Long, Tall Texans: Stanton ; Long, Tall Texans: Garon

by Diana Palmer

  There was a long, heavy pause. “When will you know something?”

  “That’s anybody’s guess. She’s very ill.”

  “I’m coming over,” K.C. said shortly.

  “It could be dangerous…”

  “God in heaven, I’ve been living on borrowed time since I was twenty-four years old,” K.C. exploded. “I’ve known Clarisse since she was eight. I’m coming over.”

  “All right. I’ll put on extra security,” Grange replied quietly. “Damn it, I had a man watching them, right outside the house. I don’t even know where the hell he is. He hasn’t reported in. I told him to keep a low profile, but this is ridiculous!”

  K.C. was very still. “Perhaps you should check the morgue, Winslow.”

  Grange felt the words to the soles of his feet. “I’ll do that. You have the jet checked out before you put a foot on it, and bring a couple of your guys with you. Just in case.”

  “I will.”

  “What about Rourke?” he asked, having put off the question as long as he could.

  “I don’t know where he is,” K.C. said through his teeth. “He took a job and it’s classified. He put his fiancée on a plane to Paris with her father and her father’s good-looking business associate, and lit a shuck out of here. He’s barely speaking to me.”

  “Why?”

  “I brought Clarisse to see him several months ago,” he said with a hollow laugh. “He’s so eaten up with hatred for her that I can’t get a civil word out of him. I don’t know why. Even when he seemed to hate her the most, he was always first on the line if anything happened to her.”

  “Head injuries are tricky,” Grange reminded him. “His was pretty bad.”

  “Yes.” He hesitated. “When he’s himself again, if he ever is, I’m going to beat the ever-loving hell out of him!”

  Grange laughed. That sounded like the old K.C. “I think Clarisse may help you.”

  If she lives. They were both thinking it. Neither of them spoke.

  “I’ll see you in a few hours,” K.C. said, and hung up.

  * * *

  CLARISSE WAS FIGHTING for her life. The fever brought on premature labor. She never dilated even a centimeter. They had to do an emergency C-section to save her and the baby. The baby was diagnosed also with the plasmodium, but by the next day it had begun to clear, to Peg and Winslow’s delight. The physicians attributed this to the antibodies produced by Clarisse’s own body, and noted that it was not an uncommon outcome.

  Meanwhile, the British physician had isolated the strain of malaria infecting Clarisse—Plasmodium falciparum, the same as Ruy’s—and he and Clarisse’s doctor prescribed a series of drugs in combination, hoping to help her fight off the malaria and prevent the cerebral malaria that had killed Ruy. The drugs were dangerous, but the malaria itself was potentially fatal. They had nothing to lose.

  K.C. arrived the day after Clarisse’s little boy was born after an exhaustive journey made longer by delays at the Nairobi airport because of a terrorist threat that proved untrue.

  “It’s a boy,” Peg said softly, when K.C. joined them.

  K.C.’s breath caught. “A boy. A son.” He turned away. His eyes were wet. Despite Clarisse’s best efforts, he knew the child was Rourke’s. It was his grandson. His only grandson—and he didn’t dare let on or tell a soul.

  Peg got up and hugged K.C. She didn’t know him well, and she was usually shy with men, but she had an overdose of compassion and she knew pain when she saw it.

  He didn’t even resist. He let her comfort him, while he fought the wetness in his eyes and tried to keep it from showing. After a minute he drew back with an odd little smile. “Thanks,” he said huskily.

  “Is the baby all right?” he asked after a minute.

  Peg nodded. “It was touch and go at first. He was born with congenital malaria. But it cleared on its own.” She smiled. “Want to see the baby?” she asked. “They have him in the nursery.”

  “I would…love to see him,” he said huskily.

  Grange slid his hands into his pockets and smiled. “He’s a good-looking kid,” he said. “Not quite as handsome as ours, but then, nobody’s perfect,” he teased.

  “I heard about yours. John, was it?”

