by Dee Davis
“That’s the gunshot wound,” Payton said to no one in particular.
Gabe was shinnying up the rope to check on the emergency personnel while Harrison and Nigel huddled close to help in any way they could.
Payton carefully pulled back the torn pieces of her jeans, baring the wound, his breath escaping on a hiss at the sight of her torn flesh, and the pulsing blood bubbling up from the bullet hole.
Reacting on instinct, he pressed two fingers against the wound, trying to manually stanch the flow of blood, his heart pounding in time to the pulsing of her artery. “We’ve got to tie this thing off quickly or she’s going to bleed to death.”
“One step ahead of you,” Nigel said. He had pulled off his shirt and ripped it into ragged strips. Balling three of them together, he handed the field dressing to Payton, who pressed the material against Sam’s wound. Harrison then bent and wound two strips of Nigel’s shirt around the balled material and Sam’s thigh, creating a makeshift pressure bandage. Nigel then tied a third strip of cotton above the wound, forming a tourniquet.
“That should hold her for a little while. But her pulse is really sketchy,” Nigel said, his face creased with worry. “I think you’re right, she’s going into shock.”
“Where the hell are the paramedics?” Payton yelled, anxiety mixing with frustration and impotency.
“They’re here,” Gabe called from the opening in the floor. “They’ve rigged a pulley system and are sending the stretcher down now.”
Harrison made his way over to the hole and helped guide the stretcher to the floor, an EMT sliding down the rope at the same time. When they’d both hit bottom, the EMT and Harrison carried the stretcher over to Sam.
Payton held her hand, whispering nonsensical words of love, willing her to be strong—to live. “Hang in there, sweetheart. We’ve come too far to let Riker beat us now.”
Her eyelids fluttered in response, and he thought that maybe she’d tightened her fingers around his, but then it was time for her to go, and the stretcher was up and away.
Payton stood at the bottom of the rope, looking upward, knowing that his entire life was on that stretcher. That she was all he’d ever wanted. That nothing, not the horror of his past, the uncertainty of the present or his fear of the future could be allowed to stand in their way.
She had to live.
Otherwise it had all been for nothing. And he couldn’t believe God could possibly be that callous.
THE HOSPITAL WAS COLD and smelled of antiseptic and illness, the scents blending together into a bittersweet stench that left Payton feeling empty inside. He’d given up pacing an hour ago, sitting now in the waiting room chair, his head buried in his hands.
Sam had been in surgery for almost two hours, the surgeons trying to repair the damage to her artery. She had come close to bleeding to death, but thanks to Nigel’s field dressing, and the quick work of the paramedics they’d been able to stabilize her for the ride to the hospital. But she was weak and in shock, and still bleeding. The doctor hadn’t minced words, the odds weren’t good.
“She’s a fighter, Payton.” Madison patted his shoulder, as usual reading his mind.
“I know.” He nodded. “It’s just been so long.”
“It’s complicated surgery,” Harrison said, his shirt still streaked with Sam’s blood. “But the prognosis is good. Think of all that they’re doing with vascular surgery these days.”
Payton nodded, as if he understood, which of course he didn’t. Or maybe it was just that he wasn’t capable of taking anything in at the moment. He’d replayed the scene at the warehouse over and over in his mind, trying to find a way he could have prevented it all from happening.
But there was simply no way he could have predicted what happened.
“There’s no point in blaming yourself,” Nigel said. It seemed everyone was a mind reader. “What happened, happened. What’s important now is the future.”
“If there is a future,” Payton said, immediately regretting the words, as if his doubt had the power to hurt Sam.
“Mr. Reynolds?”
Payton jerked his head up, rising from the chair to face the blood-spattered surgeon. “Is she… I mean…” Madison’s hand slipped into his, and he held on for dear life.
“She came through the surgery with flying colors.” The man smiled, his eyes tired. “The bullet shredded the artery, but we managed to repair it. She’s lost a lot of blood and been through quite an ordeal, but with proper care, I don’t anticipate any problems.”
“Is she awake?” Payton asked, his heart pounding in his ears, his relief making him lightheaded.
“Yes. She’s groggy, but she’s asking for you.”
He shook the surgeon’s hand, and then hugged everyone within reach. Tears blinded him as he followed the nurse down the hall to Sam’s room, his mind chanting thank you over and over again.
He pushed open the door, then stood hesitating in the entrance. She looked so tiny against the stark white of the hospital sheets. Blood dripped from a bag down a tube connected to her wrist, and another with clear fluids attached somewhere along the way.
