"Sparkle, I want to talk to you. I know you're not comfortable discussing private things in front of Majesta. She's not here now. I'm your brother, and I have a right to know what's going on."
She scowled up at him. "Nothing's going on. I'm unemployed."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it. You're clearly more distraught than you admit over the falling out with Conley. I heard you crying last night in your room. I want to know who this other man is, and what he means to you. Conley said here was someone else in the picture. Just when and where have you been meeting him? Is there some reason you've told him not to call for you here?"
She glanced up, wringing out a garment over the washtub. "There's no other man. Rafe was mistaken, Jace. About several things."
"Why would he believe there was someone else, unless you gave him that impression?"
"I don't know, and I don't need you watching me rinse out my underthings," she admonished, frowning over her shoulder. "I'll be up in a minute."
"And you'll change the subject or breeze right past me and trot upstairs. I know you think this is none of my business, but—"
"No, I know it isn't. I'm sorry I brought Rafe Conley here. Forget about him. I mean to."
His rising anger got the better of him. "I would," he ground out," but Majesta seems to think you've been sleeping with him. If that's true, he'll do right by you. I may be restricted by this chair, but by God, there are lawyers and social codes and expectations when a man ruins a virgin. He'll do the honorable thing."
Sparkle turned then. "Force Rafe to marry me because Majesta thinks we were lovers? My word. For a new bride, she certainly focuses her energy on other people's sexual activities. But then, she probably hasn't got any of her own. What can you do for her, Jace? Do you take her in the bathtub or up against the wall, the way Rafe took me? Is that what you wanted to hear me say?"
"Good God, you can't be telling me you let that man—"
Her fury abruptly turned to horror. "Jace, the stairs!"
Even as she shrieked in warning, he rolled too close to the edge. His chair pitched forward, plunging him down the basement steps headfirst. He went tumbling like a rag doll. The chair bounced after him. Sparkle threw herself over him as he hit bottom, letting the chair strike her back and shoulders, trying to spare him further injury. But when she saw his pallor and inertia, she feared it might not matter.
* * *
"You may as well go home," the doctor advised Sparkle hours later. "His wife's staying tonight. We'll do everything we can. You're exhausted. I'll be admitting you next, if you don't get some rest."
"I don't think I can close my eyes. Every time I do, I see that chair tumbling again. God, if Jace isn't all right, I don't know what I'll do."
"It's primarily a few cracked ribs and contusions," the young medico advised for the third time.
"Then why doesn't he wake up?"
"Let's talk about that." The doctor took her hand and settled onto the bench beside her, squeezing her fingers. "Mrs. LaFleur says your brother's been incapacitated since he was a child, due to some accident. His right side has atrophied. He can't use that arm or leg normally. Is that correct?"
Sparkle nodded, her tone grave. "Jace was shot in the head years ago. He was…let's see, I was nine, so Jace would have been twelve. Thirteen? I'm not sure. Sorry," she rattled. "I'm not thinking clearly."
The doctor's gray eyes were kind. "Miss LaFleur, it was an accident. People argue. You didn't push your brother down the stairs. If you hadn't kept the chair from falling on top of him, he might be at the undertaker's now, instead of this hospital. You'll have some nasty bruises yourself." He gently probed around her shoulder blades. "Would you like me to look at your back?"
"No, it's all right. Anyway, when Jace was shot, the doctors said it was safer to leave the bullet where it was, rather than try to remove it. The wound never festered, and eventually Jace recovered. For the most part."
"How extraordinary. The bullet's still lodged in his brain?"
"Yes. That's why he can only move his right leg sometimes. His nurse—excuse me, now she's his wife—tries to work with him to make him stronger. He doesn't remember anything before we moved here. We lived in Texas when he was injured."
The doctor looked pensive. "It's possible this fall may have dislodged the slug…assuming he struck his head at some point during the tumble. I want to bring in a colleague with more surgical experience. Perhaps we'll be able to get the foreign object out of your brother's skull at long last."
"The bullet's why he's unconscious?"
"It may be, or he could have a concussion. But don't worry, I'm in charge of his case, and I've never lost a patient yet." He winked and released her hand.
