Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.
Standard disclaimer.
Chocolate is cheaper than therapy, and you don't need an appointment.
Two days later, Mercedes entered the Vets' Hall for the town meeting and felt déjà vu hit her.
Pointedly ignoring the stairs to the second floor storage room, she strode forward, to the big central meeting room.
It was full, as all the town meetings tended to be.
Heaven forbid, anyone in Lucky Harbor miss anything.
With sweaty palms and an accelerated heart rate, she found a seat in the back. And two seconds later, her sister plopped down into the chair next to her.
"Whew!" Tamara said. "My dogs are tired." She leaned back and wriggled her toes. "You medical professionals are slobs, you know that? Took me an hour to clean up the staff kitchen, and I was ten minutes late getting off shift. And I was scheduled, to have a quickie with my hubby on his twenty-minute break too. We had to really amp it up, to get done in time."
"That's great. I really needed to know that. Thank you," Mercedes said, as she glanced over at her glowing sister.
There was no denying, that she seemed...well, not settled exactly, and certainly not tamed...but content.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Tamara asked. "Do I look like I just had a screaming orgasm? Cuz I totally did."
Mercedes grimaced.
"Again, thanks. And I'm looking at you, because you look happy. Really happy."
"I should hope so. Because my husband just..."
Mercedes slapped her hands over her ears, and her sister grinned.
"Wow, Merce, you almost over-reacted there for a second. One would almost think, you hadn't had sex in forever, which isn't true at all."
"How in the world did you know that?"
Tamara grinned.
"Well, I didn't know for sure, until now. Mysterious Cute Guy, right? When? The night of the auction, when you vanished for an hour and then reappeared with that cat-in-cream smile? I knew it!"
Mercedes choked.
"I..."
"Don't try to deny it. Oh, and give me your phone for a sec."
Still embarrassed, Mercedes handed over her phone, then watched, as her sister programmed something in it.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Making sure, you can't forget your new boyfriend's name," Tamara said. "Here ya go."
Mercedes stared down at the newest entry in her contact list.
"Mysterious Cute Guy, aka Sam Evans." She stared at Tamara. "Where did you get his number?"
"He left a message for Dr. Scott at the nurse's desk, including his cell phone number. And I accidentally-on-purpose memorized it."
"You can't do that..."
"Oh relax, Miss Goodie Two-Shoes. No one saw me."
"Tammy..."
"Shh, it's starting."
At that, Tamara turned to face forward, with a mock excited expression on her face, as the meeting was called to order.
Mercedes bit her fingernails, through the discussion of a new measure, to put sports and arts back in the schools, getting parking meters along the sidewalks downtown, and whether or not the mayor, John Clocker, was going to run for another term.
Finally, the Health Services Clinic came up.
And Biff Langley stood up and reiterated the bare bones plan and the facts, and then asked for opinions.
Two attendees immediately stood up in the center aisle, in front of the microphone set up there.
The first was Mrs. Garland.
"I'm against this health clinic and always have been," she said, gripping her cane in one hand and pointing at the audience with a bony finger of her other. "It'll cost us...the hardworking taxpayers...money."
"Actually," Biff interrupted to say. "We've been given a large grant, plus the money raised at auction. And there's also future fundraising events planned, including next week's car wash." He smiled. "Mercedes Jones talked everyone on the board into working the car wash, so I'm expecting each and every one of you to come out."
There was a collective gasp of glee.
The hospital board was a virtual Who's Who of Lucky Harbor, including some very hot guys such as the mayor, Dr. Scott, and Mark Morrison, amongst others.
"Even you, Biff?" someone called out.
"Even me," he answered. "I can wash cars with the best of them."
Everyone woo-hoo'd at that, and Mercedes began to relax, marginally.
Biff had just guaranteed them a huge showing at the car wash. People would come out in droves, to see the town's best and finest, out of their positions of honor and washing cars.
They'd pay through the nose for it, as they took pictures, laugh and pointed.
Lucky Harbor was sweet that way.
Still in the aisle, Mrs. Garland tapped on the microphone, her face pinched.
