Free Small-Town Redemption by Beth Andrews

him.
    Turning to face him, she lifted a hand toward her head only to curl her fingers into her palm and slowly lower it. “Months ago,” she said as if this was old, old news and he had no reason to be bringing it up.
    “Months, huh? Well, I haven’t seen you at O’Riley’s for a while,” he said. “Must be how I missed it.”
    She raised both eyebrows. “I hadn’t realized you’d been looking for me.”
    He hadn’t. But he had thought of her once or twice. Dreamed of her more often than he’d liked.
    And that pissed him off but good.
    “Just noticed after your little visit to my apartment you’ve kept your distance,” he said. “No need to be embarrassed, Red. You’re far from the first woman to throw herself at me. You weren’t even the last.”
    She flushed, color washing over her cheeks, a pretty pink that made her look flustered and as tasty as the lollipop she’d offered him. “How comforting. Now I can sleep peacefully as I’ve thought of nothing but you and that night since it happened.”
    It was as if she didn’t really mean it. “You don’t have to avoid O’Riley’s. No need to hide from me, Red.”
    “I’m not hiding,” she said, humor lacing her tone. “I’ve been a tad too busy to hang out at bars.”
    “Getting your hair cut.”
    She gave him that grin again, the one that had her dimple winking. “Yes. Along with a few other things, such as working, moving into and decorating my new house. And of course, working some more to pay for said house.”
    “Aren’t you a little young to buy a house?”
    “That seems to be the consensus. But please—” she held a hand out in the universal stop sign “—spare me the wisdom of your advanced years—”
    “Advanced years?” he muttered, his eyes narrowing.
    “I’ve already heard it all from my parents, Sadie, coworkers and friends. Even the loan manager at the bank acted like she wanted to pat me on the head when I signed the papers for what promised to be a long and healthy mortgage. So you see,” she continued with that same grin, that same amused tone, “as much as it may shock you—and bruise what appears to be your very big ego—I haven’t been avoiding you. I haven’t, actually, given you much thought at all.”
    Obviously knowing the strength of getting the last word, she walked out of the room leaving him with his thoughts, his memories and his past sins.
    * * *
    K ANE JERKED AWAKE , his body lurching to a sitting position. His heart raced, his chest throbbed, a cold sweat coated his skin. The remnants of his nightmare clung to his consciousness, blurring the lines between dream and reality. His throat was dry, sore, as if he’d been yelling. Screaming, like in the dream.
    He covered his face with his good hand, gulped in air. The IV tugged sharply. His lungs burned, the stabbing pain almost doubling him over. Bringing with it a slow, dawning awareness. Relief.
    He wasn’t a terrified twenty-year-old being wheeled into St. Luke’s hospital in Houston, a neck brace holding him immobile, his own injuries forcing him to lie still, leaving him to stare up at the bright lights as they raced him down the hall.
    He was a grown man in a dimly lit room at Shady Grove Memorial, his arm in a sling. An hour ago they’d reset and casted his arm. They’d cut off his shirt, stripped him of his pants and checked every square inch of his person for injuries, then put him in a pair of lime-green scrubs. He’d been poked and prodded, had his blood drawn and his chest and arm X-rayed. He’d answered questions about his medical history and given his statement to the cop taking the accident report.
    The panic, the fear, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth, the frantic screams, were all part of a dream. A memory.
    One he relived, over and over again.
    As he should. After all, the memories deserved to be kept alive, nurtured so they didn’t fade. What better way to pay homage to the moment that had, in the weird, circular