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“Will the television bother you?” she asked.
Tate shook his head and went back to working.
* * *
Don Benton regained consciousness in complete confusion. The last thing he remembered was looking at the flowers in his front flower bed. And he hurt. To the point that he was one giant ache. Something was beeping. He turned his head, saw the IV in his arm and the heart monitor hookup, and realized he was in a hospital.
But why?
All of a sudden the door to his room opened and a nurse came in.
“You woke up!” she said. “Welcome back, Doctor Benton. You are one very blessed man.”
“What hap—” he started to ask, then realized it hurt to talk, too.
“You were in a car accident.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, as if trying to wipe away the cobwebs in his memory, but nothing came to mind.
“My fault?”
The nurse’s smile disappeared. “No, not your fault. Are you in pain?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get you something. Be right back.”
“Wait… Who?”
She left without answering, which made him anxious. What in the world had happened?
A few minutes later she came back, accompanied by Aaron Tuttle. She emptied a syringe into his IV port while the doctor began an exam.
“Good afternoon, Don. You’ve had quite a day. I want to check your incision before we do anything else, so just lie still and I’ll do all the work.”
Don didn’t have to be told to stay still. He hurt too much to move. He watched Tuttle’s face, guessing by the man’s changing expressions that all was well.
“Looks good,” Tuttle said. “The meds she just gave you will work shortly. That should give you some relief.”
“What did you repair?” Don asked.
“You had a ruptured spleen, broken ribs, quite a few cuts and contusions, and a concussion. You’d lost a lot of blood by the time we got you into surgery. If it hadn’t been for your son, your prognosis would have been a different story.”
Don frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Tate donated the blood that saved you.”
Don’s mouth opened, but no words came. Tuttle kept talking. “Rare blood types like yours can be an issue in small towns like this, especially during emergencies, although I’m sure you know that. Anyway, crisis averted, thanks to him.”
Don’s head was spinning. It was extremely unlikely that Tate had the same blood type he did. Julia had said Tate wasn’t his. He’d heard it with his own ears. No woman in her right mind would lie about something—
The minute he thought the words, the truth hit him. In her right mind. But Julia hadn’t been in her right mind, it was just that he’d been in denial. He’d been so shocked by what she’d said that it had never occurred to him that she might have been delusional.
Then he remembered that the nurse hadn’t answered his question about the wreck.
“Wreck wasn’t my fault?”
Tuttle nodded. “That’s correct. It wasn’t your fault.”
