by Marta Perry
“Tell Julianna I said thanks.”
“Will do.”
Julianna. They had felt closer than he’d have dreamed possible in those moments when they’d stood outside the E.R. together. For an instant he’d thought of lowering his head to kiss her soft mouth.
That would have been a mistake. But he couldn’t help wishing he’d done it.
Of course it took a few more minutes to actually get his mother outside the room. They paused in the hallway, and he realized how exhausted his mother looked. This had taken a toll on her.
“Do you need me to drive you home?” he asked.
“I have my car. But there is something else you can do.”
“Name it.”
“Go with me to see your uncle Max.” Her hand closed over his. “I know it’s late, but the nurses will let us go in.”
“Sure.” He tried to smile, even though the thought of Uncle Max, lying in a coma, had him wanting to run the other way. “Lead on.”
His mother led the way through a maze of hospital corridors as if she spent half her time here.
“Do you come to see Uncle Max often?”
“Of course.” She looked surprised. “Usually every other day.”
“But he doesn’t know you’re here.”
His mother paused, her hand on a patient room door. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I know.”
It was an unexpected insight into his mother that left him speechless for a moment. He’d been underestimating her strength.
Fortunately she didn’t seem to expect any response. She pulled the door open and stepped inside, motioning for him to follow.
He entered reluctantly, realizing that this was the first time he’d come to the hospital since he’d returned home. That suddenly seemed shameful.
His mother had already approached the bed and bent over, taking his uncle’s hand in hers. “Guess who’s dropped in to see you, Max? Ken is here.”
He stepped closer, his stomach clenching. The man lying on the hospital bed, connected to all those tubes and monitors, couldn’t possibly be Uncle Max. Max was tall, strong, vibrant, with a hearty laugh that made anyone who heard him want to laugh, too. He couldn’t be the pale, motionless figure on the bed with the sheet and light blue bedspread folded neatly across his chest.
“Say something, Ken,” his mother murmured. “Talk to him.”
He looked at her helplessly. “What? He can’t hear me.”
“You don’t know that.” His mother gave him the severe look she’d once given recalcitrant high school students. “Many doctors say that a patient in a coma may be able to hear, even though he can’t respond. Now talk to him.”
The command in her eyes made him feel about six years old again. He touched the lax hand, somehow surprised that it was warm.
“Hey, Uncle Max.” His throat choked on the words, and he knew, suddenly, why he hadn’t come to the hospital before this. He was afraid. He saw too many reminders of his own weakness here.
“Ken’s home on medical leave,” his mother said chattily. “But you knew that. I already told you. It’s just so good to have him here.”
“Good to be home, too.” He forced his voice to something approaching normal. “Mom’s been cooking all my favorite meals for me.”
“God brought Ken home safely,” his mother said softly. “He’ll bring you back to us, too.”
Something deep inside him seemed to crack at her words. How had he gotten so selfish, so absorbed in his own problems, that he didn’t notice other people were hurting, too?
“That’s right, Uncle Max. You’ll be back with us soon. Mom and Holly are planning a big bash to celebrate Michael’s engagement. You don’t want to miss that.”
“Remember how we used to think we’d never get these kids of ours married off?” His mother sounded perfectly normal. “It looks like it’s finally happening. Now if Ken would just find a nice girl—”
“Come on, Mom. Uncle Max doesn’t want to hear that.” He was as bad as she was, talking as if his uncle could hear, could respond—
Max’s hand moved. For an instant Ken thought he was imagining things, and then it happened again. His hand moved, wrapping around Ken’s.
“Mom?”
She looked across the hospital bed at him, and her eyes filled with tears. “It’s happening,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “He’s beginning to wake up.”
Julianna frowned at the array of plants on her windowsill a few days later. Ken hadn’t mentioned anything about her poor demolished philodendron, but she’d come in one morning to find a veritable garden of potted plants on the windowsill. No note, but she knew he’d done it.
She hadn’t seen much of Ken since then. Maybe that wasn’t surprising. With Holly needing extra help and the whole Vance clan delirious over the mayor’s progress in recovering from his coma, he probably hadn’t even thought of her.
Well, maybe it was better to be ignored that way. That night at the hospital had been disturbing enough. Her cheeks had burned all the way home at the thought of how close they’d come to kissing.
And she’d been doubly embarrassed to realize her car hadn’t been at the hospital lot so she couldn’t make a fast retreat. She’d had to hitch a ride back to the church with Pastor Gabriel to retrieve it.
That had been quite an astonishing turn of events—Max Vance beginning to come out of his coma just at that time. According to rumor, he wasn’t totally cognizant of things around him yet, but it had to be a hopeful sign. She paused long enough for a quick prayer.
Remember Your servant, Maxwell Vance, Father. Be with him and his family, and bless him with a return to health.
The office was empty and quiet. Almost too quiet. They hadn’t even had any attention from their vandal in the past few days.
Still, it paid to be cautious. She dropped her flash drive backup in her handbag and started for the door. No one would get their hands on her files again.
As for Ken, it was probably best that he’d been too busy to be around—hopefully too busy to remember that the powwow was tomorrow night.
