Lifeline Echoes (30 page)

Spent, he crawled back into the bed but
declined pain medication. "It doesn't hurt. I'm just weak. How do I
get out of here?"

"I'll call your doctor," said the nurse on
her way out.

His eyes automatically sought Sandy, who
stood at the window with her back to him, apparently extremely
interested in something on the other side of the glass.

"Hey," he called softly. "Come back over
here. I miss you."

When she turned, he saw the shadows in her
eyes before she distracted him with an exaggeratedly sexy walk in
his direction.

When she was close enough to touch, he took
her hand, laced his fingers through hers. "What's on your
mind?"

"Not a thing now you're back," she said a
little too casually. She perched on the edge of his bed but kept
her eyes averted.

When she tried to reclaim her hand, he held
on tight, refusing to release her until she looked at him. He
studied her. Worry haunted her eyes but the rest of her face was a
careful mask. She was hiding something.

"Horse crap," he whispered. "This is me,
Sandy. Tell me what's wrong. Is it Dad? Sean?"

"No," she said quickly. "They're right
outside. Do you want me to get them?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "I want you to
talk to me."

****

She wanted to put it off, preferably
forever, but at least until he was further on the way to recovery,
maybe even at home.

"Sandy." His voice was hoarse but his tone
was no-nonsense and his green eyes, even behind twin bruises, were
compelling.

So it was going to be now. She tried to
swallow but her mouth was suddenly bone-dry. She realized her hand
was hovering about her mouth and dropped it into her lap, clenching
it until the tremors slowed.

Sandy pulled herself up straight. She
wouldn't insult him by trying to play down the impact of what she
had to say, opting for an approach of ripping the band-aid off
quickly.

"I told you I fell in love very quickly
once," she began.

A muscle working in his jaw was his only
reaction.

"Nothing ever really happened. There wasn't
time. But it was going to. At least I thought it would and I'm
pretty sure he felt the same way." She paused, considering her next
words. "I lived in L.A. at the time and he was a firefighter. Ry, I
just figured out he was your cousin, Mac."

****

Ryan said nothing, partly because he didn't
know what he could say, and partly because he felt like someone had
just laid him into a choke hold and cut off his air.

"I didn't know until I asked Sean why Bull
hates you so much, and he told me why you left and where you ended
up."

Ryan kept his emotions close while he
absorbed what she was telling him.

"You're saying Mac is your twenty-three-hour
man." The words were cautiously spoken, carefully emotionless.

"I didn't know, Ryan. I wouldn't have kept
that from you." Her eyes were begging for his understanding. "We
danced around the subject some but we never got around to really
talking about where we were before we met, you and I."

He stared. He blinked. He searched for
something to say. He had nothing. She was looking at him for
reassurance, when every good thing in his life had just been
uprooted, like a delicate plant plucked from the ground that
sustained it.

Every self-inflicted wound surrounding his
decision to run off with Mac had been systematically reopened. But
this went far deeper. This was his Chicory, part of the new
beginning he thought he'd found, being stolen from him by a past he
couldn't seem to leave behind.

It hurt like fire.

He'd suspected Mac was seeing someone but
he'd never met the woman. Sandy didn't seem at all like the type
Mac usually went for. The thoughts continued to race through his
mind, speeding up to the point where they no longer made sense. He
wanted to ask what Sandy felt about her revelation, but he was
afraid of what he was already reading on her face.

And man it sure felt like he'd been poaching
on Mac's memory.

"Sandy . . . I don't think you were trying
to keep anything from me." His voice, already hoarse, was now
choked with raw emotion. "My mind's still fuzzy. Give me some time
to process, okay?"

She turned her face away but not before Ryan
caught the spasm of pain. Then she took a deep breath. Her head
lifted and she turned back to meet his gaze. "Okay." She stood,
straightened, and walked to the door, where she turned and met his
gaze. "I understand. Take all the time you need, Ry." Then she was
just gone.

Could he have handled things any freakin'
worse? What was wrong with him? He didn't know exactly what he felt
but he knew he didn't want her to leave.

"Sandy!" Ryan swung his shaky legs out of
bed, wincing when his bare feet hit the frigid tile.

