by Sharon Sala
* * *
It was just after two o’clock, and Stone had been awake for at least a half an hour. With Chang’s help, he’d even made it to the bathroom and back. Except for the dried blood on his clothes and a gray cast to his skin, one might think he was only exhausted from the ordeal and not from having been shot. Yet when Garrett suddenly yelled at the old woman from across the room, Stone’s gaze went instantly to her face.
“You! Old lady!”
At Garrett’s shout, Ruth Dean flinched, but remained silent. Stone held his breath.
“Go make some fresh coffee, and do it now,” Garrett said.
She got up slowly, her knees and joints stiff and aching from sitting on the cold floor.
“Hurry up!” Garrett shouted.
She hobbled away, and Stone sensed the purpose in each of her steps. Minutes later, she slipped back in her place on the floor, and when Stone glanced her way, there was a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Stone looked up at the clock, then away. Now they played the waiting game. And while they waited, he gathered mental strength for what was to come and prayed that he made it out alive. He had something to say to Jessie that wasn’t going to wait.
* * *
When it started to rain, Jessica felt as if heaven was offering to cry the tears she couldn’t. She moved from the curb to beneath a nearby awning, wishing that Brenda would hurry back with her clean clothes. At least they would be dry. Her heart was heavy, her spirit low. The only thing that was keeping her sane was the intermittent updates Stryker kept giving her.
The negotiations came to a standstill just before dark. At that point, Jessie’s hopes dropped and fear took over her thoughts. How badly had Stone been injured? Had Erik Chang been able to stop the bleeding? Even now, was Stone unconscious and dying? Was she going to spend the rest of her life alone, grieving for a life they’d never had?
The town clock began to chime. Jessica wrapped her arms around herself, trying to get farther beneath the awning and out of the blowing rain, when out of nowhere, Stryker appeared, wearing a yellow police slicker and carrying another.
“You are without doubt, the most irritating woman it has been my pleasure to meet,” he growled, and thrust the slicker in her face. “Put the damned thing on before you catch pneumonia. Stone will have my hide if I let you get sick.”
It was the underlying sympathy that did her in. She started to cry huge, quiet tears that ran down her face like the rain running into the streets. She kept missing one armhole, thrusting her hand over and over toward the sleeve without luck.
“Here, let me,” Jack said, dressing her as if she were a child.
When she was covered from head to toe in the bright yellow slicker, he took her by the hand and led her toward an ambulance, knocking abruptly on the back door.
A paramedic opened the door and looked out. “Keep her inside with you,” Jack said. “She’s probably already sick as it is.”
Jessica found herself bundled inside, and when Jack slammed the door shut behind her, she crouched down on the floor, thankful to be out of the wind and the weather.
One of the medics pointed to a gurney that was readied for action. “Here, miss, you’re welcome to lie down.”
Jessica looked at her slicker, dripping with rain, and then she thought of the patient who would be needing their help, as well as a clean, dry bed.
“Thank you,” she said. “But I’m fine down here.” And she lay down on her side, pillowing her head with her hands and listening to the rain as it hammered against the walls of the unit.
The last chime of the clock was drowned out by the sound of the rain, but it was eight o’clock, just the same. Twelve hours had gone by since Stone had been shot. The warmth inside the ambulance worked like a drug. Within moments, she’d fallen asleep.
* * *
Stone came toward her, moving silently on bare feet as he walked toward the bed. Jessie took a deep breath and then held it, mesmerized by the hard, flat plane of his belly, of his long, muscular legs, of the glitter in his eyes as he paused at the side of the bed and stared down.
“I want to make love to you,” he whispered.
Jessie exhaled on a sigh. “I know.”
“I won’t make any promises,” he warned her.
There was a terrible sadness in her voice, but there was also an acceptance on her face. “I know that, too,” she said, and closed her eyes, unwilling for him to see the tears.
