Out Of Her League (39 page)

The few minutes it took to speed to the hospital were the longest of his life, and by the time they arrived Christa's eyes were closed. “Don't you leave me, Chris,” he croaked, clinging to her hand as the medical team loaded her out of the ambulance. He squeezed her hard, needing to get through to her. Maybe she could still hear him, still feel him. “I love you, don't leave me.
Please
.” The last word tore from his raw throat in a strangled sob.

“Sir, you'll have to go to the waiting area now.” A nurse elbowed him away from the stretcher. “We need to get her into surgery right away.”

Releasing her hand was the hardest thing he'd ever done. He bent and kissed her blood-smeared lips before they whisked her away from him.

Seconds after the doors shut behind her, Rayne bent over at the waist, gulping air into his lungs. His knees buckled, sending him to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Fatigue and fear crashed over him and he gagged, stumbled into the men's room and threw up until he was dry heaving. How could he bear it if he lost her?

When the spasms passed he slid down and dropped his spinning head to his hands. A moment later a hand touched his shoulder. He lifted haunted eyes to find Drew standing over him, his face drawn.

“You okay?”

No, he wasn't okay. He was terrified Christa was going to die. “Fine.”

“Let's get you cleaned up and go sit in the waiting room.”

Nate and Teryl were already there, and all four of them sat like shipwreck victims, tracking the minute hand as it crept around the clock.

Christa awoke in a strange room with a dry throat and a dull pain in her abdomen. With supreme effort she opened her eyes and glanced around... a hospital room. The accident... crawling out of her crashed truck, her captor dragging her with him at gunpoint. Looking up into Rayne's eyes behind the crosshairs of a rifle. The release of the safety catch on the pistol at her ribs, the crack of Rayne's rifle. The blackness and the hideous pain clawing in her belly when she came to.

But she was alive. By some miracle, she was still here.

Her throat worked as she swallowed. If Rayne had missed by inches, she would be dead.

Rayne. He'd been beside her in the ambulance, talking to her the whole time. He wouldn't be far away, right? She turned her head, wincing as a hot, bright pain split her skull. When she opened her eyes again he was looking out the window, his back to her.

“Rayne,” she managed in a croak. His head whipped around and as he came over to gather her up in his arms his eyes were suspiciously wet.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his face pressed into her hair. His broad shoulders shook. Those arms around her felt like heaven.

She patted his back, swallowed a cluster of tears. “What's wrong?” The words hurt her raspy throat. “Am I going to die?”

He buried his wet face into her neck a moment longer, just holding on. “No. You're not going to die. I'm just an emotional wreck right now.” He kissed her chapped lips and eased her down. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore. What did they do to me?”

“They had to take out your spleen because you were bleeding internally,” he explained, squeezing next to her hip on the narrow bed. “And you've got a concussion and some broken ribs. Your doc said you'll be going home in a couple of days.”

“It hurts when I take a deep breath. I wondered if I'd broken my ribs because the pain was so bad when I tried to get out of the truck.” Metal screaming apart around her...

“Oh, God, don't talk about that yet.” He tightened his hold, as if to reassure himself she was okay.

Her mind flashed images at her like clips of a movie reel, and she saw herself staring down at the gun in her ribcage as they raced down the highway. “I crashed the truck, like Nate told me.”

He laced his fingers through hers. “I figured you did, kiddo. If you hadn't done it, you probably wouldn't be alive right now. You're so goddamn brave you terrify me.”

That hit home, and she started to tremble. “But it's all over now, right?”

He broke eye contact, looked down at their intertwined hands. “He won't ever bother you again.”

The constriction in her throat nearly choked her. “So he's... dead?”

He met her gaze. Nodded.

A barrage of emotions hit her. Elation that it was over, that she could get on with her life without fear of being raped or murdered; sadness that it had to end in another death; guilt that Rayne had been the one forced to take the shot. He'd been through so much with her already, and it must have been hell for him to aim the rifle, to have to kill to save her, as he'd been unable to for little Daniel.

“You okay?” She lifted a hand his haggard face.

He leaned into her touch, gave a brave attempt at a smile. “Now that I know you're okay, yeah.”

They both had so much to work through, so many scars to heal. But she could do it. With him beside her, she could do anything.

And Teryl of course... Oh, how could she have forgotten? “What about the baby?”

