“Are you going to drive me home? Or do I call a cab?”
The thought of Rance riding all the way home in a cab made up Maggie’s mind for her. She would take him back. She’d sat up with sick kids; she guessed she could sit up with him.
“I guess I have no choice.” Maggie looked at Rance, and then back to the doctor. “Tell me what I have to do.”
Dr. McDaniel briefed her about what to look for and what to expect. Maggie listened carefully. She rather liked the idea that the strong, handsome Rance Montoya needed her.
There were a few moments on the bumpy ride home when Rance actually regretted his decision to leave the hospital. But when Maggie steered her minivan into his lane and up the drive to his house, he knew he’d made the right choice. He couldn’t have explained why it was important that he stay under the Hightower roof, but it was. After so many years dreaming of a home, he didn’t want to spend even one night away from it.
The headlights flashed against a ghostly figure sitting on the steps. A chill raced through him. Could this be the ghost he’d heard about? Rance shook his head to clear it and looked again, more closely this time. He was surprised to see Buddy perched on the top step, one arm hugging his knees, another skinny arm wrapped around the rusty-haired dog. What was he doing there?
“I called the folks and told them I was bringing you home. We thought I might need some help getting you settled,” Maggie told Rance, as if she’d read his puzzled expression. “When you’re squared away, Buddy will go on over to my folks’ house. He and Jen will spend the night with them.”
Rance nodded in silent agreement with Maggie’s sensible statement. Then he looked to the house again.
The steps leading up to the porch loomed like Mount Everest. “Good thinking. I don’t know whether I’m up to mountain climbing tonight.” Rance tried to flash a grin, but it was anemic at best.
Rusty barked a greeting as Buddy loped down the steps and jerked the van door open. The dog seemed to sense that something was wrong, for she stayed away and watched with interested eyes.
“Wait, kiddo. We’re going to have to handle Mr. Montoya with kid gloves. He’s pretty much one big bruise.”
Maggie hopped out of the van and hurried around to the passenger side, where Buddy stood. While he waited, Rance looked down. Even the short distance from his position to the ground looked farther than that from the door of an airborne C-130 transport while you were waiting for the green light to jump. And now he didn’t have a parachute.
Rance gingerly levered his feet around. So far, so good. But that twelve-inch gap between him and terra firma might as well have been a mile. A night in the hospital was looking better all the time.
“Rance, this is going to hurt, no matter what we do,” Maggie pointed out, echoing the exact thoughts that had been running through his head.
“Don’t remind me. How about I just sleep here?”
“Fine with me. I’m sure the mosquitoes will enjoy it,” Maggie stated, swatting at her arm. “Inside, you’ll have a whole screen between you and the thirsty little buggers. Not to mention a nice soft bed.”
“That damned hospital bed is looking really good about now,” he grunted as he shifted his weight forward. When would that pain medication begin to kick in? It felt as if somebody were jabbing his chest with a red-hot poker every time he moved.
Rance worked his legs around until they were dangling a foot above the ground. He closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t see the distance he had to go. Then he took a deep breath and stepped down.
He should have warned them about what he was going to do, Rance thought as his feet touched the ground and his knees buckled. But if he had stopped to think about it, he might still be sitting in the van.
And if he’d thought about it too long, Maggie’s arms wouldn’t be around him now.
Chapter 7
Maggie glanced around the bedroom while she waited for Buddy to help Rance into bed. The more she saw of this house, the more she liked it. The room hadn’t originally been intended for sleeping, but it seemed an ideal choice. The real bedrooms were all on the second floor, and in the nearly tropical summer heat of Alabama they would be stifling. So Rance’s choice of the old library on the first floor was a good one.
The room was paneled in knotty pine, not the plastic imitation paneling in her prefab home, but the genuine article. Maggie ran her fingers over the smooth, varnished surface and admired the warm patina that age had given the wood. The east and south walls each held two floor-to-ceiling windows; the ones that faced the front were really windowed doors that opened out onto the porch.
