Belonging

by Carolyn Faulkner

  IT TURNED out that Devon had grown quite sweet on Patsy, who had demurred and deterred his advances out of loyalty to her friend. They got together later on that week and talked it all out, and Fleur was genuinely happy for the two of them.

  "Now we have to find someone for you."

  Fleur shook her head. "No, thanks. I've had all the heartache I can stand for a while. I'm going to pass on that for at least another hundred years or so and become a nun."

  Patsy frowned deeply but brightened up when she asked, "Are you at least going to try nursing school?"

  "I might. I haven't made any decisions yet, though."

  "Well, I hope you know you'll have a job waiting for you if you want it, once you graduate. And I have to say—from personal experience—that your boss would be absolutely amazing!"

  Fleur feigned surprised. "I heard she was a real bitch!"

  Patsy stuck her tongue out at Fleur, who reciprocated in kind, until Devon chided, "Children, children. Can we please have some decorum?" as they both just giggled at him.

  "I believe you're hanging around with the wrong crowd if you expect decorum, Mr. Fields," Fleur informed him in no uncertain terms.

  "Okay, let's change the subject entirely," Patsy interjected. "What do you want for your birthday next week?"

  "Do you want just the high points of the list, or do you want to wade through the whole of it like War and Peace?"

  CHAPTER 8

  "Devon, can I impose on you as a friend to do something quite odious that I'm too chicken to do?"

  He had to laugh. "Well, when you phrase it so enticingly like that, how could I possibly refuse?"

  "Yeah, but there's really no better way to preface this."

  "Well, what is it? Will I have to risk life and limb? Because I'd have to say that I'm pretty attached to both of those things."

  "Well, there goes that."

  "No, what is it? If I can, I will. You know that."

  "I do, which is why I'm asking you. I-I'm still in possession of the engagement ring that Lawson gave me. I think it's your grandmother's ring?"

  "Yes, it is—she specified that it would go to the first-born boy to give to his fiancé."

  "Well, I want to get to back to him, but I'm too much of a chicken shit to do it myself, I'm appalled to say."

  Devon sighed. "And I can't say as I blame you, not one single bit. When can I get it from you?"

  Fleur let out the breath she'd been holding for what seemed like forever. "Oh, really? You'll do it for me?"

  "Of course, I will!"

  "Well, probably the easiest thing to do would be to give it to you when you pick me up for my birthday dinner—that's still on, isn't it?"

  "Definitely! And I was going to stop by and pick you up first, anyway, since you're on my way and Patsy's a bit out of it. We'll get it taken care of on our way to get her."

  "I can't thank you enough, Devon. Really."

  "You were instrumental in getting Patsy and me together. No thanks needed for anything, from that point on."

  "Aw, I'm so glad you're happy!"

  "Thanks! You're next, you know. Patsy's got her feelers out."

  "Oy."

  He laughed. "I believe that is exactly the correct response."

  The two of them were taking her to a very swanky restaurant in the city, so when they drove into Lawson's driveway, several days later, they were both dressed to the nines. She remained behind in the passenger's seat while he knocked on the door and went in.

  Lawson looked quite a bit different than he had the last time he'd seen him in this house, and come to think of it, so did the house. It was immaculate.

  "I'm sorry to burst in on you like this, but I'm doing a favor for a friend."

  "Oh? Would you to sit down and have a cup of coffee?"

  "No, thanks; we don't have time for that."

  "We?"

  "Yes. Fleur is waiting for me in the car, and she is the reason that I'm here."

  He saw Lawson's eyes dart through the kitchen window to no doubt see Fleur sitting in the car. "I take it she didn't want to come in herself?"

  His eyebrow rose. "Can you really blame her, man?"

  "No, no, I can't. Not at all."

  Knowing he should come right to the point but feeling a bit awkward about doing so, he instead said, "You're looking quite well."

  "Thank you. I'm feeling much better than I was—and thank you again for your help."

  "No thanks needed or wanted. I'm glad you're feeling better."

