She took the shirt that had been army issued years ago. As if she didn’t notice he was in the room, she stripped off her bloody shirt and pulled on his. It was so big it hung halfway to her knees.
Ketch closed his eyes, trying to get the picture of her small breasts covered in only blue lace out of his head. She was so small. Almost more girl than woman.
“No need to see me out. I know the way back to the bar.” She lifted a small backpack. “You don’t have a car, so we’d have to walk anyway. No sense both of us getting wet.”
Tuesday almost smiled as she watched him dress. “In case you forgot, you told me you left your pickup at the library. Claimed your truck was smarter than you last night.”
“Right.” He wasn’t just an idiot; he’d been a drunken idiot.
She looked so young in her jeans and his T-shirt that she’d knotted just above her waist. “How did you manage to get me up the stairs, Tuesday?”
“It wasn’t easy. You leaned over the railing a few times and kept mentioning how you didn’t want to think about someone named Crystal.” She shrugged. “I’m guessing she is your ex.”
“Correct.” Anger washed over his mind, riding a headache. “My fiancée sent me a letter. Damn, that was cold.” He scratched his hair, then yelped in pain. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know. You told me several times last night in your sleep.” She turned. “So long, Ketch. Have a good life.”
“Wait. I can borrow one of the work trucks downstairs. I’d really like to drive you home. No one will be working today, so the trucks are just sitting there. We could stop for coffee. Or maybe lunch.”
She studied him for a long moment. “All right. I don’t care if you want to thank me or you still don’t want to be alone. But I am starving. All you have in your fridge is water.” She frowned at him. “This is not a date or anything, but if I stand around here much longer you’ve got to feed me.”
“Totally. What would you like to eat?”
“Food. I’ve already eaten the six crackers you had.”
Chapter 6
Amelia
Amelia Remington buttoned her gray raincoat as she rushed out of her office and through the silent canyons of books in the college library. The weak stormy-day sunshine lit her path toward the glass front door.
She’d only meant to pick up yesterday’s notes from the library board meeting, but she’d stayed to check the mail that had been dumped on her desk and open several boxes that arrived.
At thirty-six she’d learned to hate loose ends or clutter on her desk, but today she’d remained too long. Now it was late afternoon and raining hard.
The schedule for next month’s student workers hadn’t been posted yet, so that would have to be her first job Monday. It might be spring break, but she’d insisted the library remain open for those who wanted to study. Clifton College was small, but its library was grand and linked in to the top research libraries in the country.
“Note to self.” Amelia’s soft voice echoed down the eight-feet-high stacks. “Re-shelf the rare-book room Monday. Begin the list of books to order before fall. Order three new study desks.”
Rain pelted the glass doors as if demanding she stay inside. Watching the storm dropped her spirits.
Her usual Saturday night of relaxing would be cut short. Routine was important. A balanced life was essential. “Everything in its place,” she whispered, remembering when she’d been a child and all was always in its place or there was hell to pay.
But today, the rain had shattered her plans. Every Saturday afternoon she drove over to Honey Creek to shop the market’s organic-foods section. Then she’d put on her one pair of jeans, make herself a salad, and work on next week’s calendar while watching the news.
Today, since she’d worked late, she might go a bit wild and buy a ready-made salad and a whole-grain muffin, then eat at the roadside park between Honey Creek and Clifton Bend. If it was too cold at the covered picnic table, she could eat in her little car. After all, spring was her favorite season in the valley and the damp air would smell wonderful if the rain slowed.
Twenty minutes of being outside, watching the stars come out, might be the perfect ending to her day if it would just stop raining. Her mother had always complained that she was high-strung, but Amelia never exactly understood what her mother had meant or how to fix the problem.
She wondered what it would feel like to have one moment in her life when she didn’t follow a routine.
Her first memory was learning her numbers by her father’s watch. “Time is important,” he used to say. “Control your time and you control your world.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him, but she’d had the saying made into a plaque that hung beneath her office clock.
Amelia braced herself for a run to her car. She couldn’t wait any longer. She had groceries to buy and Rambo to attend to.
Once outside, she locked up. With her arms full, she stepped off the curb on her way to the faculty parking lot. Without warning, rain suddenly rode the wind, splashing against her face, washing away her plans and spotting her glasses.
The roar of a motorcycle dueled with thunder. Glancing up, she glimpsed the last bit of sunshine fighting through storm clouds to the west. I’d better hurry, she thought. Rambo hated thunder. He’d be panicked, alone in the house.
One blink later, something slammed into her arm, whirling her around as if she were nothing more than a human turnstile in the middle of the road.
Two seconds ticked by before she hit the pavement so hard her head bounced off it.
Three seconds until the bike scraped the ground in front of her like a huge metal bird diving to earth. Steel slid across the rough asphalt, rattling and screeching as if in pain.
Then, one breath later, almost silently, a man’s body landed twisted and boneless like a rag doll five feet from her.
Stillness blanketed them, as if all time had frozen.
She closed her eyes and stopped counting. Her world began to fade, leaving only a black canvas.
As if from miles away, someone screamed and she heard the squeal of car brakes.
A high-pitched cry for help drifted through the muddy water Amelia’s mind seemed to be floating in, but she paid no attention. Neither did the man lying a few feet away. His hand was stretched toward her as if he were reaching for her.
She moved slightly, reaching over the rough ground until the tips of her fingers rested over his bloody hand.
With the few brain cells that were still working, it occurred to her that they’d almost met amid the sounds of cars braking, people shouting, and an ambulance’s scream growing louder.
She bit back the pain as she held his hand. She might not know his name, but she shared his pain.
* * *
“Miss Remington, can you open your eyes?”
A worried woman’s voice was pulling her from a deep sleep. This person was demanding, but Amelia didn’t respond.
An impatient male tone came next. “Miss Remington, can you hear me? I’m Dr. Hudson. You’ve been in an accident. Can you hear me?”
Amelia tried to ignore the question and go back to floating. Only now, more voices were mumbling in the mud in her mind. Too many voices to count. Too many to disregard.