Rugged and Restless

by Saylor Bliss

  Justin cupped my elbow and helped me back to my seat. I smiled and assured him I was fine.

  “I was an EMT dispatcher for Central L.A. during that quake. We all did rotations on both sides of the job.” I drew a shaky deep breath, blew it out. “I was the dispatcher who sent them —Travis and Mac —into that mess. I… met Mac right before he died. We were going to go out. I had —feelings for him. I knew he was from Wyoming, but I didn’t know exactly where. But he’s the reason I came here.”

  Grant’s brow drew together. “You knew Mac?”

  I nodded, brushing at the tears burning my eyes. “I didn’t know he lived here. I didn’t know exactly where he lived. He talked about Wyoming a lot but in general terms. He loved it here, missed it so much. I came here to see the Red Desert because he mentioned the sunsets were amazing.”

  Grant exchanged a puzzled look with his father before turning his attention back to I. “If you didn’t know where Mac was from, how did you end up here?”

  “I stopped at Valentine’s for some dinner. I was so tired of driving around, knowing no matter where I went, I wasn’t going to find Mac. Tom had a help wanted sign behind the bar and suddenly I just wanted to put down roots. Pine Haven seemed as close to anything Mac had described as anything else.” I spread my hands, helpless to explain why Pine Haven had felt like coming home. I picked at the hem of my dress, frowning at the rusty smear across my lap that didn’t quite blend with the fabric’s pattern. Travis’s blood.

  Grant crouched in front of me, stilling my hands. He searched my face, speaking softly. “Trav doesn’t know, does he? He doesn’t know you were seeing Mac.”

  I shook my head slowly, still feeling dazed. “I don’t see how he could. I didn’t realize it myself until you told me the story.” I stared at the bloodstain. It would never come out. I’d never be able to wear the dress again. Not that I really wanted to.

  Grant squeezed my hands. Releasing one, he reached up and placed his thumb beneath my chin, in a gesture so like Travis’s, that fresh tears welled. Gently he raised my face to meet his eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

  “It’s mind-blowing… weird …all the coincidences, the connections. Suddenly everything feels very complicated.”

  “We’ll all get through this, Christine. You and Travis love each other.”

  But doubt had become a constant companion recently, and once again it crept over me, invading my mind, dispatching reason into exile. Would they really get through it? Or would they end up each other’s painful reminder of the past?

  “Family of Travis McGee?” A green-clad doctor with thinning gray hair and horn-rimmed glasses stood in the doorway.

  When the three of us looked up, he closed the distance between us.

  “Mr. McGee is stable. His injuries are severe but not life-threatening. He’s a lucky man. Only he looks like he was run over by a truck. He’s more exhausted than anything else. He woke up for a few minutes but he was agitated, so we had to sedate him. He’ll probably be out the rest of the night. You can all see him for a couple of minutes. Then you can take turns sitting with him, one person at a time. Maybe when the sedation wears off, he won’t be as agitated if he sees a familiar face.”

  The doctor began to lead the way but hesitated in the doorway. “He kept —asking for Bluebell. We thought maybe he was experiencing expressive aphasia but he insisted he was saying what he meant to say. He wants someone to make sure the Bluebell is safe.”

  Tears broke free and streamed down I’s face. “That’s me. He’s talking about me.”

  Justin insisted I sit with Travis. “He asked for you. It’s you who’ll be able to ease his mind the most.”

  I couldn’t let go of Travis’s hand. With it cradled in mine, I noted the faint bruises on his knuckles and the raw abrasions, which were already scabbing over. The tube had been removed, once the bleeding from his nose had stopped choking him. Now his breathing was deep and even. His face was hard to look at. Even cleaned up, he still looked like he’d run headfirst into a wall. The stitched-up C-shaped laceration just below his left eye was going to leave a scar. His eyes were closed in deep, drug-induced sleep, but I didn’t think they would open very far even if he was awake.

  He’s alive.

