Future Perfect

by Suzanne Brockmann

  A low branch.

  Directly in front of her.

  There was only enough time to do one thing.

  Hit it.

  She went down hard, into the mud. All the air had left her lungs, and she lay there, trying to draw in a breath. When she finally could breathe, she wished desperately that she hadn’t bothered.

  Pain shot through her—great, fiery streaks of pain with each inhale and each exhale. The sensation was unmistakable. She’d cracked a rib again.

  Webster touched her gently on the face, and she looked over to see him kneeling next to her, unmindful of the thick mud. He was talking, saying something, but she couldn’t hear him over the roaring in her ears.

  Damn, she thought. Double damn. If she passed out now, he’d end up lugging her down to the county general hospital. All they’d do was wrap her up tight with an ace bandage like the one she already had in her underwear drawer, tell her to take a few days off, take things slow—and charge her several hundred dollars for the privilege.

  Juliana closed her eyes briefly, shaking off the dizziness. When she looked back at Web, most of the roaring was gone.

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  His hands were in her hair, gently feeling the back of her head. “You sure you didn’t hit your head?” he asked, his face tight with concern.

  Her face was very pale, and although she tried to smile at him, her mouth was tight. She was obviously hurting. “I’m okay,” she said again.

  Webster ran his hands lightly down her legs and arms, checking to make sure she hadn’t broken anything in the fall. “Well,” he said lightly, trying to still his own fear. “You know I’d do damn near anything just to be with you, but spending the morning sitting in the mud is kinda low on my list.”

  Juliana laughed weakly, then swore, clutching her side.

  And suddenly Webster saw a clear replay of the accident in his mind—he saw Juliana hit that tree branch with enough force.… to break her ribs.

  He swore then, his hands reaching for the zipper of her jacket. “Let me see—”

  “I’m okay.” She pulled away from him, using the trunk of a nearby tree to haul herself to her feet. Her face had gone yet another shade paler, and beads of sweat stood out on her forehead and upper lip. Her hands were shaking as she tried to brush the mud and wet leaves off her jeans.

  “I don’t call having broken ribs okay,” Webster said.

  “Cracked,” Juliana said. “They’re only cracked.”

  She held out her hand for Captain, and he obediently came toward her, nuzzling her fingers as if to apologize for the spill she took.

  “Yeah, well, I’ll believe that when I see the X-rays,” he said.

  “I don’t need X-rays,” she said. “I’ve cracked my ribs before, I know what it feels like, and I don’t need X-rays.”

  She gathered Captain’s reins and slowly began leading the horse down the trail. Walking hurt like hell, but the jostling she’d get from riding would be unbearable. One foot in front of the other, thought Juliana, gritting her teeth. Eventually it would stop hurting … like in a few weeks.

  “Jule, wait!” Webster sprinted toward her, catching up quickly. Just as he suspected, the injury had sent her system out of whack. Her pupils were slightly dilated, her skin pale and clammy, and she shivered despite the sunlight. He peeled off his leather jacket. “Let me put this around your shoulders,” he said.

  She didn’t argue, but she didn’t move, so he slipped the soft, warm jacket around her like a cape, fastening the top button at her neck.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.

  “Oh, Juliana, I’m so sorry,” Webster said, reaching to draw her gently into his arms.

  But she had already turned away, her attention focused on the steep, winding trail down the mountain.

  Webster went back to Firebrand, quickly untied him and followed Juliana. It wasn’t until they reached the open clearing of the pasture that he was able to walk alongside her. Her eyes were wet, and she angrily kept wiping them dry with the unmuddied back of her hand.

  “You know, it’s okay if you cry,” Webster said softly. “Broken ribs hurt like hell.”

  “Cracked,” Juliana said tersely. “They’re only cracked, and I like to save my tears for the really important things.”

  Webster shook his head, laughing slightly in disbelief. “Oh, come on, Jule. Like what?”

