Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  He pulled out his penlight and examined her eyes quickly, grateful for his medical training. Definitely concussion, he thought, and that could be serious. He lifted her and struggled to get her into the car. Then he drove like a madman to the emergency room of the nearest hospital.

  Harden was the only one at home when the tele­phone rang. He picked up the receiver, expecting a business call. But it was Polly Cochran on the other end of the line, half hysterical and all but incoherent.

  "Slow down, Polly," he said curtly. "What is it?"

  "It's Anna! Oh, God, I've got to get to Houston, Harden. I can't...I can't drive. Is Evan there?"

  "No, he's flown to Dallas for a meeting." He didn't add that Evan had raised hell when he had to go, because his plans for the day were focused on something much more important than business, but he hadn't said what. He'd gone, with furious reluc­tance. "What's happened to Anna?"

  "She's been mugged. She's in the hospital and badly hurt," Polly said shakily. "I have to..."

  "I'll get Miranda and we'll be right over. You're at home?"

  "Yes. Thank you!"

  "No need. You'd do it for us." He hung up and went to find Miranda. Minutes later they picked Polly up at her house and headed toward Houston.

  "She'll be all right, Polly," Miranda said gently, smiling reassuringly at her. "She's a strong girl."

  "Oh, I hope so," Polly said huskily, fighting tears.

  Anna was in the intensive care unit when they got to the hospital, attached to life support systems, her breathing labored, her eyes closed. Her face was a mass of bruises and cuts, one eye almost swollen shut. Randall came out of the unit to talk to them in the hall.

  "She's had a bad time of it," he said quietly. "The concussion is what worries us most. For the rest, it's just bruises and cuts, and she'll heal."

  "She wasn't raped?" Polly asked through her teeth.

  Randall shook his head. "I got to her in time to frighten the man off." He sighed wearily. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry. It's my fault. We went out to get some more liquor for the party, and I told her to stay in the car, so that she'd be safe. I still don't understand what made her get out of it."

  "Why did you take her with you?" Polly wailed.

  "She insisted," Randall said helplessly.

  If it had been Evan, she'd have stayed at home, Polly thought angrily. Evan would have protected her. But she didn't say it. Randall looked broken up enough as it was.

  They went into the intensive care unit and Polly sat beside her daughter, holding her hand. She had to get well. She had to!

  It was morning before Harden and Miranda got home. Polly had refused to leave, so Harden had promised to return later in the day with some things she needed. He told Donald and Theodora what was going on, then grabbed a few hours sleep. He got up early and did what he needed to do on the ranch before he went to Polly's house and filled an over­night case for her. Then he drove back to Houston.

  It was suppertime when he returned. He was worn and haggard. Evan was home, but he'd been out most of the day and had just joined the family. Nobody had told him yet.

  Harden didn't know that. He clapped Evan on the shoulder. "I'm sorry about Anna," he said quietly.

  Evan shrugged. "One of those things," he said curtly and turned away.

  Harden was shocked by Evan's lack of feeling, but perhaps he was still raw from her engagement and hiding it.

  Harden sat down and waited for Theodora to say grace. While they ate, Evan talked about the meeting and what he'd learned.

  Miranda had felt nauseated, so she was late getting downstairs. She'd been asleep when Harden came home, so he hadn't wanted to wake her. He smiled at her as she joined them, lifting his face for her soft kiss before she eased into the chair beside him, her pregnancy delightfully obvious.

  "How is she?" she asked gently.

  "There's no change," Harden said heavily. "I promised Polly I'd drive back up tomorrow, so that she won't be completely alone. She's tried to contact Duke, but he's out of the country. They expect him back tomorrow. I hope to God..."

  "Do they have any idea who did it?" Theodora asked quietly.

  "Not yet," Harden said. "They won't, unless he tries to fence the jewelry. That's a long shot, too."

  "Maybe not," Miranda interrupted, aware of Evan's sudden interest. "That emerald solitaire would stand out, wouldn't it?"

  "So it would," Harden agreed.

  "What the hell are you talking about?" Evan asked. "Anna has an emerald solitaire."

