“I’m a grown woman…”
“You’re Sloan O’Riley’s baby sister,” he interrupted. “A man with a very strong moral center. Even though a large part of that center is actually rather corrupt. I’ll talk to Gordon. He has an extra room. I’m sure he’d let me move in for a bit.”
“But you won’t leave?”
Bartholomew smiled at her as he wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “No. I won’t leave.” He wrapped her tightly in his arms as he tenderly kissed her forehead. Maggie buried herself against his chest, drying her tears on his T-shirt as she rested her head against his broad upper body. How could he possibly leave? This man holding her securely in his embrace was her home. She had already left one home behind. She wasn’t about to let the other get away.
»»•««
Abbey knew it was going to be a good day. It wasn’t going to be a great day. But it would be a good day.
Finally, two weeks after the nightmare in the grocery store parking lot, Sloan was leaving the hospital. The only thing better would have been if she could take Amelia home as well. It would be at least another two weeks before Amelia was strong enough. That meant two more weeks of living in a hotel.
She was elated to have Sloan back. The hotel room she rented in Iowa City was lonely. It wasn’t far from the hospital and was mostly inhabited by families of patients admitted there. It broke her heart to see families missing a child—a child too sick to go home. Then, she was smacked back to reality. One of those children in the hospital too sick to come home was her own daughter. And when visiting hours were over, and they went back to the hotel for the night, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to have his warm, hard body to snuggle up against.
Abbey glanced across her minivan. Sloan scowled as he stared across the frozen, bare farm fields that raced by the car window. They had gotten in a small argument in the hospital parking lot over who would drive home. Sloan had lost.
Her lips curled into a small smile. She understood. Sloan equated control. He accepted nothing less. He abhorred the idea of Abbey driving him. That just wasn’t how his world worked. However, she wasn’t taking any chances. If she had to deal with a temper tantrum every time she chauffeured him for the next few days—well, so be it.
“So, I thought we’d get some changes of clothes then get back to the hospital so we can be with Amelia. Unless you want to take a shower. It’s up to you,” she offered.
He didn’t answer. He just continued to glare out the window. She sighed and returned her concentration to the road.
Abbey parked in the driveway and then braced herself for the winter wind as she stepped out of the car. Opening the sliding back door of the van, she snaked her hand through the handles of the hospital bags sitting on the floor. She would carry Sloan’s clothes in. His health was far too important to take any chances. She didn’t need him to fall.
She balanced the bags as she slipped her house key in the lock and turned. Concerned, she spun on her toe to look for her husband. He stalked across the frozen ground after her, the scowl he wore still embedded on his face.
She glanced around her living room. A thin layer of dust had begun to coat every flat surface available. She let go a huff of exasperation. She’d have to clean another day. Right now, she just needed to get back to Amelia.
“So, shower or no?” she asked.
“No,” Sloan barked.
“So how long will it take you to pack so we can get back to the hospital?”
Sloan strode through the living room to the kitchen. He returned with his truck keys. “I’m going to the gallery.”
“You’re what?”
“Is the truck in the garage?”
“Y-y-yes-,” she stammered. “Gordon and Bartholomew took it to the car wash. Other than a couple of dents, you can’t tell it was part of a blood bath.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you later.”
“Why are you going to the gallery?” Abbey demanded.
“If you recall, before all this chaos, I was in the middle of resetting the gallery. It needs to be finished.”
“It does not.”
“I have a business to run, Abigail. I have clients to serve.”
“You have an incision on your chest where you were shot! You have doctor’s orders to take it easy!”
“I believe I know my body better than the doctor, Abigail.”
Abbey felt her nerves tremble in rage. “Do you think you were the only one hurt, Sloan? Of course you do. No one else got hurt in this. Your baby girl didn’t have to fight for her own life because she was born eight weeks early. Bartholomew didn’t lose his job. I didn’t watch the man I’ve given my heart and soul to die three times.” She held up three fingers to him, shaking her hand for emphasis. “Three times, Sloan. Three times!”