  “I know it’ll be awhile before you can ride but I want to race across the plains with you. I want to go out at sunrise and get home just as the sun’s going down.” I had no idea what, if anything, he heard, but I kept talking. “I want to go camping in the mountains with you and stay in the cabin up there. I want to make love with you at night with all the stars above us.”

  His hand moved in mine. “Stay,” he whispered weakly. Then he drifted off again.

  I kept talking. Every so often he would surface from the darkness that gripped him. It never lasted longer than a moment. His words were slurred and thick, difficult to understand, but it was always the same plea to stay with him.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  When he grew agitated, I gently rubbed the sensitive spot on his temple with my thumb. “I’ll wait right here. I promise. I’ll wait until you come back to me.”

  Travis

  Hanging at the edge of consciousness, I didn’t want to wake up. I could listen to her talk forever. Her words painted the color into my dreams.

  “I want to kiss the most beautiful girl in the world,” I mumbled. My mouth was stiff; my tongue felt swollen. The words came with difficulty. “My girl. Stay with me. Don’t go away, please. Please don’t go again.”

  Her promise to stay with me sounded like it was coming from the other side of a wall as I sank into the blessed blackness again.

  I fought to resurface at the sound of the familiar voice. She was here. Promising to stay. With a mighty effort, I clawed and pushed my way out of the void. Frantic, I searched the room with eyes that didn’t want to focus. A figure sat next to the bed. She held my hand, stroking the pain away from sore knuckles, making assurances that she would stay; she would be there. With agonizing slowness, my vision cleared, the room brightened. Little flares of light seared along my optic nerves, each flash a hot needle stabbing into my eyes. As my vision began to normalize, the pain behind my eyeballs diminished. The room gradually whirled into focus. My eyes settled on the woman next to my bed.

  “Hey, you,” I croaked.

  My brain finally kicked into first gear and I registered Christine’s face, Christine’s clear, amazing eyes looking at me with… love, I realized. Christine was making promises and talking about the things she wanted us to do together.

  I tried to smile, but my aching lips turned the action to another exercise in torture. It had been Christine sitting with me, talking to me. If my head was a little disappointed, my heart was doing handstands with pure pleasure. My girl with the amazing eyes was waiting for me to wake up. I flexed the hand she held and she stopped talking.

  “You… waited for me,” I whispered. I tried to clear the hoarseness from my throat. It felt like I’d walked for days across the desert with no water. “My… Bluebell. You didn’t… disappear.”

  “I’ll never leave you, Travis McGee.”

  Relief bathed me in warmth. She was safe. She was there, not going anywhere.

  “I’m sorry, Bluebell. Sorry about… the fight at your place.”

  Exasperation heightened the color on her face. “You’re an idiot. But you’re my idiot. I won’t tell the boss about the fighting. This time.” She leaned over and gently kissed my cheek.

  Tears shimmered in her eyes. Tears I wanted to wipe away, only I couldn’t move my arms.

  “You rest now.”

  Her warmth spread through me, I tried to smile again, but the effort of keeping my eyes open was becoming too much. I gave in and let sleep overtake me.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Travis

  I forced my eyes open with a groan. It didn’t hurt as much as the last time. Softness caressed my fingers and I shifted my gaze to find my hand fisted in Christine’s cloud of da
rk hair as it spilled around her face. How long had she slept in the chair next to my bed? Makeup streaked her face, reminding me a little of the way she had looked smeared with soot. How long ago? I had no idea how long I’d been under, but from the sore and stiff muscles when I struggled to move, maybe a long time.

  Memories of another hospital awakening, followed by long months in rehab, intruded on my current reality. No one had waited for him then. No one had slept next to my bed and stroked my hand.

  Christine stirred and drew a deep breath. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up, pushed her hair from her face. She arched her back and stretched like one of the barn cats, thrusting her breasts against the loose, filmy fabric of her dress.

  For a few sensual moments, I enjoyed the view. A profound sense of relief followed, as a critical part of my anatomy stirred in response to the gorgeous picture of Christine waking up.

  “Hello, beautiful,” I whispered. When she graced me with a slow, sizzling smile, I sighed. “What’s a guy gotta do around here to get a beer from the pretty bartender?”