When the door swung inward, he sagged with
relief. But it was his father's tall, lanky frame filling the
doorway.

"Sean's taking Sandy home." Justin rushed
forward to catch Ryan before he hit the floor. "Let's get you back
into bed."

"Get me out of here!"

"Settle down!" His normally easy-going
father pushed him back toward the bed. "If you keep this up,
they're going to come in and sedate you again. Now listen to
me."

Ryan sat on the edge of the bed and held his
hands up in surrender, taking a deep breath and forcing a sense of
calm. "I screwed up. I promised I'd never want to leave her and
then I just sat here like an idiot when she needed me to tell her
everything's okay. There are things she needs to know—things I need
her to understand, but I couldn’t talk to her." Feeling like he was
twelve years old again, needing his father to help him make sense
of life, Ryan looked into Justin's eyes. "I can't lose her, Dad.
Please help me."

"No one's losing anyone, son." Justin laid a
weathered hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Sandy
flew in with you on the helicopter and never left your side. She
told us you asked for some time and she's giving it to you. Sean's
taking her home to get cleaned up is all. She'll be here when you
get yourself together."

"I am together, Dad. Maybe more than I've
been for years. I was surprised by what she told me. But I—" He
drew a deep breath and finished in a whisper. "Sandy's it for
me."

Justin smiled. He squeezed again and warmth
radiated from his touch directly to Ryan's heart. His dad got it.
Sixteen years of repressed love took up residence in Ryan's throat.
He swallowed. "I love you, Dad."

The last time Ryan had felt his father's
hug, he'd been seventeen and nursing a broken heart over Jenny
Valentine's engagement to a boy she'd met at college. When Justin's
arms closed tightly around him, another lock snicked open in Ryan's
heart.

"Son, she's not going anywhere, I
promise."

The words slammed into Ryan like a truck.
From out of nowhere, he began to tremble. His breathing simply
stopped. Ryan was on the edge of mental instability and he knew it
but he had no idea how to keep himself from plunging into the dark
abyss. Once before, someone had helped him cling to life when hope
seemed lost.

As if sensing his son needed him more than
ever, Justin held on tighter. "What is it, boy?"

He felt like he was being strangled. "I've
heard it before. Heard the promises. She didn't mean it and it hurt
like fire, Dad."

Justin stepped back with a frown, confusion
clouding his eyes. "Who didn't mean it? Sandy?"

Ryan shook his head. "It was in L.A., when
Mac died."

His father sat on the bed next to him, and
Ryan began to talk about his search for an angel.

****

In the light of day, Valentine's looked like
it always had. Friendly, welcoming, and solid. It had been her
anchor since she'd first started tending bar for Tom Valentine.
Sandy had cemented her place in the community when Tom had retired
and sold the place to her. And if Ryan didn't call? Couldn't get
past his feelings about Mac? She'd have to leave, Sandy realized.
She refused to stay and risk the possibility Ryan would leave his
home and family because of her.

"Hey. It'll be okay," said Sean as he
stopped the truck. "I told you, Ryan's adaptable."

"I keep seeing the look on his face."
Sandy's tears threatened again. "It was like he felt betrayed."

"He's been gone a long time but he hasn't
changed much," Sean said. "I'm guessing he feels like he betrayed
Mac by falling for his girl."

She rubbed her aching head. "But he has no
reason to feel like that."

"He'll figure things out, Sandy." Sean's
lips curled into a one-sided smile. "And if he doesn't, I'm pretty
sure Dad'll help him reach the right conclusions."

"I love your father." Sandy stopped fighting
the tears.

"He loves you, too. We both do." He touched
the top of her hand. "Should I walk you up?"

She shook her head. "No, DC said Bull's bail
was denied. There's no more threat. But Mel's here in the bar if
you want to stop in and see her."

A slow smile tugged at his mouth and he
shrugged a little sheepishly. "Naw, not just yet. I'll stop back
later."

It was so cute, the way his accent thickened
with his emotions. The same way his brother's did.

