But she wouldn't do that. She wasn't going to lie. She'd made a mistake, and she would acknowledge it. She'd go downstairs, confront Gage, tell him that sleeping together had solved nothing, that she still wanted the divorce ...
Thud, thud, thud.
What was that? It sounded as if a giant were pounding on the wall.
Thump. Bang. Thump.
No. She looked up. The noises were coming from the ceiling.
The ceiling? Her blood froze. Footsteps. That was what she'd heard. Footsteps, on the roof.
Somebody was on the roof!
How could an intruder have made it up there? Desperately, she tried to visualize the exterior of the house. Was there a drainpipe he could have climbed? A tall ladder? She couldn't even picture a trellis, or a vine. And what about the alarm system?
Oh, hell. What about it? She had never activated it last night.
Thud. Thump. Thud.
Natalie's heart caught the rhythm of the footsteps over her head.
"Help," she said in a tiny voice. "Gage, help."
Stupid, she told herself. Oh, you stupid thing. Gage couldn't hear her, not if she whispered his name so pathetically. Not if he were all the way downstairs ... If that's where he was. If he weren't down on the beach, or halfway back to Miami.
If she weren't totally, completely alone.
Her hand shook as she reached for the phone. Okay. She knew what to do. Dial --, for the police. Lock her door. Barricade it, if she could manage to shove the heavy dresser across it...
"Oh, damn ... "
The shouted curse, and the body hurtling past the window, came at the same moment. The phone fell from her nerveless fingers. Natalie raced to the window, opened it, leaned out and saw Gage, lying sprawled and unmoving, on the sand.
For one terrible instant, everything spun like a carousel.
Then she whirled around, ran from the room and down the stairs. She flew through the house, out the door, to his side.
"Gage?" Her heart banged against her ribs as she dropped to her knees beside him. "Gage, darling, talk to me."
He didn't move. His eyelids didn't flutter. Blood seeped from a jagged cut high on his forehead.
Fear turned her bones to jelly.
"Gage? Oh, please," she whispered, "please, please, please ... "
Nothing. Nothing but silence. Had she lost him, this man she'd always loved, would always love? Surely, life couldn't be so cruel.
She looked around wildly, searching for help, and saw only the endless sand and the sea. Natalie shot to her feet, ran into the house, grabbed the phone and dialled --. Her teeth chattered as she gave the operator the address.
"An ambulance," she panted, "I need an ambul-" Gage moaned. The phone fell from her hand and she flew out the door and fell to her knees beside him again.
"Darling," she whispered. "Gage, oh, Gage!"
His eyes opened. He blinked hard, focused on her face, then lifted his hand to her.
"Nat?"
Natalie made a choked sound and grabbed his hand. Tears spilled from her eyes as she pressed her lips to his knuckles.
"Thank God," she whispered. "Nat, what happened?"
I almost lost you forever, she thought, that's what happened.
"I was up on the roof. And then-and then ... "
"And then you fell," she said, trying to sound stern but knowing she wasn't succeeding. Gently, she put her hand on his brow and pushed the hair back from the gash on his forehead. Fear roiled through her again. She took a deep breath and told herself not to let him see the depth of it. "Lie still. There's an ambulance on its way."
"Don't need an ambulance. Just help me up, okay?" "No! You mustn't move, Gage, please don't!"
He shook his head, leaned on one arm and struggled to rise from the sand. Natalie watched as he struggled, saw his determination, and realized she had no choice. She leaned down, slipped her arm around his waist and supported him as he sat up.
"Hell of an entrance," he said, forcing a laugh. The laugh turned into a hiss and then a groan. "Oh, damn."
"What is it?" Natalie felt the blood drain from her face.
"Gage, I beg you, don't move. You need X rays. A CAT scan. There's no telling what you've broken. Your legs. Your back-"
"My legs are fine. See?" He moved one leg, then the other.
"It's my left arm." He winced. "And my head. But that doesn't mean I can't get to the emergency room under my own power. Help me up, babe."
"No. You can't... What are you doing?" ''I'm-getting-up.'
"You are up."
"No--I'm-not. I-want-to--stand.'
"You can barely talk, let alone ... Gage, listen to me! You mustn't... " Natalie hissed with frustration, slipped her arm around him again and helped ease him to his feet.
"That's better."
It wasn't. Her medical training began and ended with knowing how to dab antiseptic on a cut but it didn't take a licensed M.D. to know that a man who'd just tumbled off a roof, whose brow was beaded with sweat, who might have a broken arm and did have a gash the size of the Grand Canyon on his forehead, shouldn't be trying to walk.
But Gage was determined to do exactly that. Natalie puffed out her breath and wedged her shoulder under his arm. Together, they hobbled towards the back door.
"You should be lying still," she said, "waiting for the ambulance.'
Where was that miserable ambulance, anyway? What was taking so long?
