In the meantime, all we could do was wait.
I'd fallen asleep in the waiting room. When I woke, morning sunlight streamed through the windows. My head rested on Chet's shoulder. He was paging through a copy of Sports Illustrated, but turned his attention to me when he felt me stir.
"The doctor came out while you were sleeping."
I sat up straighter. "You didn't wake me?"
"She just wanted to tell us that the procedure went well. They moved Carmina to a special care unit. She has to stay there for a few more hours to recover. You should be able to see her soon. The doc--I think she said her name's Dr. Zielke--will come get us as soon as they've moved Carmina to a private room. Stella . . ." He waited until I met his eyes. "You saved her life. You found her before it was too late."
My stomach started to churn with nervous relief. She was okay. They'd let her go home soon. I'd take care of her and get her back on her feet. I could stay in Thunder Basin as long as she needed me.
I still had a place to call home.
Chet grabbed us a breakfast of pretzels and cran-apple juice from the vending machines, and as he was carting the food back, a doctor pushed through the double doors behind the ER desk and walked over.
"Hi, Stella. I'm Dr. Zielke. I performed Carmina's angioplasty, and I'm happy to report it went as smoothly as these things can go. I hope you got a few minutes of sleep, though I doubt it was very restful. Hello again, Chet," she said, nodding at him.
"How is she?" I asked.
"She's asking for you," Dr. Zielke replied with a friendly smile. "She's a little out of sorts, and very tired, but anxious to talk to you."
"When can she come home?"
"Tomorrow. When you pick her up, we'll give you all sorts of instructions to aid her recovery. I've prescribed her medication to prevent blood clots from forming, and it's very important that she take her medicine as directed. You can help with that." Another smile. "She's going to be okay, Stella. In about a week, she'll be up and about, back to her old self."
"I want to see her."
She waved for me to follow.
I felt the rapid flutter of nervous anticipation as I followed Dr. Zielke through the double doors and down the beige-toned corridor. Chet was beside me, and he squeezed my hand. I listened to the hollow tap of our feet on the tiles, trying to figure out what I'd say when I saw her. Carmina would be formal, dignified, greeting me not without a little reservation. She didn't like fanfare or fuss. I couldn't decide how she'd want me to act.
Carmina's door was open, and Dr. Zielke led us into the room. "I've brought you something better than flowers and balloons," she told Carmina cheerfully.
I stepped around the partition dividing the room and felt my self-control abandon me.
I wasn't a crier. Estella Goodwinn wasn't a crier, and I hadn't wanted Stella Gordon to be one either. But when I saw Carmina on the bed, her white hair matted and her eyes smudged with rings of exhaustion, my emotions slipped beyond my control. I moved toward her bed, stunning myself when I threw my arms around her.
"Now, there's a face I've missed," she said, her voice cracking. Stroking my hair, she pressed me firmly against her chest. "Oh, how I've missed you."
"They said you can come home tomorrow," I choked.
"That's right. Tomorrow I'll come home. No more doctors, no more hospital. Just you and me, Stella-girl."
24
CHET AND I TALKED ABOUT THE WEATHER ON THE RIDE home. We talked about Carmina and Dusty. He brought up Major League Baseball, and threw in a few comments about the high quality of our softball team. During the twenty-minute ride, we seemed to touch on every subject except the one that was burning a hole in my chest.
I listened to the gravel pop beneath the tires as we left town and took the long stretch of unpaved road that led to Carmina's. The corn in the fields was a lush green, and the stalks seemed to have shot up overnight--they were nearly as tall as Chet, and topped with wheat-colored tassels. The sky spread over us, not a single cloud to break up the soft denim blue. We passed cattle grazing behind wind-battered fences and fields of leggy sunflowers. The scenery was far different from the bustling streets of Philly. Different, but not bad. It just took time to get used to.
Finally I could stand our meaningless talk no longer.
"Where is Milton Swope's Ranch?" I asked. I would let him decide when he was ready to talk about us, but I had to make real conversation. An awkward silence here and there was one thing. Riding next to Chet and suffering through all the uncomfortable and unspoken things waiting to be said while he rambled on about the forecast, well, that was pure torture.
