“O spirit of love! How quick and fresh art thou!”
William Shakespeare
“Just lie still.”
Carrie Taylor stared dazedly up into the worried brown eyes of a uniformed man.
“Wha-what happened?”
“You've been in an accident,” he responded, and she had the inane thought that she rather liked the low timbre of his voice.
“An accident?”
“Yes, ma'am. No, lie still. Paramedics are on the way. What's your name?”
“Carrie Taylor.”
Water from the cold January rain dripped from the bill of his hat. The badge on his uniform told her he was a police officer. Her head hurt but when she tried to lift her arm to touch it, the pain was excruciating and she cried out. But that was nothing compared to the pain in her leg when she tried to move it.
“Please, ma'am, lie still.”
“I hurt,” she moaned and he nodded.
“I know.”
A siren was heard in the distance. The officer looked away and motioned toward the crowd that had gathered around them.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please stand back. Stand back!”
“Here's her purse,” a man from the crowd passed it to the officer then stood back with the curious onlookers.
Moments later the ambulance arrived, followed by another police cruiser.
“The paramedics are here,” he reassured her, “They'll take care of you.”
Almost immediately another uniformed man, this one wearing a paramedic's insignia on his jacket, appeared above her.
“What happened?” he asked as he began checking her over. His partner arrived carrying a large utility case.
“I-I don't know,” Carrie whispered weakly in response.
“Hit and run,” the policeman replied then turned his attention to the crowd. She heard him once again ordering them to step back as the second attendant, a woman wearing an emergency medical technician patch, began taking her vitals. Very shortly thereafter Carrie was carefully rolled onto a backboard then loaded onto a gurney and wheeled toward the waiting ambulance.
“Which hospital?” the policeman asked as they started away.
“Mercy General.”
“I'll meet you there.”
Carrie kept trying to slip into unconsciousness as the ambulance sped toward the hospital, its siren wailing. The paramedic kept ordering her to “stay with me” as he started an IV, continued to monitor her vitals, and contacted the emergency room with the results. The next thing she knew, a team of emergency room personnel were surrounding her, each performing their assigned tasks. A nurse kept ordering her to stay awake until the doctor arrived. Moments later, Carrie slipped into unconsciousness. The doctor calling her name was the last thing she heard.
It was late the next morning before she began to come around. Another nurse, an attractive black woman with an authoritative air, was standing over her.
“Carrie? Carrie? Can you hear me?”
After a few seconds Carrie nodded slightly and whispered, “Yes.”
“Can you tell me your name?”
The patient frowned, wondering why the nurse asked when she obviously already knew.
“Carrie Taylor. Where am I?”
“You're in Mercy General. In ICU. I'm one of your nurses, Mary Elise.”
“What happened?”
“You were in a car accident,” the nurse responded then looked up as a middle aged man wearing a lab coat arrived with a stethoscope hanging around his neck. Above the breast pocket was embroidered, “Matthew Scott, M.D.”
“I see you've come back to us,” he said with a smile, “I'm Doctor Scott.”
Carried managed a weak smile.
“Is that your first or last name?”
The doctor's smile broadened as he motioned toward his jacket.
“Last. Tell me how you feel.”
“Terrible.”
He nodded.
“That's to be expected.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“Someone lost control of their car and hit you as you were walking down the sidewalk.”
“Who was it?”
“I don't know. There's a police officer waiting to talk to you when we're finished here.”
He went on to recite the extent of her injuries, which included a “significant” concussion, sprained elbow, broken leg, and some bruised ribs, before explaining the surgery they had conducted to repair her leg, which had been broken in three places. After telling her that she'd probably be moved to a regular room the next day, he and the nurse left and not long after a police officer walked in. He seemed vaguely familiar, but then she recognized his voice as belonging to the policeman who had helped her.
“Miss Taylor,” he said, “I'm Officer Ben Campion with the city police department. I imagine you're not feeling all that great.”
“No, afraid not.”
He nodded and smiled sympathetically, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. She decided she liked his smile.
He took a small notepad and pen from his breast pocket.
“Do you remember what happened?”
He watched her frown as she thought back.
“I was walking down the street to go to the craft store. The next thing I remember is you talking to me.”
He nodded and scribbled something on the pad.
“Now, Miss Taylor...”
