by Noelle Adams
“She’s stable for now,” the doctor said. “But it’s serious. We took care of the hip and arm, but there’s swelling in her brain, so we’ll need to see how long it takes for that swelling to go down and how she is afterwards.”
“What are the possibilities?” Mitchell asked, when Deanna opened her mouth but no sound came out.
“It could be that she’s just fine, or there could be some sort of brain damage. We can’t tell yet.”
“How long will it take for the swelling to go down?”
“It’s hard to tell. We should know more tomorrow morning.”
“When can we see her?”
“She’s in recovery now. We’ll move her into a room in an hour or two. There’s nothing you can do now, so you might go home and take a shower and get something to eat and then come back later tonight. She likely won’t be awake, though, so you could just come back tomorrow morning.”
Mitchell could tell from Deanna’s face that it wasn’t going to happen.
When the doctor left, Deanna glanced up at Mitchell. “Do you think you could take Kelly back home?” she asked.
Both he and Kelly started to object at the same time.
“I’m not going home,” Kelly said. “I care about her just as much as you do.”
“I know. But there’s no sense in all of us staying all night. Go on home and get some rest.”
“I don’t want to go rest while you’re here by yourself,” Kelly said, sticking out her chin stubbornly. “I’m not a child, you know. You can’t just order me around.”
Deanna let out a long breath and closed her eyes briefly. “I don’t want to order you around. I’m just trying to think of the best thing to do.”
“The best thing to do is not for you to sit here all night by yourself,” Mitchell put in, strangely pleased when Kelly nodded in support. “Why don’t we all go and get something to eat and change clothes and then when we can figure out the best thing to do.”
“I don’t want to leave,” Deanna said. “I need to be here.”
“You don’t need to be here. You want to be here because you think you can somehow control things better if you’re here. But you can’t. There’s nothing you can do. So just let go for a few minutes and take care of yourself.”
Deanna stared up at him for a minute, as if she were surprised either by the words or the tone, which had been strangely blunt and intimate both.
She didn’t nod or agree in words or make any indication that she’d accepted the idea, but she didn’t object either, so he put his hand in the middle of her back and pushed her forward.
She walked with him, and the three of them had made it to his car when Deanna finally said, “Wait! I didn’t want to leave.”
“Tough.” He helped her into the passenger seat and then opened the backseat door for Kelly, who hopped in, looking tired but vaguely amused about something.
“What do you all feel like eating?” he asked, after he’d gotten into the driver’s side.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, you’re going to eat something, so either make a suggestion or put up with whatever we choose.”
“A sandwich or something would be good,” Kelly said from the back. “Deanna likes the pesto chicken sandwiches at Nick’s. It’s just down the road here.”
“Sounds good. We’ll go there.”
Deanna shot a look back at her sister, as if she’d betrayed her, but then she turned a glare up to Mitchell, who was clearly the main source of her ire. “You’re getting kind of bossy,” she mumbled. “What’s gotten into you?”
He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him—just that he knew he needed to take care of Deanna, and this seemed to be the only way she’d allow him to do it.
He arched his eyebrows with a cool look in response and was rewarded when she gave him a little smile.
***
Deanna’s head hurt and her back hurt and her knees hurt and her chest hurt, but she kept trying to mop the pooled water in the basement toward the drain.
She’d stayed at the hospital until lunchtime, when Rose had arrived after flying over from London. Since both Rose and Kelly were now at the hospital, Deanna had come over to the house to try to save as many of her grandmother’s family treasures as possible.
She’d been working down here for nearly four hours now, and she didn’t seem any closer to getting the damage under control.
She’d moved all the boxes to the only dry corner, but she cringed at how wet the bottom of some of the boxes were. A couple had burst opened, revealing wet 19th century clothes and curtains.
Her grandmother would be heartbroken if they were ruined.
It didn’t seem right that just when things were finally going well for them—the house was being redone and they could show the treasures as they were meant to be shown—this would happen.
It was like the Beauforts were doomed to always get only to the edge of success before the ground fell out beneath their feet.
Deanna straightened up, wincing at the pain in her back, and pulled the elastic out of her hair to redo her ponytail, since strands were falling out and sticking uncomfortably to her neck. Once she got some of this water cleaned up, she could start to open the boxes and see how much damage was done. She looked over to where she’d hung up the wet curtains that had survived the Civil War and almost cried at how terrible they looked.
“What the hell are you doing?” roared a familiar male voice from behind her.
She jumped in surprise and nearly dropped her mop. Her back clenched painfully, so she was gasping as she turned around to see Mitchell coming down the basement stairs, dressed in khakis and a green dress shirt. He’d had to go over to the Claremont for a while around noon, and Deanna had hoped he’d be busy all day.
Evidently not.
“I needed to make sure all the family stuff is okay,” she said, her voice cracking strangely, like it hadn’t been used in too long.