  "No more booze. I'm getting help from doctors of all kinds, and I think I might even have a pretty good job lined up."

  Devon looked surprised. "Really? That's great! Doing what?"

  "Working on aircraft. I don't think I could fly again because of, well, my infirmities. But a guy I knew over there—whose life I actually saved—looked me up. He knew I was a pilot, knew I had a lot of aircraft know-how, and he's starting a business carting things around for people. Gets things to their destination much more quickly than they can be driven. And he wants me to head up the mechanical team, maybe even help him buy used aircraft and fix them up. My job description really hasn't been firmed up—I think he wants to use me as a Jack-of-all-trades, especially in the beginning."

  "Well, congratulations, cousin!" He offered the bigger man his hand, and Lawson shook it with a big smile. "That sounds like it's the perfect job for you. Will it be around here?"

  "At first—although if it takes off, it could go anywhere."

  "Wonderful. I'm really very happy for you, Lawson."

  Fleur could see them chatting through the window and wondered what the delay was. As far as she could tell, he hadn't even given him the ring yet, and they were almost late to pick up Patsy. As she was always late, herself, that would make them late to their reservation, too!

  Now, they were shaking hands! What the hell was going on in there? It should have been a very short, emotionless transaction, and there they were, practically slapping each other on the back! She knew she should have just gutted it out and done this herself. They were having a blasted family reunion in there!

  Riding high on a crest of indignation, she decided to do what she should have done in the first place and stepped into the kitchen. All of that camaraderie she'd seen disappeared as if it had never been as soon as Lawson saw her.

  "Fleur." He nodded his head to her, having straightened away from the counter to stand—almost—as strong and tall in front of her as he always had.

  "Lawson," she returned in the same emotionless tone.

  Something struck Devon in that moment, and he held out an arm to Fleur, who, bless her heart, had no idea what he was doing, but regardless moved smoothly to stand within it. His hand settled possessively on her hip as he held her tight against him. "There you are, my darling." He smiled down at her lovingly.

  Confused, all Fleur could think to say was, "Huh?"

  "I'm sorry I'm taking so long and delaying your birthday dinner. I'm afraid I'm making us late to La Scala."

  Lawson didn't pay much attention to such things—never had—but he knew that was the name of a very expensive restaurant in the city.

  That wasn't what was bothering him, though. It was his hands on her. He seemed to be deliberately groping her in front of him, running his hands over her possessively, touching her hair.

  Staring into her eyes romantically for the longest time, until he suddenly looked up at him and gave him a rueful grin. "I'm sorry. I can barely tear my eyes off of her when she's in a bathrobe, much less dressed up like this for me."

  The beard hid the tic of the muscle in his jaw, although anyone who bothered to notice would have seen that both of his hands had been drawn into tight fists.

  "But I did have a purpose in coming here and interrupting your quiet evening." Devon reached into his pants pocket and handed him a ring box that he recognized instantly as being the one he'd given Fleur. "I believe you asked my lovely girl to return this to you quite a while a
go. I'm afraid that one thing and another made her forget to do so, but we, of course, want you to have it back."

  He gazed down at Fleur, whose eyes were flickering nervously back and forth from Lawson to Devon. She didn't think he realized just exactly how close to the fire he was getting with his play acting.

  Then he delivered the coup de gras. "Don't you agree, my Petal?" he asked, bending down to kiss her deeply.

  When he drew himself up again, letting her take a step away from him in preparation for leaving, he didn't notice that his cousin was no longer where he'd left him across the room. Instead, he was very, very close. Much too close for Devon's health and safety.

  Devon might have been oblivious to the danger, but Fleur wasn't. She knew he'd quietly crossed the kitchen to stand near them, and, as Devon turned her loose, she saw him bring his big right arm up and draw it back. She couldn't just stand there and let Lawson sucker punch her friend, so she threw herself in front of him.

