by Linda Howard
“Better,” I said, because it was true. I’d managed to eat those God-awful eggs, hadn’t I? The “better” was qualified by a “marginally,” but I’d take what I could get. “Thanks for bringing my stuff. Now go do your thing, and don’t worry about me.”
She gave me a wry, “yeah, sure” look. “Has a doctor been in yet?”
“Nope.”
Her look of frustration increased. “Where’s Siana?”
“She went to the cafeteria when I got here,” Wyatt said, checking his watch. “She’s been gone about twenty minutes.”
“I can’t stay until she gets back, I have to leave five minutes ago.” She leaned down and kissed my forehead, gave Wyatt’s cheek a buzz as she breezed past, and was out the door, tossing “Call my cell if you need me” over her shoulder as she disappeared from view.
“You didn’t mention the parking-lot tapes,” Wyatt observed. He was still working on deciphering our family dynamics. While he went with the belief that cold, hard reality is the most stable operating platform, Mom and I shared a tendency to go off on tangents so we wouldn’t have to think about the bad stuff until we’d processed it and were ready to deal. I’d had all night to process, plus I’d been there and knew exactly how much danger I’d been in, so I’d already explored a few tangents and was now solidly squared with the cold hard stuff.
“She knows someone tried to run me over. There’s no point in telling her how close the bitch came to actually doing it. She’s already stressed, and that would just worry her more.” The incident was over…except for the getting-well part. There was no way to track her down, so everyone might as well forget and move on. I was; I had to. I had shopping to do! This had already cost me a day, would likely cost me at least a couple more, and I didn’t have the time to spare.
Wyatt checked his watch again. His days were incredibly busy, so I knew he’d been pushing to find time to come to the hospital. I reached for his hand. “You need to go, too.” Hey, I can be understanding.
“Yeah, I do. You have your key to my house with you, right?”
“It’s in my purse. Why?”
“So you can get in, if I can’t shake free to come pick you up when you’re released. Siana can drive you, can’t she?”
“That isn’t a problem, but I’m not going to your house, I’m going home.” I saw his brows start to draw together and squeezed his hand. “I know you’re feeling protective and I’m not trying to be difficult, honest”—hard as that was to believe—“but all of my paperwork and things are at home. I may not feel like shopping, but I can do some things by phone and computer. I’m not an invalid, this time around, so I don’t need someone to stay with me. I also promise not to drive myself anywhere.” There. I couldn’t be any more reasonable than that, could I?
He didn’t like it, mainly because he wanted me at his house permanently, right now—or rather, two months ago, and he didn’t deal well with not getting what he wanted. Here’s a word to the wise: if you want someone who’s laid-back, unaggressive, and nonarrogant, don’t even look at a cop. When the cop in question also happens to be a former pro football player, you just have to know going in that you’re dealing with a personality that can kick ass and take names.
Sometimes, I admit, I deliberately try to get him going, just because it’s so much fun, but this time I was on the level. He knew it, too, so he reined in his natural tendency to issue orders. “Okay. After work I’ll go home and get my stuff. I don’t know what time I’ll get to your place, though, so make sure you have something to eat before Siana leaves.”
“You don’t have to stay with me, I’ll be fine by myself,” I said, because it was the polite thing to say.
“Yeah, right,” he said with something that sounded suspiciously like a snort. He was smart enough that he didn’t even think of listening to me. I would have been so pissed if he’d left me to fend for myself when I had a concussion. Oh, Siana could have stayed with me, but I sort of looked at it as Wyatt’s duty, part of the package deal that we’d agreed to by getting engaged. I took care of him, he took care of me. Simple. Though of course so far he hadn’t needed taking care of, unless you want to count erections in that category, but that was okay with me because I shudder at the thought of him being hurt in any way. I loved him so much I couldn’t stand the thought of that, plus he’d probably be a horrible patient.
Anyway, I let the sarcastic comment pass, so he kissed me and left. Siana, with her exquisite timing, came sauntering into the room a few minutes after he’d gone. “How’d he take it?” she asked.
