Chapter 15

Wednesday morning and Kelcee’s reaction to Dustin’s walking out of her life three days ago had gone from tearful shock to anger to rip-his-head-off-and-pour-bleach-down-his-throat pissed. She wasn’t too pleased with herself, either. In a moment of madness or feminine desperation, she’d texted him last night. “Won’t you at least talk to me?”

What a fool thing to do. Running after a man. Begging for his attention. She’d never done that before and it had left a bitter taste in her mouth. Where is my self-pride? He walked out on me, I didn’t walk out on him.

His reply? “I won’t risk hurting you.” As if having her heart shattered was a painless experience. The jerk.

The bruising on her ass and wrists remained, but they were starting to fade with a yellowish tinge. At least she had the bookstore to help keep her mind off how much she missed their frequent phone calls and texts. Even now, every time the door opened, she expected Dustin and his testosterone aura to swagger in. Getting over him was not going to be easy, no matter how hard she worked.

She fisted her hands on the counter and dropped her head to her chest. It didn’t make a difference how much she tried making him an evil person. He was no such thing, not with all his good qualities. He was the man she loved and probably always would. How could a woman care deeply for a man and want to wring his neck at the same time? She’d have to ask Fran whenever she saw her.

At least Kelcee had saved herself the humiliation of blurting out “I love you” during their intense lovemaking sessions—and with Dustin, they were always intense.

The coffee had barely finished brewing when Owen Pohl came in. She was pouring herself a cup. “Morning, Owen. Coffee’s fresh. Pour yourself a cup.” She pulled wax paper from her homemade sticky buns. Since she couldn’t sleep thanks to one jackass SEAL, she’d been up early baking.

“I had an inkling you might be in today. I made you those sticky buns you like.” The widower’s eyes lit up. “Want me to put a couple on a plate for you?” He nodded and blew over his hot cup of coffee.

“You treat everybody too good, Kelcee. Frank used to call you his ‘little angel with a broken wing.’ Danged if he wasn’t right. I still miss him.”

“Oh, Owen, I think I always will. He was a good man. Just like you.”

He ducked his head and blushed, taking a bite of his sticky bun. “Hmm. They’re still warm. Weatherman says it’s going to be another hot day. I came in to buy a couple books on woodworking projects. Get some ideas for Christmas presents to make.”

It didn’t take him long to zero in on her wrists. He pointed as he chewed. “What happened to you?”

She gave the same lie she’d been telling customers about lifting heavy boxes and having her hands get caught between the one she was carrying and the pile already there. He looked her straight in the eye and gave a skeptical harrumph. Damn, she should have thought her lie through a little better.

When she rang up his purchases, he leaned over the counter to her. “If I find out who marked you like that, I’ll beat him myself.” He nodded once. “Yes, I surely will. You just tell ol’ Owen. He’ll set things to rights.” He nodded once again and shuffled out.

No sooner had he closed the door behind him than he opened it again. “Was it that feller sittin’ on that black rice burner across the street, watching this place? Want me to chase him off?”

Kelcee planted a big kiss on Owen’s forehead. “You are the dearest man. No, it wasn’t whoever that man is. Bet he’s hot in those black leathers. He’s probably just a tourist, admiring the falls. I told you, my clumsiness caused these bruises.”

“You don’t lie too good.” Owen scowled and stepped outside again, ambling toward the white Chevrolet Impala convertible Frank had left him.

The driver of the black and silver crotch rocket flicked his cigarette, lowered his visor, and sped off.

Kelcee returned to her accounting program. As soon as she closed the store at noon, she was taking money to the bank. Thanks to Dustin’s walking out on her, she’d been too distraught the last few days to make her regular deposits. The cash was mounting up in the safe. Afterward, she might see if Nina could fit her in for a haircut. Her hair’s long length was a bitch to deal with and took forever to dry.

A couple minutes after twelve, Kelcee flipped the sign on her front door to “Closed” and locked the bookstore. With her flowery backpack slung over her shoulders, she took off on a brisk walk toward the bank. She passed Bill’s Boot and Saddle Store next to her business and then the shop of sin, Tillie’s Homemade Taffies and Chocolates. She was almost at the corner of Waterfall Road and Yellow Rose Street when her steps faltered. A biker dressed in black leathers sat on a black and silver crotch bike, the same person who’d been across from her store earlier. He sat on the corner opposite her and started his bike. A tremor of unease inched up her spine. Was he watching her?

She turned at Reed’s Antiques to jog on Yellow Rose Street. The bike’s clutch clicked and it came up behind her. She ran faster, glancing over her shoulder. Dear God, the crotch rocket seemed aimed for her, the rider leaning over the handlebars. She increased her speed and so did the driver, the gears shifting and the whine of the bike growing louder. The heartbeat roaring in her ears matched the bike’s acceleration.

