The Winter Man (29 page)

He drank coffee and smoked cigarettes and glared at walls for over an hour until someone came out to talk to him. Hale had to go back to the lodge, to help plan the rescue of the rest of the survivors, but he promised to keep in touch. After he'd gone, Quinn felt even more alone. But at last a doctor came into the waiting room, and approached him.

“Are you related to Miss Callaway?” the doctor asked with narrowed eyes.

Quinn knew that if he said no, he'd have to wait for news of her condition until he could find somebody who was related to her, and he had no idea how to find her aunt.

“I'm her fiancé,” he said without moving a muscle in his face. “How is she?”

“Not good,” the doctor, a small wiry man, said bluntly. “But I believe in miracles. We have her in intensive care, where she'll stay until she regains consciousness. She's badly concussed. I gather she hasn't regained consciousness since the crash?” Quinn shook his head. “That sleigh ride and helicopter lift didn't do any good, either,” he added firmly, adding when he saw the expression on Quinn's tormented face, “but I can understand the necessity for it. Go get some sleep. Come back in the morning. We won't know anything until then. Maybe not until much later. Concussion is tricky. We can't predict the outcome, as much as we'd like to.”

“I can't rest,” Quinn said quietly. “I'll sit out here and drink coffee, if you don't mind. If this is as close to her as I can get, it'll have to do.”

The doctor took a slow breath. “We keep spare beds in cases like this,” he said. “I'll have one made up for you when you can't stay awake any longer.” He smiled faintly. “Try to think positively. It isn't medical, exactly, but sometimes it works wonders. Prayer doesn't hurt, either.”

“Thank you,” Quinn said.

The doctor shrugged. “Wait until she wakes up. Good night.”

Quinn watched him go and sighed. He didn't know what to do next. He phoned Terry at the lodge to see if Amanda's band had called. Someone named Jerry and a man called Hank had been phoning every few minutes, he was told. Quinn asked for a phone number and Terry gave it to him.

He dialed the area code. California, he figured as he waited for it to ring.

“Hello?”

“This is Quinn Sutton,” he began.

“Yes, I recognize your voice. It's Hank here. How is she?”

“Concussion. Coma, I guess. She's in intensive care and she's still alive. That's about all I know.”

There was a long pause. “I'd hoped for a little more than that.”

“So had I,” Quinn replied. He hesitated. “I'll phone you in the morning. The minute I know anything. Is there anybody we should notify…her aunt?”

“Her aunt is a scatterbrain and no help at all. Anyway, she's off with Blalock Durning in the Bahamas on one of those incommunicado islands. We couldn't reach her if we tried.”

“Is there anybody else?” Quinn asked.

“Not that I know of.” There was a brief pause. “I feel bad about the way things happened. I hate planes, you know. That's why the rest of us went by bus. We stopped here in some hick town to make sure Amanda got her plane, and Terry told us what happened. We got a motel room and we're waiting for a bus back to Jackson. It will probably be late tomorrow before we get there. We've already canceled the gig. We can't do it without Amanda.”

“I'll book a room for you,” Quinn said.

“Make it a suite,” Hank replied, “and if you need anything, you know, anything, you just tell us.”

“I've got plenty of cigarettes and the coffee machine's working. I'm fine.”

“We'll see you when we get there. And Sutton—thanks. She really cares about you, you know?”

“I care about her,” he said stiffly. “That's why I sent her away. My God, how could she give all that up to live on a mountain in Wyoming?”

“Amanda's not a city girl, though,” Hank said slowly. “And she changed after those days she spent with you. Her heart wasn't with us anymore. She cried all last night…”

“Oh, God, don't,” Quinn said.

“Sorry, man,” Hank said quietly. “I'm really sorry, that's the last thing I should have said. Look, go smoke a cigarette. I think I'll tie one on royally and have the boys put me to bed. Tomorrow we'll talk. Take care.”

“You, too.”

Quinn hung up. He couldn't bear to think of Amanda crying because of what he'd done to her. He might lose her even yet, and he didn't know how he was going to go on living. He felt so alone.

He was out of change after he called the lodge and booked the suite for Hank and the others, but he still had to talk to Elliot and Harry. He dialed the operator and called collect. Elliot answered the phone immediately.

“How is she?” he asked quickly.

Quinn went over it again, feeling numb. “I wish I knew more,” he concluded. “But that's all there is.”

“She can't die,” Elliot said miserably. “Dad, she just can't!”

“Say a prayer, son,” he replied. “And don't let Harry teach you any bad habits while I'm gone.”

“No, sir, I won't,” Elliot said with a feeble attempt at humor. “You're going to stay, I guess?”

“I have to,” Quinn said huskily. He hesitated. “I love her.”

“So do I,” Elliot said softly. “Bring her back when you come.”

“If I can. If she'll even speak to me when she wakes up,” Quinn said with a total lack of confidence.

“She will,” Elliot told him. “You should have listened to some of those songs you thought were so horrible. One of hers won a Grammy. It was all about having to give up things we love to keep from hurting them. She always seemed to feel it when somebody was sad or hurt, you know. And she risked her own life trying to save that girl at the concert. She's not someone who thinks about getting even with people. She's got too much heart.”

Quinn drew deeply from his cigarette. “I hope so, son,” he said. “You get to bed. I'll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Take care of yourself. Love you, Dad.”

“Me, too, son,” Quinn replied. He hung up. The waiting area was deserted now, and the hospital seemed to have gone to sleep. He sat down with his foam cup of black coffee and finished his cigarette. The room looked like he felt—empty.

