Got A Hold On You (Ringside Romance) (25 page)

“I’ll take care of my uncle when we get home. Right
now we’ve got to find you a top-notch orthopedic specialist to make sure you
can walk out of here.”

“I’ve already told you, I can walk out of here right
now.”

“Well, you’re not going to, not until you get the A-OK
from a doctor. So stop fighting me on this.”

“I hate hospitals.”

“And I hate wrestling.”

Silence fell between them. He closed his eyes. No
sense arguing with the woman. She’d obviously made up her mind. About a lot of
things.

“I’m sorry.” She took his hand.

The warmth crept up his arm, burning a path straight
to his heart. What was it about her touch?

He opened his eyes and glanced at her. “What are you
sorry about?”

“That I said that, about hating wrestling. I know it’s
your life.”

“You have to remember, when I started it was nothing
like it is now. Sometimes I don’t recognize it. A lot of the new guys know five
moves, that’s it. They aren’t traditional wrestlers. They never set foot in a
ring before they enrolled in a wrestling school and learned how to fall and get
up again a hundred times. And these days, they don’t have to know a lot of
moves. It’s mostly soap opera drama, a lot of shouting, punching, flying into
vats of green gelatin.”

She chuckled and his heart skipped. He should shut up
while he could, but this woman’s opinion of him was important, more important
than it should be.

“Wrestling, amateur wrestling, saved my life,” he
said, unable to stop himself.
 
“I
probably would have been in jail by the time I was seventeen if Butch hadn’t
pulled me off the streets and forced me to wrestle. I was a natural. I planned
to wrestle in college but didn’t have enough money for tuition. I figured I’d
work the pro circuit for a few years, save some bucks, and go back to school.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Nah. I got sucked in so deep I couldn’t even see the
surface anymore. Months passed, years passed. You’re on the road all the time.
You can’t remember where you’ve been or where you’re going much less why you
joined this circus in the first place. And you sure as hell don’t have time to
plan what you’ll do once you get out.”

She studied her hands, and he wondered if he’d said
too much. “Hey, don’t feel sorry for me. I chose this life.”

“I can’t imagine being so...alone.”

“Alone? Hey, I’m surrounded by people. The guys become
like family. I’m not alone.”

And if you
believe that, I’ve got a bridge for sale
.

“Well, you won’t be alone tonight.” She squeezed his
hand.

He didn’t know how much more of this he could take,
her touch, her compassion. If he didn’t slam on the brakes, he might as well
hand over his soul right here and now.

This could never be. She was Sully’s niece, a woman
who knew exactly what she wanted and how she was going to get it. And she sure
as hell didn’t want Jack, a burned-out wrestler with no future, no impressive
career to brag about to her mother and business associates.

“Listen, I appreciate your concern, but even Sully
would agree you’ve gone above and beyond the call,” he said.

She studied him with a puzzled expression, and he
steeled himself against the pain he knew he’d read in her eyes next.

“I know it’s your job to keep a handle on the talent
but—”

“That’s what you think this is about? That I’m here
because of your contract?”

He pulled his hand from hers and interlaced his
fingers behind his head. “I get it. With the story line as hot as it is right
now, you can’t afford to lose me to a serious injury.”

She stood abruptly, the legs of her metal chair
screeching against the vinyl floor. He stared at the ceiling, unable to look at
her.

“I gotta admit Sully’s getting his money’s worth out
of you, Frank. Your performance tonight in that cage…those tears… man, that was
award-winning material.” He glanced at her and his chest ached at the look in
her eyes.

This was the
right thing to do, the only thing to do
. “You’re a natural at this, kid. I
never would have guessed it.”

She clenched her jaw and fisted her right hand. One of
these days he was going to get a knuckle sandwich right between the eyes.

“And I never would have guessed—”

“Excuse me, sir, ma’am,” a nurse interrupted Frankie.
“I have to start the IV.”

His stomach clenched at the sight of the hanging bag
she wheeled beside her.

“I’m fine. I’m really fine,” he said.

Sitting up, he pushed himself off the stretcher. His
knee gave way.

