Page 7 of Harley
“No contenders for that?” Harley asked.
“Zero. They chased my last boyfriend off the moment Reverend Jefferies decided it was time for me to wed his son,” I replied.
“This sounds like a soap opera,” Harley stated, and I began laughing.
“You’re not far wrong.” I broke off mid-giggle and yawned.
Harley got to his feet and collected all the rubbish. He dumped it into a bag and tapped on some containers.
“Lime key pie, strawberry cheesecake, chocolate cake, and apple pie. Take your pick.”
Just how good was this man? I chose lime key pie and apple pie and let Harley have the other two.
“Goodnight, Oakley. I noticed you don’t have a phone, but the room comes with one. I’ve left my number next to it. See you in the morning for breakfast. In the meantime, stay off your feet,” Harley ordered. He clicked the auto lock on the door and left me staring at him in amazement. A unicorn, a real, honest-to-God fucking unicorn.
Harley
“Yo,” I said as Dylan Hawthorne picked up his phone.
“What’s up?” Dylan asked.
“Need a background check. Woman called Oakley. She was due to marry a guy named Bronson, and his father is Reverend Jeffery. She fled a wedding in Galesburg, Illinois. Ain’t got much more than that.”
“That’s enough, Harley, for Leila to dig. What is your connection?” Dylan inquired.
“Believe it or not, runaway bride situation. I literally picked her up in the middle of the road in a wedding dress. Problem is, Oakley tore her feet up running from the wedding she didn’t want.”
“Damn. I’ll start digging. Safe journey back,” Dylan said and hung up.
I shook my head. Trust Hawthorne to know I wasn’t at home. We had eight days to Christmas, and I had an issue. I couldn’t leave Oakley alone. For one, she couldn’t walk. Secondly, although Oakley was making light of it, I believed her situation was much darker than she let on.
Oakley was making a show of being in good spirits, but she was scared and bone weary. She couldn’t hide that. And somehow, it mattered that Oakley was safe. No way could Oakley take care of herself for the foreseeable few days. She couldn’t walk on those feet of hers, that was for sure.
Which meant two things. I either stashed her in a hotel near home—or I took her home. And if I took Oakley home… Mom.
This could be a real mess!
Chapter Two.
Oakley
Terrified, I woke with a scream lodged in my throat and agonising pain in my feet. Whimpers escaped as I mindlessly sought the bottle of Tylenol that Harley had left. Tears streamed down my face as I groped and found the light switch.
Hitting it, I blinked and shrieked as the motel door opened.
“Oakley, calm down, it’s me,” Harley announced, and I gasped in relief. Then tensed. Why was Harley in my bedroom?
“I’m next door, and you woke me. First, you were crying, and then you screamed. I guessed you were either having a nightmare or were in pain,” Harley said as he walked to the bottom of the bed.
Without a word, Harley snatched the tube of numbing cream and grabbed my foot. Gently, he began slathering my feet up, and I groaned in relief as I wiped tears away.
“Take two more Tylenol,” Harley ordered.
A little grumpily and wanting to tell Harley what he could do with his orders, I took the tablets. Harley finished and checked the other and repeated his actions.
“Do you need the toilet?” Harley asked, and I nodded, embarrassed. He swooped me up and, carried me into the bathroom and stepped outside, shutting the door. “Shout when you’re done.”
Bright red, I pulled my sweats and underwear down and peed. Jesus, twenty-three years old and I needed a guy to take me to the toilet. I could crawl under a rock and live there for the rest of my life.
