Falling For Ken (Blueprint to Love Book 2)

by Giordano, Lauren

  Eyes closed, Harry's eyebrows scrunched in thought, oblivious to their impending doom. "Too much to do. Jake's– honeymoon. Jeff . . . vacation. All gone."

  "So, you're in charge?" She could kiss off any hope of a financial reprieve. Traynor hadn't been in a giving mood when he arrived. Kendall could only assume his tolerance of her had deteriorated over the last several minutes.

  "Guess so." When he attempted a weak smile, she experienced the uncomfortable urge to place his head in her lap. To do something– anything to alleviate his discomfort. But her daddy always said she had a knack for making bad situations worse.

  Brushing dusty strands of hair from his forehead revealed an evil-looking gash she hadn't noticed earlier. Her stomach clenched in anguish.

  "Dammit to hell. Is there anywhere on you that isn't hurt?" Her bottled-up remorse exploded in a wave of helpless fury.

  "If I apologize . . . for falling, will you . . . stop yelling?"

  Tears filled her throat and spilled from her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Traynor. If I could trade places with you, I would."

  His eyes fluttered open at the croaky sound of her voice, searching through the haze of dust. "I hear them-"

  Harrison's sharp groan of pain sent fear chasing down her spine. Swiping her tears, she burrowed through the rubble to grab his hand, forgetting it might be broken. His skin was cool and clammy. Hell—what did that mean? Shock? "They'll be here soon." Relief coursed through her when he acknowledged the pressure of her fingers with his.

  "Ken– can you do . . . something for me?"

  "Anything . . . just tell me." Amazed, Kendall watched as he fought to stay conscious. His voice had dropped to a whisper and she leaned down to hear his next words.

  "Could you loosen your grip? You're crushing my hand."

  ***

  His head pounding, Harry discovered it hurt to breathe. Over the roar in his ears, he heard an argument escalating. Forcing his eyes open, he glanced around. Hell– he was in an ambulance? He must be worse off than he knew.

  "I need to go with him-"

  "Ma'am– please step back."

  Ken hadn't released his hand. She'd loosened the painful grip, thankfully, but he'd been aware of her presence the entire time. Even as he'd passed out– and again when he lurched awake while they carried him from the hole. Unfortunately, it didn't sound as though she would be leaving him anytime soon.

  "Jeez– let her come." The only thing Harry wanted was to get the hell away from that crater. The sooner he made it to a hospital, the sooner they'd patch him up and he could drive back to Stafford.

  Blissfully, it was quiet for a moment before Ken's smoky voice issued several orders to her team as she hoisted herself into the ambulance and they were underway. When her fingers slid between his, Harry was surprised to realize he'd been expecting them.

  "Your name is really Ken?" She had freckles. A spatter of them across her nose.

  "Short for Kendall." Her gaze had switched to the scenery flashing past the window in a blur of green and brown.

  He hadn't thought he liked freckles. Now, he wasn't sure. Harry frowned. Was it possible he had a concussion? There wasn't a spot on his body that wasn't throbbing or bleeding. Maybe he was hallucinating.

  Several minutes passed before she spoke again. "We're almost there."

  "Doesn't change . . ." He frowned, trying to remember what he'd been about to say. "We still . . . your contract." When her eyes widened in surprise, Harry again experienced a flash of familiarity. That color.

  "Let's worry about getting you patched up."

  He wondered whether guilt had caused her change of heart. "Where's– briefcase?"

  "The boys were bringing it out of the hole. I'll get it for you tonight, once you're squared away at the hospital."

  "Thanks." His fingers twitched against hers and Harry experienced a strange flicker of comfort. She was one of the most prickly females he'd ever met. Ken had been belligerent, demanding and insulting prior to his nosedive through that fence. Yet, she'd been the first person into the hole to rescue him. Since then, she'd been surprisingly human. "Thanks for coming with me."

  "When I nearly kill a man, it's only polite to cart him to the hospital."

  He felt the strangest urge to smile, but damned if he knew how that could be possible. "Where's the original Ken?"

  "My dad," she admitted. "He retired to Key Largo three years ago. I'm the only Ken left."

  "You run the company?"

