Page 17

Chapter 17

Sawyer

She clenched and unclenched her jaw, scowling as she watched the nurse strap the blood pressure cuff to her arm. “If it’s high, you might consider the fact I was woken up every hour on the hour through the night.”

“ Maman ,” Bree chided from her seat beside Sawyer’s bed.

“What? It’s true. I haven’t felt this sleep-deprived since you were in diapers.” Her usual insomnia was a hell of a lot better than what she was enduring now.

The nurse only chuckled, not at all fazed by Sawyer’s hostility. She’d just begun her shift, so there was still plenty of time to get under her skin. “I’m Diane, by the way. It’ll be me and Marissa popping in to check on you today.”

“Thanks for the heads up. I suppose all my sleeping will have to wait until I’m home again.”

“Okay, stay still. Try not to talk for a minute, and I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” Diane raised an eyebrow, shooting Sawyer a pointed look as she adjusted the cuff. Sawyer glanced away, knowing she was extra miserable but unable to stop hating everyone. She’d been in a foul mood since she’d woken in the intensive care unit two days ago. She was exhausted and sore all over. Her chest was so bruised, it looked like someone had taken a bat to her. Bree informed her McCoy had administered CPR, but the last thing Sawyer remembered before waking in the hospital was the comforting warmth as McCoy held her in her muscular arms.

McCoy, who had not visited in the entire time Sawyer had been laid up. Not that Sawyer had expected or even wanted her to. They’d both established the kiss had been a mistake and if anyone could respect standing by a decision, it was Sawyer. McCoy’s decisiveness was impressive, responsible.

Then why is the radio silence so goddamn deafening?

Except for two missed calls when Sawyer had first landed in the hospital, she’d heard nothing else from McCoy. At the very least, didn’t the fact that she’d saved Sawyer’s life deserve a text?

Yes, from you, not her. Stop deflecting. One word is all it would take. Thanks. How hard could it be?

“She was just doing her job, Maman . You didn’t have to be rude,” Bree said the moment they were alone again. She was twisting her long brown strands atop her head in a loose bun, a bemused expression on her face as she stared at her mother.

“I know,” sighed Sawyer, her head falling back onto her pillow. Exhaustion was hitting her already, and she’d only just had breakfast. Her body was bone-tired, like she could sleep for a week straight. If only the nurses would quit coming into her room. “I need to get back to work.”

Bree’s hand landed on the arm not attached to an IV, and she gave Sawyer a light squeeze. “Work is the last thing you need. The restaurant will be there when you’re all healed up. Cindy’s running the kitchen like she’s worked there for years. And I know you don’t like it, but I’m helping too. Seriously, you could have the whole summer off if you wanted to.”

“Absolutely not,” Sawyer breathed, unable to believe Cindy had quit her job to help her out. Especially since Sawyer had been so miserable lately. Why would Cindy subject herself daily to Sawyer’s bitchiness? “I’m still upset that you’re here when I told you not to worry about me.”

“You had a heart attack. Would you have even told me if Barb hadn’t?”

Sawyer closed her eyes. “I just want you to be happy, mon amour . I know … coming back here brings up bad memories.”

“I don’t want to get into it and bring on more stress, but I will say this much: you’re wrong, Maman . All my bad memories died a year ago. We’re free now, and I love coming home to visit you.”

Sawyer took a deep breath, willing herself to remain calm in front of Bree. She’d known there was no love lost between her daughter and husband, but to hear Bree speak so frankly was alarming.

There was a knock on the door, and even as Sawyer thought of ways she could ignore the interruption, Bree was exclaiming, “Holy flowers. Maman , are you seeing this?”

Opening her eyes again, the first thing Sawyer noticed was the enormous bouquet coming into her private room. The daffodils were effectively blocking her view of the person carrying them, and it wasn’t until the figure set the beautiful display down on the dinner table that she saw who it was.

“Hi, sorry I’m late. They, uh, wouldn’t let me in when you were in intensive care,” McCoy greeted her, looking self-conscious as she darted a glance in Bree’s direction.

Surprised and secretly pleased, Sawyer sputtered, “Hi, McCoy.”

McCoy visibly swallowed, her lips looking as tempting as they had the day she’d kissed them. “Hi. How are you?”

“Did you say McCoy?” Bree interrupted, standing up as well now. A hand flew to her throat as she stared incredulously at McCoy. “You’re the one who saved my mom.”

“It was … I did CPR. Oh!” McCoy exclaimed, awkwardly accepting Bree’s hug. A faint blush covered her cheeks as she met Sawyer’s gaze. “I’m just glad I was there.”

“Me too. God, you have no idea.” Bree wiped away a fleeting tear, laughing as she pulled back from McCoy and really looked at her for the first time. Then Bree glanced at Sawyer. “Isn’t McCoy the one working on Papa’s car? Cindy told me.”

“She is, yes,” Sawyer replied, her gaze fixed on McCoy’s. She cleared her throat. “Bree, can you give us a moment?”

Bree’s eyebrows shot up, but she nodded. “I’ll just grab a coffee.”

