And he’d never been more wrong than the dark winter night he’d packed up his old Ford Bronco, driven out of Lonesome Point, and left Lula behind.
He’d been all over the world, kissed women in the shadows of the pyramids and in the secret tunnels beneath Paris, where there was still treasure and danger to be found if a man knew where to look. He’d even played at being in love once or twice. But play was all it had been—a pretty lie to keep him from admitting he’d screwed up his one chance at the real thing.
Some people fell in and out of love a hundred times, but for Carter there was only one girl who had ever had his heart, one girl with mysterious green eyes, graceful hands, and a laugh that danced through his dreams, making him wake up longing to hear her voice one more time.
And now, he’d hurt her all over again.
Carter raced to Lula as she crumpled to the ground, her head hitting the concrete with a dull thud. He’d worried that she would slam the door on his offering or kick it down the steps. He’d never imagined she would faint.
As he lifted her gently in his arms, turning her over to reveal a red trail trickling down her temple, staining her pale cheek, a wave of self-hatred swept through him. He’d thought he was finally finished making mistakes. Clearly, he was only getting started.
But at least now he wasn’t too proud to ask for help.
Scooping Lula’s limp form into his arms, he hurried through the sparsely furnished office room and stock area into the tea shop where he and Lula had first met. He expected customers would be seated at the tables and had planned to ask one of them to call 911 since he’d left his phone at the hotel. But he burst into the room to find a crowd of enthusiastically chatting women, dressed for a party.
The moment the women spotted unconscious Lula, the conversation came to a screeching halt and twenty pairs of incredulous female eyes turned to take his measure, obviously trying to sort out whether he was the hero in this scene or the villain.
In truth, he was both, but confessing he was the reason Lula had fainted wasn’t going to get her help any faster.
“She passed out when she answered the back door,” he said. “She hit her head on the concrete. Can someone call 911?”
“Lay her down on the counter,” said a deep, feminine voice from the back of the room. A moment later a woman in a reindeer sweater separated herself from the crowd. “I’m a doctor. I’ll check her out while Mia calls the ambulance.”
Carter hurried to the counter, laying Lula gently on the shining white tiles as the other women moved canisters of cookies and biscotti to make room for her legs. She looked beautiful but so thin and frail, like the girl he’d known had been squeezed between two brick walls until all the softness was pressed out of her. She was more than pale. She was bloodless—a statue made of marble that would never breathe, laugh, or love again.
Carter was trying not to take the sight of the woman he loved, lying still as a corpse, as a bad omen when the doctor—a petite woman whose head barely reached his bicep—shot him a stern look and shooed him out of her way.
“You shouldn’t have moved her,” she said as her fingers felt along Lula’s pale throat. “Never move an unconscious person unnecessarily.”
Carter opened his mouth to apologize, but before he could explain that he’d been too worried to think clearly, Lula began to stir.
Her smooth forehead furrowed, and a moment later her green eyes flickered open. “What happened?” she asked in that same, velvety voice he remembered, making his heart jerk in his chest.
“You fainted and hit your head,” the doctor said, laying a hand on Lula’s shoulder when she tried to sit up. “Lie still for a little longer and let’s make sure you’re okay. Were you having chest pain or shortness of breath before you lost consciousness?”
Lula made an incredulous sound. “No, nothing like that.”
“I’m still on hold with 911.” The curvy redhead Carter was surprised to realize was Lula’s much younger cousin, Mia—the gangly teen he’d met a few times when he and Lula were dating—held up her phone. “Do we still need the ambulance?”
“No, don’t call the ambulance. I’m fine.” Lula blinked, her long lashes feathering against her cheeks. “I don’t know what happened. I had the strangest…” She trailed off, paling further until the only vestige of color on her face was the pale pink of her lips.
Carter’s pulse hammered as he watched Lula’s head turn in slow motion. His eyes finally connected with hers across the crowded room and the air grew so thick with shock and pain that Carter couldn’t pull in a deep breath.