Stitches In Time Read Online Free

repairs."
    A sullen frown replaced the grin. "Aright, aright, you don't hafta be so snotty. I was just kidding around."
    He slung the hanger into place and sauntered toward the back of the room, where rows of open shelves held folded quilts, coverlets and fabric. Rachel had spent hours folding the quilts just so. She clenched her hands. The hell with politeness, she thought. How could she get rid of him? Cheryl would be back soon . . .
    She hadn't been frightened before. He was tall, a good foot taller than she, gawky and hollow-chested and pasty-faced—not a particularly formidable figure. But she was suddenly and unpleasantly conscious of the fact that the house was isolated, set back from the street in its own large lot, in a quiet residential district; and when she thought of Cheryl walking in the door with Jerry, five years old . . . Whatever this character had in mind, he wasn't likely to be deterred by another woman and a small child. Maybe he had a gun. Everybody had guns these days. He hadn't felt threatened, not by one undersized female, but if someone else came in ...
    He was standing with his back to her, examining one of the quilts Cheryl had hung on the wall—a spectacular Baltimore album quilt, each square showing a different pattern of flowers and birds—and Rachel was trying to nerve herself to speak, when the door into the hall opened.
    Tony got out three words—"Excuse me, Rachel"— before the man spun around. At the sight of Tony his jaw dropped and his eyes bulged. With an inarticulate exclamation he bolted for the front door.
    And Tony went after him.
    It was pure unthinking reflex. When you're a cop, and people flee at the sight of you, you go after them. He moved too fast and too abruptly, and the hardwood floor had been polished to a slippery shine. One of the crutches skidded, and Tony fell with a crash.
    Rachel ran to him and knelt down on the floor. He had landed on his right side, twisting as he fell in an instinctive attempt to spare his left leg and the cast that covered it from ankle to hip.
    Gray-faced and sweating, Tony glared at her over his shoulder. "What the hell are you doing? Go after him. Stop him."
    "How?" Rachel demanded.
    A car door slammed and tires screeched. The roar of the engine faded fast; he must have been doing sixty. Tony's tight mouth relaxed. "Good question. I'm sorry, Rachel. Sorry I swore at you."
    "That wasn't swearing." She laughed shakily. "Stay where you are. Don't move. I'll call the doctor—or the rescue squad—or—"
    "No, it's okay. No damage done, except to my ego." He leaned back against the arm she had slipped under his shoulders. He was wearing a heavy sweatshirt—people feel the cold when they are lying still, bored and helpless—but even through the thick fabric she could feel the hard muscle and bone. He'd be forty next year—Cheryl had already started kidding him about it—but he was in better condition than most men half his age. The creep wouldn't have made it as far as the door if Tony had been able-bodied.
    Rachel retrieved the crutches and, with their help, got him up and into a chair. "I still think I should call the doctor," she said anxiously. "Or do you want to go back to bed? Would you like some coffee or a glass of water?"
    He smiled at her and her knees went weak. "I want you to sit down. That was an incredibly stupid performance. All I accomplished was to scare you half to death."
    "You got rid of him." Rachel pulled up a chair and dropped into it. "I was getting worried. How did you know?"
    "You had the intercom on."
    She glanced at the desk. "I didn't know. Cheryl must have turned it on before she left. So you heard."
    "The whole thing." His mouth twisted. "I was getting worried too. If it hadn't been for this damned leg I'd have been here sooner."
    "Who was he?"
    Tony shrugged. "Never saw him before."
    "Then why did he run?"
    Cautiously Tony shifted position. He didn't seem to be in pain; in fact, he looked more alert and