And yet she could. She had.

A few hours later, the storm was raging as he came back through Lucky Harbor. At a stop sign, he came up behind a stalled VW. Through the driving rain, he could see a woman fiddling beneath the opened hood, her clothes plastered to her. Well, hell. He pulled over, and as he walked toward her, she went still, then reached into the purse hanging off her shoulder.

Ty recognized the defensive movement and knew she had her hand on some sort of weapon. He stopped with a healthy distance between them and lifted his hands, hopefully signaling that he was harmless. “Need some help?”

“No.” She paused. “Thank you, though. I’m fine.”

He nodded and took in her sodden clothes and the wet hair dripping into her eyes. Then he looked into the opened engine compartment of the stalled car. “Wet distributor cap?”

Her eyes revealed surprise. “How did you know?”

“It’s a ’73 VW. Get the cap wet, and it won’t run.”

She nodded and relaxed her stance, taking her hand out of her purse. “I was going to dry the cap on my skirt but it’s too wet.” She shoved her hair back from her face and blinked at him. “Hey, I know you. You’re Mysterious Cute Guy.”

Christ how he hated that moniker. “Ty Garrison.”

“I’m Grace Brooks. One of your three guardian angels in that freak snowstorm last week.” She flashed a grin. “I’m the one who called 9-1-1.”

“Then the least I can do is this.” He came closer and took the distributor cap from her, wiping it on the hem of his shirt, which hadn’t yet gotten drenched through. When he had the inside of the cap as dry as it was going to get, he replaced it and got her off and running.

Back in his own car, he ended up at the diner. Amy and Jan were there, Jan’s gaze glued to the TV in the far corner. American Idol was on, and she was very busy yelling at the screen. “Okay, come on! That sucked. God, I miss Simon. He always told it like it was.”

Amy rolled her eyes and met Ty at a table with a coffee pot. Guardian Angel Number Two, in a pair of low-slung cargoes and a snug, lacy tee. Normally she was alert as hell and on-guard but tonight her face was pale, her smile weak. “Pie?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She came back two minutes later with a huge serving of strawberry pie. “You’re in luck,” she said. “It’s Kick Ass Strawberry Pie from the B&B up the road. That means Tara made it,” she explained to his blank look. “Best pie on the planet, trust me.”

That was quite the claim but one bite proved it to be true. Ty watched Amy refill his cup, then gestured to the towel she had wrapped around the palm of her left hand. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

Bullshit. Her other hand was shaking, and she looked miserable. But hell, if she wanted to pretend she was fine, it was none of his business. Especially since he was the master at being fine.

Problem was, there was blood seeping through her towel. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No.”

He nodded and ate some more pie. Good. She was fine and didn’t need a doctor. And God knew, he sure as hell didn’t want to get involved. But when he was done, he cleared his own plate, bringing it to the kitchen himself.

“Hey,” Jan yelled at him, not taking her gaze off the TV. “You can’t go back there. It’s against the rules.”

“Your waitress is bleeding. That’s against the rules too.”

This got Jan’s attention. Jan glanced into the back at Amy and frowned before turning back to Ty. “You going to patch her up? She has an hour left on her shift.”

He had no idea what the hell he thought he was doing. He hadn’t “patched” anyone up in a damn long time. Four years, to be exact. He waited for the sick feeling to settle in his gut, but all he felt was a need to help Amy. “Yeah. I can patch her up.”

Amy was standing at the kitchen chopping block, hands flat on the cutting board, head bowed, her face a mask of pain. She jumped when she saw Ty and shook her head. “Guests aren’t supposed to clear their own dishes.”

“I’m going to ask you again. Do you need a doctor?”

“It was just a silly disagreement with a knife.”

Not an answer. He unwrapped her hand himself and looked down at the cut. “That’s more than a silly disagreement. You need stitches.”

“It’s just a cut.”

“Uh-huh. And you need the ER.”

“No, I don’t.”

