Among the Tulips

by Cheryl Wolverton

  Fumbling, she reached for the knob to the window and proceeded to roll it down. “Does anyone speak English?” she repeated, her voice still sounding weak. She hurt from head to toe and didn’t think she could move.

  The man ignored her question and jerked the car door open.

  She gasped as she realized she could move—but it caused her a lot of pain. The throbbing noise in her head increased, drowning out some of her attacker’s unintelligible words. He pointed at his car and then back at her.

  Had she been in the wrong lane? She tried to remember, but everything was fuzzy. All she could remember was she had been driving down the street on the way to the hotel just outside of town…

  She turned to get out of the car. A crowd was gathering. Panic edged up her spine. She had to do something, say something, find someone who could help her. Her chest tightened and her palms grew slick with sweat.

  Why hadn’t she listened to her son and daughter? They’d both nearly disowned her when she’d told them of her plans last week. She’d seriously considered not coming, but Cynthia and Amy had convinced her she would have a great time.

  She reached up and grasped her head. It pounded viciously from her movements. The front window of the car was smashed. She must have contacted it with her head. That would explain the lump that was forming on her forehead as well as the blood.

  Pushing herself around, she gasped in pain as she moved her right leg. Looking down she saw both knees were bloody too.

  Hearing the murmurs, she glanced carefully back up.

  “Does anyone speak English?” A large crowd swarmed around, talking and pointing. A mob? Did they have mobs here? What would they do to her? Her vision narrowed as she felt herself breathing faster.

  Oh no. She had never been in a situation like this. Never. She tried to slow her breathing.

  A policeman appeared and started asking questions. She wanted to cry.

  She couldn’t understand a word he said.

  Again she asked herself why she had come to Holland.

  “English. Eng-lish!” she cried out.

  “Do you need some help?” The deep baritone voice came from in the crowd. Desperately she looked around, trying to find who had spoken.

  The crowd obviously knew. People turned, pointed and started babbling.

  The noise level doubled, which in turn, doubled her headache. “Please, yes. Who said that?”

  She reached for the car door, intending to stand.

  “I did.”

  A tall man, at least six foot, stepped forward as the crowd parted. Dressed in a pair of casual jeans and paint-splattered top, he looked vaguely familiar—American, she thought. Long hair to his shoulders, slightly wavy and pulled back in a ponytail, and deep blue-gray eyes; he had a casualness that bespoke comfort in his surroundings.

  Funny she should notice all of that about a stranger. “I can’t understand the policeman. I’m a tourist.”

  The man turned and spoke to the officer, who in turn motioned for the people to move back. Another officer showed up and began directing people out of the way.

  The man who had been yelling at her now turned to the officer and began telling him something in rapid-fire Holland-ese. What language did they speak? She didn’t remember.

  Finally her link to the local language turned back to her. “Are you hurt?”

  Insurance papers. Driver’s license. What all was she supposed to show the officer? “Yes.”

  Annie gripped the side of the car and the door and started to lift herself out.

  “Wait—” the American said.

  The first bit of weight on Annie’s right leg told her more than anything else that she really wasn’t okay.

  She cried out in pain and pitched forward—right into the arms of the American.

  She saw stars, and then, the next thing she knew, she was lying in the man’s lap on the sidewalk, staring up at a blue sky.

  “Why did I do this?” she moaned.

  “I tried to warn you that sometimes shock will prevent a person from noticing injuries. Now lie still until we can get you to a hospital.”

  Annie blinked. Warm strong arms surrounded her, holding her gently.

  “Who are you?” she asked, more than willing to take his advice because moving, she decided, wasn’t a priority.

  “Call me Victor,” he said simply.

  She nodded, or tried to. She realized Victor was holding a hankie to the lump on her head. “Ow.” The pressure hurt.

  He gentled his ministrations. “You have a small cut there.”

  “I want to go home,” Annie whispered.

