CLOSE TO YOU: Enhanced (Lost Hearts)
Page 28
During the last week, he'd carefully wrapped himself in indifference. Emptiness would work as an anesthesia against the pain that he knew would come . . . when he told her the truth.
But every time she touched him, the electricity blasted away the darkness, illuminating the dark corners of his soul and bringing him to unwilling life.
He steeled himself to sound indifferent. "I don't need a wheelchair."
She sounded patient and amused when she replied, "The hospital doesn't care if you need a wheelchair. They don't want you to fall down on the way out and sue them."
Great. She'd started humoring him. She probably didn't feel the strain of not making love for a week. She certainly seemed to be handling the advent of her family well.
Better than he was. All the Prescotts had come to visit him once a day, and they had enfolded him in their affections. He had saved their sister's life. They loved him without reservation.
When they weren't here, Kate talked about them. She filled him in on all their idiosyncrasies, where they went, and what they ate. She confessed her mixed feelings about inheriting such a close-knit family—God knows he related to that. She told him how strange she felt when she realized she had killed another human being—although Oberlin had scarcely fit the description.
He told her how he had handled the amazing mix of emotions he'd experienced when he'd killed in the service. When he was done, she nodded and told him that Dan had said the same things.
Kate didn't need him anymore. Oberlin had been right about one thing: Teague didn't fit in her life.
"I don't want a wheelchair," he said stubbornly.
"You tell her." Kate widened her eyes in mock horror. "Godzilla's on duty."
"Shit." The crease in his skull ached. He pressed his fingers into his forehead.
The door bumped open, revealing a wheelchair with Godzilla the Monster Nurse at the helm.
Kate rubbed his arm, then stepped away to let Godzilla manage him into the chair. Before he knew it, he was traveling through the hospital corridors like an old man so enfeebled he couldn't even walk a block. The passing nurses bid him cheery farewells, and two of them smiled in a way that reminded him he was not an enfeebled old man but valuable dating material.
Kate noticed, too, because she moved closer and put her hand on his shoulder. And the lightning flashed through him again.
He shouldn't have made love to her in a storm. The charge still lingered in the air, igniting his desire and scrambling his thoughts.
He'd lost his mind . . . and his heart.
Near the entrance to the hospital, Kate took his suitcase and left him to bring her car around. He waited grimly, Godzilla breathing down his neck, but she couldn't stop him when Kate drove up. He stood and got in the car on his own. Godzilla slammed the door as if she were glad to be rid of him.
"Let's get out of here." He glanced over at Kate.
She put the car in gear and drove off, and she was grinning. She had the nerve to look happy.
"What?" he snapped.
"A week ago, I thought you were dead." She actually sounded happy, too. "Now I'm taking you home."
"No, you're not. We're going to visit . . . someone." Bleakly he took Fate by the neck and twisted. "Turn left here."
Kate raised her eyebrows, but did as she was told. "Do I get to know who we're going to visit?"
"Juanita."
"Juanita from Ramos Security?"
"Yes." He took a breath. "Her name is Juanita Ramos."
Kate stiffened. "She's your . . . ?"
"Cousin. Juanita is my cousin."
"Good." Kate relaxed again, handling the powerful little car with ease. "Any reason why we're visiting her now when you should be going home to rest? I mean, I can chat with your relatives later."
"No. There is no later." He couldn't delay. He'd been dreading this moment ever since he woke in ICU and realized that for the first time in his life, he loved someone with all the fervor and fire of his Latin soul. Love . . . love required the truth. No woman could love him once she knew. Certainly not Kate with her Protestant morality and her upright character.
Of course, she would feel sorry for him. Be kind to him . . . and the thought of her kindness made him grind his teeth.
Kate pulled up to Juanita's apartment building and parked in a visitor's parking space.
The place was shabby, in need of paint, and Teague found himself explaining, "She won't let me help her. She insists on living on her wages, and her condition is expensive. . . ." He trailed off. He shouldn't be trying to whitewash himself. "Come on."
