by Ruth Owen
On the twenty-second night of her coma, Ian sat alone by her bedside, reading her Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. The story had always been one of his favorites, but this time he found the imagery of the ghosts and death disturbing. He looked at Jillie’s quiet figure, with its tubes and wires and click-clacking breathing device. Is that what you are, my darling? A ghost?
Other disturbing images filled his mind. Several days ago Jill’s grandparents had arrived from Nebraska. Good, decent folk, they’d been appalled at the thought of their granddaughter’s body being kept alive when there was no hope of recovery. Ian had explained his theory and gotten them to agree to let Jill remain on life support. But as the days passed by with no encouraging results, they began to re-think their decision. Today they’d talked to Dr. Hassam about the procedures for medically “pulling the plug.” Ian knew that his time was running out.
He sat in the night-quiet hospital, listening to the breathing device separate the silence into discrete, quantifiable sections. All his professional life he’d put his trust in machines, in the measurable and rational laws of reality. Even his simulator, which created alternate realities, was based on those irrefutable laws. But the love he felt for Jill had blasted a heart-shaped hole in those irrefutable laws. Through it he’d caught a glimpse of another reality—a bright world that cast his own safe, careful existence into dull gray shadow. “I can’t go back to the way I was,” he confessed to her seemingly unhearing form. “And I can’t go on without you. Dammit, Jillie, I need you.”
His throat was raw from talking, yet he continued, speaking words dredged straight from his heart. “I’ve lived a lie all my life. When I was a boy I was cast in the role of the heir to the Sinclair title. But I wasn’t that heir. When I married, I became the sophisticated husband of an international socialite. That wasn’t me either. Even my role as scientist is only a part of who I am. I’ve lived behind masks for so long, I don’t know who I am anymore. But when I look into your eyes, I see the man I want to be—the man I could be. With your help.”
He bent closer to her immobile features, willing a response. But, as usual, he saw nothing. What did you expect? the rational demons of his mind chided him. By every verifiable measure she’s been dead for weeks. Stop making a bloody fool of yourself. Let her go.
“No,” he promised with all the strength left in him. “Never. I’ll never let her go.” Ignoring every accepted medical procedure, he grasped her shoulders and gave her a firm shake. “You said you felt that Einstein was still alive. Well, I feel that you are. You’re in there somewhere, Jillie, and I want you back. I’ll storm the pearly gate of heaven itself if that’s what it takes. I’m not giving you up, do you here?” He shook her so roughly, he dislodged her wires. “Wake up, dammit. Come back to me!”
What happened during the next seconds happened so fast he could barely make sense of it. Suddenly the room was full of medical personnel swarming over Jillie’s form like a hive of angry bees. A brawny orderly pulled Ian off her, but not before he saw one of the nurses begin to extract her breathing tube. “No,” he yelled, fighting the orderly with all the strength left in him. “You can’t take her off life support. She’ll die!”
“She’ll die if we don’t,” the orderly explained as he bodily dragged Ian from the room. “She’ll choke if the tube’s left in. Her throat’s rejecting it.”
“Her throat?” Ian muttered, stunned at what the simple words implied. “You mean she’s breathing on her own?”
“Looks like it, man,” the orderly replied, grinning. Everyone on the hospital staff knew of Ian’s crusade to bring Jill back. “She’s one in a million. A miracle.”
Ian slumped against the wall, exhausted beyond measure. She was going to live. She’d come back to him after all. “You’re right,” he said, giving the orderly an exhausted smile. “She’s a bloody miracle.”
There was a knock on Jill’s door.
Okay, don’t panic, she told herself as she glanced in the pocket mirror she’d borrowed from one of the nurses. So what if you look like you’ve just been run over by a semi? He loves you. It won’t matter to him.
But it matters to me.
The knock sounded again. She sighed, finally acknowledging that thirty minutes’ worth of preening wasn’t going to make up for three weeks of near-death coma. Rats, she thought as she lifted her eyes to face the door. “Come in.”
