Page 11 of Fall Favor
The brake lights on the vehicle we’re following flash on, then off, and then back on as the rearend of the car loses traction, slinging the rear from side to side as the driver loses control. The car spins, our headlights momentarily illuminating the terror on the faces of the driver and passenger in a freeze-frame slow motion, before everything snaps back into real time. The car slides backward through the other lane, barely missing the oncoming semi-truck, then disappears over the embankment.
Suddenly, Manny has his own fight on his hands as we hit the same patch of frozen pavement. The wheels break loose, but he manages to control our slide and brings us safely to a stop on the shoulder.
What happens over the next few hours is a nightmare. It becomes glaringly apparent how unprepared I am for Montana in the winter. Other than a flashlight and a tub of sample quilts for my next class, I have nothing in my vehicle that’s of any use to anyone, including my phone, which has no service. Luckily, the trucker who also stops does.
He tells us he’s already radioed the accident and mile marker to the state police. While he sets up flares, Manny keeps me from landing on my backside as we slip and slide down the embankment, following the path of turned-up earth and snow. My shoes and ankles are instantly wet, cold, and full of slush, and my face and hair aren’t faring much better, but my discomfort disappears and dread leaves me shaken as the beam of the flashlight bounces over the severely damaged vehicle.
It’s obvious the car has rolled. When I was married to Bucky, I saw crashes, and even though some of them were bad, the racersand their families and crews knew crashes would happen. But those were always in a controlled environment with harnesses, helmets, barriers, and a safety crew waiting seconds away just in case. But this? This is insane.
While Manny wrenches open the driver’s side door and checks on the unconscious driver, I shuffle my feet to keep from slipping as I move to the passenger side. This door isn’t as smashed as the driver’s side, but when I try to pull it open, the darned thing won’t budge.
“Manny, hit the button to unlock the door,” I shout.
When it clicks, I grab the handle and pull. The door swings wide, knocking me back a step. I grimace as a glob of heavy, wet slush falls onto the dark-haired woman in the passenger’s seat. I lean over her and try to recall the first aid training I had years ago. My fingers are wet and cold, but I press them against the side of her throat.
I can’t feel a pulse, but then her eyes pop open. “H-Hey there, honey. You’ve been in an accident, but help is on the way. Can you tell me your name?”
“A-Anna.”
“That’s good, Anna, do you hurt any—”
“W-Where is Benji? Where is my s-son?”
I meet Manny’s gaze through the interior of the car as he holds a piece of torn and bloody flannel against the driver’s head. We both turn simultaneously and peer into the darkness of the back seat.Shit.
“I’ll check.” I back out of the car, giving Anna instructions on staying calm and holding as still as possible.
Taking a breath, I open the back passenger door. There, huddled in a booster seat, is a small boy. His eyes are wide and glassy with unshed tears, and his bottom lip is poking out, but he seems okay.
I crawl into the back seat with him. I don’t want to remove him from the car seat in case he’s injured, so I hold his hand. When more help arrives, I ask one of the men to grab the tub of blankets from the back seat of my truck; it doesn’t matter to me that they’re worth hundreds of dollars.
The second Samaritan sits with Anna. He tries to keep her calm as she begs me to look after her son. I reassure her every time she asks and wrap the warmest quilt in the box around him, and then we wait.
It seems like forever for the police and EMTs to arrive, but realistically, it’s probably less than an hour. I stay with Benji as all the men help get the injured couple up the hill on backboards. The truck driver, John, helps Manny carry the little boy still strapped in his car seat up to the road. There isn’t a safe place to secure him in the ambulances, so Manny and I offer to put himand his car seat into my vehicle and follow the ambulances to the closest hospital in Missoula.
When we arrive, Anna has given the harried staff permission to allow Manny and I to see to her son’s well-being until the rest of her family arrives. Manny is unusually quiet as he stares at Benji while he sleeps. I wonder if this is his way of dealing with the stress of the accident or if it’s something deeper.
Chapter 9
Manny
Leah unlocks the door on the back porch and pushes it open. The faint aroma of cinnamon lingering in the air from yesterday’s breakfast is a much-needed welcome home. I remove my coat and boots. Our damp socks leave wet prints on the hardwood floor as I follow her through the living room. I shrug—mopping will have to wait.
Instead of heading up the stairs to her bedroom, she gives me a serene smile. Taking my hand, she leads me past the bed and into the master bathroom.
“Leah…”
“Shh. Let me take care of you.”
I nod, my eyelids dropping closed, covering the sting of tears as exhaustion, the night’s events, and my own past—a frightened little boy abandoned by everyone he knows—dig blunted claws into me, dragging me toward the breaking point. But men aren’t supposed to cry, are they? I draw in a choppy breath and stand there swaying.
“Get undressed, honey. I’ll warm up the shower.”
I do what she says, content to have someone taking charge for a change. At this moment, I don’t have to be strong or hide my emotions because Leah’s got me, and I can trust she won’t judge me or let me fall.
The shower door clicks, followed by the sounds of the shower turning on. When I’ve finished removing my clothes, smooth fingers brush against my skin. She takes my hand and guides me beneath the spray. The water is a shade too hot, and somehow perfectly… perfect after hours spent cold, wet, and chilled to the bone.
Her touch is magic as she runs a soapy washcloth over my tense arms and stiff shoulders before tracing a circular path down the tight knots squeezing at my spine. My buttocks clench as she passes the cloth over and between them and then down the back of my thighs to my calves. My cock stirs as my head drops forward as if pulled by strings, releasing tensions of the previous night. When she taps my ankles, I lift each foot for her, and the soapy cloth traces over each instep.
