He would still be handsome, maybe more rakishly so, with a broken nose.
“Old score,” Tate muttered.
“I think you’re even.”
Tate made a face.
“He was sent here to kill you, wasn’t he?” Glo’s voice emerged in a whisper of horror.
Tate drew in a breath, and even Knox looked away as Tate nodded.
Oh, she knew it. Apparently, she had a type.
The kind of men who didn’t care what trouble—or death—might be waiting for them. Who turned their face to it and charged ahead.
The kind of men who died for what they believed in.
The kind of men who would break her heart.
No, oh no…
Tate turned to Knox. “Thanks, bro.”
“We need to get you to a hospital.”
Tate met Glo’s eyes, touching her face ever so softly. “I’m sorry, Glo. I…I never meant for you to get hurt.”
Maybe not, but apparently that was how all her love stories ended.
Because yes, this was really, really going to hurt.
2
Tate would probably never admit how close he came to dying.
To being beaten to death.
But one look at his chart of injuries had Glo nauseous. Two broken ribs, internal bleeding that included losing his spleen, and his throat was so swollen that the EMTs had to put a breathing tube down it to keep it from closing. Never mind the bruises that covered his body, his puffy purpled eye, complete with eight stitches dissecting the brow, and the splint that protected his nose, recently set. His dislocated shoulder had been stabilized, his arm in an immovable sling, and he’d slept most of the last six hours.
Just the tiny squeeze of his hand in hers convinced her that he might live. That he knew she was there.
It made her want to weep every time.
And settled deep in her gut the fear that if he woke and she wasn’t here…
Or worse, if she left him, he just might not ever wake up again.
“You need sleep. Or at least a shower.”
Kelsey’s voice came as a whisper over her shoulder, and Glo lifted her head from where she’d cradled it in her arms on the lip of the bed, next to Tate’s blanketed leg. Her hair probably stuck up on end, creases heated her cheek, her eyes felt raw and puffy, and yes, her body buzzed, her veins a mix of coffee and Diet Coke, a handful of antacids her only recent meal.
Kelsey set a muffin and a cup of coffee on the bedside table, and Glo nearly leaped for the breakfast. “Thanks.” She released Tate’s hand and opened the muffin wrapper, sitting back in the padded recliner.
“He looks brutal,” Kelsey said as she stood at the foot of his bed. The haunted expression on her face betrayed her own brush with death over twelve years ago.
Except, Kelsey had been fourteen and in a coma for twelve days. And she had awoken alone.
Glo wasn’t going to leave Tate. Not yet, at least.
But Kelsey was right—Tate looked wrecked. Even with his bruises, however, Tate had a rough beauty about him, his face in repose possessing a sort of eerie calm, long lashes against his cheekbones that made her want to kiss the soft wells under his eyes. A fallen warrior.
If only she could erase the image of his bloody face, the fierceness in his eyes when he’d struggled against his attacker, the way he fought for his life.
Maybe it should offer her a morsel of reassurance—after all, Tate didn’t go down easily.
But the fact that he hadn’t called out for help—for Pete’s sake, she’d been in the next room—the fact that he’d ordered her, more than once, to simply run and leave him to his fate…
If she’d ever doubted if he had what it took to protect her from whatever terrorists had threatened her life, at least according to her mother, those doubts died on the Bellagio tile floor.
Tate would easily—too easily, maybe—give his life for her.
She took a bite of her muffin, then washed it down with a bracing slosh of coffee. It did nothing to stop the pitching of her stomach, so she put them both back on the tray.
Kelsey walked away, over to one of the padded chairs near the window, saying nothing more. She wore a pair of cutoff shorts and a gray T-shirt with an oversized sweater and her signature turquoise cowboy boots. She smelled freshly showered.
Outside Tate’s private room, the Desert Sunrise Hospital overlooked the sprawling city, with the vista of Red Rock Canyon in the far horizon. A scorching sun hung high in the sky—Glo had no doubt that Vegas was starting to blister under the springtime desert sun.
