by Kristi Rose
Meredith shook her head. “Maybe after I get this off.” She touched the rough, dried blood on her chest then went into the bathroom to scrub it off. It felt like an eternity before the doctor came downstairs and handed her a prescription and listed several things she should watch for, fever top of the list. After she saw out the doctor, Leo, and Tuck, she bounded up the stairs. Willow was sitting next to the bed, having pulled the rocking chair up so she could sit by her brother.
“He might be waking. I thought I'd keep him company until you got up here,” she said.
“Thanks,” Meredith mumbled as she stared at Jace. He was frighteningly pale.
“Here”––she jumped up and then pushed Meredith into the rocker––“rest. We'll split shifts watching over him. I'll give you some time with him then come back in an hour so you can get some sleep.”
Meredith began to protest, but Willow hushed her and then quickly left the room.
With no one else around but Jace, Meredith let her tears fall again. She'd almost lost him. As it was, he could still get really sick with an infection or have complications. Meredith would not borrow trouble. Those potential problems would have to get in line if they wanted a chance at Jace.
She leaned toward him and brushed a lock of his hair back and whispered his name, the words “I love you” ready to spill out. She'd known she had these feelings yesterday at the barn dance, but today they needed to be said. She'd held her tongue with her father for years, and it had gotten her nowhere. Holding it in with Jace was not going to be a habit.
“I love you,” she whispered. “Please wake up. I need you to tell me you're okay.”
He stayed motionless, his breathing barely visible.
She whispered the words again. This time he mumbled, and Meredith sat up straight.
“Jace?”
His eyelids fluttered opened, then he blinked heavily a few times as if he was fighting the pull of unconsciousness.
“Hey babe,” he croaked.
A relieved giggle escaped her. “Hey, want me to get you some water?” Without waiting for his response, she jumped up and dashed to the bathroom where she retrieved a small cup of water. Back at his side, she helped him raise his head to take a drink.
The work of it was obviously taxing as he was sweating when they were done.
“You're going to live,“ she told him. “A few cracked ribs and a bruised lung is the worst and you have all these stitches down your arm. Leo said the sum was in the sixties.”
“I'm sorry.” He winced as he shifted to free his uninjured hand from out beneath the covers, then took her hand.
His apology nearly broke her. He was likely in some serious pain and was thinking of her first.
“I'm so glad you're going to be okay.” She squeezed and considered telling him again her feelings. This time while he was alert—ish.
Jace gave her a wolfish grin. “I'm sorry you're going to have to do all the work.”
She stroked his hand with her thumb. “It's okay. It's what family does for one another.”
He looked puzzled. “What? Family? More like wives. But some wives really like it and prefer it, actually.” He yawned and then followed it up with a grin.
“Wives? What are you talking about?” She was beginning to think they were talking about two different things.
“I'm talking how you said we could fool around when we got home, but if you’re wanting to get your goods from me, you're gonna have to climb on top and do all the work. I won't complain, though.” He yawned again.
Meredith pulled her hand from his and crossed her arms. “You're talking about sex?”
“Yeah, you wanna give it a try?” He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away then stood up in anger.
“You're lying there with stitches holding you together because a bear clawed you. A BEAR! And you're propositioning me? That's the first thing to come to your mind? Sex?” She didn't bother to see his reaction instead she stormed out of the room. The stupid man didn't deserve to hear what she had to say. She slammed the door to the guest room with as much force as she could muster.
Chapter 26
Jace felt like a million bucks if that million bucks had been crapped all over and then lit on fire, only to be stomped out. Yet, he’d be damned if he was going to spend another full day in bed, much as his body would like. Seven days was his limit. He moved cautiously, stretching in slow motion so not to pull anything or pop stitches. His entire right side still felt like he’d rammed it repeatedly against a steel wall. Forget about taking a deep breath, the bandage around his ribs wasn’t the only restriction. His stitches felt as if stretched to the breaking point even when he exhaled.
Getting out of bed was the hardest. Using his stomach muscles to come to sit, from any position, ached like a son of a bitch. Today, he considered waking Meredith, but she'd waited on him hand and foot for the last week and was exhausted. He looked to his side; Meredith was deep in sleep on the edge of the bed, one arm over her eyes, her breathing slow and steady.
Biting back a groan, he rolled to his non-injured side and pushed up slowly since that was the speed he was resigned to—sloth.
When he checked her again, she hadn’t moved. The large blackish-purple bruise from the shotgun was beginning to fade, and he would be glad when it was gone. Every time he saw it, he was both angry and scared. That day could have gone so many different ways with horrifying outcomes. Because of Meredith, they were both alive.
She’d kicked off the covers. One quick skim down her long legs, her silky boxer shorts riding up her thigh, and he contemplated three different ways he could show her his appreciation. He’d easily come up with more except he was fighting a splitting headache, and last time he'd brought up sex, she'd slept in the guest room. It had taken lots of pleading and confessing he needed help to get her back in his bed.
