Into the Storm

by Susan Fanetti

  The doctor gestured at Isaac’s kutte. “You’re family, then?”

  And Isaac relaxed markedly. “Yeah. Exactly.”

  The doctor nodded and held out his hand. Isaac shook it. “I’m Dr. Kwon. I was part of Mr. Ryan’s trauma team. We can sit over here”—he indicated a small nook with a few chairs, set apart from the rest of the emergency waiting area—“and I’ll tell you what I know. Then I’ll send you up and make a call, so they’re expecting you.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Sure.” They sat, and Kwon got right to it. “First, I’ll say that my last word on him is that he’s stable. It’s important I say that right up front. Because he had a hard day.”

  After the first few sentences, Shannon had trouble keeping her attention on what the doctor was saying. It was all too much. God, he was so hurt. A concussion. A broken collarbone. Multiple contusions and lacerations over his body, requiring hundreds of stitches. But the worst of it: they’d pulled a sheared-off piece of his truck out of his abdomen. He’d spent hours in surgery, repairing his collarbone and sewing up his insides and outsides.

  Dr. Kwon stood. “Okay. Let me make a call, and then you can go up. There’ll be somebody there who can give you the most updated information. It’s late, but”—he looked at Shannon—“you’re family, too?”

  Isaac answered for her. “His old lady.”

  Shannon turned sharply to Isaac at that, but said nothing. Especially after their talk on the ride to the hospital, she was sure he was only making room for the staff to let her be with Show without trouble. Still, it was surprising to hear herself referred to in that way.

  Kwon nodded. “Since it’s Christmas, assuming he’s still stable, they’ll let you stay.”

  The doctor on Show’s floor told them that he was stable and had been moving in and out of consciousness for the past two hours or so. “He got banged up good, and he looks like hell, but if we can avoid infection, there’s an excellent chance he’ll make a full recovery. He’ll hurt for awhile, though.” He directed them to a room down the hall, and Isaac took Shannon’s hand and led her back.

  Oh, he looked terrible. Black and blue, stitched up like Frankenstein, his left arm bound up in a brace. Blood still crusted in his beard and hair. He was bare-chested, the blankets folded down around his waist, and his belly was wrapped in a heavy, thick bandage. He was too big for the bed. They’d dropped the footboard or raised the mattress; either way, his feet hung off the end.

  There was a nurse in the room changing an IV bag and injecting something into the line. She looked up and smiled as they came in.

  “Oh, I’m so glad his family’s here. Shouldn’t be alone on Christmas if you don’t have to be.” She erased the white board on the wall and wrote a name on it: Sherrie. Then she added the date and Merry Christmas!! She made the dots in the exclamation points and the ‘i’ in her name and the word ‘Christmas’ into hearts.

  She turned to Shannon, apparently perceiving her to be the most important person in the room, besides Show. “He’s pretty sleepy. They’re giving him the good stuff. Let me know if you need anything. We called down for a bigger bed. Hopefully it’ll be up soon.”

  Shannon smiled and nodded. When the nurse was gone and the door was closed, she whispered, “Oh, God.” She walked over to the side of his bed and tried to find a place she could hold him. His free arm was crisscrossed with stitches. There was one of those monitor things on his finger, but she slid her hand in his and linked their fingers.

  Isaac pushed a chair behind her, and she sat, smiling her thanks. She’d almost forgotten him.

  “Hey, Show. Merry Christmas.” She bent down and kissed his hand.

  He took a deep breath, then groaned and opened his eyes a little. Shannon stood so she could lean over near his face. He blinked again, and she could see him trying to focus. The room was not very bright, just a light behind the bed, but she was close, and he smiled a little, wincing. “Hey. Sorry.” His voice was thick and rough.

  “Hi. Sorry for what?”

  “Broke my promise. Didn’t get home.” He closed his eyes.

  “You didn’t break your promise. It’s Christmas. We’re together.” She felt sick and shaky, and she didn’t understand what was going on in her head. She wanted to run. And she wanted to crawl into bed with him and never leave his side. She’d felt like this a few times in the past weeks, but never before so strongly.

