Total pages in book: 14
Estimated words: 12956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 65(@200wpm)___ 52(@250wpm)___ 43(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 12956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 65(@200wpm)___ 52(@250wpm)___ 43(@300wpm)
His friend came rushing over with a cell phone to his ear. “BJ, shit. I’m so sorry. There’s an emergency at home, and I have to get back to Knockwood right away. I’ll get one of the guys we skied with to come be with you at the hospital. Julian, the dark-haired one, he seems nice—”
Seems nice? He was going to leave BJ injured and reliant on strangers? I felt an unusual twist of anger in my gut. “There’s an emergency here,” I said. “With your friend. He’s hurt.”
The man grimaced. “No, I know. But my brother’s a bush pilot. He didn’t come back from a recent flight and—”
“Go,” BJ said, waving him off. “I’ll be fine. Message me and let me know your brother’s okay.”
He moved past me to lean over BJ, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Call Parker and Julian to help. You message me to tell me you’re okay, too. I’m sorry.”
BJ was obviously putting on a brave face for his friend. He looked vulnerable and alone. Once his friend left and the paramedics were getting ready to close the doors, I ducked into the bay one last time. “Hey, uh… can I get your number so I can check up on you? I don’t feel right sending you off alone.”
“Yeah,” he said quickly, catching eyes with the impatient ambulance driver over my shoulder. He rattled his number off so I could type it into my phone, and then he was gone.
Two hours later, when I’d finally helped clear the remaining skiers and resort personnel off the mountain, I pulled out my phone to text BJ.
Me: This is Dallas from Ski Patrol. You hanging in there?
After a few minutes, my phone vibrated with a response.
BJ: Good news: only MCL sprain. Bad news: the taxi won’t be here for another forty minutes.
I stared at the phone. How the hell was he supposed to maneuver in and out of a cab without help? Not to mention I’d lived in Aster Valley long enough to know there were exactly two cabs, and neither one was as fast as a sleeping turtle. Forty minutes was optimistic.
Me: I’ll come get you.
BJ: I don’t want to put you out.
Me: Too late, already in the truck.
For some reason, I appreciated the chance to help him. Helping others was something I enjoyed doing anyway; it was one of the reasons I’d chosen the job I had. But helping BJ, who seemed like he could use a friend, was exactly the way I wanted to spend my evening. If I could make his injury a little less of a burden, it would be time well spent.
Not to mention way more enjoyable than going home to an empty house alone.
BJ: Thanks. I really appreciate it.
When I got to the emergency room, someone directed me to the bay where he was huddled under a pile of blankets with a large leg brace propped up on pillows.
He looked pale and tired and had the glazed eyes of someone on a lot of pain medication.
“Hey,” I said softly. “You ready to go?”
He turned his head to face me, and a tear leaked out of one eye. “It hurts.”
I stepped closer and reached out to wipe it away with a thumb. “I’ll bet. Let’s get you home, okay?”
“It’s not home,” he said in a small voice. “It’s a vacation rental. I live up in Jackson Hole. I’m supposed to drive home tomorrow.”
I looked down at his right leg encased in a foam immobilizer. “I’m afraid that’s not happening. You need to get some rest and ice that bad boy. Even if it wasn’t your right leg, I’m guessing you’re going to be on some pain meds for a couple of days.”
Another tear slid out as he reluctantly nodded. “Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “Thanks for coming to get me. The only guy I really knew in town was the one who had to leave.”
BJ seemed so forlorn, a completely different guy than the sparkling, bubbly one I’d seen joking around with Parker and Tiller’s group in the restaurant earlier. I’d noticed them when I’d popped in to show someone the way to the bathrooms, and I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off him.
He’d caught my eye because he was bright and happy, flirty and fun… not to mention gorgeous. I’d felt a little piece of my lonely heart stretching toward him like a flower toward the sun.
But now he was hurt and tired, worn-out and stressed. And my heart went out to him in an entirely different way.
Someone came in with a wheelchair and helped him transfer from the blanket nest. He was wearing the blue scrub shorts that the ski-area hospitals seemed to order in bulk for just this reason.
I grabbed the white plastic bag with his belongings and helped him put his parka back on. His one bare leg would freeze in the time it took me to transfer him to my truck, so I shrugged out of my own parka and put it over his lap.