The weight of his body pressed her deep into the mattress, and then all thoughts of tomorrow flew out of her head. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with Stone, but she would take whatever she could get. Even if they never married, she would find a way to accept it…if only he didn’t stop loving her.
Jessie continued to dream, unaware of the tears running down her face and mingling with the raindrops that had yet to dry.
* * *
Stone sat slumped in an upright position, pretending to drift in and out of consciousness. Erik Chang was nearby, still playing his part as the conscientious medic. The teller, David Clark, was a broken man. He sat with his hands over his face, muttering to himself and crying nonstop. Ruth still guarded over her husband’s body, while Bill Jackson, the bank’s vice president, slept. Some of the other hostages were dozing, as well. But there were those who seemed aware that something was going on. They didn’t know what, but more than one had recognized Erik Chang as another one of Grand Spring’s finest, and their hopes were now pinned on the two cops—one wounded, both unarmed.
Stone and Erik watched and prayed as Cody Garrett was the first to lose consciousness. To their relief, he was on top of the president’s desk, flat on his back and snoring loudly. Scanlan was standing guard, but more than once, Stone had seen him stagger. Garrett was pacing from one end of the hostages to the other, downing coffee in huge gulps in order to fight what he thought was fatigue. But it was Trigger who’d given Stone pause. Chang hadn’t known ahead of time, and Stone hadn’t thought to tell him, that Trigger was a junkie, although he’d probably figured it out by now. The junkie wasn’t out. He was high.
Stone shifted position and winced. His shoulder was stiff and sore as hell, and he was shaky, which he knew was from the blood loss. But whatever the painkiller was that he’d been shot up with, it was working. Except for a slight buzz in his ears, he would do.
He kept watching the men for a sign of trouble. Every muscle in Stone’s body was on alert. There was no telling what Garrett might do, or how he’d react, but whatever came, they had to be ready. This would be their only chance.
Suddenly, the cup in Scanlan’s hands was on the floor. He seemed to look down in disbelief at the brown brew splattered on his feet, and then he crumpled, facedown, his body limp, his arms outflung, possibly in an unconscious effort to stop his descent.
At the sound, Garrett spun and then staggered, using the rifle to steady himself like a drunk with a crutch. When he saw Scanlan down on the floor, he jerked the rifle up toward an unseen assassin.
All of a sudden, Garrett saw the situation for what it was. His brother, Cody, was snoring. Scanlan was on the floor, while Garrett, himself, felt like hell. Everything and everyone kept wavering in and out of focus. What he had thought was fatigue now became something else. He looked around for Trigger, and when he saw him kicked back on a desk with his gun across his knees and staring and scratching at a spot on his arm, he started to curse. Trigger was high.
Garrett was coming undone and Stone could see it happening. When he started toward the row of hostages with his rifle aimed head high, Stone shoved himself up with a grunt. His whisper was low, but it was enough that Chang heard him say, “Garrett is mine.”
Chang nodded and looked toward Trigger. While it seemed that Trigger’s mind was in left field, that damned rifle across his lap made Chang nervous. Following Stone’s lead, he moved from sitting on his backside to a squatting position, getting ready to leap.
Garrett’s mind
was slipping. He kept trying to remember why he was here, and kept wanting to lie down on the floor. And in that split second between unconsciousness and reason, he knew they must have been drugged. Rage filtered through the fog in his mind as he looked toward the hostages, whitewashing what little patience he’d been maintaining with a red, angry haze. And then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and spun just as the cop hit him knee-high in a flying tackle.
They went down in a tumble of arms and legs, and Garrett’s finger, still locked on the assault rifle’s trigger, suddenly tightened. The spray of bullets that erupted from the gun sent hostages scrambling for cover, riddling the walls and ceiling and showering plaster and glass down upon them.
Trigger saw Chang coming and jumped to his feet with a curse, but when his rifle clattered to the floor, he looked down in surprise. As he scrambled to get it, the toe of Chang’s shoe caught him squarely on the chin. He went down without a sound.