  His eyes closed, he squeezed her hand. “Don’t leave.”

  Sensing the strength he’d mustered to hold her hand like that, she understood what it was she was feeling, and why it scared her so. She’d been right, all these years. She’d never felt it before. It was so foreign to her that it had taken her weeks to recognize it for what it was. Bending over the bed to kiss him lightly on the lips, she said. “I won’t. Don’t you, either. Merry Christmas, Show. I love you.”

  He struggled to get his eyes open at that, but he was going under fast. He squeezed her hand even harder, and then he was out.

  Still holding his hand, she sat back in the chair. She’d never spoken those words to anyone who wasn’t related to her by blood. She’d never felt love before. Not this kind.

  Isaac’s hand came down gently on her shoulder. Again, she’d forgotten he was in the room. “I’m going down to find some coffee, maybe a sandwich or something. You want me to bring you up anything?”

  She shook her head, then reconsidered. “Hot cocoa? If they have it?”

  He grinned. “You bet.” He kissed her on the top of her head, and then he left the room. She stayed where she was. She’d told him she wouldn’t leave, and she wouldn’t.

  ~oOo~

  Shannon knocked on Show’s dorm room door.

  “What! Jesus Christ! Leave me the fuck alone!” He’d been out of the hospital just more than a week, and his mood was only going downhill.

  Grinning, she opened the door. “Okay—I’ll go, if that’s what you really want.”

  Show, sitting up in bed, relaxed his scowl into a smile. “No. Not you. You get your ass in here.”

  She came in and dropped her coat and bag on the chest of drawers, then kicked off her shoes and got onto the bed next to him. “You know, people used to talk all the time about how nice you were. They’re not saying that so much anymore. A lifetime of good reputation undone in a little over a week.”

  He was still a frightful mess, though most of the sutures had been removed. His left arm was still bound up to his chest in a brace. He had several days to go yet before the staples in his belly and shoulder would come out. He now had a steel plate and several screws attached to his collarbone. The doctors had been unhappy with his decision to go all the way back to Signal Bend after he was discharged—they’d wanted him closer, at least until his sutures and staples were all out—but he would hear of nothing else.

  “Well, people are morons and assholes, and I’d be nicer if they’d stay the fuck away. You got no idea what it’s like having a fuckin’ Prospect asking if you need help to the john. And then standing outside the goddamn door while I try to take a shit. No idea.”

  She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You could be at the inn, in a much more comfortable bed, getting my much more comfortable help.”

  He put his arm around her, moving slowly, and pulled her close. “Not happening, hon. Last thing I want is you having to deal with this bullshit. Besides, you have work to do. I am Omen’s work, these days.” He gave her a squeeze. “But I like you coming to see me.”

  She tipped her head up, and he came down to meet her. Their kiss was soft and slow for several long moments. Then Show moved his hand to the back of her head, pushing his tongue into her mouth. He hadn’t kissed her like this since the accident. She hadn’t, either. He was so beaten up, she was afraid to hurt him.

  Suddenly, he jerked away and looked down at his crotch. She followed his eyes and saw the swell under the blankets.

  “Huh,” he said. “Was starting to worry that bastard was dea
d.”

  “That’s the first time…”

  “Since. Yeah.”

  He’d never yet allowed her to touch him. But this felt like a momentous occasion. Without thinking more, and without asking, she pushed her hand under the covers. He sucked in a breath, but didn’t stop her. He was wearing sweatpants, and she went under the waistband, and wrapped her hand, at last, around his hot, thick, hard cock.

  “Wow. You’re like a rock.”

  “Shannon…” He said her name like a warning, but his only free arm was around her shoulders, so he could do little to stop her. She pushed his waistband down and freed him, then explored all of him, his full length, his balls, the satiny skin of his tip.

  “I love the way you feel in my hand. It makes me so happy to finally touch you. I’m not a Horde whore, Show. I love you.”

  He looked into her eyes. “I love you, too.” He took another deep breath as she tightened her grip on him and slid down his full length.