Once they were alone, Sawyer studied McCoy silently for long enough that she eventually had the younger woman squirming where she stood. She was dressed impeccably in non-work clothes, wearing a pair of torn, punk-style black skinny jeans, Converse sneakers, and a blue and black checkered flannel long-sleeve shirt. For once, her chestnut hair was loose, reaching mid-point to her ear and sloping to one side over the disconnected undercut. She took Sawyer’s breath away.

“May I?” McCoy asked, breaking the silence. She pointed to the chair Bree had occupied before taking a seat. Seconds later, the chair legs scraped as McCoy pulled closer to Sawyer’s bedside.

“You know CPR,” Sawyer said when nothing else came to mind.

McCoy glanced around the private room, absently rubbing the back of her neck. Sawyer recognized it as one of her nervous habits. “Yeah. I, um … I’ve volunteered for years with the mountain bike association as one of their First Aid responders.”

“So, you mountain bike?” That could explain Sawyer’s fascination with McCoy’s biceps, right? Mountain biking sounded like it took a lot of upper body strength.

“I do. My sister and cousin do, too. The young blond-haired guy at the shop is my cousin, J.D.”

Sawyer recalled seeing someone with light hair the other day when she breezed through the waiting room, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she said, “Thank you for the flowers, but why are you here, McCoy? If … you’re wondering about work, then it’ll be another few days before I’m home.”

“What?” She seemed shocked Sawyer would suggest as much, and she wagged her head back and forth in denial, her expressive green gaze wide. “No, I … I came to see you . I’m so sorry, Sawyer. I-I can’t help but feel like I had something to do with what happened.”

Sawyer frowned. “So you’re here in … what? A friendly capacity?”

McCoy looked confused, but she nodded slowly. “Sure, yes. If that’s what you want.”

“It’s not. I have enough friends.” Cindy and Lori were often more friends than she had time for. She certainly didn’t want McCoy to fall into that category only to later torture Sawyer with tales of her sex life.

The tip of McCoy’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, but Sawyer forced herself not to lower her gaze at the action. Send her on her way. “Okay, well, I’m here in any capacity you want me to be.”

Sawyer swallowed, her throat suddenly parched. Images of kissing McCoy and more teased the edges of her mind. The memory of those solid shoulders beneath her grip increased the temperature in the room by several degrees. Sawyer’s cheeks were hot as she muttered, “My employees don’t bring me flowers and certainly not the largest bouquet money can buy. It tends to blur lines.”

There was no mistaking the disappointment that flashed in McCoy’s eyes, but Sawyer held her ground. Not blurring the boundaries between boss and employee any more than they had already was for the best.

“Right. Again, I’m sorry.” McCoy's lips tightened, and she started to stand.

“Wait, I don’t mean—” Sawyer let out a breath, grimacing when the exhalation hurt her ribs. I just want to look at you a bit more. The thought was there, the tremulous feelings she now got when McCoy was nearby, but of course she couldn’t voice them. It’d be more than inappropriate. It would show another shard of vulnerability Sawyer couldn’t afford to offer up. “Please don’t leave just yet.”

“Okay.” McCoy flashed her a tentative smile before settling into the chair again. She had a vibe about her that Sawyer didn’t think she’d ever tire from. Today, she was the perfect balance between rugged and soft, and her exposed throat was like a homing beacon for Sawyer. Like a mouth-watering morsel Sawyer was dying to taste. And those dimples when she smiled …

“Tell me more about your sister. Is she older? Younger?”

“Random, but okay.” McCoy let out a soft chuckle, resting her elbows on Sawyer’s mattress. She hooked her fingers together, her thumb rings tugging at Sawyer’s attention for some ungodly reason. “We’re twins but I’m technically ten minutes older.”

“Identical?” Sawyer managed, proud she was able to keep her tone neutral. Again, she swallowed. God there really were two McCoys walking around Vancouver. She could just imagine the path of broken hearts left in their wake.

“Yep. Well, I mean, we don’t look exactly alike anymore. Sloane is a lot more femme. She even wears heels sometimes—can you believe that? Definitely not like me.”

McCoy was rambling, but somehow in the last few months, her nerves around Sawyer had become more charming instead of annoying. When had that happened? A feminine version of McCoy flaunting around in a dress and heels stuck in Sawyer’s head, and a sleepy laugh popped out. She didn’t know who was more surprised. McCoy, if her million-dollar wide grin was any indication. Her dimples were entirely too distracting, and the way she was looking at Sawyer had her wishing they’d kiss already. Just put Sawyer out of her misery.

“Unique names you both have.”

McCoy glanced away, giving Sawyer a clear view of her tantalizing throat bobbing up and down as she swallowed. “My mom insisted they name us after we were born, but … she died giving birth.” McCoy gazed at Sawyer, a sad smile appearing. Sawyer’s heart twisted. “My dad named us—me, after his favorite motorcycle driver, and Sloane was my mom’s maiden name.”

“Oh. Well, he did a good job,” Sawyer managed, an unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in her throat. Send her on her way. She needed to backtrack. Their conversation was getting too friendly, too far out of Sawyer’s comfort zone.

Thankfully, Bree chose that moment to return. Sawyer sighed, grateful when the conversation shifted to Bree and McCoy soon after, and she finally dozed off.