Terms of Surrender

by Janet Dailey

  “It doesn’t matter,” Angie rejected his penitent confession.

  She felt him take her hand and lay it in the palm of his. Her sharply indrawn breath sent a stab of pain through her ribcage, a pointed reminder of the cracked ribs. As her arm stiffened to pull her hand away, Deke tightened his hold on it and stroked it with his other hand, an evocative caress that soothed and comforted.

  “When you’re released from the hospital, Angie, will you let me look after you?” he asked huskily. “I want to take care of you.”

  The timbre of his voice was too persuasive and Angie felt too vulnerable. Deke could so easily twist her into knots with his kindness if she let him. And she mustn’t let herself be swayed by his well-meant intentions into giving in. She didn’t dare listen to him.

  “Deke, please.” Her voice was pleading. “Just go away.”

  She started crying silently, sobs shaking her body and causing more pain to compound her anguish. Biting her lip, Angie tried to stop the stream of tears from her eyes. His hold had tightened its grip on hers and she tried to twist out of it, but he was lifting her hand and enclosing it between his.

  “Angie—”

  When she felt the warmth of his mouth near her fingers, she protested bitterly. “Leave me alone!”

  This time Deke didn’t resist her attempt to pull her hand free. She sensed his movement away from the bed, but he didn’t leave the room. She could feel him watching her, and that was equally agonizing. Then the door opened, and there was the rustle of a uniform. Angie looked up as a nurse stopped beside the bed. Despite her briskly professional air as she swabbed a spot on Angie’s upper arm, her keenly observant eyes had a gentle quality when they swept Angie’s face.

  “I have a little something here for the pain,” she told Angie. The stinging prick of the hypodermic needle was minor compared to the rest of her aches. It was followed by a brief sensation of something surging into her blood, then it was over. “You rest,” the nurse ordered with a slight smile.

  “Yes,” Angie whispered, welcoming whatever promise of relief it offered.

  The nurse moved away from the bed, but before she left the room, Angie heard her murmur to Deke, “She’ll sleep for awhile.”

  Angie closed her eyes, aware that Deke hadn’t taken the hint and left the room. It wasn’t too much longer when she felt soft, puffy clouds enfolding her mind and hazing her thoughts. She embraced the nothingness with open arms. Deke couldn’t go where she was going, so she escaped from him—released at last from all sensation.

  Her fork pushed the food around on the hospital tray. Angie tried another bite and chewed it slowly without tasting it. Finally she put her fork down, not hungry and unable to force any more food down. Her gaze wandered out the window of the hospital room to absently study the pattern of long shadows cast by a setting sun.

  At the sound of the door opening, Angie sent a disinterested glance in its direction. She expected to see the nurse’s aide coming to collect her tray. Her eyes widened in surprise when she recognized the tall brunette entering her room.

  “Marissa,” she murmured in vague disbelief.

  A wide smile attempted to mask the bright concern in her eyes as Marissa approached the bed, carrying a gift-wrapped box and a small case. She glanced at the tray in front of Angie.

  “They’re letting you eat real food,” she observed. “That’s a good sign.” Marissa peered at the tray’s contents. “It smells good, but you haven’t eaten much.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Angie dismissed that subject to stare at her visitor. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have come bearing gifts,” she declared, and wheeled aside the stand to present Angie with a beribboned box. “One gift, at least. It’s from Lindy and me. Open it,” she urged.

  Angie untied the bright yellow ribbon and worked off the lid of the cardboard box. The contents were hidden in layers of tissue paper. When she finally pushed them all aside, she uncovered an elegant bedjacket of lilac satin.

  “I guess I don’t have to tell you that Lindy picked it out,” Marissa said.

  “It’s beautiful.” Angie fingered the slick material of the ruffled collar.

  “I’ll help you put it on,” Marissa volunteered, taking it out of the box. “I thought you’d probably be tired of these drab hospital gowns, and like something a little more feminine to wear.” She helped Angie slip an arm in the sleeve and hesitated at the sight of a large black and blue bruise. “That’s a beauty, isn’t it? It clashes a little with this lavender jacket,” she teased. “There,” she buttoned the front and stepped back to admire the result. “You look great.”

