“What kind of books?” He cut another piece of chicken for Lucia to chew and took the children’s books Alys handed him. “Spanish and English? Do you think she speaks Spanish and that’s why she doesn’t talk?”
“She understands English. I just thought it might be interesting to try. How good is your Spanish?” She dropped down at the end of the mattress and flipped through the pages.
More sirens sounded outside and Lucia apprehensively watched the door, but Alys leaned back on her elbow to show her the picture book, effectively distracting her.
“My Spanish is pretty much limited to buenos días and gracias,” Elliot admitted.
Alys pointed at the picture of the pig, then the word puerco for Lucia. Lucia didn’t repeat the word, but her eyes lit with fascination. “She understands Spanish, too.”
Elliot gave up on feeding Lucia to start on his own dinner, now cold. He damned the images dancing in his head of Alys sitting beside a roaring fire, reading to shorter versions of himself. “Maybe you ought to be a teacher.”
“You think?” She looked up at him eagerly, her crystalline eyes bright with interest. Her whole face lit with joy at the idea. “It takes years of education, but it’s a real career, not a hobby.”
That he’d generated her excitement stirred a ribbon of pride, but she made it sound as if she were asking his approval. He wasn’t going to be Fred, telling her what to do. “It’s hard work for lousy pay. You have to do it because you love it.”
“How do I know if I’ll love it until I do it?” she countered. “Maybe I should just be a teaching assistant. Do schools have those?”
“They do, but you’ve got the brains and perseverance to handle more than that.” He stabbed his chicken a little too hard, and it slithered off his plate. “If you don’t want to commit time and money to a career, then become a waitress in an expensive restaurant.”
“Maybe I will. Then I could work anywhere.” She bounced up from the bed to uncover the third plate on the table. “A hamburger! Thank you.” She bent and kissed his head, then settled into her chair to munch contentedly.
He was too on edge to appreciate a peck on the head but too aware of the child watching them to act on his urges. Gritting his teeth, Elliot returned to eating the unpalatable mess on his plate. Why was he having a hard time thinking of Alys as a waitress in some greasy spoon?
* * *
After dinner had been consumed in a haphazard manner, they let Lucia watch a children’s show on television. When she started to yawn, Alys showed her the new toothbrush, and she nodded her head. To their surprise, Lucia uncovered a pair of baby-doll pajamas from beneath the pillow when she emerged from the bathroom. Solemnly, she began to undress.
“Someone loved her and knew how to make her feel at home,” Alys murmured to Elliot while he checked his voice mail one more time for messages.
“And someone hurt her,” he muttered back. “She’s terrified of sirens and isn’t silent because she’s deaf.”
“Mame rescued her for a reason,” she agreed. “Maybe we’ll find her when we reach the reservation.”
After reading one of the new books to Lucia, Alys tucked her into bed. Purple leaped from the dresser to curl up on the pillow beside the child. Elliot checked his e-mail in hopes of messages about Mame, then switched on the news to see if there was any mention of a missing child.
Pretending not to pay attention, he listened as Alys showered and changed into her long nightshirt. Did she intend to sleep with Lucia or him? His id argued with his superego over talking her into his bed. Even if they couldn’t do anything with a child in the room, he wanted her beside him. All he accomplished was a burning pain in his side.
If the pain moved down his arm, he’d have to act on it. That was almost a certain sign of a heart attack. He hated frightening Alys, but he wasn’t prepared to die yet. For now, he’d eat antacid and pray a lot.
Without fanfare, Alys slipped into the vacant bed. Elliot offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving and shut down his computer. Checking to see that the child slept, he unpacked his new pajamas, and went to take his shower.
He hated pajamas, but he’d never had to share a room with a five-year-old, and didn’t know the proper protocol. He wasn’t entirely certain of his reception when he crawled in beside Alys, either. He switched off the bedside light.
“Don’t get any ideas,” she whispered in a tight voice. “I just didn’t want to frighten Lucia. Maybe we should have asked for a cot.”
