Echo Falls, Texas Boxed Set

by Patti Ann Colt

  She brightened, her gentle smile soothing his ragged nerves. “Me, too.” She reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his.

  He expected her to ask, to say something about making their intimacy a relationship, but she didn’t respond. In fact, she appeared ready to nod off. “I’d ask you to lie down beside me, but I fear my nurse might have something to say about that.”

  “I’ll ask for a cot instead.” She hesitated for a moment. “If that’s all right with you.”

  Part of him froze. Another part was thrilled. If he couldn’t hold her, he wanted to look over and be able to gaze on her face, hear her breath. That part was stronger and allowed him to answer her. “It’s all right with me.”

  She smiled, relieving his heart and his mind. He’d pay hell for this later, but he shrugged off the feeling. The medication had dulled the pain in his knee. He closed his eyes, tiredness overwhelming him, the headache behind his eyes intensifying to blinding proportions.

  “Meg?”

  “I’m here. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  He felt her run her fingers through his hair and over his face. Content, he dropped off to sleep.

  Meg sat near Bret’s bed and watched him sleep. She turned another page of the magazine she’d retrieved from the waiting room, but didn’t have any idea what she was reading. There was a quiet knock and she rose, rounded the fabric room divider, and went to the door. Her mother and father stood there. Meg hugged them both.

  “Come in,” she whispered.

  “Is he awake?” Her mother squeezed her hand.

  Meg shook her head. “No. I don’t think he’s going to be any time soon. The muscle relaxants they gave him for his knee have made him really sleepy.

  “We won’t come in then. Just tell him we’re thinking about him.” Her mother turned to leave.

  “I’ll be along in a minute, Helen. I want to talk to Meg.”

  “But…”

  Her father nodded his head, indicating his mother should go on and go. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  She frowned, but kissed Meg’s cheek and went down the hall.

  Meg hugged her father. “I know what this is about.”

  “Do you?” He returned her hug, then set her back from him a few steps.

  She stepped into the hall and closed the door. “I love him, Dad. I’m not pregnant or being taken advantage of. If I have my way, we will be getting married.”

  “If you have your way? He hasn’t asked you?”

  “Dad, honestly, I appreciate what you’re saying. But Bret and I have to work this out ourselves, with no interference.” She was trying to be respectful and tactful, but really she was twenty-six years old. She didn’t need her father running point for her.

  “What’s to work out? You’re a wonderful woman. Any man would be damn lucky to have you.” Her father turned away from her for a moment, took a deep breath, and then turned back. His emotion touched her. “Never mind. I will talk to him about this.”

  Meg shook her head. “That’s not necessary, Daddy. What would you say to him anyway?”

  “I’m your father. You may not live in my house anymore, but you are still my only daughter. I think that’s a starting point.”

  Meg wanted to roll her eyes and stomp her foot, but given the set of his jaw, it probably wasn’t a good idea. “Ok, Dad. I’ll tell him you were here and I’ll tell him you want to sit down and talk. Is that good enough?”

  “For now.” Her father leaned in and kissed her cheek. “This is a father thing, Megan. I don’t get to be that much anymore. Let me do this.”

  “I said you could. But not today, obviously.” Meg swore she would find every occasion from this point forward to keep Bret out of his way.

  “All right.” He hugged her again, then walked down the hall to find her mother.

  Meg drew a deep breath and went back in the room. Her knees shook and her palms were sweating. Sometimes it was the pits being the only daughter.

  “The nurse says she’ll be around in a minute with the paperwork. Once you’ve signed it, you can go home.” Meg lifted the teddy bear Boo and Lindy brought Bret, fingering the ribbon.

  “Thank God. You have no idea how badly I want out of here.” Bret swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Hold on.” Meg dropped the bear and went around the bed. “She’s bringing your crutches and she said she’d help you get dressed.”

  He snarled, then took a long breath. “I don’t need help with my clothes.”