  "I've worked for A & R since I was seventeen."

  Their conversation ended when the ambulance arrived at the emergency room. Releasing his hand, Ken stepped aside while the attendants hustled him inside. The last Harry saw of her was a shaky smile of encouragement and a shy little wave. He was left to wonder whether she'd be waiting when he was finally released or if he'd have to hitch a ride back home.

  ***

  Every instinct urged Kendall to follow him through those doors, but her brain jerked the reins. Lord's sake, she'd nearly killed the man. Fighting the urge to cry, she found a seat in the waiting room. Sinking into the chair, she closed her eyes. When an hour ticked by with no word, she approached the window for a status report, her heart thudding like a freight train.

  "You're with Mr. Traynor?"

  Nodding, she crossed her fingers. The clerk didn't need any ugly details. "Any news? Can I see him?"

  "Not yet. But since you're waiting, you can complete the insurance papers." Slamming forms onto a clipboard, the harried woman passed it through the window.

  "But-" Kendall sighed when the woman turned to answer the phone. After several minutes, she gave up. The slender bump in her pocket reminded her she held Harrison's wallet. It lay there, beckoning her to rifle through it.

  Not rifle, she corrected. Rifling was when you didn't have an actual reason. Rifling was snooping. Releasing a gusty breath, she withdrew the leather fold.

  Reviewing her mental list of the contents– there had to be at least one picture of the skinny supermodel Harrison was most assuredly dating. Probably sporting a thong, she amended. Guys like him didn't date average women like her. Kendall had grown numb to the inevitable feeling of failure at being a woman. But she'd learned the hard way that jeans and boots were suited for digging in the dirt. And it was more important to gain her crews' respect than to attempt lookin' cute (which was hopeless anyway). She ran a construction company– not a damn nail salon.

  Summoning her courage, she removed the insurance card. Every thirty seconds, she snuck a peek at the doors, certain Harrison would burst through them and catch her snooping. She was relieved to return the forms a few minutes later, his wallet safely returned to her pocket. Back in her seat, she couldn't help wondering about the photo she'd spied. Harrison and his cousins, posing near the ski lift during a day of skiing at some fancy resort.

  "Ma'am? Mr. Traynor is asking for you."

  Startled from her thoughts, Kendall eyed the nurse with apprehension. "Is he okay?"

  "The doctor says he'll make a full recovery."

  Releasing a shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, she trailed the nurse through doors leading to a corridor that smelled strongly of antiseptic.

  "He'll need some recuperation at home for a week or so," the nurse continued.

  She bit her lip at the news. When the pain meds wore off, Traynor would be seriously ticked– probably at her.

  "This way, Mrs. Traynor."

  Mrs.? Kendall followed her into a brightly lit examination room. "I'm not-"

  "Baby, is that you?"

  Sweet Lord– a head injury. Any intelligent words she might have summoned died in her throat. Nearing his bedside, she ran her gaze over his battered face, the angry stitches standing out in stark contrast against his bleached skin. His beautiful mouth twisted in a grim line when he tried to smile. Harrison's eyes fluttered open, revealing recognition of her and a strumming pain that hadn't been quelled by drugs.

  "Harrison? Are y-you– are yo
u all right?" She glanced at the nurse hovering near the door. "Is he alright?"

  "Baby, come here. I can't see you under these bright lights."

  Baby? Sweating now, she swallowed a sob of fear. A brain injury. Adams & Rey was about to have their corporate ass sued off. "Is that better, Tray- I mean. . . Harrison?"

  "Kenny, bend down so I can talk to you." An IV'ed hand reached for hers.

  She shot a nervous peek at the nurse.

  "Go ahead," she encouraged. "The doctor will be a few minutes."

  Nodding, she closed the gap between them, surprised to catch a faint whiff of a mouthwatering, woodsy cologne. Only a Traynor could freefall into a pile of dirt and come out smelling great. When the nurse finally left, she released a worried sigh.

  "Have they examined your h-head yet? I think you may have hit it harder than we thought-"

  "Ken– listen up." Harrison's eyes snapped open, shocking her with the sudden clarity in his gaze. "They want to keep me here until a family member can take me home."