"Hello! I'm still talking here! HSC will bring undesirables to our town. And we already have plenty of them."
Her gaze sorted through the crowd, with the speed and agility of an eagle after its prey, narrowing in on Mercedes, way in the back.
"Bitch," Tamara muttered.
And Mercedes just sank deeper into her seat.
"You all need to think about that," Mrs. Garland said and moved back to her seat.
Susan, the town clerk and manager, stood up next.
"I'm also against it," she said, with what appeared to be genuine regret. "I just don't think we need to deplete our resources with a Health Services Clinic. Not when our library has no funds, our schools are short-staffed, due to enforced layoffs, and our budget isn't close to being in balance. We could be allocating donations in better ways. I'm sorry, Merce, very sorry."
The audience murmured agreement, and after that, two more people stood up to say, they were also against the Health Services Clinic.
Then it was Lucille's turn.
She stood up there in her bright pink tracksuit and brighter white tennis shoes, with a matching pink headband, holding back her steel grey/blue hair.
She took a moment to glare at Mrs. Garland in the front row.
The rumor, was that, they'd gone to high school together, about two centuries back, and Mrs. Garland had stolen Lucille's beau.
Lucille then retaliated, by eloping with Mrs. G's brother, who'd eventually died in the Korean War...not on the front lines, but in a brothel from a heart attack.
Lucille was so short, the microphone was about a foot above her head. But this didn't stop her.
"A Health Services Clinic would be nice," she said, head tipped up towards the microphone, her blue bun all aquiver. "Because then, if I thought I had the clap, I'd have a place to go."
The audience erupted in laughter.
"What?" she said. "You think I'm not getting any?" She turned and winked at Mr. Maddison in the third row.
Who in turn grinned at her, his freshly washed dentures so unnaturally brightly white, they appeared to be glowing.
Lucille winked back, then returned to the business at hand.
"Also, we couldn't have an HSC in better hands, than those of our very own Mercedes Jones. She's a wonderful nurse and has her degree in business as well. She's one smart cookie."
Tamara turned to Mercedes.
"Did you actually graduate with both of those degrees?" she asked, clearly impressed.
Mercedes slid her a look.
"You were at my graduation."
Tamara searched her brain and then shook her head.
"I've got nothing. In my defense, I spent those years pretty toasted."
Lucille was still talking.
"I know some of you might say, that Mercedes is too sweet, to handle such a big responsibility as the HSC, and that her programs involving drug rehab and teenage pregnancies, will be overrun by dealers and pimps. But we're not giving our girl enough credit. If she can't handle the riffraff that her clinic brings into town, well then, her new boyfriend certainly can."
"Oh my God!" Mercedes exclaimed, and covered her eyes. "I can't look."
Tamara snorted.
"At least, she didn't call him your lover. And that's not even your biggest problem. That honor goes to the fact that, your only supporter so far, is a crazy old bat."
"You know, you could get up there and support me," Mercedes said.
"Not me," her sister replied. "I'm shy in front of a crowd."
'Yeah, right.'
Lucille took her seat, then, four more people had their say, not a single one of them in favor of the HSC.
And Tamara had to practically sit on Mercedes' lap, to keep her in her chair.
"Beating them up isn't going to help," she said.
Meanwhile, Mercedes' phone was buzzing with incoming texts, like the one from her mother that said,
He's your boyfriend?
She ignored it, and all the others, as something...someone caught her eye...finally.
A tall, broad-shouldered guy in faded jeans and mirrored sunglasses, stood at the microphone, which came up to his chest.
Sam Evans.
By this time, Mercedes went so low in her chair, that she could hardly see him. And just to make sure she couldn't, she covered her face with her hands.
"Gee, Merce, that works like a charm," Tamara whispered. "I can't see you there at all."
Mercedes smacked her.
When Sam spoke, his voice was unrushed and clear.
"The Health Clinic will improve the quality of life, for people who'd otherwise go without help."
The audience murmured amongst themselves for a beat. Then, from one of the naysayers,
"There's other places, in other towns, for people to get that kind of help."