  He had been in a difficult mood for the last several days. She wanted to get him home where they could have some privacy and she could really take care of him, body and soul.

  “I could help you get dressed.” She put her hand on her hip and a sassy grin on her face.

  He paused on the edge of the bed, eyeing her pose. A chuckle finally escaped. “What are your qualifications, Ms. Applegate? I don’t let just anyone help me dress.”

  She wrinkled her nose and played along. “I have nimble fingers. I have a thorough understanding of what it takes to get you out of your clothes. So, I believe I will have no trouble getting you into them.”

  Besides, Tom had brought a bag from Bret’s. Athletic shorts and a T-shirt were not a tuxedo and tails. She was pretty sure she was up to the challenge.

  He smirked, trying hard not to smile. He looked at her for a long moment, making her burn from head to toe by the heat in his gaze. “You’re hired.”

  She lifted the bag from the end of the bed. “You have to wait for the crutches.”

  He frowned, fun and games over. “Seriously Meg, if I have to wait one more minute to get out of here, I’m going to be forced to take extreme measures.”

  “Like what?”

  “Walk out of here with this gown on, waving my backside in the wind. That’s what.”

  She judged the expression on his face and decided to give him a break. She unzipped the bag and handed him his boxers. “I can put them over your legs if you want, so all you have to do is stand for a moment to pull them up.”

  He pulled off the hospital gown and sat there in all his naked glory. Her tongue wouldn’t form words and her chest bone hurt from the air that had backed up there. Damn he was gorgeous!

  “Are you done looking?” He reached for the underwear.

  “Never,” she whispered.

  He gave her a funny look, but she stooped to put the garment on him. He stood then, putting all his weight on his good leg. She helped pull them up, the heat of his skin searing across her nerve endings.

  “My shorts?”

  She had stopped with her hands on his hips, lost in the sensation of being so close, remembering their night together. Blowing out a breath, she dropped her hands and pulled the remaining items from the bag. Gray shorts and a gray police department T-shirt were all that remained. His tennis shoes were on the floor at the end of the bed with socks tucked inside.

  Bending again, she threaded his shorts onto his legs in the same way. This time she let Bret pull them up himself.

  “Chicken,” he whispered.

  “You wait until I get you home.” She ran a fingertip down his chest. He shuddered.

  “It might take some flexibility. I’m not exactly up to speed.” He touched her, drawing a finger down her cheek, onto her neck, and across her collarbone.

  Her nipples tightened and she sighed. “Oh, I can be very flexible.”

  The door opened and struck the wall. They snapped apart. The nurse wheeled in a chair and had his chart in her hand.

  Meg handed him his T-shirt and he slipped it over his head and tucked it in.

  “I have your discharge papers and instructions. We’ll stop for your crutches on the way out.” She came over to the bed and began explaining things to Bret, gave him a prescription, and had him sign the paperwork.

  Meg bent to pick up his tennis shoes and socks, lifted the bear from the table and put it in the bag. She walked to the small closet and opened th
e door. Bret’s uniform hung lopsided on the hanger. The clothing smelled of sweat and antiseptic and was covered with dirt and dark splotches.

  Meg froze.

  His blood. He could have died!

  She’ been judiciously avoiding that thought for three days.

  If the man had used a gun instead of a baseball bat, he wouldn’t be here, breathing and complaining at the nurse. What would she have done if she’d lost him? She didn’t need to stretch her imagination far to encompass the idea. The knowledge of how scared she’d been when Tom called, how devastated she felt as she imagined the worst on the way to the hospital—all of it forced pain across her chest, seized the air in her lungs, and squeezed until she thought she would cry out. Didn’t he deserve to know how much she loved him? Shouldn’t she tell him, beg him to take her love to his heart and use it to mold their lives—just like her grandparents, her parents, her brothers and their wives. Wasn’t that what life was all about?

