His expression didn’t change.“You are.”
She sighed, the breath shaky.“I’m a little bruised, Christian.The seatbelt doesn’t hurt me.But I don’t think we should just steal the sheriff’s truck.”
Christian didn’t argue.He stepped back, shut the door quietly, and walked around the front of the truck.
She adjusted the seatbelt with her good hand.Her body didn’t like the angle.
He climbed in, shut his door, reached beneath the driver’s seat, and pulled out the keys to twist in the ignition.The engine roared to life.Without hesitation, he flipped a hard U-turn in the middle of the street, the tires bumping over wet and muddied pavement.
“I can get myself to the doc’s.I think I’m fine,” she said again.
Christian barely grunted in response.
This time, she had the odd urge to hit him.Which was ridiculous, considering he’d just saved her life.Probably.Still, the grunt was obnoxious.
He drove carefully down Main Street, one hand loose on the wheel, gaze sharp through the windshield.At Dalika River Drive, he turned right, heading toward First Street and the long, flat building that served as the town’s only medical hub—doctor’s office, dentist, and hospital all mashed into one.
Before he could fully stop at the curb, she reached for the seatbelt and winced as she released it.Her ribs were not fans of movement.
“Hey,” she said.“You didn’t wear your seatbelt.”
Unsurprisingly, he didn’t answer.Just opened the door and stepped out.
Fine.She didn’t mind quiet.It was better than forced chatter.She opened her door, but he was already there.Before she could swing her legs out, he leaned in and lifted her again, placing her gently on her feet.
“Do you need me to carry you?”he asked.
“No.”The word came out too fast.Her body wasn’t on board, but her pride was louder.Being carried by Christian Osprey was a strangely addictive feeling.Solid arms, complete control.Like gravity didn't apply.
What would it be like to have that kind of strength?She couldn’t imagine it.She was barely five foot three, and even though she tended bar and waitressed most nights, hauling trays and dodging drunks, her strength was lean and wiry.Functional, but not especially impressive.Usually it worked just fine.Just not right now.“I think I’m good,” she added, more to convince herself than him.“Christian, you don’t have to come inside with me.”
He shut the door.“Tika, stay in the truck.”
She knew he didn’t like being indoors longer than absolutely necessary.He’d been several years ahead of her in school, so they hadn’t exactly hung out.But she remembered watching him play football and hockey from the bleachers.
Back then, she couldn’t recall ever seeing him inside unless he was at school.He was always outside—working on his family’s boat, running drills, disappearing into the woods outside of town.
That hadn’t changed, not even since he’d come home from the Navy.He walked with her to the front door of the clinic and opened it.
“Thank you,” she said, then hesitated.“I mean, for everything.”
He gave her a short nod, chin tilted toward the entrance.
Typical.She couldn’t help rolling her eyes as she walked into the waiting room, and the door clicked shut behind her.
Lance Fredrickson looked up from behind the reception desk, earbuds in, phone in hand as he scrolled.The young man worked around his remote-learning college classes.He set the phone down and pulled the earbuds free.“Whoa.What happened?”
“You haven’t heard?”Amka asked.
Lance frowned, his dark hair around his shoulders and his brown eyes somber.“No.Should I have?”
“There was a fire,” she said.“Actually, more of an explosion.”
Christian stood beside her, arms crossed.He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but somehow still managed to dominate the room.
Amka rubbed her arm.“My storage building.The one I share with Friday’s Grocery?It blew up.”
Lance stood so fast his rolling chair squeaked.“Wait—seriously?Is everyone okay?”