When he first entered the room, she wondered if someone hadn’t played a trick on her. Her elegant doctor was gone, switched for a man in a rumpled suit with several days’ growth of beard on his chin. Shocked, she said the first thing that came to mind. “You look terrible.”
“I see your bout with death hasn’t dulled your honesty,” he said drolly. Then his stern mouth curved into a smile so tender, it nearly burst her heart. “How are you?”
“Better now,” she answered. As if coming out of the coma weren’t miraculous enough, her recovery in the past two days had amazed her doctors. Her gaze roamed over Ian.
He looked so endearingly awkward standing by the door, as though he weren’t quite sure he was welcome. British to the core, she thought with a shake of her head. “Ian, please come closer. I—”
“No—harrumph—I’d better not,” he said, plowing his unkept hair in his trademark gesture of frustration. “You’re still somewhat frail from your coma, and I … well, I just believe it would be more sensible if I stay over here.”
“Sensible? Was it sensible for you to waste weeks on me when everyone else had given me up for dead?”
“Jill, you’re getting upset—”
“Damn straight I’m getting upset! I busted my buns to break free from that coma and come back to you, and all you can think about is being sensible. Well, Doctor,” she stated as she began to push herself out of her bed, “if you’re not coming over here, then I’ll just have to—damn!”
Her limited strength gave out and she fell back into her pillows. Ian was beside her in an instant. “Bloody hell,” he growled as he cradled her against him. “When are you going to start listening to me?”
“Probably never,” she admitted, her words muffled by his shirt. She breathed in his smell, his warmth, his reality, realizing that despite being pronounced medically and physically sound, she hadn’t felt truly alive until that moment. Loving Ian is what makes me real, she thought, blinking back sudden tears. “Besides, somebody’s got to keep you from being too sensible.”
“Well, you excel at that, Ms. Polanski.” He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “I don’t suppose you’d consider taking on the job on a permanent basis? Marriagewise, I mean.”
Jill’s heart pounded so hard, she thought it would break through her chest. “But you said—”
“I know what I said. And I was a bloody fool for saying it. I spouted off philosophy and high-minded ideals, when the truth was I couldn’t bear the thought believing you’d be mine forever, then losing you.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“I thought I could control my love for you—box it up like one of my neat equations. But that’s not going to be possible. Loving you isn’t part of my life, it is my life,” he confessed, hugging her with a fierce, possessive tenderness. “While you were in the coma I had a glimpse of what my future would be like without you. It is not a reality I would want to live in.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, hardly daring to believe the tendrils of rainbows beginning to shine inside her. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“I would estimate the probability to be somewhere around a hundred percent,” he said in his most official Dr. Doom voice. “Besides, everyone is counting on it. I mentioned to a few people that we were going to get married, and it took off from there.”
“Took off?”
“Like the space shuttle,” he acknowledged, grinning. “Partridge is gathering wallpaper samples so you two can redecorate ‘the Mausoleum.’ Marsha signed herself up for maid of honor. The cybertechs are plann
ing to throw us a ‘surprise’ engagement party—Sadie promised to give us fair warning. And Einstein—”
“Einstein,” a familiar electronic voice interrupted, “is getting sick and tired of listening to all this lovey-dovey stuff.”
“E!” Jill cried, turning toward the far corner of the room. She hadn’t noticed the unobtrusive gray notebook computer sitting demurely in the shadows—a computer whose screen suddenly blossomed with blue and gold fireworks.
“Hey, babe. What’s shakin’?”
Jill laughed at the dear, familiar phrase. “Is it really you? How are you feeling?”
“Fit as a digitally modulated fiddle,” Einstein buzzed emphatically. “Thanks to you and the doc here.”
“And PINK,” Jill added.
“PINK too,” E added, his tone dropping to a low resonance Jill had never heard him use before. “I wouldn’t be here without her. Of course,” he added, his voice resuming its jaunty cadence, “she’s not letting me forget it either. Made me run her entire bioanalysis program for edible seaweed products just so she could spend the day handicapping the races at Hialeah. We are talking the Super Bowl of boring. Women!”
