Lana's Lawman (6 page)

Oh—Bart. She should call him. She found a pay phone, called his home number, got the answering machine. “Bart, it's Lana. I'm in the Methodist Hospital emergency room with Rob. He's had an accident. I'm hoping it's not serious, but I'll call you back as soon as I know something.”

Next she called his pager and left the pay phone's number. But a woman was standing in line behind her to use the phone, so when and if Bart called back, he'd get a busy signal.

Lana paced back to the seating area, too keyed up to actually claim a chair. What was taking so long? She wondered what had become of Sloan. He'd disappeared during the time she was answering the admitting nurse's questions. She supposed he had other
things to do, but he could have at least told her good-bye.

Finally she heard her name over the loudspeaker. A man wearing a reassuring lab coat was waiting for her at the triage desk. “Mrs. Gaston?”

“Yes? How is he? Can I see him?”

“He's okay. I'm Jase Desmond, neurology,” he said as he escorted her through a set of swinging double doors. “Your son suffered a stiff blow to the head. Fortunately he's tough as a walnut. There's no skull fracture and only a mild concussion. He's alert and responsive. Other than the head injury, just a few scrapes and bruises. Not even any stitches needed.”

With each word the doctor spoke, Lana's insides uncoiled. He was okay. Rob was okay. “He's talking and everything?” Lana asked, just to be sure she understood “responsive.”

“See for yourself.” The doctor opened the door to Treatment Room 5. And there was Rob, sitting up on the gurney with an animated expression on his face, chattering away.

To Sloan Bennett.

Her relief at seeing how “okay” Rob really was warred with her irritation that Sloan had been allowed to see her son before she had. “What are you doing in here?” she blurted out.

He looked surprised for a moment before recovering his composure. “I thought the ‘demolition man' here could use a little cheering up,” he answered easily.

“Mom, it's Officer Bennett,” Rob said, “the one who rescued us the other night.”

Lana summoned a smile as she came closer. “Yes, I see that.”

“He said I should be called the Demolition Man because I
demolished
the garage roof.” He pronounced the new word with relish.

She cast a sideways glance at Sloan, who appeared pleased with himself.

“Demolition Man, huh? Good thing you didn't demolish your head instead. So, how ya doin', champ?” she asked, rubbing her son's arm.

“My head's killing me,” he confessed, gingerly touching the square of gauze that covered the right side of his forehead. “They took X rays. It's not broken.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

“We'll want to keep him overnight for observation,” Dr. Desmond said from behind Lana. She'd almost forgotten about him, and his voice startled her. “We don't anticipate any problems, but it's best to be on the safe side.”

“Of course,” Lana agreed.

“You can stay with him if you like.”

“No,” Rob said. “I can stay by myself.”

Rob's rejection of her company cut Lana's heart to ribbons, but she put on a brave face. “I wouldn't mind staying with you. We could read a book together.”

“Nah, that's baby stuff. I'm not afraid.”

Lana felt pressure building behind her eyes. Her son didn't need her. “All right.” She looked up at the doctor and forced herself to ask, “It's okay if he stays alone?”

“Sure. We'll take good care of him. I'll go make arrangements.” He withdrew from the treatment room.

“Well, after you get settled,” Lana said, “I'll go home and get you your pajamas and a toothbrush. And a comb. And—”

“My new Spider-Man comic book,” Rob added. “And Venom.”

Sloan appeared curious. “Venom?”

“Villain from the comic books,” Lana explained, trying her best to act normal. It shouldn't hurt so much. Rob was just trying to be a big boy.

“Venom has a tongue about a foot long,” Rob added.

“Must be a charming guy,” Sloan said with a wink. But when he looked back at Lana, his eyes held an understanding she'd never expected. He knew she was hurting, no matter how deftly she hid it.

“You don't have to stay here, you know,” Lana said to him. “Everything's under control now.”

“How will you get home?”

Oh. She
hated
being stranded. For two days now she'd been depending on neighbors and coworkers to ferry her back and forth to work while she waited for this Cartwright character Sloan had recommended so highly to repair her car. “I'll call Sandra, my neighbor.”

“I can take you.”

“Don't you have work to do? Speeding tickets to hand out or burglars to catch?” She didn't think she could bear his scrutiny any longer. He saw too much.
He knew too much about her. She'd told him so many things when they were teenagers. How much of it did he remember?

“It's a slow night,” he said.

She was trapped. She didn't want him around. Or, more accurately, she wanted him around too much. He made it too darn easy to surrender—a ride here, a phone call there, a comforting touch. What would be next? He could convince her of anything if he put his mind to it. Talk about making a woman feel uneasy!

Still, she couldn't turn him down without seeming ungrateful. She was formulating a reply in her head, when the treatment room door slammed open, and her ex-husband stood in the doorway looking like a Viking conqueror. A real ticked-off Viking conqueror.

“Just what in the hell is going on here?”

 THREE

My God
, Sloan thought, awestruck. It was the man himself, Bart Gaston, former high school football star, banker's son, high-profile attorney. But for all his money and privilege, his glib tongue and good looks, he apparently couldn't hold on to Lana. Sloan wondered why.

“Bart, for heaven's sake, lower your voice,” Lana said, her own voice strained. “Rob had an accident, but he's fine.”

“Fine? He doesn't look fine to me. He's in the emergency room. He's got a bandage around his head. Jeez, Lana, what the hell happened?”

“It was that stupid garage roof. He was playing football. He must have knocked the thing loose somehow—”

“Must've?” Bart repeated incredulously. “You mean you don't know?”

