Loving Again: Book 2 in the Second Chance series (Crimson Romance) (18 page)

Yeah, like that was gonna happen.

Amanda heard the doorbell ring the next morning but didn’t bother getting out of bed. It was probably someone going door-to-door selling religion. Or lawn care. The only person she wanted to see at her front door was in the hospital attached to a million machines.

Then Margo Keyes knocked on her bedroom door. “Amanda, are you awake? Danny Hartmann’s here. She has a message from Sam.”

Amanda was downstairs in seconds. “Sam called you? How is he? What did he say?”

“He called me when he couldn’t get you. How come you aren’t answering your phones?”

Margo raised her hand. “My fault. Since Amanda didn’t have a car at the hospital last night, I drove her home. When I got her here she said she didn’t want to be alone, so I stayed. Unplugged her landline phones and turned off her cell. Figured there might be press calling and I didn’t want her disturbed.”

“How is he?” Amanda asked again.

“He sounded amazingly good. In fact, he was calling with a list of things he wants because he doesn’t like what he has in the hospital. I thought maybe you could take them to him, Amanda, as soon as we collect them.”

“What’s he want?” Amanda asked.

“A pajama top, an electric razor and a cell phone. I picked up a cell phone.”

“My brother left an electric razor the last time he was here,” Amanda said.

“And, don’t ask why, but I have a man’s pajama top that should fit Sam,” Margo said. “I’ll go get it now while you shower and get something to eat, Amanda.”

Ninety minutes later, after a hot shower and a breakfast Danny insisted she try to eat, Amanda was at the hospital. She’d had a nervous drive there trying to convince herself Sam would be happy to see her when she wasn’t at all sure he would. After all, she was the reason he was in the hospital. He’d been mad about her not telling him what she knew and he didn’t know the half of what she’d been keeping from him.

Clutching a plastic bag containing what she’d brought for him, she stopped inside the door of the room and watched him, she wasn’t sure for what. Maybe some kind of welcoming sign. But he seemed to be asleep. His eyes were closed, his head half turned away from her. The monitors attached to him were quietly beeping and booping — indicating, apparently, that his heart and whatever else they were monitoring were working correctly because, in spite of the beeps and boops, no one was running to the room with a crash cart.

The edge of the dressing over his surgical incision was visible at the neckline of his hospital gown. His right arm was in a cast. The IV hooked up to his left arm was dripping clear fluids into him, not blood like yesterday. An oxygen cannula was pulled down around his neck. His color was normal and he looked almost rested.

“Hey, baby,” Sam interrupted her contemplation of the scene. He opened his eyes, turned toward her and put out his hand. “You gonna just stand there or you gonna come over here? I’d come to you but I’m kinda tied up here.”

Stumbling over a chair in her haste to get to his bedside, she dropped the bag as she struggled to regain her balance. When she reached him, she took the hand he held out, blinking back the tears she could feel about to fall. She leaned over, kissed him on the cheek, hoping he wouldn’t see how shiny her eyes must be. “How did you know I was here?”

He awkwardly pulled her to him with his casted arm and kissed her on the mouth, held her and kissed her a second time before answering. “It’s the way you smell. Like cupcakes, or maybe flowers. Or a flowery cupcake. I don’t know. Whatever it is, I could pick you out of a crowd blindfolded.” He patted a space on the bed beside him.

She climbed up, not letting go of him when she settled there. “You look so much better. I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

Using his hand with the IV in it, he clumsily pushed a curl back behind her ear. The familiar gesture made it impossible to contain her tears.

“Please don’t cry. I’m fine, now that you’re here,” he said.

“I’ll try.” She forced the corners of her mouth up. Clasping his hand to her chest, she asked, “How’re you feeling?”

“The truth? Beat up.”

“Maybe because you were.”

“Yeah, I guess. But I’m doing okay. I’m tougher than a stupid bad guy with a gun.” He grinned and kissed her hand. When she pulled it back to her chest, he frowned. “Hey, your heart’s beating fast. Maybe you’d like to join me here with a few of these machines attached to you. Not exactly the honeymoon suite but … ”

She didn’t laugh.

