Page 11 of Believe in Caloosa Springs (Caloosa Springs #3)
Christian
The last 90 seconds were already a complete blur, and I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that one second I had been driving to booked and the next I was crying into Porter’s chest.
Life is fucking weird.
“Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
I didn’t know how to answer his question. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I was okay or not. Is this what shock feels like?
“Take a couple deep breaths. It’s all right. I’ve got you…” Porter whispered, bringing his hand up to cradle the back of my head against him. God, he smelled good. Like aftershave and weed.
I took some slow, deep breaths and started to try to assess myself for any serious injuries. I wiggled my toes, and shifted a bit on my hips. No pain there. Porter loosed his hold around me and took a small step back.
There was some pain in my left wrist as I flexed my hands, but it was moving okay. It didn’t feel like it was broken. I think I just sprained it when my hand banged against the steering wheel as I hit the other car.
“It was so slippery. I just couldn’t stop. I-I tried!” My voice cracked as I spoke, and I blinked a few times, trying not to completely break down again.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s not your fault that the roads are icy. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
I normally find cutesy pet names gag-worthy, but something about the way Porter said it only helped to put me at ease.
A beat-up white pickup truck with a faded SHERIFF decal on the side pulled up next to us, and Wyatt stepped out.
“Everybody okay? Do we need a medic?”
Porter glanced at me as a new wave of worry crossed his face.
“I’m fine. Really. I think I just sprained my wrist.” I was answering Wyatt, but I said the words to Porter. He just looked so terrified. It was a strange look for him.
“Any idea whose car this is?” I asked, feeling guilty and embarrassed for having demolished the back of their car. “I’ll pay for all the damages, I swear!”
My voice got a little louder as I began to panic. Wyatt was the sheriff. Was I going to jail? Do you go to jail for car accidents? I wasn’t drunk…
“It’s Tian, right?” the sheriff asked.
I nodded. “My full name is Christian. Christian Hartright.” I leaned back into the car and grabbed my wallet from the center console to give him my driver’s license.
“Don’t need your license,” he said. “This car belongs to George Barlosky.” Wyatt gestured up the road towards the saloon. “Bar opened twenty minutes ago. If I had to guess, ol’ George is warming his belly as we speak.”
I reluctantly fell in step behind Wyatt as we walked towards the saloon doors. It was hard—Wyatt was super tall, and even his casual stride made me scurry. Porter walked close at my side and tried to pick up my hand.
“Ouch!”
“I’m so sorry,” Porter said, pulling his hand away.
“It’s just a little sore, sorry.” I stepped behind him to get on his other side and laced my fingers with his.
“Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?” he asked.
“Really, I think it’s just sprained. I’ve broken my arm before, and it feels way worse than this. Honest.”
The look on Porter’s face said he didn’t believe me at all, but didn’t push.
Wyatt held the swinging saloon door open as we entered the small space. Despite the dreary gray sky, the single-room building was bathed in warm light from a hanging chandelier made of deer antlers. At least, I assumed they were deer antlers? Moose have antlers, too. Were there moose in Colorado? Maybe there weren’t any deer either, though that didn’t seem right. I was pulled from my momentary hyper-focus when Wyatt spoke.
“Morning, George.”
A stout, grizzled man looking to be in his late sixties turned around. His brown leather cowboy hat showed decades of wear, with its frayed brim and lopsided bend. His brown eyes went wide as his gaze landed on Wyatt.
“I just got here! This is my first round, Wyatt! Tell him, Jackie, I wasn’t doin’ nothin’!” Without waiting for a response, George’s gaze flickered around the room before he grabbed the small glass of amber liquid sitting in front of him and downed it in one large gulp. Across the bar, the female bartender raised an eyebrow.
“Jesus Christ, George, relax. I’m not here for you… this time.” Wyatt shrugged, “Actually, scratch that. I kinda am. There was a minor accident this morning, and I’m afraid Tian, here…” Wyatt gestured to me, “...hit some black ice and smashed into your car.”
George turned his attention to me.
“I’m so sorry, I really am. I will totally pay for the damage. I’m just not used to driving in snow, or driving that much at all, really, and it all just happened so fast, and It’s not even my car…”
George kept his rheumy blue eyes locked inscrutably on my face as I rambled excuses and apologies like a six-year-old who’d just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar before dinner.
