by Sharon Sala
"But why?"
He pulled off the interstate, hit the kickstand with the toe of his boot, then killed the engine. He hung his helmet on the handlebar and walked a distance away to get his bearings.
Stiff muscles reminded him that it had been months since he'd ridden the bike so continually. He stared blindly off into the small brushy canyon below and tried to bring some order to his jumbled thoughts.
When he'd first met Annie, the reason why he'd stayed was obvious. She'd asked. He could even, he told himself, justify why he'd stayed after Damon Tuttle had gotten himself killed. After all, he could hardly have left her in the lurch after nearly all her belongings had been destroyed. And … she'd asked him to bring her home. He couldn't turn down a personal request from someone in need. He just … couldn't.
"Oh, hell," he muttered, and bent down, grabbing a handful of gravel from the shoulder of the road, then absently tossing the pebbles one by one down the hillside. "Face it, Donner. You lost your focus the first time you kissed her."
The ache in his belly grew as he remembered. That was the day he'd first rescued her. When she'd fainted at the gas station, and he'd held her in his arms while he waited for her to regain consciousness.
He closed his eyes. Even now he could remember the feel of her mouth beneath his and how soft her skin was to the touch. He frowned as that thought brought another, more sinister, memory bobbing to the surface.
Fainting.
She did a lot of that.
Migraines.
He knew people had them. Hers had even brought on some of the fainting spells he'd witnessed. But he couldn't bear to see someone he cared for so deeply, so deeply in pain. He wondered if she'd ever had these bouts at school. Teaching would have been impossible during one of the episodes.
With the thought of teaching, another sinister memory rose to the surface, sitting alongside the first, like little sores festering in his mind.
Books.
She loved books. She shared her love of them, and what was inside, with everyone. So why had she been so defensive about the ones he'd been helping her unpack? They were on such offbeat subjects that he would have expected her to joke about them instead of trying to hide them.
Neurosurgery … Life After Death.
He started to laugh. But the sound turned into a harsh, ugly gasp as everything he'd just assembled in his mind stirred itself into a thick, ugly heap and began steaming with possibilities he didn't want to contemplate.
Fainting … migraines … pain … pain pills. Neurosurgery … even dying.
A flashback of the day they'd attended church together in Oklahoma City set his teem on edge. He thought of how oddly she'd behaved, and suddenly one fact became irrefutably clear.
Something's wrong with Annie! Something bad!
"Why did I decide that?" Gabe muttered, and stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking. "What in God's name made me think of that?"
And with the speaking of His name, came the knowledge.
He knew Who had made him think of that.
"No," he groaned, and looked up into the nearly cloudless sky, as if trying to see past infinity to One beyond. "Tell me it isn't so."
But no answer came. All he felt was a growing fear and the need to hear Annie deny it to his face.
He ran to the bike, calculating how long it would take him to get back to her. If he had it figured right, he would be there around midnight.
He shoved his helmet on his head, as he swung one long leg over the bike. In seconds he was on the move. He raced across the highway, crossing the grassy median and leaving grass flying in the air behind him as the tires hit pavement on the other side.
One way or another, he and Annie weren't through with each other. Not by a long shot.
* * *
Chapter 8
«^»
Dawn was a thought on the horizon as Gabe finally wheeled the Harley into Annie's yard. After missing turns and once even taking the wrong highway in the dark, he'd misjudged the time it would take him to get back.
He slipped off his helmet and hung it on the handlebar, as the motor coughed and died. After hours and hours with the sound of the wind and the roar of the engine in his ears, the sudden silence seemed like a warning.
In one motion he put the kickstand in place and swung his leg up and over, dismounting from the bike as he'd always dismounted from his horse. The rowels on his spurs jingled once as he took a step away from the bike and stared silently up the path that led to the house.
It looked the same. Nothing seemed ominous … or out of place. But if that was so, then why did he have this overpowering feeling of dread? What made him think he might already be too late?
Gabe glanced down at himself, realizing as he did that he probably looked like hell. A day's worth of black, spiky whiskers and twenty-four hours on the back of a bike would do little toward making him presentable. But a bath and a shave would have to wait until he'd seen her … until she'd laughed in his face at his fears and cursed him for coming back just to say goodbye again.
He walked around the bush at the edge of the yard, heading for the path that led to the front door. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the light on at the back of the house.
"She can't be up already." He glanced down at his watch and squinted as he tried to read the luminous dial. It wasn't quite 5:00 a.m.
But he remembered the pain on her face as he'd ridden away, and the knot in his own gut at saying goodbye, and decided that she, like him, had probably just suffered a sleepless night.
Even though he'd already answered all his own questions, he still felt a need to hurry. Just to make sure that she was all right.
If she's so all right, then why in hell hasn't she come out to meet me?
He stopped at the door and knocked. Nearly a minute went by without a response, so he knocked again, and this time he called her name aloud. Twice. Nothing happened. No one came.
"Annie, damn it, where are you?" he muttered. "Okay … maybe you left the light on by mistake."
