Page 75 of Careless Hope
But the message on the screen knocked the wind clean out of me. “Help. Office.”
That grin dropped off my face faster than a calf in a roping contest. Fear punched me in the gut, knotted and heavy. I jammed my hat on my head, forgetting all about the chicken pot pie, my heart thundering against my ribs as I grabbed my keys and bolted out the door.
“Help. Office.” Those two words echoed louder than a thunderclap in my ears. Surely it wasn’t life or death. It was probably just something she needed help with. Maybe a burst pipe or her car wouldn’t start.
But deep down, I knew it was more. She wouldn’t send such a brief message unless it was an emergency. She wouldn’t ask for help this way after ending things unless it was serious. My heart sank lower and lower as I raced down the dirt road of the ranch.
I couldn’t lose Caroline—not now, not when I was just starting to find the courage to be the man she deserved.
I mashed Caroline’s number into my phone with fingers that were suddenly too big, too clumsy. It rang once, twice, and then the call dropped off like a rider getting bucked from abronco. I cursed under my breath, tried again. Straight to voicemail. My stomach twisted into knots.
“Come on, Caroline,” I muttered. “Pick up, darlin’, please.” My voice was a hoarse whisper, lost in the dark cab of my truck.
Fourth try. Fifth. Nothing but the cold, impersonal beep of voicemail greeting me each time. Panic clawed its way up my throat, thick and suffocating. I couldn’t shake the images my mind conjured—Caroline hurt, scared, alone.
“Dammit!” I slammed the phone onto the dash, the sound sharp in the silence. The screen lit up, displaying her name mockingly. No texts, no missed calls.
The drive to Caroline’s office was a blur—a haze of dust and speed and the drumming of my own heartbeat in my ears. I leaned heavy on the gas, pushing the old Ford faster than I’d ever dared before. Each curve in the road was a challenge, each straightaway a sprint.
“Please be okay,” I whispered to the dashboard, to the wind whipping through the open window, to anyone listening. The words were a mantra, a plea, a prayer.
As the town came into view, my pulse hammered in my temples, a rhythm set to the ticking of the clock I couldn’t see but felt running out.
I skidded into the gravel lot of Caroline’s practice, throwing a cloud of dust and pebbles against the side of the clinic. My boots hit the ground before the truck fully stopped, and I slammed the door behind me with a force that echoed off the nearby buildings. The town was quiet, too quiet for early evening, and my steps were the only sound as I rushed towards the entrance.
The sight that greeted me stopped me cold. The steel door to the clinic hung askew, wrenched violently from its frame like a child’s toy discarded by an angry giant. The sturdy lock that should have kept trouble out was busted, metal twisted andmangled. It was a silent testament to the violence that had barged into our small town life.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, my mind racing through every scenario I’d been trying to outrun on the drive here. This wasn’t just some break-in; someone had come looking for trouble, and Caroline . . . she might be . . .
“Caroline!” Her name caught in my throat, strangled by the thickening fear. I didn’t dare call out again, not knowing if whoever did this was still inside. Instead, I whipped out my phone, my fingers shaking as I dialed 911 with more urgency than I’d ever felt.
“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator’s voice was a calm in the midst of the storm raging inside me.
“Look, there’s been a break-in at Whittier Falls Family Practice. The door’s busted open. I need deputies here now,” I said, forcing myself to speak clearly despite the panic clawing its way up my spine.
“Is anyone hurt? Are you safe?” the operator asked, her questions like lifelines thrown across the growing expanse of my dread.
“I don’t know. Please, just hurry.” I pocketed the phone, no longer able to stand still while Caroline might be . . .
I couldn’t finish that thought. Not yet. I had to hold onto the hope that she was alright—that I wasn’t too late.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped over the threshold of the broken doorway, the weight of fear settled over me. Caroline needed me. And I’d be damned if I let her down.
The stillness of the clinic was deceptive, like the calm that rides before a storm. I didn’t hear any struggle, or see any signs of the perpetrator.
“Caroline!” My voice felt foreign in the silence, more desperate than I’d ever heard it. The echo of her name bouncedoff the walls, unanswered. Stepping further into the belly of the practice, my boots scraped against the linoleum floor, the sound of my own breathing too loud in my ears.
“Caroline!” I tried again, louder this time, hoping for any sign of life. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a drum of war against the fear that threatened to choke me. This wasn’t some rowdy bar fight or an unruly horse I could tackle with sheer brawn; this was Caroline’s life hanging in the balance, and all my muscles felt useless.
Every room I burst into was empty—no sign of a struggle, no sign of her. The air was thick with tension, like the charged moments before lightning splits the sky. It was the kind of suspense that made men believe in premonitions and portents, the kind that had always seemed silly to me until now.
Finally, at the end of the hallway, I found the door to the back room slightly ajar. “Caroline?” This time it was barely a whisper, the hope and fear mingling together so tight it was hard to breathe.
There she was. Caroline, bent over an injured woman laid out on the floor, her auburn hair a stark contrast against the sterility of the room. Relief flooded through me so fierce it almost buckled my knees. “Thank God,” I muttered under my breath, stepping closer.
But the scene before me sucked away that relief as swiftly as it had come. The woman on the floor was pale, her face pinched in pain, a dark stain spreading across her blouse. A gunshot wound. My stomach turned at the sight of the blood, thick and spreading, a crimson testimony to the violence that had passed through these walls.
“Caroline,” I said again, and this time she looked up. Her green eyes met mine, filled with a determination that didn’t quite manage to mask her fear. Seeing her like this—strong yet vulnerable—it did something to me. It reminded me why I wanted her, why I wanted more from life, why I wanted to be the kind of man who could shoulder someone else’s pain.
