Navigating up the crest of the small hill just at the town’s edge, I thought about how great this week would be when my tires refused to grip.
I was losing control of my car.
Screaming did nothing, but I did it anyway. The vehicle plowed through snow-covered bushes and brush on its journey off-roading. At least I wasn’t going fast when my car slammed into a huge oak tree.
Thank goodness for small miracles.
My head hit hard against the steering wheel and bounced back against the seat, knocking the wind out of me.
I blinked my eyes open, unsure if I had lost consciousness for a moment, and surveyed the damage. Several large branches had broken through the windshield, somehow avoiding me but still managing to make a mess of the car. By another small miracle, my door opened easily. My arm ached as I moved around to the trunk to find my bags. I tried not to think about my mangled Kia Forte. I was pretty sure she was totaled.
Losing the car felt like losing a piece of myself. My car wasn’t just metal and wheels. No, she had given me my first taste of freedom, wrapped in someone else’s care but made mine when I claimed her fresh out of college. Every dent and scratch held a story, every mile a memory of trying to hold myself together. Glancing over the crumpled wreck—her front smashed into a tree—reality hit me. My friends had jokingly called it an old lady car because of the dusky rose wrap, but I’d leaned into the pretty pink sheen of her. The interior was a gorgeous tan leather to boot. I spent extra money that I didn’t have keeping her pristine. Tears pressed against my eyes and I covered my heart with my hand. Losing Rosie, the affectionate nickname for my tank of a car, reminded me of what a failure I’d become. I’d been attempting to gain independence by moving away but I’d goneabout it all wrong. That growing pit of uncertainty in my belly grew bigger without any support.
The glass must have scratched me up. I hadn’t noticed my arm immediately, but now the throbbing pain drew my attention to a long cut. I rummaged in my bags for something to wrap the wound in and found a towel to loop around my lower arm.
Yanking my overnight bag out of the trunk, I searched desperately for my cell phone. Finding it, I said a thankful prayer. At leastsomethingwas going my way.
Teetering on the uneven terrain, I moved toward the road, concentrating on putting one foot slowly but firmly in front of the other until I finally maneuvered up onto the shoulder of the narrow road. Not even one bar of service appeared on my phone screen, and I realized I had no choice but to seek help on foot.
Blood continued to trickle down my arm, begging for attention. I pressed further up the road and breathed a sigh of relief as light streamed through the woods, outlining a large log cabin in front of me. The last time I’d been home, I hadn’t visited here. Sam Brighton inherited it down the family line. A wave of nausea washed over me.Shit. I hoped it was from the pain and confusion, and not something more serious. Reaching the cabin, I banged loudly on the front door. It swung open after a few more knocks.
“I’m sorry to bother you–” I started to say but my mouth fell open as the man came into focus. He looked almost exactly the same as he had years ago, except for a tiny sprinkle of gray in his dark brown hair at his temples. Those incredible blue eyes, the ones I’d used to daydream about, appeared very concerned as they roamed over my body. Why was he looking at me like he’d seen a ghost? Before I asked him or offered any explanation, he looped his arm around my waist and tugged me and my bags through the door.
I let him.
“What are you doing out in the middle of the night in a storm? Where’s your car, Mickie?”
I couldn’t seem to make words work at the moment. My hand throbbed and my head ached. Sam shifted into serious medic mode.
“Let me see your arm.” Sam squeezed the tips of my fingers. “Why didn’t you call 911?”
“Mikayla.” My voice wobbled as I corrected him. His eyes met mine, and I watched them darken. “I’m not little Mickie anymore. I had no cell service. Rosie is totaled, I think.”
“I’m sorry about your car, sweetheart. Try not to think about that right now.” He touched the side of my jeans. “You’re soaking wet and freezing. We need to get your clothes off.”
Mortified at the thought of Sam undressing me and still feeling sick to my stomach, I blinked up at him wordlessly. A stronger wave of nausea hit, and I gagged instead of complying.
“Did you hit your head?”
My silence seemed to prompt him to lift me into his arms and carry me down the hallway. Sam walked into a room set up like a small clinic. He laid me down on one of the beds, his presence quietly soothing me. “I don’t remember if I did. Maybe off the steering wheel?”
“Lie back,” Sam ordered.
He quickly and efficiently removed my clothing, drying me with a fluffy towel. Sam laid two blankets over my naked body, and though it was the first time I’d been nude around him, it wasn’t arousing. Not in the least bit.
“It’s going to be okay,” he assured me.
I nodded as he removed the blood-stained towel and worked to disinfect my wound. I hissed as he brushed over it, then immediately coughed back bile. “I’m going to—” The words stopped there as I popped upright and vomited. To my relief, hehad anticipated it and thrust a basin into my free hand. When it was over, he took the basin from me.
“Look at me for a minute.” He shined a penlight into each of my eyes in turn, and quickly ran his hands over my head and down towards my neck. “I don’t feel anything, but as soon as the weather clears, you’re going to get looked at.”
“Mmhmm,” I half-heartedly agreed as he grabbed a blood pressure cuff and got a quick number. He turned back around with a thermometer and I shook my head automatically.
Years ago, I had been sent to my college clinic when I’d tried to get out of a day of finals. Sam had been covering the clinic as a favor to the college nurse. It had been the last time I’d ever tried to pull one over on him, as he’d definitely outsmarted me that day. Outsmarted me with a very intimate reading via a rectal thermometer. “Hang on! I’m not sick. You don’t have to check it.”
“If you were out in the cold and snow, it’s best to verify you’re warm enough.”
“I cut my hand, Sam. You don’t need to be sticking things in uncomfortable places!” I snapped letting him see that I wasn’t playing around. He was a stickler for accuracy. More than that, I remembered how cared for I’d felt afterward.
