But all the rationalizations in the world didn’t calm the restlessness and haunting images that threatened. The only thing that helped still the wings of panic beating inside her was knowing Gunnar was nearby.
Chapter 9
The second and third days cooped up in Gunnar’s cabin went much the same as the first. Gunnar brought her breakfast, bright and early, and she passed the daylight hours shifting uncomfortably in bed and listening to her children run Gunnar ragged. Too often, her mind drifted to the police sketch of the man who’d attacked her and who still held Mary captive. Unwilling to dwell uselessly on those unsettling thoughts, she sought distraction in anything she could—crossword puzzles, studying lines she knew would likely be changed for Wrongfully Accused, making lists on the side margin of the newspaper of what she wanted to buy the twins for Christmas.
Every now and then, Gunnar stuck his head in her room to ask if she needed anything or to ask a babysitting question. Could the twins eat peanut butter? What did Mason want when he repeated, “na-nee, na-nee?”
“That’s how he says Rani. I guess he’s wondering where Rani is,” she said in answer to the last question.
Gunnar jerked a nod and headed back toward the living room.
“Do they ask for me?” she asked before he could get away.
He gave her a crooked grin. “Only every ten minutes. You want me to bring them back to see you?”
Violet bit her bottom lip, tempted to say yes. But her leg gave a throb, reminding her why that was a bad idea—not to mention the fit they’d throw when Gunnar tried to take them back to the living room. Better her boys didn’t see her again until she was more physically able to help Gunnar with them. With a sinking heart, she shook her head. “Probably shouldn’t.”
She tried reading the magazines Piper had sent over for her in the twins’ diaper bag, but the dry news journal didn’t hold her interest and the gossip rag only annoyed her with its conjecture and rumor-based reports. By the third evening, she was thoroughly bored and itching to get out of bed. When she tried to use the restroom on her own, however, she discovered she was still far weaker than she’d imagined, and the wound in her thigh was still frightfully sore.
Gunnar found her leaning against the wall in the hallway, grimacing in pain. Scowling his chastisement for not calling him for help, he scooped her in his arms to carry her back to the bed.
“Thanks. I...I thought I’d regained more strength and didn’t want to bother you. You’ve been so busy today with the boys and all...” She fumbled as he pulled the covers back over her.
“Derek called to say said he’d be by in a little while to check on you” was Gunnar’s only reply. “You need anything before then?”
Your company, she thought but shook her head.
As promised, Derek stopped by just before the dinner hour with Sawyer in tow.
“Mind if my assistant observes?” Derek asked, placing a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.
“Your assistant, huh?” Violet smiled at the boy. “You want to be a doctor when you grow up?”
Sawyer shrugged. “That or a cop like Tate.”
“Both are admirable careers, and you’ve got great role models.” She nodded her permission to Derek, and he squeezed Sawyer’s shoulder before moving to the side of the bed to check Violet’s leg.
She sent a quick glance to the door where Gunnar watched and waited. If Gunnar was bothered that Sawyer showed no interest in following in his footsteps, he didn’t show it.
“What do you think, Squirt?” Derek asked Sawyer as he stood back to give the boy a chance to look at her stitched leg. “Will she live?”
“Cool!” Sawyer said, his eyes bright with interest and enthusiasm. “That’s even more stitches than Henry Collier had when he wrecked his skateboard and busted his face up.”
“Uh, yeah.” Derek pulled a face, then continued patiently. “I also used a different method of closing Henry’s laceration, because cosmetics were important.”
“Cosmetics? You mean, like makeup?”
“Meaning his mother insisted I minimize the appearance of the scar. For Violet’s wound, stopping the bleeding and closing the wound quickly to save her life were paramount.”
Sawyer wrinkled his nose. “What’s paramount mean?”
“One of the oldest and biggest film production companies in Hollywood,” Violet quipped.
Derek grinned at her, and she heard Gunnar’s humored grunt from the door.
“Huh?” Sawyer looked thoroughly confused.