If she was asleep in her bed, checking that theory before barreling into the house seemed the sensible thing to do.
With that thought in mind, he ignored the steps and turned the corner at the side of the house on the run. Destination: kitchen window.
A faint beam of light poured out of the window and into the night, cutting the ground in a butter-colored, geometric pattern.
He leaned forward, bracing himself against the outer wall as he peered through the narrow gap between the curtain panels. From where he was standing, all he could see was her foot … and the blood … and the fact that she was motionless on the floor.
"No!"
The denial was ripped from his lips as terror spread through his system. This was what he'd been sensing! This was what had sent him riding back through the darkest of nights! She was hurt … or worse.
"Annie! Annie!"
She didn't move. She didn't answer.
He banged the flat of his hand on the window in sick frustration, and then ran back to the front door.
The door was locked. He'd expected that.
But just as he started to kick it in, he remembered the old, dusty key that she'd retrieved from above the door frame the day of their arrival. He reached up and ran his fingers along the dry, splintery wood. The key was still there! He was inside in seconds, running to Annie's aid.
As he entered the kitchen, he started to shake. Small patches of blood were spattered everywhere. She was lying halfway beneath the table, her thin, white nightgown twisted around her legs. All he could see was the back of her heat and the back of her body. Silent. Unmoving.
Within the space of a second, his heart stopped and then changed rhythm to a frantic, pounding pace that left him gasping for air.
Small yellow pills lay scattered across the counter and the floor, haphazardly interspersed with the drying bloodstain to form an odd, garish pattern.
Bite rose and burne
d the back of his throat. But his leg refused to move. In the countless years that he'd been traveling the earth, he'd witnessed almost everything. Births, accidents, even deaths. But this was something he wasn't ready to face. He didn't want to lose the woman he loved. Not now … not like this.
He'd known for weeks that Annie O'Brien meant more to him than she should. But not until now—not until it might be too late—had he been able to admit, even to himself, the magnitude of his feelings for her. For the first time in his life, he felt love for a woman.
"Annie!"
Her name became a prayer as he knelt at her side. With a sick heart and a frantic touch, his hands swept the sides of her face. And when he touched her shoulder, she rolled limply onto her back. Too quiet, too still. He shook as he searched for signs of life.
The flat of his hand splayed across the center of her chest as he felt for her heartbeat. If it was there, it was so faint that it was undetectable.
"Annie … please, baby, don't do this to me," he begged, but she didn't respond.
He leaned forward, so close that the faint, tiny pores of her skin were visible. He held his breath and listened until he heard the slight but steady sounds of her even breathing. His knees went weak, and his heavy sigh of relief echoed in the utter silence of the kitchen.
"Thank you, God," he murmured. "She's still alive."
The mess she was lying in gave birth to all sorts of implications that Gabe didn't even want to consider. There were pills everywhere. To someone who didn't know her, it might look as if she'd tried to take her life. And yet Gabe knew that the pills did not explain the blood.
"Annie … baby … if only you could talk to me."
She didn't respond, and in panic, he began to check her for further sign of injury. It was then that he noticed the seeping wound on the bottom of her foot.
"Thank God," Gabe whispered. Suddenly the blood made sense. Whatever had happened to her must have been an accident. "I've got to get you to a doctor," he said, and started to pick her up from the floor.
But his intentions were momentarily forgotten as Annie's eyelids fluttered, and with a soft moan, she opened her eyes.
"Gabe?" Her chin quivered, and she blinked over and over, unable to believe what she was seeing. "You're gone … not here … just a dream. Bad dream."
"Ah, damn." Regret tinged his voice as he lifted her into his arms and pressed hot, thankful kisses across her face and neck, tasting the place where her lifeblood pulsed. "It's not a dream, honey. I'm here. What happened?"
"Head … headache."
He cursed beneath his breath. With a frown, he carried her toward the bedroom. This didn't look good. In fact, it was just as he'd feared. The headaches were becoming too frequent, and each time they occurred, the pain seemed to be more intense.
He moved through the house, her head bobbing limpid against his arm as he held her carefully within his embrace. But when he walked into her bedroom and saw the lamp shattered on the floor, his reaction was anything but proper.
His curses were few but colorful. And he made no apologies for them. There was nothing else that would describe his emotions so well.
Imagining Annie alone and in pain made him sick to his stomach. He turned on the light, and as he did, she moaned.
"I'm sorry, Annie," he said softly, and quickly laid he on her bed. "Let me get you settled. I want to get a better look at your foot."
Confused by his reappearance, in addition to fighting the aftereffects of the painkillers, Annie struggled against the weight of his hand on her shoulder.
Gabe gently pushed her back into a reclining position while angling her foot for a better look.
"Don't move, baby. Let me look."
She lay back on the bed with a moan and swallowed a mouthful of tears. His gentleness was her undoing.
"Oh, God. Why did you come back? I can't take any more goodbyes."