“Please call me Carrie or I'll think you're one of my students.”
“You're a teacher?”
“Yes. At Temple Middle School.”
He scribbled on the pad.
“Okay Carrie, now I'm going to ask you an important question.”
She nodded and winced.
“Do you know why anyone would want to hurt you?”
Her eyes widened.
“Hurt me?”
“Yes ma'am. Witnesses say the driver seemed to be aiming straight at you.”
Horrified, she started to deny it, then remembered a confrontation she'd had with a student over a test score the week before.
“There was a student in my American History class. Peter Delaney. He took exception to failing a test.” She swallowed and tears welled up in her eyes. “He said I'd be sorry, but I didn't think he meant anything by it. Do you think it was him?”
The officer noted the student's name on his notepad.
“I don't know but we'll certainly check him out. Anyone else who might have a beef with you?”
She closed her eyes and swallowed. Her expression was despairing when she looked back up.
“Peter's father. He came into my office and accused me of intentionally failing his son just to get him kicked off the basketball team because I didn't like him.” She shook her head sadly. “He was furious. Almost irrational.”
“And did you? Like Peter, I mean.”
She grimaced.
“Truthfully, no. No one does, actually. He's a troublemaker and a bully, always disrupting class and intimidating other students. But I would never give him an unfair grade.” She smiled wanly. “After meeting his father I know where he gets his attitude.”
“What's his father's name?”
“Roger Delaney.”
“The city manager?”
“Yes.”
Officer Campion wrote the father's name on his note pad, folded it closed, then returned it and his pen to his pocket.
“Okay, thank you, Carrie. I'll leave you to rest but I'll probably want to talk to you again later.”
She nodded before managing a small, impish smile. Ben Campion thought her country-girl freshness pretty even with all the bruises.
“Bring me a Hershey bar when you come back?” she asked jokingly, surprised at her own audacity.
Ben grinned.
“I'll see if it's allowed.”
He brought her the requested Hershey bar when he visited her again several days later, just before she was released, to tell her that Peter Delaney's father had been arrested for vehicular assault. Carrie simply couldn't believe that someone would do something like that over a failed test, but then she remembered how furious both Peter and his father had been and realized it was, indeed, possible.
In the coming days, Carrie's wounds continued to heal. The headaches from the concussion eased until they stopped altogether, her elbow recovered until only a twinge of discomfort remained, and eventually her bruised ribs grudgingly allowed her to use crutches to get around. She would not be cleared to return to work until after the end of the school year, so she kept busy indulging her varied interests, including crafts.
Carrie loved to decoupage using Mod Podge from the crafts store. In addition to her personal projects she also accepted requests from friends and acquaintances. Most were sentimental, usually sealing a beloved card or some other precious paper item or photo to a decorative plaque. In one case, elegant food graphics were used to decorate a large, unfinished serving tray to be given as a fiftieth wedding anniversary gift.. For most projects she charged only for the cost of the materials. The full price exceptions were her popular Christmas ornaments, which she made available at various businesses around town. The proceeds would then go to a local charity that distributed holiday food boxes to those who wouldn't otherwise be able to enjoy a traditional holiday meal. Families would also receive gifts for the children from the community, while every box contained one of Carrie's ornaments.
Such a massive undertaking required her to begin creating enough inventory early in the year, so she used much of her recovery time painting small, unfinished wood shapes before sealing various Christmas graphics and trim to the newly painted surfaces. She happily calculated her proceeds would nearly double those of years to date and would therefore allow the charity to help even more people.
Friends often dropped by for a visit, sometimes bearing home cooked or fast food meals so she wouldn't have to worry about maneuvering around her kitchen with crutches. All expressed concern about her possibly falling and re-injuring herself. Though touched by their worry, she repeatedly assured them she was okay and would continue to be okay, growing more and more exasperated when their worry continued unabated. Ben Campion called a few times, ostensibly to see how she was doing. She didn't mind his concern at all and found herself wishing he would see her as something more than an accident victim. But other than the polite followups by a committed cop, he didn't seem interested in anything more.
