Coming Home to You (8 page)

He struggled to sit up. His chest ached and his leg felt worse, but he was more worried about his gelding than himself. Had he closed the gate in the yard when he and Kate had come through it? With great relief he remembered that he had. Dusty was trapped in the
corridor between the gate and the barn. Even if he jumped either fence that bordered the dirt road, he’d be in the pasture with the mares. He couldn’t get out onto the highway.

“Hayes?”

“I’m in here,” he called when he was able to sit up and catch his breath. Even talking hurt.

She appeared in the doorway, eyes wild with fear. “What happened? I heard this awful noise and the horse came running out of the barn and… Oh, my God, you’re bleeding! Did he run over you?”

“Kicked me.”

“Where?” He showed her the two places and she rubbed her hands gently across them, forcing a groan of pain he couldn’t stifle when she touched the one on his leg. “Is it broken?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You need a doctor.”

“No, no doctor. I’m okay. Help me get up.”

“But you shouldn’t move.”

“Help me stand up,” he insisted.

When she saw he was determined to do it, she relented, hooking his arm over her shoulder. But she thought he was crazy and she told him so in one of her rambling soliloquies; it made him wonder how she could talk for so long without taking a breath.

Several minutes later he managed to get to his feet. He was afraid to depend too much on her fragile frame for support. He was dripping with sweat by the time he made it. He tried to take a step, but the injured leg rebelled. Had he not grabbed the hay rack with his free hand, he and Kate would’ve both gone down.

“This is ridiculous,” she said, trying to steady him.
“You might be hemorrhaging. I’ll get the truck and take you to the hospital.”

“We don’t have a hospital.”

She swore. “Where’s the nearest one?”

“Cloverton. But it’s fifty miles from here.”

“I don’t care how far it is. We’re going to Cloverton.”

T
HE CEILING
of the waiting room at Cloverton Hospital had 316 tiles, and if you were imaginative or extremely bored, you could pick out shapes in their roughened surface. Kate had counted the tiles twice, horizontally, then vertically, skipping the spaces where the tiles were missing. That was after she’d read all the dog-eared magazines, finding out more than she wanted to know about skin care, bass fishing and Prince Charles.

She looked at her watch. Two hours! What could be taking them so long? Surely the doctor had examined Bret by now.

He’d been very pale when they reached the hospital, and the leg had begun to swell noticeably against his slim-fitting jeans, causing him agony every time he moved. The ride had seemed endless, although she’d driven like a madwoman and covered the fifty-plus miles in under sixty minutes.

Every foot of the way she’d struggled to remain calm. That calm had deserted her when she’d pulled up outside and seen the single dilapidated building with its torn awning.

“Please tell me this isn’t the right place,” she’d begged him. “This doesn’t qualify as a hospital—it’s
some Civil War relic. We have to find you a real one.”

“Kate…”

“What?”

“I can’t go any farther.”

That had decided it. Reluctantly she’d helped him inside.

That had been around nine-fifteen. It was now eleven-thirty, and she hadn’t been told a thing about his condition.

Unable to sit still any longer, she got up and paced the tiny room. It was empty except for the college kid at the reception window. No other patients had come in. Aside from a security guard, who ambled through every thirty minutes or so, Kate had been alone since she and Bret arrived.

She walked to the window and tapped. The kid looked up from his textbook and frowned, letting her know he wasn’t happy about being bothered again.

“I want you to go back there and find out what’s going on,” she told him through the round hole in the glass.

“Ma’am, as I explained before, when Doc Burman knows anything, he’ll let
you
know.”

“It’s been hours.”

“Yes, ma’am, but we only have one doctor tonight to work on all the patients.”

“What patients? There’s no one else here. And no one else has been here all night.”

“Well, yes, ma’am, that’s true. I meant the other patients.”

“In the hospital?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You mean there’s only one doctor in this entire hospital?”

“Well, yes, ma’am, Doc Burman, but he’s the best there is.”

“Please ask this Dr. Burman to step out here for a minute so I can talk to him.”

“No, ma’am, I can’t bother Doc when he’s with a patient.”

“Then let me go back there.”

“No, ma’am, I can’t do that until he says it’s okay.”

“Why?”

He looked perplexed. “Because…well, it’s the rule.”

“Why is it the rule?”

“Well, I don’t know. It just is. Always has been.”

“So, although the man I brought in may be seriously injured, I’m not allowed to see him or talk with the doctor because of a vague rule you’re determined to enforce but you don’t know why?”

He frowned. “Well, yes, ma’am, I guess so.”

“Look—” she glanced at his name tag “—Randy. I’m trying to be reasonable here. Please walk down the hall and get a condition report on the man I brought in. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I’m not supposed to leave the desk. You’ll have to wait.” He turned his attention back to his textbook. Kate tapped on the glass again, but he ignored her. College kids. Sheesh.

