Page 49 of Pining for Pierce
“I’m fine,” she says. “You’re holding me.”
I smile, tightening my grip on her, and keeping it that way until the man returns.
“Well?” I say, looking up at him.
“He didn’t have a heart attack, or a stroke,” he says, shaking his head.
“So he’s conscious?”
“Barely. He reeks of alcohol.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. I took the keys from the truck,” he says, holding them up. “It seemed like the best thing to do.”
“I can’t see him driving away, although I guess he might try to make a run for it.”
The man shakes his head. “He won’t be running anywhere. I’m amazed he could walk to the truck, let alone drive it.”
At that moment, we all hear sirens coming from the town, the three of us turning our heads in that direction.
“Oh… hell…” Harley says, and I pull her closer.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just raised my visor. You were right. It’s horrible.”
“Put it down again, then.”
“No. I want to see what’s going on… and anyway, I need some air.”
That’s understandable, and although I wish I could do more to protect her, I can’t. Not yet. The sirens get closer, and theman glances back at the truck before looking down the road again.
“It’s Brady,” he says, sounding relieved.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But are you from Hart’s Creek?”
He nods, smiling down at me. “Yeah, but I haven’t lived here for very long. My name’s Gabe Sullivan. I work for Ryan Andrews.”
“I know you, Mr. Sullivan,” Harley says. “Sorry. I couldn’t see you properly before, but I work at the doctor’s office.”
The guy’s expression changes slightly and he nods an acknowledgement toward Harley, giving her a half smile, which looks like it took a lot of effort.
“Hi,” he says.
“I hope we’re not holding you up,” I say, sensing he could use a change of subject.
“Not at all. I’m just on my way home from the grocery store.”
“Won’t your wife be worried about you?” Harley says.
Gabe shakes his head. “No. It’s fine. I called Remi already. She knows where I am.”
Brady pulls up in his patrol car, two others behind him, and he gets out of the driver’s side, issuing instructions to his men, two of whom run off toward the truck, before he walks over, pulling his hat down slightly against the rain, and lowering another thick blanket over the two of us. Once again, I tuck it around Harley as he crouches beside us, shaking his head. “I’ve been telling you for years that your bike will be the death of you,” he says.
“I’m not dead yet, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“To be fair,” Gabe says as Brady looks up at him, getting to his feet, “the truck driver gave him no choice. He just drove straight out, even though he must have been able to see the bike coming… and this guy…” He points down at me. “This guy…he controlled the entire fall, dropped the bike, and somehow – although I still don’t know how – he pulled this young lady up on top of him, so he took the brunt of the crash.”