There was something edgy in Amy’s voice now, something Ty recognized all too well. For whatever reason, she had a fear or deep-rooted hatred of hospitals. He could sympathize. “You have a first-aid kit?”

“Yeah.”

He drew a deep breath, knowing if he didn’t help her, she’d go without it. “Get it.”

The diner’s first-aid box consisted of a few Band-Aids and a pair of tweezers, so Ty went to his car. He always kept a full first-aid kit in there, even though he hadn’t ever cracked this one open. He returned to the kitchen and eyed Amy’s wound again. He had Steri-strips but the cut was a little deep for that. “Trust me?” he asked her.

“Hell no.”

Good girl, he thought. Smart. “Me or the hospital, Amy.”

She blew out a breath. “All I need is a damn Band-Aid. And hurry. I have customers.”

“They’ll wait.” She was looking a little greener now. He pushed her onto the lone stool in the kitchen. “Put your head down.”

She dropped it to the counter with an audible thunk. He disinfected the wound, then opened a tube.

Head still down, she turned it to the side to eyeball what he was doing. “Super glue?” she squeaked.

“Skin glue. And hold on tight, it stings like hell.” He started, and she sucked in a breath. “You okay?”

She nodded, and he worked in silence, finally covering the wound with a large waterproof bandage.

“Thanks.” Amy let out a shuddery sigh. “Men are assholes. Present company excluded, of course.”

With a shrug—men were assholes, himself included—he gestured to her hand. “How’s that feel?”

She opened and closed her fist, testing. “Not bad. Thanks.” She watched him put everything back into his kit. “Does Mallory know that you’re as good with your hands as she is?”

“I don’t answer trick questions.”

She started to laugh, but choked it off at the man who suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway.

It was Matt, still in uniform, brow furrowed. “Jan said you’re all bloody and—” His eyes narrowed on the blood down Amy’s white tee. “What the hell happened?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Jesus Christ, Amy.” He picked up the bloody towel and jerked his gaze back to her, running it over her body, stepping close.

Amy turned her back on him, on the both of them, and Matt looked at Ty. “What happened to her?”

“She’s declined to say.”

“A knife,” Amy said over her shoulder. “No big deal. Now go away. No big, bad alpha males allowed in the kitchen.”

Not even a glimmer of a smile from Matt, which was unusual. Ty hadn’t any idea that Matt had something going with the pretty, prickly waitress, which was telling in itself. Usually the affable, easygoing Matt was an open book, not the type to let much get to him. But there was a whole bunch of body language going on, all of it heating up the kitchen.

Then Amy made an annoyed sound and walked to the doorway. For emphasis, she jerked her head, making her wishes perfectly clear. She wanted them out.

Matt waited a beat, just long enough for Amy to give him a little shove. She wasn’t tall by any means, though her platform sneakers gave her some extra inches. Still, Matt was six feet tall and outweighed her by a good eighty pounds. She could push him around only if he allowed it, but to Ty’s shock, Matt acquiesced, and with a softly muttered “fuck it,” he left.

Ty followed him out, telling himself that he wasn’t here to get involved. If he had been, he’d have talked himself into Mallory’s bed tonight—and he could have.

Easily.

That wasn’t ego, just plain fact. She wanted him. He wanted her right back, more than he could have possibly imagined. Right this minute, he could be wrapped up in her sweet, warm limbs, buried deep. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Matt muttered as they strode out to the parking lot side by side. “Shit.”

“What was that back there?” Ty asked him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why the f**k does that work for you and not me?”

Matt ignored this to stare in appreciation at the Shelby. “You get the suspension done?”

“Yeah, but there’s still a lot left to do. I’ve been busy on your Jimmy. Almost done, by the way.”

“Good. So how’s this baby running?”

“Better than any other area of my life.”

Matt laughed ruefully and slid into the passenger seat of the Shelby. Apparently Ty was getting company for his late night ride tonight. Silent, brooding company, but that suited him just fine.

