Shirlee McCoy - Navy SEAL Rescuer

“Where are we headed?”

“Sacred Heart.”

“I know it. Downtown Spokane, right?”

“That’s right.” The hospital was twenty minutes away, a long time to sit in a truck with a man she didn’t know. She fidgeted in her seat, wishing she’d taken Logan up on his offer to have a police officer drive her to the hospital. So what if people saw her in a police cruiser and talked? They were already talking.

“Has your grandmother been ill for long?”

“I don’t know.” She felt his sideways glance, but didn’t offer more information.

“It must be tough on both of you.”

“It is.” Especially because Catherine felt responsible. If she hadn’t gone to prison, if she’d been around, maybe she would have noticed Eileen’s decline, forced her to go to the doctor sooner, given her a chance of surviving the cancer that was eating her liver.

“She’s pretty frail, your grandmother?” he asked casually, but Catherine doubted there was anything casual about Darius.

“Yes. Why?”

“You two live at the end of a dirt road, Catherine. The doors on your house are flimsy. The windows are single pane. It’s not safe.”

“It always has been before.”

“It wasn’t safe this morning.”

He had a point. With Eileen’s health failing and the juvenile pranks escalating, maybe security was something Catherine needed to look into.

“I’ll have a security company come out and install a system.”

“I can help you with that. I work for one of the largest security contractors in the country.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Tell you what. I’ll have someone go out and assess things. He’ll have an estimate for you when we get back. You don’t have to commit to anything.”

“Thanks, but—”

“Is there some reason why you don’t want my help?”

“I don’t want anyone’s help. My grandmother and I have been doing fine on our own for a long time, and we’re going to keep doing fine,” she said. It was the truth, but there was a deeper truth. She didn’t want help from a guy who looked tough as nails but who had gentleness in his eyes and his voice.

“We all need help sometimes.”

“I know, but I want to make sure that—” She couldn’t say what she was thinking. That she didn’t want help from someone like him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Good, because me making a phone call isn’t a big deal. It’s just a favor to a neighbor, okay?”

“Okay.” What else could she say? She needed a security system. Darius could get her one quickly. If the price was right, she couldn’t say no.

She had a feeling that she should, though, because she had a feeling that Darius would complicate her life if she let him.

“Great.” He patted her knee, the casual touch reminding her of the sweetness of being with someone who was comfortable and comforting and wonderfully familiar.

She’d had that a long time ago.

She’d lost it.

Her heart had finally healed, and she wasn’t in the market to have it broken again.

She shifted away from Darius, staring out the side window, watching the landscape speed by as he made his phone call.

THREE

Somehow, in the four hours since Catherine had dropped her grandmother off at the hospital, Eileen had faded, her bright orange hair muted, her skin sallow and yellowed. Head back against the waiting-room chair, eyes closed, mouth slack, she looked almost skeletal.

Catherine hurried across the room, touching her grandmother’s cool dry wrist, relieved to feel blood pulsing beneath the skin. “Eileen?”

“’Bout time you showed up.” Eileen’s eyes flew open, her sharp green gaze unchanged by her illness, her eyebrows and lashes sparse from chemotherapy. Looking into her face made Catherine sick with grief and fear. She didn’t let it show.

“I’m ten minutes early.”

“Then, why have I been waiting for a quarter of an hour?”

“You must have finished early.”

“Can’t see how that could have happened. I get the same amount of treatment every time. Unless they shorted me some this go-round. Maybe I need to track the nurse down and ask.”

“You know they wouldn’t do that,” Catherine said wearily.

“I suppose that I do, but chemo always makes me grumpy and waiting makes me grumpier. Let’s get out of here.” Eileen put a hand on both arms of the chair and pushed herself to standing. Upright, she looked even frailer, faded jeans hanging from narrow hips, her clavicle protruding from a sagging T-shirt. She started walking toward the exit, wobbling a little with every step, but Catherine didn’t bother to offer assistance. Eileen wouldn’t accept it.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Eileen,” she said, resisting the urge to put a hand on Eileen’s elbow and hold her steady.

“Yeah? So, spit it out.”

“I had some trouble with the car. I had to ask a neighbor for a ride.” She braced herself, knowing exactly what Eileen’s reaction would be.

“We don’t have a neighbor.”

“Sure we do. He bought the Morris property, remember?”

“Yeah. I remember, but I’ve never seen him, so I was wondering if he actually lived there. Is he cute?”

“Eileen, you are so predictable.”

“Well? Is he?”

“No.” He wasn’t cute. He was drop-dead gorgeous.

“Then why are your cheeks pink? And...what’s this?” Eileen touched the bruise on Catherine’s jaw, her eyes narrowing.

“We can talk about it at home. Darius is waiting at his truck, and I’m sure he has better things to do with his day than sit in a hospital parking lot.”

“I may be sick, but I’m not senile. You’re avoiding my question.”

“Just putting off the answer for a while.”

“Why?”

Because I don’t want you to worry.

Because I’m afraid stress will accelerate the course of your disease.

“Because this isn’t the place to discuss it. Half the people here know me, and I don’t want them going to the press.”

“They’re idiots, and all the press hounds are idiots, too.” Eileen scowled, shooting a hard glare at the guy who held the door open for them. A total stranger, but Eileen wasn’t picky about who she blamed for Catherine’s troubles.

The press.

The community.

The police.

The only people she didn’t blame were her church friends.

Blazing sun reflected off black asphalt as Catherine helped Eileen down the curb and into the parking lot. Darius stood a few yards away, leaning against his truck, a phone pressed to his ear. He smiled as they approached, shoving the phone into his pocket and offering Eileen his hand.

“You must be Eileen. I’m Darius Osborne.”

“Nice to meet you, Darius Osborne. I hear you gave my granddaughter some help this afternoon. Thank you for that.” Eileen clasped his hand and smiled sweetly.

Very un-Eileen like, but, then, Eileen had been on a matchmaking mission since Catherine’s release from prison.

“I was happy to help, Miz Eileen.” Darius opened the truck door, but Eileen held back.

“Doesn’t look like this truck has a backseat.”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t.”

“Then, Catherine can get in first. I’ll get carsick if I don’t have a window seat.”

“Since when do you get carsick?” Catherine asked.

“Since I started getting chemo. Now, how about we stop discussing it and get out of here. I’m getting tired and feeling sick.” She knew how to get her way. Catherine would give her that.

“Fine.” Catherine climbed into the truck, ignoring a fancy sports car that slowly rolled by. Gawkers. She dealt with them every time she came to town.

“Give me a hand, will you? I’m not as spry as I used to be.” Eileen reached out, and Catherine clasped her hand as the sports car U-turned and headed back toward them.