Fire burned in the hollow around his heart, but Elliot accepted her judgment in this. The uninhibited sex they’d shared earlier hadn’t exactly been quiet. He was having difficulty explaining that to the tent in his pajamas though.
“How do parents manage this?” he whispered back.
“With quiet passion,” she murmured with a hint of laughter indicating she was aware of his predicament.
“Or quiet desperation.” He was willing to do it with quiet passion, joyous noise, or in a house, with a mouse. He didn’t care so long as he had his hands full of Alys’s joy and life and her vibrant body eagerly sheathing his sex. Even if they both avoided commitment, they could enjoy lovemaking. Unfortunately, she didn’t appear interested in cooperating.
“I’ve already led the life of quiet desperation,” she whispered back, all trace of laughter gone. “I’m not doing it again.”
Well, he guessed that told him. Lying there stiffly, sensing she was tense as he was, Elliot ground his molars in frustration and sought sleep.
They could be in Albuquerque tomorrow, Thursday. If Mame was waiting for them, he could be back to his normal life by Friday.
He tried thinking of a topic for his Sunday radio show. That should bore him to sleep.
The knob rattling on the chain-locked door startled both of them. Elliot could feel Alys freezing up beside him. Silently, they waited to see if the noise would go away.
The knob rattled again.
Throwing back the covers, Elliot pushed Alys down when she would have jumped up. “Call the front desk,” he whispered. “It may just be a drunk.”
“It may be Mame,” she whispered back.
It wasn’t Mame sliding a card into the lock, then slamming a heavy foot against it when it wouldn’t budge.
“Down between the beds. Under them, if you can.” Elliot leaped out of bed to grab Lucia while Alys slid to the floor, pulling the phone from the bed stand with her. The child woke with a cry but hushed instantly when Alys held out her arms for her. The kitten woke and indignantly leaped to the top of the entertainment center.
The foot slammed again, and the hollow door splintered. Elliot had taken his share of self-defense courses in the past, but the one that had stuck with him most was the practical one. He jammed the sturdiest chair in the room under the doorknob. Then grabbing the heavy table lamp, he ripped it out by the cord and waited behind the door. Alys and Lucia were completely hidden between the double beds.
He heard Alys murmuring into the phone, and he prayed the door held until security arrived. The only other way out was the window beside the door—where the thief stood.
His heart pounded so loudly he thought it ought to be heard across the room while he waited for the thug to kick in the lock. Elliot prayed that meant the intruder had no gun or was afraid to use it. He couldn’t imagine why a thief would choose this room to burgle, but many thieves were addicts and not the brightest bulbs in the marquee.
A shoulder thudded against the splintered door. He didn’t hear shouts or pounding feet so security wasn’t on the scene. The hotel probably had a retired security guard sleeping in the back somewhere.
The lock gave, but the chain held. Outside, he could hear the quiet rumble of an idling semi. Surely some trucker in the parking lot could see what was happening and would call the police. The parking lot was jam-packed with big rigs.
The door lurched open and caught on the chair and the chain. Elliot clamped down on his fury, raising the lamp in readiness.
The two-bit creep outside the door would have to come through him before reaching the two innocents hidden between the beds. When he was a kid, he’d broken a baseball bat hitting a hard ball. He could connect with more strength and better accuracy now—with the power of fury behind the blow.
The chain tore from its mooring after another body slam against the door. Whoever was on the other side shoved again, and the chair toppled. It wasn’t heavy. One more shove on the door and the chair would move. Tightening his shoulder muscles, Elliot waited for his chance.
The intruder pushed and the chair shifted across the opening doorway. Behind him, Elliot heard Alys scrambling about, but he couldn’t turn to see what she was up to. He focused all his rage on the fool just outside the door. From this angle, he couldn’t use the intruder’s head for a baseball, but he could come damned close.
In the darkness, his hearing was acute. Over the rumble of several semis he heard a muttered curse. A boot kicked at the obstructing chair through the partial crack, and the door swung wide. Bunching his muscles, Elliot held his fury in until a shaggy head peered around the door. The intruder was taller and bulkier than he was. Elliot adjusted his position to compensate, waited until the door swung open, and targeted the broad side of the man’s head.