  She could hear all of the voices around her, and she had never been so frightened in her life. She trembled from the pit of her stomach to the limbs of her body. She lifted her hand and saw her fingers shake with a palsy of shock and pain.

  “I just turned forty, you see. My friends thought this vacation would be a wonderful idea. I didn’t think about the language problem or driving or…anything. We just made reservations for today, my birthday and then I got on the pl-pl-plane. Well, yesterday in America, you see. I was on my way to the hotel when th-th-this accident happened. I only want to go ho-ho-home now.”

  She realized she was rambling, and worse, she realized tears had filled her eyes and had spilled over. Oh heavens. Dear God, please help me get control, she silently prayed.

  Victor reached up and brushed away the tears before pulling her closer. “It’s shock and an adrenaline rush. Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right. Let’s take one thing at a time. First, let’s get you taken care of, okay?”

  In the distance, a siren’s blare grew louder—a very odd foreign-sounding siren that made her feel so much more alone and different. Annie bit her lip. “But the hospitals overseas…I’ve heard stories…and I don’t speak the language…”

  “Let me handle this,” the man said gently.

  She nodded. “I’m so-so-sorry.”

  “For what?” he asked.

  The siren died down as an ambulance pulled up.

  “For getting you involved, for taking this trip— I don’t know—for many things.”

  Two men got out and approached her.

  As they knelt next to her, Victor asked, “Is your husband here with you? Someone I need to notify?”

  Annie shook her head slightly, immediately regretting it. “No. I’m a widow.”

  Victor released her, gently laying her down on the sidewalk and then stepped back to allow the men to get to her. She didn’t move. She hurt too much to move.

  “I don’t suppose I can have your name,” he said.

  Annie realized she hadn’t told him. “Annie. Annie Hooper.”

  “Nice to meet you, Annie,” the polite stranger said.

  “You have no idea how nice it is to meet you,” Annie said, meaning it with every heartbeat.

  She was terrified and alone. She was exhausted after the long trip and all she had been thinking about was getting to the hotel to rest.

  She had no idea what had happened. She had been driving and now she was being loaded onto a gurney. How had the wreck occurred? A big blank was there where information should be. And where was the man she’d hit?

  As the two men lifted her, she couldn’t help a surge of panic. “Don’t leave me,” she called and realized the man who had been at her side was once again talking to the police. He immediately turned and stepped over to her. Wrapping both of his hands around hers in an intimate act of great comfort, he focused his complete attention on her, his eyes connecting and holding hers in a steadying gaze. “I’m right here.”

  She bit her lip, embarrassed, but unwilling to let go. “Thank you.”

  Some trip this was turning out to be. Yet, holding on to this man calmed her somewhat. A needle pricked her arm as the paramedics started on IV and then injected a clear fluid into the IV line. “What are they giving me?”

  Her rescuer turned and rattled off a question in that language they spoke.


  The one attendant answered.

  Tall dark and handsome turned back to her. “Something to help calm you.”

  Oh heavens…she could already feel it taking affect. “You look funny,” she said, but it didn’t sound right. The words had come out mixed up.

  The man smiled, two dimples appearing in his slightly bearded cheeks. “I have a funny look?”

  “No. You…your face…it’s…turning…” She lifted one hand to show him how he seemed suddenly tilted, but found the effort too much and dropped her hand back to her side. “I’m not making sense.”

  The attendants lifted the gurney. It felt very odd—as if she were suddenly floating up into the air. Victor was still next to her, however.

  “You have a dimple in your chin,” she said, staring at him.

  He gave her a half grin as he turned to say something to someone near them.

  “I would have seen it better if you had shaved. You have stubble all over your face.”

  He glanced back, his eyes widening in surprise.

  She felt the silliest urge to giggle—which she did. And then she closed her eyes.

  Until she was jarred.

  “Wait a minute. We’re moving.” She glanced around and noted they were in the back of a vehicle and it was speeding down the street.