Luckily, Frankie caught him. Luckily? She looked like
she wanted to skin him alive.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she ground out.

“It’s my old knee injury. My legs are fine. I can feel
them. See?” He pinched his thigh. “Ouch, that hurts. See? I’m fine. There’s no
spinal injury. I don’t need to be here.”

The nurse looked at Frankie.

“Needle phobic,” she explained.

“Oh.” The nurse rolled the IV stand next to his bed.

“Come on, let me go. With Frank’s help I’ll hobble my
way out of here and you can treat some real sick people.”

Frankie stepped away from him.

“Hey, come back here. I need to lean on your
shoulder.”

“Sorry, chief. You’re staying here until a doctor
checks you out. Like you said, I wouldn’t want to take any chances with our
prime talent.”

He hated the sound of her words, as if she were
guarding a choice piece of beef.

“Lie down, Mr. Hudson.” The nurse ripped open the
plastic-sealed needle. Both his legs wobbled; his vision blurred.

“It would be nice if he could be conscious when the
specialist gets here.”
 
The nurse’s
voice sounded far away.

He felt himself being coaxed onto the stretcher.

“Look at me.” Frankie clamped her hands on either side
of his face and guided his eyes to meet hers.

Train whistles rang in his ears and stars blurred his
vision.

“Jack. Look into my eyes. Jack!”

Something pinched his cheek. The discomfort brought
him back around. “Huh?”

“My eyes, Jack.
 
Focus.”

He blinked and stared through the haze. When it
cleared he found himself gazing at the most beautiful colors of the rainbow:
blue, green, yellow, even purple.

“You are a sonofabitch, you know that?” she said.

He studied her beautiful eyes that looked like the
color of mountains in springtime, with all the hues blending into a
breathtaking, indescribable color. He could paint those eyes. It would take a
lifetime, but he’d like to try.

“So many colors…” he mumbled, the buzz growing louder
in his ears.

“Don’t you pass out. Look at me. I need your help. My
friend’s going west this summer to Colorado. Where’s a good place to stay?
Aspen?”

“Crowded in Aspen. Expensive. Try Breckenridge, maybe
Dillon.”

“What kinds of things would she do there? Hike? What
else?”

“Rafting, horseback riding.”

She scrunched up her nose.

“You don’t like horses?” he said.

“Never got close enough to find out.”

“You’ve never been on a horse?”

“Have you?” she challenged.

“Sure. Love riding up into the mountains. No one’s
around. You’re all alone.”

“Perfect for you,” she muttered. She glanced at the
nurse and nodded.

“Why peppermint?” he asked. He had to know.

“What?”

“You taste like peppermint.”

She studied her hands. “I have stomach problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Nerves. I get all bunched up inside and need
something to calm me down.”

“Ulcer?”

“Not yet. Maybe another five years.”

“What do you have to worry about?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Before you started helping your uncle, I mean. You
have a great job, successful fiancé, a loving family. You’ve got it all. Your
life’s planned out for the next twenty years.”

“Yeah, well, things don’t always go as planned.” She
stroked his forehead, gently, so very gently.

“Like what?”

“You tell me,” she said. “Surely you’ve made plans
that have fallen apart.”

“No plans. Just wrestling. Save money for retirement.”

“And when you retire?”

“Then I get to live.”

“Where?”

“Mountains.”

“Alone?”

“Always alone.”

She blinked, sadness coloring her eyes. The nurse said
something and Frankie backed away.

“Francine?”

“I’m not going anywhere, not until I’m sure my talent
is on the mend.”

She was angry with him. He couldn’t blame her. But it
was for the best. She had to know that. They were growing too close, too
comfortable with one another.

She gripped his hand and tucked it under the white
cotton sheet. But she still clung to him. She didn’t let go.

It felt good.

“Are you feeling better?” she said.

He turned his head to look at her. Concern creased her
features. He hated that. Hated making her worry.

“Better,” he said.

“What is it with the needles?”

“I don’t like them.”

“And I don’t like peas, but I don’t go into hysterics
when they end up on my plate.”

He licked his lips and took a shallow breath.