  “Death,” Juliana said, her attention focused on the ground in front of her. “And the equivalent. This doesn’t come close.”

  They were approaching the stable.

  “Jule, I want to take you over to the hospital,” Webster said.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Come on.”

  “No.”

  “Juliana, let’s talk about this.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Juliana said, stubbornly leading Captain into the barn. “I’m not going.”

  Webster eased his Miata carefully over the bumps and potholes of the gravel driveway and made a right-hand turn onto the main road.

  Juliana stared at him. “Where are you going?” she asked, knowing full well exactly where they were heading.

  “I’m taking you to the hospital,” he said.

  Her eyes flashed. “Oh, what, now I don’t even have anything to say about this?”

  “You were the one who didn’t want to discuss it,” Webster said, his eyes just as hot. “I wanted to talk about it—”

  “You wanted to sweet-talk me into doing something I don’t want to do,” Juliana said accusingly. “And since that didn’t work, you’ve resorted to kidnapping.”

  “I wanted to tell you why I think you should go to the hospital,” he said. “Jesus, Juliana, talk about not having a say—you act like what I think and feel doesn’t count!”

  “And you go and treat me like a child, doing what you think is best for me, since obviously I can’t take care of myself!” Juliana glared at him. “Turn the car around, Webster.”

  “No.” His profile was grim as he watched the road. “You ever hear of internal injuries, Jule? People have accidents like the one you just had, and they think they’re okay, only they’re bleeding internally. They end up dying.”

  “I’m not bleeding internally.”

  “Fine,” Webster said, shortly. “But I’d like a second opinion.”

  “Damn it, Webster, if you don’t turn this car around …”

  “What?” he said, glancing over at her, his eyes crystal blue. “What are you going to do, Jule? There’s nothing that you can threaten me with that’ll make me risk your life. Nothing.”

  * * *

  Juliana was still angry three hours later when Webster pulled his little sports car into her driveway. She didn’t wait for him to help her out of the car. She pulled herself awkwardly and painfully out and went in the back door, not even bothering to see if he was following.

  She was sitting on the bench in the mud room, trying to pull off her dirty boots when Webster came in. He crouched in front of her, taking her booted foot in his big hands.

  “Don’t you ever ask for help?” he said, pulling off first one boot and then the other.

  She pushed her hair out of her face with a hand that was shaking. From anger or pain, Webster didn’t know.

  “I don’t need any help,” Juliana said.

  “Jule …” he said, but she stood up, turning her back to him as she unfastened, then stepped out of, her mud-encrusted jeans. She shrugged painfully out of her dirty denim jacket, and left that, too, on the floor with the jeans.

  Webster had managed to scrape most of the mud from his own pants, so he quickly pulled off his own boots, then followed her into the kitchen.

  Alicia looked up from the stove, where she was adding chopped celery and potatoes to a pot of bubbling pea soup. Her eyes widened as she saw Juliana. “What happened to you?”

  “I cracked a couple of ribs,” she said.

  “Broke,”
Webster said. “You broke them.”

  “He dragged me to the hospital,” Juliana told Alicia indignantly, “even though I told him I was okay. And now he’s refusing to apologize.”

  “I’m sorry that I upset you,” Webster said softly. “But I’m not going to apologize for doing the right thing.”

  “Oh, and your way is automatically the right way,” Juliana said. She started to cross her arms, but thought better of it as a knifelike stab of pain shot through her. “You know, Webster, sometimes you can be a totally obnoxious jerk.”

  Webster turned away, but not before Alicia saw the hurt in his eyes. “Yeah, well …” he said. He smiled tightly. “Gotta live up to my reputation.”

  He left the room, the door to the hallway swinging shut behind him. Alicia was silent as they listened to his footsteps go all the way up the stairs, and down the hall. The door to his room opened and closed before she looked at Juliana.

  Juliana swallowed.

  Alicia was looking at her the same way she had back when Juliana was a teenager and had broken one of her great-aunt’s rules. The older woman’s face was stern, her eyes stormy.