"North of town. Heading toward the Sandhills."
"What are the Sandhills?"
"They're sand dunes," he said, giving me an unfathomable look. "Have you never seen sand dunes?"
"Not in Nebraska." I closed my eyes. "Paint me a picture."
"I guess you could call them rolling hills made out of sand."
"More description, please."
Chet let go of some air, but I could tell he wasn't exasperated. If anything, there was a hint of smile behind it. "I'm not a poet."
"Do your best."
He let a lengthy pause pass before he began in that deep and soothing voice of his, "Hundreds of years ago, maybe thousands, the wind whipped the sand into rolling drifts. Imagine an ocean of sand--a prairie ocean. Indian grass and wildflowers wave above the drifts. When you drive through the Sandhills, you can go for hours without seeing another car. You feel like you're the only person left in the world. But it's not a scary feeling, because you're surrounded by a peaceful quiet you'll never find anywhere else. If you park your car and walk away from the road, something magical happens. The wind begins to whisper to you. You have to listen carefully, but it will tell you that you're not alone. You see a heron standing stock-still on one leg at the edge of a lake. He's watching you. He's as curious about you as you are about him. You're new and strange, and he's not used to your kind.
"You walk farther. Pelicans drift lazily on shimmering lakes, dipping their heads underwater to scout for fish. In the spring, prairie chickens stamp their feet and leap into the air to attract a mate. The courtship rituals are comical at first--but the longer you watch, the more impressed you are. The dances are complicated. They remind you of the tribal dances of the Sioux or Lakota. When you finally walk back to your car, you feel like you're saying good-bye to an undiscovered land. You can't help but think it was only by a miracle that this place escaped discovery. You leave with a picture in your mind of what the world must have looked like hundreds of years ago, before it was soiled by human hands."
I sighed contentedly. "That was beautiful. I want to go there someday." I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Will you take me?"
Chet pulled into Carmina's driveway and parked. He turned off the engine, and I ordered myself not to speculate what it meant. Would he walk me to the door? Would he come inside? Was he finally ready to talk? There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, but I had to deliberately keep my mouth closed and let him do this his own way.
"The other night at the party, I was frustrated when I said what I did. Disappointed, too," he admitted. "I thought you liked me as more than a friend. I'd created this story in my head where we could be together. I built up the fantasy too far, and then when you turned me away, well, I had a long way to fall.
"I told you I didn't trust myself to be your friend, but I was wrong. If that's what you need, I can be that person. I'll be your friend as long as you want. No strings attached. I'll never ask for anything in return, won't even expect it. Who knows?" he said with a faintly ironic smile. "Maybe we'll be the first guy and girl on record to keep our relationship purely platonic."
I tried my best to smile in agreement, but a strange sensation swirled through me. It was a mix of disappointment and regret. I knew it was shallow and wrong, but I wasn't sure I wanted Chet to stop having feelings for me. I was flattered by his attention. And
then there was that tiny issue of my attraction to him. Could we be friends? Strictly friends? He trusted himself to uphold his end of the bargain, but now that I was being forced to take a stance, I wasn't so certain I had that kind of faith in myself.
I remembered Reed.
It had the right effect; it sobered me up and killed the mood. What was the matter with me? How could I entertain ideas of being with another guy when my boyfriend's life was in question? I was committed to Reed until I knew for sure he was dead. And even then, I wanted to grieve for him properly. Chet was right. We'd make this platonic thing work.
"Thanks for taking me to the hospital," I told him. "I was in no condition to drive myself, and I don't think I could have handled sitting in that waiting room for hours alone."
"It wasn't even a question. Of course I wanted to be there for you."
His words put a stir in my belly. Determined to ignore it, I said, "Will you come with me to pick up Carmina when they release her tomorrow?"
"Absolutely."
"I'll call you as soon as I know what time."
"Do you work tonight?" Chet asked.
"Yeah. Last shift this week. I get off around eleven."