  Tears filled her eyes but she blinked them back.

  “Hey, this is a no-cry zone.” Struggling to sit, I was dismayed to find myself knotted up in tubes and wires. I tugged on one. “What the hell?”

  “Take it easy, cowboy.” With a gentle touch on my hand, she stopped my movement and used the controller in the railing to raise the head of the bed. “One step at a time. You’ve been in and out, all night and half a day.”

  Damn. I flexed my hands. “Concussion?”

  She shook her head. “Exhaustion and sedation.”

  “Good. Then I can leave. I hate hospitals.” I squinted up at her. She sure was a mess. Beautiful, but a mess. And she was shaking her head. “And I meant it about the beer.”

  Her smile looked less than understanding, as she held up a Styrofoam cup filled with ice water. “How’s your imagination?”

  I eyed the cup with distaste. “Not that good.” But I reached for it anyway. A long drink eased the dry sensation in my throat. When the nurse came to check on me, I insisted the tubes and wires be disconnected. Refusing to utilize any sort of bedside facility, I made a very shaky trip to the bathroom, thankfully getting there before I embarrassed myself all over the floor. As I washed my hands, I glanced up, startled by the battered man peering back at me from the mirror. Shaking my head, I took stock. Two black eyes, a row of Steri-Strips closing a crescent-shaped cut on my cheekbone, and a road rash along the right side of my jaw. “Holy hell, I look like a frickin’ raccoon that got run over by a lawn mower.”

  I staggered sideways, barely managing to catch myself on the doorjamb. Yeah, that would make a great impression on the love of my life. As if having the shit kicked out of me by the town bully wasn’t enough, wouldn’t it just make my day if she found me sprawled out on the bathroom floor? Spent, I stumbled into the hospital room and crawled back into the bed.

  A nurse approached with an injection, murmuring soothing words about taking away the pain. “No.” I waved her off. “It doesn’t hurt. I’m just weak. How do I get out of here?”

  “I’ll call your doctor.” The nurse tucked the blanket around me, checked my vital signs, and then hurried out.

  Christine stood at the window with her back to me, apparently extremely interested in something on the other side of the glass.

  “Hey,” I called softly. “Come back over here. I miss you.”

  When she approached, I caught traces of shadows in her eyes, before she distracted me with an exaggeratedly sexy walk in my direction. Then she was close enough to touch, so I took her hand, laced my fingers through hers. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Not a thing now that you’re back,” she said a little too casually as she perched on the edge of my bed.

  She kept staring over my right shoulder. Frustrated that she wouldn’t look at me, I held on tight when she tried to extract her hand, refusing to release her until she met my stare. Then I almost wished I hadn't pushed things. Worry haunted her eyes but the rest of her face was constructed into a careful mask. She was hiding something.

  “Don’t.” The word came out in a croak. “This is me, Christine. Tell me what’s wrong. Is it Dad? Grant?”

  “No,” she said quickly, glancing over her shoulder toward the door. “They’re right outside. Do you want me to get them?”

  Slowly I shook my head. “I want you to talk to me.”

  Christine

  I wanted to put it off, preferably forever, but at least until he was further on the way to recovery, maybe even at home.

  “Christine.” His voice was hoarse, but his tone was no-nonsense and his green eyes, even behind twin bruises, were compelling.

  So it was going to be now. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was suddenly bone dry. Something brushed my lips and I realized my hand hovered there. Was I hoping to push the truth back inside?

  “Okay.” I straightened. I wouldn’t insult him by trying to play down the impact of what I had to say. It would be best to just rip off the band-aid in one quick motion.

  “I told you I fell in love very quickly once,” I began.

  A muscle working in his jaw was his only reaction.

  “Nothing ever really happened. There wasn’t time. But it was going to. At least I thought it would, and I’m pretty sure he felt the same way. He said he did, anyway.” I paused, considering my next words. “I lived in L.A. at the time, and he was a firefighter. Trav, he was your cousin, Mac.”

