Nobody's Angel (17 page)

Adrian's heart plunged to his stomach, but it had already shattered into a million pieces anyway and wasn't worth much. Wordlessly, he helped her from the chair, tried to help her balance on the crutch, and then, cursing, simply swung her into his arms.

“This is ridiculous,” she whispered against his throat as he carried her out. “I have to walk.”

“Yeah, well, I have to hold you, and I'm bigger, so I win.” He sounded gruff, even to himself.

“Sexist pig,” she murmured into his collar. “I'm feeling
really
good right now. You ought to let me go while it lasts.”

“Like hell I will. I'm taking you home to my bed where you can feel even better.”

She couldn't reply to that without embarrassing Cesar as he opened the door to his rusty van. Faith let Adrian slide her across the bench seat. She was too groggy to think of a good reply anyway. Happily, she embraced the vase Cesar handed her and said nothing.

“How much of those drugs did they give you anyway?” Adrian grumbled as she leaned against him while the truck took off.

“Lots and lots of tiny little pills.” She didn't have any idea.

“Bet you're one of those high-metabolism twits who skyrocket on a cup of caffeine. Fool doctors, haven't figured that out yet.” He circled her shoulders with his arm and she snuggled happily against his ribs. She was injured and drugged and beyond worrying about how this looked.

She was nearly asleep by the time they reached their destination. These Raphael men were hardly the talkative type, she mused drowsily as she tried to ease out of the truck after Adrian. They hadn't exchanged two words the entire trip. Maybe they were making evil plots that involved her.

“I'll run in and ask Mama which bed to use,” Cesar offered, as if she wasn't there.

She ought to say something in protest, but Adrian picked her up again, and her breath departed from her lungs and her brain took leave from her head. Gad, he was strong. She felt like a helpless Scarlett o'Hara as he carried her into the house. She wasn't the Scarlett type, but she didn't have the presence of mind to protest.

She should be telling him she had to go home. She rested her head on his shoulder instead. Adrian's arms tightened around her, and she wished she had two heads so she could lay the other one against him, too.

She wasn't quite right in the head she had.

“It's just my luck I have a sexy woman helpless in my arms, and the only place I have to take her is my mother's,” Adrian griped from somewhere above her.

“The credit card is probably good for another night.” She yawned.

“I'll take you up on that when you're awake. Want to play nurse and doctor?”

She heard the grin in his voice, but her eyes were closed and she couldn't see it. He had such a lovely grin, when he used it. “Doctors have cold hands,” she grumbled. “Might as well do space aliens.”

He chuckled as he laid her on a bed to which someone had directed him. He had a lovely chuckle, too, she decided. And a lovely chest. A nice, broad chest she could snuggle against. She didn't like it when he lay her down and backed away.

“Sleep it off while you can. The cops were easier than the interrogation I'm about to endure about you.”

The door closed and she was alone. She wondered about a thirty-something lawyer who was afraid of his mother, but she kind of liked the idea that she'd discovered his weak spot.

Much longer in his company, and she might even like the man.

That had to be the drugs talking, she thought as she slipped into sleep.

“Wake up, wake up, we have to make certain you're not a vegetable,” a cheery voice sang as someone shook Faith's shoulder.

She blinked and looked up into long-lashed dark eyes identical to Adrian's.

“Good. You're awake. I've brought you some gazpacho, much tastier than the dishwater the hospital would have given you.”

Faith obediently struggled to sit up against the pillows being plumped behind her. Belinda, she decided. Adrian had a sister named Belinda who was a nurse. The B child, second in birth. So, she wasn't brain dead. She remembered that much.

The dark eyes and equally dark hair were the only similarities between brother and sister. Belinda was shorter than Faith, and rounder. She wore her hair chopped in a breezy cut
and exuded good cheer instead of Adrian's taciturn grimness. And there didn't seem to be a mistrustful bone in her body.

“Cesar told us how you sold Juan's little animals. Isabel is furnishing the nursery with the money. We have to get you all better so you can go back and sell his next consignment. The baby will need linens and car seats and all manner of things.”

Through her pounding headache, Faith smiled at the slight accent. Apparently, Adrian's parents retained enough of their Spanish accents that their children still possessed some of the flavor. Adrian hid his well, but lawyers learned clear enunciation and practiced their speech.

“I will raise Juan's prices so the baby can have its own car.” Faith tasted the delicious soup before testing the movement of her knee. She definitely preferred the soup. Hiding her grimace, she resolved not to move that leg again soon.

“How is your head? Are you seeing two of everything?” Belinda asked with concern.

Obviously, she hadn't hid the grimace well. “My head hurts, but there's only one spoon in my hand, and the soup is heavenly. Thank you.” She wanted to ask about Adrian but was afraid that would open a can of worms her aching head couldn't handle yet.

“I brought you clean clothes, and took yours to the cleaners. Adrian thought we were the same size, but he hasn't seen me in a while.” Belinda wrinkled her nose. “Don't tell him, but I'm pregnant, not just fat.”

“Why haven't you told him?” Faith asked in amazement at this revelation. “That's wonderful news. And you're not fat. We're just different shapes. I have none and you do.” She didn't know why she was feeling so cheerful. It had to be the drugs. This was definitely better than the hospital, and her personal nurse seemed to be a fountain of information.

“Oooh, I like your attitude, but I won't have a shape much longer. Adrian told me I shouldn't have kids until Jim and I can afford a house, but the price of houses …” She rolled her eyes expressively. “Adrian thinks kids are a money drain. He
doesn't understand what it's like to want one. I can understand that he's spent his whole life raising us and doesn't see the benefits, but we're not him,” she ended rebelliously.