  “Thank you,” Angie murmured, still a little dazed that Marissa was actually there.

  And Marissa was rushing right along, not giving her a chance to ask anything. “The nurse said they were going to have you up and walking tomorrow,” she smiled, then appeared to remember the small travel case she’d set on the foot of the bed. “I packed a few things that I thought you might need—makeup, et cetera. If I’ve forgotten anything, just let me know.”

  “Marissa,” A worried frown touched her forehead. “Does Deke know you’re here?” Angie had to find out.

  “Yes. Lindy and I flew in from Dallas last night as soon as I heard about your accident,” she replied. Dallas, that’s where they were, Angie thought. “Deke’s back at the ranch—sleeping, hopefully,” Marissa explained as if Angie had been wondering where he was instead of being relieved that he wasn’t there. “That brother of mine was absolutely glued to that chair all the while you were unconscious. Didn’t eat and wouldn’t sleep.”

  Angie looked down at the hospital sheet. “He blames himself for what happened,” she said flatly.

  “Yes, I know,” Marissa replied. “I poured a couple shots of whiskey down him. In his condition, that was all it took. Before he passed out, he mentioned he’d been arguing with you.” There was a slight pause. “Do you blame him, Angie?”

  “No. It simply happened. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.” She made it very clear to his sister that she didn’t want Deke to feel responsible. The accident didn’t put him under any obligation to her. “How’s Lindy?” Angie changed the subject to a topic less painful than a discussion of Deke.

  “She’s fine—glad to be home. I tried to let you know what was happening,” Marissa began.

  “I know.” Angie didn’t want to talk about that either.

  “If all goes well, you should be released from the hospital the day after tomorrow.” This time Marissa changed the subject. “Why don’t you come to the ranch and recuperate there? It will be a perfect opportunity for you to get acquainted with Lindy.”

  Angie tensed, flashing her friend a sharp glance. “Does Deke know about this? Was it his idea?”

  “I suggested it to him and he agreed.” Marissa eyed her curiously.

  On the surface, it appeared to be a thoughtful invitation, but Angie knew that Deke was motivated by a desire to make up to her for the accident. He wanted to alleviate his guilt. But it would be disastrous for her to be around him. She loved him so, and if he was kind to her, she might be tempted into settling for something less than the relationship she wanted.

  “Deke isn’t sending Lindy away again?” Angie questioned.

  “No,” Marissa replied, and left it to Angie to read between the lines that she had Deke’s permission to be with her daughter. “Jessie—our housekeeper—is getting the bedroom next to Lindy’s all ready for you.”

  “No. I won’t be going to the ranch after I’m released,” Angie stated in a firm denial of the invitation. “And you can give Deke a message for me. Tell him I’m not going to chase any more carrots.” Because she knew he had dangled Lindy in front of her again.

  “But—” Marissa was frowning. “Where will you go? Back to the summer house?”

  “No.” She didn’t want to go there either—not where she had lived with Deke. . . practically as man and wife. There were too many painful memories
attached to that house. “I’ll stay in a motel for a few days until I decide what I’m going to do. Marissa, would you do me a favor?” There was a kind of desperation in the look she gave the brunette.

  “Name it,” she agreed without hesitation.

  “I would prefer not to... go back to the summer house,” Angie explained hesitantly. “Would you pack my clothes for me and put the rest of my things in storage for the time being?”

  “If that’s what you want.” Marissa wore a slightly puzzled frown. “But what about you and Deke?”

  “It’s over between us,” Angie said. “It’s finished—for the last and final time.

  But when Deke came through that hospital room door the next morning, Angie knew it wasn’t finished. You couldn’t stop loving a person at will. Her heart gave a painful leap at the sight of him, so lean and ruggedly handsome in a western-cut suit. He was carrying a bouquet of roses—red roses for love. Angie reminded herself in time that it was just a gesture. The color had no meaning to him, except it was what the florist had on hand.