“I was ten. Cut my arm. Mom was working. Dad was…I
don’t know where Dad was. The neighbor wrapped my arm and put me on a bus to
the hospital. The doctor pulled out this needle... it was a foot long. They
cornered me. Had to hold me down. I was so scared. I remember screaming. I
passed out.” He glanced at her but couldn’t read her expression. “Pretty dumb,
huh?”

“You were all alone? You were ten and all alone at the
hospital?”

“I could take care of myself. I always have.” He
paused. “But you haven’t, have you?”

“Nonsense.” She fiddled with his blanket, as if it
needed straightening.

He fingered her hair, silken waves gone awry, yet
still so soft. “You act tough, but a part of you likes being taken care of.”

She pretended to ignore his touch, but he noticed a
flush of pink spread across her cheeks.

“Francine?” He studied her eyes. “That’s why you love
Sully. He took care of you. I’ll bet your fiancé takes care of you.”

“Future fiancé,” she corrected.

His heart soared with hope. He closed his eyes.

“Jack?”

“I’ve gotta rest a minute.”

Emotion clogged his throat. Of all the pain he’d felt
in the last few hours—being whacked with a two-by-four, slammed on a
steel door and jabbed by a four-inch needle—this was the worst. The ache
in his chest threatened to break him apart.

He wanted Frankie in his life, and he wanted her as
more than a wrestling partner or friend. He wanted her as his soul mate, his
lover and confidante. This was nothing like Sandra. Sure, he wanted to do
unspeakable things to Frankie, erotic things that would drive her wild and make
her cry out in desperation. But he wanted what came after that, the years
together, washing dishes and hanging wallpaper. Sharing, teasing. Being.

But he knew none of that could happen. He wasn’t right
for Frankie. He’d mess things up, like he did everything. Hell, if it weren’t
for Butch, Jack’s life would be messed up beyond repair.

No, if he cared about Frankie, really cared, the best
thing he could do was distance himself. Which was what he tried doing when he
made the crack about her sticking around to protect the talent. He knew more
than work obligation glued her to his bedside. They’d formed an unexpected
friendship, a unique bond.

A bond neither of them welcomed.

Curtain rings scraped across the metal bar and he
heard Frankie’s soft voice whisper to the doctor. He couldn’t make out what she
said.

“Mr. Hudson?” a male voice said.

Jack opened his eyes. A doctor stood beside him.
Frankie was gone.

“I’m Dr. Latharius, the orthopedic specialist.” He
extended his hand and Jack shook it.

“Your wife is in the waiting area making a phone
call.”

Your wife
.
He sucked in a quick breath of air. His “wife” was probably calling her fiancé.

“So what’s the verdict?” Jack asked.

“Not sure until we take some more pictures.” He
flipped through Jack’s paperwork. “You’re awfully hard on your body.”

“Job requirement.”

The doctor glanced down at him over the rim of his
reading glasses.

“Professional wrestler,” Jack explained.

The doctor nodded and went back to analyzing the
chart. Jack recognized the censure in the doctor’s nod. He’d grown used to the
silent, and sometimes not-so-silent, criticism of his work. But there came a
time when you had to ignore the jokes and the horrified reactions when people
found out what you did for a living. You had to believe in yourself enough to
know you were happy with your life. And Jack had been happy. To a point.

Then disillusionment took hold, frustration at being
paid to act more like a vaudeville clown and less like an athlete. They touted
pro wrestling as sports entertainment, and many wanted to drop the word
“sports” from the definition all together, as if there was no athleticism
involved in a grueling twenty-minute match. He wished somebody would tell that
to his body.

“...at least tonight. Okay?”

Jack glanced at the doctor.

“What? Sorry, I was thinking about something else.”

“I said I’d like you to spend the night for
observation.”

“Stay? In the hospital? No, I can’t, I have to—”

“You have to heal,” Frankie said as she slipped
through the curtain and pulled it closed behind her. “How long do you plan to
keep him?”

“Overnight. I’d like to confer with his doctor back
home if possible.”

“Do you have his number?”

“Yes, I think it’s here.”