“Well, I'd say you're old enough to run your own life, and he's not a sterling example to follow. Feel free to tell him I said so.” Faith finished her soup and sighed in pleasure. She needed to worry about going home. How could she work if she could barely stand?

Belinda ran her hand anxiously through her thick, short hair. “I'll need all the ammunition I can find when he starts yelling. He's much better at arguing than I am.” She brightened. “But he is good for some things. He's gone to find your car and look for all the things he said you had in it. He says I should find out if you have disability insurance. He'll help you file a claim.”

Faith's smile broadened. “A lawyer, through and through. Sometimes, they're handy to have around.”

Belinda shrugged. “A man, anyway. Sometimes, they're handy. Other times, you want to smack them.” She removed the tray to the side table and readjusted the pillows so Faith could lie down. “Mama is dying to meet you, but I told her you couldn't get out of bed for at least a day, so she'll have to wait.”

“I can't vegetate here that long. I need a toilet and a shower, in that order. Then, if I'm still standing, I can meet your mother.”

“I'd use any excuse I could to avoid that fate,” a whiskey-smooth voice rumbled from the doorway.

“Adrian!” Belinda nearly dropped the tray she'd just picked up. “You still walk like a cat.”

All lean grace concealed behind too-loose black shirt and jeans, Adrian sauntered into the room. Faith wanted to pull the sheet over her head. She must look like hell, and he looked as if he'd just walked off the cover of a Western novel. His eyes lit with some hidden amusement as he towered over her.

“I've got a Stetson that will hide that bandage,” he assured her. “But you can't wear it in the shower.”

Holding the sheet up to her chin, wondering who had put
this nightgown on her, Faith tried to ease her leg toward the edge of the bed. “Go away, Quinn. Go far, far away. You're a walking, talking jinx if ever I saw one.”

“Yeah. Go figure.” Without warning, he leaned over and scooped her off the bed, still trailing the sheet in her clenched fists. “But sometimes,” he whispered in her ear, “you need a man.”

She'd have to drop the sheet to rip his hair out.

You could tell a lot about the character of a family by their bathrooms, Faith mused as she removed several pairs of panty hose from the shower bar and folded them over the counter. This bathroom was obviously used by Adrian's teenage sisters. Judging by the cosmetics, towels, hair apparel, and scented lotions strewn across the counter, they were as self-conscious as all girls that age.

Still, everything was well-scrubbed, and stacks of neatly folded towels filled the narrow closet, so someone in the family was cleanliness oriented. A colorful dried flower arrangement decorated the white rattan shelves over the commode, and crisp yellow eyelet curtains picked up the bright designs of the stunning cobalt and yellow tiles surrounding the mirror. Their creativity added originality and interest to what would have been a dull, ordinary ranch-style house arrangement. Of course, an ordinary family wouldn't produce a man like Adrian.

Belinda had liberated a white T-shirt with lace inserts and a pair of denim shorts from one of her sister's dressers. After washing—not an easy task while keeping her bandages dry— Faith carefully maneuvered into the new clothes. She was less groggy now, but the various aches and pains still made her feel less than herself.

Grateful the clothes came close to fitting and weren't so outlandish as to make her feel like a clown, she leaned on the crutch for the two steps to the door. Opening it, she discovered Adrian lounging against the wall, arms folded, waiting for her.

He looked her up and down with an interest that shivered her insides, then shook his head in disbelief. “You're wearing my baby sister's clothes. She was playing with Barbie dolls last time I was here. I don't know whether to give you a doll or hide Elena away so men like me can't see her looking like you do now.”

She didn't want to feel that frisson of sexual interest. Not now. Not here. Not ever. Maybe she should have gone to bed with him at the motel last night and worked this out of her system. Half the interest lay in anticipation, she was certain. “I can assure you, she doesn't wear clothes like these so she can hide from men. Or boys. A girl that age likes to test her powers on the opposite sex. I've grown past that stage,” she warned as she swung from the bathroom.

Adrian unfolded his length from the wall. “I used to change Elena's diapers,” he complained. “I definitely don't want to hear that. Makes me feel ancient. How are you feeling—besides grouchy?”

“Alive. Almost. Better steer me to your mother before the real pain sets in.”

He looked as if he were about to carry her again, but he backed off at her scowl and offered his arm instead.

“Mama's been undergoing chemo. The doctors say the cancer is under control, but the treatment has caused complications. She's been on other medicines for osteoarthritis and high blood pressure and who-the-hell-knows-what, and now she's really weak. They're saying she'll gain her strength now that she's off the chemo, but …” He shrugged expressively. “Just keeping her in bed is a full-time job.”

“Is there anything you could have done to change anything that's happened?” she asked quietly as they limped down the narrow hall.

“I should have been here.”

She heard the bitterness, recognized it because she'd suffered the same. Not as painfully, perhaps. She'd hurt only herself and not others. But it was unproductive either way.

“It was your fault you were framed?” she asked bluntly. “You want to take responsibility for your mother's cancer,
too? Why don't we just move on to the wars in Africa and world hunger?”

“And you're the sweet little woman Tony bragged about?” he asked incredulously, stopping outside a closed bedroom door.

“Not anymore, I'm not. Now, are you going to introduce me to the poor woman who's had to endure your arrogance all these years, or shall I just go in and offer her my sympathy without you?”

Faith faced the door, refusing to look at him. Physically, Adrian was far too attractive, and she was feeling far too weak. She had to remember she detested arrogant lawyers and kidnappers who thought they could push women around. If she could keep thinking of him in those terms, perhaps she could ignore his indefatigable loyalty and love for his family.

“You might as well make my day complete.” He knocked, then pushed open the door at a call from within.

“Pobrecita!”
the woman in the bed exclaimed as Faith awkwardly dragged the crutch through the door. “
Mi hijo es un idiota mayor.”