  "She did have," Harden said. "It was stolen."

  "How?"

  Harden sat very still. He glanced around the table, from Donald and Jo Anne to Theodora. "Hasn't any­body told him yet?" he asked softly.

  "There wasn't time," Theodora said gently. She grimaced as she looked at Evan. "And I didn't quite know how—"

  "Tell me what?" Evan ground out.

  "Anna's in the hospital in Houston," Harden said quietly. "She was attacked and badly hurt. She's in a coma."

  He hated doing that to Evan in front of the others. He alone had a good idea of how Evan really felt about Anna, and it was like stripping his pride naked.

  Evan handled it well, though. Except for his sud­den pallor and a certain awkwardness about his movements when he stood up, he looked perfectly normal.

  "Let's go," he told Harden.

  Harden knew when not to argue. He kissed Mir­anda. "Don't wait up. I'll be back when I can."

  "Drive carefully," she said, smiling.

  He nodded toward the others and followed Evan out.

  "Give me a cigarette," the bigger man said when they were headed toward Houston in Harden's car.

  "You don't smoke."

  "I just started."

  He handed Evan his cigarettes and matches. "I hate corrupting you. Next you'll want a drink."

  "I already do. Tell me how it happened."

  "I'd rather not."

  "Why?"

  "Because you're volatile enough already."

  "It was that damned doctor, wasn't it? He let her out of his sight."

  "In a nutshell, yes, but he did tell her to stay in the car. She got out, God knows why, and was at­tacked for her jewelry. Apparently she put up a hell of a fight, but judging from the beating she took, he was big and mean."

  Evan cursed solidly for five minutes, going from anger to rage to murderous fury. Harden didn't try to stop him. He knew exactly how he'd feel if it was Miranda in that hospital room.

  "What are her chances?" he asked finally, almost choking as he drew on the cigarette.

  "Fifty-fifty. We'll have to wait and see."

  "Does she want to live, do you think?" he asked, his voice haunted. "I've hurt her, Harden. I've really hurt her."

  "It wasn't your fault that you wanted her out of your life," he reminded the other man.

  "But I didn't," Evan said miserably. "I was afraid I might hurt her. After Louisa..."

  "We've had this conversation before. Anna isn't Louisa. You might have given her a chance."

  "Yes. I know." He took another draw from the cigarette. "I was planning to. I thought I still might be able to take her away from Randall, if I tried."

  "Glory be! You got intelligent!"

  "I got desperate," he said huskily. "I had the sweetest taste of her you could imagine at the art gallery two days ago. I haven't slept since. I want her until my heart aches."

  Harden glanced at his hard, set face. "I know how that feels," he said gently. "I hope it works out for you."

  "I hope she lives," Evan said dully. "That's all I want, for the moment. That, and to kill the man who put her in that bed."

  Harden didn't say a word. He understood.

  An hour later Evan was allowed into the intensive care unit. He cursed silently at the sight of her poor, hurt face. He should have never forced her out of his life. He'd brought this on her, by letting Randall take her away without a fight. He couldn't bear it if she died.

  He sat d
own by the bed and slid her slender, cool hand between his big warm ones.

  "Anna," he whispered.

  She didn't stir, but he could have sworn he saw her eyelashes flicker, just a hair.

  "Anna, it's me. It's Evan. Can you hear me, baby?"

  The endearment got a reaction. Her fingers moved slightly in the cradle of his hands.

  "Yes, you can hear me, can't you, little one?" he asked softly. He got to his feet and bent down, so that there was no danger that anyone passing by the open door could hear him. "Do you remember what we did together in the art gallery, Anna?" he whis­pered, his warm breath stirring the soft blond hair at her ear. "Do you remember how, and where, I kissed you?"

  She made a soft sound and her eyebrows jerked.

  His lips brushed her earlobe. His teeth gently closed on it. "I loved the feel of your breast under my mouth, Anna," he whispered. "I want it again."

  She moaned. He lifted his head, his eyes glittering with triumph as she began to move her head.

  "That's it," he coaxed. "That's it, little one, come back. Come back to me."

