But that doctor wasn’t Eric, Chase thought, because he hadn’t arrived yet. “How is she? Last time I saw her, she was unconscious and there was too much blood.” He involuntarily trembled at the memory.
“Are you family?” the guy in green scrubs asked, barely glancing up from his chart. “Because I can release patient details only to family.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m family,” Chase muttered, the lie slipping too easily off his tongue.
In reality, he had no claim on Sloane other than a sudden overwhelming desire to possess her as his own, and to never let go.
“You’re her … brother?” the young resident asked, hazarding a guess as he finally looked up.
Stupidly, Chase shook his head no because he wanted to say he was her husband. He couldn’t. There were too many people in this hospital who knew him, knew his background, knew how proudly he’d always touted his bachelor status. Especially once he’d become the last remaining single Chandler man.
The resident met Chase’s gaze, compassion filling his eyes. “Okay, buddy, you want to get in to see your girlfriend. I get it. But not until she’s conscious and can okay your visit.” He patted Chase’s shoulder in what must be his best practiced bedside manner. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Chase turned away, pissed at the other man but mostly at himself.
As a journalist, he’d often fudged his status to get closer to a story, admittedly not possible that often in a town that knew everyone’s business. But he’d had no compunction doing it when he could. Yet with Sloane lying in the other room, her status unknown, he could barely think enough to hold himself together and get in to see her. Some hotshot reporter he turned out to be, unable to get near the most important person in his life.
His heart was pounding double time and adrenaline raced through his veins, making him forget common sense and reason. Which cemented his feelings. As if he’d had any doubt. He didn’t. Not anymore. He had no doubt about how he felt and what he wanted—Sloane, in his life forever. But he’d start with seeing her open those gorgeous eyes.
Glancing at the clock, he realized only ten minutes had passed since he’d followed the ambulance to the hospital, feeling useless and more frightened than he ever remembered being. Including when he’d been eighteen and his father had passed away, leaving him as the man of the house and completely unprepared for all that status had entailed.
Chase groaned. Ten minutes wasn’t nearly enough time for the doctors to really patch up Sloane. It wasn’t enough time for Rick to drag the suspect’s sorry ass down to the station and see to it he was processed correctly. But Rick had in fact captured the man, gun in hand, tackling him on the neighbor’s property before he could make it to his truck, which he’d left on the corner. At least Chase could trust his brother to take care of police business.
In the meantime, he forced himself to sit in a chair near the emergency-room doors through which they’d wheeled Sloane earlier. Forced himself, through gritted teeth, to wait for Eric instead of barging into the ER and demanding answers and the right to see Sloane. Something Chase couldn’t do until Eric arrived and helped him get past hospital security and restrictions.
Suddenly the double doors swung wide and a woman doctor strolled through. Chase recognized her as the one who’d taken charge of Sloane from the minute the ambulance drivers unloaded her stretcher.
He jumped up from his seat. “How is she?”
The doctor eyed him, a combination of wariness and compassion in her professional gaze. “Stable,” she said, as if she weren’t sure whether to trust him with the information. “She’s groggy, but she wants to see her father.”
Relief swelled inside his chest. Sloane was awake enough to talk. Thank God.
“Do you know if her father’s here?” the doctor asked.
Chase tried to speak, but the lump in his throat made it difficult. “I haven’t seen him.” After sitting by Sloane’s side in the ambulance and seeing her safely to the hospital, Samson had disappeared.
Damn the man.
Chase glanced around once more, but the eccentric was nowhere to be found.
“Can I see her?” Chase asked, unable to disguise the hope in his voice.
The businesslike brunette shook her head. “Once she’s settled in a room, if she wants to see you, then we can arrange it.” The doctor shoved her hands into her white jacket pockets. “In the meantime, I promise she’s in good hands.”
The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder. The gesture must be practiced in Family Care 101, Chase thought, frustrated.
“Well, if Ms. Carlisle’s father shows up, be sure to tell him his daughter is asking for him.”
Before Chase could reply, an imposing man in a suit and tie—none other than Senator Michael Carlisle—strode up to the doctor. “Did you say Sloane’s looking for her father?”
The young woman nodded. “You’re—”
“Senator Michael Carlisle,” he said with the air of authority that had helped him rise quickly in the political world. “I want to see my daughter now.”
Madeline stood by her husband’s side, tears in her eyes. She looked neither left nor right, and she didn’t notice Chase standing right next to her. Understandable, considering how upset she was. And since Chase had been instructed to watch out for Sloane and to keep her safe, he would be the last person Madeline would want to see right now.
Instead, he watched with frustrated impotence as the senator led Madeline Carlisle, his hand on her back, through the double doors to see their daughter. She had the family who’d raised and loved her here now. They’d make sure she got the best care possible. Something Chase hadn’t been able to do.
He kicked the old linoleum floor with his foot. Frustration filled him, but so did resolve. Sloane was alive and he had his second chance. He couldn’t wait to tell her. He couldn’t wait to begin his future.
