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“What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
Cradling her injured arm with her other hand, she watched the blood that was seeping up around the glass roll down to her wrist and drip onto the linoleum. “Can you help me?”
What had Charlie done?
Brant yanked on his clothes, grabbed his keys and jogged down the hall of the three-thousand-square-foot rambler his parents had built when they first bought the ranch. It would take ten minutes to get to Talulah’s, but there was nothing he could do about that. After she told him what’d happened, she’d insisted she’d be fine waiting for him.
He hoped she was right. If not, he was going to make Charlieverysorry. He wanted to do that anyway.
The night air felt cool enough to suggest that the heat wave they’d been suffering was finally over. He raked his fingers through his hair, which he hadn’t even bothered to comb, as he hopped into his truck and fired up the engine.
A car drove past. He wondered if it could be Charlie coming by as a sort of “fuck you” after what he’d done. But the vehicle didn’t slow as it approached the house, so maybe he was imagining things. Whatever had happened to Talulah, if it was Charlie’s fault or not, he was going to get to the bottom of it—after he made sure she was okay.
Fortunately, there wasn’t any traffic this time of night. He barreled through town, running any stop signs where there were no other cars, and reached Talulah’s great aunt’s house in only seven minutes.
As soon as he pulled in, he saw her sitting on the porch steps waiting for him and left his engine running as he jumped out to help her. All she’d told him on the phone was that someone had thrown a rock through the front window and she’d been cut, but he hadn’t expected to see a three-by-four-inch piece of glass sticking out of her arm. She was bleeding so badly her hand looked painted red.
She’d gotten up the moment she saw him turn onto the property, but seemed a little wobbly as she started toward him, so he simply swept her into his arms and carried her to the cab of his truck. “Goddamn it,” he said. “If Charlie did this, I’m going to beat the shit out of him.”
She didn’t tell him not to talk like that—something he felt certain she’d do if she was feeling okay—which worried him even more. She didn’t sayanything. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow, but she had a towel to catch the blood, and she didn’t complain about the pain.
“I’ll get you to the hospital as fast as I can,” he promised as he set her gently in the passenger seat and buckled her in before running around to climb back behind the wheel.
He would’ve backed out of the drive like a bat out of hell. He wanted that glass out of her arm as soon as possible. But he was afraid driving like that would cause her more pain, so he tried to take it easy. He wished he could question her—he was dying to learn more about how this had happened—but he doubted she could focus on anything except getting to a doctor.
“There’s a regional hospital forty minutes from here.”
She knew that, of course, but he was trying to reassure her.
She nodded to let him know she’d heard, but he could tell she wasn’t really listening.
He turned on some heat, thinking she might need the added warmth, and gave the truck more gas once he hit the straightaway that led out of town. “You’re going to be okay,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
She offered him a grateful smile, which only made him angrier with Charlie.
As they traveled, Brant was afraid she might pass out. He kept looking over at her, but she seemed alert. She sat still as a statue and didn’t say anything until they were almost there. Then she said, “Brant?”
He glanced at her yet again. “What?”
“Thanks for coming to get me. I know it’s late, and this is probably going to make it hard for you to work tomorrow, but...I appreciate it.”
“I’m happy to help,” he said and again felt the urge to punch Charlie in the face for doing this to her.
Talulah couldn’t remember ever being so tired. She tried to keep her eyes open while Brant drove home from the hospital. It was close to four in the morning; he had to be tired, too. She hated to leave him battling fatigue without someone to help him stay alert. But the alcohol she’d drunk at the bar, combined with the trauma of getting seventeen stitches, kept dragging her down. She’d start to nod off, Brant would look over and tell her to give in and go to sleep—and then she’d sit up straighter and try harder to stay awake so she could talk to him.
Finally, exhaustion got the best of her. She didn’t even realize she’d lost the battle and fallen asleep until she woke up. The truck had stopped and Brant had opened her door and released her seat belt.
“I’m sorry I faded out on you,” she mumbled as he scooped her up. “I just...couldn’t stay awake. Are you okay?”
“Relax. I’m fine,” he assured her. “And you’re going to be fine, too.”
Unable to recognize their surroundings, she raised her head in confusion. “Where are we?”
“At the ranch.”
“Yourranch? You’re not taking me home?”
“And leave you there alone after what Charlie did? No way.”