A little over two weeks following her hospital discharge, on Valentine's Day, she was interrupted by yet another ringing of her doorbell as she spent the evening working on ornaments. Expecting another mother hen friend, she rolled her eyes and crutched her way from the smaller bedroom she used as a workshop, and opened the door to find Ben Campion smiling warmly down at her. His casual jeans and fisherman's sweater, along with the pink gift bag held in his large hand, told her he wasn't there on police business.
“Hi, Carrie. I'm not interrupting, am I?”
Surprised, and suddenly conscious of the ancient sweats she was wearing, as well as her less the tidy ponytail, she nonetheless smiled with pleasure.
“Officer Campion! No, not at all. Please, come in.”
After closing the door behind him and, as had become her habit, immediately turning the deadbolt, she crutched behind him into the living room.
“Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? I'm afraid the options are limited. Soda, water, and some really bad instant coffee.”
He chuckled.
“No, thank you. And, please, call me Ben.”
He waited until she'd taken a seat on the lift recliner her surgeon had recommended upon her discharge before choosing a spot on the sofa closest to her. He handed her the gift bag.
“I brought you a get well present.”
She smiled shyly as she accepted it.
“Oh! You didn't need to do this!”
He watched as she removed the tissue then grinned as she withdrew the box. When she saw the picture on it she glanced quizzically at him before opening it. Inside, attached to a brass chain decorated with a green silk tropical vine, was a monkey on a swing, and she grinned in return.
“It's adorable!”
“There's a switch on the swing. Turn it on.”
She did so and instantly the monkey started chattering and rocking on its perch. Her delighted laughter broadened his smile.
“I love it!”
“I'd hoped you would.”
“Oh, I do! Thank you!”
She had the strongest urge to kiss him and blushed at the thought.
“There's a card as well.”
After switching the monkey off, she set it on her lap then reached into the gift bag and withdrew a pink envelope. It was sealed with a silver heart. After breaking the seal, she withdrew a smaller envelope with her name scrawled on the front. Her color deepened as a shy smile curved her lips. Inside it was a heart-shaped Valentine of the kind children exchanged at school. On it was a cartoon gorilla holding a banana with the caption, “I'm bananas for you, Valentine!”
“I've enjoyed our telephone calls,” he explained, “and I'd hoped we could get to know each other better. Would you have dinner with me?”
She smiled apologetically.
“I would love to but, as you can see, going out is a major production right now.”
His answering smile reflected his pleasure.
“I thought it might be. So, I was going to suggest ordering in, if you are agreeable.”
“Now? I'm hardly dressed for a-a...”
“Date?”
“Is that what it would be?”
“I'd like it to be. And I think you look perfect.”
“Hardly.”
“May as well be comfortable in your own home.”
She thought about it for a moment before surrendering to temptation.
“Okay.”
“What do you like to eat?”
“What would you suggest?”
“Do you like Chinese? There's a great little mom and pop restaurant I know that delivers.”
“I would love some sweet and sour pork.”
In the thirty minutes it took for their dinners to be delivered, she excused herself to crutch to her bedroom and change out of her sweats into an equally comfortable but infinitely more presentable floor-length, peacock teal lounger. Finally, she released her hair from its ponytail and brushed it out, leaving it loose about her shoulders, and returned to the living room feeling more confident and at ease. No woman wanted to look like a slob in front of a man she was attracted to!
Not long after, their dinner arrived and the aromas wafting from the bag caused her stomach to rumble loudly. Ben laughed at her wry expression.
“How long has it been since you ate?” he asked.
“I had a cheese sandwich at lunch.”
Her stomach rumbled again.
“Then come, milady, and feast!'
He insisted on seating her at the small dinette then removed the containers and two pairs of chopsticks from the bag.
“What to drink?” he asked, after setting everything out on the table.
“Uh,” she was dubiously eyeing the chopsticks as she answered, “I'll have a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Help yourself to whatever you'd like.”
He brought two bottles of water to the table.
“Plates?”
“In the cupboard above the sink to the right.” She paused. “And you better bring me a fork.”
“Never used chopsticks before?”
Smiling wryly, she shook her head.
“Tried. Failed. Gave up. Silverware is in the drawer beside the refrigerator.”
He brought the plates and a fork, then sat down across the table from her.
“Want me to give you a few pointers?”
“On what?”
“Using chopsticks.”
“I doubt they'll help.”
“Won't know until you try.”
