A Man of Privilege

by Sarah M. Anderson

  Someone had come. Someone would save her.

  Then the world went black.

  Nineteen

  “Wake up.” The voice was distant, but Maggie was sure she’d heard it before. “Wake up, sweetheart.”

  This time, she felt someone rubbing her hand. That was weird. If Nan was trying to get her out of bed, she’d just throw open the door and start shouting.

  When the voice said, “Come on, Maggie. It’s time to wake up,” again, she also heard a pinging beep in the background.

  That wasn’t her alarm clock, and it wasn’t Nan. She didn’t know where she was, and that freaked her out. She tried to sit up, but a kaleidoscope of pain blossomed on her right side. She screamed, but it came out as a muffled groan instead.

  “Easy, Maggie. Don’t move. Just relax.” Then the hand left hers and she heard the first voice talking to a second, female voice.

  What the hell was going on? Relaxing was not an option right now, but panicking wasn’t working for her, either. She decided to focus on getting her eyes to open. Then she could figure out where she was and what was going on.

  “I’ll increase her dosage,” the second voice said.

  “That won’t compromise her sobriety, will it?”

  “No, she’ll be fine.”

  Compromise? Only one person used that word so regularly. James was here—wherever here was.

  Boy, her eyes were in no mood to open, but a few seconds later, the pain in her arm dulled a little. Maggie was able to get both eyelids up at the same time. Progress.

  What she saw was a colorless wall, which matched the colorless bed she was in and clear tubes that were attached to her hand. Her head decided to start throbbing again. She was in the hospital.

  “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” James—for it really was him—leaned over and took hold of her hand again.

  James. He was here. That was good. But why was everything so hard? Then her brain put one and one together. She was in the hospital, and the dosage—that was some sort of painkiller. She was on drugs. The panic got a little harder to fight. “Drugs?”

  “You had to have surgery on your shoulder, so you’re going to have to take something for a little while. The doctors have assured me you’re in no danger of relapsing.”

  Maggie’s eyelids fluttered, and she desperately wanted to shut them and slip back off into the comfortable dark. But she didn’t. Surgery—on her shoulder. Her mind churned to remember why that was. She looked at James, hoping that he would give her a clue. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper now, making him appear worried and tired. He had a pretty aggressive five-o’clock shadow. When had he last shaved?

  While she struggled to remember, another part of her relaxed. James was here. He wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. He’d promised.

  In that moment of calm, the whole thing—Low Dog, Nan bound and gagged, the shotgun—all came crashing back to her. She jerked again, but James’s hands were on her, holding her steady and making sure she didn’t hurt herself.

  “Nan…”

  James gave her a weak smile. “Nan’s fine. She’s got a mild concussion and a few cracked ribs, but after a few weeks, she’ll be as good as new. They sent her home last night. You saved her, Maggie.”

  “Low Dog?” Even saying his name hurt, like grinding salt into a fresh wound. Part of her wanted him to be dead, because that was the only way she would know for certain that he’d never hurt her again.

  But if he were dead, that would mean she had killed him, and she didn’t want to add murder to her list of crimes. Once, a long time ago, she would have killed him and not felt even a little bad about it. But she wasn’t that person anymore. She didn’t want to ever be that person again.

  James wrapped her up in a big-yet-careful hug. “You did a damn fine job winging him, but he’s alive. Yellow Bird is guarding him in Intensive Care. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure he never leaves prison again.”

  It had been a good day to die, but it hadn’t been her day. Relief choked her up, and the next thing she knew, she was blubbering. James didn’t look at her like she was insane, though. Instead, he got a box of tissues and then came around to her good side and half sat on the bed and wrapped his arms around her as delicately as he could.

  “I was waiting,” she finally got out. “I was waiting for you to come and save me.”

  James’s eyes got that wet, shiny look about them, and he kissed her forehead. “You saved yourself, Maggie. Never forget that.”

  They sat like that for some time until Maggie had calmed down. Finally, she got to the point where she could say, “Now what?” without choking up.

  James laced his fingers with hers, careful to avoid the IV tubes. “That’s what I want to talk to you about. I promised to move you—new name, new place, at no cost to you—if you wanted. Remember?”

  Maggie was going to nod, but then thought better of it. “Yes, but—” She had just found James. She didn’t want to have to leave him so soon, not before they’d actually taken that chance at happiness.

  “I want to give you that. New last name, new place.” He paused, and she felt an odd tension in his hand. “I want to ask you to come with me when I get a new job. I want to ask you to marry me.”

  “What?” Maybe she was on more drugs than she thought—because he couldn’t be asking her that. Could he?

  “Happiness is next to me, Maggie. The fortune cookie said so. Nan already gave me her blessing.” When Maggie didn’t say anything for a stunned second, he hurried to add, “You don’t have to answer right now. I know you’re in a lot of pain…”

  “You talked to Nan?” How long had she been out of it?