  He stopped by her bed and removed his hat to hold it at his side. His proud features seemed totally devoid of expression and there was a haunting blankness to his gray eyes. Her head throbbed at the thought that she would never touch him again, never feel his arms around her, never taste the hard warmth of his mouth. Angie glimpsed the lonely agony that was ahead of her.

  “I brought you some flowers,” Deke said quietly.

  “They’re very lovely.” It was a stilted answer. Angie knew she didn’t dare reach for them. She was shaking so badly inside that it was certain to show. “You can put them on the bedside table.”

  He hesitated, then placed them on the stand next to her bed. “How are you feeling today?” His gaze made a searching study of her face, noting the pallor and the strained blankness.

  “I’m much better, thank you,” she replied, not looking at him.

  “Marissa tells me that you turned down the invitation to recuperate at the ranch.” His tone asked for confirmation.

  “That’s right.” Her glance ricocheted off his face and returned to her bed covers.

  “It wasn’t a carrot, Angie.” There was a taut edge to his voice. “I meant it when I said I wanted to take care of you.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she retorted. “I don’t want you to look after me.”

  There was an oppressive tension in the air. Angie had trouble breathing the heavy atmosphere; her lungs hurt with the effort. Her eyes burned from the concentrated interest she was focusing on the fold in the sheet. Finally, Deke turned away from the bed and walked to the window. Her gaze followed him and studied his uplifted profile, starkly masculine and strong. He laid an arm high on the window frame, bracing himself with it. His hat remained tightly clenched at his thigh.

  “I won’t keep you from seeing Lindy.” His voice seemed to come from far away. “She can visit you whenever you like—weekends, holidays.” He drank in a deep breath and studied the blue sky outside the window. “I know this doesn’t make up for what I’ve done to you, but I never meant it to turn out this way. I’m sorry, Angie.”

  “We are both sorry about a lot of things, Deke.” Her throat ached from the effort to speak.

  “I won’t trouble you again.” He turned from the window and looked at the hat he gripped with both hands. Then he was pushing it on his head. “Goodbye, Angie.”

  She had one glimpse of his hard, chiseled features before Deke walked out the door. “Goodbye,” she choked on a half-sob. It sounded so final now. She couldn’t stop wishing that it could have ended some other way. She turned her face into the pillow and cried for what they could have had—if he had loved her.

  Deke didn’t come again to visit her in the hospital. Angie forced herself not to ask Marissa about him when she came to see her. She kept telling herself to keep the break clean. It would mend quicker that way. But there was excruciating pain that went with the healing process.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two days later, Angie was dismissed from the hospital. The bandage had been removed from the gash on her forehead and her bruises were all turning a yellowish-green. There continued to be a dull throb in her head, but otherwise, she was as physically healthy as the hospital could make her.

  Marissa waited for her while Angie signed all the necessary papers for her discharge. When she had finished, Marissa insisted on carrying her travel case out to the car. The roses Deke had given her, Angie left behind. She didn’t want any flowers that symbolized a love that had never been hers.

  Too preoccupied with her own thoughts, Angie didn’t notice Marissa’s silence during the drive to the motel where she’d be staying. If anything, she regarded it as a relief not to have to make idle conversation. Marissa stopped the car in front of the motel office, but she didn’t turn off the engine.

  “Angie.” She turned her head. “Have I ever asked you to do anything for me?”

  The question puzzled her, so did the worried concern she saw in Marissa’s eyes. “No.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you now if I thought there was anyone else who could help,” she explained. “But I’m at my wit’s end.”

  “What is it?” Angie could see she was sincerely upset. “Is it Lindy?”

  “No—it’s Deke.” She saw Angie stiffen at his name and hurried. “I know you said it was finished between you two, but—Angie, he hasn’t been to the ranch since he talked to you at the hospital. He’s at the summer house.” Angie looked away, nearly overwhelmed by the urge to run. “He just sits there, Angie. He won’t talk. Nothing.” Marissa paused as if seeking a way to explain. “I’ve even taken Lindy there to see him, thinking that he would snap out of it, but he just walks into another room and shuts the door. I’ve tried everything and I can’t seem to reach him.”