* * *
As long as Sloane didn’t move her body, she didn’t feel too much pain. The drugs administered by the doctors were starting to do their job, she thought, leaning her head against the pillow. She still hadn’t gotten past the shock of what happened, and once the pain had begun to subside, she’d asked first about Samson. The news was good, but his whereabouts weren’t. He hadn’t been shot or injured, but after being assured Sloane was okay, he’d departed for parts unknown.
No surprise there, Sloane thought. She wouldn’t be getting any warm, fuzzy parental moments from him. Although, for a brief moment back at the tree house, she thought she was close to reaching past his hard outer shell. Something she wouldn’t be able to attempt again unless she was released from the hospital.
A knock on the door startled her and she jumped, immediately regretting the impulsive motion when pain surged through her bandaged shoulder. She reached to support the injury with her good hand, resting her palm against the thick bandages.
Before she could respond, the door opened wide and Madeline and Michael strode through. He’d come like he’d promised. She smiled, motioning with her good hand. “Come on in.”
Madeline walked in first and sat on the bed, while Michael chose a chair on the other side.
“I am so relieved you’re okay. So are your sisters. They send their love.” Madeline grabbed her hand and held on tight. Her bright eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Sweetie, when I said you could come to Yorkshire Falls, I had no idea there was actual danger involved.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.” Sloane sighed.
She vividly remembered the day she’d overheard her father’s men discussing her parentage, yet it seemed so long ago, considering all that had happened since. Especially the emotional effort she’d invested in both Samson and Chase. In that respect, Sloane felt old beyond her twenty-eight years.
Madeline wagged a finger at Sloane. “What you really mean is that you didn’t want me to forbid you from coming to meet your real father. Not that I could do that anyway, since you�
�re an adult.”
“No, but you could have sent me here with a bodyguard. And that wouldn’t have gone over well with the nosy good people of Yorkshire Falls.” Sloane laughed, but sobered quickly as she recalled that Madeline had sent her with a bodyguard. A man named Chase Chandler, and though he’d done his best to protect her body, he’d stolen her heart in the process.
Shoring up her defenses wasn’t easy, but Sloane managed. She couldn’t allow Michael or Madeline to know she was in more emotional pain than this gunshot wound could ever inflict, and the oldest Chandler brother was the cause.
Apparently, her father had been informed of the situation with his aides by a Yorkshire Falls police officer who’d met him at the airport at the request of Rick Chandler. Sloane knew Michael was probably reeling from the news, even if he refused to show her his distress.
She forced a smile their way and continued with the family part of the conversation. “Besides, Samson wouldn’t have responded well to any kind of official bodyguard tagging along with me.”
Michael scowled at the mention of the man’s name. “We’ll deal with Samson in a minute,” he interjected, the voice of authority she’d known all her life. “First, I need to know you’re okay. The doctors said the bullet passed clean through, and they’re treating you more for shock now than anything else. But how are you really?” He leaned closer, brushing his lips over her forehead the way he’d done many times when she was a child.
The gesture was warm, familiar, and comforting, the way a father’s caress should be, Sloane thought with gratitude in her heart for this man who’d given her such a good life. Especially compared to the one Samson had lived.
“How are you in here?” Michael asked, tapping on his chest, above his heart.
She smiled at his innate understanding. Just hearing his strong, caring voice told Sloane all was right with her world again. She should never have doubted it. Or doubted him. If she’d come to him when she’d learned the truth about Samson, they all would have been spared a lot of grief. “I’m fine. Really.”
“I don’t call getting shot fine.” He rose and began pacing the floor in the small, confined space. “I don’t call being betrayed by the men I trusted most, being fine,” he said, his voice rising.
Obviously sensing his agitation and fury, Madeline stood and walked to his side, placing her hand inside his. “Sloane was shot, but she’s going to recover.” She spoke in her most reassuring tone, the one that had comforted Sloane when she’d been sick at night or after a scraped knee or a fight with a friend. “The rest of those problems are yours, Michael. Not Sloane’s. She is fine. And you will be too. We will be. It’s just going to take time.”
Sloane shifted in bed, but her shoulder immediately rebelled. Wincing, she asked, “What will you do about Robert and Frank?”
“String them up by their goddamn—”
“Michael!” Madeline admonished in her strictest tone.
He chuckled, despite the serious subject.
Ignoring him, her stepmother turned to Sloane. “Robert was arrested by Rick Chandler, gun in hand. And Frank was picked up for questioning in New York. To say they’ve been fired is an understatement.”
Sloane swallowed hard, knowing how much pain Michael must be in. “Have you confronted them?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. But the police told me about their initial interview. At first, Robert stonewalled like the coward he is, but when he found out he’d shot you and not Samson, it shook him up badly.”
“You mean he has a conscience?” Sloane asked. “That’s hard to believe after he tried to kill my father,” Sloane muttered, speaking of Samson. Then, realizing who her audience was, she felt a burning flush sear her cheeks, and tears welled in her eyes as she met Michael’s pained gaze. “Oh, Dad, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He waved a hand, dismissing her apology. “There are a lot of things we’re going to have to deal with. Terminology’s the least of our problems, honey.” But he turned away, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his dress shirt.
Sloane bit down on the inside of her cheek. She didn’t know what to say.