  Then she remembered that he had staples almost all the way across his belly. “Will it hurt you if I get you off?”

  His eyes closed now, his head dropped back on his pillows, and he muttered, “Probably. Don’t care. Don’t stop.”

  She eased down his side and took him into her mouth.

  ~oOo~

  With record snowfall for the season, the winter had been slow at the inn so far. They’d advertised the beauty of the snow-covered woods, and they’d put the sleigh Lilli had bought in the fall to some use. But the truth was that riding through the woods in a horse-drawn sleigh made an absolutely delightful photo, but actually was just cold and wet. Badger, though, was a trouper, driving Edgar through the wider trails whenever he was asked.

  Shannon sat in the dining room on a bright mid-February afternoon, after yet another dump of nearly six inches. But the sun had shone all day, and it looked like they might be in for a thaw. Missouri often got a week or so of ridiculously spring-like weather in February or early March. This year, with so much snow on the ground, a real thaw would turn the town into a swamp, and that wouldn’t do much for business, either.

  They were okay, though. She had her laptop open, but she was looking at papers scattered across one of the large round tables in the middle of the room. She worked better when she could see everything at once, and in large scale. They’d had a much better first summer and especially fall than Lilli—or Shannon—had forecasted, and that gave them room to have the extremely quiet winter they’d had. She was able to keep everybody on the payroll, even though they hardly had to work, and that had been important to Shannon. She knew that not everyone was faring so well. Businesses all around town had been quiet, and not all of the shopkeepers had been as prudent about preserving a cushion as Lilli and Shannon had been.

  Though Lilli did not scrimp on building the inn or on keeping it running, she was in fact quite a conservative spender. If there was a good reason to spend money, she didn’t hesitate, but she paid attention to the big picture, and she made sure the important concerns were addressed first. Her interests were in keeping the business running and making it a success, but not in lining her own pockets. In many ways, now that she’d let Shannon do her job and manage the place, Lilli was the best boss she’d ever had. Before Shannon had brought up that she wanted to keep everybody on the payroll, even if they weren’t coming in to work, she had practiced a big spiel of explanation about why it would make good business sense. But she hadn’t been able to use it. She’d said, “I think we should keep paying everybody,” and Lilli had said, simply, “Obviously.”

  Getting paid for not working didn’t sit well with these folks, even though they needed it. So Beth kept coming in and cooking for her, insisting she “earn her keep.” When Show had gotten mostly mobile a couple of weeks ago and begun staying with her again, Beth’s visits had gotten regular, making at least two meals almost every day.

  Connie and Steve came in about once a week, to do light turns of the rooms and simple maintenance. They’d have come in more, but there was simply nothing more for them to do. Only Shannon and Badger had actual work when the inn was empty. Badger kept care of the animals. Shannon focused on making sure the spring and summer would again give them the kind of cushion they needed to wait out winter next year.

  She’d put a lot of time into promoting the inn, especially as a wedding venue. Weddings were serious money. The inn was too small, and Signal Bend too remote, for the really epic, Bridezilla-style weddings, but Shannon didn’t mind that at all. Huge weddings almost always meant diva brides who honestly believed they should be able to have every single whim met. Shannon knew how to work with people like that, but it didn’t mean she enjoyed it. On more than one occasion, she’d had to lace her hands behind her back to arrest the urge to slap a belligerent princess pitching a hissy over the insufficient sparkle of Swarovski crystals imbedded in $1000 table centerpieces.

  Here at the Keller Acres Bed & Breakfast, they could accommodate no more than a hundred guests—and that many only in certain circumstances. Brides who could limit a guest list to that number tended to have reasonable ideas for their wedding, and in those situations, Shannon could really shine, building a rapport with a bride she actually liked, and showing her a perfect day on a reasonable budget. Because the truth of it was, the fewer bells and whistles, and Swarovski crystals, the better the odds for a picture-perfect wedding.