Ten minutes later, he conceded defeat and handed her the fork, and for the next hour they shared her sweet and sour pork, his beef and broccoli, and their fried rice while he regaled her with tales of the stupid criminals he'd arrested. Such as the burglar who'd sought to elude pursuing officers by ducking into the night-dark woods, forgetting the heals of his expensive sneakers lit up as he ran.
“Easiest arrest I ever made,” he finished, grinning as Carrie wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. “What about you? What adventures and misadventures have you had as a teacher?”
She chuckled as she took a drink of water.
“Plenty, I assure you. But I think the most memorable was the day one of the boys decided the best way to get a certain girl's attention was to introduce her to his pet.”
Ben waited, his eyes sparkling.
“What kind of pet?” he finally asked and was rewarded with her wry chuckle.
“He brought his pet tarantula to homeroom then dropped it when the girl screamed, knocking her desk over when she jumped away, which caused a domino effect as other desks fell.” His laughter joined hers. “Kids were jumping and screaming everywhere while the tarantula was running for cover under my desk!”
“And you?” he prompted knowingly, “What were you doing?”
Carrie shook her head.
“I was trying to calm everyone down. From the other side of the room!”
Ben's laughter boomed as he imagined the scene.
“It was just a spider.”
“The size of this plate!”
Her laughter joined his until they were both breathless, and ended with them staring into one another's eyes. After a moment he motioned to the two fortune cookies on the table between them.
“You first.”
Smiling, she chose the one closest to her, tore open the wrapper, broke the cookie and withdrew the small slip of paper. Color rose becomingly in her cheeks when she read her fortune.
“So?” he prodded, “What's it say?”
She stared at it a moment longer before answering.
“It says, 'Paradise is certain.'”
His smile turned a bit wolfish.
“Paradise, huh?”
Her color rose higher as with an effort she met his eyes. Setting the slip of paper down, she nodded pointedly toward the remaining cookie.
“Your turn, Officer.”
Moments later he looked up from his own slip of paper and winked before reading it aloud.
“'A gift lies before you,'” he murmured before raising his gaze once again to hers. “And I'd have to agree.”
A few minutes later Ben insisted that he be the one to clean up their few dirty dishes before following Carrie into the room where she made her ornaments. The room wasn't very large, barely large enough for the futon and old desk she used for a craft table, and suddenly it seemed even smaller with him in it. After crutching up to the table, she motioned nervously to the cluttered top.
“This is where I've been spending most of my time lately.”
She watched as he picked up wood ornaments of varied shapes that she had decorated with scraps of old Christmas cards and wrapping paper. Some were glittered while others were trimmed with delicate bric-a-brac and braid. All bore the year in gilded flourish on the back and a gold cord for hanging.
“These are beautiful,” he finally murmured as he stared down at a winsome little girl holding a puppy. Looking up at her he smiled. “You're very talented.”
Carrie hadn't been aware of holding her breath until she slowly released it.
“Thank you,” she nodded toward the one in his hand. “You like that one? You can have it since you bought me dinner.”
He nodded as his smile warmed.
“Thank you.” For a moment their eyes held before he motioned toward the boxes of ornaments she'd already completed. “What do you do with them when they're finished?”
“Sell them in shops during the holidays. The proceeds are earmarked for charity. Some I donate to the Empty Pantry Fund to put in the boxes of food they distribute at Christmas.”
“You're a generous woman.”
She shrugged self consciously.
“Just giving back. It wasn't so long ago that my family needed a food box at Christmas.”
“You must make the craft stores pretty happy when they see you coming.”
She grinned.
“Probably. I go around several times a year to keep my supplies up.” Her nose wrinkled charmingly. “I admit I get a little carried away sometimes when there's a sale going on.”
“Looks like it's all put to good use to me.”
Pleased with his praise, her smile bloomed.
“Thank you.”
Another long moment passed before he cleared his throat.
“Would you like for me to hang your gift before I leave?”
With a smile she nodded.
“Sure, if it's not too much trouble.”
“I wouldn't offer otherwise. Where would you like it?”
From her tool box she withdrew a hook and motioned to the corner of the ceiling nearest to the workbench.
“Uh, right there. It's the perfect place, I think.”
He agreed and retrieved the monkey from the living room.
“Do you have a step stool or ladder?”
She nodded toward the closet.
