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“Of course not, darling,” she said, patting his leg comfortingly. Squire’s big palm covered hers. Her fingers were bare, but it was only a matter of time before Squire put his ring on her finger. Everyone knew it. Except perhaps for Squire himself. The man was exceedingly inflexible about some things.
“You know I can’t stand drinking that decaffeinated stuff,” he muttered, sipping the coffee. “This ain’t bad for hospital coffee,” he decided.
“Yes, dear.” Without batting a blue eye, she looked at Daniel and Matthew, sitting in the seats opposite. She looked right at them, just daring them to laugh. There was only one way to handle this crew of men. She’d realized that right off the bat.
They shifted in their seats, Matthew turning his attention back to the agricultural magazine in his lap. Daniel absently patted his pockets, looking for the cigarette pack he’d once again abandoned a few weeks ago.
Emily stopped below the round clock and watched the second hand slowly revolve. “This is making me crazy,” she complained. “Can’t we find out how it’s going?” She looked over at Gloria. “Couldn’t they at least tell us how it’s going?”
Gloria set aside her coffee. She rose, automatically smoothing down the legs of her finely tailored slacks. “I’ll go see what I can find out.”
“Thank you.” Emily was so grateful, she thought she might start bawling again. She seemed to do that an awful lot lately.
Daniel shifted in the hard seat and stuck his legs out. “I can’t believe they made Jefferson wait four months before doing this surgery.”
Emily pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d thought it ridiculous too, but Jefferson’s surgeon had made the final decision. Even though the surgeon had been urging Jefferson to have the surgery immediately, when Jefferson finally agreed, Dr. Beauman had decided to wait, after all. Something to do with wanting the fragment in a more promising position. A promising position!
She still couldn’t believe that kid could possibly know what he was talking about. But Jefferson had been sure, only insisting that the surgery be done in Wyoming, and that’s all that had mattered to Emily.
Gloria returned, smiling faintly, with Sawyer right on her heels. He was a formidable sight in his dark uniform.
Anxiously Emily hurried over to them. “Well?”
Gloria looked up at Sawyer. He dropped his arm over Emily’s shoulder and turned her to see Jefferson’s surgeon approaching. Emily thought she might faint, while it seemed to take forever for him to walk down the brightly lit hall. She was vaguely aware of Squire coming up to stand behind her, his palm closing over her other shoulder. Matthew and Daniel stood behind her, and Tristan towered over them all.
The surgeon stopped right in front of her, his eyes smiling gently behind his round glasses. “It went well. He’s going to be fine.”
Emily sagged with relief. She looked up at Tristan, who winked. “Told you,” he mouthed.
She turned back to Dr. Beauman. “When can we see him?”
“He’s already asking for you,” he said.
Emily looked back at her family.
“Git going,” Squire said, urging her forward. The rest were nodding, all in agreement.
She quickly kissed Squire’s cheek and then followed the surgeon through the swinging doors at the end of the hall. There was a confusing array of curtains and beds, but as soon as she saw a lock of dark gold hair, she headed toward it, forgetting all about Dr. Beauman.
She stepped beyond the curtain partially shielding both sides of the bed. Her eyes raced over his face and the shoulder-length hair that Squire still bugged him about. He was pale, and a tube ran from his wrist to an IV pole beside the bed. But his eyes were open and focused right on her.
“Hi.”
Jefferson smiled slightly and held out his hand. “My clothes and stuff,” he said, his voice hoarse from the tube that had been in his throat during surgery. “Open the bag up.”
“Jefferson, you can’t change clothes and walk out of here just yet,” Emily said softly. But she retrieved the faded black duffel bag from the rack stretching between the wheels of his bed. One of these days that bag was simply going to disintegrate, right before their eyes. She unzipped it. “What do you want?”
“My ring,” he said, eyes heavy. “They made m’ take it off.”
She looked inside the bag. Sure enough, lying right there on top of his black jeans and white shirt lay a gold band. She took it out and put the duffel bag back on the rack. He held out his hand, and she slipped it on his finger. He smiled faintly and held her hand, his thumb slowly gliding over the matching gold band on her hand.
“I’m not dead,” he said after a moment. “Guess it worked.”
Emily sucked in a shuddering breath. “Mmm-hmm. Dr Beauman, boy wonder, said you’d be fine.”
The corners of his lips lifted slightly. He was silent for several minutes, while she looked her fill at his wonderful face.
“How you feeling?” he asked eventually.
She smiled, silly tears coming to her eyes again. “Fine.”
Again that half smile of his. “Not sick?”
She shook her head. “Not today.”
He drew a satisfied breath. “Good.” He could feel sleep tugging at him, but he managed to keep his eyes open for a while longer. “Let me see.”
She half laughed. “Jefferson—”
“Come…on…angelface,” he insisted slowly.
Her cheeks pinkened. “Oh, all right,” she finally said. She unwound the scarf at her neck and tossed it onto the foot of his bed. She put her hands on the hem of the bulky blue sweater that hung to her thighs. “Honestly, I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
The slash in his cheek deepened. She simply could not resist the man. Every single day it got worse. “Okay.” She lifted the hem of the sweater, and after a quick look around, tugged down the waist of the black leggings she wore. Then she moved close enough for him to touch her.
Jefferson’s eyes glowed beneath his heavy lashes. He felt woozy even moving, but he reached out and laid his palm on the firm, gently rounded belly she’d revealed. He slept with his hand on that growing belly every night. “Now,” he growled, content. “Now…I can…go to sleep.”
Emily leaned over, pressing her lips to his. “I love you, Jefferson Clay.”
Bending over him, she rested her cheek lightly against his forehead. The hem of Emily’s sweater fell back to her thighs. Covering the hand that still rested upon their growing child.
He was barely awake. But his words were clear. He told her often now. Several times a day.
They still thrilled her to her very core.
“Love you…too…Emily…Clay.”
Watch for Matthew and Jaimie’s story, coming to Silhouette Special Edition in February 1999.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-8154-7
STAY…
Copyright © 1998 by Allison Lee Kinnaird
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017 U.S.A.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books S.A., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Table of Contents
Letter to Reader
Dedication
Ab
out the Author
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Copyright