Can't Forget Him

by West, Cara

  His eyes met hers. They'd cleared from the sedation, and now a gleam began to light their depths.

  "Wretchedly?" he asked.

  "Each and every one of them is abjectly humble."

  "Abjectly?"

  "And dreadfully anxious that you might not forgive them. They're afraid you'll take me away from them. And they wouldn't blame you if you did."

  "You've, uh, talked to than about this?" he asked, his voice thin, but tinged with amusement and relief.

  "A little. I tore into Sam while we were waiting to hear if you'd survived your repairs."

  A grin tugged at the comers of Nate's mouth. "I suppose he has the scars to prove it."

  "A few."

  "I can almost feel it in my heart to sympathize with Sam."

  "Are you feeling a little in charity with him?"

  "Why are you asking?"

  "Sam wants to see you, and so does Dad."

  "I see. And—what do you want? I'll do whatever you say."

  "So obedient," she marveled.

  "You've caught me in a temporarily weakened state," he reminded her.

  "Well, I wouldn't mind if you made Sam suffer a little. But in the end, if you feel it in your heart, I'd like you to grant them absolution. I mean, we'll need baby-sitters one of these days. And you'll have to admit my parents are experts."

  Nate's eyes widened. "Are we planning children?"

  "Two probably. Although the number's negotiable."

  "Are you saying we're getting married?" Nate asked, his voice cracking. "Because, I'll tell you right now, I'm not having any kids of mine... running around without my name on them."

  "Well, of course, we're getting married. What do you think? Didn't you ask me?" She was highly indignant.

  "Not exactly." He searched her face. "What about the gallery?" His face flashed alarm. "The gallery! My God! What happened after the shooting?"

  "I don't know and right at this moment I don't care. Carol's taken charge of everything."

  "Of course you care. Don't talk that way." He seemed to gather his reduced supply of strength. "What about promoting Betty? Discovering new artists? Making a name for yourself? You've just embarked on a great adventure. Your whole career's in front of you. I don't intend for us—or marriage, or children—to get in your way.''

  "You think I can't handle marriage, kids and adventure, too?"

  "That's not what I meant. I just don't—"

  "You don't think I'm ready to be the mother of your children?"

  "You will be the only mother of my children," he assured her gravely.

  "Since you're certain of that, we may as well get started. Besides, I don't want to go adventuring alone."

  "Megan—" he grimaced "—don't let gratitude confuse you."

  She flared up immediately. "You think I'm only feeling grateful? How dare you doubt my judgment or my love?"

  "Megan—"

  "I know, I know. You have reasons to doubt me. I thought I was so grown-up. Instead, all I've been is a stupid, willful coward."

  She leaned over him and smacked him on the lips. "But I've learned my lesson. What happened has taught me exactly what I want. You. To be with you every day that's granted us. I never want to live without you again."

  "I see," he said thoughtfully. "And you're never again going to rush through life and rage at fate and prod people unmercifully to do what they ought to."

  She smiled at him sweetly. "If I do, oh laconic one, you'll put me in my place."

  He chuckled. It was a meager effort. Even so, Megan felt warmed clear through.

  She changed subjects briskly, as though they'd finished with that one. "Now then. Dad and Sam have been hanging around the waiting room for more than twelve hours waiting for a chance to make sure you're okay and feeling generous. They trooped by your gurney when you were in ICU, but I don't think the sight of your comatose body helped their feelings. Especially Sam's. Do you think you're up to putting them out of their misery?"

  "I love you. Kiss me.''

  She did so. Tenderly, lovingly.

  When at last she drew back, Nate's expression was beatific. "Thank you. Now I'm ready. Send them in."

  ANDREW WAS first. If he'd had a hat, Nate thought, it would have been in his hands. Although his look was sheepish, a grin lurked around his mouth. For just a fleeting moment, he reminded Nate of a naughty boy.