“In there. It's my catch all place so please don't mind the mess.”
Before long he had the monkey hanging where she had indicated and turned it on. They both chuckled as it began chattering and rocking on its swing.
“It really is the perfect gift,” she sighed as he switched it off, then grinned mischievously up at him. “I'll always think of you when I look at it.”
He laughed.
“I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing.”
He stood aside as she started crutching her way to the living room.
“Would you like something else to drink and maybe visit for a while longer?”
He glanced at his watch and regretfully shook his head.
“I guess I better be heading out. Have an early shift in the morning.”
She smiled but her disappointment was apparent as she followed him to the door.
“Well, I'm glad you dropped by.”
Ben faced her with a small smile, his eyes warmly searching hers.
“I'm glad I did, too. Would you like to do it again?”
She didn't hesitate.
“Yes.”
His smiled broadened slightly before he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.
“I'll call you tomorrow.”
She nodded and quietly closed the door behind him, before raising her hand to brush her fingers over her cheek.
~
In the coming weeks, Carrie continued to heal. Eventually with the aid of physical therapy she graduated to a walking boot rather than a cast, and not long after that was able to walk without the aid of the crutches. Ben would often come over, bringing dinner or ordering once he arrived, until the day she finally felt confident enough to go out. To celebrate, he took her a nice Italian restaurant, promising her that their chicken Marsala was simply to die for. And after the first bite, she had to agree.
Afterward he asked her if she'd like to take a short walk around the city's duck pond as it was the first warm night of spring and she smiled as she agreed.
It wasn't late so there were still people in the park. Joggers, power walkers, other couples, all followed the path that encircled the pond with its fountain in the middle and the ever present flocks of ducks and Canadian geese occupying the water and banks. Tulips and irises bloomed in cultivated beds while reeds grew along the edge of the pond. Lights lined the path, their design in keeping with the town's nostalgic air. As they walked sedately along, they would occasionally have to shift aside to let someone pass, until Ben simply put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to his side.
“It's easier this way,” he explained with a gentle smile, giving her a light squeeze, and Carrie smiled in return. She felt safe and cherished beneath his strong arm, even as his scent, an earthy mixture of man and understated cologne, began to kindle another kind of awareness deep within her body.
Eventually they sat upon a bench beneath a willow tree with branches just sprouting small green shoots. He kept his arm around her, holding her close to his side as she laid her head against his shoulder. They said little, their voices little more than murmurs when they did speak, as they simply shared the quiet evening. Time passed as the number of joggers and walkers eventually thinned until only a few remained, along with an occasional dog walker going by. They reminisced, sharing stories from their childhood, and talked of what they'd like to be “when they grew up.”
“So you don't want to be a cop anymore?” she asked and he shrugged.
“No, I like my job. I like the satisfaction that I get from helping people and keeping them safe.”
“But?”
“I don't know. I think about what I would else I'd like to do. I have my vacation and free days, and eventually I'll retire. There's more to life than wearing a badge.” He paused. “Though if the truth be known, I always wear a badge even when I'm not actually wearing one.”
“Do you resent it?”
He shook his head and rubbed his chin against her hair.
“No, no I don't. It's something I enjoy and take pride in. But life needs balancing, you know?”
“So what do you do in your free time?”
“At home I read and tinker with my car. I like to camp and go to concerts and drag races. And I'm a part of an organization of first responders that work with at risk youth. All in all, it's satisfying enough. But like most people, there's always a certain amount of, I suppose curiosity you could say, about what else I can get involved in.”
She nodded and nuzzled closer to his broad chest.
“So, what's on your bucket list?”
“I'd love to travel. Visit places I've only read about or seen in documentaries.”
“Anywhere in particular?”
“Provence, France.”
“Really?” She pulled a little away so she could look up into his face.”Why Provence?”
“My great-grandparents owned a lavender farm there many years ago before fleeing the Nazis during the second world war. I used to listen to them and my grandparents talk about what life was like then and I just developed a desire to see it for myself.” He paused. “What about you? Would you like to travel?”
She grinned.
“Yeah. I want to take a culinary tour of Italy then finish off with dessert in Vienna.”
He chuckled.
“That sounds pretty good, actually.” He felt a small shiver go through her and realized how cool the night was getting to be. “You're getting cold. I suppose I should get you home before you become an ice cube.”