But a ruthless chill had slid into her bones, taking root as she sat through the night.
She couldn’t live like this.
Knox, wearing a clean snap-button shirt and a pair of jeans, had come in behind Kelsey and now stood on the other side of the bed. He reached down and squeezed Tate’s leg. “Sorry I didn’t show up earlier to stop all this, bro.”
Glo hadn’t been a firsthand witness to Knox’s meltdown when Tate had been taken in for surgery. No, he’d hid that until he’d gotten to some remote stairwell. Although probably not his best choice because the yell of frustration had echoed down the corridor and sent Kelsey fast-walking his direction.
The big cowboy seemed back in control, only the fatigue on his face betraying his own sleepless, pacing night. He must have left in the wee hours, after Glo had dozed off.
“I called Ma to let her know what happened,” Knox said, although Glo wasn’t sure whom he might be talking to. “Although I lied a little about the extent of your injuries.”
Oh. Well, she’d simply avert her eyes to this apparently private family conversation.
“Ma wanted to jump on a plane, but I told her you were going to be fine, so don’t make me a liar.”
Amazingly, Tate seemed to stir under Knox’s touch, his words.
Knox waited, but when Tate’s eyes didn’t open, he made a grim line with his lips and nodded. “Okay, well then, we’re not going anywhere, bro, so take your time.”
Not going anywhere. Fact was, it took everything inside her not to flee.
Only twelve hours ago, she’d been clinging hard to the fantasy that she might actually deserve a happy ending.
Right.
“Tate was always the tough one,” Knox said quietly. “He hated ranching, but by golly, he’d stay in the saddle longer than any of us if Dad asked him to ride fence or hunt down a stray. He doesn’t know the word quit, Glo.”
Oh, now Knox was talking to her. She looked up and nodded. But that was sort of what she was afraid of.
Because it was time to fire her bodyguard.
“You’re not going to believe this, Glo.” Kelsey held her phone up and flashed the screen at Glo.
Glo shook her head, the screen too far away for her to read.
“We’re up for New Group of the Year with the Country Music Guild! Carter just texted with a link of Carrie Underwood announcing the list. He wants us to go to the CMG awards.”
Glo stared at her, trying to wrap her brain around— “The CMG awards?”
“They’re in Nashville. End of May. I gotta text Dixie.”
Dixie. The third member of their band, who had returned to the hotel room right around the time the EMTs were trying to force an oxygen tube down Tate’s swelling throat.
Their first official awards show, and frankly, Glo should be on her feet, fist-pumping the air.
Instead, the cold simply shut her down, the triumph bouncing off her. “Yeah. Sure.”
Kelsey frowned, glancing over at her, then back to her phone.
Tate stirred again, and his eyes moved under his lids.
Glo stood up, bent over him. “Hey, tough guy. You’re okay.” She pressed her hand to the center of his chest, glad to feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “We’re with you.”
His good eye opened, and for a moment, he seemed far away, the texture of confusion, even horror, in his eye.
“Bro. You’re in th
e hospital,” Knox filled in, probably deducing the same from Tate’s widening eye.
Tate’s gaze flashed to Glo, the past knitting together in his blue eye.
Then he started to gag.
“Tate, calm down!” Knox pressed his hand on Tate’s uninjured shoulder. “Just let the machine breathe for you—”
Kelsey had gotten up and pressed the nurse call button.
Tate writhed on the bed, reaching for the tube as if to pull it out. Knox grabbed his hand, pinned it.
The white of Tate’s eye showed, and Glo pressed her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out.
His agonized grunts tore through her, and she took a step back as Knox leaned over him, talking to him, his voice low, like he might be talking to one of his ranch animals. “Bro. Just breathe. We’ll take it out. It’s okay—you’re okay—”
“What’s going on?” A nurse in green scrubs pushed into the room. With short dark hair, she looked lean and strong enough to handle her writhing patient. She stepped up to Tate’s bed, grabbed his wrist, and took his pulse. Tate was emitting a strange, deep moan.
