Page 19 of Fatal Vision
That got him the double bird and he laughed.
Laughing felt good. He hefted himself off the bed and took the handles of her wheelchair. “Your carriage awaits, beauty queen. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
THEIR HOUSE WASN’Thandicap friendly.
Luckily, Colton had snagged her walker from the therapy center.
Such good memories. Shelby stared at the house, remembering running through the halls when her grandparents were still alive. Sunday dinners, holidays, birthdays.
After her grandpa passed and Grandma Vanessa moved into a retirement home, Shelby had bought the place from her. Soon after, she and Colton had married and she still remembered vividly the day he’d carried her over the threshold after their wedding. The late nights in each other’s arms, the stolen weekends together when he’d fly home on leave.
The talk about starting a family.
She wanted several kids. Colton, none.
Having the childhood he’d experienced could do that to someone. They’d fought about it often, Shelby determined to reassure him he would be a good dad. That he would never abandon his own child.
Being in the SEALs, though, meant that he could die at any time. He’d refused to bring a child into the world who might end up fatherless.
Now, a sad, faded For Sale sign leaned against the house’s wood siding.How did that get back out here?
Jack Claiborne, no doubt. Shelby had taken the sign down two days after the realtor put it up eighteen months ago, unable to stand seeing it every time she looked out the window or came home from work. There was no way she could sell the place. Her grandparents had basically founded this town and had raised their family here. She planned to do the same.
Hard to do when you were divorced, but Shelby wasn’t about to let that stop her.
Colton’s gaze landed on the sign as he opened her truck door. “No takers, huh?”
There had been two different couples, in fact. The realtor had been giddy at the prospect of a bidding war. Now? “I doubt anyone wants a house where the previous owner was shot on the front steps.”
Colton caught the sarcasm in her voice. “Touché. Let’s get you inside.”
She asked him for the walker, but he ignored her, sweeping her off the truck seat and carrying her up the steps to the porch swing where he deposited her.
“I want to sit here for a moment,” she told him, breathing in fresh air and enjoying the view.
“No can do.” His dark gaze swept the cul-du-sac, hesitating for a moment on the vacant house to the southeast. The one where her shooter had supposedly stood. “Too dangerous.”
The porch had an enclosed railing and she was half-hidden in the swing from anyone who might see her. “No one even knows I left Premiere yet. I’m not going inside until I get some good, fresh Oklahoma air in my lungs.”
Colton shook his head and headed for the truck once more, continuing to scan the area.
Salisbury sniffed the bushes along the driveway, marking several on his way to the porch. He stopped halfway up the steps and sniffed at a stain.
My blood.
Shelby’s stomach turned. The stain was faded to a dull brown color. Her doctors believed part of her brain injury wasn’t from the impact of the bullet and the subsequent swelling, but from the trauma of hitting her head on the concrete steps.
Closing her eyes, she tried to remember standing in that spot, seeing Colton getting out of his truck.
Nothing.
Shelby opened her eyes. Her mother had probably tried to wash the bloodstain away. She was surprised her father hadn’t simply repainted the steps. He was such a busy man, though, he probably would have sent Daniel to do it.
I’ll do that when I’m back on my feet.
Or maybe she would have her new nursemaid paint them. Her eyes lifted to watch Colton snagging her walker and suitcase from the truck bed.
He was as long and lean as always, muscled in all the right places. Whistling while he gathered her things, she watched the autumn sunlight filter through his too-long hair.
