He didn’t know she was there. He was asleep, all sign of pain smoothed from his features, his lashes casting shadows on his high cheekbones. The pain medication that she had put to such good use had been reordered and given as soon as his doctor was certain there had been no real damage from his struggle with Bettina. Trey had accepted it without complaint because he knew the danger was at an end and she was safe.
Zeni closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to banish the scene that played out in her mind again and yet again: the hospital room in chaos, Bettina looking murderous as she tried to smother Trey, the nurse appearing in the door with the prepared syringe. It was over; the room restored to order. It was over; but she still felt the effects like the sting of acid in her veins.
She had wanted to kill Derek’s assistant. It was only blind luck that she had not, that the syringe hadn’t struck an artery, sending the powerful painkiller directly to Bettina’s heart. Zeni was glad now, but on first hearing the woman would live, she had felt nothing but burning regret.
That had been several hours ago. Bettina had been taken away after being examined. What became of her, Zeni didn’t know.
The door of the room swung open, letting in the brighter light from the corridor. Zeni looked up, every sense alert.
It was a different nurse, gray-haired and kindly. “Just checking to be sure everything is okay, hon,” she said with professional quiet.
“He’s fine.”
“Yes, I see that. He’s fortunate to have you. Now is there anything you need, anything I can get you?”
Better willpower, maybe, or a new heart? They didn’t have those down at the nurse’s station.
Zeni shook her head.
“There are a couple of people out here who would like to step inside a minute, if it’s all right with you.”
Zeni wasn’t sure when she’d become Trey’s guardian, but it didn’t matter. “Fine, as long as they don’t wake him.”
“No problem. I told them that, but they knew already.” She turned away to motion to someone out of sight, and then vanished into the hall.
It was Mandy who put her head around the door, though she was quickly followed by Lance, Beau and Carla. Without stopping, Lance’s wife came toward Zeni with her arms outstretched.
“Oh my God, sweetie!” she said, folding her into a full warm embrace. “I can’t believe you, taking on that crazy woman all by yourself. And putting her away, too!”
Zeni managed a smile that was, truth to tell, a little watery. “Well, Trey did have her by both wrists.”
“Big deal.” Carla wrapped her arms around both Zeni and Mandy for a group hug. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Absolutely,” she answered, looking from one to another of the visitors as she emerged from the shelter of their arms. “But I was just sitting here wondering what happened to Bettina when they took her out of here.”
“They didn’t tell you?” Mandy gave her husband a look that held more than a little disbelief. “Lance took her into custody once the doctor was done with her. Right now, she’s sleeping off the painkiller in a cell. When she wakes up she’ll be charged with attempted murder, assault and reckless endangerment, plus a few other things. That should put her away for a long while.”
“Good.” Zeni didn’t want to show her relief too obviously, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t heartfelt.
“Good is right,” Carla echoed. “Though I have to say, I don’t understand what she thought she was doing. I mean, I could see Derek going after Trey if he’d set his sights on you. He seems to be a petty, vindictive guy with a massive ego and overdeveloped sense of entitlement. But what was this Bettina going to gain? They were involved, or so everyone said. Why would she try to get rid of your fiancé?”
“She and Derek both said it was her job to make sure he had whatever he wanted,” Zeni answered, since she’d had time to think about it. “If you carry that to its logical conclusion—”
“Or, in her case, the illogical one?” Mandy put in.
Beau, watching them, used his thumb to scratch at his scruff of golden-brown beard. “It sounds extreme.”
“She hasn’t been a model citizen since Rifle Fire was canceled,” Lance said. “A background check brought up drug issues, mental health issues, and credit card fraud with a couple of aliases. I’d say Peabody is lucky she never went after him with a rifle—or a pillow.”
“I should say so,” Mandy said, “especially with the rifle. I remember her handling one like a pro as Derek’s co-star on his hit show.”
“Rifle Fire, yeah,” Beau said. “But did Peabody have no responsibility in all this?”
Carla understood what her husband was driving at before anyone else. “You mean, is it possible he put Bettina up to it? He may be a horse’s behind, but it doesn’t follow that he’d incite anyone to murder.”
“I do know women can think and act for themselves,” Beau told her with a flashing grin. “But that he was the driving force is not impossible.”
“Which is why I’ll be discussing it with her when she wakes up, certainly before Derek takes himself out of town,” Lance said.
“Good plan.” Zeni meant that exactly as it sounded.
“And if you’re wondering when darling Derek and his movie company will be gone,” Carla told Zeni, “it seems he and his crew will finish the scenes they have laid out, but everything else will be filmed on a Hollywood soundstage. They should be packed up and out of town by the end of next week.”
That also sounded like a good plan. It was, just possibly, one she might follow up on herself if Trey was up and around by then. Not that she’d be going anywhere near Hollywood, but Trey didn’t need to know that, and might never find out if she was careful.
“Anyway,” Mandy said, her gaze a bit too knowing as she looked at Zeni, “we came to see about you as well as Trey. We’ve all had a chance to go home, take a shower and rest a bit, while you’ve been here since last night—”
“Last night?” Zeni glanced at the window, and was surprised to see the light outside was fading, the last of the sunlight slanting toward evening.
