Raeanne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer. RaeAnne Thayne
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Raeanne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer - RaeAnne Thayne страница 15
Название: Raeanne Thayne Hope's Crossings Series Volume One: Blackberry Summer
Автор: RaeAnne Thayne
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781474045964
isbn:
He grabbed her scarf and managed to protect her face as best he could before he hefted the crowbar and half waded, half dragged himself around to the passenger side across from her. This window was already cracked and it took only a hard smack to shatter it completely. He was guessing by the way the vehicle was tilted toward the driver’s side that the vehicle had landed on that side. Her body would have absorbed most of the impact and it made sense that her injuries would potentially be more severe than the children’s in the backseat, who probably hadn’t braced against the crash like Claire would have done.
The water inside the car was up to her waist and she was shaking violently despite her unconscious state. Guilt crashed over him, colder and more vicious than the waves. He should never have started the pursuit under these conditions. He should have just waited and set up a roadblock at the mouth of the canyon to take care of it.
When he pulled the scarf away, she blinked at him and her huge, dilated pupils and pale features ripped at his heart.
“Cold,” she moaned.
“I know, honey. I know. I’ll get you out of here as soon as I can figure out if it’s safe to move you. Where do you hurt?”
She squinted at him, then closed her eyes and he saw blood oozing from her temple.
“What…happened?”
“Accident. You went off the road to avoid a head-on. You probably saved your kids’ lives.” He batted away the deflated air bag and worked on her seat belt.
A second later, she opened her eyes and started moving frantically. “My kids?”
“Hold still while I get this. They’re okay. A little banged up, but they’re over on dry land getting warm right now. They’re going to be okay.”
Her agitation subsided and she sagged against the seat. His radio squawked static and he fumbled with fingers that felt icy and useless to turn it down so he could talk to her.
“Where do you hurt, Claire?” he asked again, more firmly this time.
“Legs. Wrist. Um, head. Everywhere.” The last word came out a whimper.
“I don’t want to move you until we can get a stretcher out here, unless I absolutely have to. The ambulance should be here soon. We just have to wait it out here a few more moments.”
“My kids. I need to take care of my kids.”
“They’re okay. Someone else is with them.”
“Promise. Promise you’ll make sure.”
“I’ll stay right here with you until you’re out of the water and then make sure all of you are okay.” He brushed a hand over her hair and saw blood oozing from a cut on her forehead. “Just hang on, sweetheart.”
“This isn’t fun.”
Her ragged words somehow managed to shock a laugh out of him in spite of everything. He had never been so frigging cold in his life and he could barely breathe around the icy guilt pressing in on his chest. “No, I can’t say that it is. I don’t think it’s supposed to be.”
“First my store, now this.”
“I know. You’ve had a pretty rough day. Got to rank right up there with the worst day ever.”
“Stupid horoscope,” she muttered, for reasons he didn’t understand. He would have asked her, but nothing else mattered except making her safe.
WHERE THE HELL WERE the paramedics?
Riley glared at the shore and the noticeable absence of flashing lights besides his own. He could see the flurry of activity as those on shore helped the children, but the ambulance was nowhere in sight. If this was the way the Hope’s Crossing paramedics responded to emergencies, he was going to have to have a serious discussion with the fire chief about the response time of his crews.
“C-cold,” Claire whimpered.
“I know, sweetheart. Hang on.” He adjusted the blanket around her more snugly. Time was definitely not on his side. The longer she stayed out here in these frigid conditions, the greater the chance of hypothermia.
He’d forgotten how bitterly cold spring storms could turn in the high Rockies. It was the third week of April, for crying out loud, but the temperature had to be in the twenties, with a windchill making it feel much colder.
Claire was already shocky. She seemed to be fading in and out of consciousness and the wound just above her left temple where she must have hit the window was bleeding copious amounts. She needed to get the hell out of the water fast. All his protective instincts were urging him to pluck her out of the car and haul her to safety and it was killing him to just stand here helplessly. But given the extent of her injuries, he couldn’t take the risk of injuring her worse. The best thing, the only thing, was to offer whatever comfort he could until the ambulance crew arrived with a gurney to transport her safely.
Her eyes closed again, and he grabbed her scarf for a makeshift compress to the cut on her forehead. “Claire, honey, you’ve got to stay with me. A few more minutes, that’s all.”
She moaned a little and he brushed her hair away again. “I know, sweetheart. I’m going to get you out of here. Just hang on.”
He thought of how bright and lovely she had looked in her store earlier, even amid her distress at finding her store burglarized. Seeing her like this—scared and injured, like a frightened child—was heartrending.
She seemed to drift off again and he knew it was important that he keep her conscious and alert.
“Claire. Claire!”
Her eyes fluttered open with obvious reluctance.
“Tell me about String Fever.”
“My store.”
“I know. I saw it today, remember? I never expected you to be running a bead store. I thought you were going to be a teacher, like my mother. Isn’t that what you went to college to do?”
She nodded a little. “I taught for a few years. Third grade. When…Macy…was little.”
“So how did you go from that to running a bead store?” He didn’t really care—okay, he found everything about her unexpectedly fascinating—but he mostly just needed to keep her talking.
The tactic seemed to be working. He saw a little more clarity in her eyes and maybe even a hint of pride. “Worked for Katherine Thorne before…the divorce. Not for the money, just for fun. After…Jeff left…she asked if…wanted to buy it.”
He pictured Katherine Thorne, sixty-six years old and a five-foot, ninety-eight-pound dynamo. Although tiny in stature and deceptively fragile in СКАЧАТЬ