"I'd like to see Majesta before I go."
"Certainly. Right through those doors."
Sparkle slunk into the hospital room. Majesta was in a chair pulled close beside the bed. She barely acknowledged Sparkle's presence, continuing to stare down at Jace.
"Majesta, I'm so sorry," Sparkle whispered. "I know it's not enough, but I have to say it. I'm sorry I quarreled with Jace and he fell. I'm sorry for the things I said to you. I'm sorry I ever came home. I'm going now to pack. I'll find another job somewhere and send money when I can."
"Jace needs more than money," Majesta responded dully. "He needs your happiness. You've never given him that. It would mean more than you know."
Sparkle's eyebrows shot up. "But—I'm not all that unhappy," she lied. "Just unsettled at the moment."
"Still telling stories, Sparkle?" Majesta searched her face now. "You love that man you brought to the house and heaven help him, he loves you. You two couldn't stop looking at one another, caressing each other with your eyes. Jace doesn't understand about that. I'm nearly thirty, Sparkle, and your brother isn't the first man I've loved."
Sparkle nearly choked. Majesta saw the startled reaction, but continued unfazed. "Whatever happened to cause a rift, you still need Mr. Conley. Do you think old maid schoolteacher is any great improvement over saloon girl? Jace wouldn't. You make him believe you hate us, for having what you would deny yourself."
"I don't hate either of you." Sparkle realized it was the bald truth. "You've done exactly what I've paid you to do, and more. You've loved Jace and understood him. As I love and understand Rafe." She dropped her gaze. "Deeply, as you guessed. But he's rough and wild, not the kind of man a woman marries. Not safe and predictable. Not constant and true, like Jace."
Majesta seemed to reflect on that. "But you're not trapped in social convention like me, either. And you shouldn't judge what's right for you by what other wives choose. We each need different things. Our men need different things from us. Mr. Conley appears to need your spirit. You're a courageous person, Sparkle."
Sparkle stared at her, thunderstruck.
Majesta was worldly, actually quite wise. Sparkle had never noticed. Why hadn't she ever talked to Majesta before?
Sparkle turned her gaze to Jace. "Dr. Barlow says they may be able to remove the bullet. I don't know if brain surgery's the right thing. What do you think? You're trained in medicine."
"I trust the doctor's professional judgment, but I won't consent to surgery without you here. If we're going to risk losing him, I think both the women who love Jace need to make the choice together. Be strong together. Please don't leave town. Stay until Jace can say farewell. Don't go now."
"Please" had never been in Majesta's vocabulary. Not where Sparkle was concerned. "All right. I'll be at the house if there's any change. I'll come back just after dawn, then you can go home to get some proper rest. We'll take turns keeping the vigil."
"Sparkle."
She paused at the door and turned back to meet Majesta's concerned blue eyes again. Concerned, but not fearful. Majesta wasn't afraid, Sparkle saw, and it gave her hope.
"I've never had a sister," Majesta said softly.
"Me either."
"I'd like one."
Sparkle sw
allowed and nodded. "Yes. See you in the morning."
Sparkle had never truly had a brother, either. But she'd had Jace, her oldest and dearest friend. A friend who needed her now. And was married to a strong, intelligent, determined woman who could also become a friend in her own right—if Sparkle gave her the chance. It didn't feel awful confronting their marriage when Sparkle looked at it that way. She didn't have to be at odds with Majesta; she'd chosen to be.
This could be a second chance for all of them. Acceptance could dissolve away the bitterness. Not only because Sparkle honestly believed in forgiveness instead of revenge and grudges, but because she knew with sudden clarity that Jace and Majesta had always belonged together.
She'd chosen Majesta from a pool of nursing candidates. Selected her, somehow knowing exactly who and what she was really choosing. Sparkle simply hadn't wanted to admit it before. But hadn't she always told herself—Rafe, too, that day in the parlor—that she'd overlooked Majesta's haughty manner because the nurse was wonderful with Jace?
Sparkle knew things intuitively at times. Now she acknowledged that some dim part of her sensed this would come to pass one day. It had stunned her at first, but didn't truly come as a surprise.