“This isn’t like that night at the gallery this summer when you were excited to see me. Now you look more scared than happy. How come?”

“I guess I am. More than a little scared, actually.” She dropped her eyes for a moment and her voice became softer. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.” A lump materialized in her throat. She gulped it down so she could talk. “This is my fault. All of it. I’m the reason you got shot and ended up here. I’m so, so sorry, Sam. I messed up so bad.”

“You messed up? How’s this your fault?” he asked.

“I thought if I gave him the money he wanted, he’d leave you alone. If I’d done better at it or if I’d trusted you and Danny with what I knew … ”

“What? You gave who what?”

“I let Matthews think I knew about the safe, about Tommy’s money. I didn’t think there was a safe but I had money so I … ”

“What the hell did you do something like that for? Christ, Amanda, he could have hurt you. He could have killed you.” The warm affectionate expression she’d been greeted with was now the set-in-stone angry look she’d seen too often recently.

“After last year, I couldn’t let you get hurt, couldn’t let you get involved. I just did what I thought would keep him away from you until Danny, Detective Hartmann … ”

“I know who Danny is. What I don’t know is why the hell you did something this reckless.”

The tears were streaking down her cheeks now and she thought she could hear the sound of his heart rate increasing on one of the machines. “I’m sorry. I was stupid. I didn’t tell you or Danny what I knew. All I could think of was protecting you. I … I love you. I couldn’t let you … ”

“Wait, say that again.”

“What?”

“The part about loving me.”

She tried smiling but her mouth wobbled. “I love you, Sam.”

“That’s a hell of a way to get me to stop being pissed off at you.”

“Did it work?” The smile came a little easier this time.

“Come here and find out.” He reached for her and she slipped her arms around his neck and moved in for a kiss. He tried to circle her with his arms but the cast, the IV and the cords and cables got in the way and they gave up.

When she sat up, he said, “Amanda, you shouldn’t have tried to deal with him on your own. And you better never do anything even remotely like that again. But you didn’t put me here. Matthews did. He and Vos and Tom Webster are responsible. Hell, add me to the list. I shouldn’t have let my pride make me angry; I should have seen how scared you were. I should have … well, I didn’t. But it’s over now. The Webster case is finally all over.” He brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed them.

She held his hand to her chest again. “On the way here this morning, I wondered. Maybe you wouldn’t want to see me, maybe you’d discovered something … ”

His laugh interrupted. “I’ve discovered I don’t like being shot and I don’t like being in the hospital. Does that count?”

“I’m serious, Sam.”

“So am I, believe me.” He laced his finger through hers. “What do you think I might change my mind about, pretty lady?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’d want to make changes in your life.” She paused and tilted her head down to hide the expression on her face. “Maybe be with someone else. Someone who doesn’t make you angry by doing stupid things.”

He turned her face up so she was looking at him. “I was angry because I was frustrated, worried about you being safe. I don’t want to be with someone else. Why would I?”

She grabbed tissues from the box on his bedside stand and dabbed at her eyes. “We haven’t exactly been Romeo and Juliet lately.”

“Christ, I hope not. Look how they ended up.”

“I meant … ”

“Forget Romeo and Juliet. How about us, the way things were before you tried to protect me. I don’t need you to protect me from a bad guy, but I do need you. I love you.”

After another attempt at kissing resulted in the same tangle of cords and IV lines, they settled for talking. As they spoke, she touched the bruises on his face, the dressing on his incision, the cast on his arm as if her touch would hasten the healing.

The ICU staff left them alone even though she was clearly exceeding the time limits for visitors. Eventually they were interrupted by the surgeons on rounds who released Sam to the surgical floor and from most of the machines that had been monitoring him. Amanda packed up the few pieces of clothing they hadn’t cut off him the day before and carried them downstairs to a room he had all to himself.

After making sure Sam was comfortable in his new bed, Amanda said, “I think it’s time for me to go. I’ve already overstayed my time. But I’ll be back tonight.”

“Don’t go. There’s nothing to do here except annoy the nurses if you’re not here,” he threatened.