For a moment she snuggled closer, thinking of just how warm he was making her feel, before she reluctantly drew away to meet his gaze.
“I suppose you're right,” she murmured, “Though honestly I wish the night wouldn't end.”
Their gazes held before he slowly bent and pressed his lips gently to hers. After a moment he drew away slightly, his breath mingling with hers, as he stared into her eyes. She saw the question in his and nodded.
“Yes,” she whispered, “Yes.”
The next morning, she awoke in his arms with her head pillowed on his broad, muscular chest and her healing leg draped over his long, hairy ones. Early light was filtering in around the drawn shades and she could hear early birds singing outside the windows. She smiled as she listened to him snore softly in her ear and placed a gentle kiss amid the crisp hair beneath her nose. A second later he took a deep breath and opened his eyes to stare sleepily down into hers.
“Good morning,” she whispered and kissed his chin.
“Morning.” He yawned mightily. “What time is it?”
She looked past him to the clock on the side table.
“A little after seven. Would you like some breakfast?”
“Are you still on the menu?” he asked roguishly, his voice husky with sleep, and she smiled with feminine satisfaction, remembering the night before.
“Do you want me to be?”
He rolled her onto her back, pressing her down into the mattress as he began to kiss his way down her neck.
“Oh, yeah. An exclusive banquet, just for me.”
He finally left her later that morning, saying he had things to take care of before his shift that night and giving her one last passionate kiss.
“Hold that thought,” he told her before walking away and she smiled as she closed the door behind him.
The day passed and Carrie couldn't seem to stop smiling. Late that morning she Ubered to her doctor's office for a follow up before going by CiCi's Crafts and Things for supplies. CiCi had become a good friend over the years and immediately picked up on Carrie's mood.
“So?” she drawled knowingly, her aged face awash in puckish humor, “Who is he?”
Carrie frowned in confusion.
“Who's who?”
“The man who put that smile on your face.”
“How do you know it's a man?”
“Girl, I'm 73-years-old! I know love when I see it.” The old woman paused and her eyes widened as realization struck. “Why, it's that policeman, isn't it? The one that saved you.”
The blush on her face belied Carrie's attempt at a bland expression.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Cici cackled and slapped the counter top.
“I knew it! Good for you! It's about time you had a good man in your life.”
“Cici...”
“Don't you try to deny it, Carrie Taylor! It's been a long time, too long, since you had anyone special in your life.” She patted the younger woman's arm. “It's just wonderful to see you glow with such happiness.”
There was a long, silent pause before Carrie admitted something to her friend that she had been hiding from herself.
“I'm scared, Cici.”
“Of what, child?”
Carrie shrugged slightly, her expression troubled.
“Of something happening. I mean, he's a cop and he doesn't have a partner to back him up. I worry that, that...”
Cici nodded and took Carrie's hands in hers.
“Of course you do. It's only natural. Yes, there's danger but as the saying goes, you could just as easily get killed crossing the street, and if I remember correctly, you nearly were.” She squeezed her hands. “I'm not trying to lessen the danger of his job by any means. But I'm somewhat of a fatalist. No one is going anywhere until it's their time. Until then, it doesn't do any good to worry about what might happen, and it would certainly be tragic if you were to deny either of you what you could have out of fear.” The old woman leaned closer. “He makes you glow, young lady, and I'm willing to bet you make him glow, too. Are you going to deny either of you more of that because of something that only might happen?”
Carrie thought of the night before and all the time since they had first met, and smiled softly.
“No. No, I couldn't do that.” She took a deep breath and her smile grew. “He is such a wonderful man, Cici. Kind, strong, caring...”
“And handsome as sin?” Cici asked shrewdly.
“Of course.”
“Can he cook? I always did love a man who could cook.”
“He makes a mean take out.”
The old woman chuckled.
“Then there you have it. The perfect man.”
Carrie winked in response before reaching for her bags of purchases.
“For me, anyway. Thanks, Cici. See you next time.”