"I'll meet you here at the house. It'll make me feel better knowing you made it in safely. I can walk through the house too, if you want. Nobody likes coming home to an empty house."
"Are you accusing me of being scared of the dark?" I quipped. I wasn't usually scared, but ever since Trigger had assaulted me, I'd been a little less comfortable with dark spaces. I felt safe in Carmina's house, but just the same, I wouldn't mind having Chet do a quick sweep of the place.
"Just trying to make you think I'm a gentleman," he said.
"First you hang out all night at the hospital with me, now you're sweeping my house for things that go bump in the night. You're almost too good to be true."
"I'll do a walk-through and be on my way. I won't hold up your plans."
"No plans," I told him. "You're welcome to stay for some of Carmina's highly touted basil lemonade if you want. And of course, you'll have my company. You could do worse," I teased.
"I'll be the envy of the neighborhood," he said casually enough, his swirling gaze framing me in his vision. He had remarkable eyes. A sultry blue that stood out against his dark hair. I meant to look away, but then I saw myself reflected in those mesmerizing eyes. Warm liquid flashed in my veins, and once again, I felt a dangerous tug to my restraint.
The harder I fought my attraction, the weaker I felt. In some ways, it was exhausting trying to avoid something that felt almost . . .
Inevitable.
Deciding there was no sense in flirting with temptation, I hopped out of the Scout.
"Let me walk you to the door," he said, coming around to meet me. "No, I insist. I don't believe in dropping a girl off in the driveway. Blame it on my mother, but she raised me to walk a girl to the door."
Since I could see I was going to have a hard time talking him out of it, I let him have his way. But the minute we were on the porch, I said a quick thank-you, unlocked the door, and hustled inside.
I could do this. I could fake platonic. I could guilt-trip myself over Reed all I wanted, but the real issue weighing on my heart ran deeper, and I knew it. I was falling in love with Chet. And I wasn't going to get involved with him only to break his heart in August.
Work was hectic and blissfully busy. In the chaos of the kitchen, I didn't have time to think about seeing Chet later tonight. I told myself it was no big deal that we'd be alone in the house together--we were friends--but even I could tell when I was trying to convince myself something was less significant than it really was. There was nothing completely harmless or innocent about being alone with a very hot guy.
After work, I drove Carmina's truck home. For once, I didn't push the speed limit. I took the long way, hitting every red light I could, hating the foreign churning in my stomach. I was nervous. There, I said it. Estella Goodwinn, Stella Gordon, whoever the hell I was, was still capable of getting butterflies over a guy.
Chet's Scout was already parked in the drive. No surprise he'd beaten me, since I'd taken the scenic route. I pulled Carmina's truck in behind his, then realized I was blocking his exit. Not wanting him to think I was cleverly trying to keep him here overnight, I reversed, then scooted up beside the Scout, giving him plenty of room to leave whenever he wanted. Which would be soon, I was sure. After all, he was only here to check the house and give me peace of mind.
I found Chet leaning against the porch railing, his arms folded casually over his chest. Even though it was nearly midnight, the air felt sultry. The soft breeze couldn't seem to stir the hot mugginess of the night. The moon glowed high above us, casting filmy yellow light. Shadows cut into the hollows of Chet's face, making his eyes and cheekbones more prominent.
"How was work?" he asked.
"I set a personal record for tips earned."
"Sounds lucrative."
"At the end of the night, Inny and I line up our pennies and see who has the one with the oldest mint date. She won tonight--1938. Right before World War II. It's almost overwhelming to think how many people have touched that penny since. How was the ranch?"
"I like the penny tradition. The ranch was good. I had to rescue a couple stray calves out of a mud hole. Like I said, never a boring day."
"Isn't that sweet. A cow's knight in shining armor."
"I had to wash my hair three times before I was presentable enough to come over. I was head to toe in mud. Worse, the sun baked it onto me before I could rinse off. Had to scrub so hard, I must've taken off at least a couple layers of skin."