She pulled out an iPad and scanned it. “Okay, Mr. Marshall, I’ll call the doctor and see if he can take out that tube. You’re due more pain meds, so I’ll order those for you, but you need to calm down or you’re going to hurt yourself more.”
He looked at the nurse, breathing hard through the tube, then his gaze fell on Glo.
Maybe he hadn’t seen her before, because he simply affixed on her. Held on. And as he did, his panic seemed to drop away. He stopped writhing, his keening died, and his breathing evened out.
Whatever he’d been dreaming, whatever nightmares followed him from his slumber broke away.
Then his eyes filled, and maybe that scared her even more.
Tate didn’t do tears.
Glo stepped up to his bed, taking the nurse’s place as she left, and ran her hand over his trapped in the sling. “I’m here, Tate.”
His gaze slipped to the purpling bruise over her eye, and he closed his eye as if in pain.
Yeah, well, she knew how he felt.
“Slava is in custody. And both Knox and I gave statements to the police. He’s not going anywhere.”
Tate opened his eyes and looked at Knox, who was nodding at her words.
But that wasn’t the end of trouble, was it? Because it didn’t solve the bigger problem.
The looming death threat against Glo and her family, one that Tate had vowed to protect her from.
What, from his hospital bed? With two broken ribs?
In a way, she was relieved. In her worst nightmares Tate stepped in front of a bullet or protected her body as a bomb exploded around them.
For years she’d gone to sleep with the images of David’s death in her brain. No details, just an IED on the side of some road in Afghanistan.
It left her imagination way too open.
Tate had added brutal, vivid color to the scenarios in her head.
She ran her thumb over his hand, pasting on a smile. If she’d learned anything from her senator mother, it was to deflect, deny, and pretend. “We’re safe, tough guy. Shh…”
The hospital room door opened again, and a doctor came in, followed by the nurse. A lean, blond man with a short haircut, he looked like a marathoner. “Let’s check that throat of yours, Tate, and see if we can’t get that tube out.”
Glo moved away, her arms folded across her chest as the doctor gloved up, then probed Tate’s neck. Knox, too, had stepped back, allowing the nurse to take Tate’s blood pressure.
“I think the swelling has gone down sufficiently.” He turned to the visitors. “Can you step outside? Just in case he vomits.”
Glo felt like vomiting herself as she nodded. “I’ll be right back, Tate.” She met his eyes, then took a breath and exited the room.
Knox and Kelsey followed her into the hallway.
Glo leaned against the wall, her entire body vibrating.
“You need sleep,” Kelsey said.
“He’ll be okay, Glo,” Knox said and put one of his warm hands on her shoulder.
She nodded but sank down onto the floor. Sighed. “I have to fire him.”
A pause, then, “What?” Kelsey crouched before her. “Why?”
Glo raised an eyebrow.
“Fine. I get it. But…we can’t go to the CMGs without Tate.”
“Then we don’t go.”
Kelsey considered her, her mouth tight. She scooted beside Glo and leaned her head on her shoulder. “Maybe we need a break. I know we just landed the NBR-X tour, but Knox was talking with his friend Rafe, who is on the board, and given last night’s events—”
“The one that included your stalker trying to kill you?”
Kelsey sat up, glanced at Knox, who’d given her a grim look. “Yeah. That. And the rest of it—the past six weeks of shaking off the bombing in San Antonio, not to mention the news about the threats from the Bryant League against you and your mother.”
Yeah. Some ultra-left radical group wanted to keep her moderate-leaning mother from running for president. Clearly, they didn’t know Reba Jackson like Glo did.
Nothing ignited a fire under her mother more than controversy and opposition. It was akin to waving a red flag in front of a bull.
“Knox and I were thinking that maybe we’d ask NBR-X to postpone our contract for six months. Give us all a chance to breathe. Maybe write some songs, get into the studio and record that album we’ve been talking about.”