She wouldn’t remind him. Given her unfortunate reaction to him, it was better that way. She switched on the alarm, stepped outside and locked the door. She turned around and saw Ken’s car pulling in next to hers.
Her heart gave a little flutter, reminding her that she wasn’t immune to him.
Ken slid out of the car, leaving the motor running. “Hi, Juli. I hoped I’d be in time to catch you.”
She wouldn’t assume his reasons were personal, rather than business. “Was there something you needed me to do?”
He looked momentarily confused. “No. I wanted to thank you again for all your help the other night.”
She shook her head, smiling. “I just held Holly’s hand, that’s all.”
“No, that wasn’t all. You kept her calm.” He grinned. “Kept me calm, too. I don’t know what I’d have done if she’d been in labor.”
“With any luck, when that happens it will be her husband’s job.”
“Right.” A shadow crossed his face. “It’s hard to say where I’ll be by then.”
The reminder that his time here was brief hurt more than it should, and she tried to find something to say that wouldn’t reveal her feelings.
“I heard about your uncle. How is he doing?”
“Making progress.” Ken leaned back against his car’s fender, seeming prepared to stay and talk indefinitely. The yard was quiet, with most of the workers gone, and the low hum of traffic from the road beyond the fence was the only sound. “He seems to recognize everyone, although he’s not communicating much yet. But the doctors are pleased, and my aunt’s holding on to hope for a full recovery.”
“Is that a reasonable hope?”
He shrugged. “Apparently there’s no way of being sure.”
“He’s been in my prayers.” Maybe that was a good way of making her exit. She turned toward her car. “Well, I’d better get home before Angel thinks I�
��ve forgotten her.”
“Wait a sec.” Ken touched her arm lightly, stopping her. “We haven’t made arrangements for tomorrow night yet.”
“Tomorrow night?” She tried to look blank, but suspected she didn’t pull it off. So he hadn’t forgotten the powwow after all.
“The powwow. Remember?”
“I thought since you’ve been so busy with family, that maybe you didn’t have time for that.” And it would probably be better for her emotional health if that were the case.
“Not a chance,” he said. “I’ve been looking forward to it. What time shall I pick you up?”
“I could meet you—”
He was already shaking his head. “I always pick up my dates.”
She could tell by the glint in his eye that he expected her to object to the term, so she didn’t. “Make it seven. That should give us plenty of time to drive up to the park.”
“Seven it is.” He turned away, and this time it was her turn to call him back.
“Aren’t you forgetting something? You don’t know where I live.”
“No, you’ve forgotten.” His lips twitched. “I’m head of security around here. I know where everyone lives.”
Smiling in apparent satisfaction at having the last word, he swung into his car, waved and pulled away.
SEVEN
“So this is a powwow.”
Ken pulled into a parking place in a long row of cars and pickups. Julianna had said very little on the drive up the mountain to the park where the powwow was being held. Maybe if he needled her a little, he’d get a reaction.
“This is a parking lot.” She frowned at him. “As I suspect you know very well.”
“Hey, just trying to get you to say something. Shouldn’t you be giving me a ton of background information, so I don’t make any mistakes?”
She opened the door and slid out without waiting for him. She bent to look in the car at him, her black braids swinging down. Her lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “If I see you about to make any big blooper, I’ll head you off. Maybe.”
“Wow, thanks a lot. Does the powwow have a bouncer who will throw me out if I don’t behave properly?”
He got out, rounding the car to join her. Julianna might not come up to his shoulders, but he was the novice here, while she was on her own turf.
He’d picked right when he’d decided to wear jeans and a western shirt, apparently. Julianna’s embroidered shirt was tucked into her jeans and a glint of turquoise-and-silver showed at her throat. A belt with an ornamental buckle, again in turquoise-and-silver, spanned her slim waist.
“No, they’ll let me do that. This way.” She nodded toward a path that led uphill. In the distance he could hear the muffled thump of drums, and above them the sun sank behind the mountain in a fiery display that painted the sky in orange and purple.
“I’d like to see you try.” He put one hand on her shoulder as they walked up the path, emphasizing the difference in size between them.
Juli tossed her head, the black braids swinging. “I can’t pick on you when you’re—” She stopped abruptly, but he knew what she’d been going to say.
“When I’m on the disabled list,” he finished for her, managing to say the words evenly. “I don’t need two good eyes for that. Just for—”
Now it was his turn to stop and wish the words unsaid. Was he ever going to get over the feeling that an unwary step would send him into a dark chasm?
“Just for flying,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, Ken. I didn’t mean to remind you.”
“It’s okay.” To his surprise, it was. “To tell you the truth, I don’t mind when you say something about it. I just can’t talk to my family about it. So they tiptoe around my feelings.”
She nodded. “I know. They care too much, and you don’t want to hurt them.”
“That’s it exactly. It sounds like you’ve been in that situation, too.”
She shrugged, her face averted. “I guess I have.”
He wanted to ask her to tell him about whatever put that somber look in her eyes, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have the right to pry.
