But down deep, he suspected that the closer he was to the woman he would never stop loving, the less of an issue the nightmares would prove to be.
Chapter 11
After two days spent “resting” in her room, where she chewed antacids like candy to combat the anxiety chewing through her, Andrea knew that if she didn’t get out of her own head, she was bound to have a meltdown—or end up back in the emergency department, this time with a bleeding ulcer.
Terrified by Dr. Kapur’s implied threats if she didn’t record every detail of Ian’s progress, Andrea filed new logs. But instead of writing the truth—that she could barely speak to Ian for the fear and guilt coiling around her middle like a python—she had logged a fictional account of how recent events, namely the shooting and her accident, had distracted him from his work on the root causes of his post-traumatic stress.
As plausible as her logs sounded, Andrea doubted they would hold off those reading them for long. They were clearly after something in particular, she thought, some piece of information they were so desperate for her to bring to light that they would threaten, even try to kill both her and Ian to gain her cooperation. She seriously doubted that whatever they were after would be found in the logs she’d already recorded, since she’d never had the chance to make notes about his revelations the morning of the shooting...
The morning of the day my entire life went down the tubes.
Was it something to do with his CIA work or his time among the terrorists that Julian and Dr. Kapur were really after? And once Andrea did help Ian recover the memory and gave it over for the pair to see, would that be the end of this waking nightmare as the “doctor” had implied?
But as desperately as Andrea prayed the woman would be as good as her word, Andrea feared it was more likely she and Ian would both be silenced in order to keep confidential whatever volatile secret these people were hiding. Or was it possible that this was all about a public prosecution, making Ian a scapegoat for Americans killed because his superiors had failed to move their listening post after his capture as they should have?
She was losing her mind, trying to figure out which or to come up with some alternate scheme that wouldn’t end up causing even more trouble.
When Ian brought a tray with lunch that afternoon, he frowned in the direction of the food still sitting on the guest room’s small desk.
“You haven’t even had your breakfast,” he said, nodding. “And you barely touched last night’s dinner, either. Are you feeling sick?”
“Not so much sick as sad, I guess. And worried about what comes next.”
“Take it from me, you’ll feel a lot better once you get some of Miss Althea’s chicken salad in your stomach—have more energy, think more clearly. And a little shot of vitamin D definitely wouldn’t hurt you, either.”
Puzzled by the comment, she frowned. “Vitamin D?”
He nodded. “Sunshine, in the open air. It’s a gorgeous afternoon, so how about a walk or, better yet, another riding lesson?”
“I don’t know, Ian. I’m still kind of sore, and what if—if the shooter—”
“Oh, come on. I’ll take it easy on you, promise. We’ll stick to the corral, since Virgil has a couple of our best hands working around the paddock area to keep an eye on things. They’ll do, at least until I find the right guy to take over ranch security full-time.”
“You’re looking for someone?”
“I’ve made some calls, but it’s not the easiest thing on earth to lure someone qualified to a ranch that’s hours from civilization.”
Her lips pursed as she considered for a moment. “What if I told you I might know of someone, somebody with a background in military security? Raised in ranching country in Wyoming, too, I think, so he might fit it quite well.”
“And this guy’s looking for a job?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“Wait a minute.” Ian’s eyes narrowed. “This is another of your patients, isn’t it? One of your psych cases from the center.”
She stared at him, astonished that he would take such a view of someone who’d suffered in the war as he had. Not exactly the same way he had, but they’d both made terrible sacrifices in the service of their country.
“If you want to miss a chance to hire a qualified candidate, that’s your loss.” She allowed a hint of disapproval to drip through her voice because, whether or not Ian realized it, in refusing to consider her suggestion, he was casting judgment on his own wholeness and self-worth, just as he had when he had spoken of head cases earlier.
A look of discomfort passed over his face, and she thought he might say more on the subject, something that would allow her an opening to draw him into conversation. Why? So you can secretly report it?
Instead, he shook it off and changed the subject. “How ’bout we meet outside the barn, by the hitching post in forty minutes? Will that give you enough time to finish your lunch and get yourself together?”
She looked down at the borrowed robe she was still wearing, abruptly conscious that she hadn’t even brushed her hair this morning. “Sounds good,” she agreed. “I guess it is time I pull myself up by the bootstraps.”
He smiled. “Now you’re talking like a real Texan. I’ll have you chowing down on chicken-fried steak and saying y’all and fixin’ to in no time.”
“Heaven help us all.” She faked a shudder at the thought.
Once he was gone, she forced herself to eat the fruit and half a sandwich, which she washed down with some sweet tea. Afterward, she washed up, brushed her teeth and pulled her hair into a long, sleek ponytail. She opted to wear the outfit someone had laundered for her, the same jeans and blouse she had been wearing that afternoon her car had left the road. Though there were a couple of faded stains, at least they fit well—and served as a reminder that she must soon rejoin the living and purchase herself a few changes of clothing.
