“Yes.”
He snagged it as she sucked in some air. Stood. Held on to the back of her chair until her knuckles whitened.
“Ready?” He indicated the back door.
“Uh-huh.” She peeled her fingers off the chair and managed to cross the kitchen without swaying.
At the door, she stopped at a security system keypad.
He frowned.
That was a first in Hope Harbor—as was all the defensive hardware on the back door.
Sliding lock.
Dead bolt.
Knob lock.
There was more security in this place than a government office building. Far more than the average citizen of this town would need.
What was the story behind it?
“We have thirty seconds to get out.” Key in hand, she opened the door, twisted the lock in the knob, and exited onto the small landing.
He followed her out and took the key. “I’ve got this.”
Alarm system still beeping, he secured the door and turned to her. If she were any other woman, he’d take her arm and help her down the one step to the path that led to the gravel driveway.
With Marci, though, he needed to stick with his plan. Let her realize on her own that she wasn’t in any shape to get behind the wheel of a car.
But Lord, she was stubborn as she plodded toward her car, one careful step after another, obviously determined to do this on her own.
And he was running out of time.
He’d wait until the last possible moment to intervene—but no way was he letting her drive to the clinic, even if that meant he was in for another argument.
Not until she reached the car and opened the door did she falter.
“You know . . . I’m a little shaky.” She exhaled as she clung to the door. “I’m sorry to impose, but would you mind very much driving me to the clinic? I can find a ride home later. You can just drop me off and be on your way.”
Finally.
“I don’t mind in the least. I’m going that direction anyway.” Now he took her arm.
Again, she leaned into him as they walked to the truck—the gesture telling him more eloquently than words how unsteady she was.
Nor did she talk much as they set off on the short drive to town . . . another indication she was feeling rocky.
And although she’d probably rouse enough to argue with him about waiting around while she was treated, that topic wasn’t up for discussion.
Because he was sticking close for as long as she needed someone to lean on.
10
Why, oh why, did she have to be such a baby about blood?
Grimacing, Marci clutched her stomach as Ben negotiated a curve on the winding road that led down to Hope Harbor.
Heights, small spaces, spiders, snakes, thunder, lightning, roller coasters—bring ’em on. Not one of those common phobias scared her.
Just blood.
Especially her own.
She tucked herself into the corner of the seat, closed her eyes, and leaned her head back.
Lord, please let me get to the urgent care center before I further embarrass myself by hurling in Ben’s truck.
“The road will straighten out in a minute. That should help with the nausea.”
Ben’s voice was soothing—but his ability to read her mind?
Not so much.
Of course, his assumption that her stomach was preparing to revolt again might not have anything to do with telepathy. Could be he’d had sufficient experience with blood-shy patients to know the drill.
For now, she’d go with the latter, less unsettling, explanation.
“I’ll be fine.”
She hoped.
“Don’t worry about it if you’re not. There’s an empty plastic bag in the glove compartment if you need it. Now tell me about this urgent care place. Have you ever been there?”
“Not as a patient, but I did a story about it after I relaunched the Herald. It’s well equipped.” She opened the glove compartment.
Yep. Bag was there.
No need for it—yet—but why not leave the door open just in case?
He asked more questions about the center as she leaned back into the corner, keeping her focused on conversation rather than her roiling stomach.
Smart tactic . . . honed through much practice, no doubt . . . and it diverted her attention for the entire drive.
Marci straightened up as he swung into the parking lot adjacent to the facility at the far end of Main Street.
“It’s small.” He gave the storefront location a dubious perusal.
“It’s bigger than it looks from the outside. They even have an X-ray machine.” She fumbled with the handle of her door.
He touched her arm. “Sit tight. I’ll get that.”
After a brief hesitation, she dropped her hand.
If he wanted to walk her in, why not let him? Her legs hadn’t quite regained their starch, and what would another three- or four-minute delay matter? He could drop her in the reception area and be on his way while she was checking in.
Her door swung open. He leaned in to close the glove compartment and extended his hand. “Take it slow and easy.”
“That was my plan.”
Tucking her injured arm against her body, she slid out of the truck. His grip tightened as her feet hit the pavement, but thank goodness her knees didn’t buckle.
“It doesn’t appear we’ll have a long wait.” He surveyed the empty parking spaces in the lot as he shut the door and walked her toward the entrance.
We?
“You don’t need to stick around. Once we get inside, I’ll be in capable hands.”
“I want to look the place over.”
“Why?”
“Call it professional curiosity.”
Sounded more like an excuse to her.
But why argue over a short additional delay?
“Fine. Once you do that, you can be on your way.”
One side of his mouth quirked up. “Trying to get rid of me?”
Yes—but not for the reasons he might suspect.
In fact . . . the temptation to hold on tight to his muscled arm and lean into his solid strength until this was all over was strong.
Too strong.
But he couldn’t be thrilled about spending his Saturday afternoon babysitting a wimpy woman.
“I don’t want to intrude on any more of your day.”
“No worries. You’ve saved me from my to-do list, which is full of items I’m