With a vicious swing, he slammed the heavy lamp into a thick skull. The thief staggered, groaned, and stumbled over the chair, falling to his knees.
Before Elliot could adjust and grasp his weapon firmly again, another intruder rushed forward, hurling the door against the wall, just missing Elliot’s nose. Caught off guard, he stumbled backward. Unbalanced, he attempted to swing at the next thief’s head but missed, smashing the lamp into his shoulder instead.
A curse splintered the silence, and after that, confusion reigned. With pain shooting up his chest and down his arm, Elliot threw himself at the second thief, bringing him down to the floor and pummeling him. The first intruder staggered upward, but Alys in nightshirt and cowboy boots flew out of the darkness, kicking hard and accurately at a delicate area. Elliot winced when the man screamed and bent double.
Someone outside the door shouted a warning. A rough fist flew out of nowhere to connect with Elliot’s jaw, and he staggered backward. Pain shot through his head and shattered his chest. He attempted to hang on to the thug in his hands, but the thieves outside were getting away, and Alys seemed intent on following. Releasing his grip on the thief, he grabbed the door for support. The pain in his side escalated as she rushed past, heading for the street.
With one last tremendous effort, Elliot grabbed Alys’s gown. He jerked her down with him, clasping her tight against his chest as it exploded.
Chapter Sixteen
“We’re going with him.”
Terrified so much that she shook in her boots, Alys jerked a dress over her nightshirt and gathered a sobbing Lucia into her arms while the medics efficiently completed their tasks.
She couldn’t absorb everything that had happened here. The police had roared in with sirens screaming, the intruders had run off, and Elliot hadn’t moved. Still wasn’t moving. Fear clutched at her throat, cutting off the blood to her brain. She couldn’t think, only react. And her reaction was to hang onto Elliot for dear life.
He lay still and pale against the stretcher. A small trickle of blood marred his lip, but otherwise, he appeared to be sleeping. His tousled curls revealed no gashes, although a bruise was forming along his unshaven jaw.
Several patrolmen were canvassing the parking lot, looking for witnesses. The one remaining behind had called the ambulance.
“They didn’t have guns,” she kept telling anyone who listened. Elliot couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be shot. He had to be sleeping. They just needed to wake him.
Terrified out of her mind, she squeezed Lucia closer. The medics ignored her while they tested vital signs, shot a needle into Elliot’s arm, and readied him to be carried out.
“We need you to give a report, Mrs. . . . ” The officer waited expectantly.
“Seagraves. I’m going with him.” Carrying Lucia, ignoring the policeman, she hurried after the stretcher. This was nuts. The whole world had gone insane. They’d just been horseback riding. He’d fought off the intruders with the effortlessness of Clint Eastwood. Elliot was as alive and well as she was.
But he wasn’t moving. She would have to wake him up if no one else did. Over the protests of the medics, she climbed into the ambulance, settling Lucia on her lap and reaching for the long, skilled fingers of Elliot’s hand. The thieves were gone now. Elliot would simply have to wake up and help her deal with this mess. She needed him.
In the back of her mind, a voice shouted that she was behaving irrationally, but she shut it out. She didn’t want to hear rational right now.
Blithely ignoring all argument as if she were deaf, Alys clung to Elliot until the medics shrugged and capitulated.
“Let us belt your daughter into the front seat, ma’am,” one said in his soft Texas drawl. “She’ll be safer, and we need room to work back here.”
When Lucia went without complaint, Alys nodded. With the child’s departure, she had both hands free to clasp around one of Elliot’s. He still didn’t move. Perhaps the shot had put him to sleep. She would send him positive energy while he got a good rest. He’d played the part of hero magnificently. She could hold on until he was ready to wake.
The siren screamed as the ambulance pulled out of the motel lot, and she knew that would terrify Lucia. Over the noise, Alys caught the medic’s attention, pointed overhead, and shook her head. The medic understood, snapped an order to the driver, and the siren stopped.
Elliot still didn’t move.
