Chapter 5 C5

Touching her now was risky, but he'd rather she tell him to fuck off forever than have an accident in the twenty minutes it would take her to reach the hospital.

"Brea." He wrapped his hand around her fingers, still clutching the keys, and gave them a squeeze. "You're in no shape to drive. Let me take you."

She opened her mouth, an automatic refusal seemingly perched there. Instead, she pressed her lips together again. "You're right."

Relieved that she'd acquiesced, he helped her from the car, reaching in after her to retrieve her purse. He took the keys from her grasp, locked the compact, and guided her to his Jeep.

Once he had her buckled in and they were heading down the road, he slipped into problem-solving mode. "Has your father had any problems with his heart in the past?"

"No." And she looked completely stunned by the fact he was dealing with it now. "He's had high blood pressure for a few years, but he's controlled it with medication. I've tried to keep him on a heart-healthy diet, but he loves fried chicken and beignets and..." She shook her head as tears started streaming down her face. "The doctor told him his weight has been creeping up for a while, and he's more sedentary than he should be. I've encouraged him to walk with me or try one of my spin classes. Something. But lately he's been so busy and preoccupied. I thought it would pass. I should have insisted."

"You can't blame yourself. He's a grown-ass man, and you've gone above and beyond."

"No." She closed her eyes as guilty fear closed up her expression. "I do the grocery shopping, and I've indulged him more than I should, telling myself that once the summer cookouts were over and pieces of peach pie weren't so easy to come by that I'd make sure he ate healthier. But what if it's too late?"

One-Mile both understood and hated how much she worried, but her ability to love with her whole heart was obvious. Her body pinged with anxious devotion. The way she willed herself to be at her father's side this instant confirmed it.

He'd never had anyone love him like that. And he wanted it.

One hand gripped the wheel. The other he curled around hers. He was surprised-and thrilled as hell-when she grabbed his in return and squeezed.

"Wait and see what the doctors say."

She turned to him with big doe eyes that melted him. "I'm afraid."

"I know. But I'm here, whatever you need."

More tears fell down her cheeks. "He's all I've got. My mother died shortly after I was born."

"I read that last night. I'm sorry." He didn't know how any woman died in this day and age as a result of childbirth, and he wished like hell Brea hadn't lost her mom when she'd come into the world. Growing up without a mom sucked; he should know.

"I'll be all alone if..."

She didn't finish that sentence. One-Mile was glad for a lot of reasons, mostly because she didn't need to borrow more worry by assuming Reverend Bell would kick the bucket. But how interesting that she hadn't included Bryant in her someone-she's-got category...

"You won't. How old is your father?"

"Not quite fifty. He's still so young..."

For this kind of serious heart shit? "Yeah. That will work in his favor. And he's got you."

She tried to accept his words with a nod. "Along with his congregation. And God. The power of prayer is strong. I've seen it work. I need to pray for him and ask his parishioners to do the same."

"Absolutely." If that made her feel better, she should.

Brea nodded, then bowed her head. Her soft lips moved in silence. One-Mile couldn't resist sliding his gaze over her profile, sweeping from her crown, down the slope of her nose, past the stubborn point of her chin, and over the sweet swells of her breasts with his stare.

He wasn't proud of how hard that made him, but Brea flipped every one of his switches. He couldn't give up the chance to visually drink her in.

Suddenly, her lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. "I feel better."

"Good." Prayer had never done squat for him, but if it centered her, then he was in favor.

"I should make some phone calls."

"Sure. We've got another ten minutes before we get there."

Absently, she nodded, then ripped into her purse to grab her phone. She called back the woman who had informed her of her father's collapse in the church. Jennifer Collins, the kind widow, had apparently agreed to ring some of the other long-time church members and start a prayer chain before coming to the hospital to start a vigil with Brea. Then she reached out to the associate pastor and asked him to field whatever community issues came her father's way for the foreseeable future. Finally, she dialed someone who wasn't answering the phone.

"That man..." She huffed in frustration.

"Cutter?" One-Mile ventured.

"He only answers about half the time. I swear I don't know what he's doing the other half."

