My Kind of Christmas (Virgin River #20)(10)

But Angie wasn’t easily discouraged. With a cup of coffee in front of him he said, “No young woman should come on to a man she doesn’t know, especially after being warned away from him by her protectors. That sort of thing could get you hurt.”

“Oh, stop,” she said. She took a sip of her coffee. “Jack and Preacher and Mike said they know you a little bit and are friends with your brothers. They all said you were troubled by something but no one ever suggested you were dangerous—I made that up to flatter you. So guess what? I might be troubled, too. You might think I’m a little nuts, but the truth is I wouldn’t mind having a friend who also has some things to sort out.”

He just stared at her. “And what might be troubling you, miss? Dropping out of some cushy college program?”

“Exactly right,” she answered. “But not because I was bored or disillusioned. I was in an accident and had to take leave. It was a medical leave.”

He was startled and it showed in his eyes. He might’ve overheard something about a hospital at the bar, but the details were vague right now. “What kind of accident?”

“The kind that means having rods and pins put in you and lands you in physical therapy for a few months.”

An image of Patrick’s brother, Colin, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, barely alive after a Black Hawk crash, came to his mind. He shuddered involuntarily. “What happened?”

“Well, I had to learn to walk, of course, but—”

“No, what kind of accident?” he asked, genuinely interested.

“Oh—a car accident. Three cars, actually. And what happened is still being disputed—the driver at fault was killed. She lost control of her car, jumped the median on the freeway and hit two oncoming cars, the one I was in and another. There was a witness who said she was cut off by a speeding car that didn’t stop. It was raining and the roads were slick. Another witness said there was no speeding car and that it looked like her car suddenly hydroplaned, like she lost control because of a flat or broken axel or something. Someone suggested she might’ve fallen asleep, but it wasn’t like she’d just come off a twelve-hour shift or anything—she was on her way out to meet a date for dinner and hadn’t driven far. I don’t remember much. I remember lights, sirens, my girlfriend crying—she had a broken ankle, a couple of broken ribs and a really badly shattered wrist, plus lots of bad bruises and cuts. They had to pry both of us out of the car. She remembers that—the sawing and crunching of metal—but I don’t.”

He was quiet for a moment, in something of a trance. “Man,” he finally said in a whisper. “One killed?”

“Yes, and the third car was a family with little kids, but thankfully they didn’t have any critical injuries. The kids were in their safety seats and they were in a big SUV. I feel terrible about the lady driver, though. There were no drugs or any alcohol involved. I think, in the end, what we have here is an accident.”

“And you were badly hurt,” he clarified.

“All banged up. I was in L.A. at the time, a student at USC, and my parents live in Sacramento so they jumped in their car right away. My dad drove like a bat out of hell so they could be there when I got out of surgery. My mom stayed with me for two months, until I could be moved home to complete my checkups and therapy. The whole time I was in L.A. there was a steady stream of aunts and uncles and cousins visiting to see how I was doing even though some of them had to travel a ways. I come from a big family and I’m the oldest grandchild. My grandpa was there several times. I don’t know if you’ve ever had the experience of looking like absolute shit and feeling even worse and having thirty or so people stare at you....”

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t,” he said.

“It sucks. And when I was back in Sacramento, there was even more checking in. I was never alone, never. So—there you have it. Well, no, you don’t have it yet. The thing is, my mother is the toughest, strongest, least sentimental overachiever I know. She’s Uncle Jack’s oldest sister and she’s been pushing him around for over forty years. She’s a journalism professor at Berkeley. But having her oldest child hurt and in the hospital brought her to her knees. Kicked the stuffing out of her. She took a leave from the college and dedicated herself to my care, which was a wonderful thing to do, but I think she lost her mind a little bit. She’s always been domineering in her way…bossy, you might say. The accident really amped that up. She was determined to get me healed and back on track. But suddenly, she wanted to bring my sister Beth home from her senior year at NAU in Flagstaff—she couldn’t sleep at night thinking about her driving those mountain roads. And my littlest sister, Jenna, she wanted to keep in Sacramento at a state college even though she’d been attending UCLA.”

“And what about you?” he asked.

Angie couldn’t help but laugh. “She wants me to sleep in a helmet.”

He laughed a little with her. “I bet you want to sleep in a helmet sometimes, too.”

“Well, that’s where Mom and I have had a breakdown in communication. I want to not be afraid. I never want to be scared to live life because of one bad experience, as terrible as it was. It’s not like I could’ve done anything differently—I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. So—should I live the rest of my life in a padded room?”