  And the blow, with all of his incredible strength behind it, landed on her jaw and most of her cheek because his hand was so damned big, rather than his, snapping her head back and knocking it back against the wall with a terrible, terrifying thud.

  For a long second, the two of them watched her limp body as it crumpled down the length of the wall—a small indentation showing where she'd hit it—to pool on the floor at their feet.

  Devon was the first to speak, but Lawson was the first to act. "Jesus Christ, what have you done?"

  Lawson, in the meantime, had already bent down and collected her into his arms, heading for his bedroom. "Don't ask stupid questions—just call the doctor!"

  He lay her down on his neatly made bed, patting her uninjured cheek. The other was already swelling up, with black shadows showing clearly beneath the skin.

  "Fleur, wake up, honey. It's Lawson."

  Nothing.

  He continued to pat her gently. "Come on, darlin'. Open those beautiful eyes of yours and chew up one side of me and down the other." He paused, but she didn't respond. "Please, sweetheart. Yell at me. Slap me. Hell, I'll even put my hands behind my back and let you take a swing at me if you'll just wake up. Please."

  "The doctor is on his way." Devon stood in the doorway, noting how pale she looked.

  Lawson was busy taking her shoes off and loosening her clothing, then he put a blanket over her. "Go downstairs and get one of the steaks from the refrigerator and bring it back up. Then call up Mr. Pelkey and see if he'd be willing to deliver us some ice. Tell him I'll pay him whatever he wants, but I want some goddamn ice."

  He was snarling by the end, and Devon found himself only too happy to simply obey orders, but then, on his way downstairs, he noted how differently he spoke to Fleur, how soft and cajoling his tone was.

  Damn, he hoped she was all right, because if she wasn't, it was entirely his fault, and he figured he wasn't going to live very long after Lawson learned that fact.

  Although he did everything his cousin had asked him to do, he also—once he got off the phone with Mr. Pelkey, who was going to send his son out with some ice but would bring by more in the morning—he called Patsy, who had no idea why they were so late.

  "I'll come right over," she offered immediately.

  That way lead to nothing more than his quick demise, so he said, "You don't need to. The doctor's already on his way. Lawson and I will take care of her. I'll keep you informed, I promise."

  Patsy agreed but very reluctantly.

  When the doctor arrived, he examined her thoroughly after using smelling salts—which Lawson didn't own any of—to revive her, although she wasn't too clear headed, even then. He asked her to touch her nose and his nose with her fingertips, asked her what year it was, and what her name was. Her responses were accurate, but slow, as were her reflexes.

  When he was done, he took the two of them aside.

  "Is either of you her husband?"

  Lawson had never wished he could say "yes" to something more in his lifetime.

  "No," they both answered.

  "Oh." The doctor looked perplexed.

  "I was going on a date with her—of sorts—and we stopped here, and he swung for me and got her," Devon explained. "I should go get her mother."

  "Yes, you should." The younger man was already headed down the stairs before the doctor turned to Lawson. "I don't want the girl moved. I think she has a concussion. The room needs to be very dark and very quiet. She might well have a broken jaw, too, and a very badly bruised cheekbone, but those are secondary to her recovery from the concussion. Can she stay here?"

  Lawson nodded. "Absolutely. As long as she needs to. I'll see to her personally, and she has a friend who's a nurse—Patsy McClaren. She works at the hospital."

  "I know her. She's an excellent nurse. She'll be in good hands, then. In the meantime, you'll need to keep her hydrated—that means make sure she drinks enough—and eats enough, which isn't going to be easy with her jaw like that. Make a milkshake out of anything you can and have her eat it through a straw. But, for tonight, the best thing she can do is rest, although I want you to wake her up every few hours for the next twenty-four. I'll leave the smelling salts. Just wake her up and get her to talk to you a bit. If she's nonsensical or won't wake up, call the ambulance."

  In the end, all of them sat up with her that night, including Patsy, who couldn't stay away. It ended up, they were going to have to call her, anyway, and Mrs. O'Meara, who was almost beside herself when she saw how bruised and swollen Fleur's cheek was already.