“I think he thought we really were discussing his dick, as he put it.” I made a little face. “As far as being caught eavesdropping, that didn’t bother him at all. But I managed to work it into an agreement that I could remodel and redecorate his house, so that’s good.”
A look of admiration crossed her face. “I’m not certain how you segued from eavesdropping to decorating, but the end result is what counts.”
Once again, I didn’t want to explain about orgasms in the pantry, so I just smiled. Sometimes a younger sister just needs to look up to her older sister.
We passed the afternoon watching soaps, which was interesting. Siana told me she had heard that nothing happened in soaps except on Fridays, and I think that must be true. We watched one attempted murder, one kidnapping, and probably fourteen couples have sex, an impressive tally for just two hours.
We were in the middle of Oprah when a doctor came in and introduced herself. She was in her mid-fifties, tired, and you could tell only her intense focus was getting her through her rounds, so I didn’t give her any grief about not being there sooner. The I.D. badge clipped to the pocket of her white lab coat read “Tewanda Hardy, M.D.” She checked my eyes, read my chart, asked a few questions, then told me the nurse would give me a list of instructions and I could go home. She was out of the room before I could say more than a hurried “thank you.”
Finally!
Siana got my clothes out of the closet, and while she called both Mom and Wyatt to let them know I was going home, I carefully eased into the bathroom to change. The outfit Mom had brought, pants and a blouse, was a very soft, flowing linen and rayon blend that wouldn’t rasp on any of my scrapes, and the blouse buttoned down the front so I didn’t have to pull anything on over my head. Having on real clothes again made me feel much better, even though exerting myself that much made my headache worse. I don’t know how I could describe myself as feeling better, but I did. Clothes will do that for me.
A nurse came by with some paperwork for me to sign, a list of don’ts until the headache was completely gone, and that was pretty much it. I already knew how to take care of scrapes. No meds were prescribed; I could take over-the-counter stuff for the headache, if needed. If needed? Had no one ever told the members of the medical profession how a concussion felt?
I had to be wheeled out in a wheelchair, of course, but that was fine with me. Siana had taken my shopping bags and purse with her when she went down to get her car and pull it around to the entrance—or exit, as the case may be. When she stopped under the portico the nurse pushed the wheelchair out through the double set of automatic doors and a rush of chilly air washed over me.
“It’s cold,” I said in disbelief. “No one told me we’re having a cold snap!”
“A front rolled in early this morning,” the nurse said helpfully, as if I actually needed telling now. “The temperature dropped over thirty degrees.”
I always enjoyed the first real cold snap of the fall, but I’m usually better dressed for it. The air even smelled fall-like, with a crisp scent of dry leaves even though the trees hadn’t yet begun to turn color. It was Friday, the night for high school football. Soon people would be heading for the stadiums, dressed in sweaters and jackets for the first time since spring. I hadn’t made it to a football game since opening Great Bods, and suddenly I really missed the smells and sounds and excitement. Wyatt and I would have to make a point of going to a ga
me this year, either high school or college, it didn’t matter.
I would have to hire another staffer at Great Bods, someone capable of filling in for either me or Lynn, I realized. If things went as I planned, I’d be pregnant by Christmas. My life would soon be changing, and I couldn’t wait.
Getting into Siana’s car and out of the wind was a relief. “This makes me want a hot chocolate,” I said as I buckled up.
“Sounds good. I’ll make some for us while we wait for Wyatt.”
She drove carefully, no sudden starts or stops, and we made it to my condo without any major explosions of pain. My car was parked in its spot under the portico, which meant that while she’d had my keys, Mom had arranged to collect my car from the mall parking lot. I’d thought of it the night before, but then forgotten to mention it when everyone was awake.
Wyatt called on my cell as we were walking in the door, and I stopped to fish the phone from my bag. “I’m home,” I told him.
