Chapter 2
When Dori awoke, there were three questions on her mind.
Why did her brain feel like it was filled with cotton?
Why did her left leg feel so much heavier than her right one?
And, finally, was the dog safe?
The answer to the third question came only a second or two after she opened her eyes. The dog was obviously safe, because dogs that got run over didn’t bark loud enough to wake the dead. She forced her eyes to focus – not an easy or quick task – until she could see the dog. It was next to her, in the bed with her, looking intently at her while it barked incessantly.
It wasn’t a regular bed, it was a hospital bed, which answered the first two questions. She’d been injured chasing after the dog. She must have been hit by – well, something, presumably a vehicle of some sort. That explained her head; she most likely had a concussion. And her left leg probably felt heavier because it had a cast on, probably because it had been broken in the accident.
But at least the dog was unharmed. Even in her current confused state, Dori could see that the dog – a poodle, now she really looked at it, was perfectly healthy. And it – no, she, Dori could see that clearly as well – was a standard poodle. A full-sized one, not one of those tiny things that were barely real dogs at all. Or maybe she was some sort of mix, because weren’t standard poodles usually even larger than this? It didn’t matter; the dog looked like a poodle, and that was good enough for Dori.
“Hey, girl, you gave me a heck of a scare. Why were you running into the street? Don’t you know better than that?”
She reached over and petted the dog, scratched under her chin, then felt for a collar and a tag. It took another long moment for her eyes to make out the dog’s name – or lack of one. “D-103? That isn’t a name at all. Are you a stray? Did you get lost? Did you run away from the shelter? You need a real name. Even if you don’t have enough sense to stay safe, everybody deserves a name.”
The dog reminded her of someone. Cute and charming, but absent the day that God handed out good sense. “How about I call you Tee? That’s for Teresa, she’s my little sister. Little Tee, what do you think of that?”
The dog appeared to approve, if the way she leaned close and began to lick Dori’s face was any indication. “I think you’re stuck with her,” a woman’s voice announced. Dori hadn’t even noticed anyone come into the room. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”
The woman was wearing a white coat, which meant she was a doctor, rather than a nurse. “I’ve been better,” Dori answered, doing her best to force a smile.
“Well, you’ve got a sense of humor. That’s a good sign. I’m Dr. Wallace, by the way. I doubt you remember me from when you came in.” The doctor came over to the bed and shook Dori’s hand.
“It’s all a blur,” Dori admitted. “I remember the dog running into the street, and I ran after her, and then – I guess I got hit by a car or – no, it was a truck, I do remember that. But that’s all I can remember. Little Tee here trying to get herself killed, and the truck, and then just now I woke up.”
Dr. Wallace began a quick exam, talking as she did. “That’s pretty much it, except you weren’t actually hit by the truck. You fell, hit your head on the pavement and knocked yourself out. Poor Lucas was pretty freaked out, though. He hit the brakes just in time.”
“Poor Lucas” had to be the driver who’d almost killed her. Dori didn’t have much sympathy for his feelings just at the moment. “Poor him? He’s not the one with a broken leg. I mean, it is broken, right? I think – yeah, I remember that. I heard it break.”
The doctor finished checking Dori’s vitals, nodding approvingly as she made notes on a clipboard. “It certainly is. You broke your fibula.” She pulled a sheet out of what must be Dori’s chart. “See?” The doctor pointed out the injury; Dori could barely see it. “It was a clean break, though. It should heal just fine.” She set the clipboard down. “So, Dorianna? I’ve never heard that name before.”
Dori smiled. “Me, neither. I have no idea where my mother got it from. But just call me Dori. Everybody does.”
“You mean like…”
Dori shook her head violently, which she realized instantly was a mistake. But she grimaced through the pain and said what she had to say. “Stop right there. If you mention that movie, I swear I will get up and walk out of here, broken leg and all.”
Dr. Wallace took a step back, surprised by the force of Dori’s words. “Got it! Dori it is.”
