The answer took a moment to sink in. Then Mason leaned forward in his chair. “Seriously.” He knocked on the cast. “You’re gonna let me out of this place without the fiberglass monster.”
Dr. Jackman nodded. “I’ll call down and arrange it with my technician.”
“I can,” Courtney offered abruptly. “I saw Rodney down in Emergency when we got here.”
The doctor nodded. He scribbled on Mason’s medical chart and handed it to her, then stuck out his hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Hyde. Try to avoid getting in front of moving vehicles for a while.”
Mason shook the man’s hand, then pushed to his feet. “I will.” He grabbed his crutches and followed Courtney out into the corridor.
“Congratulations, indeed,” she told him with a whisper of a smile. “In a few more minutes, you’ll be a free man again.” She walked briskly along the tile corridor. She was already wearing her nurse’s getup. The blue scrubs were as unfitted and loose as her running gear had been formfitting, and he found her just as mesmerizing either way. “Now you have something else to celebrate.”
Else?
He caught her by the back of her shirt, halting her midstep. “I’m not celebrating the fact that you’re not pregnant,” he said.
“Shh!” She looked around them. “Keep your voice down, would you please?”
“I will when you stop spouting bologna like that.”
She jerked her shoulders, and her shirt slid out of his grasp. “Don’t pretend that you’re sorry about it.” She took off again along the wide hallway.
The hospital wasn’t particularly huge.
But Mason knew if he didn’t keep up with her, he’d still end up in a maze, because there wasn’t a hospital he’d ever been in that hadn’t been constructed that way. Not in the United States or elsewhere.
He followed, moving fast on the crutches until he caught up to her. “You’re the one who should be celebrating,” he said in a low voice. “Now you can have your baby with no complications to mess it up. Your plan can proceed just the way you want it to.”
She whirled on her rubber-soled heel so fast he nearly ran into her. “The only thing about any of this that has gone as planned is you. You’ve healed well.” She lifted her hand and smiled humorlessly. “So, voilà. Now you can get back to your life. I know that’s the only thing that you want.” She turned again and strode away, soon turning a corner and disappearing from view.
He hurried after her, his crutches thumping the tile. He caught up with her just as she reached the emergency department.
Which was, for the first time in his experience, full of people. All of the beds were curtained off, and people in scrubs and lab coats were moving quickly around.
Courtney didn’t look as surprised as he felt, though. She just continued out into the waiting room, holding open one side of the swinging doors for him. “You’ll have to wait out there.” She nodded toward the molded plastic chairs. Most of them, too, were full. “I’ll see how quickly Rodney can get to you.”
He wanted to stop. To tell her…something. But what? Their business was all but complete. She’d made it plain that she was organizing her life exactly the way she’d wanted, and he could get back even earlier than he’d hoped to what he knew.
Work.
His crutches cleared the doorway, and she stepped back, letting the door swing closed.
It nearly hit him on the butt.
Wyatt—the only guy he’d seen her dance with at the Halloween thing other than her brother—was sitting at the reception desk, giving him a sympathetic look.
Mason ignored it and aimed for one of the chairs—the only one that wasn’t surrounded by sneezing kids. He sat down and rested the crutches on the empty chair beside him.
He stared at his cast, stretched out in front of him. The black writing all over the blue surface seemed to leap out at him. His finger traced one of the hearts that little Chloe had drawn. He angled his head, but he still couldn’t read what Courtney had written around his ankle.
“Looks like you have a lot of family and friends.” The old man across from him was looking at Mason’s cast, too.
“I don’t have any family,” Mason returned, hoping the guy would go back to his wheezing and keep his comments to himself. He folded his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.
“Then you got a lot of friends.” Obviously, his hint hadn’t been received.
Mason sighed. He opened his eyes. “What’re you here for?”
“Emphysema,” the guy wheezed. “Lifelong smoker.” He patted the narrow oxygen tank that was sitting in a wheeled contraption next to him. “Now this is my lifelong friend.”
At that moment, Mason was glad he’d never taken up the habit of cigarettes.
“You’re not from around here,” the guy continued. He was nodding his bald head. “Can’t breathe for nothing anymore, but the memory’s still good.”
“Connecticut,” he said.
The guy’s thin eyebrows rose. “You’re the one staying with the Clay girl, then.”
He wasn’t even surprised anymore at the well-developed grapevine that Weaver seemed to possess. “Guess I am.”
“Heard you’re a real live hero.”
Mason grimaced. He’d never particularly felt like one. He’d just tried to do what was right. Live up to what he’d been paid to do.
He wasn’t getting paid a thing here in Weaver. Not with Courtney. And he damn sure wasn’t feeling heroic when it came to her.
He eyed the old man. “Anybody here with you?”
The man coughed into his plaid handkerchief and shook his head. “Ain’t got no one. Never seemed to find the time.” He coughed some more, then took a drag on his oxygen line. Judging by the attachment at the end, Mason figured he was supposed to have it leading into his nose all the time and not hanging around his neck like some necklace. “Live over in Braden, but gotta come here to Weaver for the fancy doctors.”