A hand reached out, grabbed her backpack, and jerked her backward as a large knife cut a strap, some of her hair, and part of her back in one swift jerk. She fell and both wheels ran over her arm. The rider sped off, her bag flapping in the wind. She lay partly on the sidewalk and partly on the road. Her head hurt along with stinging in her back, but her arm was in twenty kinds of misery.

Someone came running. It was Jesse, a teenage boy who did yard work around town. “Just lie still, Ms. Todd. I’m calling nine-one-one. Pardon my language, miss, but that bastard ran you down on purpose. He had a freaking long knife!”

She was having trouble keeping the kid in focus. God, the pain!

Jesse took the hand of her unhurt arm. “I’ll stay with you until help comes. Don’t look at your other arm or try to move it. Keep focused on me.” He pointed to his eyes with his two fingers.

“Could you call Fran Silver for me?”

“Sure. Do you know her number? I don’t have it.” Kelcee gave it to him. Jesse dialed Fran’s number and told her what happened.

After what seemed like hours, the ambulance siren grew louder. Before it arrived on the scene, Fran and Clint’s car came to a rocking stop across the street; both of her friends jumped out and ran toward her.

Fran knelt next to Kelcee and kissed her forehead. “Oh, baby girl, land sakes, why would anyone run you down like this?”

Clint ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Her arm’s broken clean through. An open fracture. See how part of it is through the skin? Damn it all to hell. She’ll need airlifted. Our little medical center’s not equipped to handle this.” He slipped his cellphone from his belt and dialed a number. “ZQ, need a favor. A big one and quick.”

“Don’t let him tell Dustin. He doesn’t care about me. Dustin mustn’t find out,” Kelcee pleaded.

“Kelcee’s been hurt. Open fracture. Through the skin. She was struck by a hit-and-run biker. Jesse Martin was doing yard work for Widow Peterson and witnessed the whole thing. Ambulance is on the scene now, but she’ll need airlifted to a larger hospital for surgery, best as I can tell. Could you fly us there? Oh, there’s evidently some bad blood between her and Dustin. She doesn’t want him to know.”

Clint paused for a bit, nodding. “Thanks, ZQ. Meet us at the medical center. They’ve got a helo-pad there.” He ended the call and spoke to the medics treating her. They were trying to staunch the flow of blood at her neck.

“There was money for a deposit in my backpack. Now it’s gone.”

“So the bastard was out to rob you?” Clint glanced around the neighborhood, no doubt checking if he could spot him hiding somewhere.

“I often make a deposit on Wednesday afternoons when my store is closed. He was across from the bookstore this morning. Owen saw him first and remarked about him. I thought maybe he was a tourist here to see the falls. He left soon after Owen. The man on the bike was dressed in black leathers; even the visor on his helmet was black. The crotch rocket was black with silver trim.”

“It was a Yamaha R1M, sir. That’s what I’m saving up to buy, if I can get my daddy to agree,” Jesse said.

“Oh, wow, whatever drugs you guys just shot into my system are…are…really…good…ones.” The pain was lessening and her eyelids were growing heavy.

After an examination at Warrior Falls Medical Center—which Kelcee barely remembered—she was given six stitches in her back before she was carried out on a stretcher to what ZQ claimed was a Blackhawk. More drugs were injected into her IV drip, and she was soon out of it.

From time to time she surfaced from the gray fog of drugged unconsciousness. Fran was almost always by her side, rubbing her hair or kissing her hand, whispering words of encouragement.

Kelcee’s arm was tightly bandaged with draining tubes and supported so she couldn’t move it. Some orthopedic surgeon had repaired her fracture with pins. Although she couldn’t recall the conversation, Fran said the surgeon had told her a cast and physical therapy were in her future. For now, ice packs and the morphine drip were her new friends. As for her time in the hospital, no one knew for sure when she’d be released. Two days, three.

Junebug had made beef vegetable soup for lunch. Dustin’s nose twisted in delight. This woman could surely cook. Now, if only his stomach kept the contents down. Since his breakup with Kelcee, his system had become fickle over retaining sustenance.

JJ placed the mail beside Junebug’s bowl and Nance took her seat. Junebug set a bowl of kibble and one of water in front of Nance before tying on a pink bib with a yellow duck around the canine’s throat. Everyone held hands and ZQ said grace.

Appreciative grunts and compliments from all the men were aimed in Junebug’s direction. Even Nance followed suit and woofed.

“Thanks, everyone.” She opened a gray envelope and scanned the letter inside. “I wish Netterman’s Funeral Home would quit sending me invitations to funeral-planning parties. This time they’re serving pizza. Can you imagine? Pizza and a casket! Fudge and buttermilk, do I look like I’m ready to die?” She passed three bills to ZQ and opened the newspaper.

She took a bite of soup and choked. “Listen to this! ‘Local Business Owner Robbed by Hit and Run Driver.’ ” Junebug looked at all three men. “ʻKelcee Todd was walking on Yellow Rose Street when a man, dressed in black leathers, driving a black and silver Yamaha R1M street motorcycle, deliberately ran her over after snatching her backpack, which was carrying her bank deposit.’ ” She looked from the newspaper to the men? “Sweet Baby Jesus, can you believe this? That poor, poor girl.”