They got out. Kate met him in front of the car. He indicated the way, but she didn't seem to understand he wanted her to walk ahead. Instead she slid her hand into his. "Is she expecting us?"
"Yes." Tension held him in its grip.
"Are there more in your family?"
"No one that I claim."
"Then this is sort of like meeting your parents, isn't it?" Her grip tightened.
He wanted to shake free of Kate's hand. He wanted to kiss her fingers. He wanted to be absorbed into her bloodstream, see with her, hear with her, breathe with her. He was dying a slow, agonizing death, and she didn't even seem aware of his pain.
"No." He stopped before Juanita's door. He knocked. "No. Not at all like that."
The look Kate shot him told him she wasn't as unaware as she would like him to think. She knew something was going on. . . . Well, of course she did. He hadn't voluntarily touched her since he awoke six days ago. And he wished he could kiss her one last time.
She seemed to know what he was thinking, and she was willing. She leaned against him, her body pliant. She turned her face up. She closed her eyes.
His resistance was no match for her surrender.
Juanita answered the door. "Oops!" Her brown eyes twinkled. "Want me to go away again?"
"No." Harshly he shook off Kate's enchantment.
As if she were hurt, Kate looked down and bit her lip. But better a little pain now than the slow grinding disillusionment of years.
Juanita moved her wheelchair out of the way. "Come in! I've been expecting you." At home, she usually wore a loose-fitting dress and slippers to keep her feet warm.Today she was dressed like the hostess at a party, with a red shirt that made her dark hair glow, a flowered skirt that looked appropriate for a fiesta, and flats that looked fashionably comfy.
"Something smells good." Kate followed Juanita through the tiny apartment toward the dining room.
"I knew Teague would be hungry after eating that awful hospital food—unfortunately I know my way around the hospital—so I fixed shrimp enchiladas and charro beans."
Teague couldn't believe the round laden table with its celebratory tablecloth, the loaded casserole, the Crock-Pot, and the shining silverware.
"And look—" Juanita lifted a cloth napkin to show them a pile of tortillas.
"Did you make them yourself?" Kate asked.
"No, but I bought them at the Tortilla Stand." Juanita grinned. "Margarita?" "Only one. Teague's not allowed to drive." Kate grinned back.
"I'll bet he hates that." Juanita moved efficiently through her kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the salad. "Teague, would you pour while I get the plates?"
"I can drive." Teague could scarcely contain his irritation as he poured Kate a margarita from the frosted pitcher. This meeting was not going as he had planned. He'd envisioned a hurried visit to show Kate the reality of Juanita's condition, then a quick conversation and a speedy dismissal, followed by years of desolation.
Yet Kate had said she was meeting his relatives, and she'd acted as if it meant something. Juanita was behaving the same way. What was it with women? Why did they have to make everything an event? Why did they have to make unwarranted assumptions?
What was he going to do without Kate?
He knew the answer. He'd seen hell a few times in his life. He walked through hell more than once. He recognized hell in the darkness, the ba
rrenness of light, of emotion, of being. And when Kate was gone, he would live in hell.
"Your home is lovely." Kate sipped her drink. "Did you decorate it yourself?"
"Thank you, I did! I knew I wanted a little sense of home—Teague probably told you I was raised in the same border town as he was—"
"No. He just today told me you were his cousin. "Kate's voice was matter-of-fact as she tattled on him. "I thought he was a complete and total orphan."
"He doesn't tell people we're related." Juanita's voice was equally matter-of-fact. "He has a thing about nepotism, and of course I can't get a job just anywhere. I have to work for him or take a lower-paying job."
Teague hated that it was true. "Juanita's the best security person we have. Her reports have resulted in more than a dozen arrests in the past year."
"I owe the state of Texas a lot," Juanita said. "The Shriners Hospital in Houston operated on me for free. That's why I'm able to get around as well as I do. So it's kind of great being able to say I protect the capitol."
