Page 2 of Wrecked for Love (Buffaloberry Hill #1)
“I should go,” I muttered, forcing my body upright. This time, I managed to stay sitting.
“I won’t stop you,” he said, perhaps with a hope I wouldn’t leave.
“I don’t want anyone to see me here.” I caught his stare. “Please, tell me no one knows I’m here.”
“Just me and Bobo,” he replied, as Bobo’s ears twitched at the mention of his name. Rick handed me back my wallet. “Your name is Claire Magnussen?”
“Yes.”
“Everything from your car is over there.” He gestured toward a table in the corner.
There it was—the bag stuffed with cash. No doubt he’d seen it. My phone and Ruger lay on top. If he’d inspected the gun, he would’ve noticed the three spent chambers. Maybe the scent of gunpowder still clung to it when he found it.
“Why didn’t you call the police?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he muttered, like he was searching for the answer himself.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Each breath felt like it was tearing my raw skin open all over again. Only when the pain subsided to something bearable did I try to stand and walk.
Bobo whined as if telling me not to push too hard.
“Looks like you’re his new favorite,” Rick said, giving the husky a few pats as if telling him he was a good boy.
“He wasn’t always this gentle. My daughter adopted him from a shelter in Chicago.
He was on the list to be put down—sick, angry, wouldn’t let anyone near him.
They said he’d been badly abused by his last owner.
But with her…it was different. They just clicked. ”
I reached down to stroke Bobo’s massive frame, leaning on him for support and stealing a moment of rest. As I passed the dresser, my eyes caught on a collection of Chicago Cubs memorabilia.
Rick noticed. “All hers. One of the reasons she moved to Chicago. Watching the Yankees versus Cubs games? Let’s just say it was never quiet.” He chuckled softly at the memory. “She went to study at the Feinberg School of Medicine.”
What a loss. I could tell she was brilliant. Too much talent, gone too soon.
I picked up the Ruger and sensed the doctor’s tension behind me. Was he afraid of me? Or was he preparing to spring whatever plan he’d been hiding?
The dog stood calmly next to me, and there was no sign Rick was about to pull anything. I checked the chamber—still loaded.
“I hung your coat there.” He motioned toward the back of the door.
I gave a nod, studying him closer. He was dressed in a T-shirt and home shorts, and there was no way he had a weapon on him. If he’d planned an attack, he would’ve done it while I was out cold.
Carefully, I slid the Ruger into the bag, signaling I wasn’t looking for a fight. My gaze lingered on the zipper, my thoughts scattered. Then, I shifted to my phone—its screen was beyond saving, smashed to hell.
“Found it under the gas pedal. Must’ve dropped and crushed when you hit the brakes,” he said.
Did I slam on the brakes? The memory escaped me.
Noticing my confusion, he added, “You were inches from a power pole. Lucky break number three. Might want to buy a lottery ticket.”
A weak chuckle slipped from me, and damn, even that hurt.
I pocketed the broken phone, feeling the jagged edges through my jeans. I’d deal with it later. Somewhere no one would find it.
“Although I should mention—your car’s a write-off,” he added. “Still out there.”
Shit.
“Where?” My memory was a blank, but my mind shot straight to the doctor. The last thing I needed was for him to get caught up in this.
“Far enough from here.”
Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I accepted the coat he handed me. “Thank you, Doctor,” I said, heading for the door.
Sympathy flowers lined the hallway as I passed by. It was all still fresh for him, no doubt. I kept moving, resisting the urge to glance back until I reached the front porch. The sky was a blanket of darkness, perfect for slipping away unnoticed.
“Wait!” Rick’s voice stopped me, and I glanced back just as Bobo took a cautious step, his nails clicking against the marble floor. Despite the movement, the husky stayed close to Rick, his watchful eyes fixed on me.
I turned fully and caught the somber expression on the doctor’s face.
“You won’t get far on foot. Take this.” He held out car keys, along with a registration and a driver’s license.
Clare Ashbourne.
Maybe he helped me because I reminded him of her. The photo on the license didn’t quite match, but with a little makeup and darker hair, I could pass. We were close enough in age—she’d only been one year older.
“Rick…I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” He motioned toward the garage.
“She was here to reconcile with her boyfriend. She would’ve made it if she’d been driving that night.
This car,” he nodded at the gray Ford sedan, “would’ve saved her.
But instead, she was in his car. He drove, high and drunk, after they argued.
” He scoffed, bitterness creeping into his voice.
“Crashed into a tree. She died on impact.”
“I’m so sorry.” The words ground against the unfairness of it all, but now I was about to exploit that tragedy.
“Take the car, Claire. It’ll get you far enough, and whether you come back as Claire Magnussen or someone else, that’s your choice. But for now, take my Clare’s.”
I hugged him, his grief lingering like an unspoken presence between us. “Thank you.”
Bobo paced anxiously as if he couldn’t decide whether to follow me to the car. I imagined the car was too familiar. His old master had probably driven him to the beach, on hikes, somewhere they loved to be.
“Bobo, stay,” Rick commanded. In contrast, his expression was hopeful, like he was offering the dog to me too.
But I couldn’t. I wasn’t even sure I could handle myself.
“Look after him,” I murmured—both to the man and the dog—knowing they’d take care of each other. Without waiting for a reply, I turned away before I lost my resolve.
Under the cover of the night, Clare Ashbourne came to life.
Three strokes of luck in a row—maybe it was fate. Hell, I’d need a lot more to survive. But for now, I had to adjust, leaving behind my old name, my family name. My parents hadn’t given me much worth holding on to. Still, in my mind, I was Claire. Claire with an ‘i.’