Debra Cowan - Wild Fire

“I heard from dispatch that she’s hurt.” The other man halted, concern darkening his brown eyes. “How bad is it?”

Clay told him, thinking that Tyner looked genuinely alarmed.

“I want to see her.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not? I want her to know I’m here if she needs anything.”

She doesn’t need it from you. “The doctor doesn’t want anyone else in there tonight. She still has to get her arm wrapped and her head stitched up.”

“It can’t hurt for me to go in for a few minutes.” The man made to move past Clay.

Clay blocked his way. “No, Tyner.”

“She might say different.”

“She won’t.”

Anger flared in Tyner’s face and he visibly struggled to control it. “It can’t hurt anything for me to just stick my head in there.”

“Think about Shelby, why don’t you?”

A dull flush crawled up Tyner’s neck and his hands curled into fists. He took a step toward Clay. “Is there something going on with you two?”

If Shelby weren’t lying hurt in the next room, Clay would’ve laughed. “No.”

“Then who are you to tell me I can’t see her? You have no claim on her.”

“Neither do you.”

“I have as much right to see her as you do.”

“Not gonna happen.”

Something cold and sharp flashed in Tyner’s eyes, a volatility that had Clay’s cop sense on alert.

He had always believed this guy’s Prince Charming act was just that. “I know you’ve been calling her and she hasn’t returned your calls. What does that tell you?”

Tyner’s gaze went to Shelby’s curtained doorway, then sliced back to Clay. He didn’t budge. Silence stretched out, pulsing with tension. The other man looked ready to erupt.

“Fine. Have it your way,” he snapped. “It won’t be for long.”

Clay watched the guy stomp down the corridor toward the exit. Did Tyner really think there was something sexual going on between Clay and Shelby? Sex? That was the one thing they had never shared. She and Jason had helped him through Megan’s long fight with cancer and death. He and Shelby had been there for each other after Jason’s death. And everything since.

He would tell her about Tyner’s visit, but not tonight.

No way was Clay leaving now. He didn’t trust the paramedic to stay away, and he wasn’t letting anyone upset Shelby. That hard light of slyness in the other man’s eyes was enough for Clay to make a mental note to keep an eye on him.

The door opened behind him and he turned as Shelby’s mom stepped out.

“How is she?” he asked.

“She’s resting.” Paula slid an arm around his waist and hugged him tight. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He squeezed her in response. From the age of twelve, when his mom had left the family, Clay had spent as much time at Shelby and Jason’s house as he had his own. His dad, working two jobs and raising three kids, had needed help. Curtis and Paula Fox had given it.

She stepped away. “I’m going home to get a few things. Do you mind staying until I get back?”

“I’m staying anyway.”

“Good.” The look in Paula’s eyes said she believed he was staying out of a sense of responsibility. The responsibility he’d felt for her and Shelby after Jason’s death, but also because of Jason’s death. Maybe that was the reason. For the last four years, Clay had provided as much support as he could.

He walked Paula to her car then returned to Shelby’s room. Her face was turned toward the opposite wall, her chest rising and falling evenly. Clay was glad she was finally getting some sleep. But as he moved around the bed and up to her shoulder, he saw she was awake. She smiled wanly at him, her blue eyes drowsy. “You leaving?”

“No way.” She had sat with him for hours after his dad’s stroke years ago, pulled him out of a bottle and literally saved his life after Jason had died.

“Even if the doctor makes you?” she asked faintly.

“She can try.” He lightly squeezed Shelby’s shoulder, her warmth reassuring him that she was all right. He intended to see she stayed that way. “I’m bigger than she is.”

Her eyes fluttered shut. “Good.”

There was a nine-year difference in their ages, but she was the one person he could always depend on, and he was the same for her.

She was every bit as good a friend to him as Jason had been, and Clay would never take their friendship for granted. Or do anything to jeopardize it. He wouldn’t let anyone else, either.

“Except for the headache and the big black hole in my memory, I feel fine,” Shelby told Clay the next evening in her hospital room.

Tall and lanky, he filled the small space done up in sterile white and soft pastels. Her mother stood at the foot of the bed.

Shelby had spent the day alternately sleeping and attempting to follow doctor’s orders about not forcing her memory. Her friend’s death was overwhelming enough, but not being able to remember what had happened at M.B.’s house intensified the ache in Shelby’s bruised shoulder and back. Panic needled her and she felt as if she might crumble at any moment.

Frustration, combined with her efforts to let her mind work in its own time, tweaked the pain in her skull. She had thought she might remember something today, but she hadn’t. Except for the last time she and Clay had been in a hospital together, and she couldn’t handle thinking about her brother right now.

Clay moved up the right side of her bed, holding a large brown paper bag. His deep green eyes twinkled. “If you’re doing so well, maybe you don’t need this.”

Shelby peeked inside to find a six-pack of Diet Coke and several bags of microwaveable popcorn. “Oh, you’re a lifesaver!”

He grinned. “I figured if you didn’t get your daily fix, the doctor would have to restrain you.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, knowing his presence was responsible for easing the tension in her shoulders. She set the bag beside her. She had been trembling off and on all day, her nerves raw as her mind tortured her with what might have happened to M.B.

Shelby couldn’t catch any of the elusive shadows hovering on the edge of her mind. All she had were fragments, none of which made sense or seemed connected.

Clay had left about mid-morning, saying he was going to grab a shower, change clothes and meet with his lieutenant. He had called throughout the day to check on her, not able to get back to the hospital until after six o’clock.

His sandy brown hair, streaked gold by the sun, was disheveled where he had run his fingers through it. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked tired. He stood over her, his hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks. The short sleeves of his red-and-tan plaid shirt revealed strong forearms dusted with hair the same dark brown as his eyebrows. “What did the doctor say today?”

“Dr. Boren said my CAT scan showed no blood clots or fractures, which is good, but she now suspects my memory loss might be due to something besides the concussion.”

“Like what?”

“Like maybe I saw something horrible at M.B.’s and I just don’t want to remember.”

He frowned. “How’s your head?”

“It still hurts, but not as badly as yesterday.” She choked back the frustration screaming through her. “The doctor said I could go home in the morning if nothing changes.”

“But you have to rest,” her mother reminded her.

Clay nodded, studying her intently. She knew that look. If she didn’t rest as ordered, he would tie her to the bed. “I got your car home so you don’t need to worry about that,” he said.

Her mom moved up the other side of the bed, her blue eyes warm as she took out a bag of the popcorn Clay had brought. “Would you like some of this?”