01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin

by Susan Squires

  “You named her as the person who could make medical decisions for you in case you were incapacitated.” She looked up at Tris. “You lost all right to privacy where she’s concerned the minute you signed your John Henry on the admission forms.”

  He’d named her as responsible for his medical decisions? Maggie blinked at him. He didn’t even know her last name, did he?

  Tris set his mouth in disgust.

  “Okay, let’s start at the top,” the doctor continued. “Concussion—bad one. Dislocated shoulder. We popped it back in, screwed down some torn ligaments. Broken collarbone. Ribs had been recently broken. A couple of the callouses joining the breaks popped, but they’ll adhere again pretty quickly.” She looked up at Tris. “You were lucky there. Displaced ribs hurt like hell. But you know that.”

  He had healing ribs? From what?

  “And then of course we’ve got the compound fracture of the tibia. You’re going to light up airport metal detectors like a Christmas tree we put so many pins and screws and rods in your leg. But I frankly don’t see how you came out of a run-in with a semi so lightly. Lucky doesn’t begin to cover it. You can make a full recovery, if you take care of yourself.”

  “How long will I be here?” he asked.

  “Four days. Five maybe. As soon as we get over the danger of blood clots and remove the morphine drip tube in your shoulder, get you well started on antibiotics. Have you got a place to go, Mr. Tremaine? You’ll need someone to be responsible for you when you first get out. Your driver’s license has a home address in LA. But no flying for you for a while. All that sitting and change of altitude would give you blood clots for sure. And since that’s your right leg, you aren’t going to drive—uh-uh!” The doc wagged a finger at him. “Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking about driving.”

  Tris squinted, thinking. It looked like a tough job. “My family will come get me.”

  He’s lying, Maggie thought. He wouldn’t ask his family for anything. Maggie could just imagine herself asking Elroy to come to LA and pick her up. Not happening.

  “You got a plan, then,” the doc said, putting the chart back on its hook. “You’ll have to keep your leg elevated, so make sure your family brings a nice roomy SUV or something.” The doctor waved cheerily as she left the room. “Toodles. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about, being as she saved your life and all.” The door slammed shut.

  Maggie stared at the end of the bed, feeling awkward. “I didn’t save your life.”

  “I’d still be out there if you hadn’t come back for me.” His voice faded and his eyes drooped closed.

  She should leave. But since this was the last time she’d see him, she wanted to look her fill. Well, more than look, but that was sick so she shoved her hands in her pockets. She was about to go when he opened his eyes again, looking a little more alert.

  “I must have drifted off.”

  “I should go.”

  “You don’t have to do that.” His green eyes were serious, if a little vague.

  Did … did he like having her here? Maybe because she calmed him. That’s all he wanted from her. Did he even remember her laying her hand on his thigh? Because she sure remembered how it made her feel. Like she’d come home. What exactly happened there? Dangerous to imagine anything happened. You might have felt something, but he sure didn’t. If he even remembered it. “Uh, I gotta go pick up the mustangs and get them back to Elroy’s.”

  His brows drew together. “Who’s Elroy?”

  Million-dollar question. And one she never liked to answer. “Father. Owns a spread east of Austin.” Actually the bank owned most of it.

  “Oh. Well, I shouldn’t keep you. Just wanted to thank you and all.”

  “It was nothing.” She didn’t wait for him to sa it wasn’t nothing. She turned away and made for the door.

  “Hey, Maggie O’Brian.”

  She jerked around as though she were on strings. How did he know her name?

  “You … you ever get to Reno? Like in the next four days?”

  Maggie swallowed. “I don’t know....”

  “Well … I mean if you happen to be in the neighborhood.…”

  “Sure. Sure.” She practically ran from the room.

  *****

  How stupid could he be? His thoughts were foggy, indistinct. Like Reno was in the neighborhood of Austin. Stupid and pathetic. He’d practically begged her to visit him.

  He’d never see her again.