“When I come back I’ll bring you a couple books and my iPod with music you’ll like. You need to rest. You’re recuperating from life-threatening injuries.”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s why they had all that gear attached to you? ” she said.

“They’re overcautious. I’m fine.”

“I don’t know about fine but you are incorrigible.” She bent down and kissed him. “Behave yourself. Sleep. Don’t torture the staff.”

Amanda left the hospital feeling a great weight had been lifted from her. She was so overjoyed she realized when she put the key in the ignition that she couldn’t remember taking the elevator to the lobby, finding her SUV or getting into it. She sat for a few moments with her head on the steering wheel, giving thanks to whatever power watched over police officers.

“Amanda? Are you okay?” Danny Hartmann said as she knocked gently on the driver’s side window.

Amanda sat up slowly. “I’m fine. I’m tired. But everything’s okay.”

“Sam’s doing better?”

“He’s been moved out of ICU; he’s got most of the machines off; he’s complaining about being in the hospital. Yeah, I’d say he’s doing better.”

“Ah, the real Sam has returned. Care to bet on how long it’ll take the nurses to figure out they liked him better unconscious?”

“I don’t think you can bet on things that have already happened. We’re going to have to bribe them not to gag and restrain him before this is all over.”

Sam amazed his doctors with his rapid recovery. He attributed it to his fitness and good health. They thought it might have something to do with the constant attention he got from the women in his life. His partner dropped in when she could. Amanda was there all day, every day, of his short stay. And his sister came over from Eastern Oregon to see for herself that he was okay, providing stories about her baby brother’s childhood escapades that embarrassed him and delighted Amanda.

The other women who interacted with him on a regular basis, however, weren’t so impressed with Sam. Restless to be out from under every restriction the nurses tried to impose, he was not an easy patient. As she’d predicted she would have to do, Amanda brought bribes to the staff at every visit — candy, fruit, small glass ornaments, large containers of gourmet coffee — anything to try and mitigate for Sam’s grumpy resistance to the rules they attempted to enforce. When Amanda reminded him he once said he liked rules, he replied he only liked them when he was doing the enforcing.

The struggle between Sam and the medical staff came to a head the day the doctors told him he couldn’t be released from the hospital until he arranged assistance in his apartment for at least two to three weeks. No matter how much he argued, they wouldn’t budge. He was there until he made satisfactory plans for his home care. Or they’d do it for him.

When Amanda arrived that afternoon, her favorite nurse explained what the doctors had told him and warned her that Sam wasn’t happy about it. In fact, she suggested Amanda might want to go home and come back after he’d cooled down.

Amanda found him pacing the hall outside his room. “Hey, cowboy, rumor has it you’ve had a bad day.”

“Goddamn doctors. Why the hell do they think they know better than I do what I can or can’t do? I don’t need Nurse Ratched or some strange man — they said they would arrange a male nurse if I wanted one. Christ, that’s all I need.”

“If you’ll stop ranting and stand still, I’ll kiss you hello.”

“Sorry, baby.” He held her and she kissed him. “I can’t stand being here for another couple days until they make arrangements.”

“Not happy appears to be an understatement. But I’ve got an idea that might make you feel better. Let’s go back in your room and talk.”

They walked toward his room, his casted arm around her shoulders. “What, you have the name of someone who can come in and help me?”

“Not exactly.” She led him to the two chairs next to the window. “Suppose you had a place to go where there’d be help available twenty-four seven? Would that satisfy the doctors?”

“Some kind of nursing home? They said that, too. Absolutely not.”

“No, I’m thinking my house.” Ignoring the startled look on his face, she continued. “If you recuperated with me, I’d be able to help you. I could change your dressing and take you to your appointments. I can cook, help you with meals.”

The startled look was slowly being replaced with the wisp of a smile playing around his lips. “How about showering? Would you help me shower?”

“If you need help, of course.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’d need help.” The smile had taken control of his mouth and was moving up through his dimple to the crinkles around his eyes. “And where would I sleep?”

“Wherever you’d like. I have four bedrooms. Take your pick.”

“Suppose I pick yours? Would you be there, too?”

“That could be arranged, assuming it doesn’t interfere with your rest.”