The House on Hancock Hill (3 page)

“Nice to meet you,” Dr. Rodriguez said belatedly.

“Pleasure’s mine.” I thought I’d gone easy on the sarcasm, but the look she gave me told me otherwise.

“How’s your nose?”

“All in one piece again, or so I’m told.”

Dr. Rodriguez sighed and looked at me. “Mr. Wood, I’m trying to determine whether or not you need pain medication, so I suggest you stop trying to be clever.”

“Sorry,” I grumbled. What could I say? I don’t do well cooped up and dependent on others. For some reason, my pathetic apology made the severity in her face soften, and she gave me a tiny smile.

“Are your ribs bothering you, Mr. Wood?”

“They are, actually,” I admitted. There was no getting comfortable with bruised ribs, turns out.

Dr. Rodriguez drew a small light out of her pocket and instructed me to look up, down, shake it all around, and then she took a look at my ribs.

“You’re free to go,” she said eventually. “But you can’t drive for at least three days. It’s not a certainty, but your vision may occasionally become blurry because of the impact with the wheel. I take it you’re not from town?”

“No, I’m only here for a few days, and then I go back to Traverse City.”

“Well, you’re allowed to fly if you feel up to it, but I can assure you with those ribs, it won’t be a smooth ride.” I thought about the rickety plane I’d arrived in and winced internally. “It would be best if you extended your stay until you have recuperated at least a little, if possible. But it’s up to you. Is there someone who can pick you up?”

“Yeah, I have a… yes.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Caleb’s shoulders droop.

“Right, then give them a call. Your discharge papers won’t take long to prepare. At the first sign of shortness of breath, nausea, or mental impairment, I want you back here, understood?”

“Understood.”

“Then I wish you luck, Mr. Wood. With the farm too. It’s a sad business.” I’d forgotten exactly how small this town was.

“Uh, thanks.”

Dr. Rodriguez held out a hand, and I shook it. “You can take out the IV when you have a moment,” she said to Caleb, and left.

“So, who’s picking you up?” The question aimed for casual and missed by about a solar system. “Hot date?”

“No, just Henry. The guy who found my car last night.” Was it really only last night?

Caleb visibly relaxed and laughed, plucking the IV neatly out of my arm. “Oh, the veterinarian. Yeah, he’s a nice guy.” The vet? Now why did that ring a bell?

With Caleb’s help, I managed to pull a T-shirt and sweater over my head. He looked like he was gathering the courage to ask me something, so I pretended not to notice and reached for my phone, dialing Henry’s number. He answered after the first ring.

“Oh, hi, Henry? It’s Jason Wood.” I pointed at my phone and made an apologetic face at Caleb, feeling marginally bad when he slunk out of the room.

“Hey, Jason.” It sounded like Henry was smiling, and I felt a hot tingle in my belly. “How’s it going?”

“Good. I’m uh, good to go, apparently. They’re getting my paperwork ready.” There was a silence followed by muffled voices. I tried not to imagine how Henry would be pressing his phone to that big chest of his.

“I’m going to be stuck here for another half an hour, but I’m only fifteen minutes away. Will you be all right until then?”

“Sure,” I told him. “No problem at all. Thanks again for doing this. Listen, did you have any luck with the room? Because if not—”

“We’ll talk about that when I see you,” Henry said, and I felt a flash of guilt because if he was a vet, even in a small town like this, he was probably really busy.

“Absolutely, you take your time. There’s no rush.”

“I’ll see you in forty-five minutes,” Henry assured me, and he rang off.

Purposefully avoiding the mirror, I went to fetch my toothbrush from the bathroom. From past experience, I knew those bruises were going to get worse before they got better. At least I could count my blessings no teeth had been knocked out.

Chapter 2

C
ALEB
MET
me at the front desk after I’d gathered my things. He gave me a pile of papers to sign and another pile to take home, with prescriptions on top. By the time all this was done, my ribs were killing me. I’d slung my bag over my shoulder, which turned out to be an epic mistake, but I didn’t dare put it down, certain I’d be unable to pick it up again.