Mitchell was frowning vehemently. He didn’t look happy with her at all. “That would have taken about thirty minutes. How long have you been over here?” His eyes ran up and down her body, leaving her feeling naked and exposed. “I thought you were at home resting.”
“I’m not tired,” she lied, turning her back on him, since he was making her feel strangely guilty. “This is important, and the longer these boxes sit in the water, the more damaged they’ll get.”
He made a growling sound and pulled the mop out of her hands. “I can hire people to do this. You just needed to let me know. You don’t have to do it all yourself.”
“It’s important,” she repeated, trying to pull the mop out of his hands, so they ended up having a silly little tug-of-war over it.
He was a lot stronger than her so he easily won. “It’s not that important.”
She gasped in outrage, feeling at the end of her emotional rope and so taking everything more personally than she normally would have. “Don’t you dare say that! It is important to us. This is our family history down here, and it means everything to my grandmother. Just because you don’t give a shit about anything, doesn’t mean you can assume that everyone else is equally heartless.”
The annoyance on his face froze for a moment as the words struck home.
She swallowed hard, feeling a wave of guilt and an inexplicable sort of grief. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, turning around and walking over to drag a box away from the water that was slowly edging over to it. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did.” He was still standing motionless, looking almost like he’d been struck.
She turned back to the box, on the verge of tears now. “No, I didn’t. You can’t tell me what I meant or didn’t mean. And I didn’t meant that.”
Her shoulders shook as she tried to hold back tears. She had no idea what was wrong with her. Just that he was Mitchell. He was her husband. And he’d been so sweet lately.
And she’d hurt him when he didn’t deserve it.
“Oh, baby, please don�
��t cry.”
The rough words only made her cry more, and she ended up leaning over a damp box, strangling on sobs.
He came over to pull her into his arms, and she gasped when the motion made her back catch again.
“What’s the matter?” he murmured thickly. “What hurts?”
“Just my back. It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. You must have been down here for hours. I need to get you home.”
“But I told Grandmama I’d save all her treasures.” Her grandmother had regained consciousness that morning, and she’d even been able to speak. One of the first things she thought of was all the boxes in the basement.
“I’ll get some guys over here right away to take care of it.” He was stroking her hair. “Why didn’t you ask me earlier?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
She managed the energy to glare up at him. “Why do you always insist on contradicting me?”
“Because you never tell me the truth.”
“I do too.”
He shook his head slowly. “Not the whole truth. And I want the whole truth from you.”
The words disturbed her—deeply. There was no way she could tell him the whole truth, or she’d have to admit that her feelings for him had—quite unwisely—gone far behind the nature of a six-month marriage, no matter how hard she’d tried to keep them under control. “Well, I wanted to do it myself so I’d have something to do. Something where I felt like I was helping.”
“That’s what I thought.”
She frowned. “If you already knew, then why did you ask?”
“Because I wanted you to tell me.”
There was a fond expression in his eyes that was as disturbing as his words, so she pulled away, rubbing her face and then reaching around to rub her back.
“I need to call to see how Grandmama is doing,” she said.
“I just called and talked to Kelly. She’s been sleeping. She’s doing fine. There’s nothing you can do right now, so I’m taking you home so you can rest.”
“I’d rather—“
“I really don’t care what you’d rather do.”
She sucked in an indignant breath but didn’t have energy to argue. She trudged up the stairs in front of him and then went to his car and climbed in the front seat. As he drove them home, he called up someone to arrange for a crew to get down to the basement to clean it up and save as many of the treasures as possible.
She didn’t have the energy to talk, even after he’d hung up, so she closed her eyes and tried to relax. Her head was spinning, though, and occasionally she’d jerk with a surge of something akin to panic.
Every time she did, she’d glance over and see that Mitchell was watching her in obvious concern.
It was almost embarrassing, and there was no way to explain the strange behavior, so she just didn’t try.
They finally made it home, and he walked around the car to help her out, even though she could have managed on her own.
She wasn’t used to being taken care of like this. She wasn’t used to being taken care of at all.
Everyone had always looked to her to take care of things.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, when they were standing in the entryway. It was only yesterday they were standing here, in the exact same place, and he’d grabbed her into a deep kiss.
She shook her head. “I just want to take a shower.”
“Okay.”
They walked to her suite, and he went into the bathroom to turn on the shower. When it looked like he was lingering, she pushed him out and closed the door behind him. She took off her clothes and got under the hot water, and for some reason the hot spray caused her to release the building tension, and she sobbed quietly under the shower.
She had no idea what was wrong with her. She was never like this.
She felt a little better, though, after she’d soaped up, rinsed, and gotten control of herself again. She turned off the water and toweled herself dry, pulling on the tank top and pajama pants she’d been wearing the other night that had been left in the bathroom.
She towel-dried her hair as best as possible, and then just pulled it into one long braid so it wouldn’t get everything wet.
Mitchell was waiting in the bedroom, sitting in a chair, staring worriedly down at the floor.
