The Crush

by Sandra Brown

  It was a broad assumption that Rennie had gone to her ranch. She could be on her way to anywhere in the world, but if she was taking only a few days of vacation, the ranch would be his first guess, so that was where he was headed.

  He didn’t know exactly what he was going to say to her when he got there, but he would figure it out as he went along. Nor could he predict what her reaction would be to his unannounced arrival. She had saved his hide on the operating table, but she might still be inclined to flay it off him for his lying and spying.

  Whatever, he would deal with it. The important thing was that he was almost there.

  Or so he’d thought until he ran out of gas.

  He twisted the wheel as hard as his diminished strength would let him and steered the truck onto the narrow shoulder. He let it roll to a complete stop. Without the air conditioner it was already getting uncomfortably warm in the cab. He rolled down the window for ventilation, but that only let in more hot air.

  The interstate was at least eight miles behind him. He estimated he still had a good ten miles to go before he reached the cutoff to Rennie’s place. If he could run, he could cover that much distance in an hour, say an hour and ten minutes max. But he couldn’t run. He could barely walk. Hobbling, it would take him hours to go that far, if he didn’t collapse first, which he surely would.

  He supposed he could use his cell phone to call a service station on the interstate. But service stations on the interstate usually didn’t provide roadside assistance, much less deliver gasoline. Getting a wrecker here would take forever. Besides, he had no money or credit cards because Oren had his wallet in a safe place inside his house. The road wasn’t going to be well traveled until daybreak, and that was still a few hours away. Basically, he was stuck.

  As soon as the sun came up, he could start walking to Rennie’s ranch and hope that a Good Samaritan would come along and give him a lift. It was too dark to see his reflection in the rearview mirror, but if he looked anywhere near as bad as he felt, he looked like someone in dire need of mercy.

  He could use the hours until dawn to rest. With that blessed thought in mind, he leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. But it didn’t take long for him to realize that until he got horizontal, his back was going to continue throbbing so badly he wouldn’t even be able to doze. He cursed himself for choosing bucket seats over a bench seat.

  Wearily he unlatched his door. Pushing it open required all his strength. He took several deep breaths before stepping out, unsure that his legs would support him. They did, but they were shaky. Leaning heavily against the side of the truck, he made his way to the rear of it and lowered the tailgate, which seemed to weigh a million pounds.

  Besides being a heavy bastard, it was as hard as a slab of concrete. Try getting comfortable on that, he thought. “Shit.” If he didn’t lie down he was going to fall down.

  He looked at his surroundings. Not a light to be seen in any direction. Across the road and beyond a barbed-wire fence was a cluster of trees. Ground was softer than metal, right? Definitely. And ground beneath trees might be softer than open ground because it would retain more moisture, right? Hell if he knew, but it sounded good.

  Before leaving his truck he retrieved his duffel bag, another heavy bastard, and dragged it along behind him as he trudged across the road. He lay down on the ground and scooted beneath the bottom strand of barbed wire. He could never have bent double and stepped through it.

  The darkness had been deceptive. The grove was farther away than it had appeared. The silence was total except for his own labored breathing, but if breaking a sweat were noise-producing, he would’ve been making a terrible racket. He was drenched. And he was afraid that the blackness advancing from his peripheral vision had nothing to do with it being nighttime.

  When he finally reached the trees, he dropped the duffel bag against the trunk of one and sank to his knees beside it. Then he went down on all fours and hung his head between his shoulders. Sweat dripped off his nose, off his earlobes. He didn’t care, he didn’t care if he melted, he didn’t care about anything except getting prone. He lay down in the dry grass. It pricked him through his shirt, but he could live with that as long as he could close his eyes.

  He turned his cheek into the stiff canvas duffel and imagined that it was a woman’s breast. Cool and soft and fragrant with good-smelling talc. Goldleaf and Hydrangea maybe.

  * * *

  He was sleeping dreamlessly. Only something really startling could have pulled him out of a sleep that deep. Something really startling, like “Move and you’re a dead man.”

  He moved anyway, of course. First he opened his eyes, then he rolled onto his back to orient himself and locate the source of the warning.

  Rennie was standing about twenty yards from him holding a rifle to her shoulder, looking into the scope. He sat bolt upright.

  “I told you not to move.”

  Then she fired.

  Chapter 23

  The bobcat fell dead from the tree.

  It missed falling on Wick only by a couple of feet. Its hard landing sent up puffs of dust. There was a bloody hole in the center of its chest. Inside Wick’s, his heart was thundering.

  He swallowed with difficulty. “Nice shot.”

  Rennie came and knelt beside the carcass. “He was so pretty.” Except for the lethal incisors, the animal did indeed look like an overgrown house cat with a beautiful pelt. Rennie stroked the soft tuft of white fur at the base of its ear. “I hated to shoot him, but he looked about to pounce. For months he’s been killing lambs and pets. This morning he got into my stable.”

  “I didn’t know he’d prey on something as large as a horse.”

  “He wouldn’t. He was probably looking for something small, like mice, or a rabbit. But he spooked the horses and got as scared as they were, wound up scratching one. I heard the ruckus and reached the barn in time to see him scamper out. For the past hour I’ve been tracking him.”