I put on a brave face, waved away the wheelchair, and set off for the exit with the quiet “morning wood” girl as my guide. The automatic doors slid open as soon as we reached them and in strode Henry—a sight for even my sore eyes—wearing jeans, Timberland boots, and a black turtleneck underneath his jacket. Henry didn’t break pace. He walked right up to me and took the bag off my shoulder without asking, and I heaved a sigh of relief. The girl politely nodded good-bye and hurried away.

“Hey.”

The amber of Henry’s eyes shone. There were snowflakes clinging to his lashes like bits of crystalized sugar.

“Hi, Jason. How are you feeling?” Henry was peering at me, and I must’ve looked pretty bad because a vertical line appeared between his eyebrows. “Wait here while I bring the car around.”

“No need,” I told him quickly. “I could really use the fresh air.”

“It’ll be fresh all right.” Giving my sneakers a doubtful glance, Henry conceded and stepped aside so I’d go through the doors first. In case I decided to pass out, I guessed.

The cold hit us like a wrecking ball, but Henry was clearly used to it since he wasn’t the one swearing. He gave me a told-you-so smirk.

I was trying to come up with a way to ask him if he’d found somewhere for me to stay without making it sound like I was being pushy. If he hadn’t found a place, I wasn’t sure where to tell him to take me.

As if he read my mind, Henry said, “My neighbor, Mrs. Mitchell, runs the B and B in Houghton.” He steadied me with a hand on my arm when I nearly slid off the pavement. “She doesn’t want to open up the building for just one guest, but she has a small apartment above her garage with a separate entrance she’s willing to rent out for as long as you need it. She’s a nice lady.”

“Really?” I was so pleased, I didn’t look where I was going and stepped into a big heap of snow. Instantly, my sock was soaked through. “Ugh.”

“If you’re planning on staying for a bit, you’d probably do well to buy a pair of winter boots.”

“Yeah. These are pretty much ruined now anyway.” I looked down at my Pumas. It’s not like Traverse City doesn’t get its fair share of snow, but I’d been meeting with my financial advisor in Detroit when the sheriff’s office tracked me down to tell me about the fire. Instead of going home and packing extra clothes, I’d decided to come straight here with only my overnight bag. It was a good thing I’d packed a little extra.

“We’ll get you some stuff,” Henry said like it was nothing. When I stared at him, his cheeks began to flush slightly pink. “And I would’ve invited you to stay at my place but… it’s a mess.”

“You’ve been far too kind to me already. Thanks for arranging a room with Mrs. Mitchell. I’m sure it’s perfect.”

Henry shrugged. “No worries.” He fell silent as we made our way across the parking lot. It looked like we were heading toward a blue Chevy Avalanche.

With a press to his key, the doors unlocked, and Henry held mine open as I clambered in. “You really don’t remember me, do you?” he eventually said, when he’d helped me click the seatbelt in place.

“I…. No,” I told him, bemused. But now that he’d said it, I knew I should’ve. “I’m sorry.”

“Henry McCavanaugh. My dad used to be the vet.”

“No way,” I guffawed, twisting in my seat, momentarily forgetting about my bruised ribs. I winced, but ignored the pain as I gripped his shoulder. “
Mac
?”

“Careful,” Henry said, steadying me with an equally tight hold on my arm, and he laughed at the nickname. “No one calls me that anymore. Let me get in the car before you freeze. Again.”

“You did look familiar,” I said as he buckled himself in beside me. “I just can’t believe it’s you.” It wasn’t hyperbole. I really couldn’t believe it. Mac used to be this lanky kid with bony knees that were perpetually bruised. “Did you ever fill out in all the right places, my God.” His face turned pink. “What happened to your dad?”

“He’s fine. He retired five years ago.”

“He still up on the old ranch, then?” It was miles out of town and not at all convenient in this kind of weather. A pain to get to in the summer because of the miles of dirt road, I imagined it would only be accessible by snowmobile now. When we were kids, I’d always joked that Henry might get eaten by a bear up there.