  “I can’t help you,” Angie said flatly.

  “You’ve got to,” Marissa insisted. “Deke is obviously blaming himself for what happened. If you would talk to him, make him understand that you have forgiven him—or something. Angie, that’s all I’m asking,” she pleaded. “I’m frightened. I’ve never seen him like this before. Please, he might listen to you.”

  How could she refuse? It was impossible. Angie sighed heavily in defeat. “All right. I’ll talk to him, but you come with me.”

  “I will.” She reached out to squeeze Angie’s hand in gratitude. “Thank you.”

  A half dozen times on the way to the Key, Angie changed her mind. Her palms were sweating when Marissa turned the car into the driveway of the summer house and her head was starting to pound again. At first she didn’t notice the small group of neighbors clustered in the adjoining yard, all her attention focused on the house where she’d lived with Deke. When she stepped out of the car to join Marissa, the elderly neighbor, Mrs. Os-borne, split from the others to come over.

  “I am so glad you are here, Marissa,” she declared. “There has been the most awful racket going on inside the house. We weren’t sure what we should do.”

  Marissa cast an anxious glance at Angie, then assured the neighbor. “We’ll check it out, Mrs. Osborne.”

  “Maybe my husband should go inside with you,” the woman suggested.

  “I’m sure we’ll be all right,” Marissa murmured.

  Concern for Deke overwhelmed any personal fears for herself as Angie walked swiftly to the door. The house was quiet when she entered just a step ahead of Marissa. She climbed the stairs to the living quarters, listening intently for any sound.

  When she crossed the threshold at the top of the stairs, there was a fleeting memory of that last angry scene before she’d fallen. It vanished the instant she looked into the living room. She was stopped short by the shambles the room was in. Furniture was turned over, chairs and tables were broken, and the drapes were half-ripped from their rods.

  “What happened?” Marissa breathed in stunned shock.

  “I don’t know.” Angie finally moved, her legs shaking.

&nbs
p; The dining room was in a similar state of destruction. The kitchen seemed relatively untouched, although appliances were scattered on the floor as if someone had swept them off the counter.

  “I think we’d better call the police,” Marissa murmured, shaken by the vandal-like destruction in the house. She moved uncertainly toward the phone on the wall, stepping over an electric toaster on the floor.

  “But where is Deke?” Angie frowned, worried now about him. “If he was here when whoever did this—” She didn’t finish the sentence afraid to put it into words as she and Marissa exchanged a frightened look. “Let’s check the bedrooms first.”

  “Okay,” Marissa agreed, but with some misgivings.

  They had barely left the kitchen when a loud thump came from another part of the house. Alarm shot through Angie’s nerves at the sound. It came from the bedroom area. Her stride faltered for an instant, caution briefly surfacing to slow her.

  “What was that?” Marissa whispered.

  “I don’t know.” But her mind could only think about Deke.

  Angie broke into a running walk as she hurried down the hallway with Marissa directly behind her. The doors to the bedrooms stood open, but none of them appeared to have suffered the destruction of the front rooms. Angie did no more than glance in them as she went by to confirm that Deke wasn’t there. The closed door of the master bedroom acted as a beacon, signaling to her. Angie didn’t slow down until she reached it. For a short second, she paused to listen, her hand poised on the knob, but no sound came from inside the room.

  Behind her, Marissa crowded close, offering the reassurance of her presence. Turning the knob, she pushed the door open an inch at a time, her heart pounding like a trip-hammer in her chest. Her first views of the room mirrored the destruction that had befallen the front rooms. Bedding was torn off the bed, the framework was broken, sending the mattress and springs askew. Drawers were pulled out of the dresser—a couple of them were smashed.

  When she saw Deke kneeling in the middle of the chaos, the breath she’d been holding was released in a sighing sob of relief. Her gaze ran over his hunched figure, but his bowed head kept her from seeing his face. Something was clutched in his hands, its blue color vaguely familiar to Angie. The identity of it was completely unimportant at the moment. While there were no outward indications that he was injured, the impression was of a man in intense pain.