"Yeah," someone else called out. "People here don't need the HSC."
"You're wrong," Sam said bluntly. "There are people in Lucky Harbor, who do need the sort of services, that HSC will provide. Veterans, for instance."
No one said a word now, though it was unclear, whether they were scared of his quiet intensity, or simply acknowledging the truth of what he said.
"You can keep sticking your heads in the sand," he went on. "But there are people who need help managing their addictions, people who don't have a way to find a place to go, that's safe from violence and teens who can't get STD education or birth control. These problems are real and growing, and a Health Services Clinic, would be an invaluable resource, for the entire county."
He paused, and anyone could've heard a pin drop.
"And Lucille's right," Sam said into the silence. "You couldn't have a better person running such a place, than your own Mercedes Jones. Each of you should be trying to help. I'll start by donating enough money for a program for veterans, where they can get assistance in rehabilitation or job opportunities, or simply to re-acclimate to society."
Mercedes' mouth fell open.
And the entire place went stock still. No one even blinked. Which was a feat, when it came to the people of Lucky Harbor.
"He is so hot," Tamara whispered to Mercedes. "You really ought to keep him."
"Can't," she replied, staring at Sam in shock, through the fingers she still had across her eyes. "We've agreed, it was a one-time thing."
"Well, that was stupid. You can put your hands down now. It's safe. No one's going to dare cross him, 'cause he's pretty badass."
He was pretty badass standing up there, steady as a rock, speaking his mind. Offering his help…
"Hey, didn't he also save your ass at the auction too, by getting the bidding going?" Tamara asked.
Yeah, he had, and here he was, at it again. Saving her ass.
As if sensing her scrutiny, Sam met Mercedes' gaze for one long, charged beat, across the entire audience, before walking back up the aisle to leave.
He'd stood up in front of the entire town and defended her.
Her, a one-night stand.
What did that mean?
'It meant he cared,' she decided.
That knowledge washed over her, and she sat up a little straighter, craning her neck to watch him go.
"My boyfriend's ever so dreamy," her sister whispered mockingly.
And Mercedes smacked her again.
In spite of Sam's rather commanding appearance, the next three people who stood up, opposed the clinic.
Then, Nadine Jones had her turn.
Still in her scrubs, she grabbed the microphone.
"This is poppycock," she said. "Anyone against this clinic is selfish, ungiving, and should be ashamed of themselves. As for my daughter Mercedes, you all know damn well, that she can be trusted to handle the HSC and any problems that might arise. After all, she's handled her crazy family all her life, without batting so much as an eyelash."
She searched the audience, found Jace in the fourth row, and gave him a long look.
"And call your mamas. No one's calling their mamas often enough. That's all."
Jace slunk in his seat, his shoulders up around his ears. The little blonde sitting next to him, gave him a hit upside the back of his head, and mumbled under her breath.
The meeting ended shortly after that, and Mercedes was rushed with people, wanting their questions answered.
Would she really be supplying drug dealers?
Doling out abortions?
Some of the questions floored her and it was an hour, before she was free. And even knowing she wouldn't find him, she looked around for Sam.
But he was long gone.
That afternoon, a spring storm broke wild and violent over Lucky Harbor, as Sam worked on the Shelby.
And when he was done, he drove through the worst of the rain, flying through the steep, vivid green mountain canyons, his mind cleared of anything but the road.
And for once, he wasn't thinking of the past, or work...he was thinking of a certain warm, sexy nurse.
He'd shelved his emotions years ago, at SEALs training camp, long before he'd ever met one Mercedes Jones. But no amount of training could've prepared him for her.
She was a one-woman wrecking crew, when it came to the walls he'd built up inside, laying waste to all his defenses.
A mere few weeks ago, there wasn't a person on earth, who could've convinced him, that she would have the power to bring him to his knees, with a single look.
And yet she could.
And she had.
A few hours later, the storm was still raging, as he came back through Lucky Harbor.
At a stop sign, he came up behind a stalled VW.
Through the driving rain, he could see a woman fiddling beneath the opened hood, her clothes plastered to her.