  He didn’t remember the accident. But he remembered waiting almost all night for her to come pick up her horses before he gave up and headed back on Highway 50 toward Austin. He remembered parts of the ride into Reno. It hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought. It was like he knew the pain was there, but it didn’t matter very much. She mattered. The feel of her hand on his thigh. Her telling him why she rode bulls and singing to him. It felt so … right. The ER could have been four hundred miles away instead of a hundred, for all he cared. Now he knew her father owned land east of Austin. That was good. He tried to hold on to that thought.

  But the fog was getting worse. He couldn’t quite think….

  Two orderlies came in and announced cheerfully that they were here to take him down to his room. He tried to say something. He meant it to be jaunty. But all he could do was blink slowly, and then more slowly … and then all he could see was the fog.

  *****

  Maggie pulled her rig into a turnout as the sun rose, too tired to chance driving. It killed her to have missed her commitment to pick up the horses last night. But things got in the way. Like a semi that hadn’t even hit the brakes after almost killing Tristram Tremaine. She’d just catch a nap until she was fresh enough to load her horses and get back to Elroy’s place.

  Behind her closed eyelids, all she could see were green eyes. And dark hair, and his leg. Don’t think about that. Why had he come out to the Indian River Ranch? It had to be because of her. He had no other connection to horses. Why bother? Any woman in Nevada under the age of fifty would be more his type.

  A slight exaggeration. But only slight.

  The image of his dusty bike parked in front of the diner drifted through her mind. That bike had been around, as though he didn’t have a steady job. Still, he had insurance. She puzzled on that. Leather jacket had once been expensive. Any bike that big and badass couldn’t be cheap. Maybe it was all he had in the world. Maybe he was a drifter with nothing better to do than to stop by a mustang sale. Maybe he wanted a woman who could handle bad-boy stallions.

  She snorted. In your dreams, Maggie.

  But she couldn’t stop thinking about him. His family situation was probably as bad as hers. There was no way he’d be calling his family to pick him up. And no one would be visiting him in the hospital to see how he was doing either. Hard, to be alone and sick.

  She settled in against the seat and pulled her hat down against the rising sun.

  She sure as hell was not coming all the way back into Reno just to visit some guy she’d met twice. Well, three times if you counted the accident and saving his life.

  No sirree.

  *****

  Tris flipped the channel restlessly on the overhead TV. He was alone in the room, the other occupant having been released this morning. Day three had seemed like day twenty. He felt like he’d been on the wrong end of a mugging. He’d never appreciated his mother’s power enough when he was a kid. No broken bones or chicken pox for the Tremaine kids. Or not for long. That was the benefit of having a mother who was a Healer. Of course you also had to put up with a father who was an Adapter. Bastard could do anything once he saw it done, or even read about it. Languages? A snap. Tennis? None better. Running a multinational conglomerate? Like he was born to it. No wonder his second son was such a disappointment. Opting for metal shop instead of college prep. Fights, smoking (though he gave that up later), drinking, and sneaking out by the time he was twelve. Everything his father hated. Everything that kept his mother up nights. Unlike the Prince of
Wales, his older brother Kemble. Or Drew, who was so sure of her destiny. They believed their latent gifts were there in their DNA, ready to spring forth when they found someone who shared that particular gene. All it took was true love, according to his mother. Yeah. Right. Maybe for the other Tremaines. But he wasn’t even sure he was a Tremaine. He certainly had almost nothing in common with any of his family.

  Sheriff had come by to say they’d hauled his cycle in. It was totaled. Too bad. Harley Softail Night Train. He’d personally customized it with a big bore kit, drag bars, and pipes. It had been his only companion for a year. Hell, that bike was the closest thing he had to a friend.

  The sheriff brought him the few personal items he’d had in the saddlebags. A couple of changes of clothes and a worn copy of On the Road he’d picked up at a used bookstore were all he had to show for a year of travel. His helmet was toast. He had no phone. And no one was coming to see him in the hospital. Was he drifting away again?