There was no doubt in Maggie’s mind why Rance had chosen this room for sleeping; it was probably the coolest room in the house. And with the big stone fireplace that stood between the two south-facing windows, the room would be cozy and warm in the winter.
Two of the walls were covered with shelves, and Maggie was surprised at the titles they displayed. The library contained everything from the classics to the latest on farming techniques, as well as a large collection of paperback novels.
Rance had told her that he’d finished college at night and read all kinds of farming books, but the extent of his self-education surprised her. If heh ad actually read all the books on the shelves, Rance was certainly better educated than the average Alabama farmer.
She tried to ignore the bed that stood between the two front-facing windows. It was large and inviting, with a light corded spread of royal blue. Maggie’s mind dredged up an image of the two of them in tangled sheets, and she suppressed a tingle of excitement as she turned down the covers. But before her mind could fill in the details, Buddy called from the hall.
“Turn down the bed, Mom. We’re coming in.”
More than once in the past hour, Maggie had thanked her lucky stars she’d had the presence of mind to have Buddy waiting. The two of them had barely been able to get Rance into the house in one piece after he skydived out of the van. What had gotten into the man? Leaping off the seat like that. You would think he had a death wish!
Maggie frowned and shook her head as she turned down the covers on Rance’s queen-size bed. She smoothed out the sheets, self-conscious about performing so intimate a task for a man she barely knew. She frowned again.
“What’s with the nasty look, pretty lady?” Rance asked, his voice slurred. The pain pills must finally have kicked in.
Rance had complained of feeling gamy and insisted on washing up. Thank goodness Buddy had been there; Maggie wasn’t sure she knew Rance well enough for that kind of intimacy. Yet. If she ever would...
He stood poised in the doorway, half leaning on the door frame, half leaning on Buddy. Rance’s head lolled like that of a man on a two-day drunk, but at least some of his color had returned. He was modestly dressed in a pair of nylon running shorts—a concession to her presence, Maggie supposed. She had a very strong feeling that Rance Montoya normally slept in much less. Like nothing.
“He’s cleaned up and ready for bed, Mom.”
Rance raised an arm and executed a floppy salute. “All clean and ready for duty, Mom.” He grinned a sloppy grin and tried to step forward. Instead, he sagged against Buddy.
“I’m still not thrilled about your pigheaded decision to come home tonight. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go jogging before you turn in?” Maggie asked to mask the real concern she had about his condition.
“’S only way I could think to get you into my bedroom,” Rance muttered, still wearing a foolish grin.
Buddy scowled.
Maggie rolled her eyes, though the notion appealed to her more each time she looked at Rance’s well-toned body. Even as bruised and as bandaged as he was, he was magnificent. “Then you’ve wasted your time. I’ll be over there.” She indicated a battered recliner that sat catty-corner to the bed. “One of us has to stay awake.”
“Too bad,” Rance murmured as Buddy lowered him to the mattress. He didn’t resist as Buddy, probably still remem
bering the suggestive remark, picked up his legs and positioned them, none too gently, parallel to the edge.
“Yeah. Right.” Maggie shooed Buddy away and adjusted the pillows and pulled the sheet up over her patient. Even when he was weak and in pain and with his ribs swaddled in bandages, Rance’s muscled body was distracting. Given some other night and two able bodies, there was no telling what could happen.
Maggie felt her face warm and thanked providence for the dim light in the room. It had been a long time since she had been with a man, but this fantasy was ridiculous. She shocked herself with the image she was painting in her mind’s eye. Thank goodness, Rance was not able-bodied, at least not tonight. She couldn’t believe her tired mind was actually considering the drug-induced suggestion he had made. A slight shiver, not unpleasant, ran through her. Her face heated more. Even her body was responding.
she glanced over to Buddy, whose young face showed an emotion that hovered somewhere between anger and confusion. Thirteen-year-olds didn’t happen to hear their mothers get propositioned every day, even by the walking wounded. “It’s okay, Buddy. It’s the pills talking. He’ll be asleep in a minute. I can handle things from here on.