“Sorry,” Dori said, willing herself to relax. “It’s just, I swear to you on my mother’s life, I have heard every possible joke about it, and each one is dumber than the last. I couldn’t wear anything blue for six months after the movie came out, you know?” That earned a smile from the doctor.
“I see what you mean. After the first thousand times, it probably stops being funny.” She petted the dog. “At least this one here – what did you call her, Tee? – won’t be making any jokes. She’s really taken to you. She hasn’t left your side this whole time.”
Dori considered that. Loyalty was nice, but dogs had biological needs, and she had to have been here for several hours by now. She didn’t want Little Tee relieving herself on the bed. “I think I could bear to part with her for a few minutes. She probably has to go for a walk.”
The doctor scooped the dog up in her arms. “Come here, girl. I promise, I’ll bring you back after you do your business.” She carried Little Tee out of the room, and the door barely had a chance to close before someone else came in.
He wasn’t terribly tall, probably only a couple of inches taller than her. And he wasn’t a nurse or orderly or any other hospital employee, if his flannel shirt and jeans were any indication. He seemed familiar, although Dori couldn’t guess how; she had only been in town for an hour before her accident.
The accident. This man was the one who – could he really be? She closed her eyes, forced her throbbing brain to concentrate. Yes. He was there when she’d been knocked out. He was in the truck. He was the man who’d almost killed her!
“Haven’t you caused enough trouble already?” Dori kept her voice below a shout. She wasn’t sure how she was managing it. “You almost killed my dog!” Little Tee wasn’t her dog, but this man - Lucas, the doctor had said – didn’t need to know that.
He was taken aback by her words. “I hit the brakes the instant I saw her. And you. And I’m the one who brought you here, after you knocked yourself out.”
That was news to Dori. But it made sense. Someone had to have brought her here. And if he was lying, it would be the most ridiculous lie he could tell, because it was so easy to check. Which meant it probably wasn’t a lie. “Thank you, I guess,” she said, keeping any hint of actual gratitude out of her voice. She was being irrational. She knew she was. It was unreasonable to expect a driver to somehow know that a stray dog was about to run into the middle of the street. She was in no mood to be reasonable just at the moment, though. “I mean, you should get a medal. Keeping your eyes on the road, not running over a woman and her dog, you’re a regular hero.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic,” he said, and for a moment Dori thought he would stop there, but he plowed on. “But you’re a New Yorker, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” How had he known where she was from? Had he gone through her purse while she was unconscious? The accusation must have been written all over her face. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t look through your wallet. Lucy mentioned it.”
“Lucy?” Who was that?
“My sister-in-law. Your doctor. Lucy Wallace.”
That explained why the doctor was so concerned with his feelings. “Oh,” Dori answered. For an instant, she felt embarrassed at accusing him – wordlessly, but still – of rifling through her belongings. Then she replayed the rest of his words. Who was he to make any assumptions about her based on where she lived? She didn’t have the energy to challenge him on it now, though. She felt a throbbing pain right behind her eyes, and it was getting stronger. She was no medical expert, but she was pretty sure arguing with people she didn’t even know was not the best cure for a headache brought on by a concussion. “Well,” she said, but couldn’t think of any other words. All she could think of was closing her eyes to try and make the pain subside.
~*~
He’d just insulted a woman he didn’t even know.
Worse, a hospitalized woman suffering not only from a concussion but a broken leg. What would his father have said about that? He’d taught Lucas to always be respectful to women – well, to everyone, but especially to women. He’d always been respectful, too, excepting his cousin Amanda during her spoiled brat phase, and his high school girlfriend for the first few days after she’d dumped him for that guitar player from Portland.
Why was he arguing with this poor, injured woman? It was annoying to be blamed for something that wasn’t his fault, sure, but if their places were reversed, he guessed he’d probably react just as she had. And that was before taking into account the fact that, thanks to her concussion, she probably wasn’t even in her right mind.
He knew all that, and he mixed it up with her anyway. Who did that?
Not him. Or, at least, not the man he wanted to believe he was.