  Grange nodded, smiling from ear to ear as the three of them strolled down the long hall to the nursery and stood in front of the viewing window.

  “That’s Clarisse’s little boy,” Grange said. It was the only blue blanket in the nursery. He grinned at the nurse and indicated the baby. She smiled, picked up the little boy and brought him right up to the glass.

  K.C. was speechless. He’d seen Rourke soon after he was born, and pretended to be happy for Rourke’s mother and father, even though he suspected the child was his.

  He couldn’t hide his pleasure now. He smiled from ear to ear, his eyes misting as he searched out all the little similarities between the baby and Rourke. The little boy’s eyes were already open, blue and soft. His ears had the shape of Rourke’s, although his eyes had the shape and spacing of Clarisse’s. He saw generations of Kantors in that tiny face.

  “God, he’s so beautiful!” K.C. managed in a hoarse, husky whisper.

  “Yes, he is,” Peg said gently. She drew in a shaky breath. “Clarisse has to live. She just has to!”

  “I’ll do everything I can to help,” K.C. said. “But if worse comes to worse, I’ll take him and raise him and love him. He’ll never want for a thing!”

  Peg looked at Grange and they both winced. How he’d do that without telling Rourke was something nobody mentioned.

  The joy K.C. felt, looking at the tiny little boy, was overwhelming. “Did she mention names?” he asked.

  “Yes. It was going to be Katrianne Desiree for a girl. Joshua Stanton for a boy. Although,” Peg added quickly, “she wasn’t planning to advertise his middle name…”

  “Neither will I,” K.C. promised. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his khaki slacks. “What a hell of a mess!” he said angrily.

  “Yes,” Grange said. His face set in hard lines. “Machado has teams of men out looking for Sapara, with orders to terminate with extreme prejudice. They won’t bring him back, I promise you. He’ll never make it to prison again.”

  K.C. looked at the other man. His glittery light brown eyes held traces of the cold-eyed mercenary he’d been for most of his life. “I’ll contribute a couple of my men to that effort.”

  “I’m sure President Machado would be grateful. He’s fond of Clarisse.”

  K.C. looked back at the child, smiled sadly and turned away. His face was rigid with misery.

  “Rourke doesn’t remember that he’s related to you, either, does he?” Peg asked softly.

  He shook his head. “We don’t speak much,” he replied. “His behavior was a little erratic just after he got back home. It’s improving, but his temper keeps most people at bay. Especially his fiancée, who’s terrified of him,” he added on a chuckle. “I think she’d break off the engagement, given the slightest opportunity.”

  Peg sighed. “Did he give her his mother’s engagement ring?” She had to know.

  He shook his head. “He locked it back in the safe. Asked me if I had the combination, and seemed to think I might have given it to Clarisse. I didn’t know the combination. That started him thinking, but he said he’d probably just left it lying around and Clarisse had picked it up. You can’t argue with him,” he added heavily. “God knows, I’ve tried.”

  “I’ve seen men in combat with amnesia due to traumatic injuries,” Grange said. “So have you. There are cases on record of spontaneous remission.”

  “It’s been months,” K.C. said quietly.

  “Sometimes it can take years,” Grange added. “Hope is the last thing we lose,” he reminded the older man.


  K.C. managed a smile. “So they say.”

  “I just pray that Clarisse will live,” Peg said quietly.

  Grange put his arm around her and drew her close. “Faith moves mountains,” he reminded her.

  K.C. chuckled. “I have a goddaughter,” he said. “She’s the niece of the woman I once wanted to marry, the only woman I ever would have married. Her name is Kasie. She’s married to Gil Callister, of the Callister ranch properties in Montana,” he added.

  “I know about them,” Grange said, surprised.

  “Most ranchers do,” K.C. chuckled. “They’re richer than pirates. Kasie has had a hard life, but she landed well when she married Gil. He was a widower with two small daughters. He says Kasie brought the sun back into his life.”

  “Kasie?” Peg asked.