Her head was wrapped in gauze, and her leg was elevated in a sling, the bandage around her thigh thick and uncomfortable-looking. He took a step back, suddenly not certain what he wanted to say. Afraid that she’d blame him for letting her down.
“Payton.” She turned her head, her blue eyes open, her lips curving upward into a smile. She held out her hand and he crossed the room, kneeling beside her, closing his fingers around hers.
“I was so scared.” The words came of their own volition. “I thought I’d lost you.” He laid his forehead against the edge of the bed, fighting to control his emotions.
“Not a chance,” she said, her hand stroking his hair. “You told me to hang on, and so I did. Besides, unless I was hallucinating, you told me you loved me. I wasn’t about to check out after that.”
He lifted his head, his gaze meeting hers, the love reflected there humbling. “I do love you.”
Her smile broadened, a hint of mischief shining through, her fingers tightening around his. “Well then, what do you say we spend the next sixty years or so finding out just how much?”
EPILOGUE
“WE’VE ALL GOT TO STOP meeting like this.” Nigel stood in the hospital room doorway holding a huge stuffed panda, the bear almost bigger than Nigel. Harrison shifted over to allow room for the latest arrival, which wasn’t easy when one considered the number of plants and balloons and flowers that filled the room.
Sam sat on Payton’s lap, the cane lying against the wall the only remaining physical reminder of the ordeal James Riker had put them through. In another couple of months she wouldn’t even need that.
“Glad you could make it,” Gabe said from his permanent perch at the head of the bed. Madison was propped up against the pillows, looking impossibly put together for a woman who’d just gone through eighteen hours of labor.
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” Nigel put the bear on the floor next to a giraffe of equal stature, Harrison’s gift. Next to the giraffe was a lion—Payton’s contribution. Andrea Roarke was going to have a menagerie before they were done. Her father’s friends all seemed to have a penchant for stuffed animals of gargantuan proportion.
Baby Andrea cooed contentedly against her mother’s breast, and Gabe reached over to pick up his daughter, his big hands dwarfing her. “Want to hold her?”
Nigel frowned at the baby, as if unsure exactly what to do, but then held out his hands palms up, as if he were forming a shelf for her to lie on.
“She’s not going to break, Nigel,” Madison said with a sleepy smile. “Just pick her up.”
Nigel shot Payton a bail-me-out-of-this look, but Payton just smiled and shrugged. “You might as well get used to it. Madison’s already told me we’re all on deck for babysitting.”
“Or maybe the two of you could work on a playmate?” Madison raised her eyebrows in speculatio
n, and of course everyone in the room turned to look at them. Except Nigel, who was totally captivated by the baby in his arms.
“I only just got back on my feet again,” Sam protested, feeling her face go hot. “We haven’t even had a honeymoon yet.”
“Well it’s something to think about.” Her new husband’s arms tightened around her, and the kiss he dropped on her neck was far from platonic. “And you know what they say?” His breath caressed the soft skin of her neck, and her cheeks grew even hotter.
“Practice makes perfect?” Nigel was back with the program, little Andrea still cradled in his arms.
Laughter filled the room, and Sam sat back, letting the sound fill her with happiness. Life was good. She’d hit the jackpot, actually. Riker hadn’t meant for it to turn out the way it had, but he’d been right about one thing.
There was joy in unity. Hers and Payton’s.
And in some perverse way, she’d always owe a part of that joy to James Riker and his insanity.
She settled back against her husband, relishing the feel of his chest rising and falling against her back. Life was for cherishing. And now that she and Payton had gotten a second chance, she wasn’t about to waste a minute of it.
“I’m thinking maybe we should all try for a vacation in the tropics. Somewhere with white beaches and mai tais,” Nigel was saying. “We deserve a celebration.”
“Well, I’d hold that thought if I were you.” Cullen stood in the doorway holding a stuffed gorilla a head and a half taller than the giraffe.
“Oh, great,” Harrison groaned. “Don’t tell me, there’s a plot against the president and he just can’t make it through the day without our help.”
“Actually, it’s NORAD. They seem to have misplaced some missiles, and well—” Cullen shrugged, his expression faintly apologetic “—someone’s got to find them.”
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
MIRA is a registered trademark of Harlequin Enterprises Limited,
used under licence.
First published in Great Britain 2008.
MIRA Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,
Richmond, Surrey, TW9 1SR
© Dee Davis Oberwetter 2005
ISBN: 9781408906262