  Seconds later her eyes opened and focused on him. She grimaced and they closed again and she shiv­ered.

  He pushed the nurse's call button. When the nurse arrived, before she could speak, he said, "She's conscious." That was all it took. He was escorted out into the hall while a team of white-coated people marched into her room.

  "She came to," he told Polly, smiling. "She'll be fine."

  "But, how?" Polly asked, hugging him, laughing. "What did you say to her?"

  He cleared his throat and looked uncomfortable. "I just talked to her," he said evasively. He scowled suddenly, glancing around. "Where's Randall?" he asked.

  "He's staying with his parents," Polly said. "He was tired, so he went to get some sleep."

  "With her here?" Evan asked, outraged.

  Harden caught his arm and pulled him aside while the doctor came out and spoke with Polly.

  "You're waving a flag," Harden cautioned.

  "I can't help it," Evan raged. "Damn it, doesn't he care?"

  "Not the way you do," the other man replied qui­etly. "Or isn't that already obvious?"

  Evan ran a rough hand through his hair. "She flinched. She looked at me and flinched. If she didn't hate me, she probably does now."

  "She's disoriented and in pain," Harden replied. "Give it time."

  "Time," Evan said on a heavy sigh. "Yes."

  He pursed his lips. "What did you say to her?"

  Evan actually flushed. He gave Harden a cold glare and went to listen to what the doctor was say­ing.

  Anna was going to be all right, the doctor told them, but there would more than likely be some emo­tional trauma and she'd need counseling. Being over­powered and beaten by the man could affect her dras­tically. He was a big man, too, the doctor had added, and very strong. He glanced at Evan ruefully and said flatly that she might find Evan's presence frightening and even a little intimidating until she had time to recover from her ordeal.

  Evan listened, but he didn't leave. If Randall wasn't going to assume his responsibility for Anna, Evan certainly was. He wouldn't go away and leave her, and he said so. The doctor only smiled.

  Polly was grateful for Evan's company in the days that followed, because Randall had to go back to work. He walked wide around Evan, feeling more guilty than ever when the big man glared at him. Anna loved Evan, and Randall hated standing in the way of her happiness. His original reason for wanting to marry her had begun to disturb him more and more as he realized how unhappy Anna had been. They'd been friends, and he missed her old, bubbling per­sonality. Now, more than ever, he wanted her to be happy. He knew he couldn't give her that. But Evan could. He was leaving the field clear for the man she really loved. When she was well again, he'd break off the engagement, as gently as he could, and hope that things would work out for her.

  Evan didn't know about the rationale, so he spent the better part of the day cursing Randall for all he was worth. He cursed even more when Anna sud­denly refused to see him.

  He couldn't accept that. He waited until Polly went to get herself a cup of coffee in the hospital canteen, then he calmly walked into Anna's room and sat down in the chair beside her bed.

  She stiffened at his approach, and her eyes grew huge. He knew she must be connecting his size with that of her assailant, but it was more than he could do to leave her now.

  "Don't be afraid of me," he said quietly, search­ing her blackened eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you. Not ever."

  She seemed to relax a little, but her posture was still rigid, and she didn't take her eyes off him.

  "Where's Randall?" she asked, her voice slurred because of the medicine they were giving her.

  "You can forget Randall," he said shortly. "Be­cause the last thing in the world you're going to do is marry him."

  Chapter Seven

  Anna was certain that she couldn't possibly have heard him right. "What?" she faltered.

  "I said, you're not marrying Randall," he replied matter-of-factly. He glanced at the tray they'd brought her for lunch. "You aren't eating. Do you want them to put those tubes back in and feed you intravenously?"

  "I'm not hungry," she said, dazed.

  He got up and uncovered the food dishes, his dark eyes glaring at her. "You've lost enough weight."

  "I'm a big girl," she muttered.

  "Hmm," he agreed absently, letting his eyes fall to the thrust of her breasts under the thin hospital gown. He smiled gently. "In places."

  She flushed and her breath drew in.

  Evan cocked an eyebrow. "Shocked? You remem­ber how I pulled you back, don't you, little one?" he asked softly. "What I reminded you of."

