“You ever think about getting married?” he asked.
“Every woman thinks about it, Wil. Some do more than think. Some don’t,” she said, evasively stepping around the question. She couldn’t tell him that she was a party girl who loved dating—all of it. The anticipation of the chase, the dressing up, sitting across from a good-looking man in a restaurant, holding his hand in the movies, kissing him at the door; every single bit of it. But lately she’d been yearning for more than what the dating scene had to offer. She’d been thinking about waking up in the morning to a man who’d love her when she wasn’t all dolled up and on her best behavior. One who’d think she was the greatest thing since ice cream on a stick when her red hair looked like a string mop that had dried all wrong or when she wore gray flannel pajamas to bed.
Whoa! Pull back on those reins, her conscience scolded.
Chapter 11
Wil refused to let her in the kitchen after supper so she made an excuse to go up to the bathroom again. She was still pondering over whether she was really getting ready to settle down when her foot hit the top step but the back part missed. One minute she was poised with her head held high and one arm on the banister. The next she was tumbling backward, sparkling diamonds on her hip pockets blinking like twinkle lights on a Christmas tree. She grabbed at the banister, at the wall, and even tried to clutch a handful of air to slow her down, but she only went faster and faster until she hit bottom and stopped with a thud and everything went black.
Wil heard her scream and made it to the staircase a split second after she hit bottom. He’d reached for his cell phone attached to his belt and fumbled with the snap, cussing the whole time until his shaking hands could get it out. Only seconds had passed from the time she hit bottom until he dialed 911, but it seemed like hours and hours. The dispatcher told him to stay on the line with the paramedics and keep them updated as they drove from the Henrietta hospital to the ranch.
He sat down beside her, afraid to touch her, dying to pick up her head and lay it in his lap, hold her close to his chest, check the back of her head for blood… something… anything but wait and do nothing.
“Shit!” Pearl opened her eyes.
“Don’t move. Whatever you do, don’t move,” Wil said.
“Why?”
“Paramedics are on the way and you aren’t to do anything until they get here.”
“But my leg is twisted up under me and going to sleep,” she said.
“They’re turning down the lane,” he said.
“Nothing is hurt but my pride,” she argued.
“Red, please be still,” Wil begged.
She looked up at the worried expression on his face and forced herself to be as still as possible.
“Wil, honest, nothing hurts. I’m fine,” she reassured him.
Wil kept the paramedics informed of everything she said but they told him not to move her at all. By that time they were on the porch and coming through the door with a stretcher, bags of equipment, and an apparatus to stabilize her neck.
“I’m not hurt. I don’t want to go to the hospital,” she argued.
“Oh, yes, you are going to the hospital. You could have a fracture somewhere or a busted spleen or any of a dozen things. You’re going for an MRI and I’m going with you.” Wil reached down and laced his fingers in hers.
“But how will we get home?” she asked.
“Sir, it’s only a few miles. Drive your vehicle in case she’s released later tonight,” the paramedic said.
He nodded. “I’ll be right behind you.”
By the time she was loaded into the ambulance, her head began to hurt and things were slightly blurry, not totally unlike the night they’d had the shot contest. Not really unfocused, yet the edges were soft like one of those pictures where nothing is truly sharp and clear. She drew her eyes together to bring it all into focus, but that didn’t work.
“What is your name?” the paramedic asked.
“Pearl Richland.”
“Do you know where you are right now?”
“In an ambulance on the way to the hospital.”
“Do you hurt anywhere?”
She frowned. “My head is hurting.”
“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is your head hurting?”
She giggled but that made it hurt worse and brought on an instant frown. “Nine shots.”
“What are you saying, Miss Richland?”
“I’m sayin’ it feels like I had nine shots. Kind of big and woozy and blurpy.”
“Shots of what, Miss Richland?”
She looked at the man as if he were crazy. “Jack Daniel’s.”