Probably saving the world. That's who Cutter was and that was their job. But as far as One-Mile knew, there were no pressing cases at the moment, so he had to wonder if maybe Cutter was doing someone else. Cheating didn't seem like the overgrown Boy Scout's thing, but if he wasn't being faithful to Brea, One-Mile would have even less compunction about stealing her from the bastard.

He didn't offer up that commentary, however, just watched her dial someone else.

"Hi, Mama Sweeney. You seen Cutter today? He wasn't in church."

There was a long pause, then One-Mile heard the other woman speak, though he couldn't decipher her words.

But Brea's face fell. "Oh. Well...um, if you see him anytime soon, can you ask him to call me? It's urgent. Daddy's had an episode with his heart. I'm on my way to the emergency room at University Hospital right now."

From what he could tell, the woman on the other end of the line conveyed an appropriate amount of shock and worry, before promising to have Cutter call her as soon as he turned up.

Brea ended the conversation, looking tight-lipped. One-Mile bit back a million questions. Fuck Brea being none of his business. Right now, she felt alone in the world, and he intended to take care of her, hoist as much of her responsibility as she'd allow onto his shoulders. But she seemed a million miles away.

"You okay?" he asked as he exited the highway.

"Fine."

But she wasn't. Her mood had taken another downturn after she'd talked to Mama Sweeney, whoever that was.

One-Mile squeezed her hand. "If you need to talk, pretty girl, I'm listening."

She turned to him with a wrenching smile that nearly broke his heart. "Thank you."

But she didn't share her thoughts or give him her troubles, just sat taut and mute until they reached the emergency room.

The instant he parked his Jeep near the door, she shoved off her seat belt, grabbed her purse, and dashed toward the hospital. One-Mile jumped from the vehicle and ran after her, locking the doors behind him with a click of his fob. By the time he caught up to her, she'd already spoken to an attendant, who went to fetch someone who could tell her about her father's condition.

She clutched her hands together, looking as if she waited for the verbal equivalent of a mortal body blow.

Normally, he didn't think too much about other people's problems. Everyone had shit to deal with, and he didn't expect anyone to listen to him whine about his. But it ripped him up to see sweet Brea hurting this much.

"Take a deep breath," he encouraged as he slipped his arm around her petite shoulders.

It was impossible not to notice that she fit perfectly against him, her delicate frame just the right height to hold close.

"What if Daddy is-"

"Don't borrow trouble. Let's wait for someone to give us the update. In the meantime, stay strong."

"I'm trying. But when I imagine life without him, I don't feel strong..." She buried her face in his chest and began to sob softly.

Brea had sought him for comfort? Granted, everyone else here was a complete stranger. But to draw solace from him, she had to trust him on some gut level she hadn't yet admitted to herself.

Tamping down his triumph, One-Mile wrapped both arms around her and held her tight against him. "I got you for as long as you need."

That didn't turn out to be long at all. The doctor, a forty-something no-nonsense woman, came bustling down the hall moments later. "Ms. Bell?"

Her head snapped up from his chest. "Yes."

"I'm Dr. Gale, one of the cardiovascular surgeons here at the hospital. I-"

"Is he all right? Is he going to make it?" Every muscle in Brea's body tightened.

A patient reassurance crossed the doctor's face. "Your father is stable and conscious now, but-"

"Can I see him?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid not yet. We're running some tests..."

The doctor went on, explaining the preacher's condition. The only words Brea seemed to hear were bypass surgery, probably in the next few hours. Gaping, she pressed a hand to her chest as her face went sheet white and she wobbled on her feet. One-Mile steadied her.

The doctor addressed him. "Is she prone to fainting? Has she eaten today?"

He had no fucking idea. "I'll take care of her."

The woman nodded grimly. "It's likely going to be a long day. She'll need her strength. We should be finished with all the tests in about an hour."

That gave him enough time to see to Brea since she was too worried about her father to even think of herself.

When the surgeon disappeared down the hall again, he turned Brea to face him. "Talk to me. Did you eat breakfast?"