'Well, hell!'
He pulled over, and as he walked towards her, she went still, then reached into the purse hanging off her shoulder.
Sam recognized the defensive movement and knew she had her hand on some sort of weapon.
He stopped with a healthy distance between them and lifted his hands, hopefully signaling, that he was harmless.
"Need some help?" he asked.
"No." She paused. "Thank you, though. I'm fine."
He nodded and took in her sodden clothes and the wet hair dripping into her eyes. Then, he looked into the opened engine compartment of the stalled car.
"Wet distributor cap?"
Her eyes revealed surprise.
"How did you know?"
"It's a '73 VW. Get the cap wet, and it won't run."
She nodded and relaxed her stance, taking her hand out of her purse.
"I was going to dry the cap on my skirt, but it's too wet."
She shoved her hair back from her face and blinked at him.
"Hey, I know you. You're Mysterious Cute Guy."
Oh how he hated that moniker.
"Sam Evans."
"I'm Quinn Fabray. One of your three guardian angels, from that freak snowstorm last week." She flashed a grin. "I'm the one who called 9-1-1."
"Then, the least I can do is this."
He came closer and took the distributor cap from her, wiping it on the hem of his shirt, which hadn't yet gotten drenched through.
When he had the inside of the cap, as dry as it was going to get, he replaced it and got her off and running.
Back in his own car, Sam ended up at the diner. Santana and Sue were there, Sue's gaze glued to the TV in the far corner.
American Idol was on, and she was very busy yelling at the screen.
"Aww, come on! That sucked! God, I miss Simon. He always told it like it was."
Santana rolled her eyes and met Sam at a table with a coffee pot.
'Guardian Angel Number Two,' he thought.
She was in a pair of low-slung cargoes and a snug, lacy tee. Normally, she was alert as hell and on-guard, but tonight, her face was pale, and her smile weak.
"Pie?" she asked.
"Sure."
She came back two minutes later, with a huge serving of strawberry pie.
"You're in luck," she said. "It's Kick Ass Strawberry Pie from the B&B up the road. That means Trisha made it," she explained to his blank look. "Best pie on the planet, trust me."
That was quite the claim, but one bite proved it to be true.
Sam watched Santana refill his cup, then gestured to the towel, she had wrapped around the palm of her left hand.
"You okay?"
"Fine."
'Bullshit!'
Her other hand was shaking, and she looked miserable. But hell, if she wanted to pretend she was fine, it was none of his business.
Especially since, he was the master at being fine.
Problem was, there was blood seeping through her towel.
"Do you need a doctor?" he asked.
"No."
He nodded and ate some more pie.
Good. She was fine and didn't need a doctor.
And God knew, he sure as hell didn't want to get involved. But when he was done, he cleared his own plate, bringing it to the kitchen himself.
"Hey," Sue yelled at him, not taking her gaze off the TV. "You can't go back there. It's against the rules."
"Your waitress is bleeding. That's against the rules too."
This got her attention. She glanced into the back at Santana and frowned, before turning back to Sam.
"You going to patch her up? She has an hour left on her shift."
He had no idea, what the hell he thought he was doing. He hadn't 'patched' anyone up in a damn long time.
Four years, to be exact.
He waited for the sick feeling to settle in his gut, but all he felt, was a need to help Santana.
"Yeah. I can patch her up."
Santana was standing at the kitchen chopping block, her hands flat on the cutting board, head bowed, and her face a mask of pain.
She jumped when she saw Sam and shook her head.
"Guests aren't supposed to clear their own dishes."
"I'm going to ask you again. Do you need a doctor?"
"It was just a silly disagreement with a knife."
Not an answer.
He unwrapped her hand himself and looked down at the cut.
"That's more than a silly disagreement. You need stitches."
"It's just a cut."
"Uh-huh. And you need the ER."
"No, I don't."
There was something edgy in her voice now, something Sam recognized all too well.
For whatever reason, she had a fear or deep-rooted hatred of hospitals. And he could sympathize with her on that.