  “And he tracked me.”

  For the first time, she looked across at him. “You were easy prey.”

  “The walking wounded.”

  “The nearly dead. What the hell are you doing here, Wick?”

  “Sleeping. Or was.” He nodded toward the rifle propped on her knee. “Do you ever miss?”

  “Never. Are you going to answer me?”

  “What am I doing here? It’s a long story. But the punch line is that my truck ran out of gas. I hope you’re not afoot.”

  She stood up and gave a shrill whistle. He was impressed. He’d never known a woman who could whistle worth a damn. But that wasn’t the extent of her talents. A few seconds later, a mare trotted toward the grove.

  “Wow, just like in the movies,” he said. The horse stopped a cautious distance away from the dead bobcat and stamped nervously. “I’m not sure I can get on her without a saddle.”

  “You’re not getting on her at all. I am.” Rennie turned and started walking away toward the horse.

  “You’re going to abandon me here? With this animal carcass?”

  “I didn’t invite you.”

  Poetry in motion. That’s what it was to see her sink her fingers into the mare’s thick mane and pull herself up far enough to throw her right leg over. She accomplished this in one fluid motion, without dropping the twenty-two. She nudged the horse with her heels and the mare danced a dainty circle, head and tail held high.

  “You’re coming back for me, right?” He thought he saw Rennie smile, but the sun wasn’t fully up yet, so he might have imagined it. With a movement of her knees that was almost undetectable, she nudged the mare into a gallop.

  So sure was he that she would come back for him that he was asleep before horse and rider disappeared over the horizon.

  * * *

  He didn’t know how long he slept. It could have been fifteen minutes or fifteen hours. When he opened his eyes, Rennie was beside him again. She was wrapping the bobcat in a thick, quilted furniture pad. Whe
n she noticed him watching her, she said, “I’m not going to leave him for them to pick apart.”

  He looked up through the branches of the tree. Buzzards were circling overhead. “They might be waiting for me to croak.”

  “They might be.”

  She picked up the bundle and carried it to a pickup he’d never seen her drive. He figured it must be restricted to ranch usage because it showed signs of wear and tear. By the time she had placed the bobcat in the bed and closed the tailgate, he had managed to stand up, using the tree trunk for support. He leaned down to pick up his duffel.

  “I’ll get that,” she said, and started back for it. “You get in the truck.”

  As they passed one another he thought of saluting her, but at the last second he thought better of it.

  Of course, her getup offset her military bearing. She had on a red tank top, the kind she slept in, a pair of butt-snug blue jeans, and cowboy boots. Her hair was loose and tangled. He guessed that the disturbance in her stable had caused her to jump from bed and pull on the jeans and boots before racing outside. Whatever, it was a fashion statement that won his approval.

  Sliding beneath the barbed-wire fence was only slightly easier to do in daylight than in darkness. By the time he reached the pickup and had managed to climb into the cab, he had broken out in a cold sweat and was trembling.

  Rennie returned with his duffel and unceremoniously threw it into the bed of the truck with the dead bobcat. She climbed in and cranked the ignition. She noticed him looking through the rear window into the bed of the pickup.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. I’m just glad you didn’t toss me back there too.”

  “I thought about it.”

  “What about my truck?”

  “I’ve got a gas can.”

  She didn’t outline her plan of how and when they were going to get the gas from her gas can into his truck, but he didn’t ask. She pulled out onto the road and drove for at least a mile before saying, “I know Dr. Sugarman didn’t release you from the hospital.”

  “Where did he buy all those teeth?”

  “Did you just walk out?”

  “Hmm.”

  “What about the guards?”

  “I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes when Oren discovers I’m gone.”

  “He doesn’t know?”

  “He might by now.”

  “He’ll be upset?”

  “Volcanic.”

  “Because he knows you need another couple days in the hospital.”

  “Because he knows I’m going after Lozada on my own.”

  She looked at him sharply. “Then why’d you come here?”

  “Find you, find him. He’ll come after you, Rennie, and, like me, this is the first place he’ll look.”

  “He doesn’t know about this place.”

  “He will. Eventually. He’ll find you. He won’t stop until he does. He’s got too much of himself, of his ego, invested in you. He’ll come.”

  They said no more. When they reached the house, she parked the pickup close to the front steps. She came around and assisted Wick out of the truck and onto the porch, then opened the door and motioned him inside.

  They stepped directly into a spacious living room that was furnished and decorated in Texas chic. Lots of leather and suede, all very tasteful and expensive. Thick rugs on the hardwood floors. Fringed throw pillows. The pieces were large and comfy, inviting one to sit and relax for hours in front of the fireplace, reading the magazines that were scattered—scattered?—on accent tables.

  A Mexican saddle of black tooled leather with lots of silver detailing stood in one corner, displayed and spot-lighted as a sculpture might be. A boldly striped horse blanket served as a wall hanging. Wick loved it. “This is nice.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It doesn’t look like you.”

  She met his gaze. “It looks exactly like me. Are you hungry?”

  “I thought about starting on the bobcat.”

  “This way.”

