Man of My Dreams: A Steamy Contemporary Tortured-Hero Romance (The Manly Series Book 3)

by Teddy Hester

  I ghost a laugh. “I read someplace that the only scary f-word is when a woman says ‘fine.’”

  She laughs, too. “But I am, Mick. I’ve neglected Dieter for the past few days, and he won’t stand for that very long. It’s time both of us got back to our lives.”

  She’s right, but hell if I like hearing her say the words. She means more to me than a Christmas card buddy. She’s been with me through all this mess. It doesn’t feel right just to leave, even though I need to. “I could come back, after Nina and the kids are settled.”

  Strawberry blonde strands swing around her shoulders when she shakes her head. “You’re always welcome for a visit. But otherwise, the tie needs to be broken. Clean. Nothing hanging over either of us.”

  She’s right. And yet…”Let’s talk about this again at a later date.”

  She stands, a rueful smile hovering around her lips. “Let’s get you home to pack.”

  This time it’s her phone that rings. “Hallo, Birgitte?”

  “Can you and Mick come home? Alfred just fell out of the hayloft, and I’ve called an ambulance.”

  “The hospital near the house? Klinikum Mittelmosel?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re on our way. We’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  She stashes her phone and grabs my hand. “Come on. Alfred’s been hurt.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Mick

  “Birgitte!”

  We enter the emergency room waiting area on a run. I’m close on Menuett’s heels. The woman who usually rivals Mrs. Santa Claus for grandmotherly smiles is pale and drawn. She jumps up when she sees us and rushes over. She and Menuett fall into each other’s arms, crying.

  I embrace them both. “What happened, Birgitte?”

  She pulls out of my hug far enough to dab her face with a wadded hankie. “He and Lukas were in the barn getting more hay for the stable. From what Lukas says, Alfred was up in the loft when an owl flew out, startling him. He must have been too close to the edge, because he stumbled back and fell out.”

  “Where is he? Have you talked to the doctor?”

  “Was he conscious?”

  Menuett and I barrage her with questions. She blinks and shakes her head. “He wasn’t conscious when I called the ambulance, no. When they came and got us, they said it looked like he had a bad leg break. He was whisked away the minute we arrived. A doctor stopped to tell me he was taking Alfred to surgery, but I haven’t heard anything more since then.”

  That won’t do. We need an update. Menuett looks up at me. Her pretty face is pinched with concern. Birgitte’s leaning heavily against me, and my arm holds her tight.

  I jerk my chin at Menuett. “I’ve got her. Go see what you can find out.”

  Before she gets too far in her investigation, Doctor Hoffmann finds us. “He’s out of surgery and in recovery, doing nicely.”

  Birgitte bursts into relieved tears. “Thank you, Doctor, thank you.”

  He pats her shoulder. “Don’t thank me yet. There’s a long road ahead. His left femur was badly broken. I put a steel rod in the bone during the repair, but he’s no spring chicken, and healing will take every bit of four to six months and maybe more.”

  Fuck. That puts them at Christmas. He’ll go stir-crazy. The two ladies exchange a mildly horrified look with each other.

  I pick up the slack. “Dr. Hoffmann, how long will Alfred need to stay in the hospital?”

  “We’ll keep him here for at least a week, watching for complications.”

  “And after that?”

  “For several weeks, I won’t want him to put much pressure on that leg. He’ll be able to go to the bathroom, and that’s about it. He’ll need a seat in the shower. He’ll wear a leg brace until I determine he’s safe without it. A physical therapist will come to your house each week to work on building the strength back up in that leg so Alfred doesn’t overdo things too soon.”

  “And he’ll try,” Birgitte mutters.

  Dr. Hoffmann grins at her. “Most do try. Six months is a long time to hobble around when you’re used to full mobility.”

  “Will he ever regain full mobility?”

  “It’s too soon to tell, of course, but most people do. He’ll need to move every hour or so to keep the circulation going—nothing major—and PT will help. But he seems healthy enough for a man his age, and he’s been used to plenty of physical activity. Barring unforeseen complications, he should recover.”

  Thank goodness. Birgitte looks relieved and yet harried. She’s no doubt thinking about the trials ahead. “Can we go see him?” she asks.

