Ahh, Jack is taking on the role of big brother.
“Most people think I’m a nice guy.”
Jack let his hand drop, fished a business card out of his back pocket, and handed it to Trent. “If she needs anything, and I mean anything, call me. It sounds like her job is giving her a hard time back home. I’d like to know the name of whoever is in charge of the operation here.”
“Her job, really?” Trent asked.
“Not everyone is a nice guy.”
Trent tucked the card into his front pocket. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Appreciate it. Thanks for the lift.” Jack stood taller and nodded. “Take care of her.”
“Not a problem.”
Jack jogged up the steps to his private plane and disappeared inside.
Nice guy. Good thing I don’t have to hate him. Mr. Testosterone, as Monica had called him, had jumped the assumption level and nearly blown a good thing. Testosterone in his veins, caffeine was needed intravenously, and his coffee needed CPR. Yeah, he had Monica on his brain.
It wasn’t like Trent to care one way or another about what a woman had back home. In fact, Trent assumed most of the women he’d met and spent horizontal time with on the island had something else going. Made it easier.
But not with Monica.
He’d have to consider the why of that later. Thinking about it now gave him a headache. Or maybe that was hunger.
His apology to the woman in question would have to be more basic than flowers and chocolate… none of which were available. Unless he wanted to skip through the freaking woods and pick them himself. Trent drew the line there.
Back in his Jeep, he headed down the hill again. This time to bring her to his home… at least for a little while.
Hormones were awful things, crazy little buggers that nudged into your good sense and often made a fool out of you.
Jessie pushed back tears when she realized Jack was calling her from twenty thousand feet.
“Hey, darlin’, how’re you doing?” His voice was soothing, rich, and so Jack.
“I miss you.”
“I’ll be crawling into your bed before you wake up,” he told her.
That helped. “How is it there?”
Jack hesitated. “Horrific.”
“How can we help?”
“I’m contacting community outreach through our cooperate headquarters, setting up a relief fund. They need shelter, tents, clothing, food. All the basics.”
“I want to help with something,” Jessie told him.
“We’ll figure something out when I get home. Monica sends her love,” he said.
Hearing her sister’s name brought a smile to her face. “You did manage to find her.”
“Sure did.”
“Did she seem off to you?”
Static came through the line as Jack mumbled something that sounded like there’s a guy, but Jessie wasn’t sure. “What was that?”
“Trent Fairchild. Nice guy. Got all hot under the collar when he assumed I was someone other than her brother-in-law.”
Jessie closed her eyes and shook her head. “Wait. What? Back up… Monica met a guy?”
“That’s what I said. She was either worked up over him or the fact that the hospital isn’t cooperating with her leaving.”
Now Jessie was confused. She had Jack explain everything again. Slowly.
“So let me get this right,” she said a few minutes later after Jack explained what he’d learned. “She was fired and she’s kissing some helicopter pilot named Trent?”
Jack laughed. “Yeah, well, she wasn’t fired, but close enough. And get this, the Fairchilds own a charter company we use at the Morrisons all over the country. I’ll have to ask my dad about them.”
Jessie grabbed a piece of paper and jotted down the name. “Oh, that’s OK, I can take care of the digging. Serves Monica right for all the nosy sister behavior when you and I were dating.”
“We never dated,” he reminded her.
She chuckled. He was right… they hadn’t dated. She hadn’t allowed it.
“Hurry home.”
“I love you, darlin’.”
“Love you, too.”
Jessie hung up the phone, held it to her chest. After a long sigh, she punched in Katie’s phone number.
Katie answered on the first ring.
They exchanged hellos and how ya doings, and then Jessie got right to the point.
“We need to find out everything we can about a guy named Trent Fairchild.”
“We do?” Katie asked.
“Yep. We really do.” Jessie smiled at the thought of some guy twisting Monica up.
For all the years Monica had dated anyone, Jessie never knew her to go crazy over any of them. Must be a sign.
She wasn’t sure what kind of apology Trent was planning, but it had better include food and a bed… and a shower.
Make that a shower first, food, and a bed minus a partner, at least until some zzz’s had been obtained. Monica had a new respect for doctors that went through medical school and their internships where they could count the hours of sleep in thirty-six hours on one hand.
Her feet ached, her back was screaming, and her eyeballs burned. Seriously, Monica couldn’t remember ever feeling so exhausted.
She left a message on Walt’s phone letting him know that she was away from the clinic for at least twelve hours. Ten of which she planned to sleep through.
Monica propped herself beside the building and waited for Trent. She didn’t even have the energy to smile when he pulled up.
“Do you need me to carry you?” he asked when he rounded the front of his car and opened her door.
“I’d even take your helicopter for a ride if it would get me to a shower faster.”
“That’s a serious need.”
He pulled out onto the road, avoided a pothole the size of Nebraska, and kept going. Monica leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “You’ll forgive me if I’m less than a party.”
“I won’t even try talking to you,” Trent said.
She was already fading. “Good, cuz I need more than two brain cells to discuss your reaction to Jack.”
Monica dozed all the way up the hill, and barely realized they were at his place when he helped her out of the car. Only part of her plan kicked into place. The shower was hot but she didn’t even manage to dry her hair before she fell into bed. Food would have to wait.
Sunshine, bright and piercing, pounded on the back of her eyelids, waking her. Monica stretched, felt at least four different muscles she didn’t realize she had, and rolled back over. The soft pillow cushioned her head and left her in a cloud for a little while longer. It felt so damn good to be horizontal, to not have anyone calling out for her help.