“Right this way,” the receptionist said.
Shala followed the woman into a curtained-off space just like the one she’d been in at eight, alone. Just like the one her dying parents had occupied a few curtains down.
“I’m going to get our insurance person to take your information here. We wouldn’t want to get her office bloody.”
Shala nodded.
The woman motioned toward the bed. “The nurse and Kelly from insurance will be right in.” She looked at Shala’s hand. “That’s a nasty cut. What happened?”
“A knife.”
“Cooking?”
“Sort of,” Shala answered, not wanting to explain.
“Okay, deary. We’ll have you fixed up lickety-split.” She walked off, her footsteps tapping against the tile floor, and left Shala alone. Alone. Just like before.
Shala stared at the bed and tried not to see the curtain. Tried not to remember getting off the bed and moving two sections down, pulling the curtain back. Tried not to remember seeing her mama’s and daddy’s bloody bodies lurching off the tables as doctors filled them with electricity. Shala’s heart thumped against her chest bone. Feeling the fuzziness of panic, she had one of those good old-fashioned come-to-Jesus talks with herself, the kind Nana had been famous for dishing out whenever necessary. Damn, but she missed Nana. Blinking, she swallowed the lump in her throat and continued talking herself down.
She told herself it had happened a long time ago. That it was time she moved past everything. Get over it! Yeah, her parents had died, and yeah, she’d seen something an eight-year-old shouldn’t, but she wasn’t eight anymore. Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, she moved to the bed, sat down, and stared at the bloody cloth around her palm.
Footsteps sounded. They stopped at her curtain. Looking up, she expected the nurse. Sky Gomez stood there, arms crossed, posture hard. He stared sternly down at her as if daring her to tell him to go.
The hospital cot was about as comfortable as camping out. Maria hated camping out.
After an hour of tossing and turning, she fell into a semisleep. The sound of the hospital door swishing open pulled her back. The nurses came in and out, though, checking on Redfoot, their footsteps soft and their voices feminine. She didn’t have to acknowledge them, she told herself. The sweet darkness of sleep lured her back. But as she rolled toward the wall and almost drifted back into slumber, something tickled her awareness.
A hand brushed over her shoulder. A warm comforting hand. “Maria?” A masculine voice whispered in her ear. “I came back. I had to make sure you were okay.”
He’d come back? An image of Jose filled her sleep-hazed mind. He’d left her. Hurt her. She’d lost his baby and maybe her ability to ever have a child. Now he wanted to know if she was okay? Wasn’t it too late for that?
“You awake?”
The soft baritone and the comforting touch weren’t Jose’s, she realized. Rolling over, she threw her arms around Matt.
He smelled the way he always did. His soap always left a hint of something like rosemary and the earthier scent of fresh-cut hay. She pressed her face into his shoulder. For the first time that night, she felt everything would be okay. It felt so good when he held her. Like home felt after you’d been away too long. Then she recalled having thought he was Jose, and guilt flashed through her.
She sat up. Matt sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “Thank God, you’re okay.”
She brushed hair from her face. “I tried to call you.”
“I’m sorry. You scared the shit out of me when you hung up without explaining what was happening. I got in my car and left right away. I was an hour out of Dallas before I realized I’d left my phone. I pulled over at the pay phone and tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”
“I didn’t know that was you. I didn’t take the call.”
He brushed a hand over her cheek. “I was so worried. All you told me was that the lights went out. And then right before you hung up, you screamed something about someone breaking in. I didn’t know what the hell was happening.”
“I’m fine. Someone broke into the lodge. Redfoot caught the intruder in the act and was hurt. He made it back to the house, but he fell against the wall and hit the light switch. I panicked. I’m sorry I didn’t explain better…” She leaned against him and was enjoying every moment until she remembered the talk she’d had with Redfoot. Hadn’t she warned herself to stop feeling so much and start thinking? Maybe even ask some questions about Matt’s business trips to Dallas?
But he was here. He’d driven all the way home just to make sure she was okay. That meant something, didn’t it?