  "Hello, son," Andrew said as he approached the end of the bed. "Megan's told me I only have five minutes and that under no circumstances am I to tire you out. So I'll say what I need to and let Sam get in here. Thank you, Nate—for saving my daughter's life."

  Nate's smile was sincere. "It was my pleasure.'*

  Andrew surveyed the medical paraphernalia around them. "This isn't the kind of pleasure I'd want to repeat."

  "Maybe we can compare scars—when I get out of here."

  "Feels like a fifty-pound weight on your chest, doesn't it?"

  "I—I've had better mornings."

  "We all have. You scared the hell out of us." It sounded like a scolding.

  "I'm sorry," Nate said meekly.

  "I guess this is my comeuppance, for putting y'all through hell." Andrew's face turned somber, and he walked to Nate's side. "I went a little crazy, son. After the heart attack. I wasn't thinking straight. Some of the time I was irrational. The whole family was, for that matter."

  "I realize that," Nate said.

  "But that doesn't justify the way we treated you. I wish I could erase that period. Not all of it, mind you. I learned too much about myself. But I'm sorry for what happened between you and me. And how it affected everyone's feelings. I'm not sure what else to say. Except I'm so damn thankful you're still with us, I can't help but feel hopeful about the future."

  "Andrew... I won't tell you I haven't been angry and hurt, but let's make a pact to put the past behind us. We're both sorry about what happened. And life's too precious—" Nate's voice broke as he realized how true his words were "—to spend in recriminations."

  "We've learned that the hard way, haven't we?" Andrew said. "I love you like a son. Molly does, too. I want you to remember that."

  "I hope that doesn't mean I can't marry your daughter."

  "Of course not," Andrew said brusquely.

  ''Because I have to tell you, Megan's getting impatient."

  Andrew chuckled in relief that Nate could joke with him again. ''That girl always did have a will of her own."

  "And I," Nate admitted, "have never been good at resisting her."

  "Son—" Andrew patted Nate on the shoulder "—I have a feeling you're in for the ride of your life."

  Sam was next. He wore a grim expression, unrelieved by the optimism Nate had seen in Andrew's eyes. The hours of uncertainty had marked Sam's face deeply. And the long night had failed to provide him solace.

  By now, Nate was also feeling great weariness. But he knew he couldn't rest comfortably until he and Sam had found a way to make peace.

  Sam walked to Nate's bedside without saying a word.

  "Looks familiar, doesn't it?" Nate said lightly.

  "Too damn familiar."

  "It's okay. I'll be out of here soon."

  "Yeah," Sam said tautly, "but you'll still have a goddamned fool for a partner."

  After a long pause, Nate said, "I can handle it if you can."

  "Are you sure you want to?"

  "Are you saying you don't?"

  "No!" Sam exploded, then paused for a moment. "But why should you trust me after the way I turned on you?"

  "Because I think I understand a little of how you felt. Hell, I didn't trust myself with Megan, either."

  "That's what that business of trying to sell the company was all about. I thought you'd been disloyal. So I decided to show you how it felt."

  Nate's expression hardened. "I was ready to smash your head in when I heard what you'd done."

  "How do you feel now?"

  "Depends on your plans."

  "I plan on bei
ng half of the best damned engineering firm in the state of Texas. You interested?"

  "Yeah."

  "Why, Nate? How can you be?" Sam's voice roughened.

  "Because you're still the best friend I have in the world." Nate had to take a moment to steady his emotions. As he'd told Megan earlier, he seemed helpless in the face of them. "Friends make mistakes," he was finally able to say. "None of us is perfect."

  Sam threw his hands into the air. "I knew it. You're going to forgive me."

  "Well, that's what you want, isn't it?" Nate asked with a quirk of his lips.

  Sam gazed at him intently before looking off into the distance. "I had a lot to think about last night while I waited. I mean, about our friendship. What it would be like without you. The business. My life. What we've been through together. My mind filled with memories."