“Sorry. Bad joke,” she said, squeezing the boys hand. “Paramount means it is most important.”
Derek pulled the covers back over her leg. “The wound is healing well. No signs of infection. Gunnar tells me you tried to put weight on it today, and it didn’t go well.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” She sent Gunnar an irritated look, which he met with an unrepentant quirk of his eyebrow.
“But you had the right idea,” Derek said. “I want you to start using the leg again a little at a time. Just have Gunnar help steady you until you get strong again.”
“Can I check her blood pressure?” Sawyer asked.
Again Derek deferred to her. “Do you mind being a guinea pig for my apprentice?”
She gave Sawyer a grave look. “No needles, right?”
Sawyer’s shoulders slumped. “Naw. Derek won’t let me stick people until I’m really in medical school.”
Violet sent the boy a wink and a grin. “Probably a good idea.” She offered her arm, pushing up her sleeve. “But you may take my take my blood pressure.”
As Sawyer situated the cuff, Derek asked, “Do you remember what that device is called?”
Sawyer twisted his mouth in thought. “Sphyg—sphygameter?”
“Close. Sphygmomanometer.” Derek helped him adjust the cuff, then stepped back to let Sawyer work.
“Sphygmomanometer,” Sawyer repeated awkwardly.
“Now spell it,” Gunnar said.
Sawyer cast his oldest brother a withering look. “You spell it!”
“I’m not the doctor-in-training.”
Violet suppressed a laugh as Gunnar’s little brother finished taking her blood pressure. She tried to imagine what Hudson and Mason would be like when they grew up. Would they have role models like Derek and Gunnar in their life? Would they tease each other with the obvious affection the Colton brothers shared?
“One hundred and forty over seventy-five?” Sawyer said tentatively taking off the stethoscope.
“Let’s hope not,” Gunnar mumbled.
“Sounds kinda high.” Derek nudged his brother aside. “Let me check.”
Derek pumped the cuff tight again and repeated the test. “More like one-ten over sixty five.” He turned to Violet. “Which is very good.” Then to Sawyer, whose face fell. “Don’t sweat it. Just keep practicing.” Derek gathered his supplies and stashed them in his medical bag. “We’ll get out of your hair now. Thanks for letting Squirt scrub in.”
Violet watched Sawyer roll his eyes at the nickname. “Any time.”
Gunnar stood aside to let them through the door. “What are my orders, Doc?”
Derek flipped a hand casually. “Same as before, except she can get out of bed for short periods.” He faced his patient. “Start putting weight on that leg, but don’t overdo it.”
“Got it.”
Gunnar walked with his brothers to the front door, then returned long enough to tell her he was going to start dinner and ask if she had any preference what they ate.
“If there’s any of that vegetable soup left, I’d love more of that.”
He slapped the door frame lightly. “Coming right up.”
When he disappeared into the kitchen, Violet sank deeper into her pillows. More than soup, she craved distraction, company. The brief visit from Sawyer and Derek had been a welcome relief to the tedium of lying in bed alone. She hated to demand any more of Gunnar’s time and attention when she’d already turned
his life upside down. But the empty hours gave her too much time to dwell on the attack, on where Mary Yoder might be and on how much she missed her boys. Tomorrow, she resolved, no matter how it taxed her, she would spend time with Hudson and Mason. Her boys needed her as much as she needed them.
Sophie sauntered into the room and hopped up on the bed with her.
“Hey, Soph. How ya been?” When Sophie butted Violet’s hand, demanding attention, Violet scratched her cat’s cheek and stroked her silky fur. “You’re mama’s girl, aren’t you?” Violet cooed to her cat, grateful for the feline’s company. After a few minutes of loving, Sophie curled up against Violet’s legs for a nap.
When Gunnar brought her soup, she invited him to eat with her and told him her decision. “I can spend an hour or so with the boys right before their naps. Once they’re asleep, they won’t know when I go back to bed. That way, they won’t be as upset.”
Gunnar eyed her silently for a moment. “As tempting as the offer of help is...are you sure you’re up to it?”