"Just help me to the house. And to my car. And-" The breath whistled through his teeth as they reached the door. "Oh, hell," he said weakly, and sagged down onto the bottom step.
"'Oh, hell' is right," Natalie said with a desperate little laugh, trying to do whatever it took, say whatever it took, to keep him there. "What on earth were you doing up on that roof, Gage Baron? Did you think you were still twenty-one years old?"
"Twenty-one years ... " Gage flashed a quick smile. "You remember that summer, huh?"
"Of course I do." Natalie sat down beside him and folded his hand inside both of hers. "We were living in that adorable little apartment, in New York."
"The roach palace, you mean."
"And you took that job working as a roofer, out on Long Island."
"And you worked at the underwear counter at Macy's." "It was lingerie." Was that the sound of a siren, off in the distance? "I used to tell you that all the time, remember?"
"Yeah." Gage closed his eyes. "I remember everything about that summer, Nat. How you used to kiss me goodbye each morning, as if you might never see me again-"
"I was always afraid you'd fall off one of those roofs." "But I never did." He opened his eyes, looked at her and managed a quick grin. "Not until today, anyway." His fingers threaded through hers. "I'd almost forgotten that summer, babe. The way you used to take the train out to the Island to meet me every Friday."
"My day off," she said. Yes. Oh, yes, it was a siren. She could hear it clearly now, getting nearer and nearer.
"Uh-huh. You'd pack us a picnic. That cake you used to make, with the chocolate frosting. And sandwiches of that great meat loaf, the one with the ketchup on top. Whatever happened to that meat loaf, Nat? You haven't made it in years."
Meat loaf? She thought. Meat loaf, in that overblown kitchen in Miami Beach? Who'd dare make such a homey thing in such surroundings, much less serve it? Besides, Gage wouldn't have been there to eat it, even if she'd made it.
Tears stung her eyes again, but she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I guess-I guess I just forgot all about it." "We'd take our picnic out to that stretch of beach we found, the one nobody else ever went to," Gage said, the words starting to slur together. "An' I'd spread a blanket behind a dune an' we'd eat our supper, drink some wine, and then you'd move into my arms ... "
"Gage!" Natalie's voice rose. "Gage, don't fall asleep.
Stay with me, darling. Please."
"Remember how it was? Making love, with the warm night all around us? With the wind sighing against your skin?" Sl
owly, his eyes opened. She could see him struggling to focus on her face. "Like last night, here, on the beach. Or all those years ago, back in Texas, when we were kids and I'd drive us up to Superstition Butte." His hand lifted; he threaded it into her hair and cupped the nape of her neck. His fingers were like ice against her flesh. "Where'd we go wrong, babe?" he whispered. "How'd it happen?"
The wail of the siren became a shriek, then stopped. Natalie could hear doors slamming in the driveway at the front of the house.
"Back here," she yelled. "Hurry!"
"Wazzat?" Gage mumbled. "Izzat the ambulance? Nat, I told you, I don' need ... "
His eyes rolled up into his head. Natalie screamed and caught him just as he began to slump over, unconscious.
CHAPTER TEN
THE ambulance attendants said Natalie couldn't ride with Gage.
"You can follow us to the emergency room in your car," the tall one kept saying.
She didn't waste time arguing. Instead, she climbed in behind the stretcher as they loaded Gage into the ambulance.
"Lady," the attendant said, "I told you, you can't do that.'
"I've already done it," Natalie said grimly, and sat down on the bench next to Gage's stretcher.
The attendants sighed, looked at the determined expression on her face, then at each other, and shrugged.
"We drive fast, lady," the tall one warned as he slammed the door shut. "Better buckle up and hang on."
Natalie nodded. Then she bent over Gage and brushed her lips against his. "You hang on," she whispered as the siren began to wail. "Oh, my love, I beg you. Hang on, tight."
The trip to the hospital seemed to take forever. Halfway there, Gage moaned and opened his eyes. "Nat?"
"Shhh." Natalie smiled shakily. "Just lie still.
Everything's going to be fine."
"Stupid thing I did, going up on that roof."
"Uh-huh." She took his hand tightly in hers. His eyes began to close. "Stay with me," she said sharply. "Gage? Look at me. Open your eyes?'
"Dumb," he muttered. "Real dumb, climbing around up there."
"Talk to me, Gage. Tell me-tell me about the newest Baron resort."
Gage sighed. " ... Don' wanna hear ... "
"I do! Of course, I do. Is it beautiful? How many rooms does it have?"
"Nat. Sorry. Sorry I fell ... "
"Gage." Natalie's voice rose. "Talk to me! Don't pass out on me again!" His eyes shut and tears rolled down Natalie's face. "Please stay with me," she whispered. "Gage, darrling... "
"Nat?"
She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "What?" "I missed you, babe."
His eyelids drooped again, and he was asleep.
Natalie paced the waiting room floor.
She dumped quarters into the coffee machine and forced herself to drink the black sludge that came out of it.