  She led him into the kitchen, which held even more surprises. In the center was a work island with open shelving underneath. On the surface was a small copper sink where red and green apples had been left to drain after being rinsed. Cooking pots hung from an iron rack overhead. An opened box of cookies had been left on the counter.

  “Soup or oatmeal?”

  Painfully, he lowered himself into a chair at the round wood table. “Those’re my choices?”

  “Unless you were serious about the bobcat. Then you’re on your own.”

  “What kind of soup?”

  It was cream of potato and might have been the best food he’d ever eaten in his life. Rennie had started with canned condensed, but she added half and half, butter, and seasonings, then topped off the crockery bowl with grated cheddar and put it in the microwave long enough for the cheese to melt. Her motions were economic and skilled. Like a surgeon’s.

  “That was haute cuisine after hospital food,” he said as he polished off a second piece of toast. “What’s for lunch?”

  “You’ll sleep through lunch.”

  “I can’t rest yet, Rennie. I didn’t bust out of the hospital, and then bust my ass to get here, just to go to sleep as soon as I arrived.”

  “Sorry. That’s what you need and that’s what you’re going to do. I’ve never had a patient look as bad as you and survive. I should call nine-one-one and have an ambulance take you to the county hospital immediately.”

  “I would immediately leave.”

  “That’s why I haven’t already called.” She finished rinsing out his dishes and dried her hands. “Let’s get you upstairs and undressed.”

  “I slept, Rennie. Under the tree.”

  “How long?”

  “Long enough.”

  “Not near long enough.”

  “I’m not going to sleep.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “You’d have to drug me.”

  “I did.”

  “Huh?”

  “When you went to the bathroom, I ground a strong painkiller and a sleeping pill into your soup. Any minute now you’ll catch quite a buzz.”

  “Goddammit! I’ll fight it off.”

  She smiled. “You can’t. It’s going to knock you on your can. You’ll be more comfortable if you let me get you into bed before it does.”

  “We’ve got to talk, Rennie.”

  “We will. After you’ve had some sleep.”

  She put her hand beneath his elbow and hauled him out of the chair. Or tried. His legs were already wobbly and there was a distinct tingling in his toes that he knew was induced by narcotics, not hyperventilation.

  “Put your arm across my shoulders.” He did as she instructed. She slipped her arm around his waist and lent support as she guided him back through the living room toward the open staircase along the far wall.

  “I’m catching a buzz, all right,” he said about midway up. “My ears are ringing. How long before this wears off?”

  “Depends on the patient.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  On the second floor a wide gallery overlooked the living room. Several doors opened onto the gallery. She led him through one of them into a bedroom. The bed was unmade. “Is this your room?” he asked.

  “It’s the only bedroom that’s furnished.”

  “I get to sleep in your bed?”

  She propped him against an armoire. “Lift your arms.” He did and she pulled his T-shirt over his head. Then she knelt and helped him out of his shoes. “Now take off your pants and lie down.”

  “Why, Dr. Newton, I would’ve thought you’d be more subtle. That you’d… What’s that?” She’d taken something from the bottom drawer of the armoire.

  “That is a syringe.” Coming to her feet, she held it up and tapped the clear plastic tube. “And you’re about to get a butt-load of antibiotic.”

  “I don’t need it.”

  “We aren’t going to argue
about this, Wick.”

  No, she didn’t appear to be in any mood to argue. He couldn’t have argued with her anyway. His tongue had become about as nimble as a walrus. His legs had turned to columns of jelly. It was a struggle to keep his eyes open.

  He unbuttoned his fly, dropped his jeans, and stepped out of them. She probably had expected him to be wearing underwear. Well, too damn bad, Dr. Newton. He strutted—as much as he could strut in his drugged state—to the bed and lay down.

  “On your stomach, please.”

  “You’re no fun at all,” he grumbled thickly.

  Rennie swabbed a spot on his hip with alcohol, then jabbed the needle into his muscle.

  “Son of a—”

  “This might hurt.”

  “—bitch! Thanks for the damn warning.” He clenched his teeth and waited out the injection, which seemed to take forever.

  Laying the empty syringe on the nightstand, she said, “Stay where you are. I’m going to clean your incision.”

  He thought of something clever to say, but forgot it before he could form the words. The pillow was feeling awfully good.

  He was vaguely aware of her bathing his incision with cold liquid, then applying a fresh bandage. It dimly registered when she covered him with a sheet and light blanket. The room seemed to grow gradually darker. He opened his eyes only long enough to see her at the windows where she was closing the shutters. For a millisecond before she shut the louvers, he saw her in silhouette against the bright outdoor light. It detailed her shape. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

  He groaned, Sweetjesus.

  Or maybe he didn’t.

  * * *

  When he woke up he was lying on his back, favoring his right side. The room was empty, but light was leaking from beneath the closed bathroom door. He checked the windows. The shutters were still drawn.

  God, what had she given him? How long had he been asleep? All day? Two days? Three?

  Just then the light went out beneath the bathroom door. It was eased open soundlessly. Rennie stepped through, bringing the smell of soap and shampoo with her. She looked toward the bed and saw that he was awake and watching her.