  The officer got his story, such as it was. The doc told the deputy amnesia was an effect of the concussion and he might or might not remember later. He wasn’t sure the deputy believed Maggie’s report that a semi hit him without even braking. He got the feeling they thought he’d just spun off the road while driving drunk and Maggie was covering for him. Figures.

  So he was hurting. They’d removed the morphine drip tube in his shoulder today. Hurting and bored stiff. He didn’t care that the young nurses flirted with him. He’d finished his only book. He was sick of television. Here he was, flipping channels between depressing news, more depressing news, Jeopardy, and a documentary on sharks. Hell, even sharks couldn’t keep him from thinking about Maggie. Why in God’s name was she so compelling? Because she saved his life? But he’d been on the way to obsession before she half dragged him up that embankment. His attraction had been so immediate it was almost creepy.

  Immediate or not, she was gone from his life.

  Only if you let her be gone. When the sadistic, pretty surgeon discharged him, he could hop a cab to a motel and hole up until he healed enough to drive himself out to Austin. Get directions to the O’Brian place. She was a wanderer. But she did come back once in a while.

  Damn. He was planning to stalk her.

  He just wanted to talk to her.

  Liar. He’d always wanted to do more than that, since the first time he saw her. He’d had an erection that wouldn’t quit at the diner. And at the ranch. He imagined what she’d look like without those jeans and shirt. She’d have a hard little body, muscled. But those breasts and hips, there was nothing hard about those. She’d have practical underthings. No lace cup bras for Maggie O’Brian. Unless he bought them for her.

  He’d like to buy things for her. Nice things. She seemed like she didn’t have enough nice things in her life. He’d like to put his hands on her. He could practically feel his palm on her hip. Or her breast. Just the thought of her riding bulls and stallions, her legs wrapped around them, the big animals bucking under her.…

  Shit. Why was he torturing himself? Now the outline of his hard-on was clearly visible under the thin hospital blanket. Let’s hope it wasn’t time for more pills or anything.

  “Hello, Mr. Tremaine,” the orderly said brightly, wheeling in a cart full of dinner trays.

  Tris felt himself flush. Of course she had to be female. Name tag said, “Teresa.” Couldn’t they muster male nurses and orderlies for male patients? A guy would understand his problem. She bustled over and pulled out the rolling tray table next to his bed. She was a tall and gangly girl in her late twenties.

  “Oh!” she gasped as she saw his “issue.” She swung the table hastily over it. “Well, we’re feeling better, are we?” Thank God she didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s meatloaf tonight. The Jell-O of the day is green.” She fussed over arranging his plates and taking off the plastic wrap, though he was perfectly capable of doing that himself. Well, maybe not with only one hand. When she couldn’t think of anything else to do, she glanced up at him, a speculating look in her brown eyes. She took a pen from her breast pocket (it had to be her breast pocket, didn’t it?) and wrote a number on the sheet that had his meal order on it. “Well, if you need follow-up care after you’re discharged, call this number.” She tucked the paper under his plate. “I do house calls.” She grinned and turned, pushing her towering cart out the door.

  Tris sighed in relief and tried to find a more comfortable position. Impossible when he couldn’t take his weight off his butt because his leg was elevated. His butt was currently numb and a half, though the rest of him, sadly, wasn’t. Clumping footsteps sounded in the hall.

  Nurses wore rubber soles. Was it the sound of boots? He glanced up. Maggie stood in the doorway.

  He froze. So did she. Crap in a hat. He just blinked at her, words stuck in his throat. Some welcome. She looked ready to turn and run, like she was sorry she came. She also looked, well, wonderful. Her hair was back in the same low ponytail. She fumbled with her worn western hat, held now in front of her. The plaid shirt she wore was kind of sagebrush green and navy blue over a faded tee the color of her jeans. She must wear sunscreen religiously, he thought, to no particular point, because her cheeks were creamy and just sun-kissed in spite of how much time she must spend in the sun. The freckles stood out across that little nose. She wore not a trace of makeup, but suddenly he couldn’t think why he had ever thought she was nothing special. Maggie O’Brian had a natural, unspoiled beauty.