He frowned, trying to get a handle on what he felt for Julianna. At first she’d just intrigued him with her strength, her beauty, her self-reliance. It probably wouldn’t have gone any further than that, had they not been thrown together by their mutual concern for Quinn and the company.
All right, he was interested in her. But all his instincts told him it would be a mistake to attempt anything more than friendship with Julianna. They already had a history, and no matter how much she might say she’d forgotten about it, that history had to be a painful, or at least embarrassing, one as far as she was concerned.
And he’d be leaving. Sooner or later he’d go back on active duty, whether he was cleared to fly or not. He’d leave Colorado Springs, and he didn’t intend to leave any broken hearts behind him.
So he and Juli were destined to be friends—that was all. Just friends.
They cleared the belt of trees and came out into an open grassy space. On one side the mountain loomed, painted sharply against a sky that was streaked now with muted tones of red and orange.
On the other side of the level space, the valley dipped. The road they’d come up was a pale ribbon, twisting back and forth in a series of S turns. The area between mountain and valley was a kind of natural amphitheatre, thronged now with people, some in casual Western dress, many in Native American attire.
He inhaled. “Is that sausage I smell?”
“If you’re hungry, you can find just about anything you want to eat, of every ethnic variety.” She smiled, nodding toward the rows of stalls that had become a temporary marketplace.
“Maybe I’ll have something later. Mom practically force-fed me supper.”
“That’s a sign of love. Like my grandmother and her gnocchi.”
“I know.” He patted his stomach. “I just don’t want to be loved so much I can’t fit into my clothes.”
She shot a sideways glance at him. “I don’t think you need to worry.” Then, as if regretting saying something that might be interpreted as a compliment, she glanced at her watch. “We have time before the dances start. Let’s find my grandmother’s stall.”
She started purposefully down a row of stalls. He hurried to keep up with her.
“Does she have a food stand?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “My grandmother is Leona Red Feather.”
Clearly he’d goofed. He stepped around a trio of youngsters in Native dress, playing some sort of game in the middle of the aisle. One tot, a little girl who couldn’t have been more than three or four, stared gravely from beneath a blue-and-yellow headband adorned with feathers. He smiled at her before turning back to Juli.
“I’m sorry. I guess that name should mean something to me, but it doesn’t.” He had a feeling he’d just fallen a little in Juli’s estimation.
“I suppose you wouldn’t know her name unless you were interested in jewelry. My grandmother is one of the finest makers of Zuni silver jewelry.” She nodded, turned to a booth. “As you’ll see.”
“Juli!” The woman behind the counter must be Juli’s grandmother, but she had a slim, erect figure and a composed, smiling face. Not a trace of gray showed in her black hair. “You came.”
“I said I’d be here.” Juli leaned across the counter to hug her. “Grandmother, this is my friend, Kenneth Vance.”
Her friend. Well, that was what he’d just told himself he wanted, wasn’t it?
He extended his hand and found himself scrutinized by a pair of sharp black eyes. While Juli’s grandfather had an open, ebullient manner that seemed to embrace the world, her grandmother measured him gravely.
Not just him. He suspected that if anyone or anything got in her way or condescended to her, she would simply walk past it, head held high. Juli had acquired that dignity of hers honestly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Red Feather. I met your husban
d at the construction company office a while back.”
“Yes, he told me.” The dark eyes still withheld judgment. “And now you’ve come to see him dance.”
“He invited me, and I wanted to come. I’m afraid he pushed Juli into bringing me, though.”
She glanced at her granddaughter, love softening her gaze. “Our Juli does as she pleases. She wouldn’t have brought you if she hadn’t wanted to.”
Juli looked slightly flustered—not an expression he’d seen on her face before. “I was just telling him about your work,” she said, changing the subject. “I think he’d like to see some examples.”
Her grandmother nodded slightly and turned away from them. When she turned back, it was to set a tray on the counter. She flipped off the covering cloth.
Ken’s breath caught. He might not know much about jewelry, but he knew beautiful artistry when he saw it. Against a dark woven cloth, earrings and pins of intricately worked silver, set with turquoise, jet and coral, glowed like a pirate’s treasure.
“These are beautiful.” He looked at Juli’s grandmother with increased respect. “You’re an artist, not a craftsperson.”
She bowed her head gently, a queen accepting her due. “A lapidary, perhaps. Our Juli is the artist of the family.”
“Juli?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Have you been hiding your talent from us?”
She shook her head, and he thought she was embarrassed.
“I don’t know how my grandmother can say that. I enjoy painting, but my work is nothing like hers.” She bent over the tray, perhaps to hide her face. “Look at the intricate work on this pin.” She touched a pin with small stones, each set in its delicate silver bezel. “This style of setting is called needlework.”
“You have to help me choose something for Holly.” He looked at Juli’s grandmother. “Holly is my twin sister. She’s expecting a baby, and she’s been having a difficult time. A gift of your beautiful work would cheer her up.”
“I know—your twin is our Juli’s friend.” She touched a row of silver bracelets ornamented with designs and turquoise. “Perhaps one of these would please her.”