“Good. I got away earlier than I thought I would. I’m on my way home to get my stuff now, so I’ll be there within the hour. I can pick up something for dinner, so does anything appeal to you? And ask Siana if she wants to stay and eat with us.”
I relayed the invitation and she accepted, then we had to decide what we wanted. An important decision like that can’t be rushed, so I told Wyatt to call back when he left his house. Then I sat down and held myself very still until the head-pounding subsided. Ibuprofen, here I come.
My condo was chilly because the air-conditioning was on. Siana switched the thermostat over to “heat” but on a low setting, just enough to take care of the chill, then got busy with the hot chocolate while we discussed what we wanted to eat, and I used the chocolate to chase two ibuprofen tablets. Was that a winning combination, or what?
We decided on something simple and comforting for dinner—pizza. I knew Wyatt’s tastes in the pizza department, so Siana called in the order. The phone rang a few minutes later and she handed the cordless to me. I expected it to be Wyatt, but the Caller ID window showed “Denver, CO.” I’m on the national do-not-call list to stave off telemarketers, so I had no idea who could be calling from Denver.
“Hello.”
Silence met my polite greeting. I tried again, slightly louder. “Hello?” I heard a click, then the dial tone; annoyed, I disconnected and set the cordless down on the table. “It was a hang-up,” I told Siana, who shrugged.
Wyatt did call within five minutes and I gave him the pizza information. He arrived twenty minutes later, carrying his small duffel and one large and one small pizza box, and we fell on the pizza like starving hogs. Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but I was hungry and so was he.
He’d changed clothes, into jeans and a long-sleeved Henley shirt in a dark green that made his eyes look lighter in comparison. “I’ve never seen you in cold weather clothes before,” I said. “You’ve always been a summer romance.” Knowing I was about to go through a winter with him was oddly fascinating.
He winked at me. “There’s a lot of cold-weather cuddling coming up.”
“Let me know ahead of time,” Siana said as she picked a black olive out of the gooey cheese and popped it in her mouth, “so I can clear out.”
“Will do,” Wyatt said, then, with a hint of sarcasm in his tone, added, “I don’t want there to be any accidental SDS sightings.”
Siana choked on her olive and I burst into laughter, which made my head give a sickening throb because I’d moved too suddenly. I stopped laughing and grabbed my head, which made Siana simultaneously choke and laugh—she’s slightly perverted—and Wyatt regarded us both with a satisfied glint in his eyes.
The phone rang again and he picked it up, since we were both preoccupied, Siana with choking and I with holding my head. He looked at the Caller ID and asked, “Who do you know in Denver?” as he punched the talk button. “Hello.” He did the same thing I’d done, repeating “Hello,” in a louder voice, then disconnecting.
“That’s the second time just since I’ve been home,” I said, releasing my head and picking up my slice of pizza. “I don’t know anyone in Denver. Whoever it was hung up the first time, too.”
He checked the Caller ID again. “It’s probably a prepaid calling card number; a lot of them are routed through Denver.”
“Then whoever it is, is wasting minutes.”
Mom called before we finished the pizza, and I assured her I was feeling better; the ibuprofen had kicked in so I wasn’t lying, at least so long as I didn’t make any sudden movements. She asked if Wyatt was staying the night, I said yes, she said good, and she was able to hang up knowing that her oldest chick was in good hands.
Then Lynn, my assistant manager, called. Wyatt grumbled, “What is this, Everyone-Call-Blair night?” but I ignored him. Lynn gave me the rundown on the day, told me she had no problem covering for me until I was able to get back to work, and said not to worry. I made a mental note to give her some extra vacation days.
The phone was quiet after that. Siana and Wyatt cleaned up the pizza remnants, then Siana hugged me and was out the door. Wyatt immediately lifted me out of the chair and sat down with me on his lap for some of the cuddling he’d mentioned. I relaxed against him, fighting a yawn. As tired and sleepy as I was, I didn’t want to go to bed yet.