Once I’d finally taken a breath, I felt my shoulders slump. On pure instinct, I leaned against Porter’s side. He put his arms around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. God, he was so fucking sweet. Especially after the way I’d just completely blown him off. I just took the whole poison oak thing as a sign to just keep my distance and forget about him. I was going to leave town and put this whole mess behind me. The problem was, forgetting about Porter was a lot harder than I had originally anticipated. He was just so sweet, and oddly handsome.
Okay, ‘oddly’ was the wrong word. Porter was very attractive. By conventional standards, he was probably a perfect 10. Blond hair, blue eyes, beautiful smile. The quintessential boy next door. Problem was, I’d never been attracted to anyone who looked like that before. I liked bikers. Douchebags with tattoos and dark hair. Guys who looked like they would set you on fire if you even looked at them the wrong way.
Not someone who could be cast as the lead on the next season of The Bachelor.
“Think I can get it home?” George asked, turning away from me to face Wyatt.
“I think so,” Wyatt shrugged. “Back wheels looked clear. You did worse last month when you spun out into Ty’s fence.”
George chuckled. “Forgot about that.”
Wyatt narrowed his eyes in response.
“I’ll pay for the body work,” I repeated.
George peered at me for a long moment. Just as my skin was beginning to prickle under the old man’s scrutiny, he turned to the bartender.
“Jackie, what’s my tab runnin’ these days?”
“Fifty-seven… before tip ,” the blonde-haired barkeep annunciated sharply.
George looked back over his shoulder. “Well, you heard the lady, son. And, by the way… I’m a very generous tipper.” He finished the statement with a wink in Jackie’s direction.
Jackie let out something between a snort and a laugh. “You’re so full of shit, George.” As if to say she’d had enough of our foolishness, she turned around and grabbed the rag that was slung over her left shoulder to continue wiping down the bar.
“So Tian is off the hook if he pays your bar tab? Is that what I’m hearing?” Porter asked.
“Yeah. Long as this lovely lady will get me another round, and you’ll take the sheriff with you when you leave.”
Wyatt frowned, but didn’t say anything.
I blinked a few times, trying to make sure the whole thing hadn’t been a hallucination before digging my wallet out of my pants pocket and laying a $100 bill down on the bar.
“Thank you so much,” I stammered. I’m really sorry.”
Porter and I turned to leave. “Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?”
I turned back to see George flick his thumb in Wyatt’s direction.
Wyatt sighed. “I’ll be back around closing time to make sure you get home safe, George. You stay put and don’t get any dumbass ideas.”
“Christ on a cracker,” George muttered into the rim of the fresh glass Jackie had just set down in front of him.
“Thanks, kid!” Jackie called as she picked the bill up off the bar and tucked it into her bra, a wide smile blooming across her face.
While we were in the saloon, Tyler had managed to get Mandy’s Jeep untangled from George’s old Ford. Things actually didn’t seem as bad as I had originally thought. There were a few minor dents towards the bottom of the Jeep’s grill, but it all looked cosmetic. George’s car was definitely the worse for wear, but also still looked drivable. I stood still for a moment and blinked a few times. I couldn’t believe I got to walk away from this shit for only a hundred bucks. Well, plus whatever it was going to cost to get the Jeep repaired. How incredibly lucky I had been was not lost on me. Lucky I hadn’t been hurt, lucky I hadn’t caused more damage, lucky I’d skated thousands of dollars for a measly, overdue bar bill. But, most of all, lucky that somehow, by the grace of some god, somewhere, Porter was there.
He had been such a calming presence at a moment when I was freaking the fuck out. I probably would have passed out from nerves after the accident if he hadn't been there to hold me. I had gotten so lightheaded, I thought I was gonna hit the ground, but he just kept whispering soothing things into my ear as he held on tight. I think it was probably the safest I’d felt in a long time. I was going to have to examine that later, when I had more brain power.
“We should get some ice on that wrist of yours,” Porter suggested.
“I could just stick it into the snow on the side of the road,” I joked.
“Jeep’s just fine, Tian,” Wyatt announced. “Couple scrapes, but you’re fine to drive it.”
I could feel myself grimace at the thought of getting back behind the wheel just then.
As if sensing my discomfort, Porter spoke up. “Would you feel better if I took you home?”
“I can get the Jeep back up to Mandy’s, no problem,” Tyler added quickly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Ty and Porter said in unison.
“Okay,” I replied, a soft sigh of relief quickly following.
***