“Derek said I should get up and about some.”
“Up and about is sitting in the living room with me to watch TV. Time with your boys is more like hazardous duty or Olympic training.”
She chuckled. “For you maybe. I can handle my boys.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Your call. But if you’re going to put in hard time tomorrow, I should let you rest.”
He gathered their dishes and snapped off the bedside lamp as he headed for the door.
“Wait!” she cried, more plaintively than she’d intended, but she didn’t want him to escape as he had the last several nights.
He paused at the door and sent her an expectant look. “Yeah?”
What did she say? The truth was she dreaded being alone with her thoughts again. She was just a little afraid of the bad dreams that lurked in the dark, but she didn’t want him to feel sorry for her or decide she’d lost her marbles. “I—I’ve rested all day, and...”
“Want me to find you a magazine to read or something?”
“Oh. No...what I really want is... some company.” She drew a deep breath and decided to lay out the truth. “I don’t want to be alone. It’s...well, a little unnerving. Would you stay?”
His shoulders tensed the slightest bit, and he shifted his gaze away. Darn it, she should have known she’d put him on the spot.
After a beat of hesitation, he jerked a nod. “Yeah. Sure.”
He took a seat and rubbed his hands on his thighs, clearly feeling awkward.
She searched mentally for a conversation opener, discarding several banal questions for the equally boring. “What were you watching on TV before Derek stopped by?”
“Basketball game. Score was real lopsided, though, so I’m not missing anything.”
“Oh.” Great, Violet. How many “ohs” was that in the past two minutes? You are such riveting company. “Wow,” she muttered under her breath, “if the tabloids could see me now.” Facing Gunnar more fully, she asked, “So...tell me about your family. Are there more Colton siblings out there?”
Gunnar raised his head and scrubbed a hand across his chin. “Nope. I think you’ve met all of us. Although, if not for 9/11, there’d probably be a few more.”
She frowned. “What does 9/11 have to do with your family?”
“Our parents were killed in the attack.”
She gasped. “Oh, my God. Gunnar, I’m so sorry!”
He gave a jerky nod of acknowledgment. “They ran a nonprofit organization out of the World Trade Center called Butterfly Hearts that helped inner-city kids. Most of us Colton siblings were in the system or the babies of teenage moms they worked with. If Mom and Dad hadn’t died, I’ve no doubt they’d have adopted a few more kids before they were done.”
“Wow. That’s...so tragic. I... What happened to Butterfly Hearts?”
“It’s still around. Run by a board of directors,” he said matter-of-factly, with no outward show of emotion. “Funded through donations and a trust our parents established.”
“I want to help. I want to contribute to Butterfly Hearts.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Okay. I’m sure they’d appreciate it. Derek can tell you where to send the check.”
“You don’t know?”
“Guess I should, but... having been out of country most of the past ten years, I gave my proxy on the board of directors to Derek. He’s the one who’s most involved. He handles my donations for me.”
“Oh.” Great. The “ohs” were back.
A crease pocked his brow, and he sighed heavily. “Guess now that I’m back CONUS, I should get more involved.” His expression reflected a reluctance to do so, and she wondered about his hesitation but didn’t ask.
“So Sawyer is, what, ten? Eleven?”
“Eleven,” Gunnar supplied.
“Then he was just a baby when your parents died.”
Gunnar nodded. “Yeah.”
“I was fifteen, sitting in English class when our principal let us know what had happened. I cried and cried knowing kids somewhere had lost parents in the attack.”
Violet’s heart wrenched thinking of baby Sawyer growing up without his mother and father. She couldn’t bear to think of Mason and Hudson growing up without her.
“Fifteen?” He looked and sounded stunned by that fact.
She lifted an eyebrow and drawled suspiciously, “Yeaaah. Why? How old were you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
She did the math and goggled at him. “You’re thirty-nine? You don’t look that old.”