Once she joined him outside, Ian smiled at her, with Eden’s two Australian shepherds wagging and grinning at his side. “Looking good,” he said, leading the same mounts they’d ridden on their previous outing to the hitching post. “Nice to see you back among the living.”
“Thanks,” she said, dropping a pair of borrowed sunglasses down to cover her eyes. “You’re not looking so bad yourself, cowboy. Every day, you look like you’ve put back on a couple more pounds.” Maybe it was the brilliance of the blue sky, the warmth of the September sunshine and the crispness of the air, or maybe he’d been right about the magical properties of Althea’s chicken salad, but she couldn’t help notice how well he wore the extra muscle mass.
Out of nowhere, her mouth watered at the thought of unbuttoning the deep blue work shirt he was wearing to check out his abs and pecs. Not that she’d be doing any such thing, under the present circumstances, but that didn’t stop her imagination from dragging him into the hayloft. What on earth was wrong with her?
He mimicked a fork-to-mouth motion and winked at her as he explained. “It’s all in the elbow action.”
A bright peal of laughter slipped out of her own mouth, unexpected after days of gloom. “Well, you’re looking more like your old self these days.” The same gorgeous hunk of self that had practically started her drooling that first day when he had stopped to help her. “Probably feeling a whole lot better, too.”
“Hang on just a minute,” he said before heading back inside the barn and quickly returning with her riding helmet, along with a wooden box containing a variety of brushes, combs and hoof picks.
He taught Andrea how to groom Princess and clean her hooves, something she took to with no problem. When they got to the saddling, Andrea found it somewhat tougher, and it took several attempts for her to master the correct knot and get the cinch tight enough that the saddle wouldn’t slip.
“We’ll make a rancher of you yet,” he said a
pprovingly once she’d finally passed muster.
“Maybe I can write a grant to get riding therapy added at the youth center when I go back to San Diego.”
At her reminder that their situation was only temporary, his smile faded. But it was only fair, she told herself, to keep him rooted in reality. He needed home and family to support his move to a full recovery. And she needed, more than anything, to put this painful chapter of her life behind her.
As she strapped on her helmet, he bridled both horses and led Princess to the mounting block. Andrea had noticed before that he didn’t have to use it, but with her body still stiff and sore from the wreck, she decided this wouldn’t be the day to try to climb aboard on her own.
Once in the saddle, she looked around and noticed a couple of cowboys working under the hood of a dented, rust-brown pickup not far beyond the paddock area. One had tossed aside his jacket and was working in a muscle T-shirt. Both wore boots and hats and enough testosterone to make her friend Cassidy’s freckles jump right off her face.
But Andrea’s gaze didn’t linger, instead going to Ian’s sharp blue eyes as he appraised her.
“Hang on,” he said. “Jessie must’ve been out riding since we last went. Stirrups are too short.”
In an oddly intimate adjustment, he had her move back each foot so he could raise the stirrups to adjust them for her longer legs. As he worked, his forearm brushed her thigh, an accidental touch that sent awareness rippling through her, followed by an aching need. Touch me there again, one last time before I...
As if he’d read her thoughts, he tensed, and a silence settled over them, a palpable strain magnified by every look that passed between them and each averted eye.
Does he already know I’ve handed over the password? Has he figured out I’m being threatened?
Her heart skipped a beat when Ian laid one callused hand on her calf, and the sigh that slipped from his mouth warmed the flesh beneath the denim. Or maybe that was only her imagination. But she was certain that the worry she saw in his expression was as real as the tingling of her leg and the flutter of her pulse.
“I’ve got a confession, Andie. I’ve done something I shouldn’t have, and I’m scared to death you won’t forgive me.”
Her eyes widened. “W-wait. Forgive you? As kind as you’ve been? Are you kidding? Not to mention that you saved my life.”
“Guess I do have my finer moments, but picking up that sealed card, the one you plucked out of those flowers and then dropped on the floor, wasn’t one of them. I’m sorry.”
“Wait. You mean the card from Julian? The one that came in the roses?”
He nodded, regret darkening his handsome face. “I only meant to toss it for you, dump it in the trash there. But I got to worrying a little, thinking he might’ve written something—I don’t know, but you seemed so upset, and I still hadn’t gotten over that moment I spotted your car in the water.”
“So you took the note and read it,” she said, fear rippling through her as she wondered if Julian had written something that would alert Ian to the danger he was in and possibly make things worse for them both.
“It was crazy, stupid. The kind of idiot move my brother—never mind that. I just wanted to clear the air between us and apologize for getting in your private business. Andrea—are you all right? I swear your face just went gray.”
“I—I’m fine,” she said, remembering to breathe again. Because, clearly, Ian was feeling guilty, not furious, as he would surely be had he had any idea that she was being coerced to share his secrets. “It’s just— I’m surprised, that’s all.”
He looked up into her eyes. “And disappointed, I hope. Because I’m disappointed in myself.”
“What did the note say, Ian? Tell me that, and I promise you’re forgiven.”
He turned from her but went only a few steps to mount his palomino horse in one smooth motion so that they were looking at each other almost eye to eye. Urging his horse a little closer, he dipped two fingers into the left pocket of his checked shirt to produce the note. “Here you go.”