Dustin’s chest squeezed to the point he didn’t think he could inhale a breath ever again. Oh, hell no! Not his Kelcee! “How badly is she hurt? Why didn’t someone tell me?” He wanted to tear something or someone apart. Hadn’t he told Kelcee that walking to the bank with her deposits was a dangerous thing to do? But would she listen? He glanced at the bent fork in his hands.

Junebug picked up the newspaper again. “ʻAccording to an eyewitness and the victim, the driver of the bike drove onto the sidewalk—ʼˮ

“Oh, holy hell. When I think of how scared Kitten must have been. Sorry to interrupt. Go ahead.” He waved his bent fork for her to continue.

“Kitten?” JJ and ZQ almost responded in unison, smiles on their motherfucking faces.

“Just never you smart-asses mind. Please read on, Junebug.”

She winked at him and focused once again on the article. “ʻUsing a knife with a long blade, he cut one of the straps of her backpack, some of her hair, and her in the process. She required six stitches to her back. After knocking her down, he ran over her arm, breaking it. She also suffered a concussion. A local rancher airlifted her to Austin General where she was operated on.

“ʻThe identity of the assailant is unknown at this time.’ ”

Dustin was on his feet, storming back and forth in the kitchen. “I will kill that motherfucker for hurting her. I will hunt him down and destroy him!”

“Easy,” ZQ warned. “He may be long gone now that he’s got some money for gas or drugs. Owen Pohl saw him across the street from the bookstore, earlier in the day. The guy seemed intent on watching Kelcee, but left when Owen did. When she closed the store at noon and took her deposit to the bank, he chose that opportunity to run her down.”

Dustin spun. “How the hell do you know all this? Wait! A local rancher with a helicopter, the newspaper said. You took the Blackhawk out yesterday afternoon. You flew her to the larger hospital, didn’t you?” A sense of betrayal cut Dustin deep. He should have been asked to ride along in the helicopter with the woman he loved.

ZQ leaned back in his chair. “Yes. Clint called and I helped. It’s what neighbors do for one another here in the Hill Country. Life can be rough, at times. We have to have each other’s back. What easily knocks your neighbor down this month could do the same to you in the next.”

“I get that, but why wasn’t I told? You know how I feel about Kelcee.”

“Kelcee asked I not tell you. She said you didn’t care about her.”

“Not care?” he roared. “The woman means everything to me.”

“Then you have to tell her that, Dust,” Junebug chimed in. “You have to show her. Women need to hear and feel love and protection.”

“But if she doesn’t want to see me—ˮ

Junebug smiled. “Do something thoughtful. Call Clint and find out if the keys to the bookstore and her apartment were in that backpack. If they were, go change the locks. Ask Clint to do a walk-through inspection of the whole building with you so she knows she’ll be safe when she comes home. Send her flowers and a card at the hospital. Write a note in the card. Be brave. Share your emotions. Make her feel safe and cared for.” Junebug smiled, her orange lipstick matching her orange-checked blouse. “A woman needs to know she can count on a man when the going gets tough.”

She made sense. Her advice was wise. He nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I surely will.”

Junebug turned a stink-eye on ZQ. “You should have told him, son.”

ZQ’s jaw dropped. “But Kelcee said—ˮ

“Kelcee was injured. Sometimes a woman doesn’t know what she needs.” Junebug shook her finger at her son. “Many a time, I’d be pissed and your dad would hug it right out of me. Kelcee needed Dust.”

He walked outside and called Clint. “How is she?” He leaned his forehead against one of the back-porch poles.

“Her arm was a mess. The break was clean through the skin when Fran and I first arrived on the scene. She was in a lot of pain. I know you wanted to be there, son, but a man feels pretty damn helpless when a woman he looks on as his daughter is hurting like hell. He’d do anything she asks.”

“I understand. God, I want to see her.” It took all his self-control to keep his voice from breaking. “Were the keys to her bookshop and apartment in the backpack? If so, she’ll be vulnerable. I’d like to change the locks. Maybe you and I could do a thorough walk-through of the building. Make sure it’s secure?”

Clint sighed. “I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll find out. We’ll take care of it together. Thanks for thinking of her safety.”

“How do you think she’d handle it if I went to the hospital to see her?”

“Women are funny, son. I know my Fran. She’d never forgive me if I didn’t show up, no matter how bad things were between us…and we’ve had our bad spells over the years.”

“That’s all I need to hear. Give me the name and address of the hospital. I’ll enter it into my GPS.” Dustin ended the call and hurried to his room for a shower. He was on his way to see Kelcee and give her hell for scaring him so badly. Or maybe he’d kiss her until neither one of them could remember what had driven them apart.