“Mason?” He looked up when he heard Courtney’s voice. She was standing at the double doors again. “You can come on back.”
He grabbed his crutches—for the last time, he figured—and stood. He stuck his hand out to the old guy. “Good luck.”
The man’s lips stretched into a smile. His hand trembled, but his handshake was still firm. “G’luck to you, too, young man.” His gaze slanted toward Courtney. “She’s a catch. The kind to make time for.”
“That she is.” He was glad, though, that she was standing far enough away that she was unable to hear them. He swung around on the crutches and headed toward Courtney.
She didn’t meet his gaze as she waited for him to pass through. She pointed. “The last bed on the right.”
Mason held back. “That guy with the emphysema out there needs attention more than I do.”
Her amber gaze slid to him, then away again. “Different issues,” she said. “Mr. Martin will be seen as soon as one of the doctors is available. You’ve already seen Dr. Jackman. Now all you need is for Rodney to remove your cast.” She held out her hand toward the far bed. “And clear the exam area again as quickly as possible,” she added pointedly.
He headed toward the last bed. She followed him and set his medical chart on the stainless steel counter, then gave the curtain a tug. It swung smoothly into place. “Rodney will be with you in a few minutes.”
“Wait a minute. Where are you going?”
She still didn’t look at him. “They’re so slammed, they asked me to clock in early.”
“They? Or are you just looking for an excuse to get away from me?” Not that he had any reason to blame her for that.
Her lips twisted a little. “I’m just trying to do my job,” she said. “Of all people, you should understand that. Don’t worry, though. I talked to Ax. He’ll come and get you when you’re finished. He said just give him a call when you’re done.” She ducked out from behind the curtain.
He sat on the edge of the examining table and stared down at his cast. After
two months of it, he wanted the thing off so badly he could taste it.
There was also a part of him that wished it had to stay in place.
Because then he could have a reason to stay, too.
Courtney managed a friendly smile as she coaxed a feverish little Bethany Jones onto the exam table two beds down from Mason. She could hear the distinctive pitch of the saw that Rodney was using to cut off Mason’s cast.
Inside, it felt like she was being cut in two.
“What’s that noise?” Bethany gave her mom a worried look.
“Someone’s getting a cast taken off,” Courtney soothed. “Nothing to worry about.”
Bethany’s mother sat on the table beside her daughter. “Remember when Daddy had a cast on his arm? That’s what it sounded like when he got it off, too.” She smoothed her daughter’s hair back from her face and looked at Courtney. “Will the doctor be very long?”
“Not long.” She knew that the on-call doctor had been called in to help with the unexpected load. She took Bethany’s vitals and noted in the chart all the information the doctor would need, then tucked the chart in its holder and excused herself.
The sound of the saw stopped.
Which meant Mason’s cast was now a thing of the past.
Which meant that his time in Weaver was a thing of the past, too.
She swallowed the knot in her throat. What she wanted to do was find a private room somewhere and cry her heart out.
Instead, she forced herself to wash her hands and did what she was trained to do.
She moved on to the next patient.
It took four hours for the waiting room to get cleared. By then, the time for Courtney’s usual shift had already begun. She worked straight through until morning and tried to tell herself that she wasn’t really waiting for Mason to try to call her. To talk to her.
Just as she’d arranged, her cousin had driven him home when he’d finished with the cast removal. If Mason hadn’t gotten a clue by now, it was because he didn’t want to. So really, what was there left to talk about?
She wasn’t going to beg the man to stay with her, when he was clearly anxious to leave.
It was snowing lightly when she drove home from the hospital, and the tension inside her had relaxed a little by the time she got there.
The porch light was on. And beyond the plantation shutters in the front window, she could see a warm glow.
As usual, Mason had left the light on for her.
He hadn’t left, after all.
She parked in the driveway and nearly ran into the house. Plato and Woof were sleeping on the floor by the door. Her dog lifted his head and stood. He pushed his head into her hand even before she had a chance to set down her car keys and purse.
Her heart sank all over again.
“He’s gone, isn’t he?”
Plato just stood by her side. His tail didn’t wag.
She sucked her lip between her teeth and made herself walk through the house. When she reached Mason’s bedroom, she could only stand in the doorway.
His bed was made with military precision. The stacks of books were gone from the nightstand.
The only thing out of place was an envelope sitting on the dresser.
A part of her—the part that ached because he could so easily walk away—wanted to rip it in two.
She inhaled deeply and pulled out the contents.
Just two items. A folded piece of paper surrounding a check. She barely glanced at the check. He was just paying the last of the agreed-upon room and board. She looked at the paper, though.
“Raising a family gets expensive,” he’d written. “What with a child and a dog and a cat.”
Her chest tightened and her knees felt shaky.
She sank down on the foot of his bed, glanced at the check he’d made payable to her and went stock-still.
The exorbitant amount jumped out at her. She could have opened an entire orphanage with the amount he’d written.
Her fingers closed jerkily around the check. “Oh, Mason.” How could he try to give her this when all she wanted was him?