  “I have a chance to be happy with you, Maggie, and it has nothing to do with winning cases or elections. I don’t need any of those things to be a success. I realized that if I kept going down that path, I would never be happy because I would never be the kind of man you could love.” He stroked her cheek. “I want to be the man who is worthy of you, sweetheart. I’m not going to let that chance slip though my fingers again. I love you.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. Not a true kiss, but something that was tender and sweet and honest all the same.

  All Maggie could do was lie there with her eyes closed and melt inside. This was what people meant by happily ever after. She’d saved herself and Nan. She was in love with a good man, and he loved her back.

  “Let’s start over together,” James said, folding her good hand into his. “Marry me.”

  A new name and a new place—a new life with this man who would love and cherish her for the rest of his life. It was her choice. She was in control of her own life, and she could do whatever she wanted. Whatever would make her happy.

  “I choose you, James. I love you.”

  Epilogue

  “Hey, Yellow Bird, did you see this?” Hughes slapped a newspaper down on Tom’s desk. “Can you believe that?”

  The big man’s gut was intruding into Tom’s personal space. He leveled a look at Hughes, who promptly took two steps back. Satisfied, Tom turned his attention back to the newspaper. It was the lifestyle section from yesterday’s Sunday paper, filled with engagement, anniversary and wedding announcements.

  Hughes had folded it so that only one photo was visible. “Thought Carlson was married to the job.”

  Tom ignored Hughes as he skimmed the article. Eagle Heart/Carlson, the title read.

  “Miss Maggie Eagle Heart wed James Carlson at the Brown County Courthouse in Aberdeen, South Dakota, on September 20, 2013. The bride was given away by her grandmother, Nanette Brown. The bridegroom is the son of Julia and Alexander Carlson, former secretary of defense. The matron of honor was Rosebud Armstrong. Best man was Dan Armstrong. Also in attendance was Agnes Brock. The bride is the owner of Eagle Dancer Designs, a successful Native American jewelry-and-crafts business. The bridegroom is a graduate of Georgetown University and was recently made partner at Demspey, Cook and Spencer, a prominent
law firm in Denver, Colorado. After a honeymoon in San Diego, the couple will relocate to Denver.”

  This better be Maggie’s last last name. He’d hardly gotten used to her as Eagle Heart. This one was going to be the hardest for Tom to get used to. Mrs. James Carlson.

  Next to the write-up was a picture. The image was a little grainy, but there was Carlson, arm in arm with Maggie. Rosebud and Nan stood next to Maggie, and Dan and Agnes were next to Carlson. Everyone looked happy, and the sun wasn’t so bright that they were all squinting.

  Tom had to wonder what it all meant. Who would have guessed that Maggie would ever find someone like Carlson? Hell, who would have guessed that Carlson would ever find someone like Maggie? Not him, that was for damn sure.

  It had worked out. Low Dog had rolled on the man who had given him Maggie’s name and address in an envelope—who turned out to be Royce T. Maynard’s legal counsel. Assault and attempted murder of potential witnesses was the kind of evidence that couldn’t be dismissed on a technicality, and Carlson’s replacement had pushed forward with the case. Maynard was going to be done in by his own hand. Maybe he’d get to share a cell with Low Dog. Tom could hope, anyway.

  Tom was happy for Maggie, he really was. He was even a little happy for Carlson. But all the joy and smiles and tears hadn’t done a damn thing but remind him of Stephanie. He’d been happy once. And now that time was over.

  “Did you ever think that lousy SOB would up and do something like that?” Hughes chuckled. “I thought you two were buds.” The big man was now slapping his knee, as if this was the finest joke in the tristate region. “Betcha he left you off the guest list!”

  Tom dropped the newspaper on his desk and leaned back to stare his coworker down. Hughes choked on his chuckle and made the wise decision to find something else to do.

  Tom watched Hughes waddle back to his own desk, and then he picked up the paper again. Some investigator, he thought with an inward snort in Hughes’s direction. Couldn’t even figure that Tom had snapped the shot himself.

  Not a bad photo, he decided. If he were a sentimental man, he’d even consider framing the original. After all, those people—Rosebud and Dan, Carlson and now, again, Maggie—were the only people left who cared if he lived or died.

  But Tom wasn’t a sentimental guy. He dropped the newspaper in the trash.

  He had to get back to work.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt of His Marriage to Remember by Kathie DeNosky!

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  One

  Standing in the hospital waiting room, Bria wrapped her arms around herself as she tried to chase away the chills. It did no good. In spite of the fact that it was early June in Texas and already extremely warm, she couldn’t seem to stop shivering.

  Terror like nothing she had ever known had clawed at her insides as she’d helplessly watched the angry bull slam Sam into the fence, then pummel his limp body repeatedly with its large head. Thankfully, the bull didn’t have horns and therefore Sam hadn’t sustained any puncture wounds, nor had he been stepped on by the massive animal. Nate and Sam’s foster brothers had immediately jumped into action and diverted the bull’s attention as quickly as they could. But it seemed as if they’d all moved in slow motion and took forever to get the beast away from him so the emergency medical crew could move in and take over.