"Do you have a first-aid kit?" Sam asked.
"Yeah."
He drew a deep breath, knowing if he didn't help her, she'd go without it.
"Get it," he gently commanded.
Santana did as told, without complaint.
The diner's first-aid box, consisted of a few Band-Aids and a pair of tweezers, so Sam went to his car.
He always kept a full first-aid kit in there, even though, he hadn't ever cracked this one open.
He returned to the kitchen and eyed Santana's wound again. He had Steri-strips but the cut was a little deep for that.
"Trust me?" he asked her.
"Hell no!"
'Good girl,' he thought. 'Smart.'
"Well, it's either me or the hospital, Santana."
She blew out a breath.
"All I need is a damn Band-Aid. And hurry. I have customers."
"They'll wait."
She was looking a little greener now, he thought. He gently pushed her onto the lone stool in the kitchen and said,
"Put your head down."
Santana dropped her head onto the counter with an audible thump, while Sam disinfected the wound, and opened a tube.
Head still down, she turned it to the side, to eyeball what he was doing.
"Super glue?" she squeaked.
"Skin glue. And hold on tight, it stings like hell." He started, and she sucked in a breath. "You okay?"
She nodded, and he worked in silence, finally covering the wound with a large waterproof bandage.
"Thanks." Santana let out a shuddery sigh. "Men are assholes. Present company excluded, of course."
'Men are assholes, myself included,' he thought.
With a shrug, he gestured to her hand.
"How's that feel?"
She opened and closed her fist, testing.
"Not bad. Thank you." She watched him put everything back into his kit. "Does Mercedes know, that you're as good with your hands as she is?"
"I don't answer trick questions."
She started to laugh, but choked it off, at the man who suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway.
It was Mark, still in uniform, brows furrowed.
"Sue said you're all bloody and..." His eyes narrowed on the blood down Santana's white tee. "What the hell happened?"
"Nothing," she said.
"Jesus Christ, Santana!" He looked at the bloody towel and jerked his gaze back to her, running it over her body, and stepping close.
Santana turned her back on him...on the both of them. And Mark looked at Sam.
"What happened to her?"
"She declined to say."
"A knife," Santana said over her shoulder. "No big deal. Now go away. No big, bad alpha males allowed in the kitchen."
There was not even a glimmer of a smile from Mark, which was unusual.
Sam hadn't any idea that he had something going, with the pretty, prickly waitress, which was telling in itself.
Usually, the affable, easygoing Mark, was an open book, not the type to let much get to him. But there was a whole bunch of body language going on, all of it heating up the kitchen.
Then, Santana made an annoyed sound and walked to the doorway. For emphasis, she jerked her head, making her wishes perfectly clear.
She wanted them out.
Mark waited a beat, just long enough for Santana to give him a little shove.
She wasn't as tall as him by any means, though her platform sneakers gave her some extra inches.
Still, Mark was six feet tall and outweighed her, by a good eighty pounds.
She could push him around, only if he allowed it, but to Sam's shock, Mark acquiesced, and with a softly muttered,
"Fuck it," he left.
Sam followed him out, telling himself, that he wasn't here to get involved. If he had been, he'd have talked himself into Mercedes' bed tonight...and he could have.
Easily.
That wasn't ego, just plain fact.
She wanted him. And he wanted her right back...more than he could have possibly imagined.
Right this minute, he could be wrapped up in her sweet, warm limbs, buried deep.
"Shit!"
"Yeah," Mark muttered, as they strode out to the parking lot side by side. "Shit!"
"What was that back there?" Sam asked Mark.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Why the fuck does that work for you and not me?"
Mark ignored this, to stare in appreciation at the Shelby.
"You get the suspension done?"
"Yeah, but there's still a lot left to do. I've been busy on your Jimmy. Almost done, by the way."
"Good. So how's this baby running?"
"Better than any other area of my life."
Mark laughed ruefully and slid into the passenger seat of the Shelby.
Sam kept quiet. Apparently, he was getting company for his late night ride tonight. Silent, brooding company, but that suited him just fine.
Stay safe!