Within Reach

by Marilyn Pappano

  It was five-twenty when the doctor in stained scrub clothes came into the room. He wore a white lab coat with an embroidered patch that identified him as T. R. Sawyer. “Mrs. Contreras?”

  He looked expectantly from Royce Ann to Krista, then at the two men. “Is there no Mrs. Contreras?”

  Krista had frozen in place for a moment, but now, eager to hear news of Rafael, she moved toward the doctor with an easy grace, despite her fear. “Not yet. How is Rafael?”

  Dr. Sawyer wasted no time on platitudes. He could see from her eyes that she was tired and sick with fear. “Mr. Contreras is doing fine, considering what he’s been through. He’ll be spending some time in ICU, but we don’t expect any problems.”

  Krista’s knees turned rubbery as a wave of relief rushed over her. “He’s really all right?” she asked, clasping the doctor’s hand in hers.

  “Really. He’s a very lucky man. If he hadn’t been wearing the bullet-proof vest he would have died. One of those shots hit right above his heart.” He shook his head in wonder, then went on to what he knew would be her next question. “You can see him in about an hour, but just for a few minutes.”

  A few minutes wasn’t enough, would never be enough. She wanted to spend every hour of the rest of her life with him, to make sure she never again came so close to losing him. “Can I stay with him?” She could see him preparing to say no, and she begged, “Please. This past week has been so hard for him, and he doesn’t like hospitals at all. He hates them, and he never goes near them.” She followed the words with the smile of an angel. “It’ll make us both feel a lot better.”

  “I’ll make you a deal, Miss—”

  “Krista McLaren.”

  “Krista. You go with your friends and eat some dinner, and when you come back I’ll let you stay with him until he wakes up. After that we’ll see, all right?”

  She nodded eagerly. “Thank you, Dr. Sawyer.”

  Dave Brown left them then, and they went to the hospital cafeteria. Though Krista made a selection from the menu, she was too nervous to eat much. “What about his family, Jim? Will they be notified?”

  “As far as I know he doesn’t have any.”

  She shook her head. “He’s got parents and grandparents, and twelve brothers and sisters, and nieces and nephews and everything.”

  Royce Ann and Jim stared at her. “You’re kidding. Where do they live?”

  “In Mexico. He never said the name of the town, though. Wouldn’t it be in his file at work? Don’t you have to give a number for an emergency?”

  “Yes, but…well, I looked at his file once, and there was nothing there. I just assumed he didn’t have anyone.”

  “I bet he’s got their addresses at home, probably in the desk,” she said softly to herself. “But I don’t know if he’d want to call them. He hasn’t seen them in years….” She would ask him when he woke up, she decided. As long as he wasn’t dying, she didn’t have the right to call them without his permission.

  The Stones finished eating; then Jim convinced Krista to leave the hospital long enough to get a rental car. He had to return to Nueva Vida that night, and it would save her the trouble of getting one later. Royce Ann offered to stay with her, but Krista refused. Jim needed his wife, too, and Rafael was going to be all right. She wanted to be alone with him.

  When she returned to the hospital a nurse showed her into a small, dimly lit room. The back of the bed was pushed up against one wall, and Rafael lay there, still and pale and to Krista’s untrained eye, hardly breathing. The nurse started to leave, but Krista stopped her. “Are you sure he’s all right?” she asked in a shaky whisper.

  The woman smiled. “He’s doing fine. And he’s on a monitor, so if anything goes wrong we’ll know it right away. We’re just down the hall if you need anything, okay?”

  “Okay.” Krista remained where she was until the door had swung shut behind the nurse. Slowly, her fingers clutching her purse tightly, she moved to the bed and reached out to touch Rafael’s hand. His skin seemed so cold, and he made no response to her touch. “Oh, Rafael,” she whispered. “What did they do to you?”

  The bed was surrounded by equipment that she’d seen only on television shows, machines she couldn’t identify, and there were IV needles stuck into his arms. On his chest were two horribly ugly bruises, each about the size of a fist, from the first two bullets. They looked awful, but she could imagine how much worse the wound from the third bullet looked where it had entered unprotected flesh.