Gabe's vision blurred. The pain in her voice was an echo of the pain in his chest. But he didn't have time for recriminations, from her or from himself. He was too busy trying to ascertain the extent of her injuries. His fingers shook as he examined her foot for the place where the blood had originated. But there was so much of it that it was difficult to tell.
"How bad did you hurt this time?"
Annie opened her eyes and peered down the length of her body. Her foot was propped on Gabe's lap.
"Hurt what? My foot?"
"No, damn it! Your head. How bad was it? Was it worse than before?"
She didn't answer. With a muttered oath, Gabe got up from the bed.
Annie looked away as he walked into the bathroom. Moments later, the sound of running water told her that he wasn't through with her foot … or her. She didn't like this. She didn't like it at all. His questions were too pointed for comfort
He walked back into the bedroom with a wet washcloth in his hand. From the corner of her eye, Annie saw a look on his face that she didn't want to decipher.
She refused to meet his gaze. Gabe wanted to shake some sense into her.
The mattress gave beneath his weight as he maneuvered her foot back onto his lap and carefully began washing away the blood.
"I said … how bad was the headache this time?"
Once again, he waited for an answer that didn't come. And then he let her silence slide as his fingers traced the initial wound and finally found the reason for the continuous blood seepage.
"Annie, there's still glass in your foot. It's got to come out. Do you want me to help you change, or do you want to go to the emergency room dressed like that?"
She sat straight up in bed, shock chasing away the last remnants of the painkiller. Her answer was short and succinct.
"I don't want to go to the hospital," she said.
He frowned. "You don't have a choice, lady. We go like this or you can change. But either way, we go."
A very unladylike curse split the air. Gabe smiled and raised his eyebrows at her opinion of his ultimatum.
"I've heard that one before," he said. "Don't get me started. You'll lose."
She flushed and then waved her hand toward her closet. "If you're so insistent on doing this, at least hand me some clean shorts and a shirt."
Moments later he tossed the garments, as well as fresh underwear, into her lap.
"Want some help?" He started to bend down.
"You can either leave or turn your back."
Hurt beyond words that in less man twenty-four hours she'd completely shut him out, he could only mutter, "I've seen it all before."
"That was then … this is now," she said.
He turned his back, closed his eyes and tried to ignore the spreading pain in his gut. Leaving her had obviously been the wrong thing to do: For her to behave like this, whatever trust she'd had in him must be gone.
He seethed in angry frustration. It was back to square one with Annie O'Brien. At the moment giving her space seemed to be wise.
"I'm going to clean up the kitchen while you finish dressing." He walked out before she could argue.
By the time he'd rebottled the pills and wiped away the blood, the sun was just coming over the horizon. A vivid slash of fiery orange coupled with an undulating swath of hot pink clouds painted a welcome on a new Missouri sky.
Gabe parted the curtains and looked outside, wondering as he did how many more sunrises and sunsets he had left in him, and how difficult they would be to endure without Annie's love.
"I'm ready," she called.
The curtains dropped back in place as he stepped away from the window. He started out of the kitchen, then made a sudden U-turn. Retrieving the brown bottle of pills from the cabinet, he stuffed them in his pocket and went to Annie.
* * *
Davie's loaner was an older model car, and for that Gabe was grateful. The back seat was larger and roomier than a newer one would have been. It gave Annie plenty of space to recline, and the pillows Gabe stuffed under her ankle kept her foot elevated. The constantly oozing b
lood made him nervous. From what Annie had told him, the accident had happened around midnight. The fact that it was still bleeding told him that it was very deep.
"We're here," he announced unnecessarily as he turned the car into the hospital parking lot.
Annie grumbled beneath her breath from the back seat and started to open her own door. Gabe bounded out and caught her in mid-scoot.
"You're not hurting me by acting like this, Annie. You're hurting yourself. Now stop it, damn it, and let me help you."
She flushed. His rebuke was justified. The simple truth was that she wasn't mad at Gabe for coming back. On the contrary. She'd been overjoyed when she'd opened her eyes and realized he was truly there.
It was fear that made her act as she did. Fear that he would find out what she'd been trying to hide, and that pity would replace what they'd shared. No matter how fleeting their relationship had been, Annie treasured it.
"Gabe?"
The sound of her voice was soft, almost nonexistent. He sighed and pressed his chin against the crown of her head as he lifted her into his arms and started carrying her toward the emergency room entrance.
"What?" he asked, and kissed a curl that slipped across his lips, wishing it was Annie's lips he was kissing instead of her hair.
"I'm sorry."
He stopped in mid-step, looked down, then nodded his acceptance of her apology.
Her tower lip trembled, and he sighed and smiled gently as his gaze swept down her face. Her eyes were dark, nearly jade, and her hair seemed to catch fire as the morning sun's rays played hide-and-seek within the tangles of her curls. She looked vulnerable and miserable and so damned beautiful it made his heart hurt.
"It's okay to be scared, darlin'," he whispered. "I should know. I've been scared so many times in my life I can't even count them, and yet all of them stacked together were nothing to the scare you gave me when I saw you on that kitchen floor."
"I'm sorry for behaving so badly. Really, really sorry.
