Love Beyond The Sunset: Chapter 3 Isabel

Isabel and Miguel rescue an injured stranger

Gratitude takes many shapes and forms. Today’s bit of thankfulness came after we arrived at the house when Miguel and I had to carry the stranger inside. A guest bedroom downstairs near the kitchen made things much simpler.

It was decorated simply with a full-sized bed covered by one of my mother’s quilts, a dresser, easy chair and a footstool. A few mismatched rugs covered the major traffic areas to prevent varnish from being worn from the wooden floor over time. Curtains made from fabric printed with horses, saddles, and similar images covered the single window. Perfect for our unexpected guest.

But honestly, what did this guy eat?

He was heavier than I expected, solid but not bulky, and tall–at least six feet if not more. Perspiration covered my face and had gathered embarrassingly in my armpits by the time we made it into the bedroom.

Miguel looked at me expectantly once the man lay on the bed. “I’ll get the first aid kit,” my helper stated.

I immediately removed his muddy boots, tossing them in a corner, cheeks reddening as I realized he needed to be undressed so I could check for injuries covered by his clothing.

By the time Miguel returned the man lay in his boxers underneath a sheet which I lifted to reveal one part of his body at a time, cataloguing bruises, scrapes, and cuts as I went. And there were plenty of those. By the looks of it, someone had roughed him up pretty good. The river wouldn’t selectively bruise his ribs from just below his armpit to his waist and it wouldn’t leave a curving gash which resembled the upper portion of a steering wheel.

“Maria went to check the horses,” he offered in explanation for his wife’s absence. “I found the note on the counter by the coffee pot.”

Miguel handed me supplies as I cleansed the gash, pulled its edges together with steri strips, and covered it with a gauze pad held in place with a couple strips of tape. I stood back to admire my handiwork.

“Not bad,” Miguel murmured.

“I’m not sure what to do next,” I murmured. “Kat would.”

These were times when I wished my best friend Kat Ferrell, a nurse by trade, could be here. But presently she was on a well-earned vacation to the Caribbean. Cell service was spotty at best here but the ranch had been connected to the internet for years. Kat could take a video call if she wasn’t out drinking pina coladas with a sexy tourist–who could blame her? She had been a constant in my life since we met the first day of kindergarten. Bubbly, almost effervescent personality with a penchant for dry humor, Kat had a heart bigger than the northern hemisphere. She was one of the few people who supported me after everything that happened, not that I could blame others for drifting away. I had become a recluse in many ways.

The messenger app rang a half dozen times before Kat picked up. Her tanned, smiling face popped into place.

“Hello!” she chirped. “How is my favorite human?” She looked rested, relaxed. Good for her.

Kat’s bubbliness was infectious. I found myself chuckling at her greeting. “I’m okay. How is my favorite human?”

Her voice lowered conspiratorially, eyes shifting to no doubt see if it was safe to share a secret. And she did. One that blew me away. “I met this businessman the first day here,” she whispered. “Oh, my stars! The sex has been mind boggling.”

“That good, huh?”

“Girl! Orgasm after orgasm.”

Miguel blushed, mumbled an excuse and fled the room.

“You’ve embarrassed poor Miguel, Kat.”

“He’ll get over it,” she quipped. “So what’s on your mind, lady?”

It was my turn to lower my voice, like there was any need to do so. Visitors here were few and far between, even more so after storms like the one last night.

“I need your help with something.” I flipped the camera, maneuvering until the man’s face came into view.

“Whore!” she cackled. “You got laid? He’s handsome, even with that bandage on his head.”

Mortification flooded my body. Only Kat’s mind would go to home base without inquiring about first, second, or third.

“Kat! This is serious,” I groaned, flipping the phone in my direction. “We found him by the river. He’s injured and I’m not sure what to do next. There’s no way an ambulance can get here because the road will be washed out like always. What do I need to look for?”

My friend’s countenance sobered, morphing straight into nurse mode. “He may have a concussion so observe him for signs of confusion, difficulty staying awake, nausea and vomiting. Are there any broken bones?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“Make sure he stays in bed, but get him to a hospital as quickly as you can.”

“What about internal injuries?” I asked, worried about the bruises covering his ribs and abdomen.