  Travis

  I stared, unable to believe what I’d just heard. She continued to talk, explaining, rationalizing. I knew she was talking because her lips were moving, but everything past the bomb she’d dropped was just more blah-blah-blah. So I said nothing, partly because I didn’t know what I could say, and partly because the emotional sucker punch had rendered me without air in my lungs. Somewhere, some cosmic being had to be having a good belly laugh at my expense.

  I forced myself to pay attention.

  “I didn’t know until I asked Grant why Bull hates you so much, and he told me why you left home in the first place and where you ended up.”

  “You’re saying Mac is your twenty-three-hour man.” I spoke with caution, keeping my emotions hidden, until I could process what she was telling me.

  “I didn’t know, Travis. I wouldn’t have kept that from you.” Her eyes begged for my understanding. “We danced around the subject some, you and I, but we never got around to really talking about where we were before we met.”

  I stared. I blinked. I searched for something to say. I had nothing. She was looking at me for reassurance, when every good thing in my life had just been uprooted, like a delicate plant plucked from the ground that sustained it.

  Every self-inflicted wound surrounding my decision to run off with Mac had been systematically reopened. But her revelation took it to an all new level. Bluebell, part of the new beginning I thought I’d found, stolen from me by a past I couldn’t seem to leave behind.

  Fiery pain exploded in my heart.

  I’d suspected Mac was seeing someone, but I’d never met the girl. Christine didn’t seem at all like the type Mac usually went for. The thoughts continued to race through my mind, speeding up to the point where they no longer made sense. I wanted to ask what she felt about her revelation, but I was afraid of what I was already reading on her face.

  And damn it! Why did it have to feel like I’d been poaching on Mac’s memory?

  “Christine…” I shook my head. What could I say? “I, uh, I don’t think you were trying to keep anything from me.” I rubbed at my tired eyes, wincing as sudden sharp pain reminded me of my raccoon eyes, bringing me to full awareness of where I was and why. Damn Bull and his big ugly fists. “I’m sorry… my mind’s still fuzzy. Give me some time to absorb this, okay?”

  She looked away, but not before I caught the spasm of pain. Then she took a deep breath. Her head lifted and she met my gaze again. “Okay.” She stood, straightened
, and walked to the door, where she cast a glance over her shoulder. “I understand. Take all the time you need, Trav.” Then she was just gone.

  Un-fucking-believable. In the space of less than a week, I’d finally walked away from my past, only to have it chase me down and ruin my future. I flopped back against my pillow and shut my eyes, waiting for memories of Mac to surface. But it wasn’t my cousin’s voice I heard.

  “Travis, you can’t control what happens to you, but you can always control your reactions.”

  “Mom!” I bolted upright, shooting glances around the room. Of course she wasn’t there. She couldn’t be. But those had been her words to me, on more than one occasion. They must have stuck in my head, waiting for just the right time to surface.

  Impeccable timing.

  Could I have handled things any damn worse? What in God’s good name was wrong with me? I didn’t know exactly what I should feel about everything, but I didn’t want her to leave.

  “Christine!” I swung my shaky legs out of bed, cringing when my bare feet hit the frigid tile.

  When the door swung inward, I sagged with relief. But it was my father’s tall, lanky frame filling the doorway.

  “Grant’s takin’ your lady home.”

  The room began a slow spin.

  “Geez!” My father rushed forward and caught me around the shoulders, before I went down. “Let’s get you back into bed.”

  “No. Get me out of here!”

  “Settle down!” My normally easy-going father pushed me back toward the bed. “If you keep this up, they’re going to come in and sedate you again. Now, listen to me.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed and held my hands up in surrender, taking a deep breath and forcing calm. “I screwed up. I promised I’d never want to leave her, and then I just sat here like a jackass when she needed me to tell her everything’s okay. There are things she needs to know —things I need her to understand, but I couldn’t talk to her.” Shit, I was twelve years old again, needing my father to help him make sense of life. I met my dad's eyes. “I can’t lose her, Dad. Please help me.”