Angel's Hero

Chapter 9

Conner pulled in behind Angel's Jeep.
He frowned at all the birds perched and pecking in the front drive leading up to Angel's cottage.
His radio crackled as a voice came over. He recognized Deputy Fredericks' voice, who was manning the front desk.
"Grayson."
"A potential false alarm, Sherriff," Marie Fredericks said.
"False alarm?"
"Miss Lew claims she dialed accidentally and was shouting at some birds," Conner could hear the skeptical tone.
Conner looked around his own vehicle, and grunted. "Yeah, I see the birds."
"There are really birds?" Marie laughed.
Conner threw open his door and looked at the ground. "Yeah. Looks like someone went a bit overboard with some bird feed." He could see some on the canvas of the Jeep in front of him. "Way overboard."
"Need back-up?"
"Har-har. I'll just check in with Angel then head on back," Conner clipped his handheld radio back into place on his dashboard.
"Ten-four, Sheriff. Grab us a treat on your way back, would ya?"
"Ten-four," Conner laughed. He'd made a habit of getting some sweet treats from the coffee shop or bakery whenever he'd walked into the harbor, to take back for the guys at the station.
They'd called him on his bribery tactics, tough. He'd owned up to it, and they'd relaxed around him.
He was a people person, and had a knack for putting others at ease. It's what made him so good at being a cop.
Stepping out onto the stones spread unevenly in her driveway, Conner moved for a closer inspection.
There was birdseed spread every which way in this front part of the cottage. It looked like someone had poured the feed into a leaf blower and turned it on to spray - mode.
He doubted Angel had been the one to do this to her own house. Then he noticed the bird excrement all over the front porch.
She definitely hadn't done his to her home. Which led him to believe someone had done this deliberately.
Why would someone do something like this?
He saw wet footprints leading back in through the front door.
He followed them to their source, and found the tap at the side of her house, with the hose lying detached on the ground beside its drain, the ground puddled around it.
The footprints had looked like Angel was barefoot, which suggested to him she'd cleaned her feet off before going back inside.
Where was she? Why hadn't she come out to greet him? Maybe she'd gotten more than just dirty feet and needed to wash off other parts of her body?
Oops, better not to think of that woman in the shower. Naked.
He shook himself.
Getting an idea, Conner re-attached the hose, turned it on, and worked his way back around to the front of the cottage. He aimed the spray at wherever he could see the birds eating seeds, and wherever there were droppings.
While he worked at washing the seeds on the ground away towards the tree line, he let his mind wander.
He hadn't seen Angel in a week. He'd tried, but she'd always been busy.
On Monday, it had been a work call, so she was stuck in the office. Tuesday, Bo had told him that she was out on a supply run.
Wednesday, Sienna had said Angel wasn't in. That had been his first clue that perhaps she was avoiding him, because he'd seen her yellow Jeep parked down a side street. It had been tucked away near to the dumpsters, so it had him wondering if perhaps she was actually hiding from him, not just unavailable.
The thought had intrigued him, and amused him.
He'd intended to confront her the next day, when Sienna had assured him that Angel would be in for sure, as her habit to prepare for the weekend relied on her being in the kitchen until late Thursday afternoon.
Thursday rolled around, and she'd driven off as he'd stepped into the coffee shop. He'd seen her, hair blowing, sunglasses tucked on top of her head in a futile attempt to keep the locks out of her face, driving away from the store.
By Friday, he was no longer amused, or intrigued.
What had he done besides being friendly to her? For all she knew, he'd hugged her when she was sad. She didn't know how he felt. She couldn't.
He'd tried to keep his interest in check, and only mention her in passing conversation during the week, so as not to appear too keen, and set people's gossip radar's buzzing.
Small towns tended to have high-functioning gossip mills.
Conner didn't like being avoided for no good reason. It made him feel like he did in high school before his muscles had come in, and he had just been this freakishly tall guy, who didn't break rules, who was respectful to the girls, and who always did his homework. The jocks had bullied and teased him for being a pansy, and most would laugh behind his back. It had made him feel awful.
He'd filled out in college though, and then later when he'd joined the military was when he'd really bulked up.
Saturday, he'd found himself brooding at home, in his tiny temporary apartment, forcing himself to stay indoors and away from the woman currently avoiding him. He'd been in a mood, and knew he was no good in that state of mind, so had locked himself inside. The only outing had been a snack run, and to stop off at the station to drop off their daily treat.
And now here they were.
He moved the spray of water to her Jeep, making quick work of the birds still perched up there.
He hoped to have this all done before she finished cleaning herself up inside.
Moving closer to the porch, being careful to wash the mess away from the front door, he noticed the door was slightly ajar.
He frowned.
Yeah, it was a safe neighborhood, but still, she shouldn't leave herself exposed like this. Being in the shower with the door open.
He finished up, returned the hose to the side of the house and came back around onto the porch.
With the hose no longer on, he could hear other sounds. Cars travelling the main road on the other side of the small lake, kids laughing in their canoes; he could hear it all. He moved closer to the front door.
He couldn't hear a shower, or any water running to indicate Angel was still busy washing up.