“Why don’t you go home? It’s late, and I’m sure your grandparents would like to know what’s going on.” Maggie winked at her son conspiratorially. “We won’t mention Mr. Montoya’s silly proposition.”
“You sure, Mom? I can stay.”
Maggie patted Buddy’s cheek, then folded his gawky teenage body into a huge bear hug. “You’ve been a big help, but thanks to the pills the doctor gave him, I think Rance will sleep through the rest of the night just fine. I’ll be all right.”
As if to punctuate Maggie’s statement, Rance sighed and nuzzled his head into his pillows. “See. He’s asleep. We’ll be fine.”
Rance!
Something brought Rance wide awake with a start, and the slight jerk sent waves of shocking pain through him. He gingerly cocked his head and looked around. He was sure he had heard somebody calling to him. He looked toward Maggie, who was sitting in the recliner, thumbing through a copy of The Farm Journal. How could anyone reading a farming magazine look like an angel?
When she didn’t look up, he spoke. “Did you call me?” He was mildly surprised at the way his voice sounded, gravelly and rough.
Maggie looked up and smiled one of those reassuring it’ll-be-all-right smiles. Then she dropped the magazine, got up and crossed over to him. “Are you in pain?” She felt his head. “It’s too soon to take another pill.”
It was the second time she had brushed his forehead with her cool, soft hand, and the tender gesture nearly set him on fire. How could one woman affect him so? And. when he was in no position to do anything about it. He willed his body to behave in an appropriate, patientlike manner, but his mind had no control over the matter. Fortunately for both of them, the light was dim and the sheets were bunched up where it counted. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I thought I heard someone calling my name.”
“It wasn’t me. Maybe you were dreaming.”
He couldn’t stand it. With her hovering over him, there was no way his body would behave. He wanted to haul her into bed with him, cracked ribs and all. And he wanted to know why he was hearing things.
“Maybe I was. I guess it’s the pills.” Rance willed himself to close his eyes. He really was tired, and he hurt like hell, in spite of all his brave words and the doctor’s painkillers. He hurt too much to be thinking about long, pleasure-filled nights. Even with the object of his thoughts so temptingly near.
Maggie woke up disoriented and confused. Her eyes were bleary, and she had a crick in her neck. She yawned and stretched and rubbed her eyes as she tried to remember what she was doing in a recliner in Rance’s room.
Rance’s room. Maggie glanced over to Rance’s bed. If she hadn’t been wide awake before, she was now.
The bed was empty.
Maggie tried to stay calm. After all, there could be a perfectly plausible reason for Rance to be out of bed.
Yeah, sure, Maggie told herself as she released the lever that lowered the recliner seat. The man was badly injured and filled with enough drugs to take him to La-La Land, and she thought there was a logical reason for him to be up? That would teach her to get too comfortable on the job.
Maggie’s legs were decidedly rubbery when she hit the floor running. More than once she’d found one of her kids curled up under a bed after she made a frantic search of the house, certain they’d been kidnapped. She raised the bedspread to look, then shook her head. Rance wasn’t five years old, and his bulky body would not fit under the bed, even with a shoehorn.
She did look on the other side, in case he’d fallen. He hadn’t.
Think, Maggie. Think. Where would you go in the middle of the night?
The bathroom! Maybe he was as embarrassed as she, and had tried to go alone.
Maggie tore down the hall. She could see that the door was open in the dim light, but the small room was dark. She fumbled for the switch, steeling herself to find Rance’s crumpled body in a heap on the floor.
He wasn’t there.
Maggie sank down onto the toilet seat. Where could he have gone? And why hadn’t she heard him?
If Rance hadn’t moved Rusty and her pups back outside, maybe the dog would have alerted Maggie. But Rusty was outside, Rance was missing, and Maggie had to find him.