"I think you missed a spot." Before I realized it, I brushed my thumb near his eyebrow. There wasn't any mud. I just wanted to touch him. His hair was still damp from his shower, and he smelled clean and earthy, like rain. He'd put on jeans and a button-down denim shirt rolled to the elbows, and he looked great in both. The jeans accentuated his long legs, and the shirt was snug enough to show his muscles. Paired with chiseled cheekbones and those stunning blue eyes, his attractiveness was hard to ignore.
"Did I?" he asked, rubbing his thumb self-consciously over the spot. "Didn't mean to come over muddy."
The mosquitoes were beginning to land on me, so I said, "Let's go inside. I hope you brought your own baseball bat to fend off any monsters lurking in the shadows. I don't think Carmina owns one."
"She does. She keeps it in the umbrella stand. Don't ask how I know."
I unlocked the front door, but I didn't reach for the hall light right away. I could feel Chet standing close behind me. My limbs felt loose, and a slow, liquid warmth filled me. It was so quiet, I heard the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
I closed my eyes and willed everything inside me to slow. If I let him in, I had to promise myself to keep my head.
"I like the outfit," Chet told me, his voice drifting through the darkness. "Camo and leather. It suits you."
"Why's that?"
"Tough. Feisty. Sexy." He cleared his throat. "I shouldn't have said that. What I meant was--"
I turned. "You think I'm pretty?"
I still hadn't switched on the light. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, distinguishing the outline of Chet's body. Broad, athletic shoulders stood directly in front of me. He was so close, I could have touched him. I could have curled my fingers into his shirt and pulled our bodies together.
"No," Chet said, his voice low, husky. "Not pretty."
My breath caught.
"Stunning," he continued in that same low voice. "Mesmerizing. Smart. Sassy. I haven't been able to think straight since I met you. I can't think of a day when you haven't been in my thoughts. There are a hundred other things I should be thinking about, but I think about you. What you're doing, when I'll see you next, what you're thinking."
"Do you want to know what I'm thinking?" I asked softly.
"Yes."
That slow, liquid heat swirled faster
in my belly. I felt dizzy, unsteady. I could come back from it now, I thought. It wasn't too late. I could step outside and clear my head.
But at that moment, I didn't want a clear head. I didn't want control. I wanted to touch Chet, and I wanted him to touch me.
I looked up at him. He watched me just as closely. I was sliding into him. I felt the draw, that slippery pull, that wonderful, wild sensation of falling fast.
My restraint unraveled in a flash. Chet lost his at the same moment.
He pushed me inside, kicked the door shut, and flung me back against it, his mouth hot and fervent on mine. I locked my arms around his neck, drowning in sensation. He felt warm, solid, and tough. His weight crushed me, delicious and real. I'd imagined this moment. I'd dreamed about it, but my imagination was a poor substitute for the real thing. My blood seemed to melt, pouring through me in throbbing surges and leaving me light-headed.
He ran his hand up my arm, and I quivered.
At my response, his arms, which had been braced on either side of my shoulders, tightened around me.
I hung my fingers on the waistband of his jeans, trying to balance myself. My knees felt slippery, weak. Desire washed over me, each new wave quicker and sharper. When my fingertips brushed the smooth skin where his jeans rode his hips, he shivered and kissed me harder.
He picked me up, carrying me to the sofa. I felt the cushions under my back, his body braced above mine. He kissed me deeper, sliding his hand up my thigh in a tantalizing caress. His mouth was warm and wet, unabashedly doing things to me that made me want to scream out. I felt like I was on fire. I could feel myself spinning wildly, but no amount of willpower could bring me back to that still, rational place. I let myself soar, leaving it behind.
Chet stopped. His eyes were deep and full as he stared at me.
"What's wrong?" I panted.
He bowed his head, pressing his face to my neck. His breath sounded ragged in my ear. "This feels wrong, doing this on Carmina's couch."
I let go of a little moan.
"Carmina will kill me," he added.
"Only if she finds out." If he didn't start kissing me again in five seconds, I felt like I might wither up and die.
"It doesn't seem sneaky to you? Disrespectful? She's in the hospital. She's depending on me to look out for you."
Dangerous Lies Page 19