Conner raised his fist, and knocked, loudly, keeping his other hand around the doorknob, to stop it from flying open under his pounding fist.
When no answer came, he stuck his head inside and called out.
"Angel?" No response.
He was a cop, the Sheriff no less, so he didn't feel too bad about entering. The door was open, anyway.
He had to duck to get through the door, but that wasn't unusual for him.
He looked around the entry room. He liked the way it had been done up.
It was plain colors, but dressed up with splashes here and there. What had his mother called it? Accents.
Ah, he smiled and shook his head at the things Deidre Grayson had taught him.
Opening his mouth to call out again, Conner's heart stopped when he saw bare feet poking out from behind the kitchen island.
He vaulted over the coffee table and the sofa, and dropped to his knees as he hit the kitchen. His right knee hit a loose nail, felt what he was sure was skin being ripped off, but ignored it all as he reached the person lying on the floor.
He barely recognized it as Angel, the flour covering her face disguised her features entirely. He would have laughed, as she presented quite a sight.
He saw the streak of milk next to her foot, and guessed she had slipped, knocking everything off the counter as she'd fallen. The bowl on the floor beside her had a liquid substance in it he guessed to be egg.
The flour was sprayed everywhere. Her hair, her face, her chest, her dress. All covered.
The milk carton lay on its side near her left shoulder, it's contents spilled all over the floor.
Again, he would have laughed, if the puddle of milk underneath her wasn't tinged with pink.
"Shit," he moved his hand under her head to try find the source of the bleeding. "Angel? Can you hear me?" He moved his hand to the base of her skull, but he was struggling to tell the difference between batter and blood, without being able to look at the back of her head.
She moaned.
Using his clean hand he pulled his phone from his pocket, and hit the speed dial for the station.
"Marie, quick. The closest doctor to Miss Lew's place?" His voice left no room for questions. He knew his serious tone would carry across to her.
"Just a sec," he heard her searching in the departments system, the sound of her fingers on the keyboard of the old computer carried across. They really needed an upgrade.
"Doc Mallard is her neighbor. How bad?"
"I'm not sure yet. Get him here, ASAP." He switched his phone to speaker mode and set it aside, away from the mess.
"Yes, sir." She kept him on the line as she called up the doctor. He knew the nearest hospital was about a twenty-minute drive away on the other side of the harbor, but he didn't want to risk moving her. He didn't know where her injury was.
"I thought she'd said she was fine?" Marie's voice sounded concerned.
Uncomfortable in his awkward position of trying to keep her head out the mess, and on his knees, one of them burning with it's graze, he readjusted.
"It looks like she fell in the kitchen. She's unconscious. There's blood, but I don't know where from."
He felt her neck, doing his best to determine if her neck was injured or not, all the while careful not to jostle her too much.
"Hang on, I'm through," Marie's voice moved further away as she spoke to the doctor. Conner looked around.
He saw a cloth hanging over the side of the sink, within reach, and pulled it down. Moving around her head, he folded one leg underneath the other, in a half cross-legged seat, and gingerly lifted Angel's head, a cascade of flour falling from her face, leaving behind a thin layer. He moved his leg underneath her head, not caring about getting covered in the mess.
His fingers found the bump on the back of her head, and the cut, so he pressed the cloth to it. His primary concern was stopping the bleeding, and getting her to wake up.
Being unconscious for any length of time wasn't good.
"Doc and Mavis are on their way, sir."
"Thanks, Marie." He heard her disconnect.
Angel's brow furrowed.
"Angel?" He leant forward to bring his face over hers.
"Ow," she said brokenly.
"Thank god," He dropped his forehead to hers for a second.
"Conner? Wha-?"
He lifted his head to look down at her. "You had a little fall, it seems."
She shifted her head, a little too quickly, and she winced. "Ow."
"Yeah, I'd say so. Ow," he kept the pressure with the cloth, moving his hands with her head, even as her hand lifted to touch his gently. "What happened?"
Suddenly, her eyes opened wide, and locked with his.
He stared down at her, his own gaze warming. Her eyes. Finally.
They were liquid gold. The color was too warm and rich to be described as honey, or just light brown. The yellow flecks caught the sunlight coming through the window, streaming over them, and set the amber color alight. The irises were rimmed in a darker color, giving them an unreal look. He'd never seen eyes like hers before, even though they looked familiar, somehow. The gut punch her gaze delivered was something else, something special.
"Damn."
Her gaze widened, and they heard a car pull up.
He had to force himself to tear his gaze from hers, and he waved to the older gentleman coming through the open door, carrying the traditional old-school doctors case.
If he wasn't so concerned, Conner would have cracked a joke with the good doctor.
"Oh, my dear!" He exclaimed as he came around the side of the kitchen island.
"Where is she?" A woman's voice followed, and soon Mavis Mallard came around behind Conner. "Angel! What happened?"
"I slipped while baking a cake," was that her voice? Conner looked down at her again, his free hand had come to rest on the uninjured side of her head, his fingers splayed down the side of her neck, his thumb on her cheek. He rubbed her cheek softly, the flour coming away and showing her flushed skin underneath.She'd sounded so small and afraid.