“How is the old coot?” Matt asked.
“The old coot is fine!” Redfoot called gruffly from his bed, and Maria had to put a hand over her mouth to stop from giggling. “Which is why you, Maria, should go home, now.”
“Sorry. Did we wake you?” Maria went and stood by the bed.
“Actually, the squeaking of that cot keeps waking me up. I know you want to stay for me, but if you’d go home I’d be better off.”
Maria frowned. “But—”
“Don’t ‘but’ me! Go home.”
Maria sighed. “Let me check with the nurses, and if they think you’re fine I’ll consider it.” Looking back at Matt, she motioned for him to follow her out.
“No,” Redfoot said. “He stays behind so I can have a word with him.”
Matt’s eyes widened.
Maria shook her head. “Now isn’t the time, Redfoot.”
“Feels right to me.”
Matt stood up and winked. “It’s fine, Maria. You go talk to the nurses, and I’ll be out in a minute.”
Maria admired Matt’s courage. Redfoot had a way of instilling fear in people. She just hoped Matt knew Redfoot’s bark was always worse than his bite. Of course, the people who got bit never stuck around to compare.
Then again, if she and Matt were really going to make it, Matt would have to learn to deal with Redfoot. Difficult and stubborn though he was, her foster father was family. And family was sacred.
The lump in Shala’s throat returned, but she would not cry.
“I apologized,” he said, and stepped into the room.
“I know.” The stinging in her sinuses increased. After a few deep breaths, she added, “I’m not mad.”
“Good.” He slipped into the room.
For some crazy reason, she got the impression he didn’t apologize often. Maybe he didn’t have to. She recalled rummaging through his house, assessing him as perfect. Well, near perfect, with the exception of having athlete’s foot. Her gaze slid to his feet, and that’s when she remembered what else she’d found—that newspaper clipping. She continued to stare at Sky’s feet while a wash of empathy cascaded through her.
At last she felt brave enough to glance up, and the emotions in his eyes seemed to mirror her own. Her gaze shifted to his chest, which looked ideal to lean against. She imagined him wrapping his arms around her, offering comfort as she did the same in return. Realizing she stared, she shot her gaze back to his feet.
“Something wrong with my shoes?” he asked.
“Nope. Just safer to look at.” Oh, hell. Had she really said that out loud?
“Safer?”
His cell phone rang. From the ensuing conversation, she assumed it was the man Sky had asked to go to his place and retrieve the gun. “Great,” he said into the phone. “I’ll pick it up in the morning. Thanks.”
He hung up and eyed Shala without speaking. After a moment, the silence felt intimate. Luckily, a woman came in to get her insurance information.
Instead of talking to Shala, though, her attention found Sky. “How’s your foster dad doing?” Foster father? Even feeling half out of it, Shala was able to file away that information.
When the woman asked for Shala’s insurance card, Sky pointed to her injured hand and then her purse, lifting an eyebr
ow. She nodded. While she answered questions, she noticed Sky flipping through her wallet, looking for her insurance card, but paying particular attention to the pictures. Oddly, she didn’t mind, yet it felt odd having him peek into her personal world. Then, as she recalled her search of the man’s home tonight, turnabout seemed fair play.
The insurance woman left and the doctor walked in. “Sky? I thought that was you. You like hanging around here, or what?”
Sky introduced Shala to Dr. Henry Michaels. The doctor smiled at her. “I think Redfoot mentioned you.”
“He did?” Shala asked.
“Yeah.” Sky shot the doctor an odd look. “He got hit pretty hard on the head. Was talking a lot of nonsense.”
“Nonsense about me?” It seemed better to concentrate on this conversation than on her tragic history with hospitals.
“About everything.” Sky continued to stare at the doctor.
The doctor, still smiling, reached for her hand. “I just went to check on him. He’s sleeping, and his blood pressure is normal. I think he’s going to be fine. Should go home tomorrow.” The doctor gently removed the washcloth from Shala’s wound. “Ouch,” he said.
