Heart of Clay (29 page)

Callan looked at David like he’d turned into
the world’s biggest traitor. Hiding her irritation, she pasted on a
fake smile and shrugged her shoulders. “If that’s what you think is
best, who am I to argue?”

David checked Clay’s charts, poked around a
bit, and mumbled a few comments. As he walked out of the room, he
turned to Clay. “You’re doing extremely well. I’ll come back this
afternoon and we’ll get you out of that bed for a change.”

“Let me walk out with you David,” Callan
said, as they stepped into the hallway. They walked toward the
elevator while Callan expressed her concerns with the doctor.

“Do you really think I need to leave him
alone?” She hoped the answer would be no.

David hid his smile. Clay was in the premier
hospital in the region under the care of some of their very best
staff round-the-clock. That was beside the point.

Clay struggled with being helpless and
vulnerable, especially when it came to Callan. If he knew his
patient at all, he knew Clay didn’t want his status as her champion
and protector undermined by his current situation.

“Yes, I’m absolutely certain he’ll be fine.
I think he really could use a little space. He seems like a guy
who’s used to having his own way, doing things the way he likes,
when he likes. It’s probably been really hard for him to be so
helpless and overrun with people all the time. Add in the fact that
he can now smell things – good, bad and otherwise – where he
couldn’t before, in addition to his injuries, it’s no wonder he’s a
little out of sorts. What brought the bear out in him this
morning?”

“I offered to get the bed pan for him,”
Callan said, with a blush. “He was a little upset about me helping
him, so I got one of the nurses.”

David laughed. “Well, if it was me, I
certainly wouldn’t want my wife to help me either. Leave him with a
little dignity, Callan. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’ve
probably always had a case of hero-worship for your husband. He
knows it and wants it to stay that way. Even if he is bed-ridden
for the time being, he won’t always be. Look at it from his
perspective and you’ll better know how to handle him and help him
as he heals.”

Callan smiled and nodded her head. “Thanks
for the advice, David. I really appreciate it. You’ve not only been
a great doctor, but also a very good friend. We both are very
thankful for you.”

“It’s what I’m here for,” David said, as he
stepped into the elevator and waited for the doors to close.

Once Callan left the room with David, Clay
closed his eyes.

He was grateful, so very grateful, to be
alive and healing. To be blessed with all the people that cared
about him. To have hope for the future.

Despite that, he found it incredibly hard to
be stuck flat on his back with no chance of doing anything
different anytime soon. He knew he acted like a baby and was being
cranky but he had so little control over anything.

The tiny shred of dignity he had left
concerning Callan, he planned to keep. If it meant her feelings got
hurt or feathers ruffled, well, so be it. When he was back on his
feet, he wanted to resume his position as her hero. Nothing,
absolutely nothing, would stand in the way of that.

Overwhelmed, by his pain as well as his
confinement to a hospital bed, he struggled not to give in the
darkness that bubbled beneath the surface of his emotions.

His broken leg was about the most painful
thing he had ever endured. His head still had a dull ache and his
insides felt hot and tender. Although the pain was almost more than
he could take, David agreed to cut back on his pain medication.
Clay didn’t like feeling drugged and out of it.

Regaining his sense of smell had been a
thing of both wonder and disgust. He didn’t remember all the strong
and vile smells from his childhood. In the hospital, a never-ending
parade of aromas assaulted him from disinfectant to the odd scent
of latex gloves.

Some smells he remembered from his
childhood. Like the way his mom smelled. He was sure she’d always
worn the same perfume. He recalled the scent of his dad’s
aftershave along with the sharp, crisp smell of a book’s pages.

The cloying scent of flowers was so
overpowering by the bounty of bouquets in the room he finally
begged Callan to get rid of them all.

Clay took a deep breath and inhaled Callan’s
lingering aura. No wonder Jake could tell when she’d been in the
room. Flowery, sensual, and lovely - there was no mistaking her
scent with anyone else. Hers was the smell that had drifted into
his dreams, helped pull him back from his oblivion.

The moment she returned to the room after
walking out with David, her fragrance floated in softly and settled
around him like a touch of warmth and comfort. He could feel her
near and appreciated the feather-light kiss she placed on his
forehead. The spicy tang of her cinnamon gum tickled his nose. He
opened his eyes and gave her a sheepish grin.

The smile she gave him was indulgent and
forgiving. “I thought you were sleeping.” She ran her fingers along
his hairline, carefully avoiding the injured side.

“Just resting.” He released a long,
care-worn sigh. “I’m so tired of being tired. So tired of being
here. I wish we could go home.”

“I know. But you have no idea what great
progress you’ve already made. David thinks you’ll have a rapid
recovery, all things considered. He said they’ll start physical
therapy soon. You’ll be up out of this bed later today. Isn’t that
great?”

“I guess so.” Clay wasn’t convinced he made
any kind of progress. He absently rubbed a hand along his jaw and
was surprised at the beard he felt against his palm. When he
scratched at it like a dog with fleas, Callan grabbed his hand,
stopping him.

“You’ve got cuts that are healing you need
to leave alone.” Callan held his hand to her chest. “Behave
yourself.”

“What do you mean I have cuts on my face?”
Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen himself in a mirror
since the morning of the accident. “Bring me a mirror. I want to
see.”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea.” Callan
dropped his hand and refused to look in him in the eye. “Let’s see
what’s on TV you might want to watch.” Desperate to distract him,
she flipped through channels with the remote. Clay, however, was
having no part of it.

“Callan, let me see,” he insisted, grabbing
the remote away from her. “I need to see.”

