“Okay,” Samantha said. “You win. I’ll make us lunch back at the house and then you can listen while I talk to somebody in Outer Mongolia about transferring the old number to this new phone. That should be worth a couple of good laughs.”
“At least. Here, let me tie the tops of those last bags for you.”
“Fine. While you load them I’ll go stow the cart in the rack. Be right back.”
The afternoon sun warmed her face, lifted her spirits and put a spring in her step. The more she anticipated spending additional time with John, the more joy bubbled up, although she tried her best to tamp it down.
Shoving the shopping cart into the narrow storage area one row over from where he had parked, she turned and checked traffic to make certain it was safe to cross the lanes again.
It had never occurred to her that leaving John for mere moments might be hazardous until she heard the squeal of spinning tires and caught a glimpse of a beat-up, maroon-colored car racing toward her.
Sun glinted off its windshield and obscured the driver’s face but she could see a man’s beefy fists clenching the wheel. This was no potential accident. She was being attacked!
Jumping between the nearest parked cars Samantha closed her eyes and crossed her forearms in front of her face. Melding with her scream was the clenching, grinding sound of metal against metal and the shattering of breaking glass.
The car next to her was being shoved closer! She lost her balance as she turned to flee. The side of her head clipped an outside mirror on one of the sliding parked cars and she stumbled. Fell. The asphalt was hard and unforgiving.
Flashes of blinding light filled her closed eyes. Colors danced, flickered like a desert mirage.
An instant later the rippling, hazy edges of the picture converged, all the lights went out and she dropped into the welcome blackness of unconsciousness.
* * *
John had seen what was about to happen but was in the wrong position to intervene in time. He started to draw his weapon, then realized there was no way to be certain this was anything more than a driver’s stupid mistake.
By the time the car that had been aimed at Samantha slewed into the next aisle and sped away, it was too late for him to take any aggressive action.
Instead, he raced toward the last place he’d seen her, vaulting over a wrinkled fender and landing nearby.
The sight of her, lying there so still, made his heart clench. If she hadn’t stirred and moaned at that moment he didn’t know what he’d have done.
Dropping onto his knees he pinned her shoulders. “Don’t try to get up. You may be hurt. You shouldn’t move.”
“What?” Her eyes blinked rapidly, as if she was confused, then focused on him. “I’m okay. Really.”
“Just the same, you should be checked over by a medic.”
“I’m a nurse, John. I know when I’m injured. I’m fine. Honest. Let me up.”
He reluctantly eased his hold, took her hands and helped her to her feet. “You sure?”
“Positive.” She began to gently probe the side of her head with two fingers while scanning the parking lot. “I see the guy split. Did you get his license number?”
“No. He was moving too fast. I was more worried about you. What did you see?”
“Not much. Older car. Dirty. Probably rusty, too.” Samantha rubbed her temple and winced. “Ouch. That smarts.”
“I’m taking you to the E.R.”
“Oh, no, you’re not. I don’t want to go there on a Sunday afternoon any more than you’d like spending your days off at the police station. If I start to get dizzy or have any other symptoms, I’ll go see a doctor. I promise.”
John cupped her elbow, urged her back to his truck and opened the passenger door as sirens wailed in the distance. “Fine. Sit right here where I can see you and behave yourself while I give a statement to the Ash Flat cops. I’ll try not to be gone long.”
Pausing, he touched her hand. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Positive.”
The unshed tears dampening her long, dark lashes touched his heart. Sam might be so stubborn and self-assured that she drove him crazy, but there was still a vulnerability about her that made him sympathetic beyond common sense.
That’s not the same thing as love, he insisted to himself, slamming the door and turning away. He was just feeling overly protective due to the calamities that had recently befallen her, that’s all.
If that was true, then why had he had such a gut-level reaction to the thought that the speeding car might have injured her? he asked himself. And why was it such a struggle to merely walk a few yards away from her now? She’d be perfectly safe sitting in his truck.