“No, I don't know exactly.” She raised her chin a
fraction. “I found him unconscious. They took him away in an ambulance. I only just now was allowed in to see him.”

“Let me get this straight,” Bart said, holding his thumb and forefinger to his nose as if he had a sinus headache. “You allowed my son to play in a dangerous area without supervision. You knew the roof was falling down, but you couldn't take the trouble to get it fixed—”

“I couldn't afford to get it fixed.” Lana shot a guilty look in Sloan's direction.

“Oh, and I suppose that makes this whole thing my fault, huh? Because I don't just fork over a check every time you have a little problem? Because you can't handle your own money?”

Sloan's gut bunched tighter with every word the bastard spoke. He rose slowly from his chair, his hands clenching, unsure what he wanted to do. But he couldn't stand by and let this jerk browbeat Lana, especially in front of their son.

Lana looked at Sloan again and subtly shook her head. “Can we continue this discussion some other time—in private?” she asked Bart in a voice that sounded like she was struggling for control. She touched Rob's shoulder in a meaningful gesture.

As for Rob, he didn't appear particularly upset by his parents' arguing, just mildly interested, like maybe he'd heard it all before.

Bart at least had the decency to lower his voice, but what he said sent chills up Sloan's spine. “Oh, we'll talk all right.” Then he focused his gaze on Rob and
plastered on a smile. “Well, tough guy, looks like you got a knock on the noggin. How'd you manage that anyway?” He sat on the edge of the gurney, closing out everyone else from their conversation.

“Playing football. The ball got stuck on the roof. I was hitting the roof with a tree branch, trying to get the ball unstuck, and …” He shrugged. “Poof.”

“Poof, huh? Did it hurt?”

“I dunno, I don't remember. Hurts now though.”

“Think some chocolate ice cream would make it feel better?”

Rob's eyes lit up. “Do they have ice cream in the hospital?”

“If they don't, I'll pay one of those pretty nurses to run out and get some.”

Sloan thought he might throw up. He'd despised Bart Gaston in high school and he hated him even more now. Sloan knew the type—omnipotent, thought he could throw around a little money and make everything go right for him.

“Dad,” Rob said, suddenly solemn, “will you stay with me?”

Lana's face went ashen.

“Sure, son,” Bart said carelessly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep. But I have a big court case tomorrow first thing, so I'll have to go home sometime. You want Dad to win, right?”

Rob nodded. “You gonna beat their butts?”

“You bet. I'll get a nice fat settlement and we'll see about that mountain bike for Christmas.”

“All right!”

Lana stood up and sidled toward the door. “I'll just, um, go home and get those pajamas and comic books for you, Rob.” Her smile was even more forced than her ex-husband's.

“Okay, see ya, Mom,” Rob said.

“I'll be on my way too, Demolition Man,” Sloan said. He figured his smile didn't look any better than anyone else's.

“Bye, Officer Bennett,” Rob said.

For the first time, Bart seemed to notice Sloan. “What the hell are you doing here anyway?”

Sloan narrowed his eyes. “I answered the 911 call,” he fudged, figuring Bart didn't need to know anything about his former acquaintance with Lana. Lord knew Bart wouldn't remember him from high school. Sloan had been nothing to Bart, a nonentity.

“Yeah, well, thanks, man,” Bart said, showing more common courtesy to a total stranger than he had the mother of his child. He offered his hand.

Sloan took it grudgingly.
Watch your step, bastard.
He had to struggle not to say the words aloud.

Sloan had to run to catch up with her as she tore through the emergency room toward the exit. “Hey, Lana, wait up.”

She acted as if she didn't hear him.

He grasped her by the shoulder. “Lana.”

She stopped and buried her face in her hands. “Just leave me alone.”

Sloan dropped his hand, but he didn't go away. He stood very still beside her. She snuffled into her hands, oblivious of the howling babies and the paramedics
rushing past with another stretcher, the pacing friends and relatives waiting to hear news.

“I'm sure Rob didn't mean to hurt your feelings,” Sloan finally said. And because he couldn't stand not comforting her physically, he touched her hair with one forefinger. Even under fluorescent hospital lights, the silky strands shone golden, with an almost magical glow of their own.

The contact tightened his gut and made him think of whispers in the night and moonbeams on bare skin. God, his memories were far too clear.

“Nothing I do is good enough for Bart,” Lana said with a sniff. She wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “Or for Rob,” she added. “Of course, I can't blame Rob. He's only a little boy, parroting his father's feelings.”

“It's kind of hard to compete with new mountain bikes.”

“And chocolate ice cream,” Lana added. “Bart thinks he can buy anyone and anything. The sad thing is, he can.” She looked up suddenly at Sloan. “Why am I telling you this?”

“Because I'm here, and I'm listening, and you're pretty stressed out.” He found an abandoned box of tissues on a table and grabbed a wad, handing it to her.

She swiped ineffectually at her face with the tissues. “It's not like you can do anything. I've been living with this situation for eight years. It's not going to change now.”

“It doesn't have to. Your son has a case of hero worship for his dad. It's the most common thing in the
world. But that doesn't mean he doesn't love his mother.”

“Couldn't tell it by the way he acts.”

“Yeah, well, three guesses who he was asking for when he was scared and those doctors were checking him over, and the first two don't count.”

“Me?” Lana's eyes lit up with hope.

“His mama.”

“But he didn't want me to stay with him. He wanted his father.”

“That's 'cause he knows he can count on you. If he asks, you'll be there in five minutes. My guess is he doesn't have that kind of confidence in his father. He has to take what he can get. And he figured he had a pretty good chance of getting Dad's attention in the hospital.”