  He looked weak and vulnerable, not at all like the strong man she knew. What had it taken to make him like that? His health and strength had drained away in the six hours since she’d last seen him at Royce Ann’s house.

  The night dragged out, each minute seeming like an hour. Krista’s relief turned again to worry as he continued to sleep, breathing shallowly, hour after hour. She knew it was good that he was having no problems, but shouldn’t he be waking up soon? What if he wasn’t sleeping but was in a coma? He must have lost so much blood; what if the trauma was more than his body could bear?

  “You look awful. You’re going to scare him when he wakes up.”

  Krista turned from the still figure in the bed who’d held her attention for hours to see Dr. Sawyer in the doorway. “When will that be?”

  “I really can’t say. Don’t worry, Krista. He’s resting, and that’s the best thing for him now. His vital signs are good, and they brought him in by chopper, so there wasn’t much of a delay in getting him into surgery. He’s fine—but what about you?”

  She looked surprised. “I’m all right.”

  “You need some sleep.”

  “Later. I want to stay here.” She turned to look at Rafael again, and the doctor moved to the other side of the bed. “I saw the helicopter,” she said softly. “I was at Royce Ann’s house, and Rafael came by on his way out. When I left we saw his boss heading in the same direction, but we thought he was just out in the field because Jim got shot last week, and they’re shorthanded. Then the helicopter flew over. I didn’t even think…Today’s the first day since I’ve known him that he’s worn that vest.”

  “You make sure that he always wears one from now on.”

  “Oh, I will, I promise.”

  “I’ve got to get going. If you insist on staying awake, the least you can do is sit down for a while. You’ve been on your feet for hours.” Dr. Sawyer pulled a chair from the corner of the room to her side of the bed, and she gratefully sank down into it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Doctor.”

  There was so much noise, so much confusion. He knew the smells. He remembered them from before, the last time, the only other time he’d been in a hospital.

  He knew the sounds, too: the squeaking of the nurses’ rubber-soled shoes; the beeping of the monitors; the soft whooshing of some machine. He knew the smells and the sounds, but none of that mattered. He was in the hospital, he’d had surgery, and he was hurting. And he didn’t know why. He couldn’t remember that. Why was he there?

  It was his dream—that nightmare that had plagued him for so long—only this time it was more real, more vivid. He felt the pain, the fear. And this time there were new faces, new names mixed with the old.

  Like Gregorio. The name matched a face, a boy’s face. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen, a year older than his brother José. But José was dead, because Rafael had killed him. Was Gregorio dead, too? Had he also killed Gregorio? He tried to ask, but he couldn’t force his mouth to work, couldn’t make the words come out.

  His head ached, and he felt as if his brain had stopped functioning. There was awareness but no memory, questions but no answers. Why would he kill a boy? Why would Gregorio want to kill him? Did he work for Rebecca’s father? Was it all Rebecca’s fault? Damn it, why couldn’t he remember?

  He struggled to open his eyes. His vision was blurred; then it cleared, and he saw multiple images of everything, including the woman. The blond-haired woman who must
somehow have been responsible for what had happened to him.

  “Rebecca?”

  Krista had leaned forward in the chair to rest her arms on the bed, her head down. She straightened as that single, hoarse word whispered through the air. For a moment she couldn’t draw any breath into her lungs, and when she finally succeeded, it stung. Her eyes stung, too, with the sudden appearance of hot tears.

  Rebecca. He’d said he no longer loved Rebecca. He’d said he cherished her, Krista, that he would be hers for as long as she wanted him, and now he was calling Rebecca. Had he lied? Did he still love the other woman? Was that why he was attracted to Krista, because she reminded him so much of Rebecca?

  Rafael wouldn’t lie, she insisted. He wouldn’t use me to replace her.

  Unless he did it subconsciously. She’d known his love would be strong and deep and intense. Too strong to die, too intense to be forgotten. So he’d satisfied it with another woman who looked like Rebecca, who had the same background. One he could pretend, subconsciously, was Rebecca.