She took it from him, then drew a deep breath before unfolding it and reading.
Please come back to me. Let’s talk this over and make things right.
She turned it over, looking for more, for the apology or Julian’s promise to put a stop to the threats and violence. But there was nothing else, nothing at all.
Without meeting Ian’s gaze, she jammed the note into her back pocket and nudged the mare’s side, wanting nothing more than to distance herself from the reminder that, for all her education, she was no better than her mother at avoiding men with dangerous secrets.
Ian cleared his throat, then started giving her instructions, at times demonstrating the positioning he wanted as he made a circuit of the corral. Distracted as she was, she wasn’t sure how much she got out of the lesson, other than to notice his easy athleticism in the saddle and the streaming white banner of his horse’s snowy mane and tail.
For the next forty minutes or so, she did her best to follow his directions. As they worked, the conversation was stiff and formal, both of them sticking to the subject at hand. Eventually, though, she shifted in the saddle, trying to relieve the ache in muscles she’d forgotten she possessed.
“Looks like you’ve had about enough fun for one day,” Ian noted.
“It was fun.” Or at least, it should have been. “I really do appreciate the lesson. And just so you know, I meant what I said earlier about the note. I’m not upset. It’s not important.”
“It’s important to me,” he said, regret shadowing his square jaw. “Important enough to get me thinking about the man I used to be. And about the man I want to be, if I’m ever to deserve you.”
She looked up sharply. “What on earth makes you believe that I deserve you?” If she did, she’d find the courage to tell him that because of her, someone was likely poring through her case notes even now.
He nudged his gelding’s side. Closing in, he reached out to claim her hand. “Because I don’t remember everything, but I damned sure remember you.”
You remember someone else, someone a lot braver, someone who hasn’t struggled to escape a car while the waters rose to swallow her alive. The woman who’d emerged brought with her a new understanding of how fragile life was. Of how willing these people—whoever they really were—would be to kill if they were crossed.
“Why are you shaking, Andrea?” he asked her.
“I’m ready to get down. That’s all,” she said. “I’m exhausted.”
By the time he dismounted and moved to help her, she was already on her feet and walking the mare back toward the barn.
“What’s really wrong?” Ian pressed, leading his own mount beside her. “Ever since the hospital, you’ve been withdrawn and miserable.”
Heat rose to her face. “Seriously, Ian, how would you expect me to behave under the circumstances?”
“It’s more than that, I know it. There’s something you haven’t told me.”
“I’m scared, that’s all, scared to stand too close to a window. Being outdoors in the open—it’s pretty overwhelming.”
He pulled open the sliding door to the barn and gestured for her to walk Princess inside. As he followed, leading Sundance, he said, “Tell me more about this man you mentioned from the center. The one with the security background. You really think he’s qualified, or are you just feeling sorry for him because he needs a job?”
She frowned over her shoulder. “Pity’s never been part of my therapy, Ian. For example, I don’t feel sorry for you right now, just annoyed that you would ask that.”
“And you’re sure he’s ready for this? He’s not like...” He thumped his fingertips against his sternum. “Still all messed up?”
“I can’t discuss his personal details, but suffice to say I wou
ldn’t have recommended him unless I thought he was well qualified and capable. Your safety and your family’s matter too much to me.”
“All right, then. Have him email the ranch a résumé. I’ll write the information down for you when we go back in.”
She studied him. “You aren’t just doing this to try to make it up to me for reading my note, are you?”
“You want the correct answer or the true one?” he asked, a smile ghosting through eyes the color of a field of spring bluebonnets in the sunlight.
“In that case,” she said, “I withdraw the question. Because in some instances, it’s better not to know for sure.”
* * *
As Ian unsaddled and put away the horses, he did his best to engage Andrea in conversation. But no matter how he tried, she was so quiet that he wondered if he’d been wrong thinking there was something she was keeping from him.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard,” he said as he closed Sundance’s stall door and dusted wisps of the sweet-smelling hay he’d given each horse off the front of his shirt. “Riding was a lot of physical activity for someone—someone who was almost...” The shock of it twisted through him: how cold she’d been lying on that sandy bank, how stark-white her complexion. Combined with the bluish tint of her lips and her soaked body’s corpse-like limpness, the horror of the memory was forever branded on his brain.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “After all, Princess was the one who carried me, not the other way around.”
Unable to escape the memory, he said, “I’ve seen dead men before—women, children, animals—all the ugliest scenes that terrorism has to offer. But nothing’s ever kicked me in the gut like thinking I’d lost you on the bank of Spur Creek. Even after I did mouth-to-mouth—”
She looked up, her face stricken. “You gave me mouth-to-mouth?”
“You weren’t breathing, Andrea. And I was about to start on CPR when I couldn’t find a pulse. That’s when you came out of it, when you came back and it felt like—something like my own heart being restarted. Kick-started, like an old motorcycle with a rusty engine.”
Lone Star Survivor Page 16
