The Waterfall (11 page)

Sebastian grimaced. He had limited choices, none good. “I'll make it. I don't need your help.”

“Ha,” she said, and scooted back down the hill.

 

Sebastian was a slab of meat—cold, wet, bloody. Lucy had to catch him twice on their way down to her house. He would walk fifteen or twenty feet, crash against a tree or grab uselessly at ferns to steady himself, walk another fifteen or twenty feet. He was lucky he'd survived his fall.

They took a longer but easier path up from the brook and slipped in through the back door of the house. Madison, J.T. and the Kileys had arrived ahead of them and were in the side yard playing volleyball.

Lucy knew she'd have to explain Sebastian at some point. But not right now.

He sank against the kitchen counter. He was very pale, his eyes shut. Blood crusted on the gash above his right eye. He looked awful. Lucy wondered if she could sneak in a call to 9-1-1 while he was half out.

“World spinning on you?” she asked.

His eyes were slits. “Just catching my breath.”

“Ha.”

“Florence Nightingale, you're not.”

She eased her shoulder under his arm. “Lean on me. I still have a little
oomph
left.”

“I'll crush you.”

“No, you won't. I'll take most of your weight in my legs. Come on, let's get moving before you pass out. It'd be harder having to drag you by your feet.”

“Where are we going?”

“My bedroom.”

He managed a faint, ironic smile. She slipped an arm around his back, taking more of his weight. She saw him wince in pain. Bruises. More scrapes. Possibly a cracked rib or two. He was a mess.

“You're not going anywhere for a while,” she said.

He didn't answer. He was too far gone to argue. Lucy half coaxed, half dragged him down the short hall to her bedroom. Just inside the door, he collapsed onto his knees on the flat-braided rug. She debated leaving him there. Just shut the door and hope for the best when she opened it again.

“Come on.” She caught up one arm and tugged. “We're almost there.”

“I like it here.” He slumped onto his stomach, and, without raising his head, said, “I'll be fine—you can go.”

He stopped moving. Lucy, exhausted and hot, knelt beside him. He was either asleep or unconscious. “Sebastian?”

“I'm not dead yet.”

She ran to the window overlooking the side yard west of the house, opposite the barn and garage, where the volleyball game was breaking up. She'd called down from the waterfall and had told Rob and Patti and the kids to all go ahead of her, that she'd go on to the house in a bit. No explanation. Rob had looked faintly suspicious, well aware from recent days that she wasn't herself. This was just more evidence.

“Hi, guys,” she called through the screen. “I'll be out in a minute.”

“Forget it,” Madison said. “The bugs are eating us alive.”

Patti tucked the ball under one arm. “You okay, Lucy?”

“Oh, yeah. I just slipped and got my feet wet.” That would explain her damp clothes from leaning against the soaked, dripping Sebastian. It didn't explain the streaks of his blood. “I'll put on fresh clothes and meet you out front.”

She dashed back to Sebastian, who was still prone on her rug. “Are you conscious?”

“Unfortunately.”

“I'll be right back. Don't try to get up without me.”

“Don't worry.”

She stepped over him, grabbed a T-shirt out of her drawer, and debated ducking down the hall to the bathroom. Forget it. Sebastian's eyes were pointed in the other direction, and he wasn't in any condition to make any unnecessary movements. She whipped off the wet, blood-spattered shirt and pulled on the fresh one. The clean, dry cotton against her skin instantly made her feel better.

When she got outside, Rob and Patti had the leftovers packed into the cooler. Lucy was breathing harder than she should be from an ordinary trek down from the falls.

Rob, who knew her capabilities, noticed. “Did you eat enough at dinner? You look whipped.”

She
hated
lying. The trust she'd built among herself and her children, her friends, her staff, was based on being honest and straightforward. They might not like what she had to say, but it was always truthful. These, however, were extenuating circumstances. She had a bloodied Sebastian Redwing in her bedroom.

“I pushed it more than I realized,” she said. “Thanks for dinner. My turn next.”

He didn't look appeased. “Lucy…”

Patti touched his arm. “Come on, Rob, let's go. We don't want to outstay our welcome.” She smiled at Lucy. “You take care. Call us if you need anything.”

They both were suspicious, Lucy decided. Patti probably suspected a romantic tryst; Rob, something to do with the big, fat bullet Lucy had yet to adequately explain.

They collected Georgie, and Lucy waved as they backed out of the driveway.

“I wish Georgie could spend the night,” J.T. said from the porch.

Lucy joined him, her legs heavy and aching with each step. J.T. was hogging the wicker settee. Madison was flopped in a wicker chair, her long legs hung over one side. Both kids looked beat. Good, Lucy thought. They'd sleep well tonight.

“I'll explain more later,” she said, “but I want you both to know that Sebastian Redwing is here.”

Madison nearly fell off her chair.
“What?”
J.T. was instantly excited. “He is? Where?”

“He's the noise I heard up at the falls. He took a nasty fall, and I helped him back here. He doesn't want it to get out that he's in town. That's why I didn't mention him to Rob and Patti.” She should have, she thought. She should have just gotten it over with. There was no way J.T. wouldn't blab.

“Why wouldn't he want anyone around here to know he's in town?” Madison asked.

“Because he's from here.”

“Oh. Actually, I get that.”

“He'll need to recuperate a day or two,” Lucy went on. “If you two will make up the guest room upstairs, I'll sleep up there. I need to get back to him. You two can manage?”