He didn’t talk, just held me. I think I’d have to be dead not to physically respond to him, though, so I began to notice the heat of his body, and how good it felt for him to hold me, and how good he smelled. “It’s been almost forty-eight hours since we had sex,” I announced, unhappy with the growing total of minutes.
“I’m well aware of that,” he muttered.
“No sex tomorrow, either.”
“I know.”
“And maybe not on Sunday, either.”
“Trust me, I know.”
“Think you could put it in and not move?”
He snorted. “Get real.”
That’s what I’d thought, but it had been worth a shot. Still, when I felt better, it would be interesting to see how long he could go without moving. No, I don’t consider that a human rights violation. Torturous, but not torture; there’s a difference. I didn’t mention my plan to him, but the anticipation made me feel better.
A woman always needs something to look forward to, right?
Chapter
Eight
I took it easy on Saturday. I did feel better; the headache was still there, but thanks to the ibuprofen, less intense. Mom reported in that she hadn’t yet been able to contact the wedding-cake maker; Jenni called to say she had located an arbor that was the perfect size but needed a coat of paint. It was in a yard sale of all places, and the owner wouldn’t hold it if someone came by who needed an arbor right then. The price was fifty dollars.
“Get it,” I told Jenni. Fifty dollars! That was such a steal, it was a wonder the thing hadn’t been snapped up already. “Do you have enough cash on you?”
“I can swing it, but I need a pickup truck to haul the thing. Is Wyatt in his truck?”
I was upstairs in the second bedroom, on the computer surfing the upscale department stores looking for a wedding dress, and he was downstairs doing laundry, so I couldn’t ask him unless I went to the stairs and yelled down. Going to the window and looking out was easier. Wyatt’s huge black Avalanche, a mobile monument to manliness, sat at the curb. “Yep, it’s here.”
“Can he drive over to get the arbor, then?”
“Give me the address, and I’ll send him over.”
Now I had to go downstairs, but I held on to the banister, kept my head as still as possible, and tried to keep my movements slow and nonjolting. I didn’t call Wyatt, because then he would stop what he was doing, and I wanted to watch him doing laundry. I get a kick out of seeing him do domestic stuff. He’s so testosterone-laden that you’d think he wouldn’t be good at it, but Wyatt handles household chores with the same competence that he handles his big automatic pistol. He had lived alone for years, so he le
arned how to cook and do his own laundry, plus he was good at repairs and mechanical stuff. All in all, he was a very handy man to have around, and it turned me on watching him hang up my clothes. Okay, so I’m easy; it pretty much turned me on watching him do anything.
I finally said, “Jenni’s found an arbor at a yard sale. Could you go pick it up, please?”
“Sure. What does she want with an arbor?”
It struck me that, as much as I’d discussed my plans for the wedding with him, I’d done the discussing and he evidently hadn’t even done the listening. “It’s for our wedding,” I said with remarkable patience, if I do say so myself. He was hanging up my clothes; I didn’t want to piss him off before he was finished.
“Got it. Jenni doesn’t want the arbor, we do.”
Okay, so maybe he’d listened a little. More than likely, though, Dad had told him to just go along with whatever I planned for the wedding. Good advice.
“Here’s the address.” I handed over the slip of paper, plus fifty dollars. “She had to go ahead and pay for it to keep the lady from selling it, so here’s fifty to pay her back.”
He took the fifty bucks and stuck it in his pocket, giving me a sharply assessing look as he did so. “Will you be okay while I’m gone?”
“I’m not putting a toe outside. I’m not picking up anything. I’m not doing anything to jolt my head. I’ll be fine.” I was bored and frustrated, but accepted my limitations—for now. Tomorrow might be a different story.
He kissed my forehead, his hard, rough hand gentle as he cupped the back of my neck. “Try to be good, anyway,” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. I don’t know why he expects me to get into trouble—oh, wait, it could have something to do with being shot, in a car wreck, kidnapped, held at gunpoint, and now almost run down in a parking lot.