After all, Sparkle reminded herself, she was a fortune teller.
CHAPTER 17
"Well, Miss LaFleur," Dr. Barlow remarked in a mellow tone, "if it weren't for your brother's fortuitous accident, we wouldn't be together this evening."
"You're certain it was fortuitous? Jace will come around soon, you think?"
"You know I can't promise that, but I believe so. He was stable when I left the hospital earlier. But I wasn't speaking of your brother's medical status. I meant his accident is what allowed us to meet."
"Oh yes, I should have sensed…but I was hoping you implied Jace was lucky, in that his fall precipitated the surgery to remove the bullet, and he'd finally be able to walk again."
"That's a distinct possibility. One we all fervently hope for."
"Indeed, doctor." Sparkle pulled her hand away and moved to study the next oil painting at the art exhibit. Two nights before, they'd shared a meal at a fashionable supper club. Another time they'd had lunch in a local restaurant. Last week the doctor had taken her for a long carriage ride in the open countryside.
Dr. Barlow had begun formally calling on Sparkle LaFleur.
She'd allowed the relationship to develop out of concern for Jace's well-being and her own lingering guilt over his injuries. Though comatose now, following the difficult surgery he'd undergone, she couldn't escape the knowledge that he never would have been hospitalized if she hadn't caused his fall. Jace had always been cautious and sensible. He never would have been so foolish as to allow his chair so close to the stairwell if they hadn't been arguing.
They'd had disagreements before, but those had been mild rifts. Sparkle had never spoken to Jace so cruelly, deliberately taunting him about his disability. She'd wanted to hurt him at that moment.
Everyone around her, Majesta included, could deny Sparkle's culpability. But she knew better. Knew how deeply it had stung when she'd learned Jace had wed. Knew how painful the entire topic of Rafe Conley was, how she'd lashed out, trying to silence Jace before he said anything more on the raw subject.
So she'd turned to Jace's doctor for solace. Kent Barlow was calm and objective. He did his best to assuage her guilt. She'd allowed him to become a close friend in a matter of weeks, well aware the doctor hope to be viewed as something more.
Tall and energetic, with flowing sandy hair and lively gray eyes, Kent soaked up his surroundings. He chewed up details and spit them out, then pushed forward in search of more. He was ever inquisitive, keenly intelligent, if admittedly a bit driven for Sparkle's tastes. He evinced a true passion for his work. A passion she found almost fascinatingly foreign. During her years in drinking houses, that element was conspicuously absent amongst employees. Bardogs, whores, faro dealers, piano players, cleaning women—they performed necessary chores in order to survive. None of them particularly enjoyed themselves while they were at it, most talking endlessly about better times to come in the future.
Unemployed now, with little to occupy her thoughts or time but constant worry over Jace, Sparkle had been grateful for the doctor's flattering attentions and detailed explanations. He was extremely thorough in presenting information on Jace's status and prognosis. When discussions of Jace became discussions of local events, the larger world in general, Sparkle had continued to let him share his personal insights.
They helped her ignore the well of sadness that had enveloped her when Rafe walked out of her life. Primping for the young doctor's social calls at the house and being escorted around Kansas City kept her thoughts on the present. Kept her mind from drifting back to saloons and cowboys.
Except when Kent kissed her, as he was doing now. They'd left the art exhibit and gone back to the LaFleur parlor. She'd been lost in her musings and couldn't recall most of whatever he'd said since they arrived back at the house. She must have automatically made the appropriate nods and mutters in the right places…old habits died hard.
Her mind had wandered many miles away. Back to a dark Kansas plain, to images of a gunslinger riding a star sorrel or playing poker in a smoky gaming hall. Somewhere, a lifetime from her present moment, raucous piano music and laughter spilled out of batwing doors onto a dusty street bathed in the light of a Midwestern moon. Somewhere a pair of spurs and creased leather boots thumped along a plank sidewalk.
Sparkle sighed. Kent interpreted it as encouragement and deepened their kiss. She closed her eyes and he became Rafe. It was Rafe's lips and tongue melting over hers. Rafe's hand moving slowly up her ribcage. He would bare her breast! Not here, in Jace and Majesta's parlor. "No, we can't do this here."