Chapter 11

Eat a square meal a day—a box of chocolate.

On Saturday, the doors of the HSC opened to the public. The town hadn’t exactly been on board, but enough tentative support had trickled in that Mallory had been able to talk Bill into giving her the one-month trial.

Mallory knew she had Ty to thank for starting that tentative support. After the town meeting, a handful of locals had pledged money for certain programs. Ford Walker and Jax Cullen, co-owners of the local bar, had donated money for a Drink Responsibly program. Lucille was donating supplies from her art gallery for an art program. Lance, Mallory’s favorite CF patient, had donated time to help counsel the chronically ill. Every day someone else called. Bill decided it was too much money and goodwill to turn away and had given Mallory approval. But things had to go smoothly or it’d be over.

For now, they’d be open five days a week for services providing crisis counseling, and education and recovery programs. And on Saturdays, the HSC turned into a full-blown medical clinic.

They saw patients nonstop, thanks to their first attending physician, Dr. Scott. As Mallory began to close up at the end of the day, Josh came out from the back.

After a long day, Josh looked more badass ruffian than usual. His doctor’s coat was wrinkled and he still had his stethoscope hanging around his neck. His dark hair was ruffled, his darker eyes lined with exhaustion. But there was a readiness to him that said he wasn’t too tired to kick ass if needed. He’d worked a double shift to volunteer his time today, but Mallory knew his day wasn’t over, not even close. He still had to go home to more responsibility—a young son, not to mention his own handicapped sister, both of whom he was solely responsible for.

“Nice job today,” he said to Mallory.

“Thanks to you.”

He lifted a shoulder, like it was no big deal. He was a big guy, over six feet and built like a bull in a china shop, which made his talent all the more impressive. He might be serious and just a little scary, but he was the most approachable doctor she’d ever met. He was also her favorite because he treated the nurses with respect. Such behavior should be automatic in doctors, but so often wasn’t. This conduct also tended to land him on Lucille’s Most Wanted Single Male list on Facebook far too often, which drove him nuts.

“I’m glad you got approval for this,” he said. “You’re doing something really good here.”

She glowed over that as she locked up behind him. As the last staff member there, she walked each of the rooms, cleaning up a little as she went. They had two exam rooms, a very small staff kitchen, and the front reception area. There was a back walk-in closet being renovated for their drug lock-up, but for now the drugs and samples were kept in one exam room in a locked cabinet. The reception area was big enough to host groups, which was what they would likely have to do during the week.

Tomorrow night was their first scheduled AA meeting. Monday night would be Narcotics Anonymous—NA. Wednesday nights would host a series of guest speakers, all aimed at teen advocacy programs.

It was all finally happening, and it made Mallory feel useful. Helpful. Maybe she hadn’t been able to help Karen, but she could reach others.

By the time she locked the front door and got to her car, yet another storm was rolling in. Night had fallen, and the lot wasn’t as well-lit as she’d like. She was on the back side of the hospital, the entrance leading to a narrow side street. She made a note to get the lighting fixed tomorrow and slid into her car just as the sky started dumping rain. She inserted her key in the ignition and turned it.

Nothing, just a click. She tried again anyway and got nowhere. A dead battery, naturally. She peered out her windshield and sighed. Walking home would be a five-mile trek in the pouring rain, which she was far too tired for. Plus her feet hurt from being on them all day. With a grimace, she pulled out her phone and called Joe.

“Yo,” her brother said. “Bad time.”

“Bad time for me, too. I need you to come jump my car. I have a dead battery.”

“You leave your lights on again?”

“No.” Maybe. “You owe me, Joe.” She had to put that one out there right away to start the negotiations. Joe was a deal maker and only dealt at all if the odds were in his favor. “I let you and your idiot friends borrow my car, remember?” she asked. “You needed more seats to get to that stupid trail party out at Peak’s Landing. Maybe this is somehow your fault.”