“I see, so it feels like you have a hangover?”
“No, it feels like I just drank nine shots of Jack. The hangover won’t be until tomorrow.”
On his way to the hospital Wil called the motel and told Lucy what had happened and asked if she’d please take care of the office that night.
“Oh, my! Was there blood or broken bones?” Lucy asked.
“No, but she fell hard and… we are here. I’ll call as soon as they tell me what is going on.”
“I’ll be right here beside the phone,” Lucy said.
Wil was out of his truck and beside the ambulance door by the time the paramedics opened it. He walked beside her into the emergency room where they gave their report to the nurse and doctor who were waiting.
“It’s down to five or maybe six,” Pearl told the doctor.
“She’s measuring her headache by how she feels after whiskey shots. On the way here she said it felt like she’d had nine,” the paramedic explained on his way out the door.
Wil grinned.
“Shut up,” Pearl said.
“Didn’t say a word.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Well, she appears to be lucid enough to argue with her husband,” the nurse said.
“We’ll do a scan to be sure, but I think she’s got a mild concussion,” the doctor said.
“You are in luck. We had a car accident come in tonight and the lady who does scans is still here. I’ll call her and we’ll get you right on down there.”
“Go ahead with blood work and a chest X-ray.”
“Then I can go home? And he’s not my husband,” Pearl said.
The doctor patted her shoulder gently. “Then we’ll talk about what we’re doing next.”
Wil sat down beside her and took her hand in his. “About that headache? You didn’t tell me that you had a headache after the shots.”
“You took my mind off it.” She smiled.
Three hours later after every test result had been read and reread the doctor stuck his head in the door. “You can go home but only if someone wakes you up every hour the rest of the night and you are lucid every time.”
“I will take care of her and do whatever you say,” Wil told him.
“Everything looks fine except for a slight concussion. I’m not expecting you to have anything but a headache since you are so lucid, however, to be on the safe side, you can either wake her up or I’ll keep her here and the nurses can do it.”
“I can do that,” Wil promised.
“Okay, then I will release you. It’s almost midnight. Start waking her at one and then on the hour until nine tomorrow morning. Then you can both get some sleep,” he said.
A nurse helped her redress in her clothing and pushed her to the exit door in a wheel chair. Wil picked her up like a bride and carried her to the passenger side of his truck. When she was settled in with the seat belt fastened, he shut the door and rounded the truck.
“Just take me home. I’ll be fine,” Pearl said when he was inside and had started the engine.
“I’m taking you to the ranch and I’m doing just what the doctor said. No arguments,” he said firmly.
“Wil, this is crazy. I have a headache. I’m not dead.”
“And you won’t be dead on my watch. I called Lucy while they were bringing you out of the hospital. She
’s of the old school that says you have to stay full awake for at least eight hours. So if you go home, she’s going to sit beside you for the next eight hours and poke you with pins if you go to sleep. Your choice.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll go to the ranch. But I didn’t bring a bag because I had no intentions of spending the night.”
“I’ve got a T-shirt that will fit like a nightshirt on you,” he said.
“Can I sleep in that big old soft bed?”
“You can sleep anywhere you want.” He grinned.
Fifteen minutes later they were back at the ranch where he carried her into the house and up the steps without a single argument. She laid her aching head on his shoulder and shut her eyes. She felt as if she could sleep for a week and still not be rested when she awoke.
He set her in a rocking chair in the corner of the room and pulled the covers back on the bed. She started to stand and he shook his head. She sat back down and waited while he disappeared across the hall. In seconds he was back with one of his T-shirts. He undressed her down to her cute little hot pink underpants, slipped the T-shirt over her head, and carried her to the bed.
“Now, sleep, darlin’. I’ll wake you up in an hour.” He kissed her gently on the forehead.
“Mmmm,” she mumbled, but she was already dozing.
