Page 41 of Colton in the Wild
Hetty was certain that if she didn’t get out of here soon she was going to explode. This was day five of her stay and she’d had enough. She was surprised her blood pressure wasn’t through the roof every time they came in and wrapped the cuff around her arm. It was in no small part because she knew Spence had put everything on hold to be with her. To be with her practically every moment she was awake. And, judging by the times she’d awakened in the dark—they used blackout curtains to simulate actual darkness at night in the hospital—most of the time when she was sleeping, too.
Which meant RTA had to be scrambling, minus their premier guide who had been booked solid all month, and down a pilot. This had to have thrown them into complete chaos. If only she’d noticed that guy sooner. If only she’d realized something was wrong with the plane. If only, if only, if only…
But on second thought, she wasn’t sure she’d trade that night in the cave with Spence, when the truth between them had finally come out into the open, for anything.
Even for not being shot.
She wrapped her arms around herself. She was anxious to talk to him, really talk, without anybody else around to interrupt. But she had no idea when that might happen. She had sent her mother back to finish her vacation, insisting it was the first real break she’d taken in years, and that she would be fine. She’d told her brothers to back off; that she needed to concentrate on recuperation and didn’t need them dropping in five times a day. She’d even—with ulterior motive—told Troy that if he wanted to call multiple times a day to see how she was to call Lakin instead, so she could focus on healing.
She did not, however, tell Spence to back off. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, not when she got so much quiet pleasure out of waking up and seeing him there, so close at hand, or when she thought he’d finally left but then he strolled in the door a few minutes later.
Hetty pushed herself extra hard at therapy that morning, both to vent her frustration and because the harder she worked at it, the sooner she’d get out of here. She was exhausted after the hour and a half session, which alone told her how much farther she had to go. At one time, she could have done everything the therapist asked her to without even breathing faster. Now, it was an effort unlike anything she’d had to make before, except for that night at the lake when she’d been in such pain from the gunshot wound. And even then, once Spence had found her, she hadn’t had to do much, since he had carried her. Carried her with such ease, such care, such…tenderness.
But she would make the effort. Every day if she had to. She had learned to handle the crutches, although she didn’t like it. If they would get her out of this place, she’d deal. Although now she was almost tired enough for a nap. But no sooner was she back sitting on the edge of the bed in her room, pondering if she dared try lifting her injured leg up under its own power or if she should use her hands to maneuver it, than the door opened.
She sucked in a breath and tried to paste on her cheerful face, something else she’d adopted in her effort to escape. But when she turned to look, she was sure the expression had frozen.
It was Spence. And he was pushing an empty wheelchair. Well, empty except for a small duffel bag on the seat. And with him were his parents. Ryan and Abby Colton were smiling widely. And, in their case, it was for real, unlike the effort she’d made. Abby’s smile in particular was warm, and her short, bouncy bob suited her so well. Her eyes were green, although a different shade than her own, and they were actually sparkling, as if she was delighted to be there.
“You ready to get out of here?” Ryan—she always had trouble even thinking of him by his first name, no matter his insistence, because he was, in essence, her boss—asked, his smile becoming a grin.
“Out?” She almost yelped. “Seriously?”
“Well, it’d be a pretty lousy prank if we weren’t,” drawled Spence.
“And we need to hurry before I get accused of bribing a source on the biggest story this town has had in years,” said an also grinning Abby, obviously referring to her job as a reporter for the local newspaper, theShelby Weekly.
Hetty winced inwardly at the reminder of not only the man who had shot her, but the body they’d found, but she selfishly let the personal news outweigh it. She was getting out.
“I don’t need the chair, really,” she said, experiencing a burst of energy that made her feel as if she’d already healed.
“You don’t,” Spence agreed easily, “but the hospital requires it.” He flashed his own grin at her, which somehow had a lot more impact. “How about we let you climb into the bird on your own?”
She blinked. “You flew here?”
“So I’m impatient,” Spence quipped.
“Besides,” his father said, “I think that drive in a car would be a little much for you right now.” His mouth quirked. “And for me, for that matter. I’m spoiled, I much prefer flying.”
They all seemed so happy, as if they were rescuing one of their own. They had always said she was family, and had always treated her that way, but if she had any doubts left that they really meant it, they were vanquished by the happiness that now filled the room. And she found herself grinning right back at them, the unexpected gift of freedom too much to hold in.
“Now, you’re still under doctor’s orders,” Abby said in the same kind of tone her mother used when she was giving instructions to one of her brood. “So you have to take it easy.”
“And we’ll enforce that, if necessary,” Ryan said. “We have your room ready and waiting—”
“My room?” Hetty said, staring at Spence’s dad.
Abby laughed. “Leave it to him to put the end of the story first. You’re staying with us, dear.”
“But—”
Abby hushed her with a wave. “Not up for negotiation. The only reason they agreed to release you was our promise that you’d be in a place with no stairs. So, your upstairs apartment does not cut it. Now, I talked with your friend Dove, and she told me what clothes she thought would work, and told us where the extra key was hidden, so we went and gathered those for you,” she said, indicating the bag on the wheelchair seat.
Redheaded Dove St. James ran Namaste, the small yoga studio on Main Street in town, a place Hetty frequented when she needed some calm. So, often. Often enough that she and Dove had become good friends. And since her studio was right down the street from Hetty’s apartment, it was a handy spot to stash a backup key to her place.
“She’ll also look into some special techniques that might be helpful, when the doctor says you’re ready,” Abby went on, leaving Hetty feeling like her head was spinning a little. All the things she’d been trying to figure out—including how she was going to manage the stairs to her apartment—seemed to have magically been solved.
“Wow,” she said. “Got a problem, turn the Coltons loose on it.”