“We'll be fine, Mom.” Madison was already on her feet, her face flushed. In her dull, deprived world, Lucy thought wryly, the sudden appearance of Sebastian Redwing passed for excitement. “Let us know if there's anything else we can do.”

“I will. Thanks.”

When Lucy got back to her bedroom, Sebastian was on his feet, his shirt off. His jeans hung low on his lean hips. His arms, shoulders, back and chest were scraped and raw, bruises forming. His injuries aside, Lucy noted he was in impressive physical condition. He couldn't have spent all his time in his hammock.

“You can stay here tonight,” she said. “I'll throw your clothes in the wash. The kids and I can run out to your motel room tomorrow and fetch anything else you need.”

“I can drive myself back to my motel.”

“
Don't
argue with me. I'm not in the mood.”

He gave her a ghostly smile. “Yes, ma'am.”

This wasn't a man who took easily to injury and incapacity, Lucy thought. “Sit down before you fall down.” She tore open the closet door, pulled out a shoe box that contained her medical supplies. “Do you need help getting your pants off?”

“No. No help required.”

Something in his voice caused heat to surge up her spine. But she concentrated on the task at hand, rummaging in the shoe box. Her work required first aid training. Rob had full wilderness EMT qualifications, but she'd sent him home. She'd have to make do.

She grabbed antibiotic ointment and her wilderness medicine manual, leaving the rest for now.

Sebastian had crawled under the wedding-ring quilt his grandmother had made. His jeans were neatly hung over the foot post. He pointed to them. “They can dry right there. I'm not giving up my damn pants.”

“I can run them through the wash in no time—”

“Not without a backup pair, you're not. I don't see anyone in this house who'd wear my size.”

Lucy shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“What's the book?”

“My wilderness medicine manual. I want to double-check and make sure I'm treating you properly.”

“Lucy.” His look was dark. “You're not treating me at all.”

She ignored him and turned to the page that described falls on rocks. She didn't think she needed to bother with the stuff on near drownings. “First we have to make sure the bleeding's stopped and you don't have any broken bones.”

“Done. Next?”

“Your head. It's possible you have a concussion.”

“If I do, it's mild and there's nothing to be done about it. So.” He shifted position, wincing. “That's it. You can scoot.”

Her eyes pinned him down. “I could have left you to the mosquitoes.”

“And you think that would have been worse?”

“Your bravado must be exhausting. Why don't you just shut up and let me do this? I have basic first aid training. Except for minor scrapes and bee stings, I've never really had to use it. Rob has more experience.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you sure you don't want me to have him take a look at you?”

“Speed counts, Lucy.”

She laid her manual on the bedside stand, open to the appropriate page. “You're sure you didn't puncture a lung or break a couple of ribs?”

“Ribs're fine,” he said. “Lungs're fine.”

As annoying as he was, she could see that talking was an effort for him. She examined the nastiest gash, the one above his eye. “It probably could use a couple of stitches.” But he didn't answer, and she assumed any discussion of stitches was over. “I'll need to clean your wounds.”

“Brook did that.”

“Brook water is not a proper disinfectant.”

His eyes darkened, their many shades of gray helping to communicate in no uncertain terms the low ebb of his patience. This was not a man who liked being at anyone's mercy.

Lucy decided to trust him on the ribs and lungs. “Let me get a few more supplies. I'll only be a second.”

She was all of half a minute looking through her shoebox, but when she turned back to him, he was asleep. Or unconscious. “Sebastian?”

She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned close. His breathing seemed normal enough. She decided he'd dozed off. Just as well. Trying to be as efficient as possible, she quickly dipped sterile gauze into disinfectant and cleaned the gash and the worst of his scrapes, leaving the more minor injuries. She dabbed on antibiotic ointment. The gash on his head had to be bandaged. She was as gentle as possible, touching him only where she absolutely had to.

When she finished, he opened one eye. “Nurse Lucy.”

“You were awake?”

“I figured pretending to be asleep would make it easier on both of us. You wouldn't be so nervous, and I wouldn't have to sit here forever.”

She stiffened. “You don't make me nervous, Redwing.”

That amused him. “Sure.”

“Well, I see the fall didn't knock the jackass out of you.” She slid off the bed. “Should I give you a couple of Tylenol or let you macho out the night in pain?”

“So long as I can see Tylenol clearly written on the tablets.”

They were extra-strength capsules, and he checked.

Lucy stared at him. “You don't think
I
pelted you with rocks and pitched you over the falls, do you?”

He didn't answer. She told herself it was because of his injuries. Even a man whose professional life could reasonably make him cynical and paranoid couldn't think she was capable of injuring or killing anyone.

She felt the blood draining out of her, shock settling now that the immediate crisis was over. “Do you really think this wasn't an accident?”

“Yes.”

“But you don't
know.
It could have been kids messing around, or a spontaneous landslide—”

“Could have.”

But Lucy saw that wasn't what he believed. Of course, he wouldn't. His life and the work he did had conditioned him to believe the worst. “Do you think whoever did this wanted you dead?”

“I don't think it mattered.”

He drifted off. Either he was asleep, or too out of it to talk. Lucy stood at his bedside. Bruises were forming, and there was swelling, although nothing looked alarming. He was in no position to stop her from calling the police.

She turned on the fan and went into the hall, shutting the door behind her. She listened at the door, just to make sure he hadn't stirred. If he tried to get up and collapsed again, she'd have to leave him on the floor. She didn't have enough strength left to get him back in her bed.