"Excuse me, son," Mr. Mallard, Doc as he preferred, knelt down beside Angel. "Hello, my dear. Can you look at me please? Follow my finger with your eyes. That's it. Good girl."
Conner had watched her gaze move from side to side, following the doctors finger as he shone a light in her eyes.
"Alright, I'm confident you're not concussed, I'm seeing good pupillary response."
He leant over Angel and felt around Conner's hands, pressing on her neck and spine.
He nodded, and muttered to himself.
Gone was the cute older gentleman Conner had met last week at the seafood joint he couldn't remember the name of. The man he'd met had seemed your ordinary cuddly grandfatherly type. This one in front of him was professional, serious, and exuded confidence and skill.
"Hon, come down here and give Angel a hand," Doc Mallard spoke to his wife, whom Conner had been surprised to find out was his nurse assistant. They were a husband and wife team with a family practice operating out of their home up the road from here.
"Let's get her out of this mess, and see to her injury."
Conner stiffened, his hands flexing on either side of Angel's face. "Where do you want her? I'll carry her."
"I can walk," Angel spoke up, her furrowed brow denting the layer of flour on her forehead.
"I'll carry you." He said more firmly, frowning down at her, his expression garnered no response.
"Good, if you can bring her to the sofa over there," Doc had looked over his shoulder before answering. "Seated, please, so I'll be able to access the back of her head."
Shifting out from under her, Conner moved his hands, letting Mavis take over. She'd moved onto her knees behind him, put her elbows on the ground, and formed a cradle with her hands, palms together.
He liked to think that his idea to use his leg was a better option. But he wasn't the nurse here.
Doc got to his feet easily, impressing Conner further with the agility this couple showed for people in their late sixties. He hoped in thirty years he'd still be bouncing around like them.
Remaining on his knees, Conner moved to Angel's side. Her eyes tracked him.
"Gently does it," Mavis said as Conner leant forward, and worked his left hand under her arm and across her back, and hooking under her other arm.
"Easy now, easy," he said lifting her to a sitting position. Her knees drew up at the same time.
"I'll just go cover the sofa. Give me a moment," Mavis got up after Angel took over pressing the cloth to the back of her head, and moved over with Doc, opened his bag, and handed him items. They worked smoothly together, taking out their instruments, and a blue square, roughly the size of a large envelope. Conner looked back at Angel where she'd squeezed her eyes shut. "Hurts." Her left hand went to her forehead.
Just looking at her scrumched face he could almost feel the headache that must be permeating through her skull.
She seemed to notice the state she was in just then. "Could you hand me that cloth over there?" she pointed to the corner of one sticking over the edge of the kitchen island.
"Sure, here," He handed the white material to her. She raised it to her face, and wiped baely any mess away.
"Wait, let me wet it for you. Can you manage to sit up by yourself for a moment?" He took the cloth from her at her slight nod.
He wet and wrung it out before handing it back to her, and putting his left arm around her shoulders again.
"Thank you," she was speaking very softly. She opened the cloth completely before covering her face entirely. She wiped her whole face and neck, and pushed the wet cloth into her hairline.
When she pulled the now dirty rag from her face, he saw she had gotten most of it, although some flour still stuck in places.
He took the cloth from her, and wiped her nose, and then her eyebrows, gently.
Her eyes were wide as she watched him. She dropped them when he finished.
"Alright, bring her over," Doc called from the front room.
"Ready?" He dipped his head to look at her face. At her nod, he hooked a hand under her arm, and the other went under her knees.
She immediately stiffened. "Wait!" she moved quickly and grabbed the arm going under her legs, and winced at the sudden movement.
"What, what is it?" He pulled both arms away swiftly. Had he hurt her? Her upper body swayed towards his.
"Get my dress under my knees," she gathered the material there herself. He chuckled at her sudden call for modesty.
"They're medical professionals, I bet they've see all kinds of underwear."
She muttered under her breath, something that sounded like, "Yeah, if I were wearing any."
He almost swallowed his tongue. "Excuse me?"
Angel flushed, and refused to meet his eyes. "Just, would you, please?" She jutted her chin towards her knees, where she held the material flat against the back of her thighs. She'd spoken through gritted teeth.
She'd taken him by surprise, again, and the thoughts running through his mind as he looked down at the injured woman in front of him, would make her, and the other couple, blush.
So she was naked under that single item of clothing? He couldn't move.
In fact, he wasn't sure if he would be able to carry her now. He wasn't sure if he could even put his arms around her, and not let his predatory instincts take over and have him run away with her.
He groaned.
She dropped her head further.
"Alright, ma'am. Hold tight." He needed to distance himself this very second from the woman in his arms. Telling himself he was carrying a stranger, he made his way over to the sofa as quickly as he could.
"I know I'm heavy. Sorry."
"No problem, ma'am." Two more steps, and then he would be rid of her.
No! Take her upstairs. Have a look under that dress yourself.
She's injured. Don't be disgusting.
You know you want to.
No, I don't.