I
t was late morning when the nurse came to shake Quinn gently awake. Apparently around dawn he'd gone to sleep sitting up, with an empty coffee cup in his hand. He thought he'd never sleep at all.

He sat up, drowsy and disheveled. “How is Amanda?” he asked immediately.

The nurse, a young blonde, smiled at him. “She's awake and asking for you.”

“Oh, thank God,” he said heavily. He got quickly to his feet, still a little groggy, and followed her down to the intensive-care unit, where patients in tiny rooms were monitored from a central nurses' station and the hum and click and whir of life-supporting machinery filled the air.
If she was asking for him, she must not hate him too much. That thought sustained him as he followed the nurse into one of the small cubicles where Amanda lay.

Amanda looked thinner than ever in the light, her face pinched, her eyes hollow, her lips chapped. They'd taken her hair down somewhere along the way and tied it back with a pink ribbon. She was propped up in bed, still with the IV in position, but she'd been taken off all the other machines.

She looked up and saw Quinn and all the weariness and pain went out of her face. She brightened, became beautiful despite her injuries, her eyes sparkling. Her last thought when she'd realized in the plane what was going to happen had been of Quinn. Her first thought when she'd regained consciousness had been of him. The pain, the grief of having him turn away from her was forgotten. He was here, now, and that meant he had to care about her.

“Oh, Quinn!” she whispered tearfully, and held out her arms.

He went to her without hesitation, ignoring the nurses, the aides, the whole world. His arms folded gently around her, careful of the tubes attached to her hand, and his head bent over hers, his cheek on her soft hair, his eyes closed as he shivered with reaction. She was alive. She was going to live. He felt as if he were going to choke to death on his own rush of feeling.

“My God,” he whispered shakily. “I thought I'd lost you.”

That was worth it all, she thought, dazed from the emotion in his voice, at the tremor in his powerful body as he held her. She clung to him, her slender arms around his neck, drowning in pleasure. She'd wondered if he hadn't sent her away in a misguided belief that it was for her own good. Now she was sure of it. He couldn't have looked that haggard, that terrible, unless she mattered very much to him. Her aching heart soared. “They said you brought me out.”

“Hale and I did,” he said huskily. He lifted his head, searching her bright eyes slowly. “It's been the longest night of my life. They said you might die.”

“Oh, we Callaways are tough birds,” she said, wiping away a tear. She was still weak and sore and her headache hadn't completely gone away. “You look terrible, my darling,” she whispered on a choked laugh.

The endearment fired his blood. He had to take a deep breath before he could even speak. His fingers linked with hers. “I felt pretty terrible when we listened to the news report, especially when I remembered the things I said to you.” He took a deep breath. “I didn't know if you'd hate me for the rest of your life, but even if you did, I couldn't just sit on my mountain and let other people look for you.” His thumb gently stroked the back of her pale hand. “How do you feel, honey?”

“Pretty bad. But considering it all, I'll do. I'm sorry about the men who died. One of them was having a heart
attack,” she explained. “The other gentleman who was sitting with him alerted me. We both unfastened our seat belts to try and give CPR. Just after I got up, the plane started down,” she said. “Quinn, do you believe in predestination?”

“You mean, that things happen the way they're meant to in spite of us?” He smiled. “I guess I do.” His dark eyes slid over her face hungrily. “I'm so glad it wasn't your time, Amanda.”

“So am I.” She reached up and touched his thin mouth with just the tips of her fingers. “Where is it?” she asked with an impish smile as a sudden delicious thought occurred to her.

He frowned. “Where's what?”

“My engagement ring,” she said. “And don't try to back out of it,” she added firmly when he stood there looking shocked. “You told the doctor and the whole medical staff that I was your fiancée, and you're not ducking out of it now. You're going to marry me.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I'm what?” he said blankly.

“You're going to marry me. Where's Hank? Has anybody phoned him?”

“I did. I was supposed to call him back.” He checked his watch and grimaced. “I guess it's too late now. He and the band are on the way back here.”

“Good. They're twice your size and at least as mean.” Her eyes narrowed. “I'll tell them you seduced me. I could
be pregnant.” She nodded, thinking up lies fast while Quinn's face mirrored his stark astonishment. “That's right, I could.”

“You could not,” he said shortly. “I never…!”

“But you're going to,” she said with a husky laugh. “Just wait until I get out of here and get you alone. I'll wrestle you down and start kissing you, and you'll never get away in time.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned, because he knew she was right. He couldn't resist her that way, it was part of the problem.

“So you'll have to marry me first,” she continued. “Because I'm not that kind of girl. Not to mention that you aren't that kind of guy. Harry likes me and Elliot and I are already friends, and I could even get used to McNaber if he'll move those traps.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “The concert tour is going to be a real drag, but once it's over, I'll retire from the stage and just make records and tapes and CDs with the guys. Maybe a video now and again. They'll like that, too. We're all basically shy and we don't like live shows. I'll compose songs. I can do that at the house, in between helping Harry with the cooking and looking after sick calves, and having babies,” she added with a shy smile.

He wanted to sit down. He hadn't counted on this. All that had mattered at the time was getting her away from the wreckage and into a hospital where she could be cared for. He hadn't let himself think ahead. But she obviously had. His head spun with her plans.

“Listen, you're an entertainer,” he began. His fingers curled around hers and he looked down at them with a hard, grim sigh. “Amanda, I'm a poor man. All I've got is a broken-down ranch in the middle of nowhere. You'd have a lot of hardships, because I won't live on your money. I've got a son, even if he isn't mine, and…”

She brought his hand to her cheek and held it there, nuzzling her cheek against it as she looked up at him with dark, soft, adoring eyes. “I love you,” she whispered.