  “You know darn well that if you had come home without going to that hospital, miss, I’d’ve made you turn around and go right back,” Alicia said. “You had no right to make that young man feel so terrible.”

  “You wouldn’t have made me go to the hospital, because I wouldn’t have told you I was hurt,” Juliana said tiredly, sitting down carefully at the kitchen table.

  “Oh, that gives me great comfort,” Alicia said, shaking her head. “Great comfort.” She crossed her arms and glared down at Juliana until the young woman met her eyes. “I’ve known you for twelve years, Juliana. You’ve always been fiercely independent, sometimes too much so for your own good. Sure, going to the hospital was a pain in the neck. But that’s too bad. You needed to go, and you should have accepted it. And if you couldn’t have accepted it for your own health needs, you should’ve gone out of deference to Webster.

  “Independence is more than simply doing everything alone. Because there are certain times when even the most independent person needs an extra hand—or an extra opinion. You’ve got to learn to give a little up, trade a little in, because sometimes there’s strength in numbers.”

  Juliana stared down at the table, pain etched into her delicate features. Alicia laid a gentle hand on her niece’s shoulder.

  “Go take a shower,” she said. “And call me if you need any help putting on that ace bandage. They did give you another ace bandage, didn’t they?”

  “I told them I still had the one I used last time,” Juliana said. She stood up, smiling wryly. “I couldn’t see being charged God knows how many dollars for something I already had.”

  “Well, call me if you want some help,” Alicia said, turning back to her soup. “Of course, I’m sure Webster would be more than willing to give you a hand, provided you started the conversation with an apology.…”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Webster sat in front of his computer, staring out the window. He’d showered and put on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and now he just sat there, not writing.

  It was long after lunchtime, but he wasn’t hungry. He felt like maybe he’d never be hungry again. Not as long as Juliana was angry with him.

  He had to apologize. But how could he sincerely tell her he was sorry when he’d turn right around and do the very same thing again if she hurt herself tomorrow?

  And there was more to it than that. There was more that was bothering him. Webster was starting to get a nagging suspicion that Juliana maybe didn’t see their relationship in the same light that he did. The way she’d reacted to him today—it was as if she felt her health and well-being were none of his business, as if he had no right to intervene.

  And that scared him.

  It scared him the same way that chain lock on her apartment door had scared him.

  He wanted to play an active part in every aspect of her life, yet there were times and places where she would shut him out.

  Webster closed his eyes, and for the first time since he was a little boy, he found himself praying. Please God, he thought, just let her know how much I love her.

  There was a soft knock on his door.

  Alicia or Juliana?

  Please God, let it be Jule.

  Webster cleared the computer screen and went to the door. Slowly he opened it.

  Juliana.

  She wore a soft, white bathrobe and her hair was clean and still a little damp. Her feet were bare, and her face looked pale and exhausted.

  God, she looked so good. He realized he was staring at her.

  “If you’re working,” she said softly, “I can come back later—”

  “No,” he said quickly. “Are you kidding? Please, come in. I’ve been sitting here, hoping that you’d come down.” He glanced at her, and she could see a flash of misery on his face as he added, “I didn’t want to come upstairs and risk getting you madder at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you,” Juliana said. “I mean, I was angry, but I shouldn’t have been—Web, if I don’t sit down, I’m going to fall over.”

  Quickly, his arms were there, around her, carefully holding her up as he half led, half carried her over to the bed.

  “You should be in bed,” he said, sitting next to her. He closed his eyes as he felt her relax against him, his arms still around her.

  Thank you, God, he thought. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  “I had to talk to you,” she said. “I wanted to … um … Webster, I’m really sorry about—”

  “Shhh,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “It’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not,” she said, pulling back to look into his eyes. “I was wrong, and I was rude. And I am sorry.”