  “Yes, though he’ll be in and out of consciousness with the pain meds. Are all of you family?”

  I had a feeling this was coming.

  Menuett pipes up. “Yes, they’re my parents, and this is my fiancé.”

  What the fuck?

  Standing next to me, I feel Birgitte startle. But she covers well, pulling another handkerchief from her purse to dab her eyes. “I’m Birgitte, Alfred’s wife, Menuett is our daughter, and soon Mick will become our son.” She gamely gives me a hug.

  “Congratulations,” Dr. Hoffman says to me.

  I nod and shake the doctor’s hand. What possessed her to say such a thing?

  “Alfred will be in room 301. Try not to tire him out, and try to get some rest yourselves. You’re going to need it.” He turns and goes back to work.

  Birgitte turns to Menuett. “Child, what have you done?”

  My God, what has she done? I feel like I’ve been kicked in the solar plexus.

  Two bright spots of color like a bike’s reflectors sit on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I wanted Mick to be able to visit Alfred. It was the first thing that popped into my mind.”

  I can feel the flush crawling up my neck. “You could have said I’m a cousin from the States.”

  My stomach lurches. Why did she say I was her fiancé? I’m not husband material for anybody, much less somebody with nobility in their ancestry. Of course it’s a ploy, so we can all visit Alfred, but I don’t like lying to anybody. Lies always bite you in the ass at some point.

  What about Dieter? He’ll never go along with the charade. My eyes snap to Menuett’s face, ready to chew her ass good.

  But she beats me to the punch.

  “By the time this gets any more awkward, you’ll be gone.”

  The muscle in my jaw churns. If I’m not careful, I’ll give myself TMJ with all the clenching I’m doing. “In the meantime, you’re expecting us all to lie to Alfred, or asking him to continue the lie.” I keep my voice low and quiet.

  Birgitte takes both of us by an arm. “Come, children. Let’s go to Alfred’s room where we can have some privacy to discuss the matter.”

  “I’m sorry, Birgitte, but there’s nothing to discuss. I’ll get myself to the airport, and that will solve everyone’s problems.”

  I can’t remember the last time I’ve been angry with a woman. Disappointed. So frightened.

  She’s trying hard not to cry. I’ll give her that. If you’re going to make a colossal fuck-up, stand tall and take what’s coming to you.

  “No,” she says. “I’ll tell Dr. Hoffmann the truth. I only said it so you could see Alfred. But if you’re leaving, you won’t see him anyway, so there’s no need for the lie.”

  She’s got the picture. Time for me to exit.

  Birgitte, looking very much the stern mother, draws herself up and places a hand on my upper arm. “Mick. Take me to Alfred’s room, please.”

  Without moving my body, I swivel my head to look at her.

  I gaze down at the hand on my arm, then follow it to Birgitte’s face. She regards me with composure as I wrestle with myself.

  She reminds me so much of my mother right now. I never could say no to Mammina.

  Finally, I take her hand. I tuck it into the crook of my arm, and we make our way to the third floor.

  *****

  Alfred looks tired. I rarely see him when he isn’t
quietly aware of everything around him, alert, ready for action. And even though he moves slowly, it’s always deliberate. Right now, the drugs have left him unfocused.

  We chat a little, say comforting things. I stand behind the women, saying little beyond words of encouragement for Alfred. Eventually a wizened hand waves, cutting off their conversation.

  “Menuett, take Birgitte and have some tea or something to eat. I want to talk to Mick. Alone.”

  I don’t look at them, but remain fixed on Alfred, lying in the hospital bed under a pale blue blanket.

  Birgitte takes Menuett’s elbow and guides her out the door. “Give them their man time. We need what I’ve heard called girl-talk.” The door closes behind them. A nurse comes in, checks Alfred’s vitals, then leaves again as efficiently as she arrived.

  “Something’s wrong with Menuett.”

  I sigh and pull up a chair next to his bed. “She wanted us to be able to visit you, so she told the doctor I was her fiancé.”

  “Ah.” He nods once. “She’s young. And we’ve sheltered her too much, perhaps. Made too many decisions for her, so now she doesn’t know how to think on her feet.”