A cold silence fell between Sloan and Abbey as they locked glares with each other. It was then that they noticed the couple in the doorway. Maggie and Bartholomew watched them with a combination of shock and uneasiness. They had obviously heard most of the conversation.
“Go reset your gallery,” Abbey growled. “If you want me, you know where you can find me.” She stomped up the stairs to her bedroom. The sound of a slamming door ended what she had to say.
∙•∙
Sloan stared at the empty staircase, his stone cold resolve melting away. Lord, what am I doing? He shook his head, frustrated. He turned as he heard Bartholomew’s voice.
“Sloan, I’ll go with you and help. You can tell me where to hang things. You direct, and I’ll be the muscle. All right? I’ll even drive.”
“I’ll go back to the hospital with Abbey,” Maggie volunteered.
Sloan sighed heavily. “All right.” He handed Bartholomew his truck keys. He took one last, long look at the staircase. Deep inside, he wanted Abbey to storm back down the stairs to start their argument over again. He wanted to see that fiery rage from her again. Would I fight back? Or would I walk over to those steps, kiss her long and deep, and remind myself just how lucky a man I am to have her and still be alive to love her?
He waited. But she never appeared. With another heavy sigh, he stepped out the front door into the biting cold with Bartholomew trailing behind. He walked with his friend to the garage and climbed into the passenger side of his truck. He laughed hopelessly. Being chauffeured by Bartholomew was no better to his pride than being driven by Abigail.
When they arrived at the gallery, Sloan unlocked the door and pushed it open. With Bartholomew following, he stepped inside and glanced around. There were finished paintings leaning against the wall and bare spots all around the room.
Bartholomew pulled off his coat and set it on the counter. “Where do you want me to start?” he asked.
Sloan shuffled to the staircase to the second level and sat on the step. His eyes locked on the plate by the door. Gallery owned by Sloan and Abigail O’Riley. He exhaled as he ran his hand through his thick, black hair.
“Just give me a minute,” Sloan answered.
“Sure.”
Sloan sat in silence for several minutes. Just get in the truck, go to the hospital, and be with them. He thought about Abigail and Amelia. He thought of them in the hospital. The combination of them together made him feel powerless. He rubbed his hand against his chest. His fingertips grazed the scarred flesh of the gunshot wound. Powerless.
He looked up at Bartholomew, seeing the concern in his friend’s eyes. The man saved my life. I couldn’t have a better friend. If he hadn’t been there… Sloan rose to his feet.
“Come on. I’ll show you where to start,” Sloan said as he led Bartholomew to the back room.
The reset took several hours, much longer than Sloan had expected. As soon as he and Bartholomew were finished, he locked the gallery door and jumped in the truck. The trip to the hospital took less than a half an hour. It felt like an eternity.
The nursery was surprisingly quiet. Sloan glanced at his watch. Of course it was. Visiting hours were over in twenty mi
nutes. Most of the hospital guests had already gone home. He pushed open the door to the prep room for the NICU and then motioned Bartholomew to follow him. They each took a set of scrubs from the pile and quickly changed. After scrubbing every pore of exposed skin, they slipped inside.
Sloan stopped short as the sound of a soft baritone voice drifted through the NICU nursery. He listened intently to the song. Instantly, he recognized the melody. It was an Irish lullaby that his mother had sung to him as a child.
Sloan and Bartholomew weaved carefully among the incubators and bassinets. Gordon sat in a rocking chair next to Amelia’s bassinet, gently swaying the tiny girl as she slept on his bare chest. He stopped singing when he noticed the two men.
Sloan clasped Gordon’s shoulder. “I’m surprised to see you here,” he remarked.
“Just having some Grandpa time with little Amelia,” Gordon answered softly. “Do you want to hold your daughter?”
“No, you’re fine. Grandpa time?”
“Aye. This lass is half Irish. She needs to learn of her rich heritage.”