Plato padded into the room, carrying Woof in his gentle jaws. He smoothly leapt up onto the mattress beside her and deposited the kitten in her lap.
Courtney lowered her head over them both and cried.
Chapter Thirteen
“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t take that on the plane with you.”
Mason gritted his teeth.
It had taken him all night just to get from Weaver to the airport in Cheyenne. Now if he could only get on the damn plane.
He eyed the security agent and held up the thick, black plastic bag that contained his cast. It was cut into several separate pieces, but they were still bulky. “It’s a fiberglass cast,” he said for about the hundredth time. “Run it through your machines or whatever you need to do, but it’s going on the plane with me. I’m not having it crushed in a pile of luggage.” He wished to hell that he’d just waited long enough to arrange a private flight through HW. But no, he’d been in too much of a damn hurry to get away from Weaver.
“I’m sorry,” the kid was saying. His gaze was glued to Mason’s face, and his Adam’s apple bobbled in his throat as if he was afraid that Mason was going to resort to violence.
He wasn’t. He just wanted—needed—to get on the plane and get home so he could get back to work. Get back to what he was good at.
There’d be no Plato. No Woof.
No Courtney.
He’d left the cat behind, because it was the sensible thing to do. He couldn’t take care of a kitten, even though it would grow into an independent cat. For that matter, he couldn’t take care of a cat.
Not with his lifestyle.
He realized the kid was eyeing him with increasing alarm. The last thing Mason wanted was to get hauled into the security office because he looked like a suspicious traveler. “Fine.” He grabbed his duffel bag off the conveyor belt, and with the unwieldy bag in his other hand, he moved out of the security line.
He could feel anxious eyes boring into his back as he made his way back through the airport.
It still felt strange walking with two shoes and no cast after two months, and as much as he hated to admit it, his leg was aching and tired. He could have sat in any number of chairs that he passed, but he was well aware that two uniformed officers were following him at a not-very-discreet distance.
Being irritated with them didn’t accomplish anything. They were just trying to do their job the best they could, too, and he wasn’t exactly the picture of a harmless tourist. Not with his face. Not with his jeans that had one leg split up to the thigh. And definitely not with the bulky bag he refused to surrender.
He finally exited the terminal and climbed into the first taxi that came available. He asked for the closest hotel, then leaned his head back against the seat and sighed. He’d regroup and arrange a charter, once and for all.
“Going home for the holiday?” the taxi driver asked.
“Something like that.” It took no effort at all to imagine the get-together that the Clays would put on for Thanksgiving. It would be crowded and noisy, full of opinions and laughter and chasing children and crying babies.
He pinched his eyes closed. Courtney had been home from the hospital for several hours.
She’d seen the check he’d left.
He rubbed his hand against the hollow in his chest and looked down at the garbage bag beside him.
He still didn’t know what stupid sentimentality had made him keep the thing. Just because it had been scribbled on by a bunch of people? But when Rodney had started to pitch the pieces he’d cut away into the trash, Mason had stopped him. And instead, the technician had dropped them in the black bag. When he was finished, he’d tied the top closed and handed it to Mason. “Sentimental value, eh?”
Mason had just taken the bag and, wearing a paper bootie on his bare foot, he’d left the hospital before he could find Courtney and tell her to hell
with plans.?…
And once he’d started moving, he hadn’t let himself stop. He’d tied up his loose ends at the house, threw the ball for Plato a few times and let Woof claw her way all around his shoulders. And when midnight struck with no word from Courtney, he’d called the only cab in town and paid him a fortune to drive him to Cheyenne.
If he had just pitched the bag in the trash at airport security, he could have been on his way back to Connecticut, once and for all. And from there, it would have been a quick matter to get Cole to assign him to a security detail—anything, even if it meant piggybacking on someone else’s case—as long as it was out of the U.S. of A., the country of Courtney Clay.
The cab pulled up in front of the airport hotel. “Need help with your stuff?”
Mason’s lips twisted. “I got it.” He paid the fare, added a tip and climbed out.
In minutes, he was inside a bland, sterile hotel room.
He dropped his stuff on the bed and moved across to the window, pulling open the drapes to display the grand view of a crowded parking lot. The sight of a woman with long blond hair crossing between the cars jolted him.
But after that first glance, he looked away. Not Courtney.
She wouldn’t know he was in Cheyenne for one thing. And for another, even if she did, she wouldn’t follow him. Why would she?
He turned on the television to drown out the sound of his own thoughts and flipped open the refrigerated minibar to find something to drown out the rest.
He extracted a beer. “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” he muttered and popped it open, then threw himself down on the hard mattress. He set the beer aside and dragged the bag close enough to untie it.
He hadn’t looked inside it after Rodney had dropped the pieces in the bag. Now, he slowly pulled the fiberglass pieces out, fitting them together like a puzzle.
He wanted the part that had been around his ankle.
The part that Courtney had signed that he hadn’t been able to read, not even when he’d tried using a hand mirror one night when she’d been at work.
Courtney's Baby Plan Page 17