She leafed through a stack of out-of-date magazines, paced some more, drank more sludge, and in between, she marched out to the nursing station and asked if there was any word about her husband.
"He's still in X-ray," they said.
Finally, just when she'd decided it was a lie, that Gage wasn't in X-ray at all, that something terrible had happened and no one wanted to tell her, a nurse appeared in the door to the waiting room.
"Mrs. Baron?"
Natalie sprang to her feet. "Yes?" "You can see your husband now."
See him. Natalie managed a wobbly smile. "He's-he's all right, then?"
"He's fine, considering the fall he took. He has a lot of bruises. He sprained the ligaments in his wrist. He has a slight concussion. And he needed some stitches, of course."
"Of course," Natalie said. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. "But-but he's going to-to live?"
"Oh, my dear." The nurse hurried towards her and put a steadying arm around her shoulders. "Certainly. You mean, you thought...?" She smiled, walked Natalie towards an elevator. "Your husband is in Room 216. The doctor's with him. He'll explain everything."
She heard Gage's voice the instant she stepped from the elevator. He sounded almost like himself-stubborn, determined and demanding to take control.
"I don't see any reason to stay here overnight," he was saying. "And I resent the hell out of having my clothes taken from me. Dammit, Doctor, I am not a ten-year-old."
"No," Natalie said as she stepped into the room. She took a quick look at Gage. A line of neat black stitches ran up his forehead, into his hairline. His wrist was wrapped in what looked like yards of elastic bandage. "No," she said briskly, though her knees went weak, "he's just behaving like one."
"Mrs. Baron." The doctor sighed and took Natalie’s outstretched hand. "I'm Doctor Fortas. And, as I've just been telling your husband, we need to keep him overnight, just to be sure his concussion is a mild one."
"I don't have a concussion," Gage grumbled. "All I have is a headache."
"A headache doesn't make a person pass out," Natalie said.
Gage flushed. "I just grayed out, that's all. Anybody would, considering."
"Considering that you fell off a roof, you mean?" Natalie turned to the doctor. "Of course he'll stay overnight. And thank you for your concern."
The doctor nodded. "You can pick him up anytime after I finish my rounds in the morning." He glanced at his watch as he walked to the door. "Say, around nine?"
"Fine," Natalie said.
The door swung shut. Gage glared at Natalie.
"Dammit, Nat! I might have a concussion, but that doesn't mean I'm not capable of making my own decisions."
"Then make an intelligent one. Spend the night here, and I'll come by and pick you up in the morning."
Gage looked at his wife again. Her words had been sharply spoken but there was a softness in her eyes ... or was he imagining it? That was what was making him feel so irritable, not the doctor's poking or the nurse's prodding; it was the increasing realization that his accident had come at the worst possible time, just as he and Natalie had come together again.
The memories of last night were real and wonderful, but how about the other stuff he kept remembering, the things that had happened-that he thought had happened-after he'd fallen? Were those memories real, too? Had Natalie kissed him? Had she whispered endearments to him? Had she called him her love, wept over him, or were those all illusions?
Had the blow to his head given him a bunch of false memories, or was there reason to hope-to pray-his wife loved him again?
He needed to ask but how could he, when he was afraid of the answers? If he'd imagined all those things, if they'd been nothing but hallucinations, he didn't want to know it.
Not just yet.
All he wanted to do, at least for a little while, was pretend that the world-their world-was back on track. That was what he'd been thinking when he'd awakened, with his sweet wife asleep in his arms. It was what he'd been thinking when he'd heard a funny sound on the roof, when he'd climbed out and walked around, checking out a patch of cracked tiles the size of China.
He'd still been thinking it when he'd gone sliding down the roof on his butt, like a guy on a suicidal roller coaster, and as he'd sailed off the edge, his last thought had been that this was a hell of a way to start a weekend, especially the weekend he'd dreamed of, with Natalie back in his life ...
"Gage?"
He looked up, and met her gaze.
"Please." Her voice was soft and gentle. "You've had a terrible fall. Spend the night. Let them make sure you're okay. And then tomorrow, I'll take you ... home."
Home. Where was that? he wondered. Not in Miami Beach, in that damned empty house.
"Gage? Will you do it?"
He sighed and sank back against the pillows. He'd do anything, when she asked him that way.
"Yeah, okay." He smiled. "Hey, I haven't had a hospital meal since I had my tonsils out. How could I turn down a chance at another?"
Natalie smiled, too. It wasn't easy. It broke her heart, seeing her husband, her big, strong husband, looking so pale and h
elpless in the hospital bed. She thought of how close she'd come to losing him, of how badly she longed to put her arms around him and tell him that her .life would have had no meaning, if he'd died ...
But he hadn't. She would never stop being thankful for that gift but, as much as she loved Gage, she knew she couldn't go back to him. His idea of marriage, and hers, were light-years apart. The passion they'd shared would die, as it had before, in the light of cold reality.
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