As Trigger lost consciousness, Garrett was still fighting to retain his. And it was the rage in his heart that made it happen. His rifle now lay off to one side, lost in his scuffle with the wounded cop. But he never saw Stone’s fist coming, or felt his head bouncing on the marble floor as Stone rolled out from under him.
Stone was on his knees when the police came through the door. Afraid he would be mistaken for one of the gunmen, he held up his hands. His breath was short and pain-filled, and all he wanted was to lie down and sleep.
“I’m a cop,” he said softly. And they were running and shouting and calling out to everyone in sight. “I’m a cop,” he said louder. “Don’t shoot.”
* * *
The hostages’ screams, along with the eruption of gunfire, sent the police into action, moving on orders set in place long ago.
Jessica came awake and moved, all in the same moment, and was out of the ambulance just as the SWAT team went in the front door of the bank. She stood, frozen to the spot, with the rain falling on her face, praying as she’d never prayed before.
And then the shots stopped, and it seemed that the world was holding its breath. All she could hear was the rain falling on her slicker and the thunder of her heartbeat in her ears. It seemed like she was waiting forever, and then through the rain and confusion, she saw two men coming out of the bank. She took a step forward, and her heart soared. It was Chang and Stryker, and they were supporting a third man between them. She started forward, unsnapping her slicker as she went. The rain was coming down now, faster and heavier than before, but she kept on walking.
Stone looked up through the downpour and saw her. He glanced at Jack in surprise.
“Don’t look at me,” Stryker said. “She wouldn’t do a damned thing I told her. She’s your little headache, not mine.”
A quiet joy pushed past Stone’s pain. Mine. He watched her, his entire focus on the woman coming to him through the rain.
And then she was standing in front of them, her hair plastered to her head, her clothes slicked to her body. She handed Stryker the slicker.
“Put it on him,” she said. “He needs it more.”
Jack took it out of her hands and draped it around Stone’s shoulders as Jessica’s gaze focused on the damage that had been done to her man. She had meant for the raincoat to shelter him, but when she saw his face, she walked into his arms, sheltering him, instead, with her love.
Stone leaned down and rested his face against her cheek and gave thanks for the fact that he’d been given another chance.
“Jessie.”
She looked up. His eyes were dark and pain-filled, and her heart went out to him.
“Help me get him to the ambulance,” she said, urging the two other officers to move.
“Not yet,” Stone said, and cupped her face. “I have something to say to you and something to ask.”
“But, Stone, you need—”
Ignoring Stryker’s and Chang’s presence, Stone focused on Jessie, instead. “What I need is you,” he said.
“I’m here,” Jessie said, trying hard not to cry.
“I love you, Jessie.”
It was no use. Tears started anew. “Oh, Stone, I love you, too. I was so afraid. I didn’t know if—”
“I know. Neither did I,” Stone muttered, and pushed her rain-soaked hair away from her eyes. “But I made myself a promise while I was in there.”
“You did?”
He nodded. “Jessie, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Her face was so dear. Her voice so familiar. Her touch so compelling. He closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to still the quaver in his voice. When he looked, she was still there, waiting, just as he’d known she would be.
“For not believing you and for not believing in us.”
“It’s all right,” she said.
“No, it’s not, but the only way I know how to apologize is to beg your forgiveness and—” He took a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the enormity of what he’d gone through as well as having been given back his life.
“And what, Stone?”
“And to tell you that I don’t want to spend another day on this earth without saying these words. Marry me, Jessie. Live with me. Love with me. Please be my wife.”
She lifted her chin, and the rain peppered her face and soaked her clothes to her body, but she didn’t feel a thing except a spiraling joy.
“Oh, Stone.”
He almost grinned. “Can I take that as a yes?”
Her heart was too full to speak. All she could do was nod.
