Outsider (16 page)

 

T
HE BIG
,
BLOND MAN
looked far more like a wrestler than a doctor, Sarina mused as she watched him working on Colby. But he knew what he was doing, that was obvious.

“Well, he doesn't get any smarter, does he?” Micah mused after he'd given Colby a thorough examination and an injection. “He knows what stress does to him.”

“Hey, at least he's got malaria instead of a hangover,” Hunter pointed out.

Micah's dark eyes twinkled. “Who's got the medical degree here?”

Hunter glared at him. “I know malaria when I see it. I've had it three times myself.”

Micah harrumped and closed his medical bag. “As it happens, you're right, it is malaria. The fever will break in a couple of days. Keep shoveling quinine into him. I could give you Mepacrine, but I think he'd rather have a buzz in his ears than turn yellow.”

“He'd agree with you,” Hunter said, smiling.

“Try not to let him get chilled again,” Micah said. He glanced curiously at Sarina. “Are you staying with him?” he asked her.

She exchanged glances with Hunter. “I guess I am, for the next day or two,” she said.

“Keep him warm and full of liquids,” he said. “Quinine every four hours. The directions are on the bottle.”

“Okay,” she said.

His eyes narrowed. “You're not Maureen.”

Her face closed up and her dark eyes glittered angrily. “No, thank God, I'm not.”

“Amen,” he replied, ignoring Hunter's worried look. “She almost destroyed him.”

“Sarina was his first wife,” Hunter inserted.

Micah's dark eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“The mother of his daughter,” Hunter emphasized. “The little girl sitting in Colby's living room,” he added.

Micah felt his own forehead and looked at Hunter. “I must need a long rest. I thought you said he had a daughter. How, when he's sterile?”

“He isn't,” Sarina said firmly. “And if you've seen my daughter, you couldn't have any doubts. She looks just like him.”

“I noticed. I wasn't doubting you,” Micah replied. “But if you knew Colby as I knew him,” he began.

“I'm sure you haven't got time to go into that,” Hunter said firmly.

Micah glanced at him and got the point. “Yes. Right. I do have to get home. Our own daughter is a year old now,” he told Sarina. “Nothing like children to make a marriage happy.”

Sarina's face closed up and Micah grimaced.

“I'll walk you out,” Hunter said.

“Thanks.” He glanced at Sarina and smiled. “He'll be all right.”

“Thanks,” she said softly.

He shrugged. “All in a day's work. I like Colby.”

She managed a smile. “Me, too.”

“I guess so, if you had a child together,” he chuckled, noting her flush as he picked up his bag and followed Hunter out.

Bernadette jumped up from the sofa and ran to the big man. “Is my daddy going to be all right?” she asked quickly.

Micah looked down into the worried dark eyes, so like Colby's, and he smiled. “Yes,” he assured her. “He's going to be fine.”

“Thank you,” she said with a shy smile.

He ruffled her hair. “You're very welcome. You can go in there, if you like.”

“Thanks!” she replied, running toward Colby's room.

Micah glanced at Hunter and nodded. She was, indeed, the image of her father.

 

W
HEN THEY WERE STANDING
beside Micah's Porsche, the physician gave his old comrade a strange look. “Why did you keep interrupting me?”

“Sarina doesn't know about Colby's past,” Hunter emphasized. “When he's ready, he'll tell her.”

He glared at the other man. “There's nothing so bad about what we did. We were idealists. We did a lot of good.”

“I know that, but you don't understand the situation. She's not what she seems,” he added, and left it there. “Take my word for it, there are going to be fireworks when they know the truth about each other.”

“Callie and I had our own fireworks,” he said reminiscently. He grinned. “Now we think she's pregnant again.”

“Congratulations,” Hunter said, grinning. “We think Jennifer is, too.”

Micah whistled softly. “Must be the water,” he mused.

Hunter chuckled. “Maybe it is!”

 

I
N
C
OLBY
'
S BEDROOM
, Bernadette sat with her mother until Hunter came back inside, alone. She kissed her father softly on the forehead and went to get her books, because Hunter was going to drive her to his house, to stay with Jennifer and Nikki until her mother was home again. Sarina wasn't leaving, despite Hunter's belated assurances that he could take care of Colby if she'd rather go home.

“You have other things going on,” she reminded him firmly. “I nursed Colby's father and worked at the same time. I can be spared for a couple of days easier than you can.”

He gave her a knowing look. “And your interest is totally indifferent?”

She swallowed, avoiding his knowing gaze. “He was my husband once,” she said softly.

“In his mind, he still is,” Hunter said surprisingly. He met her shocked eyes with a smile in his. “Don't believe it? Mention Rodrigo around him and wait for the explosion.”

She cleared her throat. “They just don't get along.”

“Bull. He's jealous. That's part of what's wrong with him.” He was serious again then. “Listen, the fact that he met what had to be a major crisis in his life without turning to the bottle should tell you something. Years ago, a bad day was enough to put him on a roll with a bottle of neat whiskey. He won't risk addiction again, because of you and Bernadette. He'd rather die.”

“He won't…?” she asked quickly, the fear in her eyes.

He grinned. “Not Colby,” he replied. “He's just discovered a reason for living. Lately all he talks about is Bernadette.”

“Really?” Bernadette asked from the doorway, wide-eyed.

“Really,” he told the child. “You can draw and sing like an angel and speak Spanish. He's very impressed.”

Bernadette grinned.

Sarina hugged her. “Be good for Jennifer,” she told her. “I'll take care of Daddy. Okay?”

“Okay,” Bernadette replied.

“Got your breather and your rescue inhaler?” she added.