  “Meg, I’m all set to go. I need my shoes.” She turned to see the nurse and Bret both staring at her. With deliberate care, she took the uniform from the hanger, folded it and laid it on the bed. She bent to do his shoes.

  “Skip the socks. Just get the shoes on my feet.” She could feel his eyes on her. She didn’t speak or look at him, just loosened his shoes until they would slip on.

  Too many uncertainties crowded her brain. Too much emotion jammed her throat. Too much heart invested in him.

  She didn’t know what to do, what to say, what to risk.

  But she did know one thing.

  She couldn’t go one more day without telling Bret she loved him.

  When she did, would he stay and love her or would he never forgive her for breaking her promise?

  ~~CHAPTER TEN~~

  They stopped at Clem’s on the way home. Meg wasn’t in the mood to cook and Bret insisted he needed something that would stick to his ribs, having starved on hospital food for three days. Clem had a chicken and dumplings special with lemon meringue pie, so she ordered two dinners to go.

  On the way to the house, she answered him in monosyllables until he gave up, his mouth firmed in an exasperated line. The need to utter her love for him burned in her throat, but she refused to voice it yet. The rational part of her knew she was a Pollyanna about love and accepted that some people didn’t believe in the emotion the way she did. Had this experience changed him enough that he might be willing to accept her change of heart? Doubts poked her like pricks with a needle. She remembered him vehemently stating his relationships were about sex. Her confusion escalated.

  At home, Bret carefully made his way inside and straight to the bathroom to shower before he’d eat. Meg dished up plates and fiddled in the kitchen, brooding. Finally, he came out of the bathroom and they sat at the table and ate in silence.

  He dropped his fork on the side of his plate with his dinner half eaten. “What’s wrong?”

  She let her gaze roam over his face, the cleft in his chin, the firm, unsmiling mouth. She couldn’t do it. Not yet. “I don’t want to talk about it.” She shoved food around on her plate.

  He shook his head, twisting in his chair to reach for his crutches. “Typical.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Typical what?”

  “Typical woman’s action.” He rose to his feet, propped the crutches under his arms, and began to hobble down the hall to his room.

  “Typical male reaction to walk away.” She bit her lip. If she’d uttered what she really wanted to, he probably would have walked away anyway. Right?

  He stopped in the hall and turned back to her. “You want to tell me what has you upset? Come find me in the bedroom. Otherwise, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Hurt plowed through her. She’d planned to spend the night here, taking care of him.

  Maybe clearing the air would be best. Was there any way to tell him how she felt without compromising her promise?

  For an English teacher, she was coming up woefully short of words. Feeling caught in a trap of her own making, she brought their dinner to the kitchen and took scads of time cleaning up. Finally, she realized she was stalling and took a few deep breaths.

  Tell him. Speak your love.

  She turned out the lights, lifted her overnight bag from the chair, and made her way down the hall to his bedroom. She entered the bedroom prepared to blurt it out—except one look at the bed had her biting her lip.

  His crutches were dropped on the floor along with the knee brace and ace bandage. He was sprawled diagonally across the bed—sound asleep and snoring.

  God! Could her behavior be anymore self-centered? The man hurt all over and she acted like her world was coming to an end. What did she think? If she’d spoken her feelings, he’d throw her out? He might have, but she’d already survived four long years without him. It would be nothing new. To top it off, her reward for her preoccupation with his reaction to the unspoken sentiment meant a night on the sofa, because she certainly couldn’t squeeze into his bed.

  And she didn’t deserve to be there. Until she could sort this all out.

  In the morning, she’d find the words. She’d assure him they could still have a non-relationship, on his terms. But she couldn’t lie about it anymore.

  Bret woke with a cramped neck, a stiff knee, and a sore attitude. Meg had pissed him off last night, taking the pleasure out of being home. He hadn’t planned to wake up alone. Where did she go? Had she taken him at his word and gone home? What was wrong with his mouth sometimes?

  But she had pouted at the table, waiting for him to divine her problem using his male powers of logic, and he wasn’t up to the game. The action so resembled something his mother would have done that it irritated him to his last nerve.