Aspirin first, love the wife into oblivion second. She’d probably fight him some, concerned it might cause him discomfort, but he'd bring her around. He had to. He needed to be close to her, to feel her in ways that were deeper than holding her hand or kissing her lips. He swung his legs out of bed, then slowly eased to a stand.
Christ, he ached from head to toe. Twenty-six stitches had been required where the bear’s claw had sliced into his shoulder and arm, but they’d been child’s play since he’d passed out on the third stitch they’d put into his side.
“Where are you going?” she mumbled.
“Headache, and I'm hungry.” Jace pulled on jeans, taking pleasure in knowing moving while upright was getting easier, fatiguing still, but easier a little bit every day.
“I’ll get stuff for you. You should rest.” She rolled from bed and stretched, her T-shirt rising slightly.
“You want me to stay in bed, then you'll have to get back in there with me and make it worth my while.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is there nothing else you think about other than sex?”
“The ranch.” He loved to get her ire up.
She stuck one hand on her hip. “I'll have you know that your ranch is running perfectly well with me stepping in. In fact, Tuck and I have to check some fences today so I need to get moving.”
“Great, but its time I get back to it. Can't stay in bed forever.”
She rolled her eyes. “But you can stay in bed a bit longer to heal.”
“If I stay up in this room another day, I might burn the house down just so I can get out of here.” He was getting real squirrely and feeling caged in.
“Okay, but take it slow. Rest. Please.” She waited for him to promise he would pace himself before disappearing into the bathroom. “Do you need me to help you downstairs?” she called through the door.
Jace tugged on a button down shirt. “I think I can manage.” And even if he couldn't, he'd never tell her that.
Two aspirin and a full breakfast cooked by his sister's skilled hands, and Jace felt like he'd joined the living. Desperate to be of some use, he even did the dishes
so that Willow could get to other chores. After he was done, he decided to sit outside and watch Tuck and Meredith with the horses and catch his breath. He snagged his Stetson from the closet, thankful Tuck had brought it home after he'd retrieved the bear and taken it into town to the vet for an autopsy.
Outside, he sucked in the biggest breath of air he could stand––which was pitifully small––and felt better instantly. He's missed the feel of the sun and the taste of fresh air, the smell of livestock caught on the edge of the breeze.
Forgoing the chair, he leaned against the rail instead.
Meredith waved. “You should be resting,” she called across the yard.
“What do you call this?”
“Pure laziness,” Tuck answered. “Real cowboys get back in the saddle.”
“Man, you don't like your job?” Harassing each other was a longtime favorite past time for him and Tuck.
Feeling like he could just as easily lean against the corral as he could the porch railing, Jace decided to make his way to Tuck and Meredith. He was halfway there when the sound of glass shattering came from his parents' cabin.
Seconds later, his mom screamed, “Oh my God, Wes!” in a voice so frightened his heart skipped a beat. Without care or consideration for his wounds, Jace ran to the cabin, though the heartbreak in her shriek told him he was already too late.
Chapter 27
For Pop's funeral, the city shut down as the good folks of Bison's Prairie said goodbye to one of their own. Jace watched the grave diggers––one of whom he went to high school with–– lower his father's casket into the ground.
For the preceding three days before the funeral, an endless line of well-meaning locals cycled through their house bringing food, flowers, and stories of Pop's that were so inflated they could be called tall tales. Listening to them only made the painful throbbing in his chest ache more. This was a wound that would never heal, no matter what they said about time's potency. The open space in his heart created when Pops died could not be stitched closed.
Meredith slid her arms through his and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Do you want to be alone?”
Wasn't he already on some level? It was now up to him to make all the decisions on the ranch. To carry out the ideas of his father and to do so without said visionary to guide him. Jace looked over at the big house. His mother and sister were on the porch talking with others. They put up a good front, but he could tell they were holding it together with duct tape and spit. Much like he was. Of course, he had Meredith, too.
"I'm okay. Let's go help out Mom and Willow.” Following one final look, he nodded to his father's casket then walked with Meredith to the house.
They fed what seemed like hundreds of people, and by early evening Jace could no longer ignore the pounding in his head. In the kitchen, he found the aspirin and choked down dry two pills. Then he leaned against the island to catch his breath, wishing coffee would magically appear. Or a large tumbler of whisky.
A tall, older, balding man came into the room. He was dressed in dark dress pants and a polo. Jace knew his type. Corporate. Right down to his suede shoes. He’d dealt with them during auctions. This guy looked like he enjoyed playing hardball. He also looked out of his element.
“I'm sorry for your loss,” the man said and pointed to two glasses drying by the sink. “May I?”
“Be my guest.” Jace sunk into a stool. “I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?”
The man pulled from his pocket a flask and poured two fingers of gold-colored liquid into each glass. He handed one to Jace. “I’m Marcus Hanover, Meredith’s father.” He extended his hand.
Jace straightened and stuck his hand into the older man's. He didn't see any resemblance to Meredith. So this was the guy Meredith was running from. She had thought life with a stranger was better than staying with her own blood.
He should kick him out. Trouble was, Jace was in no shape to do that.
“Does Meredith know you’re here?” He wondered what she thought of her two worlds colliding.