  He nodded. “I saved their mother after a rebel incursion that almost took my life. She and her husband sheltered me, hid me from the insurgents. I got her to safety just before she gave birth to twins. They were named for me. Kasie and Kantor. Kantor died in Africa. He and his family were in a small plane. A rebel with a rocket launcher took it out.”

  “Poor girl,” Peg said softly.

  K.C. nodded. “I gave Kasie a pendant for a wedding gift. A mustard seed necklace.”

  “Faith as a grain of mustard seed can move mountains,” Peg said, getting the connection at once.

  He smiled. “Yes.” He drew in a long breath. “I hope your British physician has a miracle or two in his pocket, Winslow.”

  “So do I,” the other man replied.

  * * *

  TWO DAYS AFTER Clarisse developed the fever, the course of treatment started to show results. They were slow ones at first, but as the fever came down, and the chills lessened, and she became conscious again, it did seem as if a miracle had occurred.

  Clarisse opened her eyes on the fourth day of her hospital stay and saw three worried people standing by her bedside.

  She managed a weak smile. She was nauseated, and her stomach hurt. She grimaced as she moved. “The baby…!” she exclaimed, terrified.

  “A little boy, Clarisse,” K.C. said softly. “He’s fine. He’s in the nursery.”

  “Oh.” She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Oh. A son.” Her face softened. Then it contorted. “Ruy. He died…!” Tears burst from her eyes. “He died!”

  There was a grim silence in the room.

  Clarisse wiped at the tears. “Peg, you said…there was a man watching us. I saw him on the porch. I thought he was protecting us so I didn’t say anything. I thought it might upset Ruy, reflect on his ability to protect us. Ruy said he was bitten by mosquitoes in his bedroom. You know, he had the whole area around the house sprayed constantly so we didn’t have any mosquito infestation. That’s why he waited to go to the doctor. He thought he’d caught a virus from one of his patients. He was so tired. He’d worked fourteen-hour days because of the outbreak. So neither of us connected the bite with his illness… I didn’t realize, until his fever shot up a few days later and I called for an ambulance…” She started crying again.

  Grange ground his teeth together. He didn’t want to tell her. But he had to. “Clarisse, the man I sent to keep watch on your house was murdered,” he said quietly. “The man you saw outside Ruy’s window wasn’t mine. God, I’m sorry!”

  “Not…your fault,” she managed. She swallowed. Her stomach was very painful. “I remember, I heard a sound that night, like a Mason jar lid unscrewing.” Her eyes were closed. She didn’t see the solemn looks exchanged between a furious K.C. and a guilt-ridden Grange.

  K.C.’s pale brown eyes glittered. “We’ll find Sapara. Whatever it takes.”

  “I’ve got a good intelligence network,” Grange said. He grimaced at K.C.’s expression. “Well, not good enough, apparently,” he added curtly. “A helicopter took Sapara out of the prison yard in broad daylight.”

  “Money changed hands,” K.C. said. “Track the money. Find the person who was bribed.”

  “That’s going to be my first priority when I get home,” Grange agreed.

  “Lay on more security for your family, as well,” K.C. advised. “This is only the beginning. You know that. He’s out for revenge and he has nothing to lose. He knows he won’t be taken alive.”

  Grange nodded. “I’ve been careless. I won’t get caught twice.”

  K.C. laid a big hand on his shoulder. “I’ve made similar mistakes. But only once,” he added with a smile. “You’re okay.”

  Grange chuckled. “Not in your class, though. Not yet.”

  K.C. shrugged. “I’ve got a few years on you,” he said kindly.

  “My baby,” Clarisse said drowsily. “Does he look like me?”

  “Yes,” K.C. said, smiling. “Exactly like you.”

  She let out a sigh of relief.

  “He’s quite beautiful, Clarisse,” K.C. said softly.

  She opened her blue eyes and looked up into his, with pain and sorrow and grief all making shadows in them. Tears rolled down from the corners of her eyes.