  Weddings got planned about a year in advance, on average. Small affairs, more like six to eight months. The promotional work she’d done after the wedding they’d hosted in September had given them five bookings between April and June, and that was a good return, Shannon thought. Now, though, she wanted to get brides who were planning late summer or fall weddings, or spring weddings next year. She wanted to do a bridal open house.

  So strewn in front of her were printouts of their upcoming bookings, and sketches and plans for the open house she saw in her head. Getting the timing right was her biggest hurdle; they needed to keep the inn clear for that whole day, which meant two nights, an entire weekend, without booking any rooms. She had no idea where she was going to slot that into their spring schedule.

  The front door opened, and Shannon glanced at the time on her laptop. Damn! The Hollywood writers, David Gordon and Harrie Beck, were checking in again, to do some kind of rewrite of the script or something, and here she was in the middle of the dining room with papers and swatches scattered everywhere. This was too early; they weren’t due until later in the evening. She stood and began pulling everything into a haphazard pile, calling out, “Hello! I’ll be right there!”

  Show walked in. “Just me, hon.”

  “You scared me. I thought Hollywood was here already, and I’m clearly not ready. I should be, too.”

  “Sorry.” He came over and kissed her. He was on his feet and healing pretty well, overall. He had some new scars, on his face, neck, arms, torso—basically everywhere—and a lot of those went through his ink, which bothered him, she knew. She didn’t know why, but as the angry red lines were fading, she’d realized that she liked the scars. They were pretty sexy. The one across his belly, not quite as much, mainly because it reminded her of how badly he’d been hurt. But the others, she kinda liked.

  His collarbone wasn’t healing as well yet, and he still wore a brace most of the time. He’d been off his bike now for six weeks, and it was making him moody as hell. Better, though, than when he’d been confined to the clubhouse. Then, there’d been times when even she hadn’t wanted to be around him. Since he could drive—he now had a late-model Dodge Ram—he was bearable most of the time. For her, he was even pleasant. And in his impaired state, she’d gotten the chance to take some control in bed. She liked the way he overpowered her, but she also liked it when he lay back and let her play.

  She put her arms around his waist. “As soon as I get this cleaned up, we can go back to the apartment and have dinner. Beth made us a tuna casserole that I can put in the oven.”

  He grinned.
“Sounds good. You want help with that?” He nodded toward her pile.

  He only had one good arm, and she almost said no, but then she closed her laptop and held it up. “Sure. You can take this back to my office.”

  He stared at it. “That’s not a pity laptop, is it?”

  Well, sorta. She thought about lying, and then simply shrugged.

  Luckily, he laughed. “At least you’re honest.”

  ~oOo~

  Hollywood arrived for check-in after dinner, giving everybody plenty of time to get ready. As they’d done last time, they were offering heavy hors d’oeuvres with the nightcap, because David and Harrie were arriving too late to find much in the way of dinner in town. The dining options in Signal Bend were still an area of opportunity, and so far, there didn’t seem to be much movement in that area.

  Their guests—again, coming in the middle of the week, their only guests—arrived just before nine o’clock. Harrie looked frazzled, exhausted, and pissed. David was very obviously drunk. Shannon was fairly certain the two observations were related. She checked them in, handed them their keys, called for Steve, and reminded them that something for them to eat and drink was being served at that very moment.

  Harrie shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m just going upstairs. I need a bath and some quiet.” She turned on her heel and pointed to the bags she wanted Steve to carry.

  David, on the other hand, leaned on the front desk, leering at Shannon. “Baby, I missed you. You miss me?”

  She put on her hotelier smile. “We’re glad to have you back, Mr. Gordon. If you’ll head to the dining room, our chef has prepared a delicious array of small plates.”

  He laughed. “Chef. You mean Beth? That woman can cook like nobody’s business, but she’s no chef. I know chefs. Chefs do little squiggly things on your plate.”

  She rolled her eyes and came around the desk. Steve was down again, and he collected David’s bags and headed back up. Shannon walked to the dining room, indicating with a sweep of her hand that David should follow her. This man needed some food in his system. And coffee. Probably not a nightcap.