After cleaning the gash and making sure none of the ligaments were cut, he had the nurse bring in the needle and sutures. Amazingly, that’s when Shala realized she’d managed to get through being in a hospital without falling apart. Of course, her final experience had been worsened by the news that Nana was dead. That hadn’t been a good night. Shala had been alone.
Unlike tonight, she realized. Her gaze went to Sky. Had his presence helped? He turned his head, his dark eyes meeting hers.
“I’m going to deaden it first,” the doctor announced. “It might hurt for a few minutes. You ready?”
Shala lay back on the bed, held out her hand, and closed her eyes. She felt the first stick of a needle, and pain shot up her arm. She tried not to flinch, then she felt a masculine palm slip into her other hand and squeeze. She almost pulled away, but Sky’s hand felt so warm, so comforting, that she decided that for just this little bit, she’d allow it. Just for this little bit.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Redfoot watched the white boy edge up to his hospital bed. He hit the button to raise his mattress and turned on the light. Redfoot had seen himself earlier when he’d taken a piss, so he knew how he looked. One eye was bloodred; both eyes had shiners.
The boy’s green eyes widened in surprise. “Wow, you must have taken quite a hit,” he said.
“Yeah, but I’m tough,” Redfoot replied. The white boy needed to know someone was watching out for Maria, someone who would whup his ass if he hurt that darkeyed little angel. Sky would do it and so would Jose if he asked either of them, but Redfoot planned to take care of it on his own.
“Maria is special,” he said.
The white boy smiled and a donned a goofy, lovesick expression. “I know that.”
“Too special for you.” Redfoot glared at him. “It’s best if you move on down the road, if you know what I mean. ‘Cause nothing is worse than pissing off an Indian daddy.”
Matt actually took a step back. Good, Redfoot thought. “That’s all I have to say.” He pressed the button to level out his mattress.
“But it’s not all I have to say, sir.” Matt moved to the bedside. “I care about your daughter. I’m glad we’re having this talk, because I’m thinking—”
“I don’t give a dog’s chapped ass what you’re thinking about. Maria is—”
“Maria is special. And I care about her,” Matt insisted.
Redfoot didn’t like it, but he respected the boy’s courage. Not that respect made him right for Maria. Jose was Maria’s soul mate.
“I’m not perfect,” Matt said. “But—”
“Maria deserves someone perfect. Not some guy who’d rather spend his time doing God only knows what in Dallas every few weekends! And from the guilt flashing in your eyes right now, I would say that God doesn’t want to know what you’ve been up to in Dallas!”
“Sir, it’s—”
Maria walked back through the door. Her gaze shot to Redfoot, then Matt, then back to Redfoot. “We can go,” she said.
Redfoot knew Maria didn’t like the fact that he’d had a talk with her young man, but Maria hadn’t liked it when he wouldn’t let her stay out past midnight at seventeen. She hadn’t liked it when he’d forbidden her to wear those itsy-bitsy bathing suits the guys always liked. Point was, sometimes fathers had to do things that didn’t make their daughters happy.
Jose pushed the air bag out of his face and sat there for a good five minutes assessing every twinge and pain he felt. He could taste blood, but he was pretty sure it was dripping into his mouth from where he’d hit his head.
Reaching up, relieved he could move without agony, he felt his scalp. From what he could feel, the cut was small, the goose egg not so much. But he hadn’t passed out. He didn’t feel dizzy. Probably no concussion. He moved all his limbs, and nothing felt broken.
“Damn lucky,” he muttered, realizing he’d ended up about twenty feet into the woods. He opened the car door. The entire car leaned to the left.
Still dazed, he half-rolled out of the vehicle and landed in a patch of thick vegetation. He pushed himself up, perched on his hands and knees, and stayed like that for a second, making sure his back and neck weren’t hurt. No serious pains shot through his body. Then he felt it: a stinging in his ankles. A burning sensation that crawled up his pant legs.