“It’s lovely that you’ve been so dedicated, but you can’t hold out forever. Lance and Beau will stay with Trey tonight, and Mandy and I will drive you to your apartment. You can get some rest then we’ll all put our heads together and decide what’s best for Trey.”
It seemed she wasn’t the only one who could make arrangements.
Zeni slept the clock around. She’d heard that phrase before but never actually done it. It was hard to believe so much time had passed with no one disturbing her, but the reason soon became clear. Gloria had dared anyone to step foot on the stairs to her apartment, and kept the noise level down in the coffee shop as well.
It was almost noon before she rolled out of bed and went in search of coffee. She’d been too keyed up to sleep when she first came in; that was on top of running the gauntlet of the Watering Hole’s customers. Everyone was concerned and curious, and no one wanted their news second hand, not when she was in sight. It had been after eleven before she was able to close her eyes, also after she’d fed and petted Midnight, took a hot bath while drinking a couple of glasses of wine, and downloaded a dull book on how to overcome insomnia. Once she finally relaxed, however, it was like falling over a cliff and never hitting the bottom.
Now that she was awake and something close to her normal self again, she was able to think more clearly than the evening before. Facing Trey and letting him know what was on her mind had never been a problem; she only dreaded it now because it mattered so much. So it might be painful, so what? Running away as she’d imagined wouldn’t be fair to either of them.
There was no point in putting it off. Besides, she wanted to see him. If he was awake, he must be wondering what had become of her. Or maybe not, as the others had surely told him. Anyway, she was going to the hospital if she had to retrieve his Harley from the arena and ride it to get there.
She s
howered, found something to eat, and skimmed into the black pants and white shirt that were the most subdued things she owned. She brushed her hair until it shone and, wryly amused at her Southern belle type primping, applied mascara, lip-gloss, and a coating of concealer for the shadows that still lay under her eyes.
When she was done, she looked normal. Amazingly enough, she didn’t mind. Trey knew the worst; she no longer had any need to hide anything from him. And no one else really mattered.
She walked out of the bedroom, headed toward her shoulder bag that she’d left on the chest in front of the sofa. At a small sound from the entrance door, she glanced up.
Trey stood framed in the opening, his hands in his pockets while he rested one shoulder against the frame. How he’d come to be there was no great mystery; it was his building so he must have had an extra key.
“Headed somewhere?”
She closed her open mouth with a snap. “To the hospital. What are you doing out of it?”
“Doc said I was good to go, as long as I’m careful. The place I wanted to go was here.”
A shiver ran over her at the words, but she refused to hold his gaze. “You should be at home in bed.”
“Good idea, if you’d care to join me.”
“Don’t.”
“No, not such a good idea, after all.” His smile was wry. “But we have some unfinished business.”
She looked at him then, seeing the concern and determination in the gray depths of his eyes. A silent sigh left her. “I suppose we do. Come in and sit down before you fall down. Is there anything I can get you, coffee, water, pie or something else to eat that isn’t hospital food?”
“I’m good.”
He did seem to be, as he moved to the couch and sank down on it. He might move a little gingerly, look a little pale, but no one would guess that he’d been shot if they didn’t know it.
As she went to close the door behind him, she tried to marshal her thoughts, to decide what she was going to say. It was impossible until she knew exactly what he meant by coming to her apartment. There was one thing she could do, however.
Removing the ruby and diamond ring that he had bought for her, holding it clenched in her hand for a second, she stepped to the coffee table and put it down in front of him. Retreating at once, she took the chair that sat at an angle from the couch.
“What’s this?” He stared down at the ring, but didn’t pick it up.
“You know very well. With Derek pulling in his horns and getting ready to leave town, there’s no longer a need for our pretend engagement.”
“What if we forget the pretend part and make it real?” Midnight glided from the bedroom and leaped up beside him, and Trey smoothed a hand down his back, watching what he was doing instead of looking at her.
“I told you why there at the hospital yesterday. Unless you don’t remember?”
Anger turned his eyes storm-cloud gray as he glanced up. “I remember. What I don’t recall is getting an answer to the question of whether you’re going or staying.”
“I-I can’t stay.”
“Why not? You think you’ll find whatever it is you’re looking for at the next town down the road? It’s here, right in front of you, and you can’t or won’t see it.”
“I’m the one who needs to decide that.”
“I agree,” he said a shade too promptly. “You have to decide who you want to be and where you want to stay, and then do it and be damned to everyone else. I just don’t see that who your father might have been makes any difference.”
“Of course you do, or should. You’re a Benedict. Your family has been here since the flood. You and your cousins are old-time Chamelot with the old family plantation houses to prove it. You don’t want to take the chance that your children might be laughed at or slighted because they’re—different.”
“For God’s sake, Zeni, how can you sit there and say that? You have an IQ of 150, and mine is not nearly that high. Could you take the chance, even though our children might not be extra bright?”
“It’s not the same thing,” she said with a quick shake of her head.