  Webster smiled, his eyes soft. “I love you,” he said, thinking, gee, it was getting easier and easier for him to say this. “Even when you’re wrong and rude, I love you. Which, I have to add, only seems to happen when you’ve got a set of broken ribs. If you broke my ribs, you’d see a lot more than rude, that’s for sure.”

  “I guess that means you forgive me,” she said.

  He kissed her. “Absolutely.”

  But she still looked uncertain, unsure of herself. “I wanted to ask you …” She moistened her lips and started again, looking up at him. “I, um, need your help.”

  If he was surprised, he hid it well. “Anything, Jule,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Last time I cracked a rib,” she said, “I got into bed and then I didn’t move for two solid days. Will you do me a favor and help Alicia with the breakfasts?”

  “No problem.”

  “And the other thing …” Juliana said, taking a large ace bandage from the deep pocket of her robe. She held it out and met Web’s soft blue eyes. “I can’t do this myself.”

  Silently, he took the elastic bandage from her, and unfastened her robe, helping her pull it off her shoulders. She was wearing a soft flannel nightgown underneath with a long row of tiny buttons down the front. He unbuttoned them deftly, exposing her full breasts and the ugly bruise on the lower side of her ribcage.

  “Jesus, Jule,” he breathed. There was an angry, red mark where she’d actually come into contact with the tree branch. Around it, her skin was dark purple, with spots of yellow and even green.

  He began wrapping her, starting directly underneath her breasts and slowly winding the bandage down until it covered the painful-looking bruise. He fastened the ace bandage carefully with two little metal clasps.

  Juliana’s eyes were closed and she was breathing really shallowly, as if it hurt to take a deep breath. “Oh, Web,” she said, her voice cracking slightly, “it really hurts.”

  His arms went around her, so gentle and strong. “Did you take some of the painkiller the doctor gave you?”

  “Yeah,” she murmured. “Right before I came downstairs.”

  “It should start working soo
n, baby,” he said. “Any minute now.” His hand was stroking her hair soothingly. Juliana closed her eyes.

  “Web, please,” Juliana said softly, “can I stay here? Will you hold me for a while?”

  She felt him move her so that she was lying down. His arms were still around her, his body nestled against hers. He covered them both with the bedspread.

  And then Juliana felt the painkiller she’d taken kick in. Her ribs still hurt, but now the pain was dull, manageable. Her head felt heavy, and she knew it was only a matter of moments before she’d be asleep. As if from a distance, she thought she heard Webster murmur, “Jule, if you’ll let me, I’ll hold you for the rest of our lives.”

  Juliana sat on the porch swing in the sunshine, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, watching the Beckwiths’ Wagoneer pull up the driveway. Sam got out and helped Liz down from the front seat, then helped her walk up to the porch.

  “Hey, Jule,” he drawled. “How’re the ribs?”

  Juliana smiled. “Better. Just don’t make me laugh too hard.”

  “Who would’ve figured,” Liz said, making herself comfortable in the wicker rocking chair, “that between the two of us, with me being nearly nine months pregnant, I’d still manage to be less of an invalid. I think you did this on purpose so you wouldn’t always have to be the one to visit me.”

  “Yeah, right,” Sam said, winking at Juliana. “Liz never got a busted rib. She doesn’t realize it’s not the sort of thing you’d want to do on purpose. I’ll swing by in about an hour on my way back from town, all right, ladies?”

  Liz lifted her face for a good-bye kiss, and then Sam was gone.

  “So,” Juliana said.

  “So,” Liz said. “How’s you-know-who?”

  “Did I hear someone mention my name?” Webster said, bringing two mugs of tea out onto the porch.

  “Well, if it isn’t the world-famous author,” Liz said, taking one of the mugs. “Thank you. Aren’t you supposed to be writing?”

  As Liz watched, Webster handed the second mug to Juliana. Her sharp eyes didn’t miss the way he tenderly touched her hair before he sat down on the bench across from them.

  “I finished,” Webster said, still looking at Juliana.