  He blinked rapidly. "You remember our first spring break when we went to Nuevo Laredo—"

  "—and got so drunk on mescal you accidentally swallowed the worm." Nate grinned faintly.

  "You poured that worm in my drink on purpose."

  "You got me back when we went calling on the ladies."

  "I thought you'd appreciate a buxom wench."

  "Buxom! We could hardly share the same bed she was so big."

  "If I remember correctly, the beds weren't safe to share. It's a wonder we didn't come back with multiple diseases."

  They both shook their heads at their youthful follies.

  "The next spring break we took off for Big Bend and hiked the mountains," Sam reminded him. "Just the two of us."

  Nate remembered it well. "Yeah. And we went to the hot springs every night by the Rio Grande and stared up at the stars. That's when we hatched Grant-Kittridge Engineering."

  "You might say that was our defining moment."

  "Oh, I don't know," Nate said. "Remember the bottle of French champagne—"

  "—we shared on Mount Bonnell. God, we were full of ourselves that night," Sam said. "We thought the two of us could conquer the world."

  "We haven't been far wrong... have we, partner?"

  The two men shared a long look, and Nate held out his hand.

  Sam took it firmly, and what started out as a handshake developed into a strong clasp of need and love and caring.

  Nate blinked back sudden tears. He didn't have words to express how he felt. He didn't think Sam had any, either. So they stayed like that in silence, linked together, and let resolution and peace sink into their souls.

  When Nate saw Sam struggling to reclaim his composure, he said as casually as possible, "By the way, I might have a job for you in the near future."

  "Oh?" Sam cleared his throat.

  "I'm going to need a best man. And since I was yours, I was hoping..."

  Sam grinned. "I think I can handle the job." He paused. "After all, I've just learned a lesson in courage from the best man I know."

  "If you're going to start that again," Nate warned, "I'll set Megan on you."

  Sam held up his hands, palms first. "Okay, okay."

  "What's going on?" Megan asked as she came back into the room. She shook her finger at Sam. "I told you not to upset him.''

  Megan could almost see the men close ranks.

  "Everything's fine," Nate said placatingly.

  "We were discussing your wedding," Sam chimed in.

  "The last time you did that, the two of you were ready to kill each other."

  Sam came over and hugged her before pointing her in Nate's direction. ''She's yours, buddy. With my blessings."

  Nate gave a sharp laugh, then groaned with pain.

  THREE WEEKS LATER, Nate and Megan lay in Megan's bed. It was the shank of Christmas Night. She checked the clock drowsily. No—it was Boxing Day already.

  The presents under the tree in the corner were all gone, some exchanged in private with each other, most distributed over the course of a hectic holiday. Still, the lights Nate had strung were twinkling brightly. They and a dying fire cast a glow over the room.

  Raising her head onto one hand, Megan checked to see if Nate was sleeping peacefully. She knew she still had a tendency to hover, but sometimes she caught herself just watching him breathe.

  In and out, as regular as his heartbeat. If it wasn't for the ugly scar that bisected his chest, she might not suspect he'd had an argument with death.

  Less than a week after the shooting, he'd been discharged from the hospital. Another blessing to count. He'd kept himself in such good shape over the years he was healing like a twenty-five-year-old. If he hadn't been so fit, he might not have survived.

  Several of the nurses had commented on his splendid condition, their expressions somewhat wistful and occasionally covetous.

  Sorry, ladies, he's already taken...

  Megan had had to restrain herself from announcing it over the hospital intercom. She'd have to get used to having a husband as handsome as a movie star. She'd have to get used to having a husband.

  Her heart flopped over with the thought, and she held up her left hand. The sapphire solitaire glinted on her finger. Within the month, a gold band would nestle beside it.

  She'd been the one to insist on a short engagement. She'd also claimed she didn't need an engagement ring. Nate had said, too bad, he was feeling old-fashioned. He'd slipped it on late Christmas Eve after the midnight service they'd attended with Molly and Andrew.