Bernadette nodded.

“Off you go, then.”

“Good night, Mama,” she said.

“I'll be back as soon as I get Bernadette settled,” Hunter told her.

“I can manage the next few hours,” Sarina said gently. “You have to work. They can do without me. I'm not that essential at Ritter Oil. And I'm not that essential for the other reason just yet.”

Hunter grimaced. “Okay, then, we'll take it in shifts. If it gets really bad, I'll call Cy and have him come up. Or I could call Rodrigo…”

She raised an eyebrow. “He'd sponge Colby down with boiling water and give him hemlock to drink.”

Hunter chuckled. “Rivals to the bitter end.”

“We're partners,” she emphasized.

“That's what you think. Come on, Bernadette, let's go. I'll be back in the morning. Need me to pick up anything on the way back?”

“Yes,” she said. “Some orange juice and aspirin.”

“Will do.”

 

H
E AND
B
ERNADETTE
left, and Sarina sat down in a straight chair beside Colby's bed. He was tossing and writhing on the bed, his powerful body wet with sweat, his hair limp with it. His eyes opened, but they were sightless. When she got up and put a gentle hand on his shoulder to test his temperature, he groaned. High fever seemed to create pain with the lightest touch. She frowned, worried. Everybody said he'd be fine, but it was terrible to stand by and watch him in such agony. She felt responsible. He'd had so many blows, in so small a space of time. Long ago, she'd dreamed of hitting him in the head with the truth of his cruelty. But now that it had happened, she took no pleasure from it. He hadn't told Maureen to say that he wanted nothing to do with Sarina and her unborn child. He hadn't even known about the phone call. Her eyes closed in pain. Maureen had lied. The woman had destroyed lives and walked over bodies without a hint of compassion or regret.

Colby had loved his second wife. She knew that knowledge of Maureen's cruelty had added to the emotional scars he was already carrying. It hurt her to see what a price he'd paid for his infatuation with the other woman, because it was patently infatuation. Perhaps raging desire had played a part in his devotion to Maureen, or pride that wouldn't admit the terrible mistake he'd made in marrying her.

He rolled over onto his back and groaned again, his eyes half-closed, his lips parched. “Thirsty,” he choked. “So…thirsty.”

She went to the kitchen and added water to crushed ice from the refrigerator. She went back into the bedroom, sitting beside him to gently lift his dark head from the pillow and let him sip the cold water. He moaned, swallowing thirstily. She let his head back down and put the glass aside.

The pillow was slipping. She slid her hand under it and froze. Quickly she pulled out the pistol and opened the bedside table's top drawer. She checked to make sure the safety was on, and put it inside the drawer. It was a .40 caliber Glock, probably the one he carried at work, and it was loaded. She hadn't suspected that he might sleep with a weapon under his pillow, but it wasn't overly surprising. Many ex-military men and police officers did.

She went to get another basin of water and a clean washcloth and towel. She bathed him with cool water, pausing to towel him dry so that he didn't chill. She drew the cloth over his broad, muscular, hair-roughened chest and down to his stomach. He arched sensuously and moaned. She noticed a sudden change in the contours of his body. Her own skin felt hot. She waited a minute, and then switched her attentions to his arms and neck.

“I didn't know,” he whispered, clenching his teeth. “Didn't know…!”

She dabbed at the wetness on his forehead with the wet cloth. “It's all right, Colby. It's all right.”

He moved restlessly, his breath coming quick and hard. “Damn Ramirez!” he bit off. “He can't…have her…she's mine!”

“Colby,” she whispered, faintly shocked.

His eyes opened and looked up into hers blindly. “I'll never let go,” he said harshly. “Never again! My child…my baby…she should hate me—!” His voice broke, and he arched again. “Damn me!”

“Oh, Colby, don't,” she groaned softly, reaching down to touch his lean cheek.

All at once she was lifted, rolled, flung onto the bed beside him. He threw a long leg across her hips and looked down at her, blinking. “Sarina?” he whispered, dazed.

“You have malaria,” she whispered back, reaching up to touch his chin.

“Malaria.” He hesitated, breathing deliberately. “Malaria.” His eyes closed. “I'm so weak…”

“You'll be all right,” she promised. “A doctor came. He gave you more medicine. It will pass.”

“So…hot.” He let go of her and rolled onto his back. “So thirsty.”

She scrambled off the bed on the opposite side and went back around it to grasp the glass of water. “Here,” she said, sitting down on the bed to lift his head again and offer the water.

He sipped it slowly. He shivered, as the chills bit into him again. “Cold,” he groaned. “So cold.” His eyes opened and he watched her put the glass down. “Warm me,” he whispered. “Lie with me.”

She hesitated, but again he reached up and coaxed her down onto the bed with him, wrapping her up against the length of him. He shivered again, a harsh ripple of motion down his body. “Hold me.”

It wasn't wise. But then, when had she ever been wise? With a long sigh, she slid down against him, hoping that the embroidery on her neat jeans wasn't going to be too abrasive on the bare skin of his thighs. She let him fold her close and she slid her arms under his and around him, pillowing her head on his shoulder. He shivered one last time and then relaxed with a long, shuddering sigh. Seconds later, his breathing became regular and she realized that he was asleep. She should get up at once, she reasoned. She meant to. But the warm, tender clasp of his arms, the novelty of lying against him, was too much for her. She closed her eyes and slept, too.

 

T
HERE WAS A MUFFLED LAUGH
. Sarina's eyes slid open. There was a broad, hairy chest below her eyes and a wall beyond it. She wasn't at home in her own bed. She was…where was she?