Sloan pulled two chairs toward Gordon, motioning for Bartholomew to sit in one. He sat in the other. “As her father, I believe I can teach her that.”
“Ah, young one. You have far more important duties.”
“Such as?”
“You have to protect Amelia. Comfort her. Mend her broken heart. Be her hero. Discipline her. Be proud of her. And most important of all, love her mother.”
Sloan stared at Gordon. Ever since Abigail’s pregnancy had been announced, Sloan had had parenting advice pushed down his throat. None had been as wise, as valuable, as the advice Gordon had just given him. It was the advice a father gave his son.
Sloan smiled. “Amelia must be getting stronger. She’s able to tolerate being held more.”
Gordon gently patted the baby’s back. Amelia’s eyes fluttered open, blazing in a brilliant blue when she heard her daddy’s voice. “Abigail didn’t hold her much. She said you would be by eventually. She wanted to make sure you had time with little Ame.”
“Where is Abigail?”
“She went to dinner with Mary and Maggie. They went to that pizza place next to the hotel.”
Sloan paused. He thought about his and Abbey’s argument before he left for the gallery. “Abigail is furious with me.”
“That is true.”
Sloan rubbed his chin. “I shouldn’t have gone to the gallery. I know that. I just—”
Gordon held up the hand that was not holding Amelia to stop him. “Do not have this conversation with me, young one. You know who you need to have this talk with.”
“Abigail,” Sloan breathed.
“Aye. I know it wasn’t the bullet that bothered you. It wasn’t the first time you’ve been shot.”
“Of course.”
“Whatever is bothering you, it’s between you and Abigail.”
“Of course.”
Gordon began to sing his lullaby again. Sloan exhaled slowly as he contemplated the talk he was about to have with his wife. Somehow, he knew it wasn’t going to go well.
Chapter Nine
Sloan strolled down the corridor lit with sterile fluorescent lamps. He stopped at the door and sighed. He pounded on it.
When it flew open, he was greeted by the sight of a pair of furious, hazel eyes. Abbey, already dressed in her favorite lime green monkey pajamas, spun on her toe and stormed back into the hotel room. He stepped inside, quietly shutting the door and locking it.
“Did you get your reset done?” she demanded.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Fantastic.” She stormed past him into the bathroom. He listened as he heard her rummage through her cosmetics bag. She emerged with her hairbrush, angrily brushing her still-damp hair as she passed.
He grabbed her arm and gently forced her to look at him. “Abigail, we need to talk.”
“Not interested.”
“Non-negotiable. I’m sick and tired of this elementary schoolyard bullshit where we only talk through others. It’s time we rectify things like adults.”
Abbey glared at him silently.
He continued, “I didn’t need to go to the gallery. I admit it. I’m sorry. I needed some normalcy.”
“Normalcy.”
“Yes, just for a little while, I needed to forget all that chaos. I needed to put it behind me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m glad you have the luxury to try to forget. Because you getting shot has been replaying in my nightmares every time I fall asleep.”
“It wasn’t the gunshot I was trying to forget, Abigail. I’ve been shot before.”
“Then what? What could be so horrible that you bailed on Ame and me?”
Sloan’s eyes pierced through hers. “Watching Michael hurt you. Sitting there on the ground, watching him hurt you, terrifying you, and not being able to do a thing about it. To be completely and utterly powerless when you needed me the most.”
Abbey stared at him silently as the tears welled in her eyes. Suddenly, a deep scream erupted from her throat. She launched herself at him, beating at him with her fists. He caught her wrists to still her before she hit his wound. Then he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to him. He could feel her shake in fear.
“Michael is going to come back,” she sobbed.
“No, he’s not,” Sloan murmured. “He was caught.”
“I know him. He’ll find a way to sweet talk a way out of there.”
“He can’t, Abigail. The whole shooting was on the grocery store’s video surveillance. His public defender told him to plead guilty. Besides, I have private investigators and accountants and lawyers building a case against him for stealing your money.”