Carrie spent the rest of the afternoon working in her crafts room on a wooden treasure box a friend had asked her to finish. Ben called early in the evening while on his break and by the time they hung up Carrie's heart was pounding from listening to his whispered promises for after he got off at midnight. Leaving the box for the next day, she washed her hair then had a long soak in fragrant bath oil and bubbles, propped up with her towel-wrapped head on a bath pillow, a steamy paperback romance perched on a small tray that stretched over the tub, and several scented candles burning around the bathroom. Afterward, she donned a sexy peignoir set she had bought a few days before with just such a night in mind. She grimaced then smiled in satisfaction as she looked down at her feet and decided to forego putting the walking boot back on. She wouldn't be wearing it for long anyway once Ben got home.
The thought surprised her and she wondered if Ben thought of her apartment in the same way. Did he ever refer to it as home, even in passing?
She sat on the sofa and switched on the TV to a classic movie channel, then settled in to wait.
Midnight came and went. An hour later there had been no word from Ben. Feeling uneasy, she admonished herself not to borrow trouble. Two more hours passed and by then she was close to being frantic. What had happened? Where was he?
Something was wrong. She knew it.
By four-thirty she couldn't stand it any longer so she called the non-emergency number for the police department.
“Pinedale P.D.,” a male voice answered, “Officer Moriarty speaking.”
“Clarence? This is Carrie Taylor. Is Ben there?”
There was a long pause.
“No, Carrie, I'm sorry. He was injured tonight and taken to the hospital...”
Her gasp interrupted the officer before he could finish. Her knuckles turned white where they gripped the phone.
“Injured? You mean shot? Is he okay? Which hospital?”
“Calm down, Carrie. Someone should have called you. He's at Mercy General. He was shot during a domestic dispute. It was serious but not life threatening.”
“Wasn't he wearing a vest?”
“Yes, but the bullet found...”
A sob escaped her and Clarence skipped to what he realized she really wanted to know.
“They did surgery to remove the bullet and he's spending the night in ICU. Tomorrow he'll be moved into a regular room where he'll spend another day or two, then he'll be sent home barring any unforeseen complications.” Moriarty sighed. “He's going to have our heads for not letting you know.”
Within minutes, Carrie had changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, grabbed her purse, and hurried out the door to meet the Uber driver, then rushed into the hospital and up to ICU, the heavy walking boot doing little to slow her down. There she waited for visiting hours to begin at seven o'clock.
At seven-fifteen, the nurse led her to a glass enclosed room a few feet down from the nurses station. Inside she found Ben lying quietly with his eyes closed, looking drawn and exhausted against the white linens. IV's ran from his arms and a cardiac monitor beeped reassuringly. Sensing her presence, his eyes opened and his lips curled in a faint smile.
“Hey.”
His voice was hoarse from being intubated for surgery and tears welled up in her eyes.
“Hey yourself.” After laying her purse on a nearby chair, she approached the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad, considering. Or maybe I'm just high from the morphine.” He smiled crookedly. “People pay big bucks to feel this way, y'know.”
“Oh, Ben,” her voice broke, “I didn't know. When you didn't come home or call I called the department and found out what had happened. I got here as soon as I could.”
His slightly bleary eyes sharpened.
“You mean no one called you to tell you?”
“No.”
He cursed softly before reaching for her hand.
“I'm so sorry, honey. I had told them that if anything ever happened to me to let you know.”
She nodded.
“That's what Clarence said and apologized that they hadn't.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and gripped his hand in both of hers.
“What happened? He said it was a domestic dispute.”
He closed his eyes.
“Wife came home early from a trip and caught husband in bed with the teenage babysitter.”
“That's terrible!”
Ben nodded.
“By the time we got there everything had escalated. She was holding them in bed at gunpoint, threatening to unman him. We calmed her down and she had just begun to drop the pistol when it went off. The bullet ricocheted off something and caught me in the side where the sides of the vest didn't quite meet.”
“Oh my god.”
His squeezed her hand.
“It's okay. I was lucky. It could have been a lot worse.”
“But, still...”
“Hey. Carrie.” He waited until she met his eyes. “I'm a cop. It's a danger we all face.”
His expression suddenly closed up though he didn't release her hand, and silence stretched between them. After a few moments, she looked away and took a deep breath.
“I guess I just hadn't thought about it. Or maybe I simply chose to ignore the possibility of it happening.”
Once again she met his eyes.
“It's terrifying to think of it happening again.”