  He moved restlessly and despite her tears Krista reached out to lay her hand over his. “It’s all right, Rafael,” she whispered, her voice quavering. “You’re all right.”

  His fingers clenched hers, then relaxed and he slept again. Krista laid her head on the bed and softly cried.

  She stayed by his side for the rest of the night and through the next day, holding his hand, murmuring soft, comforting words to soothe him when he became agitated by his dreams. He spoke often, but only in Spanish. A nurse who spoke the language listened once, then merely shrugged. He was rambling, she said. Just disjointed sentences that meant nothing. He never spoke Krista’s name, but she comforted herself with the fact that he didn’t speak Rebecca’s name again, either.

  At last he became lucid. His eyes were open and finally focusing, but he couldn’t see Krista, who had moved to the window for a few minutes. “Krista,” he murmured, slowly rising onto one elbow. “Want to see Krista.”

  She hurried to him, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her touch was very gentle as she eased him down again. “Don’t try to move, Rafael.”

  He gripped her hand weakly. “Oh, God, Krista, it hurts,” he moaned.

  “I know it does, darling, but you’re all right.” She stroked her fingers through his hair, dislodging bits of sand and dirt that had accumulated when he’d fallen. “Don’t try to talk, all right?”

  He ignored her advice. “What happened?”

  “You were shot.”

  He nodded slowly. His voice got stronger, his eyes more alert. “Gregorio. I couldn’t remember. I thought…the nightmare…”

  “What nightmare, Rafael?”

  “The hospital…Rebecca. I thought it was the nightmare again.”

  Krista looked down, her gaze settling around his mouth. She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Would—would you like to see her? I can find her. It might take a few days, but I know I could find her, and she would come….”

  His fingers tightened around her hand slowly. He saw the signs of last night’s tears, and he asked quietly, “Why would I want to see Rebecca?”

  She couldn’t answer without crying again, so she remained silent.

  “What did I say last night, Krista?” He was puzzled, but he kept his voice calm and even. He knew he couldn’t have said anything to make her believe he still cared for Rebecca Halderman, because those feelings were dead. He wondered briefly if he had talked about the investigation, but that wouldn’t explain her offer to find Rebecca. “Krista?”

  “You wanted her,” she whispered.

  “Did I say that?”

  “You said her name.” Through her wet lashes she saw his mouth curve up slightly, and she raised her head to look at him.

  “I’ve been in the hospital twice, Krista. The other time was because of Rebecca. I was dreaming, Krista…. I couldn’t remember what had happened, why I was here. All I could remember was what she’d done to me. I don’t care about her, querida. How could I, when I have you?”

  She was dismayed to feel the tears on her cheeks again, to hear them in her voice. “It’s all right if you want her.”

  “I don’t. Rebecca Halderman means nothing to me. God, Krista, don’t you believe me?” He cautiously pulled her down to him, cradling her with one arm against his chest. “Quiet, querida,” he soothed, stroking her hair. “Está bien. It’s all right, my love.”

  “My love,” she repeated, her tears drying. She moved off his badly bruised chest and wiped her cheeks. “You are my love,” she said, her voice vibrating with intensity. “I love you, Rafael.”

  “Then come back down here where you belong,” he growled, pulling on her hand.

  “And where is that?”

  “In my bed, my arms, my life.” He was very serious, his face set in familiar hard lines, but his eyes were gentle. “You’ve taken my heart and my soul, Krista. You filled all the empty places in them. There’s no room for anyone else in my life but you. I’ll never let you go.”

  “I’ll never try to go,” came her promise. Rafael wondered what she would think if she knew that she would soon break that vow when she found out about him and her father. But he meant what he’d just said: he would never let her leave him. As long as she loved him, he would never let her go.

  He held her for a while before gently pushing her away. “You need to rest, cariña.”

  She tried to argue, but she was too tired. She kissed him goodbye, then asked at the nurses’ desk about nearby motels. As soon as she checked in at one just down the street she called the hospital and left the number, so they could contact her if anything happened; then she undressed and collapsed into bed.