“Shit!” He recognized that pain. Leaping up, he kicked off his shoes and started slapping at his legs. Luck would have it that after a damn car accident he’d find himself belly-up in a freaking fire-ant bed.
He took off running, stopping every few steps to slap at his calves, hoping to stop the ants from moving upward—ants that were at this moment sending shots of painful poison into his skin. The stinging made its way up his thighs. Sneaky bastards traveled at amazing speeds in tight places. Not wanting to suffer the bites to his crotch, he started shucking his pants. Unfortunately, his foot got caught in the leg of his jeans. He fell. Hard. Landed facedown in a briar bush. Luckily, the thorns missed his eyes, but his nose wasn’t so lucky. And that’s when he heard it: a slight rustle in the bushes right in front of him.
He pushed up on his elbows and came nose to nose with a pair of beady eyes. The animal did a half circle in a flicker of a second. Jose recognized the black-and-white markings. He screamed and rolled over three times, landing on his back, but it was too damn late. The skunk spray got him and got him good. He closed his eyes to fight the nausea. When he opened them, he saw the town’s water tower lighting up the sky like a beacon. He read the words painted upon it in huge purple letters:
WELCOME TO PRECIOUS
Jose dropped his head back in the dirt. Lying there with thorns sticking out of his nose, his head bleeding from what could have been a fatal crash, his pants around his knees while fire ants munched on his balls, he tried to not puke from the smell of the skunk. His gaze shifted back to the water tower. “Good to be home,” he seethed.
Sky studied Shala in the passenger seat, her head leaning back against the headrest, her eyes closed. He couldn’t tell if she was sleeping, but he didn’t doubt it. She’d had a hell of a day. They’d given her a pain pill to help her sleep.
Remembering her earlier remark about being hungry, he’d dropped about ten bucks in the vending machine and gotten chips, cheese and crackers, a candy bar, and a pack of cookies before they left the hospital. Shala had devoured the cheese and crackers before they even got to his truck. He remembered the dog snagging her lunch at the park, and he wondered if she’d eaten anything all day. She hadn’t eaten the omelet he made her. Too bad the closest all-night restaurant was an hour’s drive away.
Feeling the hole in his stomach, he opened the Snickers bar, ate, watched Shala, and drove. Admittedly, he did more watching her than anything else, which caused him to almost run one of the two stoplights they had in town. Bu
t damn, she looked sweet sitting there. He fought the urge to reach over and pass the back of his hand over her cheek, fought the idea of driving her back to his place and insisting she stay with him. He’d sleep on the sofa, if she wanted. Not that the other option wouldn’t be a lot more fun.
He’d bet she wouldn’t be in the mood, though. Women weren’t like men, who’d never let something as small as twenty-six stitches get in the way of sex. Especially first-time sex. A man could lose a foot and still be up for some first-time action. And if it was good, he’d be up for more.
Realizing his thoughts were affecting him more than he wished, he adjusted the crotch of his jeans and attempted to push back his inappropriate lust. But his gaze caught on Shala again, asleep, warm, soft, and so damn touchable, and he decided that maybe he should cut himself a little slack. It was—he glanced at the radio’s clock—two A.M., and beside him slept a woman who was hotter than Helios. Considering he hadn’t had sex in months, he deserved some slack. And she found him equally attractive. Wasn’t that a good thing? But again came that voice from earlier, the one that said he was playing with fire. And his concern didn’t all stem from Redfoot’s soul-mate nonsense, but also from how easily and powerfully she’d gotten under his skin.
His phone rang. Shala’s eyes shot open and she sat up, looking disoriented. He touched her shoulder and then grabbed his cell. “Just my phone.”
He glanced at the clock again. Who would be calling at this time? He’d checked in with the nurse before he’d left, so he doubted the call involved Redfoot.
“Damn.” The caller ID said it was Martha on the 911 number.
Jose, wearing one shoe, with a cloud of stench following him, his lower extremities on fire from ant bites, and his forehead bleeding, made his way the mile and a half to Redfoot’s home. There, he rang the doorbell and prayed.
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