Her maternal ears weren’t as finely tuned as they had been when the kids were babies. But how could she not have heard a one-hundred-and-ninety-pound injured man get out of bed?
Something made Maggie look down the hall, toward the back portion of the house. A dim light shone from a door she hadn’t noticed before. The door was slightly open, allowing feeble rays of light to escape.
She felt an eerie chill as she pushed tentatively against the wooden door, fully expecting to hear it creak. This was the haunted Hightower house, after all. And it was the middle of the night. The musty smell of decay reached her nose, and Maggie prepared for the worst.
The door swung silently open at her touch, and Maggie discovered a flight of stairs that twisted downward. Without pausing to wonder what an injured man would be doing traipsing down a treacherous, rickety flight of stairs at midnight, Maggie followed them down, grateful for the dim bulb that illuminated the way. She was very relieved to reach the bottom without encountering anything sinister. Or Rance’s bleeding body.
She supposed the dark basement had been a root cellar in the old days, before electricity, because the faint smell of long-forgotten fruit came to her as she began to survey the cavernous room. The weak light from the stairs didn’t reach all the way into the interior, and her flesh crawled as sounds came from out of the darkness around her. Maggie chafed her bare arms to warm them, and tried to banish the thoughts about the origins of those sounds that ought to be—were—scaring her silly.
A movement to the far left caught Maggie’s eye, and she turned toward it. A feeble ray of moonlight from the dirty window high on the wall above pointed to a standing figure.
Rance. As if frozen in time, he stood staring at a cinder-block wall.
Soft hands on his shoulder woke him. If he had actually been asleep. Rance reveled in the caressing touch, but then he realized the weirdness of the scene. He vaguely remembered getting to the basement, but not why he’d come. He looked at the blank wall, then at Maggie, blinking as he tried to clear the confusion from his muddled mind.
“What am I doing here?” he asked, wide awake now, in spite of the horse-size pain pills he’d taken. His side hurt less than before, but he shouldn’t be awake. He shouldn’t be here. Hell, he shouldn’t be standing.
“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Maggie whispered softly as she stood on tiptoe to feel Rance’s head.
It was getting to be a habit with her, Rance realized. One that he liked. Damn if he didn’t like having a red-haired angel hovering about him. It had been a long time since anybody had fu
ssed over him in quite the same way. Not since his mother. Maybe getting run over by a tractor had its good points.
“You don’t have any idea what you’re doing down here?”
Rance looked at Maggie blankly.
“And do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be to get you back upstairs?” Maggie looked at the stairs that seemed to stretch for miles above them.
Rance followed the path Maggie’s eyes had taken and blanched. If the porch steps had seemed like Mount Everest, these looked like Mount Everest with Pikes Peak on top. He groaned. How the hell did I get here?
His eyes flickered back to the bare wall he’d been facing. Why had he been staring at a blank wall?
“Well?”
Rance turned quickly back to Maggie. He winced as his taped ribs reminded him why he’d been doped up in the first place.
Then something else made him turn back to the wall.
Rance, a voice called softly, clearly.
“Did you just say my name?” Rance knew Maggie hadn’t.
“No. Maybe those painkillers are making your ears ring.” Maggie’s look of motherly concern drew Rance’s eyes to her.
“I didn’t hear ringing,” Rance replied quickly. How could he explain what he’d heard, when he didn’t understand it himself? “I don’t suppose I’m dreaming and that I’m really upstairs tucked in my soft, warm bed.”
“Nope. You got down here. I guess you’ll just have to get back up the same way.” Maggie’s grip on his arm was firm as she gently led him toward the stairs. At the foot of the steps, Rance stopped and looked back toward the stark, bare wall. Gooseflesh covered him that couldn’t be explained by the chilly cellar air.
Why had he ended up here?
Maggie appraised the situation carefully. Rance had gotten to the bottom of the stairs without mishap; surely he could make it back up. And this time, he would have help.
Montoya's Heart Page 9