  The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, she returned to the hospital. Rafael looked and felt much better, which was evidenced by the kiss he gave her.

  A nurse’s aide came in, carrying a tray, which she set on the bedside table. In the middle of the tray stood a glass of juice.

  “What’s that?” Krista asked curiously.

  “Breakfast.”

  “Interesting. I’m glad I ate my pancakes and eggs and bacon before I came.”

  “Please don’t talk about it,” the aide teasingly pleaded. “He’s on a clear-liquid diet—nothing but water and Jell-O and juices for the next few days. Don’t tempt him with tales of food.”

  Rafael liked being tempted, but it wasn’t the food; it was the mere sight of Krista, wearing a lavender dress and looking lovelier than ever. As soon as the nurse left them alone he reminded her that they were supposed to have been together two nights before.

  “But we were together. You were in that bed, and I was sitting in this chair.”

  “That isn’t quite the way I planned it,” he growled.

  “Well, sweetheart, I’m not the one who went out and got myself shot, so don’t blame me. How do you feel?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Will there be some kind of investigation into the shooting?”

  “They came by early this morning.” Rafael pushed the table away and motioned for her to sit beside him. She did, but pulled the tray back and picked up the glass. “Drink this.”

  “No.”

  “Come on. You have to.”

  “I’m not thirsty. I’m hungry.”

  “Rafael, you heard what she said—clear liquids for the next few days. Then you can have food.”

  “No, then I get full liquids. Milk, cream soup, pudding and ice cream. Then I get real food. I’m hungry now,” he grumbled. He pushed the glass away, but Krista was persistent.

  “Listen, you’ve got to do everything they say before they’ll even consider letting you out of here, and the things we can do with our time together are going to be strictly limited as long as you’re here. Drink your breakfast so we can go home sooner.”

  He grudgingly allowed her to hold the glass while he sipped the juice through a straw. “It tastes awful,” he said when he finished.

  “You’ll get used to it.” Kri
sta put the glass on the tray and moved the table back. When she spoke again, her voice was serious. “Rafael?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you very, very much. I don’t ever want to be away from you like last week again.”

  He gathered her into his arms, wincing when she bumped the bruises on his chest. “You’re never going to lose me, Krista,” he reassured her in a whisper. “I can promise you that. We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together and raise beautiful children. We’ll be together always, my love.”

  Chapter 12

  It was a typically hot desert day, the air so dry that breathing was difficult, but to Krista the day seemed so gorgeous. She was taking Rafael home from the hospital. Royce Ann and Jim had brought the Mustang to El Paso the previous weekend, along with some clothes for Rafael, and now Krista watched as the nurse helped him into the small car. She stowed the suitcase in the trunk, then slid behind the wheel.

  After a long silence Rafael quietly, unemotionally, told her about the shooting. “I was afraid out there, Krista,” he finished. Afraid that he might die and never again get to hold her or kiss her, never get to tell her how much he loved her. Yet he still hadn’t told her. Not really.

  “It’s natural to be afraid,” she said with a gentle smile. “Just proves you’re human.”

  He laughed, then stopped with a grimace and pressed his hand to his abdomen, lightly touching the healing wound. “There are a lot of people around who would be surprised to hear that.”

  He was tired again by the time they reached his house.

  “Come inside and lie down.”

  “Only if you lie down with me.”

  “I’ve been waiting for the chance.” She slipped her arm around his waist, and they went inside the house together. “Welcome home, darling,” she whispered, kissing him.

  She helped him undress, and he eased himself into the bed. “Take your clothes off and lie with me,” he demanded. “I want to look at you.”

  Blushing, she obeyed him. He reached across, his hand shaking slightly, and brushed his fingertips across her breast, gently squeezing her nipple into hardness. “I thought I might never see you again,” he hoarsely whispered. “Never get to tell you how important you are to me…how much I need you. You are my life, Krista. Without you, I would have died out there, because you give my life reason…” His hand fell back to the bed, and his eyes slowly, unwillingly closed. “Don’t leave me, Krista,” he pleaded in an almost silent voice. “Please don’t leave me.”