  Victor was still there, sitting right next to her, along with a stranger who was talking on a radio. Victor held her hand with both of his. He must have sensed her confusion, however, because he released her hand with his right hand and cupped her cheek. “The medicine is affecting you. We’re on the way to the hospital. Obviously time isn’t the same for you. We’ve already been in here several minutes. They must have given you something pretty strong.”

  Annie felt disconnected, though his hand felt great. With a sigh she rubbed her cheek against his hand. “You feel so good,” she murmured sleepily. “I had no idea how much I missed a gentle touch.” She hadn’t said that out loud—had she? Ah well, what did it matter? He was here now, with her. Her eyelids felt heavy. “My protector.”

  She didn’t want to let her eyes close though and forced them open. The gorgeous guy in front of her was her only lifeline to this world she was in. She didn’t want to lose him.

  He had an odd look on his face.

  She studied him, wondering just who this man was, this gentle soul who had been willing to help her.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “Please don’t leave me alone.” That sounded so wimpish and frightened. She wasn’t wimpish and easily frightened. At least, she didn’t think so. “Yes, I am. Very wimpish.”

  The man laughed.

  She felt his hand against her cheek again and smiled. “Thank you,” she whispered. Turning her cheek into his hand she snuggled down into it, thinking it felt so much like her mom’s hand had so many years ago—soft, gentle and caring. She closed her eyes.

  “Thank you again? For what?” Victor asked. When she didn’t answer, he realized Annie was asleep. Turning to the attendant he spoke in Dutch, “I want to make sure we get her into a room immediately.”

  The young tech nodded, a bit starry-eyed. “Of course, Mr. Rivers. Whatever you want.”

  Victor simply nodded. He was used to the deference he received, though it did get old. In this case, however, it would be beneficial; it would ensure that ‘Annie’ got good medical care.

  What was he going to do with the woman?

  A stranger in a strange land and she didn’t speak the language.

  He would love to have a talk with her friends. Didn’t people realize just how dangerous it was to be in a foreign country where she couldn’t speak the language? If she’d been in one of the bigger cities, she wouldn’t have had a problem, but in the tiny city of Haut, with a population of only ten thousand, located out in the middle of nowhere—very few spoke English.

  Wearily, he shook his head. He couldn’t help but worry about Annie Hooper.

  And things did happen to innocent people—look at her and the wreck.

  Victor always tried to be prepared and ready for whatever might come. It was a good thing in his life—to make sure he was prepared. Not being prepared could lead to national embarrassments.

  He hadn’t been prepared for Annie, however.

  He was surprised that she didn’t speak a single word of Dutch or German.

  She had rattled him, that was for sure. He’d actually been surprised by her sweet innocent smile. He’d smiled when she’d rubbed up against his hand. Her skin was soft and smooth and smelled of something sweet. He’d never smelled that scent before but it drifted up from her as she’d moved her head. Perhaps a shampoo or perfume. And then she’d commented on his chin. Some women were put off by the dimple, but she seemed to like it, though he wasn’t sure about her feelings regarding the light bit of beard he’d worn for his last movie. His long hair and beard were leftovers, and he hadn’t cut them yet.

  Of course, the drugs were affecting Annie. She’d been slurring every word she spoke.

  If he had his way, he would prefer her to be in a different hospital. But since he was there, he would make sure she was treated right.

  He frowned. “She is going to be okay?” he asked the attendant.

  The attendant shrugged. “She probably has a fractured tibia or fibula and possibly a concussion. Normally we wouldn’t give meds so strong, but she’s a tourist and pretty unsettled. Americans,” the technician said disrespectfully and then winced. “Except for you, Mr. Rivers. Your mother was from Holland so you’re not really American, exactly.”

  Victor thought that attitude was typical and sighed. “It’s not important.”

  As if to make up for his lapse, the attendant sat up straighter and examined the patient more closely. “She could have internal injuries. The doctor will let you know.”

