Page 3 of Last Wish Wedding

They found the cluster of people near a rolled SUV. A man lay on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. His wife knelt beside him with shaking hands as she tried to help. The metallic smell of blood mixed with gasoline and burning rubber.

The woman from the sedan transformed before Mac’s eyes. Gone was the angry stranger who’d emerged from the wreck. In her place was someone else entirely—someone who moved with precise, professional certainty.

“My name is Kelsey. I’m going to help you.” Her voice was steady and warm as she knelt beside the injured man. She swiftly found the source of bleeding in his thigh. “What’s your name?”

“Tom,” the man gasped. “Am I going to—”

“Tom, I need you to stay with me.” Her hands were already crimson with his blood as she dug them into his leg. Mac’s stomach turned as he realized what she was doing.

Without looking up, she addressed him. “Get into my bag. There’s a tourniquet at the bottom.”

Mac stood frozen, the 911 operator’s voice tiny in his ear.

“My hands are occupied,” she said, still remarkably calm. “Do it now.”

The authority in her tone broke through his paralysis. He dropped to his knees and rummaged through the bag until he found what looked like a thick strap with a windlass.

“Good. Now, wrap it around his thigh, above my hands.” Her blue eyes met his, steady and clear. “Pull it as tight as you can and secure it. Tom’s life depends on this being done correctly. Do you understand?”

Mac nodded, then followed her instructions with trembling hands. The man’s wife watched, clutching her husband’s hand.

“Now,” the woman commanded. “Pull it tight.”

Mac twisted the windlass, watching her face for guidance. Blood covered her hands and splattered her blouse, but her voice never wavered as she talked to Tom, monitored his responses, and guided Mac’s actions. In the distance, sirens began to wail.

“That’s good,” she said finally. “Hold it there.” She looked at Mac with those crystalline eyes, and for a moment, he saw something like approval in them. “You did well. Now go tell those paramedics to come over here ASAP.”

Mac had never felt more useless or more necessary in his life.

The paramedics materialized out of the fog like apparitions, their fluorescent vests glowing in the gray soup. They took over Tom’s care with practiced efficiency, and the woman gave them a rapid-fire assessment of what she’d done and Tom’s condition.

Before he could process it, she was moving again toward other people, her bloodied hands pulling fresh gloves from her seemingly bottomless bag. Mac trailed after her like a lost puppy and held her supplies as she worked her way through the wreckage.

She triaged each cluster of people with calm authority. A teenager with a nasty head wound. An elderly man complaining of chest pain. A young mother cradling a crying infant. At each stop, she knew exactly what to do, what to say, how to help until more first responders could arrive.

“Gauze,” she’d say, or “The penlight,” and Mac would dig through her bag until he became familiar with its organized chaos.

The fog was starting to lift, revealing the full scope of the pileup. Emergency vehicles now lined the highway, their lights painting everything in rotating red and blue. Mac noticed the woman had an easy rapport with the EMTs; she spoke their language, anticipated their needs.

“Are you some kind of doctor?” he finally asked as she stripped off another pair of bloody gloves. Things were starting to be more organized, and the injured were taken off on stretchers.

Those blue eyes flickered to his face, and for a moment he saw a hint of amusement there. “No,” she admitted, reaching for her bag and wiping a bead of sweat from her brow with her unbloodied forearm.

“Did you say your name was Kelsey?” he asked.

“I don’t typically make small talk with strange men I meet on the side of a highway. Especially men who’ve just plowed their trucks into my car.”

Before Mac could respond, she was moving again, toward another call for help. He followed as though he had no other choice in the matter. “I’m Mac,” he called after her. “Since we’ve now saved lives together, seems like I should know your name.”

She glanced back over her shoulder, and this time he definitely caught the ghost of a smile. “You’ll know it well enough, when our insurance settles this mess.”

The EMTs had already reached the group calling for assistance, so Kelsey walked back to her crushed sedan. Mac’s truck looked not-the-worse for wear. He guessed that if he could back it up from here, it would move on its own. Her car, however, was badly damaged, if not totaled.

A police officer approached them, handing Kelsey a business card with a number to call. A wrecker would tow her car to a garage in Portland along with the other damaged vehicles involved in the pileup. The officer took down her information and his, and moved along to get the highway cleared.

“Kelsey York,” she said extending her hand as they looked over the damaged vehicles. “Looks like I’ll need a ride to the ferry. Hopefully you’re headed to Portland, or maybe you feel bad enough after wrecking my car to drop me off.”

How could he say no to someone whose blouse was smeared with the drying blood of a dozen injured strangers?