“I say it is,” he insisted. “More than that, I’ll tell you something about this famous Benedict family you think is so aristocratic. It started in Tunica Parish with four brothers who had migrated west out of Virginia by way of Georgia and Mississippi. They didn’t wind up here in the back of beyond, a primitive wilderness at the time, simply because they found rich bottom land along the river. Oh, no. According to stories handed down in the family, they were running from something—God knows what, but probably a killing, accidental or otherwise. They’d picked up some interesting women along the way, too. One was a black-haired Native American, and another a misunderstood blonde, beautiful but no better than she had to be for good and various reasons. There was a Spanish female with a temper and a little knife she’d used once too often, and a Frenchwoman who’d made a career of marrying sickly older men—until she met a Benedict who was hale and hearty. About the best you can say for the whole crew is that they were strong, hardworking and ready to take whatever risks might be necessary to have a new and better life.”
“You’re making that up.” She was almost certain of it, though she wanted to believe him, longed to with every ounce of her being.
“Why would I do that?”
“You know why. Besides, it was long ago.”
“So is whatever happened in your family.”
She brushed that away with a quick gesture of one hand. “But the Benedicts are respected members of the community now. The name stands for stability and integrity and all the old-fashioned values that are so hard to find.”
“And you’re going to be all noble and refuse to marry me because of it, and because of something that might or might not be true about your family? Well, thank you very much.”
“Oh, is that supposed to be your part in all this?” she demanded as her annoyance rose with his accusation. “You’re going to be all noble and marry me in spite of it?”
“I want to marry you because I love you, Zeni, and I don’t take kindly to this idea of yours that I must be unable to accept your birth, whatever it might be, because I’m a Southern country boy.”
“I never said—”
“It seemed that way to me.”
She tightened her hands into fists, heartsick at arguing with him about something so personal, yet unable to stop. “Maybe it was, but a lot of people do think that way.”
“Some do, yes. But I’ll remind you that not everyone, or even every Southerner, is the same. You can’t judge a man by where he was born or how. No, and not by the vocal few whose brains are stuck back in the nineteenth century with their dead ancestors, and who never had an independent thought in their lives. This is the twenty-first century America, Zeni. Every single one of us is the child of an immigrant and a fine mixture of races and colors and wild-haired genes after thousands of years of population movements and enemy invasions. More than that, it’s been proven that we each and every one come from the same hot savannah in Africa. What the devil difference does it make what the color of our hair and skin might be? It’s what’s in our hearts that matters.”
“Oh, Trey.” She could barely see him for the tears that welled into her eyes, rising from the deep sense of healing inside her. He was such an unusual man, honest and compassionate, strong and true and, most of all, fair. She loved him beyond all thought, loved him enough to give him up if it was the best thing for him.
But if not? If it truly wasn’t best, what then?
“Marry me, Zeni,” he said, moving to kneel beside her chair, taking her hand and placing in her palm the antique ruby and diamond ring that stood for her heart and his protection of it. “Please marry me and help me name my granddad’s old house and turn it into a home. Help me build a life worth having. Marry me and have my children.”
“Are you sure? Are you really sure?”
“I was never more certain of anything in my life,�
�� he said in deep avowal. “You are my life and the only future I need, the rose I yearn for despite its thorns. I love you more than I can say, need you beside me, want you in my heart for all the days of our lives. That is, if you meant what you whispered when you thought I might be dying, if you can always love me.”
“Yes,” she whispered, closing her fingers tight on his ring. “Yes. Oh, please yes.”
He joined her in her chair, taking her on his lap. She melted into him with gentle care for his injury, pushing her fingers into his hair as he took her mouth, her throat, pressing his face into her neck so she felt the moisture from his eyes, and then taking his mouth again for a kiss flavored with the salt of her own tears. Touching, holding in an agony of relief and promise, they came together in peace at last.
It was later, much later, when Zeni sighed and shifted, resting her forehead against his jawbone while he cupped her breast, his hand disappearing inside the open placket of her shirt.
“There’s something else I have to tell you,” she said, her voice musing and contented, yet just a tiny bit smug.
“What’s that?” he asked, his concentration elsewhere.
“The gene for intelligence is inherited through the mother’s DNA.”
His movement stilled. “What does that mean?”
“Why, only that our children will be of strong Benedict stock with all those good healthy genes, but they should also be bright, very bright indeed.”
“So my logic was all wrong?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s just that, well—these children of ours should be awesome.”
His hold upon her tightened, became caressing. “They will be. And I can’t wait to see. I really can’t wait.”
THE LOUISIANA KNIGHTS SERIES
About the Author
National and international bestselling author Jennifer Blake is a charter member of Romance Writers of America and recipient of the RWA Lifetime Achievement Award. She hold numerous other honors, including the “Maggie”, the Holt Medallion, Reviewer’s Choice, Pioneer and Career Achievement Awards from RT Book Reviews Magazine, and the Frank Waters Award for literary excellence. She has written 73 books with translations in 22 languages and more than 35 million copies in print worldwide.
Tristan on a Harley (Louisiana Knights Book 3) Page 19