  It was about four in the morning, when they were all exhausted, that Devon found Lawson pacing, alone, in the living room. Mrs. O'Meara was asleep and Patsy was sitting with Fleur.

  "Are you okay?"

  Lawson pinned the other man with a deadly gaze, then continued pacing. "No, how the hell could I possibly be okay when I fucking punched Fleur! This is all my fault. Every bit of it."

  Drawing a deep breath, Devon deliberately planted himself in Lawson's way, saying calmly, knowing they could be close to his last words, "No, it's not."

  "How do you figure that?"

  "Because it's not your fault that you wanted to punch me, because I deliberately made you jealous, not taking into account that you might do that?" he confessed, scrunching up his face and wincing in anticipation of finally feeling that punch that Fleur took for him.

  Instead, he felt a big paw at his tie as he was bodily lifted from the ground. "Come again?" his cousin growled.

  "Put me down and sit down with me like civilized people, and I'll tell you. Then you can kill me."

  "Don't think I won't," he warned.

  "I could hardly blame you if you did."

  So, Devon confessed to all of it, that from its earliest beginnings, he was just trying to make Lawson jealous, hoping—stupidly, of course—that something good would come of it.

  "Wrong!"

  "Yeah, well, I certainly couldn't have anticipated that she was going to throw herself in front of me and you were going to lay one on her, instead. I am so, so sorry."

  "It's not me you need to apologize to—whom both of us need to apologize to, as soon as she's better."

  Devon sighed, then stood up in front of his cousin and closed his eyes. "Okay, I'm ready."

  Lawson frowned, although the other man couldn't see it. "Ready for what?"

  "For you to punch me."

  "Don't be ridiculous." He stood and put his arm around Devon's neck, which Devon did not find particularly comforting, especially when he used his hold to practically yank the younger man's head off. "I'm not going to punch you, little cuz. I'm going to wait until the next time you screw up royally, and then I'll punch you."

  "Uh, thanks. I think."

  Fleur didn't remember much about that time, except that, when she awoke, naturally or not, more often than not it was Lawson who was there. He was hovering over her, even when it was someone else who was waking her up.

  He held her head when she was sick—the medici
ne the doctor had given her for the pain—all the different types of it that she was suffering from—upset her stomach, and she lost the first dose of it into a bucket, which was not easy to do through a mouth that didn't want to open. He kept ice on her cheek and rubbed her back and seemed to almost sleep with her, which no one seemed to find disturbing in the least, surprisingly not even her mother, whom Devon took home after a few days because she was exhausted, too, and wasn't getting any rest there.

  One of her sisters came down to help out with Mama, while everyone else concentrated their attention on her, although, when it came down to it, as it had when he was ill, he was the only one who could truly dedicate his time to taking care of her. His new job didn't start for a month or so—the company wasn't really up and running yet, and he'd called and talked to the guy, anyway, explaining the situation.

  He was completely understanding and just told him to call him back when she was better, and he was ready.

  So, they spent the majority of their time together, although she was asleep through most of it, between the concussion and the pain meds, which both made her kind of groggy. The rare, short times that she was awake, he tried to get food and water into her but also tried to entertain her as best he could—always with a sharp eye for signs that she was getting tired—but he let her have a visitor or two a day for a few short minutes. He read to her when she was awake at an odd hour, and they played cards and Chinese checkers and chess, which he always won but she was always willing to play, too, which was one of the things he loved about her.

  The doctor dropped in frequently, at first, then less so, his visits dwindling to once a week as she began to spend more time awake and he eased back on the dosage of pain meds so she could do so, although he always left enough to cover any kind of spike.

  Lawson found that he thoroughly enjoyed taking care of her, although she was—as he already knew and had had experience with—a stubborn little cuss on occasion, and a lot of those occasions had to do with eating. She wasn't at all fond of boiled and smushed veggies with water that she was supposed to eat through a straw.