Her heart was touched at the sight. “I’m fine,” she said gently. “I’ll just rest some. You can go back to work if you need to or—“ She gasped when she moved the wrong way and her back caught again.
It hurt so much she felt the blood drain from her face. She’d thought the shower would help it, but evidently not.
Mitchell’s lips tightened as he stood up, but he didn’t say anything, which was a relief. She wasn’t sure she was able to take another lecture.
He came over to help her walk to the bed, although she would have been okay on her own. “Is it your lower back?” he asked.
“Yeah. I guess I was just bent over for too long. It will be fine once I rest it.”
He helped her lower herself onto the bed, and then he turned her over on her stomach. She felt helpless and vulnerable so she resisted. “Mitchell, I said I’m—“
“You’re not fine,” he muttered. “So, for once, stop being stubborn. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Stupidly—so stupidly—she felt on the verge of tears again. “I didn’t think you were going to hurt me,” she began, feeling like he wasn’t understanding her at all. “I just—“
“Shh.” He gently adjusted her again so she was on her stomach and started rubbing his hands up and down her back over her clothes. “You don’t have to explain.”
“But—“
“The longer you distract me by trying to argue, the longer I’m going to stay.” His voice was perfectly composed.
The words silenced her, since she was feeling so deep and emotional that she thought it best that he get out as soon as possible. Who knew what she would say or do otherwise?”
She let him rub her back gently for a minute, and then he started to focus a massage on her lower back, right where the muscles were catching. It felt incredibly good in a painful sort of way, and she tried to make herself relax instead of resisting.
He didn’t speak at all, which was a relief. Just kneaded his strong fingers into her flesh until she couldn’t help but groan.
Then his hands moved higher, and he massaged her neck and shoulders until she was moaning even more.
“That’s good,” she gasped, when her body was so relaxed it started responding in an inappropriate way to his touch and the strong presence of him behind her. “Thank you. I feel a lot better.”
“Shh.” He didn’t stop, sliding his hands down to stroke her bottom and thighs.
A tension had tightened between her legs—a familiar pressure that was entirely wrong for the circumstances. He wasn’t coming on to her. He was trying to take care of her. She had no idea why her body had quite foolishly misinterpreted the stimulus.
To her relief, his hands finally moved from her bottom and slid up again to her neck until he started to massage her scalp through her hair. That should have been better—less intimate and sensual—but it wasn’t.
She was groaning almost helplessly and had to keep her eyes closed in embarrassment, as arousal kept pulsing between her legs.
“Mitchell,” she gasped at last. “Please…”
“Please what, baby?” His voice was thick and rough.
“Please stop.”
“Why?” He stroked his fingertips down the bare skin of her neck, making her shiver and clench.
“Because I…I…” She was mortified by her reaction, by what he would think of it.
“Aren’t you enjoying it?”
“Yes.” She gasped far too loud when she felt his hands on her lower back again. Even through her clothes, it felt like sex. “Too…too much.”
She felt something shift in his presence, like he’d processed what she meant.
Then he was turning her over onto her back so she could no longer hide her face from him.
“Mitchell,” she began, her voice cracking and her cheeks hotly flushed.
His face, his eyes, were so tender it took her breath away. She was gazing up at him as his head lowered into a kiss.
She felt boneless, completely exhausted, so she could only respond with her mouth, her lips clinging to his as he brushed them against her so gently.
He was still kissing her—nothing too deep or urgent—when she felt his fingers at her belly, then the waistband of her pants.
She tried to say something but couldn’t manage it, too distracted by the kiss.
So she wasn’t resisting as his hand slid beneath her underwear to feel between her legs. Her whole body tightened as she felt his finger rubbing her clit, but his touch was so natural, so soothing, that she almost immediately relaxed.
He kept kissing her as he stroked her intimately, bringing her to climax with his fingers and then sustaining the massage until she came again and then again. She couldn’t seem to stop it—her body was completely out of her control, like she’d released every piece of her resistance.
Tears were streaming from her eyes as she came yet again, her body tightened briefly with the pleasure but then uncoiling in lingering waves that saturated her completely.
“Enough,” she gasped, finally pulling her mouth away from him. “I don’t think I can…can take any more.”
“Okay.” He pressed one more soft kiss on her lips. “Do you feel better?”
“Yes. So good. So good.” Each word was a helpless sigh.
“Good.”
She was suddenly conscious that his body was desperately tight. He was obviously deeply aroused himself, and he hadn’t yet had any release. She reached for his groin almost blindly, so tired she could barely move. “Now we can—“
He moved her hands from his pants. “Not now.”
“But—“
“That was for you. You’re too tired for anything else.” He didn’t sound annoyed or frustrated. He still sounded gentle, almost fond.
“But you didn’t—“
“I’m not going to fall apart. It wasn’t about me. I wanted to do that for you.”
He seemed to mean it, and she didn’t have the energy to argue anyway. She was so deeply relaxed in almost every way she couldn’t keep her eyes open.
