the computer is damaged…” The project she was working on was backed up, of course, but it would still be a hassle if she couldn’t work while she was here.
“I don’t hear any ominous clanking noises.” He pulled the cases from the trunk, whose lid gaped open. “Let’s get going.”
She bent over the car to retrieve her handbag and cell phone, a wave of dizziness hitting her at the movement. Gritting her teeth, she followed him to the truck.
He yanked open the passenger side door and shoved the bags onto the floor. Obviously she was meant to rest her feet on them. There was no place else to put them if she didn’t want them rattling around in the back.
She climbed gingerly into the passenger seat. The dome light gave her a brief look at her rescuer as he slid behind the wheel. Thirtyish, she’d guess, with a shock of sun-streaked brown hair, longer than was fashionable, and a lean face. His shoulders were broad under the faded plaid shirt he wore, and when he gave her an impatient glance, she had the sense that he carried a chip on them.
He slammed the door, the dome light going out, and once again he was little more than an angular shape.
“I take it you know my grandmother.” Small surprise, that. Katherine Unger’s roots went deep in Lancaster County, back to the German immigrants who’d swarmed to Penn’s Woods in the 1700s.
He nodded, and then seemed to feel something more was called for. “Cal Burke. And you’re Rachel’s older sister, Andrea. I’ve heard about you.” His clipped tone suggested he hadn’t been particularly impressed by whatever that was.
Still, she couldn’t imagine that her sister had said anything bad about her. She and Rachel had always been close, even if they hadn’t seen each other often enough in the past few years, especially since their mother’s death. Even if she completely disapproved of this latest scheme Rachel and Grams had hatched.
She glanced at him. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she was able to see a little more, noticing his worn jeans, scuffed leather boots and a stubble of beard. She’d thought, in that first hazy glimpse as he pulled her out of the car, that he might be Amish—something about the hair, the pale shirt and dark pants. But obviously he wasn’t.
“I should try the hospital again.” She flipped the cell phone open.
Please. The unaccustomed prayer formed in her mind again. Please let Rachel be all right.
“I doubt they’ll tell you any more than they already have.” He frowned at the road ahead. “Have you tried your grandmother’s number?”
“She never remembers to turn her cell phone on.” She punched in the number anyway, only to be sent straight to voice mail. “Grams, if you get this before I see you, call me on my cell.” Her throat tightened. “I hope Rachel is all right.”
“Ironic,” he said as she clicked off. “You have an accident while rushing to your sister’s bedside. Ever occur to you that these roads aren’t meant for racing?”
She stiffened at the criticism. “I was not racing. And if you were behind me, you must have seen me brake as I approached the curve. If I hadn’t…” She stopped, not wanting to imagine that.
His hands moved restlessly on the wheel, as if he wanted to push the rattletrap truck along faster but knew he couldn’t. “We’re coming up on Route 30. We’ll make better time there.”
He didn’t sound conciliatory, but at least he hadn’t pushed his criticism of her driving. Somehow she still wanted to defend herself.
“I’m well aware that I have to watch for buggies on this road. I just didn’t expect to see anyone out this late.”
And she was distracted with fear for Rachel, but she wouldn’t say that to him. It would sound like a plea for sympathy.
“It’s spring,” he said, as if that was an explanation. “Rumspringa, to those kids. That means—”
“I know what rumspringa means,” she snapped. “The time when Amish teenagers get to experience freedom and figure out what kind of life they want. You don’t need to give me the Pennsylvania Dutch tour. I lived in my grandparents’ house until I was ten.”
“Well, I guess that makes you an expert, then.”
No doubt about it, the man was annoying, but she hadn’t exactly been all sweetness and light in the past half hour, either. And he was taking her to the hospital.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I guess I’m a little shaken.”
He glanced at her. “Maybe you should have them check you out at the hospital. You had a rough landing.”
She shook her head. “I’ll probably be black-and-blue tomorrow, but that’s it.” She touched her neck gingerly. Either the air bag or the seat belt had left what felt like brush burns there. The bruises on her confidence from the fear she’d felt wouldn’t show, but they might take longer to go away.
Apparently taking her word for it, he merged onto Route 30. The lights and activity were reassuring, and in a few minutes they pulled up at the emergency entrance to the hospital.
“Thank you.” She slid out, reaching for her things. “I really appreciate this.”
He spoke when she would have pulled her bag out. “I’m going in, too. May as well leave your things here until you know what you’re doing.”
She hesitated, and then she shrugged and let go of the case. “Fine. Thank you,” she added.
He came around the truck and set off toward the entrance, his long strides making her hurry to keep up. Inside, the bright lights had her blinking. Burke caught her arm and navigated her past the check-in desk and on into the emergency room, not stopping until he reached the nurses’ station.
“Evening, Ruth. This is Rachel Hampton’s sister. Tell her how Rachel is without the hospital jargon, all right?”
She half expected the woman—middle-aged, gray-haired and looking as if her feet hurt—to call security. Instead she gave him a slightly flirtatious smile.
“Calvin Burke, just because you’ve been in here three or four times to get stitched up, don’t think you own the place.” She consulted a clipboard, lips pursing.
Andrea stole a look at him. It wasn’t her taste, but she supposed some women went for the rugged, disreputable-looking type.
Ruth Schmidt, according to her name badge—another good old Pennsylvania Dutch name, like Unger—picked up the telephone and had a cryptic, low-voiced conversation with someone. She hung up and gave Andrea a professional smile.
“Your sister has come through surgery fine, and she’s been taken to a private room.”
“What were her injuries?” She hated digging for information, as if her sister’s condition were a matter of national security. “Where is my grandmother? Isn’t she here?”
The woman stiffened. “I really don’t know anything further about the patient’s condition. I understand Mrs. Unger was persuaded to go home, as there was nothing she could do here. I’d suggest you do the same, and—”