  She drew in a shuddering breath. There was no getting around it, she was responsible for Sam’s accident. If she had only waited for another day, another time to bring the divorce papers for him to sign or if he hadn’t seen her and been distracted, she wouldn’t be standing in the waiting room while he underwent tests to see just how badly he was injured.

  But the rodeo was only a two-hour drive from her new home in Dallas and she had wanted to get the papers signed and everything finalized before she started her new job as a marketing consultant for one of the major department stores. If she hadn’t run into a traffic jam on the interstate, she would have arrived with plenty of time to get things taken care of and left before the dangerous bull-riding event even started.

  Her breath caught on a sob. It didn’t matter why she had been running late or that she had wanted to get on with her life. Sam was the one having to pay the price for her impatience.

  “Have you heard anything, Bria?” Nate called from somewhere behind her.

  Turning around, she watched Nate and his brothers hurrying down the hall toward the waiting-room entrance. Tall and ruggedly handsome, all five men were cowboys from the top of their wide-brimmed Resistol hats to their scuffed Justin boots. All six of the boys Hank Calvert had fostered had grown up to be extremely wealthy men, but to the outward eye, they were down to earth, hardworking cowboys who passed up designer clothing in favor of chambray shirts and jeans. Nate was Sam’s only biological sibling, but the other four men they called brothers couldn’t have meant more to them if they’d had the same blood flowing through their veins.

  “Th-They just took him…to the imaging department…for X-rays and a scan of his head,” she said, unable to keep her voice from cracking.

  Nate stepped forward and, putting his arms around her, pulled her to his broad chest. “He’s going to be all right, Bria.”

  “Sam’s as tough as nails,” Lane Donaldson added. The same age as Sam, Lane had a master’s degree in psychology that he used quite successfully as a professional poker player. Bria didn’t think she had ever seen the man look less confident.

  Ryder McClain, the most easygoing of the group, nodded. “Sam’s probably already being a pain in the butt about getting out of here.”

  “I hope all of you are right,” she said, feeling helpless.

  “Can I get you something, Bria? A cup of coffee or some water?” T. J. Malloy asked solicitously. He was the most thoughtful of the brothers, so she wasn’t the least bit surprised that T.J.’s concern extended to her.

  “Get some coffee for all of us, T.J.,” Nate commanded, without waiting for her to respond.

  “I’ll go with you to help carry everything,” Jaron Lambert offered, turning to follow T.J. Stopping, he turned back to ask, “Do you want anything else, Bria. Maybe something to eat?”

  “Thanks, Jaron, but I’m not hungry. I doubt that I could eat anything even if I was,” she said, thankful to have Sam’s brothers with her. They treated her like a sister and she was going to miss them terribly once the divorce was final and she was no longer part of their family.

  “Come on and sit down,” Nate said, guiding her over to a bank of chairs along the far wall. When she sat, he asked, “Did Sam regain consciousness in the ambulance on the way over here?”

  She shook her head. “I think he was starting to come around when they took him back to the examination room, but they told me I couldn’t stay with him and that the doctor would come out and talk to me when he knew something.”

  Unable to leave the rodeo they had coordinated to honor their late foster father, the men had sent her to the hospital with Sam, while they attended to dispatching the livestock Sam’s company had provided for the various events to the next rodeo on the schedule. She knew it had to be extremely hard for them not to have dropped everything to go with their brother to the hospital, but they had done their duty and seen to Sam’s interests when he couldn’t.

  “Is e
verything over with for this year’s memorial rodeo?” she asked, knowing the bull riding was usually the last scheduled event.

  “Yup, we got everything taken care of,” Lane said, lowering his lanky frame into one of the chairs. “There’s nothing for you to worry about right now, except being here for Sam.”

  “I wish they would come out and tell us something,” Bria said, unable to sit still any longer. She walked over to look down the hall toward the room where they had taken Sam.

  What could be taking so long? she wondered as she spotted T.J. and Jaron returning with several cups of coffee. The longer it took to hear something, the more worried she became.

  “Still no word?” T.J. asked as he stopped to hand her a cup. He had no sooner gotten the words out, when a man in blue scrubs and a white lab coat entered the waiting area.

  “Mrs. Rafferty?” he asked, walking over to her.

  As she braced herself for whatever news he came to deliver, Sam’s brothers rose to stand with her. “I’m Brianna Rafferty,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded strong when her nerves were anything but steady. “Is my hus…is Sam going to be all right?”

  “I’m Dr. Bailey, the neurologist on call this evening.” His expression gave no indication of what kind of news he had to tell them. “Let’s sit down and I’ll explain what’s going on with your husband.” Once they were all seated, he pulled up a chair to sit across from them. “Sam regained consciousness just before we took him to Imaging for the CT scan and X-rays, which is a good sign. And there was no evidence of broken bones.”

  Apparently sensing she needed support, Nate took her hand in his and asked the question that she couldn’t. “Why do I hear a ‘but’ in your voice, Doc?”

  “The scan showed that Sam suffered a severe concussion, but there were no signs of bleeding in his brain, which is good,” Dr. Bailey explained. “There is, however, some swelling.”