  Oh, yeah, I’d say that’s a big fuckin’ yes.

  “And you’re angry,” Alfred adds.

  “I don’t like lying to anybody. Certainly not people I like or admire.”

  “Thank you. Commendable, but not always practical. Are you perhaps overreacting?”

  I study the leathered face half-hidden behind whiskers. “She could have said I was a visiting cousin.”

  “Yes. She could have. Makes you wonder why she didn’t. And why you reacted so strongly. Are you leaving right away?”

  “Yes. I’ll leave from here. But I wanted to thank you.”

  Again, he waves his hand. “Between us, it’s not necessary. You’re a good worker. A hard worker. The workers like you, and they work harder because of it. I saw that at the vineyard and again in the stables. It’s a gift.”

  A commanding officer once said something similar to me. But I hadn’t taken it seriously. He didn’t know how many beers I’d drunk with the men, or how many girls we’d picked up. That’s not exactly leadership deserving of praise and recognition. Besides, what do you do with charm? So you’re popular. So what? That and a dollar barely gets you a cup of coffee.

  “Would you consider postponing your trip for a week until I’m back home? I know your friend’s wife is expecting you, but with this change in circumstances, do you think she could wait? Her family is with her, so she’s not alone, yes?”

  Nina’s voice plays in my mind. She’s not holding up well. There’s probably nothing I can do about that, but I can be there for her. Reminisce with her. Help with the kids, maybe. “Yes…”

  “I’m sorry to put you in this position. But Lukas and Richart can’t run Sternau. Menuett knows bits and pieces of it all, but I haven’t done a good job of teaching her how it all fits together. You can help her be in two places at one time while she figures it all out.”

  She could run things just fine. As he says, he’s just sheltered her too much, too long. “What about Dieter?”

  “Yes. He would seem the logical choice. However, he’s not her fiancé.”

  I think there’s a twinkle in those watery blue eyes, but he blinks, and I can’t be sure. “Alfred…”

  “I couldn’t resist. I’m going to enjoy torturing her about that for years.”

  She was writhing in embarrassment. I don’t think he needs to compound it. She knows her mistake was huge. “Don’t do that.”

  “What you don’t know won’t hurt you.”

  “But it doesn’t need to hurt her, either.”

  His lips twitch. “Not so angry anymore?”

  “Oh, I’m still mad. But she knows what she did and how bad it was. She won’t do it again. No need to flog her with it.”

  “Ah. See? You understand people. Dieter doesn’t. He’s not a bad sort of boy. But he’s not ready to handle Sternau.”

  “And you think I am?”

  He closes his eyes as if to prepare for sleeping. “Maybe not alone. If you’re still there when I’m released from the hospital, we’ll talk about that.”

  Fuck me.

  And fuck you, too, old man.

  CHAPTER 11

  Menuett

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Liebchen. He won’t stay angry.”

  I palm my cheeks like the Home Alone kid and shake my head. “I don’t know why not. I deserve it. I can’t believe I did that.” Ugh. I’m feeling nauseous again.

  “Let it go. It’s over and done.”

  “But it’s not. I’m sure Mick is telling Alfred, and I’m going to have to tell Dieter. I can’t even think how to have that conversation.”

  Birgitte plays with some Sauerbraten and Spätzle she thought she should order, but when it came to the table, she said she couldn’t eat. “It will work out, I promise. Now, could we talk about getting Alfred home?”

  I close my eyes and shake my head again. Everything I do today is wrong. How can I be so selfish? My embarrassing event is dust compared to what she and Alfred have just been through. “I must beg your forgiveness, too, Birgitte.”

  She chuckles. “I’m glad to have your attention on something else at last. When Alfred comes home, he’s going to need a bedroom and bathroom on the ground floor, so he won’t have to worry about stairs.”

  “So none of us has to navigate them. We’ll need to bring his dinner to him there, too, won’t we?”

  “Ja, Liebchen, we will. Would you help me rearrange Alfred’s library to be our bedroom? There’s a bathroom nearby that he could use, and we’d never have to go upstairs.”