As she slid from the truck, her cell phone
fell from her lap and hit the pavement. "Darn it. I've broken more
phones by dropping them." She picked it up and slid the case open
to make sure the phone still worked, surprised to find she had
voicemail. She punched in the number to retrieve the message and
listened.

"Hey Chicory, I'm getting out of here
tomorrow. So get lots of rest tonight and wear something sexy when
you come get me because I plan to get very physical with you as
soon as I see you." He waited a beat before he added softly, in his
exaggerated Wyoming drawl, "And sweetheart, don't do too much
thinking—unless it's about all the ways I'm going to be loving
you."

Delight rolled over her like a tidal wave.
"He wants me to wear something sexy when I pick him up
tomorrow."

"Told ya." With a wink, Sean started the
truck and drove off in a cloud of dust.

Turning toward the bar, Sandy's eyes lit on
Ryan's blue Corvette, looking a little forlorn, sitting where he'd
parked it the night before. Thankfully, the gravel parking lot had
been sprayed down. A stray piece of crime tape clung to one of the
bushes lining the walk to the door. Fluttering on the gentle summer
breeze, it reminded her of how easily Ryan could have died. Anger,
fright, and sorrow blended into one intense amalgamation of
emotion, and Sandy snatched at the bit of yellow, crumpling it into
a ball.

Her thoughts drifted to the night before,
her imagination filling in the gaps. Ryan, a little angry she'd
ditched him earlier, plotting how he'd make her pay, walking toward
the door with his cocky half-grin, tossing his keys in the air and
catching them over-handed the way he did when he was feeling
frisky. Bull approaching unseen, belligerent, making nasty
comments, throwing punches. Ryan fighting back, probably making
some comments of his own. Getting overpowered. Ryan down. Bull not
stopping. Ryan helpless.

Her memory kicked in. Ryan cradled in Sean's
arms, unconscious, blood gurgling. So much blood, his face so pale
in the bar's exterior lighting.

She felt a touch on the arm and
screamed.

"Brenda." Sandy slowly let out her breath.
She could hear the rush of blood in her ears. The pump of
adrenaline began to ease. "I didn't see you."

"You looked like you were thinking kind of
deep," said Bull's wife, the kindness in her tone overshadowed by
the trouble in her eyes.

Sandy appraised her, this woman who had
married Bull just after her sixteenth birthday and bore him a son
well before her seventeenth. The ensuing years hadn't been remotely
kind to Brenda. According to Sandy's math, she and Brenda were
roughly the same age, but the other woman looked at least a decade
older.

She had probably been pretty once, with her
strawberry blond hair, pale blue eyes, and heart-shaped face. Now
she only looked defeated and tired. Used up. Her hair was pulled
back tightly from her plump face. She wore absolutely no makeup on
her pale skin, emphasizing the dark circles beneath her red-rimmed
eyes.

Her formless, floral print
dress, with the prim collar, looked like it had come from a 1930s
version of
Prairie Wife
magazine. The dress hung loosely, even with
Brenda's plump frame, and hit her legs mid-calf. It had to be
eighty degrees out but she was wearing a faded denim jacket. On her
feet she wore what Sandy's grandmother had always called "sturdy
shoes," black oxfords with rubber soles.

The woman could use a little fashion advice
from her always smartly-dressed mother-in-law.

"Sorry, yeah." Sandy answered slowly, aware
she had been silently staring. "A lot's happened in the last few
days."

Brenda looked at the ground. "I came to ask
you to talk to Ryan McGee, to see if he'll consider dropping the
charges. I heard how he's gonna be okay and all."

Sandy simply stared at the other woman,
unable to believe what she was asking, or that she had the guts to
ask it. Any sympathy she'd mustered for Brenda began to fade. "Your
husband beat Ryan so badly he had to be taken to the hospital in a
helicopter. He's only just regained consciousness and part of the
time we weren't sure he'd make it."

"I'm aware of that," said Brenda. She drew
circles in the gravel with her toe. "If it's about the cost and
all, I know Bull's folks'll pay the bills."

"Pay the bills." Sandy tried to stem her
outrage. "They think they can just pay the bills and it all goes
away? Everything Bull did?"