  She swallowed, feeling trapped and nervous of him, painfully shy. She lowered her eyes to the white sheet.

  He wouldn't have that. He touched her bruised chin very gently and lifted her face to his, searching her eyes in a tense silence. He remembered then, vividly, how she'd reacted to the intimate caress, what she'd thought. He smiled gently. "Anna, what I did to you wasn't meant to make you feel cheap," he said, his voice deep and tender.

  "I...I know, now," she said hesitantly, without adding that Polly had explained it to her. "It fright­ened me," she whispered.

  "Yes, and I think I know why." He bent, his eyes falling to her soft lips. He brushed them gently with his. "Desire can be frightening. The way I want you scares the hell out of me. Now more than ever."

  She trembled, her eyes closing as his lips touched hers with lazy expertise. Her hand went to his arm, the nails digging into the huge muscle, scraping gently as he played with her mouth.

  "Oh, Evan, you shouldn't," she moaned help­lessly at his lips. "I'm engaged..."

  His mouth pressed down on hers hungrily, driving all thoughts of Randall and honor right out of her mind. She cried out, both hands trembling at his nape, curling into it while he forced her mouth open and his tongue thrust hungrily into it.

  Her helpless shudder and the sounds she made un­der his mouth brought him back to sanity. She was weak and hurt. He had no right to torment her.

  He lifted his head slowly, his eyes opening to search hers. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "But I needed that. Here, stop shaking, little one, or they'll think I'm torturing you."

  "Aren't you?" she whispered back, her voice shaken.

  His eyes darkened, his jaw went taut. "It felt like that, didn't it?" he asked huskily. "I wanted so much more than your lips, Anna." His eyes went to her breasts, where her taut nipples betrayed the emotion he'd summoned up in her. "Do they want my mouth on them?" he whispered. "With no fabric in the way to dull the warmth and moistness when I take you inside it?"

  She moaned hoarsely.

  He caught his breath, standing up abruptly. "God, I'm sorry!" he ground out.

  She turned her head and found herself looking down the broad sweep of his chest and shoulder to the thick belt that held up his jeans. And then at the
evidence of his uncontrollable response to their quick passion.

  "Yes, I want you," he said curtly, following her eyes to his body. "I can't hide it, can I?"

  She bit her lower lip, struggling for words.

  "No need to agonize over it," he murmured, go­ing back to the plates on her tray as he moved it across her lap. "It will subside eventually," he added with rueful humor.

  He made it sound matter-of-fact, and he didn't seem to be embarrassed that she saw him like that.

  She watched his face as he undid the lids from the plates.

  "It doesn't embarrass you?" she asked in a whis­per.

  "Not particularly." He laughed shortly, glancing down at her. "In fact, it's a welcome change."

  "I don't understand."

  "Don't you?" He laid the lids aside. "It doesn't happen with other women lately," he said, turning to face her. "In fact, I can't make it happen with anyone else. Only you."

  Her eyes spoke volumes, half-questioning, half-jealous.

  He nodded. "That's right. I tried. I went to Denver on business after I'd kissed you that day in the gal­lery. I deliberately came on to one of the party girls I met there and took her upstairs with me. We drank and watched television, and I sent her away, because despite her beauty and her obvious expertise, I couldn't even pretend to be interested."

  "You...were...?"

  "The word is impotent," he said quietly. "Ironic, isn't it? All I have to do is look at you, and I'm so aroused I can't even hold a fork."

  He drew her attention to it, to the fine tremor of his big hand as he dipped the fork into a creamy chicken dish. She hated the thought of him with an­other woman, even if it did make her feel warm all over to realize that he only wanted her.

  "Open up," he said gently, lifting the food to her mouth.

  "But, you don't have to do that," she protested. All the same, she opened her mouth and let him slide the forkful in.

  "Yes, I do," he replied gently, searching her poor, bruised face. "I've hurt you more than I ever meant to. But that's over. I'm going to take the most ex­quisite care of you from now on, Anna."

  Because he felt sorry for her. That, and desire. She could have cried.

  "But, Randall," she whispered.