Page 27 of Sweet Deal
Jim twisted, jerking away, but not far enough. The baseball slammed into his ribs, just below his arm. Clutching his side, his face contorted in agony; he didn’t just stumble, he collapsed, hitting the dirt hard.
Everything stopped. The crowd noise died instantly to a horrified hush. Rachel’s heart leaped into her throat, icy fear washing over her in a crippling wave. She shot to her feet. Practically leap frogging over her mother’s knees, she bolted down the steps and through the dugout gate onto the field. Jim, her only focus, still down on the dirt, now surrounded by her brothers.
“Let me through!” She pushed past Garret, dropping to her knees beside Jim just as Preston helped him sit up. Dust clouded around them. Jim’s face was tight, pale under the stadium lights, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he clutched his side.
“Jim,” she grabbed his free hand, “talk to me. Where does it hurt most? Can you breathe okay?” Her social worker instincts kicked in, overriding the panic, demanding assessment.
He squeezed her hand weakly, managing a grimace that was probably meant to be reassuring. “Ribs… took the hit. Knocked… wind out…” Each word seemed an effort.
“Okay, okay.” She kept her voice calm, even though her heart was hammering against her own ribs. She ran her eyes quickly over him, looking for any other obvious injury. “Don’t try to talk too much. Just breathe slow.”
Doc Conroy jogged over, kneeling on Jim’s other side. “Let’s take a look, Jim.”
Rachel reluctantly released Jim’s hand to give the doctor space but stayed kneeling close, her eyes locked on Jim’s face, searching for any flicker of worsening pain. Preston and Carson hovered nearby, their usual teasing banter replaced with tense silence. Garret stood just behind Rachel, a grounding presence. A literal picture of her reality, her brothers always had her back.
Doc gently probed the area.
Jim hissed in pain, closing his eyes briefly. “That hurts like hell,” he muttered through gritted teeth.
“Probably cracked a rib or two. Safe to say you’re not finishing the game.” The doc’s effort at humor helped take the edge off the fear that had gripped her and wouldn’t let go.
“Can you stand?” Preston asked Jim gently.
Jim nodded.
Instinctively, Rachel moved to help, getting her shoulder under his good arm as Preston took the other side. Garret provided support from behind. Slowly, carefully, they helped Jim to his feet. He swayed slightly, his weight heavy against her, his breathing still tight.
“Easy does it,” she murmured, automatically adjusting her steps to match his slow, pained shuffle towards the dugout. The still quiet crowd began applauding as he carefully made his way off the field.
They reached the dugout, easing Jim carefully onto the bench. Doc eyed him carefully. “We need to get you to the hospital. Make sure you didn’t bruise anything internally.”
She could read Jim’s face, even in pain. As he opened his mouth, she knew he was going to say no, that he was fine. Instead, she squeezed his hand. “I can bring the Suburban onto the field.”
Doc nodded. “That’ll work. But take it slow. Every notch in the road is going to feel like a crater.”
Nodding, she gave him a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
A shaky smile briefly touched his lips. “That was worth taking the hit for.”
If he hadn’t already been in pain, she would have smacked him. Instead, she merely shook her head then turned and rushed to her car, her sister catching up with her.
“That was a great performance.” Jillian fell in step beside her. “If anybody didn’t believe you two were an item before, they certainly will now.”
Performance? Is that what her sister thought? She’d been scared to death, not just that Jim was hurt, but that she might lose him. And wasn’t that one hell of a revelation.
Chapter Twelve
Rachel had no idea why she bothered to climb into bed last night. The hospital confirmed Jim had no broken or even cracked ribs, only bruised. Which, as far as Jim was concerned, hurt just the same. Apparently, his reflexes were better than she’d thought. He’d twisted just enough for the baseball to graze his side, not slam into it. Though from what was explained to her, a baseball pitched at eighty miles an hour is going to hurt when it skips over a man’s rib cage like stones on water. The news should have been great, wonderful, a relief. For the most part, the news of no breaks was great, but that didn’t help her get some sleep. Regardless of what the doctor had explained, she was still worried about him.
After his release, she’d driven him home and Garret followed in Jim’s truck. Somehow the grapevine had failed to reach his mother—probably a good thing. Everyone had fawned over him and finally, he was settled with the meds kicking in, and Rachel and Garret headed home.
“I don’t understand what the hurry is.” Her mother slapped bread across the counter as if it had somehow offended her. Putting together the fixings for double grilled cheese sandwiches to go with her homemade tomato soup, she shook her head. “What is it with all of you and weddings? Anyone would think you were allergic to them.”
“Not all weddings, just big ones.” As a little girl, she had dreamed of a big fancy wedding with a long train, lots of bridesmaids, and, of course, flowers. The older she got, the more all those ideas seemed to be nothing but a waste of money. Now that they were in such dire straits, there was nothing about a fancy dress, a ton of food, and the whole town watching that appealed.
Her mother peeled slices of cheese out of the packets. “Fine. A small wedding. But that doesn’t explain, what’s the hurry?”
It took Rachel a few moments to shuffle through answers that might work, when a light bulb went off. “When did you know you wanted to marry Dad?”
