Jill Weatherholt - Second Chance Romance

Standing next to the passenger window, he took a swing, and the glass exploded. With ease, he reached inside, popped the lock and flung open the door.

“You’ll be fine.” Please, Lord, let her be okay. “I’m going to unbuckle your seat belt and lift you out,” he told her, though she was still out cold.

The seat belt was stubborn. His knuckles throbbed from pounding on the window. “Hold on. I can’t get my hands on the release. One second and I’ll have you out.” Finally free, Jackson closed his eyes for an instant and tore off his bomber jacket.

“This will keep you warm and toasty.” He covered her with his leather jacket. Despite her slender frame, maneuvering her from behind the steering wheel wasn’t an easy task. His boots slid in the mud, and his knee rammed against the side of the Volvo. Rain pelted his face, stinging like sleet. He shivered when he glanced at the sky. It was dark as ink. Please, Lord, help me get her free. With precise movements he’d learned at the training academy and an answered prayer, finally she was in his arms.

She was featherlight. He carried her to the truck and laid her in the backseat as though she were made of antique china. “Let’s make sure you’re nice and comfortable,” he said, with hopes that his voice would somehow gradually bring her out of her unconscious state.

He scanned her face and pushed away a strand of blood-soaked hair. There were serious cuts on her cheek and forehead.

He dashed to the car to get her purse. Then he jerked open the passenger side door and spied a piece of paper on the floor. Drops of rain trickled down his hands when he picked it up. The ink had smeared, but it was still legible, and he could see it was directions to Phoebe Austin’s farm. He snatched the purse and bolted to his truck. He’d call Phoebe once he arrived at the hospital.

Inside the truck, he jerked the seat belt over his shoulder, turned and slid his phone from his shirt pocket. “Hold on. I’m going to get you to the hospital as fast as I can, but first I have to call to tell them we’re on our way.” Never one for high-tech gadgets, he opened his old flip phone. With the hospital on speed dial, he punched number nine. He tapped his foot while he waited for an answer.

After three rings, he heard a familiar voice. “Sweet Gum Memorial. This is Sara.”

He gulped in a deep breath. “Sara...hi. I’m glad you’re working. It’s Jackson.” He often had to dodge her advances, but she was a good nurse. He trusted her skills.

After giving her details of the accident, and their estimated time of arrival, he hit End and tossed his phone on the passenger seat. He gripped the steering wheel and closed his eyes. Lord, please watch over this woman. Guide us as we travel in these dangerous conditions.

Jackson started up the car, then jammed his foot on the accelerator and turned on the windshield wipers. The windows fogged. He rubbed his hand in large circles along the front windshield. He’d meant to get the defroster checked. There was never enough time.

“Are you okay back there?” He knew she wouldn’t answer, but maybe she could hear his words. “So, you were on your way to Phoebe’s house? She’s quite a character, isn’t she? We own a business together, The Coffee Bean. She runs the place. I’m just a backup, if she needs help. Did she tell you?” He blew out a breath. Lord, please, let her answer me.

The ride seemed endless. The pounding rain knocked the red maple leaves from the trees, splattering onto his windshield and littering the winding two-lane road. Deer grazed in a field, oblivious to the deluge. He eased his foot off the accelerator when his truck hydroplaned for a second time. “No sense in having another accident.” Up ahead a tree toppled over, thankfully not onto the road. He bit his lip. If only she would answer.

At last, through the foggy window, he spied the red glow of the emergency-room entrance. Thank You, Lord, for getting us here safe. Within seconds, Steve, a tall and lanky orderly, rushed toward his truck, pushing a gurney.

Jackson’s chest expanded. He unbuckled his seat belt and shot from the truck. “Hey, Steve. How’s it going?”

“Busy. This storm is creating lots of problems,” Steve said while he and Jackson removed the victim out of the truck and onto the gurney. “Has she been unconscious since you found her?”

Jackson wiped his hands down the front of his jeans. The rain tapered to a light drizzle. “Yes, she was out cold when I got inside her car.”

“Dr. Roberts is on duty,” Steve noted as he covered her with a blanket and pushed the rolling bed toward the hospital.

“That’s good.” Jackson turned and climbed into his truck. “I’m going to park. I’ll be right in.”

Inside the ER, Jackson approached Nurse Sara. With a clipboard in hand, she scribbled something with a red pen. She stopped and looked up. “Hi, Jackson. I’m glad you made it safe. Steve took the victim back to see the doctor.” She winked and flashed an overly whitened smile. “Did you find out her name?”

He handed her the purse he’d retrieved from the scene of the accident. “I don’t feel comfortable going through a woman’s things. You go ahead and check out her driver’s license.”

She took the bag and dumped its contents onto the counter. “Here it is. Her name is Melanie Harper.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know of any Harper in the area, do you?”

“I can’t think of any.”

Sara made it her business to know everyone’s business. If she said there weren’t any Harpers in these parts, there weren’t.

“According to the license, she has a Washington, DC, address.” Sara tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You said you found directions to Phoebe’s house inside her car. That must be where she was going.” She scooped the contents back into the purse.

He reached for his phone. “I’m going to step outside and call Phoebe. If Dr. Roberts comes out, tell him I’ll be right back.” He headed toward the back entrance and prayed Phoebe was either at The Coffee Bean or at home. Just like him, she wasn’t a fan of tech gadgets. She didn’t even own a cell phone, which made it difficult to reach her sometimes.

Outside, the storm had passed, and a glimpse of the sun slipped between the drifting clouds. Autumn in the valley was his favorite time of the year. He hit the number two on his phone and took a seat on the only dry bench in the courtyard. It was under a roof, but the warmth of the sun tapped his face. He glanced at his watch and saw it was 12:30 p.m. Since The Bean’s first day, his mother and Phoebe had made the decision to open only for breakfast and lunch. He hoped the afternoon crowd was winding down so Phoebe would pick up.

“The Coffee Bean. This is Phoebe.”

Phoebe’s voice always brought a smile to his face. After his parents’ deaths, she’d been like a mother to him and a grandmother to his daughter, Rebecca. His mother and Phoebe had grown up together and had opened The Coffee Bean as co-owners. When his mother had died only a year after his father, she’d left her ownership to Jackson. Over the years, he remained a silent partner, since Phoebe wanted to run the show on her own.

“Phoebe, it’s Jackson.”

“Well, hello there, Mr. Daughtry.”

No matter her circumstances, Phoebe was always full of joy. Jackson loved that about her. “Were you expecting company today?” The last thing in the world he wanted to do was cause Phoebe pain, but he had to tell her about Melanie.

“Yes, my niece, Melanie,” she answered. “You’ve heard me speak of her.” Dishes clanked in the background. “She’s the successful divorce attorney from Washington, DC. The one who never takes a vacation.”