Reluctantly, she pulled a compact mirror
from her purse, hoping the small mirror would keep him from fully
viewing his face. Unfortunately, he held it out and got a good
glimpse in the tiny mirror. He gasped in shock and surprise at his
reflection.

Both eyes had been black and were now fading
to lighter shades of bruising. His entire face looked swollen and
in various stages of healing. He had a bright red line on his left
cheek, poking through his sandy-colored beard, where stitches had
come out and the wound healed. Another angry red line marched right
through the cleft of his chin. Then there was the shaved spot on
the left side of his head near his temple with stitches glaring in
a telltale half-circle that looked exactly like a hoof print. He
was lucky that kick hadn’t landed on his temple. No doubt, that
would have killed him.

When he glanced at Callan, the crazy woman
smiled at him encouragingly. He wondered how she could stand to
look at him, much less be close to him.

He looked like a leftover from some horror
movie. Suddenly remembering they allowed Audrey and Emma to visit
him, he decided his entire family had lost their good sense. The
two little girls most likely suffered from trauma and nightmares
after seeing him bruised and battered.

Clay dropped the mirror as it if had burned
his fingers. It landed on the bed beside him. He squeezed his eyes
shut and turned his head to the side, trying to block the vision of
his face from his mind.

“Go home, Callan,” he begged, his voice
husky. “Go home and leave me alone.”

Callan picked up the mirror and put it in
her pocket then lifted Clay’s hand in hers again. He couldn’t get
rid of her that easy. Six months ago, she’d have been out the door
crying, but not now.

She absently considered if this rejected
feeling was what Clay experienced during the three years she pushed
him away. She wasn’t enjoying it for the short period she knew it
was going to last and had no idea how he endured it for years.

Breathing deeply to calm herself, she
stepped forward. Things were different now. She was every bit as
stubborn as her thickheaded husband and planned to remind him that
he had met his match.

When he tried to pull his hand away, she
held on tighter.

“Clay, you’re being ridiculous. You look
much better than you did even a few days ago. David told you how
well and how quickly you’re healing. In a few more days, the cuts
on your face will be healed enough you can shave, then you’ll feel
more like yourself. The bruising and the swelling will be gone.
Your hair is already growing back over your hoof print.” She
brushed at his hairline with her other hand. He tried to twist his
head, but had nowhere to go to escape her tender ministrations.

“Besides, not everyone tangles with a herd
of stampeding cows and lives to tell the tale. I think that scar on
your head is going to be a great reminder to us both to never again
take a day for granted. I came so close to losing you, I could care
less what you look like.” Callan placed a soft kiss to his lips
then stepped back. “Don’t you understand, you dense man? I love
you. So suck it up, buckaroo.”

He stared into Callan’s eyes. She smiled at
him in a way that went far in warming his heart and putting him at
ease. He still thought she was crazy, and stubborn, and bossy. But
she loved him.

That was so good.

Callan rested her head against the recliner
with her eyes closed while Clay read a book. He’d been moderately
well behaved the entire day and she knew he made progress. The
better he felt, the less cantankerous and more easygoing he
became.

In his third day of getting up out of bed,
he continued to make huge strides in the healing process. The first
day had been brutal, but David was pleased with his efforts.
Although brief, he was able to be up for longer periods each day.
They had to take things one step at a time until Clay could walk
again.

The light, clicking steps of little feet
echoed around her as they approached the door. Callan hid a grin as
Emma and Audrey rushed to the chair and climbed onto her lap.

“Auntie Callan, we came to see you and Uncle
Clay,” Audrey said, bouncing on Callan’s lap.

“Hello, sweetie pies!” Callan gave them each
a hug and kiss. “Did you have a fun ride with Uncle Josh?”

“Yep. He’s silly.” Emma tilted her head and
pointed to her uncle as he sauntered into the room and shook Clay’s
hand before sitting down in an empty chair.

Callan laughed. “That’s why we love him so
much, isn’t it?”

“Yep!” both girls agreed.

“Are you ready to see Uncle Clay?” Callan
asked as she stood up, took their hands, and led them next to the
bed. She picked up Audrey and sat her on the bed on Clay’s good
side, then bent to pick up Emma.

Clay still couldn’t believe anyone thought
it was a good idea to subject the girls to his hideous state, but
he’d try to make the best of it. After setting aside his book when
they came in, he was as ready as he could be for their visit.

“Hi Audrey,” Clay said, offering her a
friendly smile. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Uncle Clay. Are you feeling
better? You look lots better than the last time we were here,”
Audrey stated with a nod of her head. “We can see your eyeballs
today and everything!”

Carefully, Clay chuckled. “Yes, you can. I
appreciate you coming to see me. It’s very nice to see you.”

Emma was tired of waiting and started
chanting, “my turn. It’s my turn!” Emma, who hung off Callan’s
neck, tried hard to contain her wiggly little body. “Oh, Uncle
Clay. Is it you?” she asked, bending forward and gazing at him
closely.

“Yes, Emma, it’s me.” He felt uncomfortable
under her intent perusal. Goodness only knew what she’d say.

“Are you sure?” Emma asked with a tilt of
her head. “You gots hair all over your face. Is it s’posed to be
there?”

“For now it is. When I feel much, much
better, I’ll shave it off. Will that be okay with you?” Clay
asked.

“Yep! I’s glad you feel better. I miss you.”
After fisting a handful of Callan’s shirt in her hand to keep her
balance, Emma leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Her sweet little kiss as well as the way she
softly brushed a hand over the scruffy beard on his face left him
surprised and pleased. “I miss you girls, too. When the doctor lets
me go home, will you promise to come visit me again?” Clay gave
both girls a pleading look.