"I used to have a job at the capitol, too." Kate dipped a chip in the beans. "This is wonderful. You'll have to give me the recipe."
"What do you mean, you used to have a job at the capitol?" Teague knew he wasn't going to like the answer.
"I got fired." Kate's mouth looked a little puckered. "Brad seemed to think I'd been nothing but a waste of money since I got to the station."
"That son of a bitch!" Teague couldn't believe it. "Doesn't he realize what you've gone through?"
"He doesn't care. He didn't want to hire me in the first place, and he doesn't have to keep me now." Kate looked remarkably unconcerned.
But Teague knew better. She loved her job. "I'll talk to. him."
"No, you will not. I've already had one person fixing my employment." Kate's eyes flashed. "I'm not having another one."
"I think we'd better eat." Juanita placed little bowls of sour cream and pico de gallo on the table, and a small smile creased her thin cheeks.
When Teague and Kate had seated themselves, Juanita rolled into her place and took each of their hands. "At every meal, I always thank God for another day of life. Today I thank God for your lives, too."
TWENTY-SIX
By the time Teague and Kate left Juanita's apartment two hours later, Kate had been regaled with Juanita's humorous version of Teague's teenage years. She hadn't told Kate everything—she hadn't told Kate the big thing—but she had painted a picture of a swaggering tough who stood down gangs to protect his little cousin in the school yard and then whimpered over a haircut.
Teague watched as Kate laughed at all the right places, and the sound of her merriment felt like knives in his gut.
But she was thoughtful and silent as they made their way to her car. She probably made some assumptions. Probably the right ones. The next hour would be difficult, but he'd been through worse hours, and when it was over—well, it would be over.
He watched the scenery swing by, and said, "You've taken a wrong turn, Kate."
"I'm not taking you home." She took another turn.
"I don't want to go to your house."
"I'm not going to my house, either." She had a determined jut to her chin. An ominous jut.
He waited, but she didn't continue. "Where are we going?" he asked.
"To the park on Town Lake."
Which was a pretty park and a pretty lake, but he wanted to get this confrontation over with, not have a picnic. "Why are we going there?"
"It's wonderful this time of year." That was no answer, but she didn't volunteer anything more.
She pulled into the almost empty parking lot. The grass was still green—of course, it was Texas and barely November—but some of the leaves had turned color. Through the branches, the lake was smooth and blue. A couple huddled together on a picnic table. No one else was in sight.
Kate turned to Teague. "Shall we walk?"
"Sure." His head still hurt, but he figured the pain would be relieved as soon as he finally told her what he had to tell her. "We've got to talk, anyway."
"I know." She opened her door. "So let's walk."
Ah. That was why she'd come here. She wanted to talk, too, and on neutral ground.
They strolled side by side across the lawn toward the lake's edge, but this time she didn't reach out and take his hand. This time, she didn't touch him at all.
The day was chilly, probably fifty-five degrees, and even with his leather jacket on he was cold. He told himself it was because he'd just left the hospital. Actually, it was the distance between them. A distance he'd better get used to.
Not far from the water, she sat on the grass, turned up her collar, tucked her hands in the pockets of her sweater. The silence between them became uncomfortable, then deadly, and Kate made no effort to lift it. If someone was going to start the conversation, it had to be him.
He was glad he was standing over her. He could impose the truth on her. She needed to know.
"It's my fault Juanita's in that wheelchair." There. The truth had come out too bluntly, but at least he'd said it.
"I'd sort of figured that out." Kate tucked her face further into the collar of her sweater. And waited.
"Juanita . . . when Juanita talks about me, I sound so innocent. I wasn't." God bless Juanita. She loved him and made him out to be better than he was. "I ran with a gang. Was one of the leaders. Played out my life on the streets. Drank and did drugs. Would have died in the gutter, just like my mother predicted, except . . ."