It sounded like a good idea. “Will you take Tate back to the Marshall Triple M?” Glo asked. The Marshall family’s spread in west-central Montana would be the perfect place for him to find his feet again, maybe escape the haunted expression in his eyes.
At least it had been for Kelsey.
“Yeah, if that’s what he wants. You could come with us,” Knox said.
“She’s coming home with me.”
Oh hallelujah, Senator Jackson was in the building. Glo didn’t even start with surprise, not one question entering her mind at how her mother might have not only found out about Tate’s attack but landed here within twelve hours to rescue her. In other words, take over her life.
She was even dressed as the shining knight, in an all-white pantsuit, her amber red hair down around her collar, tall and striking, and who would ever dare to argue with the powerful and beautiful Reba Jackson?
Glo pushed to her feet. “Mother. Hi.”
Reba stopped ten feet away, her mouth opening. “Oh my…what happened?”
Oh. Glo’s hand nearly went to the bruise on her face, the blackened eye where Slava had boxed her. “It looks worse than it is.”
“How could it?” Reba advanced to her and pulled her daughter to herself, holding her so tight Glo nearly believed it was authentic.
Wanted to, really, because she was so tired and overwhelmed, and wouldn’t it be nice if her mother had actually shown up because she was worried for Glo?
But her mother always, without exception, had a hidden agenda.
Glo hugged her back because she was in the middle of the hallway, in semipublic view, and she didn’t need to alert Knox to their family’s dysfunction.
The little performance wasn’t fooling Kelsey for a moment, however, and out of the edge of her periphery, Glo saw Kelsey rise. Raise an eyebrow.
Reba held her daughter at arm’s length. Scrutinized the wound. Shook her head. “I just knew something like this would happen. What, did he involve you in a barroom brawl?”
Glo’s eyes widened. “No. He was attacked. In our suite.” And she didn’t bother to explain how the suite wasn’t actually theirs and, oh, never mind. The important fact here was, “This wasn’t Tate’s fault.”
“Sure it wasn’t.” Reba looked past Glo down the hall, and Glo followed her glance to her mother’s security boss whom she’d assigned to work with Tate at their last venue. That answered a few questions, at least.
“Well, how hurt is he?”
“Very hurt. He nearly died.”
Reba wore a face of dismal acceptance. “Well, now you know. He can’t keep you safe, and I’m not interested in watching my daughter get killed on his watch. You’ll need to fire him.”
How Glo hated it when she and her mother came to the same conclusion, even if it might be for different reasons. “I know.”
Reba blinked at her. “Good. Then I’ll send Sly to the hotel to gather your things and we’ll head back to Tennessee.”
“Tate’s not even out of the hospital yet. I may be firing him, but I’m not leaving him.”
“Yes, darling, you are.” Reba reached out and touched her face, a whisper over her bruise. “Tate is…well, he is very handsome, but I think we both know he isn’t good for you.”
Glo took a breath.
“You didn’t think I couldn’t see right through your reasons for keeping him on staff?”
Glo’s entire body turned to flame. Thanks, Mother.
“Listen. I know it’s hard, but this is for the best. And I need you at home. I have a very important fundraising event in three weeks, and I need you there.”
“Mother.”
“Your father is attending.”
Glo stared at her. “Really?”
Reba smiled, and it seemed touched with an authentic hint of warmth.
“I told you. We’re all in this together, right?”
Glo nodded, the old mantra fueled more by desire than truth. But it had held them together during countless campaign victories.
And one very painful loss.
“It’s just for a few weeks, honey. You and the Belles need a break anyway.”
“We’re up for an award at the CMGs,” Glo said and instantly felt thirteen. She wasn’t the girl who needed her mother’s approval anymore.
Still, the cracks of the past twelve hours healed, just a little with her mother’s congratulations. “You ladies can do anything you put your minds to.” She grinned at Kelsey.
Glo didn’t know why, but Reba had always held a special place for Kelsey in her heart. Maybe because she reminded her mother of Joy.
Tate Page 3