  He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, though. He’d fully expected her to follow him, to stay with him, and maybe he could have coaxed her out of whatever had put her in that funk. Perky Meg did not pout. Well-spoken, even-tempered English teacher, Applegate sister Meg did not play games. He could have sworn that passionate lover Meg didn’t either. So what had set her off?

  Fully awake, he rolled to sit up, only to grunt because he had become trapped by the comforter in the night. Extracting himself caused him to have to move his knee in a manner not conducive to avoiding pain. He shoved the blanket aside and sat up on the edge of the bed. A groan escaped that he couldn’t suppress.

  A slight whispering of feet against carpet made relief wash over him.

  “I made coffee.” Steam rose from the cup in her hand. Her untucked, wrinkled shirt presented strong evidence that she had slept in it.

  Remorse choked him. She leaned against the doorframe, a hesitant smile on her face. He took a whiff of the air and could definitely smell the intoxicating brew. “Is that for me?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll only take it if you get some for yourself and join me.” He patted the edge of the bed.

  He got a full-fledged smile that time and relaxed. Maybe he could make up for being such a jerk last night. She disappeared again and he heard a cupboard open and close. A few seconds later, she came back with another mug of coffee. She walked right to his side and sat down next to him, careful of his knee, but close enough that their bodies touched. He took a sip and extreme pleasure streaked through him. Her coffee. Not his. He didn’t blend it like this and he loved her coffee.

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry for being such a jerk last night.”

  “Sorry for being a stupid female.” She took a sip and didn’t look at him.

  “Please tell me what’s wrong.” He leaned to look in her eyes.

  She bit her lip, hesitating. “Nothing is wrong. It’s me being stupid. I saw your uniform in the closet. The blood. It freaked me. I care about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” The words came out in a rush.

  “Is this why you were upset last night?” She squirmed away from him. “Yes. I know we’ve just had sex and I don’t have any rights here. I agreed to this...whatever it
is between us. I’m not going to change the rules now. But you have to know, if you ever wanted more, I’d be here.”

  Her phrasing of their sex agreement, even though a near echo of his beliefs, pierced him. He ignored the rest of her statement, had to. He couldn’t face that at the moment. If he thought she was falling in love with him, he’d have to back away from her. He wasn’t ready for that yet.

  He reached for her hand and squeezed. “You’re the only one I want to be with right now.” That sounded lame even to him. His heart and his tongue wanted to utter more, wanted to claim her, make them a couple for as long as she would allow. His mind stopped him.

  Crazy. Crazy. Crazy idea. The words pounded at the back of his skull where a slight headache from his fall still resided.

  Before words he couldn’t take back were spoken without thought, she kissed him. She must have sensed his dilemma and wanted to trap his doubts inside him. At least that spin sounded like a good enough reason for him to shut his trap and kiss her back.

  She released his lips and rubbed her mouth across his cheek to his ear. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Me, too.” He estimated how bad his knee would hurt if he tumbled her to the bed and decided to do it regardless. Wrapping his arm around her, he pulled. She resisted for a moment, then tipped in slow-motion that put her on top of him without any overwhelming pain to his injured knee.

  Meg wiggled to get comfortable. “Before I forget. Tom texted me. They caught up with Esteban’s uncle last night.”

  “Can we talk about that later?” He nibbled on her, from ear lobe to collarbone, the delicate skin firing his imagination.

  She sighed and everything coalesced into this one sure thing, like fate had dropped him here and now, tempting him to stay, to accept, to love this one woman. He couldn’t even find the need to argue with himself. He should. But he didn’t want to. They belonged like this, entwined, dependent.

  “You made some pretty tall claims yesterday,” he whispered in her ear. “Something about flexibility.”

  Her low chuckle sent anticipation reeling through him, all his conflict about relationships and permanence slipping off the bed like a comforter kicked to the floor.