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“Noooo,” I groan, covering my face with my hands. I know where it is. Sitting on the counter, unlocked, with a half typed out text to Walker. “I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m…” not okay. None of this is okay. I feel a sob working its way up from deep in my chest, gripping my heart and lungs as it’s torn from my lips. I try holding my breath to prevent any more tears, but it’s no use. My shoulders heave with painful sobs.
After a few minutes of good old-fashioned ugly crying, I’m a bit more under control. Time to pull up my big girl panties and grab life by the horns. Or however that saying goes. A chill runs through me, reminding me I’m in a metal box that’s half stuck in a snowbank. It’s freaking freezing out here. Good thing Walker got me a….
“Goddamnit!” I yell, pounding my fists on the steering wheel until they are throbbing with pain. I left my fucking coat at home. What is wrong with me? Maybe my dad is right. I’m too caught up in my own head and my naïve ideas about the world.
I check my feet, relieved to see at least I remembered my new boots. My hands go to my head, and I take comfort when I feel the warm, wool hat Walker got me. Filling my lungs with air, I try to breathe in good energy and then exhale negative energy. Yeah, a lot of good that’s doing me right now.
I growl in frustration at myself and then shove the car door open, steeling myself against the harsh wind. Was it this cold out when I left? Was this road as winding and narrow when I first drove down it? Is the sun starting to set? I guess I’m still operating on California sunsets, not Michigan sunsets in the dead of winter.
Putting one booted foot in front of the other, I slowly climb out of the ditch and gaze hopefully down the road. Unsurprisingly, no cars are coming from either direction.
After getting reoriented with the road and which way leads back to town, I start my long trek. God, I feel like an idiot. I just wanted to do something nice, and now I'm out here, half freezing, once again without a coat or phone. I'm almost glad I can't call Walker. If he was upset yesterday, I don't even want to know what he'd think of me now.
CHAPTER SIX
WALKWE
I'm pacing around my office while I wait for Indie to call me. I dropped off a bunch of packages for her and her sister and nephew early this morning, but that was over ten hours ago. I'm glad I only had two appointments today because I haven't been able to concentrate at all.
Is she mad that I spent so much money on her? I went a little overboard, but I wanted them to have options. Does she think that I think she’s incompetent? I saw the flicker of hurt and frustration in her eyes yesterday when I confronted her about her coat and phone. I know my pixie is capable of many things, but I wanted her to know she doesn’t have to worry about all the little details. I want to be the one to take care of them for her.
Suddenly a force hits me square in the chest. It’s not physical, exactly, though it hurts like a motherfucker. It’s more of a...gut feeling. Something is wrong. There’s absolutely no empirical, observable evidence of this fact, and yet that’s exactly what it is. A fact.
I run my hands through my hair and then scrub them down my face. I don’t have her number. I gave her mine in hopes she’d call me this morning, but that didn’t happen. I’ve never been prone to anxiety, seeing as there’s nothing rational or practical about it, but damn if I’m not condensing thirty-three years without it into this exact moment in time. I have to brace myself on my desk just to catch my breath. This woman has me feeling all sorts of things I’m not used to.
Grabbing my coat and keys, I storm out of my office, growling something at my partner, Dan, about taking off for the day. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline in shock, but he has the decency not to say anything. I’ve never left early, even when I don’t have appointments.
Today, however, there's something far more important than catching up on work. Or, rather, someone. Indie took one look at me and stole my heart right out of my chest. That’s how I know she’s in trouble. She has my heart, and it’s aching right now.
Five minutes later, I’m pulling up to her house. In my worried haze, I pound on the door, then jiggle the doorknob to see if it’s locked. I’m both relieved and pissed that it is. I try the windows in the front of the house and the back of the house, along with the back door. No such luck. Where the hell is she?
Inspiration strikes. The diner. She might have gone there for work. Hopping in my car, I speed in that direction, praying I don’t get a ticket. I burst in through the door of the diner, startling damn near everyone inside with my disheveled appearance.
“Walker, is everything okay?”
I’ve never been happier to hear Mabel’s voice. If anyone has information on Indie, it’d be Mabel and her two friends, Ruth and Theresa.Thanks, universe.
“Indigo,” I grunt, taking a step in the direction of their table. “Where is she?”
“She went out shopping for a tree,” Ruth informs me.
“By herself?” I swear I’m trying not to growl, but Jesus, why wouldn’t she call me for help? There’s no way she can maneuver a tree by herself once she gets it back to her place. I’m guessing my pixie didn’t think that far ahead.
“I assume so. She left here about an hour ago,” Mabel says. “We directed her to Thomson and Sons Tree Farm just a few miles outside of town.”
“Is something wrong, Dr. Evans?” Theresa asks.
“Yes. Everything.”
I don’t give them time to respond before running out to my car. I’m shaking by the time I turn onto the stretch of empty, winding highway that leads to the tree farm. Dammit. The road is icy and narrow. Visions of seeing Indie’s old junker flipped upside down somewhere along the street flash through my mind.
What the hell was going through her head when she decided this was a good idea? The old car she drives is nowhere near safe enough for this road. I checked it out when I dropped the gifts off this morning. The rust bucket needs new tires and the passenger side mirror is hanging loose. I’m sure the brake pads haven’t been replaced recently, among other things.
I'm so wrapped up in playing out all of the worst-case scenarios I almost miss the slender figure trudging along the shoulder on the other side of the road. I hit the brake and do a controlled slide onto the roadside opposite my pixie. I can't see her face but I know it's her. I feel it all the way down in the marrow of my bones.
I jump out of the car, growling when I see Indie is in jeans and a sweatshirt. What the fuck? I quickly unzip my coat just as I reach her, throwing it over her shoulders much like I did yesterday.
“W-w-what…” Her tiny voice trembles and her teeth chatter as she squeaks out the word. I don’t have time to answer questions. Not when her safety is at stake. I secure my coat around her and scoop Indie up in my arms, tucking her head into my chest to block some of the wind. She’s freezing. Where the hell are her gloves? Her scarf? Her fucking coat?