“Yeah,” Henry smiled. “He likes it even though I’ve been pushing for him to move into town. I think he kind of wanted me to stay there with him but, you know.”

“A guy needs his own space,” I agreed. “You don’t wanna bring a date home and have your dad introduce her to the family Great Dane.”

Henry burst out laughing, a low sound, rich like dark chocolate. “I haven’t thought about Quinn in years. Remember how he used to take a piece of jerky in his mouth and then back up to plant his butt on the couch with his feet still on the ground?”

“Like an old man smoking a cigar!” Yeah, I remembered. “It was a sad day, the day Quinn died.”

“It sure was.” Henry nodded. Quinn had been old and died in his sleep. We’d been twelve, or was it the summer we were thirteen? Henry had cried on my shoulder like his own brother had died. I remembered that very clearly.

“So yes, my dad’s up there still, with a whole zoo of animals to keep him company.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything different.” Dr. McCavanaugh had been a fixture of my youth. Every summer, Mac—or Henry, I should say now—Johnny Neville, and I would spend our free time roaming the woods, and not a single summer would pass but we’d find an injured animal to take to the clinic. “Oh, God.” I started laughing so hard my ribs hurt. “Is Mr. Biped still alive?” Henry threw me a wicked grin.

“Alive and kicking.”

Mr. Biped was a giant turtle we’d found by the side of the only road going up north. He’d been hit by a car and both his hind legs had been crushed. Against all odds, Dr. McCavanaugh had pulled him through. “That turtle will outlive us all,” he’d said.

“How’s Heather?” I asked. It was remarkable how Henry’s face changed. Beaming with pride, he was. Henry always had loved his sister something fierce.

“She’s working for a big law office in New York. She’s married, but no kids. I don’t think she’ll have any; she loves her career way too much.”

“A lawyer, nice. She always was a smart-ass.”

Henry grinned at me, throwing his arm over the back of my seat as he reversed. “That she was.” I didn’t ask about his mom. She’d died giving birth to Henry.

“So you took over the practice, huh? A vet. Wow, I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out sooner.”

“Well,” Henry’s eyes twinkled teasingly, and he left his arm where it was, putting the car in drive with his other hand. “You did hit your head pretty hard.”

“How did you manage to recognize me through all this?” I pointed at my face.

“I’d recognize you anywhere,” Henry said, and I stilled, breath catching in my chest. Henry retracted his arm, focused on pulling out of the hospital parking lot, and went on talking. “Besides, it’s not the first time I’ve seen your face banged up like that. You fell out of that tree on Hancock Hill and knocked—”

I rolled my eyes. “My two front teeth out. No need to remind me.” Dad had been furious. It hadn’t been a very tall tree, just off the cemetery by the farm, and I’d gotten a good view for my grief.

I’d never understood why locals called the area Hancock Hill since it didn’t have much of a slope. Maybe it was because the road led out of town and north toward the very edge of Michigan.

“How’s your family?” Henry asked.

“As far as I know, Mom’s still in Florida.” My parents had divorced when I was seven, and since Mom had been an alcoholic at the time—and probably still was—Dad had gotten full custody. I hadn’t minded. “Dad died twelve years ago.”

The car lurched a little when Henry startled, and while we didn’t leave our lane, I clutched the console like we were hurtling down a cliff.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Henry said. “You’ve probably got a touch of PTSD because of the accident. It won’t last.”

Swallowing hard, I nodded, because when I tried to speak no sound came out.
Breathe
, I told myself,
slow and deep
. I didn’t know why my asthma and anxiety lurked so close to the surface these days. I’d been fine for years. Henry was probably right, and I was a bit traumatized.

To my relief, he didn’t say anything else until I had myself back under control, and even then, he just switched on some music. The cabin turned pleasantly hot as it filled with the notes of Morrissey’s soft baritone, while Henry stuck to ten miles below the speed limit. At least visibility was improving. Snow still fell but it wasn’t as bad as the day before. When we idled in front of a red light, Henry gently said, “I’m sorry about your dad. He was a good man.”