Frustrated, she walked to the double doors on the right and looked through one of the small windows. She saw nothing but the same empty hall and stark
white walls she’d seen the ten previous times she’d looked through the window.

Bret was down there somewhere. Alone. In pain. Probably being doctored by the Beverly Hillbillies.

She jerked open the door and walked through.

“Hey, wait,” Randy yelled as she passed his cubicle. “Ma’am, you can’t come back here. I told you it’s not allowed.”

“I’m rewriting the rules.”

Small examining rooms flanked the hall. Kate checked the first one. Bret wasn’t there, so she systematically began to check the others in a zigzag pattern. Randy continued to whine, but he didn’t try to stop her. Finally he gave up trying to coax her back to the waiting room and returned to his desk.

Kate found Bret in the fourth room on the right. He lay on a gurney with his hurt leg elevated on pillows and his arm thrown over his eyes to shield them from the bright light overhead. His shirt was off and his jeans, too, she guessed. A sheet covered him from the waist down, but his leg protruded from it, revealing a ghastly purple bruise on his thigh that extended far beyond the ice pack on top of it. A second smaller bruise and a gash marred the left side of his chest.

“Are you terrorizing the hired help, Morgan?” he asked without moving or opening his eyes.

She said a silent prayer as she walked to his side, thankful he felt well enough to joke. “How did you know it was me?”

“Because you’re a born troublemaker. You’re not happy unless you’re driving some poor soul crazy.”

“It’s a gift.”

“How about doing me a favor and waiting until
these people are through checking me out before you irritate them too much?”

“Okay, I’ll try.” She leaned over, picked up the edge of the ice pack and looked more closely at his leg. “Ugh! Did they x-ray it?”

He peeked at her from under his arm. “Yeah. It’s only bruised.”

“And your side?”

“Bruised and cut. Nothing broken.”

She let out a breath. “Thank, goodness. I was afraid you might have broken a rib. You know, we could have punctured a lung moving you like that, or caused you to bleed internally. You could have died on the way over here.”

“Is this how you cheer sick people up?”

She grimaced. “Sorry.”

He shifted his arm, then winced when the light hit his eyes. “Flip off that light, will you?”

She turned it off, then turned on the smaller one over the sink. “How’s that?”

“Better.” He folded the disposable pillow and stuffed it under his neck so he could talk to her without straining. The tightness around his mouth indicated that he was in pain. He didn’t say anything, only looked at her. The intensity of his gaze made her suddenly self-conscious about her appearance. She nervously touched her hair.

When they’d brought him back here, she’d gone to the ladies’ room and washed her face and arms. Her hair was a disaster, though. She’d taken off the cap and tried to force her curls into a braid, but they refused to cooperate. They fell in a tangled mess across her shoulders.

He, on the other hand, was disturbingly attractive. Taut. Muscular. Tanned to the waist from working outside without a shirt. The men at her gym paid a fortune to work out every day and their upper bodies didn’t look half that good. She willed her eyes not to leave his face. They wanted to follow that intriguing line of hair that ran down the center of his abdomen and disappeared beneath the sheet.

“Are you in pain?” she asked, trying to focus on anything other than how low the sheet had slipped on his hips and why she was seeing skin below his waist, instead of underwear.

“A little,” he said.

“Where’s the doctor?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” came a voice from the doorway. An elderly man wearing a tweed suit and bow tie shuffled in. He was bent with age and leaning on a cane. A nurse followed him into the room.

This was the doctor? He was older than the hospital!

“Glad you’re here,” he said to Kate, gripping her hand with surprising strength. “I’m sorry it took so long, but we wanted to cool that leg awhile to reduce the swelling. He’s pretty banged up, but I don’t think there’s any need to admit him. Watch him closely and call us if there’s a problem.” He looked at Bret. “Are you allergic to penicillin, son?”

“No, sir.”

He handed Kate a bottle of pills. “I think as a precaution we’ll give him some. Be sure he follows the directions and takes the whole prescription. Make him stay off that leg for a couple of weeks. We’ll give him some crutches to get around the house, but
keep him immobile as much as possible.” He looked at Bret and smiled. “You won’t mind having your pretty little wife fuss over you in bed for a few days, will you? No, of course you won’t.”

Kate’s gaze met Bret’s, and they both turned crimson.

The doctor pulled a prescription pad out of his coat pocket and scribbled on it while the nurse fixed a hypodermic. “Janice is going to give you a shot to ease your discomfort. That ought to last until morning. If you’re still in a lot of pain tomorrow, you can have this filled.” He tore the prescription off the pad and passed it to Kate. “You take it easy, son,” he told Bret.

