She got unsteadily to her feet. “That’s kind of you, but I’ll just have it towed to the garage.”
He reached into his jeans pocket, pulled out his wallet, and took out a business card. “Here’s my phone number. I’m only a minute away if you need anything.”
She accepted the card, a blond eyebrow arching, a smile tugging at her lips. “Boat repairs? Do you get much business in Scarlet?”
He understood her amusement. Colorado was a landlocked and arid state with few bodies of water big enough to accommodate boating. “I grew up on the Gulf Coast and love the water. I’ve got a speedboat that I take out on the reservoir every summer. I’ll have to take you all out sometime.”
What had he just said?
She smiled. “Thanks again, Jesse.”
He gave her a nod. “You’re welcome, ma’am.”
“I just hope we don’t repay you by getting you sick. Be sure to wash your hands.”
“Don’t worry about me. Like I said, I don’t get sick.”
“These are pediatric germs—kid germs, the worst.”
“Get some rest and feel better soon.” He stepped out into the wind and walked through falling flakes back to the car, grateful for the cold.
Jesus.
Ellie was a SOAR widow.
Now that he thought about it, Jesse was pretty sure he’d known her husband.
Chapter 2
Ellie woke to the sound of Daniel crying and glanced at her clock. It was just before five in the morning—past time for their next dose of acetaminophen. Struggling against dizziness, she got out of bed and pulled on her bathrobe. “I’ll be right there, sweetie. Hang on.”
She walked to the kitchen, where she swallowed two Tylenol and poured apple juice into a sippy cup for Daniel. When that was ready, she measured out a dose of acetaminophen into a medicine spoon and carried it, together with the juice, to his room. She found him sitting up in bed, his beloved blankie clutched to his cheek. She sat down beside him and pressed her wrist to his forehead.
He was hot—at least a hundred and two, she guessed.
She really ought to take his temperature, but the thermometer was back in the kitchen, and she was too damned tired. “I know you feel icky, sweetheart. It’s time for more medicine.”
He opened his little mouth and took the medicine without a fight, then buried his head against her chest.
“I brought you some apple juice.” She wanted to keep him hydrated and knew from experience that apple juice was her best bet at getting him to drink. “Can you take a few sips for me? I know it hurts to swallow, but your body needs lots of good juice to fight the bad germs.”
He took a swallow, then another, then turned his head away.
“Good job.” She set the juice on his bedside table, wrapped him in his blanket, and held him, stroking his back, her cheek resting against his dark, downy hair. “I’m so sorry you’re sick. You’ll start feeling better soon. I promise.”
“Soon” was a relative term. To an almost-three-year-old, Ellie supposed the word meant “right away.” In reality, they’d gotten their first doses of antibiotics about ten hours ago, so they had about fourteen hours to go before the medicine kicked in.
Exhausted and certain that Daniel wouldn’t want her to go, she made him an offer. “Do you want to sleep with mommy?”
He nodded.
She scooped her son up and carried him down the hallway toward her room. She had just tucked him into her bed when she noticed a scraping sound coming from outside. She peeked out her window to see a man shoveling what had to be more than two feet of snow from her sidewalk. She didn’t have to see his face to know who it was.
Jesse Moretti.
She recognized his parka, his big build, and the Jeep idling at the curb.
He’d done so much to help her. She needed to make sure she thanked him properly with a card or a phone call or something.
She had turned back toward her bed when the thought struck her. Maybe he was the person responsible for shoveling her walk these past two years. When had he moved into the neighborhood?
No. It couldn’t have been him alone. Could it?
She slipped out of her bathrobe, crawled back into bed, and wrapped an arm around Daniel, fatigue and illness quickly dragging her under.
*
Jesse stowed the snow shovel in the back of his Jeep then climbed into the driver’s seat, glancing at Ellie’s dark windows as he headed up the highway toward work. He hoped she and her little guy were feeling better.
Jesus.
What a small fucking world it was. Jesse had come to Colorado to get Iraq and Afghanistan out of his mind, and he’d ended up buying a cabin behind Crash’s widow. What were the odds?
Dan Meeks. Crashhawk, or Crash for short.