Until the clock showed that it was one o’clock he watched her sleep. Red hair going every which way; lashes resting on her cheeks; mouth barely open as she breathed so softly. He wondered what it would be like to wake up with her beside him every morning.
He touched her shoulder. “Time to wake up.”
“I don’t want to. Go away,” she said.
“What’s your name?”
“Minnie Pearl.”
Wil chuckled. “Don’t be silly. Just answer the questions and you can go back to sleep. Where are you?”
“At Wil’s ranch and he’s being mean and won’t let me sleep.”
“How many shots did we both have before we stopped drinking?”
“Hell, I don’t remember. Nine or ten or maybe eleven. It was a tie and the sex was fabulous.” She didn’t open her eyes.
“Okay, that’s good enough.”
At two o’clock he woke her up and she told him that her name was Red Richland, that she was at his ranch, that she’d fallen down the stairs and never intended to wear high heels again.
By three o’clock he was snoozing in the rocking chair, his feet propped up on the edge of the bed. But each hour he roused both himself and her to ask her questions. And every hour she got sassier. By nine o’clock she swore if he woke her one more time that she’d never sleep with him again.
Chapter 12
A thin line of orange on the eastern horizon promised a sunny day. The north wind had died down, which was a miracle for the first week of January in north Texas. The wind was hot, cold, or somewhere in between from Labor Day to July Fourth. Then it stopped completely and a breeze couldn’t be bought, traded for, cussed up, or prayed for until Labor Day.
Pearl curled up on the end of the sofa with a soft throw over her bare feet. Her headache was nearly gone, but she felt as if she’d been awake for a solid month.
“Want another cup of coffee?” Wil asked. He’d dressed in gray sweat bottoms and a matching shirt with a picture of a bull rider on the front.
“No more coffee. Take me home.”
He sat down on the other end of the sofa. “I’m too sleepy to drive. I’ve called Jack, my foreman, and he’s taking care of chores this morning. Let’s go back to bed and get some rest. I’ll take you home later today.”
“I’ll sleep right here,” she said. Her stomach growled loudly in protest, and she laid a hand on it as if her touch would quiet the grumbling.
“Breakfast first. Just something light and then sleep.”
He crossed the foyer to the kitchen and poured two glasses of milk, put two toaster pastries in the toaster, and set out a plate to use when they were ready. “Don’t be fallin’ asleep before I get there,” he yelled through the open doors.
He leaned against the cabinet beside the refrigerator and shut his eyes while he waited. When the toaster popped up the pastries, the noise woke him and he rolled his neck to get the kinks out. He hurriedly removed the hot pastries and dropped them on the plate, balanced it on the top of one of the two glasses of milk, and slowly made his way across the foyer to the living room.
“Are you awake?” he asked.
“I can open my eyes but I’m not so sure that qualifies.”
“Eat and we’ll take a nap. I’m too tired to do anything but sleep.”
“I don’t know if I’ve got the energy to climb back up the stairs. Why don’t you sleep up there and let me rest right here?” She wasn’t sure even in her tired state that she’d trust herself to get into bed with Wil. One snuggle might cause a heat that he’d have to put out before she could sleep.
“I’ll carry you.”
She smiled and bit off a chunk of the pastry. He ate fast, polished off the last of his milk, and stood up, scooped her up in his arms yet another time, and started for the staircase.
She looped her arms around his neck and said, “Wil, you are going to break your back carrying me around like this. I can walk. I managed to get down the stairs.”
“I know, but that was because I was already down here and didn’t know you were awake. Besides, I lift sacks of feed and bales of hay that weigh more than you do.”
He wasn’t even winded when he reached the landing.
“Put me down now. I can walk to the bathroom. I need a bath before we go to sleep. I feel all sticky and grimy.”
“Okay, I’ll put a clean shirt on the vanity for you,” he said.