"You got a wake-up call." Kate looked across the lake.
"Sure. You can call it that. My mother . . . I'll never forget what my mother said that morning." The words, the ones he never could speak aloud before, spewed forth dipped in the vitriol of the past. "Teague, you little bastard, don't be so goddamned stupid. You're a god-damned stupid half-breed gringo and if you get knifed, no one will care. I sure as hell won't. But that kid is only fourteen. You can't take her to a gang fight. Her father's the meanest son of a bitch I ever met, and I've met a few. If something happens to his kid, he'll kill you. Besides, she's smart. She's a nice kid. Not like you."
"Your mother must have been a pleasure." Kate didn't meet his eyes.
The dark emptiness now encroached without any encouragement. "A lousy mother is no excuse for what I did."
"No, you're right." Kate accepted that all too easily. "So you took Juanita to the gang fight."
"From the time she was little, she tagged around after me. She worshiped me, and I took care of her. It made me feel strong. Benevolent." Bitterly he said, "What a joke."
"She still seems to like you. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was selling me on you today."
Juanita had been selling him to Kate. "She wants me to marry."
"Of course she does. And why not?"
"I . . ." I haven't met the right woman. But he couldn't say that. He didn't believe it.
And from the sudden sparkle in Kate's eyes, she wouldn't accept that answer.
"Finish your story," she said.
"That kid is only fourteen. She'll follow you into hell . . . and she did. Juanita wanted to come see a gang war, so I brought her. It was time she toughened up, smelled the blood, felt the excitement of fighting with knives, of winning. We broke windows. We looted. We waged war on one another, and the police couldn't keep up with us." He still remembered the dust rising from the streets, the shouts, the sweat.
His head throbbed harder. "Then somebody broke the rules. Someone brought a gun." The words had been so easy, words he'd rehearsed all week, a flat retelling of horrific events. But now they dried up and he was left with one memory
The sound of that single gunshot.
He'd heard a lot of gunfire since, but even now, it rang in his ears.
He walked away from the memories and from Kate, but he couldn't stay away. He had to finish the story. He came back, and again he told himself it would all be done in about an hour. He could survive anything for an hour.
"But you didn't." Kate seemed disconnected in a way he'd never imagined. "God or Fate or whatever you believe in decided you should stay."
"Yes. And face what I had done." Over and over again. "That night when I went home . . . I found the cops there."
"To arrest you?"
"No. To tell me my mother went out on the streets, drunk and God knows what else, screaming insults at the police—and somehow, she ended up dead." The dark and the cold enveloped him. "It was a hell of a day."
"So you killed your mother, too."
At Kate's cruel words, the last, faint shred of hope, a shred he hadn't even recognize, shriveled.
He bared his teeth. "No. No, I'm not taking credit for that. My mother was a prostitute when it suited her. If she had a windfall, she spent it as fast as she could. She was mean drunk and she was mean sober, and she didn't go out that day to rescue Juanita. She didn't want me to take Juanita out because she was scared of her brother. She went out that day . . . because she liked to live in hell, and hell was happening almost on her doorstep."
"I know." Kate's gaze flashed to meet his. "Juanita told me."
For the first time, Teague realized he'd been handled. And as Kate stood and brushed the grass off her rear, he got the feeling he was about to be handled some more. "What else did Juanita tell you?"
"After you were shot, she was worried to death about you. We talked quite a bit. She pretty much told me what you told me, but she added a few things." Kate shook back her hair, the same way she did when she was doing an interview. "She said before the accident her father used to beat her, and you stood up to him. Even when you were half his size, you attacked him, distracted him, took the blows for her."
"It made me feel important."
"To be someone's hero? Sure it did, but you suffered a lot of pain for that importance." Kate walked to the shore, picked up a stone, and skipped it across the water. "Juanita told me while she lay bleeding in the streets, you stood guard over her, protected her from the riot, rode with her in the ambulance. She said her father tried to kill you in the waiting room."