  K.C. knew exactly what she was feeling. He brushed the tears away with his thumb. “He doesn’t know I’m his father,” he said in a tender tone. “He may never know.”

  She understood what he was saying. She just nodded. She swallowed, hard. “Why am I still alive?” she asked after a minute. “The doctor said that I’d probably develop the same cerebral malaria that killed Ruy…”

  “I have a friend,” Grange said, smiling. “Dr. Blackstone. I had him flown here from London. He’s a magician when it comes to tropical diseases. I don’t know exactly what he did,” he added. “But it was obviously the very thing to do.”

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  “We have to get you out of the country, Clarisse,” K.C. said. “He won’t stop.”

  “I know.” She bit her lower lip. “I don’t care about me. I want Joshua where they can’t find him, or hurt him.”

  “Cash Grier says you can stay with them,” Peg reminded her. “There’s no safer place on earth. Cash has all sorts of evil friends, too,” she laughed.

  Clarisse managed a smile. “It would be such an imposition…”

  “Are you kidding?” Peg laughed. “Tippy’s bought all sorts of things for the baby. She can’t wait! Tris is almost three now, and Tippy’s got baby fever.”

  “She and the police chief should have another one of their own,” Clarisse said.

  “I think they’ve tried, but with no results. Meanwhile, there’s you and your brand-new baby, and Tippy’s over the moon that you’ll stay with them.”

  “In that case,” she said, “I’ll be very happy to go.” She hesitated. “K.C., there’s no chance that Stanton might show up in Jacobsville?” she asked worriedly.

  He drew in a long breath. “He told me that he had no plans to go back to America,” he said honestly. “Not for a long time. Maybe never. The cases he’s working now are all European.”

  “I see.”

  “Classified stuff,” K.C. added. “I don’t even know who he works for or what he does. I’m not privileged.”

  She grimaced. “I’m so sorry.”

  He sighed. “Me, too, but unless he recovers his memory, I suppose we’re both just out here in the ozone layer together,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t you worry. That baby will want for nothing. I’ll be the best…godfather…a child ever had.” He forced the word out. It wasn’t the word he wanted to use.

  Clarisse understood that. Her gratitude was in her eyes. She couldn’t risk letting Rourke know about the child. Ever. He’d go after her in court with no provocation at all to get his child away from her. The thought of Rourke and little Charlene raising her son made her neck hair rise up.

  “Don’t worry so much,” K.C. told her.
“Things usually work out eventually.”

  “Think so?” she asked with a smile. “I wonder.”

  Dr. Blackstone walked into the room with the physician on Clarisse’s case. Both men were smiling from ear to ear.

  “My greatest success story,” Blackstone chuckled, looking at Clarisse. “I believe you may be the first of many to survive this deadly form of malaria in the final stage. If so, we may be looking at a breakthrough of epic proportions with the new treatment we used.”

  She smiled wearily. “I hope it saves many more lives. Thank you for mine,” she said softly.

  “I’m only sorry that I wasn’t here in time to save your husband,” he replied. “They speak of him with great respect here.”

  “Ruy was a fine physician.” Tears stung her eyes. “Sorry. I’m still not used to it. And I must arrange the funeral…!”

  “I’ll take care of that,” K.C. said quietly. “We’ll plan a memorial service when you’re better. No chance of your getting up this soon.”

  “None at all,” Blackstone agreed. “But you’re on a good path to a complete recovery. And you have a fine son to show for your labors,” he chuckled.

  * * *

  K.C. STAYED UNTIL Clarisse was released from the hospital and she and the baby were back home again. He had two men in the house with her, both veterans of many foreign wars.

  “This is very kind of you, K.C.,” she said gently.

  His hands were deep in the pockets of his khakis. “Nothing will harm you or the child as long as I live,” he promised solemnly. He moved closer, his eyes tender on the baby in her arms. She was still weak, but she got around well. She was sitting in a wicker chair with little Joshua, in a light blanket, in her arms. She winced. Then she laughed. “The stitches are still sore,” she laughed.