“Not yet.” Hanover gestured to the stool next to him. “May I?”
“Sure.” Using the tip of his boot, Jace pushed the second stool to him.
When Hanover sat, he did so with a weary sigh. “I’m sure you don’t have a good impression of me. If I were to go by Meredith’s perception, I wouldn’t have one of me as well.”
Jace waited. He wasn’t about to make him feel good or bad about what had transpired between him and Meredith.
Hanover nodded. “I’d like to explain my actions from my perspective.”
“Your side of the story.” Jace sipped the whisky, a rich and smooth full-bodied spirit that spoke of money.
Hanover sighed. “When I met Meredith’s mother, she was the same age Meredith is now. I was older, established, and set in my ways. I will never understand what she saw in me.” He smiled sadly. “I grew up with demanding, cold parents so being the same was all I knew. Until Rebecca. She showed me it could be different. It sounds stupid, but I’m an old man whose daughter wants nothing to do with him, so I’ll just say it—Rebecca added color to my life. When she died…” He shook his head, his thumb running the rim of his glass. “When she died, everything went dark again. And Meredith paid for that.”
“You should tell this to Meredith.”
Hanover shook his head. “She won’t hear it. Why should she?” He swiveled to Jace, intensity winging his brows. “You have to understand something. Meredith is all I have left. When she disappeared, it was like losing her mother all over again. I can’t lose her. I won’t survive it. Did she tell you how her mother died?”
Jace nodded.
“I almost lost Meredith then, as well. For weeks I watched her struggle on a ventilator, and I promised that, should she live, I would do everything in my power to protect her. I was the luckiest dad alive when I got that second chance, and then one day she disappears. I was relieved beyond measure when the private investigator found her. Thought I'd keep my eyes on things until I heard about your bear attack.”
“Your daughter saved my life.”
Hanover pressed his lips and shook his head as if trying to erase the image. “I try to imagine her being in that situation and...” He tossed back the remainder of his drink. “Please understand that I can’t lose her. You want to protect her as well, don’t you? Help me protect her. Tell her to come home with me. I can keep her safe there.” His words were urgent and pleading.
Jace was weary and standing at the crossroads. His father was dead, the deal he and Meredith had struck was now null and void, yet the last thing he wanted was for Meredith to leave. She fit in here. “She’s my wife. Do you think I can’t protect her?”
Hanover looked at his chest as if he could see through the suit Jace was wearing to the wounds underneath.
“That’s not something that happens all the time. Hell, it doesn’t even happen every year. Just a random occurrence.”
Hanover shook his head. “Yes, and planes crashes are random occurrences, too.”
Fuck. Who was he to take a man’s child from him or to want Meredith to have her past unresolved. It was one thing to choose not to go home but something completely different when one couldn't. From the moment his family was given Pop's diagnosis, Jace had tried to make the most of the days with his dad. He would never want to be the reason she never had that with her own father. Ideally, he’d like to see Hanover and Meredith find some middle ground.
He stood quickly, unable to hide the wince that followed the sharp pain in his ribs. He was ready to leave this conversation, desperate to get outside and clear his head. He needed to know one thing, and that was what Meredith would do now that her father had come.
“Why don't you talk to you daughter first? Let's see what she has to say.” Would she be able to forgive a repentant man?
Hanover nodded. “But I think she’ll listen to you. She’s hiding here from me. If you could tell her to come home and just see how it�
�s changed—”
Jace shook his head.
“Do you really want her here knowing she might still be running from her old life? Wouldn’t you want her here because she wants to be? You’re her first real boyfriend.” Hanover plunged the metaphorical knife.
“I’m her husband.”
Then Hanover twisted said knife, not once but twice. “You’re a novelty. Do you have what it takes to sustain it? Like what your parents had?”
“Don't talk about my parents. You know nothing about them and what they had.” Jace shook with anger. He didn't want to deal with this. He wanted to grieve for his father.
“I've been listening to stories for the last few hours about your father. He sounds like a remarkable man, one who would raise a remarkable son. Ask yourself if you are happy with the way things are right now.”
Jace shifted. Nothing would give him more peace of mind than knowing where Meredith's heart and intentions lay. Especially after the last week. She was probably scared, shaken to the core. Life on the ranch was more than her garden and a snake in the coop, and he wasn't sure she was ready to embrace that anymore.
He stared Hanover down. “I’ll talk to her, but I’m not making any promises.”
Hanover jumped up. “That’s all I can ask for.” He extended his hand.
“Promise to do what,” Meredith said, standing in the doorway. She stared at her father, her expression...angry?
“Meredith,” Hanover said, dropping his hand to his side.
“Why are you here?” She crossed her arms over her chest and moved to stand next to Jace.
“Why did you leave?” He stepped toward them, but Meredith put her hand up, stopping him.
“I should leave you two alone.” Jace stepped away.
“You can stay. There's nothing he can say that is worth hearing.” She stood ramrod straight.
Hanover took a seat on the stool, his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Hear me out, please.”
Jace gave her arm a squeeze and left her alone with her father.