“Still…”
He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face to his. “No, Abigail. Michael will not be free for a very, very long time.”
“Sloan, Michael said he’d kill anyone who comes near me. He was serious. I’ve never seen him so serious. I can’t…”
“He will not touch you again. Don’t you have faith in me?” He took her left hand in his and pressed it against his chest. “Do you not feel my heart? It’s beating. Michael did not stop me. He won’t. You need to have faith in me.”
“Michael said I belong to him.”
“Belong to him?” He turned her hand around so the back of it faced her. Her wedding band and the diamond pressed against it glimmered in the dim hotel room light. “I have a piece of paper that says both I and the State of New York believe otherwise. Abigail, I am your husband. You are my wife. You are mine. Not his.”
Abbey pulled her hand free and then buried herself against Sloan’s chest, clinging tight to his T-shirt. “I am so sorry for what happened.”
Sloan held her close to him, gently stroking his hand through her brown hair. “You did nothing wrong to apologize for.”
“Do you really think Michael won’t bother us?”
“Absolutely. He will be sealed away in that prison for a very long time. It wasn’t what I wanted, but I will take it.”
He met her gaze as she looked up at him. “What did you want?”
“To be locked in a room for five minutes alone with him. To give me a chance to set things right. Michael would not come out of that room alive. I want a chance to get my revenge for him hurting what I love most, for hurting you and Ame.”
He felt the urge for revenge burn inside him. He wanted it more than anything. So badly, he could taste it. He gazed down at Abbey. He could tell by the audible gasp in her throat and her wide eyes that she could tell how he felt. He kissed her on the forehead as he forced his emotions under control. I’ll never let anything happen to her or Ame again.
Hours later, Sloan smiled as he drifted awake. It was pleasant, for the first time in two weeks, not to wake up on his back with the sensation of needles plunged deep into his flesh. He enjoyed the fact that he wasn’t wearing that indecent hospital gown, but instead a pair of his silk pajama p
ants.
He was doubly pleased to wake up to his body spooned close to a warm, soft woman, her curves fit tightly into his like a missing puzzle piece. He opened his eyes and propped himself on his elbow to watch Abigail sleep, the covers of the cheap hotel bed pulled up beneath her chin. Lord, she’s beautiful. Even with her rumpled bed head, she’s beautiful.
He pulled the sheets from her and then leaned to kiss her exposed shoulder. He chuckled as she startled awake.
“Good morning,” she yawned.
“Good morning, luv,” he replied. “Sleep well?”
She smiled contently. “Oh yes. Much better.”
“Good.”
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Are you going to the gallery today?”
“No.”
“But what about running a business and serving clients and all that?”
Sloan smiled at her. “You were right. I need to be with you and Ame at the hospital. I just have to make a phone call.”
“Phone call? To who?”
“A business associate of mine. He was flying in to purchase a painting. He can wait. My daughter cannot.”
“Sloan, he’s probably on the plane coming here. You shouldn’t back off now.”
He gazed into her eyes. “He is a charlatan who will try to cheat me, most likely. He. Can. Wait.” He cocked his sweet, sexy grin as he winked at her. “Isn’t it amazing the good our little talk has done? When do you wish to leave for the hospital?”
Abbey looked at him with surprise. “As soon as I get dressed. We can eat a little breakfast in the lobby before we leave.”
“Excellent. I’m going to take a quick shower.” He pressed a lingering kiss on her lips and then stood up from the bed. He glanced back, noticing her watch him, transfixed, as he dug a T-shirt and jeans from his suitcase and slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door.
»»•««
Abbey nursed the coffee cup cradled in her hands as she wandered down the hall toward the NICU. She sighed contently. It had been a great morning. For the first time ever, she had been able to nurse Amelia. It was a wonderful sign. Amelia was growing stronger every day. Before long, Abbey and Sloan could take her home. And having the baby at her breast beat pumping any day.
Heartland Page 13