  "You fell two stories and landed on your head. That's probably not a bad idea."

  "I don't have family available," he shot back. "If someone doesn't take me home, they'll make me stay indefinitely– like . . . maybe until Jeff gets back next Wednesday."

  A mental light bulb went off and she chuckled with relief. "That's why you were asking for me? For a minute there, I thought you'd lost your marbles."

  "I already told them you're my wife. You have to back me up or they will think I'm confused. Tell them you're taking me home and you won't let me out of your sight," he ordered. "Otherwise, I'm stuck here."

  "No offense Harrison, but maybe this is where you belong for a few days. You don't look so hot."

  "Like hell." His pain-filled eyes shot daggers at her. "I've got casts on my wrist and my ankle, thanks to you. And stitches in three places." He struggled to sit up before falling back against the pillow. "You owe me, Ken. For the next few hours– you're my wife, got it?"

  Based on his mood, the honeymoon was clearly over. "Think about it," she urged. "You're lucky the fall didn't kill you-"

  His expression hardened. "You're gonna sign me out of here and then you're gonna drive me home and help me inside."

  Was it possible she'd met someone more stubborn than her? "You've got broken bones and you're in serious pain-"

  When the door swished open a graying man entered, white coat flapping behind him. "What have we here?" He scanned the chart briefly. "Once your x-rays come back, we can probably release you . . . but you're not to move out of bed the next three to four days."

  "Are you sure it's safe? He suffered a serious fall." Kendall ignored smoldering glares from the invalid.

  "He's got a goose egg on his head." He reviewed the chart. "Possible slight concussion. His spine is in remarkable shape, all things considered. Other than a couple broken bones and a few stitches-" He nodded to Harrison. "You were lucky today."

  "Yes, sir."

  The doctor swiveled his attention back to her. "If his headache doesn't improve noticeably in three days, or if it worsens- get him back here. For his broken bones– call this orthopedist next week." He handed her a card. "Crutches will be awkward with only one working arm, so use the cane instead. Keep his casts dry."

  He tugged a pad from his pocket and scribbled a prescription. "One pill every four hours for the next three days, then only as necessary for pain." He glanced from Harrison to her. "I don't want him out of bed for forty-eight hours. Then– only up for brief periods for two more days. That'll give him a jump on healing. Any questions?"

  Probably several hundred, if Ken were allowed a moment to think. "W-what about- Do I need a visiting nurse-"

  The doctor smiled over her worried expression. "He looks bad, but he's in decent shape. You should be able to take care of him."

  "But-" Traynor's hand tightened in warning.

  "I'll feel much better at home. My wife will take great care of me."

  The doctor swung his gaze back to her. "You'll keep him quiet, young lady?"

  Forcing a smile, she answered Harry's vice-like warning with one of her own. Oh, she'd take care of him, alright. "I'm sure I'll have no trouble at all."

  Chapter 2

  Harry hurt everywhere. After three excruciating hours, his x-rays were finally read and all the damned paperwork signed so he could finally be discharged. Three hours for Kendall to locate some guy named Jimmy on his barstool at the Hickory Pub and confirm her truck had been delivered to the hospital. Three hours for the pain to worsen. Whatever shock he'd been in after the fall had long since worn off.

  There wasn't a damned spot on his body that wasn't battered, broken or bruised. But he couldn't risk a pain pill yet. If he did, Ken would likely abandon him. She'd confess to the doctor she barely knew him. In his drooling state, he wouldn't be able to argue. They'd wheel him into a noisy, sterile room and he'd be trapped for the weekend– or longer.

  But damned if he didn't want a pill. Or five. Jesus, he felt like hell. He eyed the pharmacy bottles in Kendall's hand. If he could just get to the truck . . . He'd allow himself one. To take the edge off. Despite the mother-huge headache assaulting his brain, he ran through the list of tasks to be accomplished before he could collapse into bed.

  He had to get home. He had to get into his home. Christ– he had to find his briefcase containing the keys to his home. Harry bit back a groan. His mind wandered over the logistics. Did he have any food? The way he felt, he wouldn't be leaving the damn condo for several days. Of course, the way he felt, he probably wouldn't be eating anytime soon, either. Could he even make it up the stairs to his bed?

