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This isn’t how I saw my trip back from California going, but I’m done questioning things. Right now, all I can do is lean in, wrap my arms around Doc, and hold on tight.
Chapter Two
Doc
Fall brings on cooler weather and changing leaves, which gets everyone excited on the mountain. It also dumps rain, ice, and sometimes snow. Most of the time, the storms pop up out of nowhere and a seemingly nice day turns merciless at a moment’s notice. Today is that day.
I hold Nora’s leg in my hand as we ride, increasing speed. “We’re almost there,” I holler back, but I’m not sure she can hear me through the whipping rain and wind. I hate that she’s exposed like this, especially in her condition, but at this point, the option to continue is the best one. We’re less than a mile from the cabin and it’s the safest place to be. I hold on to Nora tighter and increase speed, driving into the marble sized swathe of hail now falling around us. Fucking hell. This is insane. Thankfully, the overhanging pine softens their assail, but the pain is still noticeable.
I need to get Nora inside.
When the cabin is in view, I pull up the stone driveway and park under the overhanging garage as more hail hammers against the tin roof.
“We should stay here until this passes,” Nora shouts over the falling sky. “I’m exhausted.”
Hailstorms don’t usually last that long. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take her in, clean her up, and get her fed. When all this shit settles down, we can take off.
I untie the rope connecting us and climb off the bike, carefully setting her ankle on the seat as I move. “Okay, but you have to promise me you’ll do as I say.”
“Do as you say?Have I not been listening? I don’t really have a choice right now, do I?”
“Nope.”
She smiles.What is it about that grin that gets me thinking about more?
Heavy hail bombards the mountain, leaving behind quarter size balls of ice. This is going to do some serious damage to the area and the apple trees that are ready for harvest.
I untie the remainder of the redneck sling and lift Nora into my arms, carrying her inside through the back door connecting the house and garage.
She’s exhausted and her head leans against my shoulder. This is dangerous. Not the storm, not her leg, not the ride back here…but this.As her head lies, I can hear the soft sighs she makes, feel her warm air on my neck, and the touch of her delicate hand on my skin.
I lay Nora on the couch and tuck her beneath a knit blanket my grandma made for me before I went off to war. It’s white and blue with an anchor crocheted into the center. She worked on it for nearly a year, wanting every stitch to be perfect. That’s why I never had the heart to tell her I was in the Army and not the Navy. Truthfully, it’s better like this. It puts me right back to when she was making it, and it keeps her in my thoughts always.
“I’m going to start a fire and get dinner started. Oh, and I’ll grab a clean sponge and warm water. We need to clean this up to see how bad things are.”
She nods thoughtfully, tucking her head against the soft fabric of the pillow. She’s exhausted, and she deserves to be. The bruising she has on her legs and arms is congruent with road burn, but there could still be significant structural damage underneath. Honestly, she’s doing pretty well, all things considered.
I start a kettle of tea and pull the bread and a can of soup from the cupboard. Grilled cheese and a can of soup isn’t the most nutritious meal, but it’s comforting, and I think that would go miles right now.
As that heats, I fill a pot with warm water, dish soap, and a washcloth, before grabbing some peroxide and making my way toward Nora. “Come on, Cookie. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She stirs and glances toward me. “Cookie?Why am I a cookie?”
I grin and pull the ottoman close to the couch, squeezing the washcloth until the excess water drains. “Are you kidding? You’re definitely a tough cookie. You rode out to California on a bike that you owned for less than two weeks, and you managed to flag someone down without trouble when you needed to. Besides that, you survived that crash with only a few bruises. I’d say that makes you tough.” I tear her leggings to better see her gash as we talk. It’s swollen, but the bleeding has stopped. “How’d it go out in California, anyway?”
She shakes her head and leans back on the pillow as I wash her bruises clean. “I got the endorsement.”
“Why don’t you sound happy about it?”
“I am.” She perks for a moment, then lays back again. “I really am, but I don’t know. I was on the side of the road being all sulky and it got me thinking about my life and what a mess I am, you know?”
I reach for the peroxide and pour a generous amount into the washcloth as I talk. “How are you a mess?”
She huffs out a sigh and stares toward me. “Why aren’t you married? Why didn’t you settle down?”
If this distracts her while I clean out these wounds, then I guess I can keep talking, though it wouldn’t be my first choice. My first choice would be making that sandwich while ignoring every personal question asked of me. I blow out a heavy breath and land the cloth on her cut. “I suppose I’ve wanted to, just never found the right person.”
She winces when the bulk of the peroxide is on her wound and I feel a sarcastic reply coming, but I welcome it if it means she’s gaining vigor. “In fifty years? Surely someone in fifty years fits the bill for you.”
