She’d frozen, completely frozen, mentally yanked into an old nightmare of another situation she hadn’t been able to control. And when she hadn’t responded to the guy, his grip on her tightened. Before she could draw a breath to scream, one of the American nurses shoved her way in front of Charlotte, hands out at her sides to keep Charlotte behind her as she stared up at the rebel. “Take the drugs and money and get the hell out of here.”
He’d laughed in her face, but Jane, all five feet four inches of her, hadn’t backed down.
And the rebels had finished their looting and gone.
Charlotte had fainted. Fainted. Even now, six years later, just thinking about it made her face heat with embarrassment and humiliation.
She’d taken a lot of self-defense classes since then, and had also had counseling. She’d like to think if anything like that happened now, she’d hold her own and be brave.
Brave as Jane had been that day.
But she’d not taken on any more of those clinics, instead staying in Tahoe and working at the local hospital. She loved it, loved the people, and yes, okay, it was safe.
But she liked safe.
Lived for it.
And the fact that she was living at all was thanks to Jane, and she’d never forget it.
Jane had her hand up, just about to ring the bell again, when she caught sight of Charlotte coming around from the side of the house. “Hey,” she called out, her smile fading at whatever she saw on Charlotte’s face. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, except for the fact that you’re ringing the doorbell. You have a key, and I know damn well you use it when I’m not home. You live here, Jane. You pay rent.”
Jane thrust out the bakery bag to Charlotte. “Heard about your rough shift. And you don’t ever take my money.”
Charlotte took the bakery bag, because there was stubborn and then there was stupid. And she refused to be stupid. “I could marry you for whatever is in this bag. And I do so take your rent money.”
“Charlotte, I checked my bank balance yesterday. You haven’t accepted my Venmo payment.”
Charlotte opened her mouth, but Jane pointed at her. “Did you accept Zoe’s and Mariella’s?”
Charlotte sighed.
“Thought so.” Jane shook her head. “You know I love what you’re doing here. Renting to women, making sure they’re safe. I know why you do it, and I admire it so much. But I want to be a part of it too. I want to help.”
“You already have.” Charlotte could feel herself getting emotional when she didn’t want to. “And what does this have to do with you refusing to let yourself in with your key?”
“Since you won’t take my rent, I’m technically not a renter. I’m a guest. And guests ring the bell.” She paused and softened her tone. “It’s not my room, Charlotte. It’s your den. I know you like to keep it open for me, but you could be renting it out and making money. We both know Sandra’s looking to stay longer.”
Charlotte opened the pastry bag. Her mouth watered at the huge blueberry lemon muffin, her favorite. Even knowing it was her entire day’s calories wasn’t going to stop her. “Okay, first, you don’t have to bring me food, but thank you for doing it anyway. And second, that room is for me to choose what to do with. And I choose to keep it a den slash bedroom. For you. You aren’t a damn guest, Jane. You’re family.”
“You just swore,” Jane said, looking shocked. “You never swear.”
“Then I must mean it.” Charlotte opened the front door and walked inside.
Jane laughed and followed her in. “I bring you food because you do so much for me and I feel like it’s the only thing I can do for you in return.”