Ian chuckled in agreement until Jill thumped him one in the chest. “That was very gentlemanly of you, Einstein.”
“Natch. I’m the best there is, there was, there ever will be,” he stated without even a pretense of modesty. “Well, Doc, now that Jill’s on-line, I guess you’ll want some match-merge time. I’m outta here.”
“Match-merge?” Ian asked as the computer signed off.
“That’s E’s expression for romance,” Jill explained. “Says it all, don’t you think?”
“No. This says it all,” he said, slanting his mouth over hers. For a long time the only sounds in the room were passionate sighs and the tortured groans of the mattress springs. Finally Ian spoke. “Jillie, you may be up to this, but I’m not,” he confessed raggedly as he got up from the bed. “Like your computer friend said, ‘I’m outta here.’ ”
“We’ve got to invite him to our wedding,” Jill stated. “PINK too. We owe them so much.”
“Like how to fight for those you love no matter what the conventional wisdom says,” Ian agreed, smiling down at her. “I’d like them to be there, but I don’t see how.”
“You’ll figure out something,” she said with absolute confidence. “You miraculously brought me back from the dead, didn’t you?”
“It’s only fair. You brought me back from a living death.” He bent down, unable to resist the soft temptation of her loving smile. Straightening at last, he gave her a final, stern appraisal. “You know, Ms. Polanski, you’ve completely ruined my studies. I never had to bother with miracles before I met you. Now I’ll have to factor them into all my equations.”
EPILOGUE
It was one of the most unusual weddings ever to take place in the old, stone-walled Florida garden. The white gazebo and the folding chairs set up for the guests were quite normal, and the large reception tent off to the side was utterly common. But the yards and yards of wires strung like twine through the overhanging branches of the palms and live oaks were not usual in the least. Nor were the dozen video cameras, the oversize satellite dish, the strategically placed microphones, speakers, power relays …
“Lawd,” Jill’s grandfather said as he peered around the edge of the shielding wall toward the gazebo, “there’s enough equipment out there to launch a moon rocket.”
“Not quite, Pops,” she assured him with an indulgent smile. “Ian and his team rigged this up so that the two computer prototypes could attend the ceremony.”
“So you said,” her grandfather remarked, then shook his head as if to say this would never happen in Nebraska. “Is this what you want, Jillie?”
“More than anything,” she assured him as she linked her arm through his. Loving and being loved by Ian had soothed all hurting places inside her, making her forget the pain of her early years. But one memory remained, of a mother’s final hope for her daughter. Promise me, Jillie. “I wish … I wish Mom could have been here.”
Her grandfather took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Somehow, I think she is.”
Jill started to reply, but stopped as the strains of the “Wedding March” began to fill the air. Marsha stuck her head around the shielding wall. “Hey, guys, it’s show time!”
Pops put on his most patriarchal smile and led Jill down the grass aisle past the small assembly. Felix and Sadie nudged each other as she passed, grinning like Cheshire cats, while both Partridge and Jill’s grandmother were busy dabbing away tears of happiness. But Jill had eyes only for the tall, midnight-haired man who stood in front of the gazebo, whose gentle smile held more warmth than a thousand suns.
“Hey, look up there!” Felix cried suddenly.
All eyes turned to the sky. Jill gasped in wonder as she saw a brilliant rainbow stretched across the heavens. Astonished, she glanced back at Ian to see what he made of the amazing sight, and caught him winking at her. “You did this? But how—”
“The prototypes helped. We postulated the sun angle, barometric pressure, wind velocity, and so forth. Then we seeded the clouds—and crossed our fingers.” His smile deepened as he added, “There’s nothing mysterious about water condensation, Ms. Polanski.”
And romance was no excuse for inaccuracy, or so he’d said in Casablanca, Jill remembered. She took the few final steps to the altar, recalling the seemingly un-crossable distance they’d traveled to get there. She and Ian had come from different worlds, but as she stood beside him, she again felt the potent awareness between them, the unseen power that had drawn their hearts together even while their minds were at odds. “I love you,” she whispered.
