Page 7 of One Last Storm
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
She forced herself to meet his eyes.
Another mistake. He could read people like books, and she was apparently an open page because her eyes filled.
From the living room came the soft sound of Hazel humming, lost in her book about the big red dog.
“Tillie, are you?—?”
She closed her eyes. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
The cramping returned with a vengeance. She doubled over, gripping the counter, unable to hide the pain this time.
Caspian barked once. Sharp and urgent.
“Whoa, easy boy.” Dawson moved toward her.
She held up a hand. “I’m okay. Just...” She breathed through it, one hand on the counter, the other buried in Caspian’s fur.
“Okay, that’s it.”
She looked over at him.
Dawson was already heading for the door, reaching for his coat.
“Where are you going?”
“To shovel the driveway.” He pulled on his heavy winter boots, grabbed insulated gloves from the basket by the door. Snow swirled in when he cracked it open to check conditions. “Because after I’m done, we’re going to the hospital.”
“Dawson, no?—”
“Yes.” He turned back to her, expression set in that stubborn way that reminded her he was related to Moose. Caspian whined softly, as if agreeing. “Whatever this is, whatever you’re hiding, it needs medical attention. And you’re going to get checked out.”
She glanced at Hazel, who’d looked over at her, frowning.
“Ten minutes.” He opened the door fully, letting in a blast of arctic air and swirling snow that immediately began to melt on the hardwood floor. The wind tried to rip the door from his hands. He turned to her then, and his gaze softened. “It’s going to be okay, Tillie.”
Then he headed outside.
The door slammed behind him, muffled by the howling storm.
Oh, she’d let dread keep her from being smart. Hiding from medical care didn’t mean that she’d keep the tragedy from happening.
She got up. “Hazel, honey. We need…we need to go to town.”
She bundled Hazel up in a warm coat, mittens, and hat, then grabbed her own.
Caspian went to the door, sitting in front of it. Clearly a roadblock. “Fine, you can come with us.”
Through the window, she could barely make out Dawson’s dark figure moving through the white chaos, already disappearing into the storm as he fought his way toward the truck.
Caspian looked up at her and whined softly, tail wagging.
And all she could hear, as she grabbed her coat was Dawson. It’s going to be okay.
She wished she could believe him.