  They pulled into the entrance to the hospital.

  The technician leaned forward and wiped away the blood that was running along Annie’s hairline.

  Victor didn’t care too much for real blood.

  Then he realized his own hands had her blood on them, in quite another sense.

  He hoped she wasn’t seriously injured.

  She was actually very pretty in a simple sort of way—innocent, perhaps. She didn’t have that world-weary look that so many of his friends did.

  In the circles he traveled, it was rare to see someone that looked so fresh at…forty, she’d said?

  Forty.

  He would have guessed her much younger.

  She was only two years younger than he. He had turned forty-two two months ago.

  Annie shifted her head. Victor blanched.

  A cross.

  She wore a tiny cross around her neck.

  All good feelings toward this woman were shoved aside as memories of his parents flooded his mind.

  She was a Christian—like them.

  How could she be? he wondered. But then she hadn’t been herself either.

  The bitterness and anger—hidden but always near to his heart—threatened to surface. It would have too if he’d had more time to dwell on it, but just then, the ambulance pulled to a stop at the emergency room entrance. Victor realized he still held Annie’s hand.

  Releasing it, he stepped back and allowed the technicians to do their job.

  He followed the stretcher into the hospital and into the ward. Maybe she just wore the necklace because she liked the look. Besides, not all people who wore crosses were like his parents. His parents hadn’t believed in wearing any jewelry, so maybe she wasn’t like them at all. Anyway, it didn’t matter. She was here alone and needed help. And he would help this woman, regardless of her religious beliefs. He forced those bitter memories away by becoming the persona he had created so many years ago through so many parts.

  When the nurse came in, he gave all of the information he could and then stepped away to make a call to his home. He needed some fresh clothes. He also needed to talk to this woman when she woke u
p.

  Of course once she was in her right mind and had calmed down, she would recognize him and that might pose a problem. But then, he was used to that.

  He would simply be prepared for whatever her reaction would be.

  He supposed that the sweet innocence he’d perceived would disappear and he would find out just what type of person Annie really was. Money had that effect on people—money and fame. And he had both. Wearily he sighed and accepted that that was how it would be.

  Thinking about that, he decided it might not hurt to put in a call to his lawyer as well.

  It was going to be a long day.

  Chapter Two

  Annie groaned.

  She heard someone speaking to her, though she couldn’t understand him, and then she felt herself being prodded to sit up.

  Painfully she opened one eye. And immediately realized she had been unconscious—again.

  “A cast?” She looked down at her right leg in dismay. “I’m in a cast.”

  “You’re awake.”

  Her gaze went past the other beds in the room she was in, and, to her relief, she saw her rescuer coming down the main aisle, the very man who had just spoken. Wow. She hadn’t imagined it. He was hot.

  His footsteps echoed on the tiled floor. She could hear other noises from other beds around her, though the curtains blocked her view of the people in the cubicles. Light shone through the windows near where Victor had entered, and she was relieved to realize that not much time must have passed if it was still light out.

  “What happened?”

  The man who had been prodding her to sit up now pointed at a wheelchair before pointing at the bed.

  She didn’t understand him.

  Victor said something to him, and the man replied. Victor commented again in a sharper tone and the man strode off, not looking back.

  “I’m sorry he woke you. I stepped out to freshen up. I thought you’d be okay for a few minutes. I guess I was wrong.”

  She pointed at the obvious. “I have a broken leg.”

  Victor nodded. He stopped next to her bed and lifted his hand to touch her just above her eye. “How do you feel?”

  She winced in pain, yet at the same time felt her heart flutter at how close this man was. He was really good-looking and somehow, strangely familiar. His magnetism was unbelievable as well. She really liked the change he’d made while she was unconscious. Instead of the paint-spattered shirt and jeans, he wore a casual pair of dress slacks and a tucked-in polo shirt along with a light tan leather jacket.