Touching her now was risky, but he’d rather she tell him to fuck off forever than have an accident in the twenty minutes it would take her to reach the hospital.
“Brea.” He wrapped his hand around her fingers, still clutching the keys, and gave them a squeeze. “You’re in no shape to drive. Let me take you.”
She opened her mouth, an automatic refusal seemingly perched there. Instead, she pressed her lips together again. “You’re right.”
Relieved that she’d acquiesced, he helped her from the car, reaching in after her to retrieve her purse. He took the keys from her grasp, locked the compact, and guided her to his Jeep.
Once he had her buckled in and they were heading down the road, he slipped into problem-solving mode. “Has your father had any problems with his heart in the past?”
“No.” And she looked completely stunned by the fact he was dealing with it now. “He’s had high blood pressure for a few years, but he’s controlled it with medication. I’ve tried to keep him on a heart-healthy diet, but he loves fried chicken and beignets and…” She shook her head as tears started streaming down her face. “The doctor told him his weight has been creeping up for a while, and he’s more sedentary than he should be. I’ve encouraged him to walk with me or try one of my spin classes. Something. But lately he’s been so busy and preoccupied. I thought it would pass. I should have insisted.”
“You can’t blame yourself. He’s a grown-ass man, and you’ve gone above and beyond.”
“No.” She closed her eyes as guilty fear closed up her expression. “I do the grocery shopping, and I’ve indulged him more than I should, telling myself that once the summer cookouts were over and pieces of peach pie weren’t so easy to come by that I’d make sure he ate healthier. But what if it’s too late?”
One-Mile both understood and hated how much she worried, but her ability to love with her whole heart was obvious. Her body pinged with anxious devotion. The way she willed herself to be at her father’s side this instant confirmed it.
He’d never had anyone love him like that. And he wanted it.
One hand gripped the wheel. The other he curled around hers. He was surprised—and thrilled as hell—when she grabbed his in return and squeezed.
“Wait and see what the doctors say.”
She turned to him with big doe eyes that melted him. “I’m afraid.”
“I know. But I’m here, whatever you need.”
More tears fell down her cheeks. “He’s all I’ve got. My mother died shortly after I was born.”
“I read that last night. I’m sorry.” He didn’t know how any woman died in this day and age as a result of childbirth, and he wished like hell Brea hadn’t lost her mom when she’d come into the world. Growing up without a mom sucked; he should know.
“I’ll be all alone if…”
She didn’t finish that sentence. One-Mile was glad for a lot of reasons, mostly because she didn’t need to borrow more worry by assuming Reverend Bell would kick the bucket. But how interesting that she hadn’t included Bryant in her someone-she’s-got category…
“You won’t. How old is your father?”
“Not quite fifty. He’s still so young…”
For this kind of serious heart shit? “Yeah. That will work in his favor. And he’s got you.”
She tried to accept his words with a nod. “Along with his congregation. And God. The power of prayer is strong. I’ve seen it work. I need to pray for him and ask his parishioners to do the same.”
“Absolutely.” If that made her feel better, she should.
Brea nodded, then bowed her head. Her soft lips moved in silence. One-Mile couldn’t resist sliding his gaze over her profile, sweeping from her crown, down the slope of her nose, past the stubborn point of her chin, and over the sweet swells of her breasts with his stare.
He wasn’t proud of how hard that made him, but Brea flipped every one of his switches. He couldn’t give up the chance to visually drink her in.
Suddenly, her lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes. “I feel better.”
“Good.” Prayer had never done squat for him, but if it centered her, then he was in favor.
“I should make some phone calls.”
“Sure. We’ve got another ten minutes before we get there.”
Absently, she nodded, then ripped into her purse to grab her phone. She called back the woman who had informed her of her father’s collapse in the church. Jennifer Collins, the kind widow, had apparently agreed to ring some of the other long-time church members and start a prayer chain before coming to the hospital to start a vigil with Brea. Then she reached out to the associate pastor and asked him to field whatever community issues came her father’s way for the foreseeable future. Finally, she dialed someone who wasn’t answering the phone.