, I attempt to stand again, making my way gradually into the bathroom, wondering if I made the right choice in putting space between me and the notably attractive sheriff, Hunter White.

It took three washes to remove all the crusty blood from my hair. I’m pretty sure my curls are going to be horribly frizzy for the next few days because of all the shampoo I had to use.

My phone breaks my thoughts with its shrill ringing, making the dull throb in my head spark into a full blown headache. It's my Mom, and I suddenly remembered I was supposed to call her.

“Hey, Mama.”

“Oh, thank god! Emma Jean Fawnsbeck, why didn't I hear from you last night?”

“I'm sorry. I got so caught up in the move that I forgot to message you. I'm safe. I'm here. My new house is incredible.” I look around the large master bedroom, taking in the wood paneling and smattering of forest artwork.

The phone goes silent and I check to see she didn't hang up. Looking back up, I see a muffin and water on the bedside table that I must’ve missed earlier.

Around a small bite of the muffin, I say, “I really am sorry, Mom.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, honey. Don't do that again.”

“No, of course not. Service is spotty here, and I sincerely forgot to let you know. Love you, Mama.”

Her tone sounds appeased. We then discuss the drive and the new house. I tell her I already met Hunter and I’m doing okay, leaving out the accident on purpose. My Mom has always been a bit of a helicopter parent, and she would be on her way here tomorrow if I told her. When we end the call, I let out a deep breath and finish the muffin, heading out into the main living area.

It's a one bedroom open floor plan with beautiful woodwork. The kitchen is a rich, creamy color, making it feel cozy and homey. Soft whites are used throughout the house, accenting the deep colors of the wood beautifully.

Sinking into the soft beige couch, I let my eyes fall closed as a ruggedly attractive sheriff with piercing blue eyes meets me in my dreams.

I can’t tell if the knocking is my head or my door.

“Hello? Emma? Are you home?”

The soft words slowly bring me out of the deep sleep I was in. Rubbing my eyes in confusion–I take in the short stranger while she continues to talk and press into my house.

“Oh! There you are. You look so cozy! Hey, I’m Holly, Hunter's sister.”

Of course, the mountain man has a sister who looks like an Elle supermodel. Holly has beautiful white blonde hair that cascades down her shoulders in big waves. Her blue eyes are strikingly similar to Hunter’s. The most significant difference is that Holly has big dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks are sunken in slightly. Her skin is unnaturally pale. My eyes flick between the supermodel and the other woman who appears in the doorway. The other woman is the complete opposite. She has a Snow White look, with a warm blush spread across her round cheeks and a sweet, kind smile that you can’t help but reciprocate.

Holly continues, “We’re totally intruding, but I couldn't pass up meeting our newest resident. Hunter said you needed dinner, and we thought we'd help you unpack.” She lifts a box higher—one I recognize as my Nespresso machine.

I sit up on the couch. My eyes flick to the other woman in the doorway, “We?” I ask.

“Oh, right! Me and Charlie.” Holly’s head flicks to the side as another body pops into my doorway. Charlie gives me a small wave of hello.

I slowly stand from the couch, my head still throbbing from the position change. “How is my car here?” I walk towards a front window and squint through the curtains.

Charlie says, “Hunter had the mechanic drop it off once the tow truck pulled it from the ditch. They checked it over and said that driving should be fine.” She’s holding a box with my family picture albums.

I hum, “Hunter did all of this?” I point to the car and then to the two girls.

Holly adds, “Well, he just mentioned that you might be alone and need dinner. We kind of took the initiative to help with the boxes from your car and grab you a burger.”

“That's very kind of him and you, but?—”

Holly holds up a hand, cutting me off. “Emma, I get it. You’re hurt and in a new place, but my brother has the best intentions, as do we. He is the kindest man in this town…” she pauses again. Every part of my doctor instincts are telling me something is wrong.

“Holly, are you sick?”

Her eyes go wide. She shakes her head. “This isn’t about me. Let us help and welcome you to town in the best way we know how?”

Charlie steps up slightly. “Emma, we’re a really small town and just trying to be neighborly. At least let us help carry some of your boxes from your car.”

I gesture for them to come in.

Holly hands me a to-go box with a cheeseburger and fruit inside. “Why don't you eat, and we can bring in some of your stuff?”

My mouth waters from just the smell of the burger. I didn't realize how hungry I was, having only eaten that small muffin in almost twenty-four hours. Pulling my eyes from the burger, I give her a nod. “But if you get too tired, please stop.”

Holly’s smile is rigid as she gives me a nod and then walks into the kitchen with my Nespresso.

The first bite of the cheeseburger is divine. I continue eating while watching the two girls joke and giggle between each other. Each carries a few boxes in, placing them around my open living room. I struggle to engage in their conversations, a pang of sadness and jealousy piercing through me at the bond they share. I don’t have friends like that, and I never really did.

It only takes a handful of trips before they bring in the last few boxes. Pulling myself together, I ask, “Can you guys tell me about Solaris?”

Holly's smile is bright as she sits on the edge of my oversized couch, her breathing labored after carrying all the boxes. “Well, it’s a town small enough to have only one family run grocery store,” she says, leaning back into the couch and looking up to the ceiling, “a library that splits a building with the sheriff's office and one school that houses all grades, kindergarten to twelve.”

Charlie mentions the family run shops in town and that she works at the bakery on Main Street. She tells me how she started working there a few years ago and that baking became her passion.

Her monologue sounds exactly like how I feel about being a doctor and running a clinic. A flash of excitement swirls in my stomach, and I think, maybe this is where I need to be. Maybe I can try again, make new friends, and find a new home.

We talk about the weather and other simple conversation fillers that leave me feeling safe. Holly and Charlie only briefly ask about my accident, and I tell them the same story about a deer. I even managed to hide the nasty bruise that wraps around my wrist under the long sweater I slipped on after my bath.

It's late when they say their goodbyes, and I feel less wary of their motives. I walk them both to the door, and Holly initiates a hug. I’m awkward at first, angling my body away, but she works around my squirms, pulling me into her. I melt. It's been so long since I’ve had a hug. I breathe in the tears that threaten to fall from the small act of kindness. I just hope this is real and not some twisted game.