Sam wrapped his jacket around Willamina and simply held her while she fought her ghosts. He rested his chin on her head, liking the feel of her snuggled against him. He remembered how she'd had them all laughing not long ago, telling them how she'd gotten rid of her husband. Willamina Kent was an enigma. She was sassy and clumsy, short and plump, and apparently contented that way. She was compassionate and empathetic, and she loved Abram Sinclair. For all of that, Sam admired her. Even in terror, she'd remained level-headed enough to want everyone out of the car. Sam could hear Darcy and Paula wailing about their torn dresses and run stockings.
Sam smiled. Willamina probably had runs in her stockings and rips in her dress, but she wasn't complaining. He ran his fingers through her hair, undoing the last of her topknot. Soft, silken curls cascaded over his hand, making him shiver.
Sam sighed as he looked toward his brothers, who had stood up and were staring down at the two women huddled together on the blanket.
Ronald was back with his beloved car, and Sam could see him muttering to himself as he walked around it. The headlights were still on, and from the expression on Ronald's face, the front end was not a pretty sight. The chauffeur looked as if he was going to cry.
The police arrived, along with several ambulances. Willamina wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, wincing when she moved to get off his lap.
"Where do you hurt?"
"I'm just lame."
"Can you sit here while I talk with the police?"
"Of course," she said, wiping her cheeks again. "I'm fine. Go."
Sam set her on Ronald's coat, taking the time to snug her up in his own jacket. "Stay right here until you can be checked out by the paramedics," he told her, not leaving until she nodded agreement.
As soon as he walked away, Willa stood up and went to Darcy and Paula, keeping Sam's jacket wrapped tightly around herself. Damn, she couldn't stop shaking. It had been five years, but it could have been yesterday for the terror she felt. Last time, it had been just her and her niece, Jennifer, but it had been dark then, too, and Willa had also been forced off the road. Only her car hadn't landed safely in a ditch; it had hit a culvert and rolled, stopping against a ledge and bursting into flames. Bruised and bleeding, Willa had needed all of her strength to get Jennifer out before it had exploded. Willa still had scars from the incident, but none as deep as the one she carried in her heart for her niece.
"How is everyone?" she asked, sitting on the grass in front of the women. Jesse and Ben were talking to a policeman nearby. Sam was with another officer and Ronald, looking over the car.
"Nothing's broken, except my bracelet," Darcy answered, holding her arm up. Willa could tell it was made of diamonds and likely cost more than the car. She'd probably be a little upset herself if she had broken something that expensive. "At least you didn't lose it," she offered.
"That's true. How about you? Did you get burned or something? I heard you yelling about a fire."
"No. I'm fine. And there wasn't any fire."
"Ladies, can you walk to the ambulance?" a young man asked, hunching down to shine a flashlight over
them.
"With help," Darcy answered, taking another man's extended hand.
"I think my ankle's sprained," Paula said. "It hurts too much to get up."
"Send a basket down here," the young man called to the man helping Darcy up the slope. "And you, ma'am. Can you walk?" he asked Willa.
"I don't need to be checked. I'm not hurt."
"I'd like to make sure of that," he countered, shining his light over her, smiling as he carefully brushed back her hair. "You have a bump on your forehead."
Willa raised a hand to her forehead. "It's just a small bump."
"Your wrist's bleeding," he said, taking her hand.
"Maybe you can give me a Band-Aid."
"Maybe I should just bring you to the ambulance and see what else I find," he persisted.
"I'm fine ."
"Here we go, ma'am," a burly young man said as he and another set a long basket down beside Paula and prepared to put her in it.
"You go help them," Willa suggested to her medic. "I'll go to the ambulance eventually."
He reached into his box and pulled out a large Band-Aid. He carefully put it over the cut on her wrist, then narrowed his eyes at her. "This is just temporary. Until you eventually come to the ambulance."
"Thank you."
"Thank me at the ambulance," he shot back, jogging over to another accident victim. The strobe lights, the sounds of police radios crackling, the smell of gasoline brought back all the painful, horrific memories.
But especially the ambulance.
She couldn't bring herself to go sit inside it. The last time she'd been in one had been with Jennifer, who hadn't been moving and hadn't opened her eyes. Her eleven-year-old niece had become trapped in the car, and her foot was crushed when Willa had pulled her out. Now sixteen years old, the girl wore a prosthesis where her right foot used to be.
No. She couldn't go up to that ambulance.
She walked away from the sights and sounds and smells but couldn't outwalk the piercing strobe lights. She sat down in the grass about a hundred yards from the chaos, her body sore and her bare feet cold. She tucked them beneath her and sat in silence, watching the people running around.
She could see several more vehicles in the ditch past the limousine. There had been no other cars involved five years ago. The driver who'd forced them off the road had continued on, leaving her and Jennifer to their fate.
Sam's angry voice suddenly intruded into her thoughts. "I told you to stay put."
She looked up at him, not blinking.
"You're supposed to be getting checked out."
"I already was," she said, lifting her arm to show him her bandage.
"That's it? They gave you a Band-Aid?"
"Is she hurt?" Ben asked, coming up behind Sam, followed by Jesse.
"I don't know."
"I'm not," she said, looking into the darkness, away from the accident.
"Come to the ambulance and prove it," Sam countered.
"No."
"Willa-"
"Leave me alone, Sinclair. When a ride shows up to take me back to the hotel, you can find me right here."
Sam mouthed an expletive as he looked at his brothers, who'd been helping him search for her. When he'd returned to take her to the ambulance and hadn't been able to find her, he'd become frantic, worried she had a concussion and had wandered off.
He was uncertain what to do. The accident had obviously upset her more than hurt her. Judging by the fact that she'd walked this far by herself and by the tone of voice she was using to get rid of him, Sam guessed she was okay. In fact, she appeared to be in fighting form.
"You're going to the ambulance," he said, hunching down beside her, more than willing to give her a fight if that's what she wanted.
She looked at him again, only she wasn't seeing ghosts now. "Go away."
"No."
"I'm not going to that ambulance, Sinclair."
"If I have to carry you, I will."
Her eyes widened, then she laughed humorlessly. "It will take the three of you."
"You think so?" he asked, getting close to her face, which was lit by the strobe lights. "I think I can handle you, Ms. Kent."
"Aw, hell. Now I've challenged your manly ego, haven't I? Forget it, Sam. Just go away."
He ended the discussion by picking her up and standing. She gasped in surprise, then hissed in outrage, grabbing his neck in a choking grip. "Put me down!"
"In the ambulance."
"I hope you throw your back out!"
Sam strode past his laughing brothers. "Why, Ms.Kent , you don't weigh more than a minute. Certainly not enough for a divorce."
"I hope you break your back, you jerk!"
"You think you're fat? You should have seen my date to the senior prom."
Sam thought she was going to hit him-until they reached the ambulance. Then she stiffened and clung to him like a frightened child, her eyes closing tightly.
The accident she'd alluded to earlier must have traumatized her. Sam stepped into the ambulance and sat down, keeping her in his lap. "Here she is. Check her out," he told the attendant. "If you think she should go to the hospital, I'll ride with her."