Michael, seemingly more composed, grabbed a seat by the bed once more. “You asked if Robert developed a conscience, and I guess it depends on your definition.” He seemed determined to pick up normal conversation. “Regardless, he confessed to firing the shot that hit you, though you weren’t the intended target.”
“So the threat’s over.” Sloane exhaled, allowing the realization to wash over her.
Michael nodded. “You’re safe. So is Samson. I take it you two have met?” A smile of acceptance curved his lips and Sloane knew he understood her need to meet the man who’d sired her. He also knew she loved him, Michael Carlisle, faults and all.
“We’ve met.” Sloane idly smoothed her good hand over her bandages.
“What was it like for you? I know he’s different.”
She tried to explain, but what words described a man who named his pet Dog and talked to himself? “Samson’s … eccentric. But he seems to care about me in his odd way.”
“He wanted to meet you and risked a lot by coming to me now, in the middle of a campaign. And those threats he issued to Robert—well, I knew they were harmless. He just wanted to see you.” Michael spread his hands wide. “How could I deny him that pleasure? It never dawned on me that Robert or Frank would try to harm him. My plan all along was to make things public and deal with the fallout. I never got the opportunity.”
Confined to bed, she was unable to do more than nod.
“But I can tell you the man’s harmless or I wouldn’t have let you come up here,” Michael assured her.
Sloane sat upright—or tried to—and immediately suffered the consequences. Tears poured down her eyes as the pain robbed her of breath.
“Oh damn.” Michael wrapped an arm around her, holding her until the agony subsided.
“I’m okay,” she finally whispered.
He released his tight hold but remained by her side. He reached out and tapped her nose. “You know I have to keep tabs on all my girls.”
She smiled through her lingering tears.
Madeline squeezed Sloane’s good hand. “How could I not tell him where you were? He’d have killed me. Besides, your father and I don’t keep secrets.”
Sloane’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, I get it. You just keep secrets from your children. That’s quite the double standard.” She regretted the sarcastic words as soon as they passed her lips. Embarrassed, she leaned her head back on the pillows and stared at the old cracked ceiling. Okay, so maybe the resentments weren’t completely gone, she thought. But still that didn’t give her the right to be cruel. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Madeline said.
“We’re the ones who are sorry.” Michael knelt down before her, and Sloane had no doubt he meant the gesture as supplication and apology all wrapped into one. “I had no right to keep something like that from you. Adopted children have the right to know they were adopted, and you deserved to be told and to judge whom you want in your life.”
Sloane met his gaze. “But I understand why you didn’t tell me. I’m an adult now. You were dealing with a child and you made your choices accordingly. It’s done now. We need to go on.”
“I love you as much as if you were mine,” Michael said as he stood once more.
She smiled, her tears returning. “I never doubted that. Ever. That’s why we can go on,” she assured him. “But we need to talk about—”
Before she could finish her thought, the door opened wide and an unfamiliar young woman wearing a business suit walked in, tablet in hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but this is important.”
“That’s okay; come in, Kate.” Michael turned to Sloane. “This is my new personal assistant, Kate Welles.”
Sloane smiled and the other woman acknowledged her with an apologetic nod before turning her attention to Senator Carlisle, her boss. “The press is getting antsy. Wh
at they know so far is that you’re here because your daughter’s been admitted. They don’t know why. They don’t know about the shooting,” she said, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper.
“It’s okay, Kate. Everyone in this room knows what happened,” Madeline said, laughing. She glanced at Sloane. “She’s new,” she whispered.
Sloane grinned, but one look at the efficient Kate reminded her that they had a serious issue on their hands. The press had sniffed out a story and wouldn’t be satisfied until they knew all. And in small-town Yorkshire Falls, the entire town would be happy to oblige with information about Sloane, Chase, and their exploits. With heaven knew what kind of elaboration.
Unfortunately, they didn’t need embellishment. The truth was enough to derail a political campaign. Sloane’s stomach cramped with the knowledge she could destroy everything her father had ever worked for.
“It’s not your fault,” Michael said, reading her mind. “It’s mine for keeping a secret I knew had explosive potential.”
“But blame won’t get us anywhere, so let’s work on strategy instead.” Madeline sat on the edge of Sloane’s bedside and motioned Kate over.
The young woman pulled up a chair, while Michael leaned against the wall, clearly in thinking mode.
Kate clicked her pen, clearly ready to work. “The police put a lid on the story, but honestly, I don’t know how much longer we can hide the truth.”
The senator nodded his understanding. “Well, I say what I’ve always said. I should go public and deal with the consequences. I’ve already spoken to Kenneth,” Michael said of the current president, his running mate. “He knows what’s coming. I offered to withdraw before going public, but he insists on standing by me.”
“Dad—”
Michael shook his head. “No arguments. It’s about time I accept responsibility for what I did—to you, to Samson, and to the public. If the constituents can’t value honesty and apologies, then that’s that.” He spread his hands out in front of him. “I am who I am.”
“I’m proud to be your daughter,” Sloane told him. “And that will never, ever change.”
The Heartbreaker Page 23