“I don’t feel that old—” he sent her a teasing scowl “—except when people tell me they were younger than Piper is now when 9/11 happened.” He lowered his gaze and continued, “I was a personal trainer at a gym in Philly when the planes hit. Somehow that didn’t seem worthy of the good work my parents had been doing. My answer was to join the army and go fight the people who’d taken my parents from me. I was in Afghanistan within three months. Stayed for eleven years.”
His brows beaded, and his face darkened. “I missed a lot with my family while I was gone. Piper and Sawyer barely know me.” His voice trailed off, then he muttered darkly, “I’m the oldest. I should have been here to take care of the family, but I abandoned them to put my own ghosts to rest.”
She narrowed a look of dismay on him. “Gunnar, you were fighting for your country! That is a noble and worthy choice. You sacrificed time with your family like so many other soldiers to defend our country. I respect that.”
He lifted a dubious glance. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew why I came home.”
Violet’s gut lurched, and she drew her eyebrows together. “What do you mean? I just assumed you came back as part of the draw down of troops. Did something happen? Were you forced out?”
“Naw. I left voluntarily. Officially an honorable discharge, but...” His jaw tightened, and he swiped a hand over his face. “Forget it. Can we talk about something else?”
Questions needled her, pinging about in her brain and leaving her restless, but the stern expression he wore told her he was finished talking about whatever troubling thing had happened to end his military career. His secrets were none of her business, but she ached for him nonetheless.
Gunnar cleared his throat, rubbed his hands together. “So...tell me about your family. Are you originally from California?”
“Um...no.” Violet took a moment to mentally shift gears. “Louisiana. A little town in the northern part of the state called Lagniappe. Two parents, both still alive and living in the same house I grew up in. A big brother and sister, both happily married. A dog and a cat. Very boring, dry subject. No skeletons. Don’t believe any of the strange tales the tabloids like to print about my past. I wasn’t raised by gypsies or part of a cult, and my father was a podiatrist, not a mobster.”
He flashed a crooked grin. “Then you’re not a mafia princess?”
She returned a teasing smile. “I only play one on TV
.”
“Do you see your family often?”
She turned her gaze to the covers bunched in her fists. “Not nearly often enough. The movie biz keeps me on the road a lot.” After a beat, she added, “I miss them.” To her horror, moisture pricked her eyes, and she blinked hard fighting it back. But one tear broke free, and when she drew a deep breath to regain her composure, a sniffle escaped.
Gunnar’s head came up, and she felt his concerned gaze. “Violet?”
Damn it! She didn’t want to cry in front of him. How pathetic was that? She raised a hand.
“I’m okay,” she squeaked, only to have a fresh wave of tears rush to her eyes. Geez, what was wrong with her? She gritted her teeth and determinedly shoved down the ache in her throat. Stop it, stop it, stop it!
“I’m sorry.” She hazarded a glance at Gunnar and met his deer in the headlights look. “I don’t know what came over me.”
He scoffed a laugh. “You don’t? Really?”
She pulled her eyebrows together in query.
“Come on, Tink. You’re in pain. You’ve been terrorized. You’re worried about your Amish friend, and you got stuck in a cabin to recover with a grumpy, washed-up soldier.” He shrugged. “Pick a reason.”
She twitched a corner of her mouth in appreciation for his understanding, but none of his reasons resonated with her at the moment. She was silent for a moment, and the truth filtered to the forefront. “I just feel so...alone.” She paused, then clarified, “Not just in the past couple days. I mean big picture. Since my husband died...before that even, I’ve felt—” she inhaled deeply and sorted through her thoughts “—being a public figure, it’s hard to know who is being nice to you because of your star power and what you can do for them versus people you can trust, people who are really there for you. Even Adam betrayed me by cheating on me. While I was carrying his children, he was sleeping with other women. That much the tabloids got right.” She groaned. “And how humiliating was it to have my husband’s infidelity blasted in the media?”
Gunnar didn’t say anything, and she realized the awkward spot she’d put him in. Why did she bring up Adam? She didn’t want to get into Adam’s infidelity now—or ever. She wanted to put it behind her and move forward.
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