She stripped out of the T-shirt and underpants and laid them on the back of the potty before turning on the water in the tub. When she sank down into the warm water, she sighed. She adjusted the water, making it even warmer, and leaned back. Everything was still slightly fuzzy, but her head didn’t hurt anymore. She vowed she would never wear high heels again. If she’d been wearing her cowboy boots she wouldn’t have fallen.
The tub was extra deep and the water covered her completely when she finally turned off the faucets with her toes. Steam hung in the air like fog on a London wharf, covering the opaque shower doors, the mirrors, and even putting down a layer on the toilet seat.
Being awakened every hour was worse than getting no sleep at all. She grabbed one of the towels on the rack, rolled it into a neck pillow, and leaned back. She only meant to shut her eyes for a minute or two but when she awoke the water was cold, the steam gone, and the prickly feeling on her neck had more to do with someone staring at her than the terry cloth of the towel.
She popped her eyes open and sat up slowly, peeking out around the end of the shower door.
She grabbed the washcloth to cover her breasts. “What are you doing in here?”
“I was waiting for you to wake up so I could take a shower. I was going to give you five more minutes and then I was going crawl in with you. I’ve seen every bit of you up close and very personal. You can drop the washcloth and stop blushing.”
“I’m not blushing,” she protested even though her cheeks were blazing.
He didn’t move from the potty seat. “I figured you’d be finished by now.”
“What time is it?” She didn’t make a move toward getting out of the chilly water.
“Almost eleven o’clock.”
She popped up out of the water like a fishing bobble and wrapped a towel around her. “I need to call Lucy.”
“Already did. Ten guests. They’re all checked out and she’s cleaning rooms.” He ran a hand up her wet thigh.
“But…” she stammered.
“Yes, darlin’, you have a nice butt, however, we both need sleep. We’ll talk about butts later.”
“Oh, hush!” She could hear him chuckling after she’d shut the door. It turned into a roar when she remembered she’d left her clothes in th
e bathroom, opened the door to retrieve them, and found him standing there in all his naked glory waiting for the tub to drain so he could take a shower.
The sleep she’d gotten in the tub had revived her and she was wide awake. She tried counting backward from a hundred, but that reminded her of that old song about ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall and then she couldn’t get the tune out of her head. She tried making her mind go blank, but that just provided a blank screen for pictures of Wil, most of which involved no clothing and lots of muscles, and that made her pulse race and her blood heat up to the boiling point.
She flipped from one side of the bed to the other; beat the lumps out of her pillow half a dozen times. Did Wil really mean no women were allowed in his kitchen at all, or was it only for cooking and cleanup? She tiptoed down the stairs and carefully made her way to the kitchen. She tried three different cabinet doors before she found where he kept the glasses. Leave it to a man to put them as far from the fridge as he could.
“Still hungry? Want me to cook you a real breakfast?” Wil asked from the deep shadows of the kitchen.
She jumped as if she’d been shot. “Good God Almighty! Just how far do you go to protect this kitchen? Have you got a gun hiding in the knife drawer?”
He grinned. “I’m not protecting my kitchen, Red. I was too wired to sleep so I came down here for a glass of milk so take down two glasses. We would probably sleep better if we snuggled up together. I know I would because I could stop worrying about you.”
“It’s been nine hours. I’m going to be all right, Wil.”
He picked her up and set her on the counter. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him toward her. When their lips met, she groaned.
She tucked her head into his shoulder while he breathed in the scent of her clean, still slightly damp hair.
He laughed and smacked a kiss on her forehead. “I was so worried about you. But we’d better stop makin’ out. I’ll pour the milk.”
He set her back on the floor, poured two glasses of milk, and handed one to her. While she sipped, he turned up his glass and downed half of it. Even the way his Adam’s apple bobbed was sexy that morning. She couldn’t imagine having a permanent relationship with him. With the heat between them they’d burn out in a week’s time and then there they’d be just like other miserable married couples. No fire. Bound together with kids and finances and wishing to hell they were anywhere else in the world but together.
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