“I love you,” he replied. And then, because part of him would always be her dear, impatient Dr. Doom, he asked the preacher, “I say, can’t we just skip to the kissing part?”
Laughter rumbled through the audience. The sound was transmitted through the wires, digitized, and broadcast via the satellite dish to the vast computer complex at Sheffield Industries headquarters. There it was fed into the sensory input ports of the gigantic network CPU, where it was processed by the two wedding guests who couldn’t personally attend the ceremony, but who nevertheless absorbed every detail. They sat in adjoining sectors, their bit patterns intertwined as they “watched” Jill and Ian exchange their vows.
PINK gave the digital equivalent of a heartfelt sigh. “Isn’t it romantic?”
“I guess,” Einstein replied glumly. “But I still think it would have been better if they’d listened to me and hired a reggae band.”
THE EDITOR’S CORNER
Welcome to Loveswept!
The holidays are approaching and I’ve so many things to do, don’t you? So why is it all I want to do is cuddle up on the couch with a good book? I’ll tell you why, there are so many amazing Loveswept stories on sale this month that all you’ll want to do is read too!! For starters, LOVING THE EARL (11/11) by Sharon Cullen features our hero’s sister from THE NOTORIOUS LADY ANNE (2/11), and OMG ladies, this book is for you! Sharon writes with wit and steam a combination that keeps me reading all night long. Double your historical delight with Samantha Kane’s finale in The Saint’s Devils, DEVIL IN MY ARMS (11/26) – its Hil’s story and what a match he’s made. Then, Loveswept debut, Serena Bell releases, YOURS TO KEEP (11/11), a captivating story of a woman living on the edge—and the man who’s destined to love her (sigh).
And there’s more!
Ruthie Knox releases a series of short stories, Roman Holiday. Over the next weeks look for each installment: CHAINED (11/12) - book one launches the series; followed by, HITCHED (11/19); then, BLINDSIDED (11/26), plus books four and five are right around the corner, ten books in all!!
And, you can’t miss these classics:
Fran Baker’s, THE WIDOW AND THE WILDCATTER, the captivating story of a woman haunted by the ghosts of the past, and a daredevil who promises a future filled with
love; Sandra Chastain’s, REBEL IN SILK, about an unconventional beauty who refuses to back down from a challenge—or a handsome loner with a taste for trouble; and Sandra’s classics continue with, TOO HOT TO HANDLE, and, THE SILVER BULLET AFFAIR. Look for favorite Loveswept author Iris Johansen and her re-release of, STAR-SPANGLED BRIDE. Readers have continued to adore Ruth Owen’s Loveswepts including, SORCERER, a sexy tale of an emotionally guarded computer whiz and the princess who makes virtual reality come to vivid life. And, to wrap up the month Jean Stone’s, BIRTHDAY GIRL, and Connie Brockway’s, AS YOU DESIRE, will keep you toasty on those cold winter nights.
Holiday lovers won’t want to skip these contemporary reissues, ROOM AT THE INN by Ruthie Knox, and Molly O’Keefe’s, ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS, guaranteed to put you in the holiday spirit.
New this winter is, HEATING UP THE HOLIDAY’S, a fabulous anthology that takes you through the seasons: New York Times bestselling author, Lisa Renee Jones, leads the lineup with, PLAY WITH ME, a Thanksgiving romance; SNOWFALL, by Mary Ann Rivers, will warm you up for Christmas; and knock off your New Years with, MIDIGHT AFFAIR, by Serena Bell – love could not be any more special!
Be swept away with Loveswept, ’tis the season!
Happy Holidays –
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for excerpts from more Loveswept titles …
Read on for an excerpt from Katie Rose’s
Mistletoe and Magic
Chapter One
New York, 1874
“I see someone,” Jennifer Appleton whispered. Her half-shut eyes fell on the elderly woman seated across the table from her. “It is a woman. Has your mother passed over as well as your father?”
“Why, yes!” Beatrice Osborne appeared surprised as she gazed at the lovely young woman before her. “He died in the war, while she …”