He jerked upright so fast he almost fell over. “Huh? What baby?” His eyes traveled down to the sheet covering her abdomen.

“Not me, Teryl. Is she okay?”

A mixture of relief and regret crossed his expression. “She's doing all right, what with this on top of everything else. She feels responsible for making you try and drive yourself to the hospital.”

She let out a breath, careful of her stitches. “It's not her fault. I should have checked the interior before I got back in the truck.” She clung to him and he drew her close, careful of her ribs and incision, chasing away the chill with his warmth. “Do you think you could just hold onto me and not let go for about a week?”

“God, yes.”

She tried blink the moisture away from her eyes, but they filled too fast. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I guess I've got a ton of emotional baggage to deal with. Are you sure you still want to move in with me?”

He set her away from him and took her face between his hands, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. “I'm sure, kiddo. You're stuck with me.”

She sniffled. “Promise?”

He rested his forehead against hers. “Cross my heart.”

He'd brought her home. The bedroom had been completely redone, and he'd bought them a new king-sized bed. At first he'd been set against moving in with her here, but she'd worn him down. Coming home was a major step for her in the healing process, and it was time she got on with the rest of her life. Her precious, bright-futured life with him.

“Are you sure I'm not hurting you?”

She smiled against his throat and rubbed his back in reassurance. “For the hundredth time, I'm sure. Where are you taking me anyway?”

Rayne made his way through the living room, ordering Jake out of the way when he danced too close to them. “You'll see.”

He carried her out the French doors to the patio, through the garden to a pocket of lawn tucked amongst the flowerbeds while Jake ran circles around them. The scent of roses and honeysuckle made her smile, reminding her of Charleston, and she closed her eyes to breathe in the sweet summer air. Sunlight streamed through the leafy branches, dappling them in shadow and light, the warmth bathing her upturned face, feeding her starved senses. A bee hummed past, the drone of a distant lawn mower melding with Rayne's footsteps, hushed by the grass.

“Here we are.”

She opened her eyes. He'd spread a blanket on the mowed lawn, covered it with her favorite foods. A platter of watermelon, grapes and raspberries sat alongside a pasta salad and an oversized chocolate cake. Champagne chilled in one of her gardening buckets.

“Oh... ”

He laid her carefully on the blanket and propped pillows around her, then settled behind to brace her. “Like it?”

Tears blurred her vision. “I love it.”

Dropping a kiss to her shoulder he tucked the plush robe he'd bought for her around her legs and reached past her to grab the bottle. “Champagne, to celebrate us moving in together.”

Her throat closed up, it was too much.

He wrapped an arm around her. “Sweetheart, please don't cry. I can't stand it when you cry.”

“I can't help it. I'm just so h-happy.”

“Good.” He kissed her neck and placed a flute of bubbly in her hand, then poured one for himself and raised it. “To us.”

“To us,” she echoed, loving the sound of that. She tipped the flute and took a mouthful of the sweet liquid, was about to swallow when something hit her lip. Frowning, she held the glass up to the light.

And found a ring.

She cried out, dumped the champagne through her fingers and caught the ring in her hand. Diamonds and aquamarines, and it looked old. “Oh!”

Rayne was beaming. “My great-grandmother's. She was married to my great-grandfather for over sixty years, so I know it works.” He took it from her numbed fingers and sank onto one knee in front of her, the timeless, courtly gesture bringing more tears to her eyes.

“I know we were going to take it one day at a time, but we've already been through so much together, I figure anything else life can dish at us will be nothing by comparison.” His smile made her catch her breath, probably always would. “I love you more than anything, kiddo, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”

Muffled sobs stole the power of speech, so she held out her arms to him and nodded.

He grinned. “That's a yes?”

She nodded again, cried harder, wiggled her hand until he slid the ring onto her finger. Then she was hugging him, kissing his face. Jake bounded over and joined in, licking Rayne's ear. Holding her close, he tumbled her into the pillows, took her face in his hands and smoothed her hair, that smile spearing her soul.

No matter what the future held for them, all she had to do was look into those hazel eyes to know she was already batting a thousand.

Kaylea Cross has dreamed of being an author since she was a child. A Registered Massage Therapist, this mother of two is an avid gardener, artist, Civil War buff, bellydancer and former nationally carded softball pitcher. She lives near Vancouver, B.C. with her husband and energetic little boys.

www.thewildrosepress.com