Out of Character. Diana Miller

4

      Kristen looked up from her iPad when Jillian walked into the kitchen at eleven the next morning. “How did you sleep?”

      Jillian headed directly for the coffeemaker. “My brain feels numb thanks to those sleeping pills you made me take.”

      Kristen waved her complaint away. “So drink an extra cup of coffee. The doctor said to take them because you needed to sleep.”

      “Which was ridiculous since I always sleep.” Jillian set a blue and white mug on the white quartz countertop and filled it with coffee.

      “You’ve never tried to do it with a wounded shoulder. How is it today?”

      Kristen’s obvious concern made Jillian stop griping about the sleeping pills. She carefully rotated her left shoulder. “It barely twinges.”

      “Thanks to your good night’s sleep, no doubt. Do you want me to change your bandage?”

      “I can manage.” Jillian carried her mug to the table and sat down across from Kristen.

      “Did you take your antibiotics?”

      Jillian could only handle so much concern. “What are you, my mother?” She swigged her strong French Roast. The familiar heat and tang lifted the fog in her brain long before the caffeine hit her system, a Pavlovian response she always appreciated.

      “God, doctors really do make lousy patients,” Kristen said. “You’re lucky the guy didn’t kick you out of the ER when you started arguing about whether you needed stitches.”

      “He just laughed.” Which is exactly what she’d have done in his place. Kristen was right about doctors.

      “He also gave you stitches.”

      “That doesn’t mean I needed them.” Jillian took another satisfying sip of coffee then set her mug on the table. “You didn’t have to stick around this morning. Especially after I ruined your last night.” Kristen had insisted on collecting Jillian’s car from the lodge, picking her up at the ER, and baby-sitting her for the rest of the evening.

      “Making sure you’re all right is much more important than anything else,” Kristen said. “You could have been killed.”

      Jillian’s hands chilled. She wrapped them around the mug. “I know. If Mark hadn’t reacted so quickly and pushed me down…” She shook her head, trying to dislodge the memories. “Speaking of Mark, did he call? He said he would.”

      “Not yet. He’s probably letting you sleep.”

      “I hope he’s all right. I didn’t see him after the rescue squad hauled me away.”

      “The article doesn’t mention him, so I’m sure he’s fine.” Kristen handed Jillian a section of the Denver Post. “It made the front page, bottom left. I watched the news this morning, and the police are still convinced a kook decided to take out a few skiers.”

      “Colorado has its share of crazies,” Jillian said. “I’ll bet they never catch him.”

      Kristen went over to the counter and picked up the coffeepot. “They might, with the reward the resort’s offering. The cops will make solving this a top priority, since the ski areas will lose a fortune if tourists decide it’s safer to vacation somewhere else.” She refilled Jillian’s mug, then her own. “Did you get to the part where they mention you?”

      Jillian looked up. “They promised not to.”

      “They don’t give your name, just say a woman was shot but her injury was minor, thanks to her ski jacket.” Kristen grinned. “Maybe Obermeyer will hire you to do commercials about how the outstanding construction, durability, and insulation of their ski jackets saved your life.” She returned the coffeepot to the warmer. “I assume you don’t feel up to skiing this afternoon.”

      “I think I’ll wait until tomorrow, at least,” Jillian said. “You go, and take my car. Weren’t you talking about skiing Copper Mountain?”

      “I can catch the shuttle.”

      “Take the car. I’m not planning on going anywhere until Mark calls. After how he protected me last night, I think I can probably trust him enough to get into his car.”

      * * * *

      Mark hadn’t called by nine that night, when Jillian’s throbbing shoulder convinced her to take a sleeping pill and go to bed.

      The next morning, her shoulder barely ached, and Jillian spent the day skiing with Kristen. Mark hadn’t called her cell phone, but maybe he hadn’t been able to get through while they were skiing and hadn’t been sure she’d get a message. When they got back to the townhouse, Jillian rushed to the phone there, expecting to find a message. She didn’t.

      Kristen grabbed a Diet Coke out of the refrigerator. “Call him.”

      “He didn’t give me his cell phone number because his service is bad at his townhouse. He gave me the number of the landline at his townhouse, but it doesn’t have voicemail so I can’t leave a message.” As Jillian knew because she’d already called him several times. “I suppose I could call the rental office for the townhouses and have someone leave him a note, but if he doesn’t want to talk to me—”

      “My God, you’re not back in high school calling a guy who barely noticed you in calculus.” Kristen waved her unopened soda. “You spent a night and part of the next day with him, even got shot at together. He probably couldn’t get through to your cell phone and lost your phone number here.”

      She’d never thought of that. Jillian went into the kitchen to get her phone, found the rental office’s number, and called. Three minutes later, she walked back into the living room, feeling numb. “He’s gone.”

      Kristen looked up from her magazine. “Gone?”

      “Checked out yesterday.”

      “Didn’t you say he was staying all week?”

      “That’s what he told me.” Jillian sank down onto the sofa beside Kristen. “I can’t believe I fell for his line about it being more than a one-night stand to him.”

      “Except you had plans for a second night. It must be something else.”

      Jillian didn’t like the direction her thoughts were taking.

      “The shooting must have convinced him to go home,” Kristen said with obvious disgust. “Easterners are wimps. Plus he’s an accountant.”

      “Or maybe he’s married.” The words left a bitter taste in Jillian’s mouth. “Maybe the shooting made him decide to clean up his act and never cheat again.”

      “I don’t think—”

      “God, it makes so much sense now that I think about it.” She rubbed her cheeks with her palms. “We talked so much, but although I told him all about myself, he never told me much of anything personal. Not even what part of the city he lives in or the name of his accounting firm or exactly what he does. He said his wife died in a car accident six years ago, but he didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe that was because she’s still alive.”

      “You could be right,” Kristen said.

      “I know I’m right.” Jillian scrubbed her lips, trying to remove every trace of him. “That’s why he brought me coffee in bed. He probably does it every morning for his wife.”

      “He brought you coffee in bed?”

      Jillian nodded.

      “No wonder you fell for him. Men can be such scums.”

      She nodded again.

      “You’re lucky to be rid of him.”

      Jillian got to her feet. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s go get something to eat.”

      *