  "You okay?" Ken's croaky voice interrupted his disjointed thoughts.

  Glancing down at the cast on his ankle, Harry regretted it as a wave of dizziness threatened to topple him on his ass. Praying he wouldn't throw up all over her, he blinked owlishly and sucked in a few cleansing gulps of cool night air. Through clenched teeth, he answered. "I'm fine."

  "You look like hell."

  Kendall had the bedside manner of a truck stop waitress. She would be the one snarling at you to hurry up and order– while she sloshed coffee down your pants. Harry had trouble imagining what it would be like to endure her presence for an extended period of time. Her voice alone was enough to make him wince.

  Next to his wheelchair, he sensed her smoldering. She'd been second-guessing him all evening, badgering him to stay at the hospital. And he was damn sick of it. She'd gotten him into this mess. She'd damn well help him out . . . whether she liked his plan or not. Risking a slow turn, he was thankful when the movement didn't cause cymbals to crash in his head. Her golden eyes glowered at him, more with concern than anger, he acknowledged. But all bets were off once they were alone. She was gonna blast him.

  By then, she'd be stuck with him. Adams might be belligerent, but she wouldn't leave him for dead by the side of the road. He hoped. Ken held her silence as the orderly strapped his battered body into the passenger seat of her ramshackle truck. As the orderly rolled the wheelchair back to the building, she pounced.

  "I should have my head examined for letting you talk me into this."

  Wincing at her shriek, Harry resisted the urge to unload on her. "Any civility I possess was exhausted several hours ago. If you must speak, please whisper. My head is ready to explode."

  "I knew this was a bad idea," she said through clenched teeth. "You need to swallow one of those damn pills and lay back against the headrest."

  At least she'd lowered her voice. "I'm counting the seconds until I can do that, but I have to drive myself home."

  "We've been at the hospital for seven hours." She snorted in disbelief. "No way am I driving out on that construction site in the dark. We'll end up in the bottom of another crater."

  Forcing his eyes open, he bit back a groan. God– even the parking lot lights were too bright. "Fine - then you've bought yourself the hour drive back to Stafford."

  "Listen up
, Prettyboy-"

  Her amber eyes turned molten in a heartbeat. Big mistake. Prickly Ken was apparently dangerous when poked.

  "You're coming home with me," she announced. "You're gonna get in bed without arguing and you're gonna stay there until I decide you're well enough to leave." She stared at him, a fierce scowl on her face. "You got that?"

  "Like hell. Holding me hostage wasn't part of the plan."

  She had the gall to laugh. "You're the one who said I was responsible, remember?"

  "It was my fault I-" Suddenly, Harry didn't have an ounce of strength left to argue. He was too busy fighting the nausea rising in his throat.

  ***

  Braking for a traffic light, Kendall heard his stifled groan. Risking a sideways glance, his face was etched with agony as he swallowed convulsively. Traynor was approaching the limits of his endurance.

  "I promised the doctor I'd take care of you." Sensing his ripple of shock, she hid a smile. If it were possible, Harrison Traynor was even more stubborn than her daddy.

  "I am not staying with you, Ken."

  "Harrison, honey . . . we married in sickness and health," she drawled. "I mean to honor my vows."

  "I said that so they'd release me." His head tilted drunkenly when he turned to glare at her. "I can take care of my-" Slumping back against the seat, he clutched his head a moment later when she jostled over uneven pavement. "Dammit– you'd better pull over. I'm gonna throw up."

  Kendall slowed the truck, edging to the side of the deserted road. Harrison barely made it out the window before he started retching. Afterward, he rested his face on the frame, gulping in shaky breaths of the cool night air.

  "Death has got to be preferable to this."

  "Think you're finished?" Harry startled, unaware she'd jumped out and rounded the truck. When he nodded, Kendall peeled off her sweatshirt and doused a corner of it with bottled water before running the wet cloth over his forehead. His hair was streaked with dirt and perspiration, his forehead patched together with stitches. Splashing more water on the shirt, she gently swiped the back of his neck before lifting his chin and cleaning his face with the rest of the bottle.