Kate followed him out into the hall. “He is all right, isn’t he?” she asked. “He hasn’t suffered any permanent damage?”

“Oh, he’ll be fine,” he assured her with a fatherly pat on the arm. “He’s in more pain than he’s admitting, so if he’s a little grumpy, ignore it. Pamper him. But I’d hold off on any hanky-panky until he feels better.”

Kate had trouble keeping a straight face. “Oh, no,” she said, trying to explain that she and Bret weren’t having any hanky-panky, but the doctor misinterpreted her words.

“Now, I know it’s hard for you young people to stay away from each other for long, but I really think it’s best.”

“No, you don’t understand…”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, you kids. Don’t know where you get all that energy.” A voice over the intercom announced that Dr. Burman was
needed on the second floor. “Oh, dear, that’s me. Got to run.” He turned and shuffled very slowly down the hall, still chuckling.

Kate walked back into the room. The nurse had moved to the other side of the examining table and was standing over Bret with the needle raised in one hand. Before Kate realized what she was about to do, the woman already had her hand on the sheet. “Okay, hon,” she said, flipping it back. “Which cheek do you want it in?”

“I
F YOU DON’T STOP
laughing…” Bret warned across the cab of the truck.

Kate blotted the tears from her face, but they fell more quickly than she could blot. Lord, she’d never laughed this hard. Her stomach hurt. Her sides felt like someone had used them for a punching bag.

She fumbled with the ring of keys, finally getting the right one in the ignition, and the truck started. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. When that nurse yanked the sheet back and I saw your face…”

“My face wasn’t what I was worried about you seeing,” he said, his voice almost a growl.

That set her off again. She collapsed against the steering wheel in an uncontrollable fit. Her right arm hit the horn, her left bumped the lever that started the wipers moving and turn signal blinking. The wipers scraped across the dry windshield a couple of times with a slow irritating screech before she could shut them off.

“Damn. Enough! Get out of the way and I’ll drive.”

He opened the door and tried to climb out, but the
tip of one crutch caught on the floor mat. He wrestled with it, banging himself on the head and letting out a string of obscenities crude enough to make even Kate blush.

He was in danger of falling out the door when she got hold of herself and reached across the seat, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back inside. “Will you stay still before you hurt yourself worse than you already have?”

“I’m tired, I’m hurt and I want to go home,” he said shortly. “And it wasn’t that funny to begin with.”

“I’m sorry. I know you’re hurting.”

“Do you expect me to sit here all night listening to you cackle like a hen trying to lay an egg?”

“No, of course not. I promise, I’ll quit. Now please get back in the truck before you fall on your head and I have to take you into the hospital again.”

He hesitated, as if not trusting her to keep her promise. “The flashing of a man’s private parts shouldn’t be a source of amusement.”

The comment wasn’t supposed to be funny, but it took all of Kate’s willpower not to laugh. Poor man. He was physically hurt and embarrassed. She’d never forget his look of horror when the nurse had yanked that sheet off him. Immediately Kate had whirled and left the room, but her departure had been a little too late, allowing her to see more of Bret Hayes than she’d ever intended.

“I really am sorry,” she told him again, praying she could control her expression. “The nurse assumed I was your wife.”

He snorted, as if the possibility of their being married was ludicrous.

“Please, get back in.” She was sure he stalled just to make her feel bad. “Please. I promise I won’t laugh again.”

He lifted his hurt leg into the truck, then slammed the door and glared at her, clearly wanting her to know she wasn’t forgiven. She buckled him into the seat belt and moved the crutches to the middle so he wouldn’t have to hold them.

“Now, that’s better,” she said in syrupy-sweet voice, fussing over him as the doctor had suggested. “Are you comfortable?”

“Humph.”

“Do you want something to put behind your head so you can go to sleep? How about this shirt? I can fold it up and—”

“I’m not going to sleep,” he snapped, but five minutes later he conked out, his chin resting against his chest and his big body held upright in the seat only by the shoulder strap.

Kate was grateful for the short respite from his foul mood. She intentionally didn’t wake him until they got home, after she’d parked the truck and unlocked the front door of his house. She found the switch for the flood lights and turned them on. Sallie, still tied in the backyard, pitched a fit, howling to be set free.

Bret rubbed his eyes with the base of his palms and let out a long noisy yawn that made Sallie yodel a response. “We can’t be home so soon. What time is it?”

“After midnight.”

“Can’t be.” He looked at his watch and blinked,
trying to focus with eyes that obviously didn’t want to focus.

She unbuckled the seat belt for him. “Are you going to be able to make it to the house? I parked as close as I could, but I didn’t want to run over your flowers.”