  “Of course. No, wait. I have a better idea. He’s going to need more help the first weeks. How about we fix up the bedrooms and baths in the old section of the main house? Then Mick could move down there in the second room, to help lift and move Alfred when needed.”

  “And if Mick doesn’t stay in Germany?”

  I don’t want him to leave. I know I said we should break it off clean, but leaving angry isn’t clean. “Well, if he decides to go, then we’ll deal with it. We can always hire a male nurse.”

  “Or there’s Dieter.”

  “Hmm. Yes, there’s Dieter. He’ll want to help, I’m sure.”

  “I think Alfred won’t feel comfortable sleeping in the main house.”

  You’d be surprised. He evidently sleeps there anytime he thinks I need protection.

  “He’ll want his familiar things around him. We should stay in our house.”

  She’s right. Alfred would feel more relaxed in his caretaker’s cottage. “All right, I agree. And if he gets cabin fever, we’ll make up the rooms in the main house for a change of scenery. Like a holiday!”

  It’s the first I’ve seen her smile and release some of her tension. It melts my heart. “I love you and Alfred so much. Whatever you two need, that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Ach, Liebchen.” She reaches for me, and we wrap around each other like the wisteria climbing our arbor posts.

  That’s the way we are when Mick finds us seconds later. He looks serious, but not angry anymore. I can handle serious.

  He crosses the cafeteria to join us at the table. “Alfred’s asleep.”

  Birgitte straightens her hair with a shaky hand. “Is he in pain?”

  He picks a fry off my plate. “Probably. But he didn’t complain.”

  I bloom at the casual way he takes that liberty with my food. I don’t know how it is in the States, but that’s a very boyfriend thing to do. “Sleep is probably the best thing for him right now.”

  Mick nods. “What do we want to do—go home and come back tomorrow, or find a hotel and stay here tonight?”

  Birgitte passes her plate to him. “This isn’t hot anymore, but you’re welcome to it. I’ve had enough.”

  He looks down at the food. “You had one bite of meat.”

  “And the carrots.”
>
  “Carrots are my favorite part,” he deadpans.

  She grins at his shenanigans. “Eat the meat. The Spätzle isn’t good cold. But the meat will still be good.”

  Picking the plate up to walk it over to a microwave, he says, “Are you staying here tonight?”

  “Yes. I’d like to stay in the room with my husband, if they’ll let me.”

  He pushes some buttons, and the machine whirs. “They’ll let you. The nurse succumbed to my pidgin-German and my smile. She okayed it with Dr. Hoffmann.”

  The oven dings, and he brings his meal back to the table. “That leaves you and me, Menuett. Why don’t we drive back to Sternau tonight? Tomorrow we can bring Birgitte a change of clothes and an extra car, so she’s not stranded when she’s here at the hospital.”

  He’s really thought this out. Or he and Alfred did. “She won’t be stranded. I’ll be here.”

  He stops chewing and swallows. “You’ll be needed at Sternau, Angel. Somebody’s got to run things while Alfred’s out of commission.”

  At first, panic dries my mouth. But when I stop and think about it, I’ve been doing more and more lately, almost as though Alfred’s been planning for this sort of situation.

  Or his death.

  Birgitte chooses that moment to interrupt my train of thought. “You two have a lot to talk about. I’m going to go upstairs. Drive carefully, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” She kisses me, and then, to my surprise, kisses Mick’s cheek before leaving the cafeteria.

  That’s strange. She’s never kissed Dieter, and she’s known him almost his whole life. I shudder. The ground is shifting underneath my feet. “When do you want to go to the airport?”

  “I’ll just take the bus to Frankfurt. You’ll have enough on your plate without worrying about that.”

  The heaviness I feel is just the weight of responsibility, I tell myself. It has nothing to do with Mick’s leaving. The drained feeling is just fatigue. It’ll be better in the morning, after I’ve had some rest.

  Mick shoves the plate back. “I’ve had enough. Are you ready to go?”

  *****

  The house is dark when we pull up. Even on nights when I’d come home late and Birgitte and Alfred had retired to their caretaker’s cottage, they’d left lights on in the main house for me, and usually a tidbit of food to take upstairs with me.