He nodded but didn't say anything. Just watched as she bit her lip, knowing how difficult this was being for her. Praying that she wouldn't walk away from what they'd just begun to find between them.
Finally she smiled slightly, her eyes moistening as she reached out to caress his pale, whiskered cheek.
“But I'd never forgive myself if I turned my back on us and lost you anyway.”
He released his breath and closed his eyes in relief. Then with an answering smile he turned his head, and kissed her soft palm.
“Thank god.”
Leaning down, she placed her cheek against his, breathing in his scent while silently adding her thanks.
“I'm just glad you're okay.”
Ben did so well that he only spent another day in the hospital before returning home to Carrie's apartment, where she proceeded to fuss over him like a mother hen. After a day of that, he held up his hands in exasperation when she asked him for the millionth time if he was comfortable enough or in pain.
“Carrie, darlin', that's enough, okay? The doctor says I'm doing just fine, and I'm going to continue to do fine.” Then he grinned wolfishly. “In fact, I'm doing better than fine.” He patted the sofa beside him. “So why don't you sit your sweet little fanny down here and just let me hold you for a while.”
She stared at him for a long moment before sighing and settling gingerly beside him, still worrying about hurting him.
“That's better,” he murmured as he wrapped his arm around her and drew her close until her cheek was pressed against the soft fabric of his faded blue police academy tee shirt. “It's been damned frustrating not being able to hold you in bed.”
“I was just afraid I'd hurt you.”
“I know, but no more.” He settled his chin on top of her head. “I miss having you in my arms, especially when you're just a few inches away.”
They set in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being an old Motown tune playing in the background, and Carrie began to relax. She slowly wrapped her arm about his waist, careful to avoid the site of his injury, and nuzzled his chest.
“Carrie?”
“Yes?”
“Would you consider having a roommate?”
She smiled.
“I would. It would certainly help with the finances.” She drew back so she could look up at him. “Did you have anyone in mind?”
“There's this cop I know that's been thinking he hardly spends any time in his own home anymore. It's really a waste of his pay to keep paying rent when he's never there.”
“Hmm, I can see where that would be something to think about. Is he a good tenant?”
“The best. He'll even pay a deposit toward his moving in.”
“A deposit?”
“Mm hmm.”
“What kind of deposit?”
“One made in gold.”
She frowned.
“In gold?”
He stared down at her with a soft smile.
“As in a gold band. Carrie Taylor, I love you. Would you marry me?”
Tears welled up in her eyes as a sob escaped and she unthinkingly tightened her arm around his waist.
“Ow!”
Instantly she loosened her grip and instead wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Yes!”
“That's a yes?”
“Yes, that's a yes!”
He laughed as he engulfed her in his arms before taking her mouth in a hungry kiss. They were both breathing hard when they parted and rested foreheads against one another.
“When?” he whispered, “How long do I have to wait?”
“No longer than necessary.”
“It'll be at least three more weeks before I'm cleared to return to work. If we get married now we can call it our extended stay-at-home honeymoon.” He feathered a kiss on her lips. “I'll take you on a real honeymoon anywhere you want to go later.”
She returned the kiss.
“There's nowhere I'd rather be than right here with you.”
Another of your wonderful romance stories with a couple of twists that makes it more realistic. But I thought there would be a retaliation by the powerful politically city manager based only on your assumed possible threat and no other evidence?
The story is so smooth and dialogue driven, it will be easy to convert to a screenplay.
It is long enough to be published as a novella. You can self publish it on Kindle according to my friends at the last FTF meeting. But I would only caution you to make sure that you thoroughly recheck for any errors or omissions. And submit the text in .rtf to avoid for marrying problems.
Falling to a rare sentinel illness and separated from her charges during a retrieval mission Xevera Nanay encounters the biggest threat to her survival but more importantly her autonomy when paramedic Michael Constantine recognizes and imprisons her
Dive into an enchanting adventure! This light-hearted romance will transport you to 17th-century Scotland, where a free-spirited 21st-century heroine brings love & laughter to a stressed-out laird's life - with a little help from the Fae!
Audrey and Sue, both 42, took a trip to England completely paid for by Audrey's cheating millionaire boyfriend. “Cougar” describes older women on the prowl for much younger men, and although they didn't begin the trip on the prowl, somehow they bec