Abruptly her eyes opened and her fantasy shredded. The eyes searching hers were gray, not chocolate brown.
"Forgive me, I'm being too forward," Kent murmured. "I don't mean to press you." He pulled back, straightening his rumpled jacket. "I had a very enjoyable evening, Miss LaFleur." He got up and crossed to the front door. "Will I see you tomorrow at the hospital?"
She offered a wistful smile. "You know I'm there every day, rain or shine."
"Well, good night." He nodded politely and went out.
"Is the doctor gone, Sparkle?" Majesta's voice came from the top of the stairs.
"Yes." Sparkle bolted the door and blew out the candle on a shelf near the entry. "I thought you'd be at the hospital. Is everything all right?"
Majesta floated down the stairwell, robe rustling softly. She perched on the ottoman before Jace's favorite chair. "He likes you very much, our young Dr. Barlow." Sparkle shrugged. "I get so weary of that hospital room and waiting for Jace to come out of the coma," Majesta sighed. "Do you think we made the right decision?"
The question was fraught with exhaustion and uncertainty. Sparkle couldn't let either of them give up hope. The doctors had explained there were roughly equal odds that Jace might make a full recovery, only a partial recovery, or exhibit no change at all. But the tarot presaged a rosy future ahead for Jace. Sparkle had chosen to put her faith in the cards.
"It's not as though we had much choice. It was his best chance, possibly his only chance, at a normal life. Kent and the other doctors made that clear. He reassured me Jace is doing as well as could be expected. When he's stronger, he'll wake up. My cards predict that. Any day now. You'll see."
"I don't know how much longer…if he doesn't wake up…" Sparkle heard the defeat creeping into Majesta's voice. "If he doesn't come around, I don't know how I'll deal with it. I'd already given him my life and accepted him as he was. I could have borne up under the demands of caring for an invalid. At least he was here. I could look in on him. Now it's so hard to wait alone upstairs."
Sparkle drew Majesta back up to the room and bed she shared with Jace. "Any night now he'll be home." Sparkle moved his pillow alongside Majesta's body and placed her arm over it.
"Until then, hold onto this and tell yourself it's him. Jace will come back to you, better than ever. Don't stop believing."
Sparkle left Majesta weeping softly into her own pillow, hugging its mate. Sparkle tiptoed across the hall to her own room. She undressed and climbed into bed, mimicking the ritual she'd just taught Majesta. At least Majesta could hold more than a pillow. However fragile, Majesta could cling to hope.
Sparkle's tears wet her pillowslip as she admitted her own longings were futile. Her desires would never come true. Her cheek would never again be pressed against a rough, scarred torso. Rafe had walked away for the last time. After swearing he'd never leave her, that's exactly what he'd done. She knew he wouldn't come back.
And he'd been right in predicting she could no longer abide saloons. She'd discovered she couldn't bring herself to consider another trailhead. Any cow town would be torture. No matter where the saloon was, no matter how remote the chances of it happening, she'd wait and watch the swinging doors. Hoping uselessly, pathetically, that Rafe Conley would walk through them.
She needed to stop thinking about him and concentrate on Kent Barlow. Maybe once Jace came home and she didn't see Kent in a clinical environment…but she'd been with him in other settings: the park, restaurants, the countryside, the art museum. He was pleasant company, but there simply were no sparks sizzling in her blood.
Part of the problem was Kent smelled of disinfecting agents. He was ever crisp, well heeled, his trousers impeccably creased, his fingernails buffed. She'd never encountered anyone so compulsive about scrubbing himself. She'd watched the ritual repeated endless times at the hospital. Not that she didn't believe cleanliness was next to Godliness, but Kent washed his hands so often, she'd bet he actually arrived home cleaner than when he left.
He didn't need a woman to share a tub of steaming bathwater or lick trail dust off his skin. He didn't own a pair of leather boots. She'd asked when they'd taken a carriage ride to the farmlands. He laughed and told her he'd never been on a horse or worn denim jeans.
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