“And if you manage to do that, then what?”
“I’m out of here.” He never stayed in one place long. But how fast he could leave Whiskey Creek would depend on his bike. If the repairs cost more than elbow grease, he could be in trouble. He’d never find work in his current condition. With all the stitches in his arms, he looked pieced together, like Frankenstein’s monster.
“Where’s your backpack?” she asked.
He could smell coffee, wanted a cup but figured he could buy one along the way—provided he found his bike and was able to fix it. “I hope it’s where I left it.”
“What’s in it?”
“Everything,” he said simply. Everything he owned, anyway. That didn’t consist of a lot, but he didn’t need a lot.
She sidled over as if moving slowly would make it less apparent that she was cutting off his path to the door. “If you’ll go back to bed and get some rest, I’ll retrieve your bike.”
She had dark circles under her eyes, looked as tired as he felt. But then, he’d kept her up all night, so that was to be expected. She was still damn pretty. She reminded him of Charlize Theron. Maybe even Marilyn Monroe.
“You don’t know where it is,” he said.
“You could solve that by telling me.”
Her size relative to that of his bike didn’t make her suggestion very plausible. “I had to drop it when the dogs attacked. Even if it’s not in the ditch I was trying to avoid while I was pushing it—which it might be—you wouldn’t be strong enough.”
“But if you exert yourself, you could ruin everything we just accomplished with your stitches!”
She had a point. Medical help wasn’t easy to come by, especially for someone like him. But, as he’d said, she couldn’t lift his bike. “I don’t have any choice.”
She started to argue, to say nothing was worth risking further injury, but he cut her off. “What about the dogs that attacked me? They could still be around, licking their wounds. If they feel anything like I do this morning, they won’t be in a good mood.”
Her confidence seemed to falter. “I don’t have to go alone. I have a friend who could help.”
“A male friend?”
“Yes.”
He hadn’t gotten the impression she was in any kind of serious relationship. He was pretty sure it was just her and her dog living here. She had extra bedrooms but, as she’d mentioned to the vet who’d stitched him up, they were full of storage. The only bed was in her room, and there were no men’s clothes or belongings in there.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t have a boyfriend, however... “Is he a mechanic?” he asked hopefully.
“No. But he has a truck and a trailer. We could load your bike up, bring it here. And I could wash your clothes. You can’t be comfortable in those.”
She obviously thought she’d overcome all objections, but Levi had reason to be worried about one more thing. “What is this male friend going to say when he finds me here—in your bed?”
Folding her arms, she raised her chin. “There’s nothing he can say. This is my house. I make my own decisions.”
That was good news, at least. The last thing he needed was to get into another fight. “Then maybe I should go with the two of you—”
“Rest.” She made a shooing motion with her hands. “If you’ll go back to bed, I’ll make buttermilk pancakes for breakfast when I get back.”
He was hungry. And it’d been forever since he’d had a home-cooked meal. His father had had a girlfriend once who could make the best pancakes he’d ever tasted. He missed her, like he missed some of the others who came and went. Pancakes shouldn’t have been much of a draw, but Callie couldn’t have offered anything that would’ve tempted him more.
Well, maybe there was one thing. It had been a long time since he’d had that, too. “Buttermilk pancakes, huh?”
Her lips curved into a smile. “You’ve never had better.”
He studied her, trying to figure out why she was being so nice.
“What?” she said, sounding a bit self-conscious.
“Why aren’t you in more of a hurry to get rid of me?”
Her smile faded. “Maybe it feels good to focus on someone else’s problems for a change.”
* * *
“Let’s go over your plan.” Kyle Houseman, one of Callie’s best friends and part of the clique she’d grown up with since grade school, drove his work truck slowly along the road where Levi said they should be able to find his bike.
“My plan?” Preoccupied with searching the shoulder and the ditch that ran alongside it, Callie wasn’t paying a lot of attention. “What are you talking about?”
“Once we get this vagrant’s bike back to your place. What then?”
She was fairly sure the motorcycle was gone. If not, she would’ve spotted it by now.
“Callie?” Kyle prompted when she didn’t answer.
“Go slower, would you?”
“I’m barely creeping along as it is!” he complained but did as she asked.
“It has to be here.” Pressed up against the harness of her seat belt, she gripped the window ledge as she searched. “If it’s not...I don’t know what he’ll do.”
“He’ll pay a hefty impound fee,” Kyle said.
Would some guy with only the clothes on his back have the money for that? “Someone other than the police could’ve taken it. Maybe it’s been stolen,” she mused. But she thought that would be the worse of the two possibilities.
“If so, his insurance will cut him a check. If he has insurance.”
Kyle had spoken her concerns aloud. She doubted Levi carried any more insurance than was legally required, and liability didn’t cover theft. “I don’t want him to lose his bike.”
Easing the truck over to the side, Kyle waited for a car coming up from behind to get around them. “Why are you so concerned about this guy?”
His surprise irritated her. Having a liver that no longer functioned properly made her look at certain issues differently. For the first time, she wondered how people could be so callous about certain things.
“Why are you not more concerned?” she countered. “We’re talking about a human being who was attacked by dogs. He’s already full of stitches. Doesn’t seem fair that he should lose his only mode of transportation.”