  They'd gone to bed late and started the festivities early. Betty's wound had precluded her cooking a Christmas feast, so Sandra and Betty had ended up at the Grants for dinner.

  Thank goodness, Warren and Diana had already left for their annual ski trip to Taos, but the four of them had had an early Christmas celebration. Warren and Diana were already pressing Nate and Megan to go skiing with them next winter at this time. She could already hear the howls of protest from her traditional family.

  All of a sudden, after weeks of alienation, they were surrounded by a bevy of doting relatives.

  Even Betty's children had drawn closer after the tragedy. They'd come to see her often while she was in the hospital. They'd gathered at Sandra's house after Willard's funeral. The past couple of weeks, they'd shared holiday activities.

  Gradually the younger three were warming up to Sandra. Megan had decided there was even hope for Ken, Jr., and his wife.

  And once Sandra had been certain that Nate would recover, she'd managed to forgive them for their cruelty to Betty. Relations might never be the warmest, but the children were becoming resigned to the new reality.

  They were also astonished and awestruck by the mother they'd thought they'd known so well.

  Betty. The new media darling.

  Megan smothered a chuckle. Who could have envisioned the whirlwind events of these past three weeks? Nothing like scandal and tragedy and titillating rumors to put an unknown artist on the map.

  The shooting and its circumstances had been picked up by the national press, both the major dailies and network television. Last week, Newsweek had devoted its arts section to Betty's story and her work. The critics who'd been at the gala had attained expert status instantaneously, and several of them had already capitalized on it. One had rushed to write an article about Betty for the February edition of a prestigious arts journal.

  And every time a story of the shooting appeared, a picture of one of Betty's paintings accompanied it. Before the opening, Megan had prepared a press kit with meticulous photographs. That press kit had proved invaluable.

  To say Betty was frazzled by these developments was putting it mildly. But with Sandra and Megan to insulate her, she was managing to cope. With Megan's guidance, Betty had given a few strategic interviews. She'd refused to answer any personal questions, except to express sorrow at her ex-husband's death.

  But even though—or perhaps because—she'd insisted on privacy, interpretations about her past were already sprouting. Instead of being seen as a dowdy housewife who'd decided to dabble in painting after she'd taken an art class at the lo
cal community college, Betty was seen as an eccentric with a unique talent who'd suffered a repressed life with a brutal husband until she'd broken free and released her creativity.

  The press would soon tire of Betty and converge on some other story. But Megan was confident Betty would eventually be recognized as a major American artist. Because she was good. Damn good. And discerning patrons already knew that.

  Whether Betty wanted it or not, she was headed into notoriety. She was also on her way to wealth beyond her reckoning. Every painting on display that first night had been sold, which also meant Grant's Fine Art Gallery was on its way to profitability.

  And Megan had gained credibility in the world of art.

  If Ken Willard had had any idea of the chain of events his violence would unleash, he never would have come to the gallery that night. Perhaps it was best that he was gone and couldn't know.

  With a small shiver at the thought of the man, Megan snuggled into Nate's side. She was still cautious about causing him discomfort, and she continually had to restrain herself from draping her body across him.

  "What's the matter?" Nate asked drowsily.

  "I thought you were asleep."

  "Just dozing. I heard you sigh. What about?"

  "I was just thinking about the fantastic chain of events that got us here tonight. Eight months ago I was in Italy—"

  "Which was too far away," Nate grumbled.

  "—trying to decide if I was ready to come home."

  "Oh, yes. I remember. Some foolishness about getting me out of your system."

  "You sound awfully smug about my major life crisis."

  "I can afford to be smug. I've got you back, haven't I?"

  "No." She pushed herself up so she could study his face. "It's the other way around. I've got you. It just took me a while. About twenty-six years."

  Nate reached up to brush her hair off her cheek. His hand lingered in a light caress. "I guess that's how long it needed to take between us. Would you have come home eventually? I've never been sure."