“Cold, clammy skin. Nausea and vomiting. Tenderness in the area where the injury has occurred. And rapidly worsening signs of shock. Those are just a few you should watch for.” Kat rattled off the signs without pausing. “Honestly though, you should get him to the ER as soon as you can just be safe.”

The stranger groaned and stirred but remained unmoving. “I need to go. I think he’s waking up.”

“Call me later.”

I cut the call with a stab of my index finger, laid the phone on the nightstand, and hovered hesitantly over the stranger for a moment while my mind filled with dozens of questions and possible scenarios.

His eyelids opened, eyes swirling drunkenly for a few seconds.

Before I could do anything his hand shot out catching my wrist in an iron-clad grip.

“Who are you/” he choked out.

“Isabel Barnes.” I tried prizing my wrist free without success. He was stronger than I expected, especially after everything he’d gone through. “Would you let my arm go, please?”

My wrist remained captive while the stranger surveyed the room. “Where am I?”

“My home. We saw buzzards this morning so we came looking just to make sure no one was injured after the storm last night. You were on the riverbank.” I tugged against his grip again, unease settling in the pit of my stomach. My tongue darted out to moisten lips suddenly gone dry. “The man who works for me helped me get you inside. You have a lot of bruises and a big gash on your head. I did what I could to fix it. We need to get you to a hospital.”

He jerked me toward him with surprising ease. My face was inches from his, so close I could decipher every detail of his amazing hazel eyes dotted with gold flecks, an emerald ring surrounding the pupil. Something dark and dangerous shifted through his eyes, so quickly it was indecipherable. Close enough to almost feel the scrape of the scruff darkening his cheeks and chin. A shudder rippled through my body. This man could hurt me, hurt Miguel and Maria. I couldn’t allow that to happen regardless of what it took to keep us safe.

“No doctors and no hospitals,” he muttered. “You hear me?”

A frantic bob of my head seemed to set him partially at ease. He released my wrist, levering upright in the bed with both hands braced on the mattress, groaning with every move.

“Let me help you.” I linked one arm with his, the other going low around his hips, the best way to help someone stand. A lesson learned the first time mom nearly fell after getting out of bed.

Once his balance has strengthened I walk with him to the easy chair by the window. He sinks into it with a grateful groan accepting the afghan I offer which he covers his body from chest to feet with.

Maria and Miguel choose that moment to enter the room. Maria joins me while her husband stands near the door bracing his hands on his hips. The look on his face is no nonsense. I’ve seen it countless times growing up here, usually when he and my dad disagreed on how certain things were best accomplished. This time his focus is unerringly aimed at the stranger who takes us in with a derisive chuckle.

“Is this the cavalry?”

Maria’s mouth tightens. “Watch your mouth, young man,” she snaps. “You’re blessed to have been found and by good people who are willing to help you. Just so you know, I’ve raised two children and have five grandchildren. Don’t test me.” The fire in her look turns any remaining brashness to ash.

The stranger’s expression softens, hazel eyes warming slightly. “My apologies to all of you,” he offers, head bowed and shoulders slumped. “Everything hurts. Plus it’s not every day I wake up in a strange woman’s bed.”

My cheeks heat at his choice of words. “You weren’t in my bed,” I sputter, my arms windmilling as I gesticulate around the room. “This is the guest room.” Following Maria’s lead, I point an index finger in his direction, wagging it firmly. “And I don’t even know your name.”

“Grayson Blackwell,” he replies with a crooked yet charming smile. “Pleased to meet all of you.”

This man is dangerous, that much is evident. Given the assortment of injuries and the fact that he washed up from the river, things aren’t looking great. Less than reassuring if I’m honest with myself.

“This is Maria Mendez, and that’s her husband Miguel by the door. Now, can we all just settle down?” I mutter. Adopting a more congenial tone of voice, I turn to the woman at my side. “Maria, would you mind to bring up a tray of broth and perhaps some gelatin. Let’s start Mr. Blackwell off with liquids first.”

Once the room has cleared out, I pull the footstool closer, sit down and lean toward my guest. “Now how about you tell me how you ended up in the river beat half to death?”