He opened his raincoat, offering her the only shelter he had to give, and she accepted it without reservation. All she could see—all she could feel—was Stone’s love, wrapping itself around her, warming her…forever.
Epilogue
Jessica came out of the room where she’d been dressing for her wedding, then stopped before a full-length mirror in the outer parlor to fidget with her hair. Even though the new growth around the scar on her head was almost as long as the rest, it didn’t quite fit in with her hairstyle.
Giving it up as a lost cause, her gaze shifted from her hair to her dress. She’d spent nine and a half hours shopping in Denver’s finest bridal shops for something that would make a statement. This was the end result. She turned, looking one way, then another, judging herself from all angles and smoothing her hands over the narrow, fitted bodice with satisfaction.
Brenda walked up behind her, leaned over Jessie’s shoulder and stared in the mirror at their reflections.
“Oh, Jessie, you look like you stepped out of the past century, and not the back room of Squaw Creek Lodge.”
Jessica’s eyes were wide and slightly tear-filled as she gazed back at her sister through the mirror. Her voice was quiet, and for Jessica, unusually subdued.
“Brenda.”
She looked up. “What, honey?”
“Thank you for being my sister.”
Brenda’s eyes filled. “It’s my pleasure,” she said quickly, and then pretended to fuss with Jessie’s veil while Jessica gave herself a final study.
The Victorian style of her wedding dress suited her in a way she wouldn’t have imagined—from the high-necked collar to the vee-shaped lace insert that almost revealed her bosom…almost, but not quite. The waist was narrow and fitted, with the waistline dropping to a vee, echoing the neckline. The sleeves were long and lace-tipped. The skirt fell in soft, voluminous folds around her hips to brush the carpet on which she stood. No cumbersome hoops, no boned-in stays for Jessie. She was a “what you see is what you get” kind of girl.
“There was a time when I thought this might never happen,” Jessica said.
Brenda paused, her thoughts flying back to the thirty-six hours of hell they’d gone through while waiting to see if Stone would survive. She brushed at a speck on Jessie’s shoulder.
“I know, honey. But that’s all behind you now. You have to focus on the future, right?”
But Jessica’s thoughts were still locked in the p
ast and on the days of Stone’s healing. When he’d told her to set the date for their wedding, she’d stunned him by announcing she didn’t want to wait for a time when they could plan a honeymoon. She knew that the murder of Olivia Stuart was still a strong and ongoing case, and that Stone wouldn’t be satisfied until it was solved. And that was all right with her. They had the rest of their lives to go play. But she wanted a ring on his finger and their names to be one and the same. Then she might be able to rest.
Jessica turned away from the mirror. There was a sarcastic grin on her face. “Well, there’s something to be thankful for. At least I can’t see into the future anymore.”
Brenda rolled her eyes. “Perish the thought.” And then she glanced at the clock. “Oh, look! It’s almost time. Come on, sweetie. I’ll bet there’s a nervous cop waiting for you somewhere outside.”
Jessica’s grin widened. “And he deserves to be,” she said. “Heaven knows he kept me waiting too long.”
Brenda laughed. “Who would have known when Stone and I were dating that one day he would marry my little sister instead?”
Jessica brushed a speck off her bosom and pulled at her veil. “Well, I did, for one.”
Brenda snorted softly. “Oh, pooh. You certainly did not.”
“How do you know?” Jessica taunted. “Maybe even then I was seeing things no one else could.”
Brenda started to laugh, and then stopped at the odd expression on her little sister’s face. “Oh, enough about that. Come on, Jessie. It’s time.”
* * *
The ballroom of the lodge was beautiful. Baskets of flowers and greenery decked every nook and cranny of the room, compliments of Jessica’s employers. But Stone was unaware of anything except the aisle between the chairs that had been set up to seat their guests.
The room was full. A low buzz of voices and the occasional chuckle from those assembled did little to soothe Stone’s nerves. And then Stryker came up behind him and took him by the arm.