She continued holding Elliot’s hand between hers, sending positive vibrations with the part of her still functioning. His skin was tough but uncalloused, the nails short and neat. She’d seen the power he’d packed when he rolled his fingers into fists. He was strong. He was a fighter.
Calling up her lotus flower, looking deep inside herself, Alys chanted her mantra silently, concentrating as if her life depended on it. She let her energy flow from her center, down her arms and fingertips, and into Elliot. Love is the power that heals.
The chaos settled into peace. Blossoming with renewed strength, Alys recalled the tenderness of Elliot’s caress, the way he’d stroked her jaw and looked at her as if she were the moon and stars. Happiness flowed outward, found pathways from her heart and soul, enveloping Elliot in a blanket of comfort.
She felt his fingers tighten around hers, and joy bloomed.
She had no idea how long the ride lasted. She was jarred from her trance when the medic threw open the ambulance doors, jumped down, and began removing the stretcher. She couldn’t hold on to Elliot any longer. He slipped away.
Panic abruptly replaced her earlier peace. The ambulance lights flashed red against the hospital walls. Medics raced with the stretcher through the automatic glass maw to the cold, artificial light of the emergency room.
Alys lifted Lucia from the front seat to ground herself. She stood frozen outside the hated hospital, dreading entering. Trustingly, Lucia leaned her small head against Alys’s shoulder and clung to her neck.
In an unsteady daze, Alys let someone usher her into the outer ring of hell that was the emergency room. A man moaned. A stench of urine mixed with the odor of ammonia. She cringed, forcing herself not to turn tail and run. The medical technicians led her up to the admitting desk where a nurse asked her a question, but blind panic lurked in the back of her mind, and she stuttered incoherently over the answer.
A policeman arrived to question her more, and she had to concentrate on not giving out any information about Lucia. He didn’t seem too interested in anything but the robbery attempt, and Lucia quietly slipped behind a chair to play with a magazine.
Fighting the panic attack by keeping one eye on Lucia, she darted glances down the hall where they’d taken Elliot, and clung to sanity by the edge of her teeth. Interns inquired about m
edical history. Nurses wanted to know about insurance. She had no answers, couldn’t speak them if she did. The policemen offered to return to the hotel for Elliot’s wallet, and she nodded stiffly in agreement.
This was even worse than her worst nightmare. Elliot could be dying, and she couldn’t go to him. They could take Lucia away and she’d lose her in the maze of red tape. Where was Purple? Had he run away? She hadn’t found Mame yet. Oh, God, how could she find her center with everyone tugging at her from every direction?
The astringent scent of disinfectant and the earthier stench of blood merged with the crying and the sirens into sensory overload, and she fought the urge to flee. She couldn’t leave yet. She needed to find Elliot, to know that he was well.
Panic formed a red haze across her mind. She started gasping for breath, and the policeman rushed off to find a nurse. Lucia climbed up in her lap, and Alys clung to her, rocking back and forth. She couldn’t give in to hysteria. She had to take care of Lucia. She had to find Purple. She wanted to see the orchid bloom. She couldn’t do it all.
Tears spilled down her face.
A nurse offered her a paper cup of water. Gasping for breath, Alys shook her head. She accepted a brown paper bag and breathed rhythmically into it as she’d learned to do back when Fred spent weeks in the hospital.
Overcoming the hyperventilation, she rocked Lucia and waited, concentrating on blocking out the suffering around her.
Eventually, a nurse led her and Lucia to a tiny cubicle where a doctor with a clipboard waited. Elliot was sitting up against the pillows, and Alys nearly collapsed in relief and tears.
She didn’t hear a word the doctor said. She set Lucia down on the cot, grabbed Elliot’s hand, and winged prayers of recovery to the heavens. His fingers wrapping around hers were strong. He tried to smile, but it wasn’t his best effort. She let relief flood through her anyway.
“I’m fine,” she heard him say. “I’ll be out of here shortly.”
She thought the doctor objected to that, but she didn’t listen to him. She just needed to know that Elliot was alive. That he would live.
California Girl Page 17
