“No. I’m not the type ... to alarm people ... before I have solid facts.” He paused for a moment to gather his strength. The pinpricks still wouldn’t go away.
The sirens drew nearer. Louder.
He rested the back of his skull against his headrest but kept his face turned fully to the right, his concentration trained on her. “After I speak with the doctors ... I’ll make calls. To tell people what’s happened.”
“Okay.”
The sirens grew so loud that they made conversation impossible.
She craned her neck to look toward the road.
Idiot sirens. Violently, he wished he could take back her 9-1-1 call.
He had to remember that he was a stranger to her. He couldn’t expect her to feel about him the way he felt about her. She hadn’t been in a crash. Her head was clear.
The noise of the ambulance cut away. Its lights continued to revolve, sending rays of red and blue against her face. She gave him a small, encouraging smile. “They’ll be here in just a second.”
He gripped her hand more tightly, holding her with him. He memorized the curves and lines of her forehead, cheeks, hair, neck, arms.
Men’s voices neared.
She moved to exit his car.
He didn’t release her hand. “Don’t go,” he said.
She leveled a bemused look on him. “I need to get out of their way. It’s all right. They’re going to take great care of you.” Gently, she slipped her hand from his and scooted away.
All he could think was,No.Don’t go. But he’d already said that, and it hadn’t worked. He couldn’t force her to remain with him.
“You’re going to be just fine,” she said.
He was not going to be just fine without her.
Two men in EMT uniforms filled the passenger-side doorway. They were leaning in, talking to him.
Sebastian twisted, trying to keep sight of her, but in an instant, the fog stole her from view.
She hated to be late.
But in this case, she’d had no other option. She’d stopped immediately after she’d seen a sports car whip past her just as a Range Rover hurtled into a ditch. After parking, she’d scrambled down the embankment, heaved the SUV’s passenger-side door open, and found a handsome, dark-haired man slumped unconscious against his seat belt. The stranger’s emergency had, rightfully, taken precedence over everything.
A truck waited in the fog on the road outside her house. She parked her old Honda Pilot in her driveway and hurried toward the truck.
The driver rolled his window down.
“Sam Turner?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Leah Montgomery.” They shook hands through the window. “I’m really sorry that I’m late. I apologize.”
“No worries.” He spoke with a fabulous accent. “Good to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
He killed the ignition, stepped out, and pulled a stack of white boxes toward him.
“I would have called to let you know I was running late,” she told him. “But one of my students set up your donation and this drop-off time. I didn’t have your number.”