  “Uh, hi,” they both said at once. His came out kind of a croak. The newscaster on the television was saying something about the unusual number of hurricanes this season. He fumbled for the remote and cut the guy off in mid-sentence. “Come in. Come in,” he managed, just as she looked like she’d decided to bolt.

  She took a step into the room. “I was in Reno, uh, for some... some supplies and I thought I’d just see if you turned out paralyzed or something.” She closed her eyes, looking disgusted. “Sorry.”

  So tact wasn’t her strong point. “Nope.” He managed to move his very swollen and discolored toes on the foot that was suspended. “Soon to be fully functional.”

  “Good.”

  The silence stretched. Tris felt his erection bob under the blankets. Thank God for the tray. He didn’t want her coming too close. She might see it. She’d think he was a pervert or something. Especially if she knew it was because he’d been thinking about her. She shifted her weight from foot to foot.

  “Well. That’s what I wanted to know. Hope you get well soon.” She turned.

  “Wait,” he called, racking his suddenly wooden brain. “Wait.” She half turned. Was that relief warring with the doubt in her expression? “You can’t go because … because I’m bored stiff,” real stiff, actually, “and I’ll probably slit my wrists if I have to watch any more TV.”

  “I’m interrupting your dinner.” She made a little gesture at his tray. How had he not noticed what delicate hands she had? Strong, sure. Short nails. But still small and … feminine. Really feminine.

  “You call this dinner?” He shrugged with his good shoulder. “I guess.” If you happened to like Jell-O and overcooked green beans and meatloaf made with sawdust. He almost pushed the tray away to show her he didn’t care about it until he remembered why he needed that tray.

  She stood on tiptoe to peer at his dishes and gave a wry smile of agreement. “Too bad I didn’t bring you something from Jake’s. You seem like a steak kinda guy.”

  “Yeah.” They were having a conversation. An actual conversation. That felt … good. He pushed the plate away on the tray table so she wouldn’t feel like she was interrupting anything.

  “No, you should eat.” She took another couple of steps into the room. “When you’ve got an injury, you need to keep your strength up.”

  Oh, good. It was the feminine impulse to take care of wounded things. He knew that one up close and personal, from his mother. “Keep me company while I try to choke this stuff down.”

  Her
suspicious smile was at least a little wry. He gestured to a chair. She inched around the perimeter of the room and sat on the edge. “Okay,” she said.

  He pulled the plate forward and dug into the meatloaf. “Not sure I really thanked you the other night. I was, uh, kinda out of it.”

  “You did.” She made a deprecating motion with her head.

  Okay, she didn’t want to talk about that. God, the meatloaf is awful. “You get the horses back to your place okay?”

  “Yeah. Gonna head out for LA with the first load pretty soon.”

  “Long drive with a trailer.”

  “Not too bad. Five hundred miles or so. Takes about nine, ten hours in my truck with stops and steep grades and such. No speeding with a load of horses.”

  He nodded, racking his brain. “You said you were in Reno for supplies?” Brilliant comment, Tremaine.

  She looked uncomfortable. “Had my eye on some … some automatic waterers. Got to come into the city to one of the big suppliers for those.”

  “Oh.” What did he know about ranch equipment? Nothing in common with her. Isn’t that a familiar feeling?

  She glanced around nervously before she come up with a question.“Your bike totaled?”

  “Yeah. Sheriff said they’d take it over to a scrapyard for me.” Or he could have it shipped to the shop in LA. José could probably put it back together. Couldn’t leave a friend to be scrapped in some foreign place like Reno.

  “Good thing you’ve got your family to come and get you, being without a ride and all.” Her face was bland, but her eyes were … speculating, maybe.

  “Yeah.” Like he’d ever call Kemble or his father. Wouldn’t want to worry his mother. His sister Drew might not tell their parents. She was the closest thing he had to an ally in the family. His cousin Devin was seventeen. He could drive. But neither could just disappear. Their father would have the Marines out looking for them. Big families knew each other’s business. Except, no one knew him. And now no one even knew where he was.