The silence was palpable. Her mother stood and walked toward the window. Isabella watched her stand there with her back to her wishing she could see the expression on her mother’s face. Neither said anything for a few minutes, but then she heard her mother sigh before turning.
“How did he feel about you?”
Isabella glanced toward the ceiling, and then looked at her mother. She wasn’t sure she understood why her mother would ask that particular question.
“He never told me how he felt, but neither did I. I do believe he felt the same though.”
Her mother nodded. “I’m so sorry for what you’re going through, honey. I really am.”
She walked toward the bed, leaned in to kiss Isabella on her forehead, and then turned to leave the room.
“You aren’t angry with me?” Isabella asked.
Her mother turned and smiled lovingly at her. “Why should I be? You loved him. We don’t get to choose who we love. It’s just so sad that if only he hadn’t been involved with the wrong men, he’d be alive now.” She left, quietly closing the door behind her.
Isabella lay on the bed mulling over her mother’s words. What she’d said was so true. Had Colt not been involved with Barkley, he’d be here today—with her. It was his fault. He’d been involved with a bad group of men and he died because of it. Why should she cry over him anymore? He’d be here today, with her, if he’d been a good man. Then again, had he not been with Barkley, she might never have met him. She rolled over and hugged her pillow. Sobbing into it because she knew it didn’t matter. Good or bad, she loved him and she always would.
The real estate agent called the next day and told her the seller had accepted her offer. The next step was going through the bank for a mortgage. After they hung up, Isabella began to worry. How would she get a mortgage without a job? She was going to lose her dream home unless she did the one thing she hadn’t wanted to do. Taking a deep breath, she went downstairs to her father’s study. He told her to come in when she knocked and invited her to sit.
“What’s up, pretty girl?” Barton smiled at his daughter.
Isabella sat in a wingback chair opposite her father’s huge mahogany desk. Bookshelves filled with law books lined the wall behind him. Family pictures covered the wall to his right, and the opposite wall held his framed law degrees and diplomas. The large Oriental rug on the floor covered most of the hardwood floor. Her father stared at her. She knew he was waiting for her to tell him why she’d asked to talk to him.
“Isabella?” he said in a quiet yet commanding voice. “You’re glancing around the room like a guilty woman. A sure sign you have something to ask me.”
“Daddy, I want to buy the house,” she blurted out without ceremony.
“So, buy it. What’s stopping you?” He chuckled.
“For one, the fact that I don’t have a job,” she answered in a low embarrassed voice.
Her father leaned back into his chair and raised his eyebrows, but then he stood and walked around the desk to take a seat on the corner of it, folding his arms across his chest.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help you get your dream home, honey. You know that.”
Isabella looked up at him and smiled. She stood and wrapped her arms around him.
“Thank you, Daddy. Once I start making money, I promise I’ll pay you back,” she told him.
He shook his head and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I just want my baby girl to be happy. You haven’t been lately, and I want you back to your old self. So if this helps.”
She gazed at him with tears in her eyes. “I wish it was that easy, Daddy.”
His arms pulled her in tight and just as she had when she was a little girl and she was hurting, she cried on his shoulder. Back then, he could take her pain away, but now it wasn’t so easy. Isabella knew of nothing or no one who could take away the pain she felt from losing the man she loved. The thought of going on without him made her heart ache as if she would die from it. The comfort she felt in her father’s arms was only temporary, but it helped. Colt was dead and she was trying to make a life without him but even his not being here with her overshadowed the joy of finding the perfect new home. Colt was the man she wanted to share it with, the man she wanted to marry and have children with, and grow old with. Even if he’d survived, he would be in prison but at least then, she’d be able to see him, talk to him—love him.
Isabella pulled back to gaze up at her father. “I love you, Daddy, thank you.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. I wish I could take away the pain you’re suffering but I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong. Can’t you tell me what’s wrong? I’ll do my best to make it right.”
She choked back a sob. “Oh, Daddy! You can’t make it right. No one can. It’s something I just have to learn to live with,” she said shaking her head. “I’d love to say I’ll get over it but I honestly don’t think I will—ever.”
“Oh, Isabella, you’re breaking my heart,” her father exclaimed, pulling her close in a tight embrace as she cried out her grief.
* * * *
Mont struggled to climb out from the darkness. He was sure he could see light but he couldn’t get to it. Where in the hell was he? Why wasn’t someone helping him? He tried to call out, but no sound came from him, and he couldn’t move. Where was he? His eyelids felt as if they’d never open again, weighed down, and filled with grit. He had to get out of here, out of this hell. Suddenly, he was able to shout, he heard his own voice then he felt hands on him, holding him down. He swung his hands up to grab the person holding him down, at first fighting whoever it was but when he heard a familiar voice, he relaxed.
“Mont, hey man! Calm down,” Micah told him.
Mont slowly opened his eyes. The light around him hurt them. A woman stood over him, staring down at him. A bright light hovered behind her. Shit! He was dead. Was he?
“Am I dead?” he asked his voice sounding rusty and hoarse. The words grated against the back of his throat. He cleared his throat. “I thought I heard…”
“No, you’re not dead, Mr. Bradford. Take a sip of water, it will help.” She held a Styrofoam cup with a straw in it to his lips. Mont sipped it and wanted more, but she set it back down. “Go slow on the water.”
“Where am I?”
“You don’t remember?” Micah asked, his brows knitting together.
Mont’s eyes shifted to his friend. “Micah?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Do you remember anything?”
Mont shook his head slowly, and then gazed around the room. “Hospital?”
Micah nodded pulling a chair up close to the side of the bed, and sat down. He glanced up at the nurse. “When will the doctor be in?”
She smiled at him in a flirtatious way, which didn’t escape even Mont. “He’s on his way. As soon as we knew Mr. Bradford was waking up, we sent for the doctor.” With another smile for Micah, she headed out of the room, leaving the door propped open.
“Christ, Mont. You scared the shit out of me,” Micah muttered squeezing Mont’s arm.
Mont stared at him. “I scared the shit out of you? What happened? Was I shot?”
Micah nodded. “It was bad then, huh?”
Micah nodded again. “For Christ’s sake, Micah, quit bobbing your head like a fucking bobble head and tell me what happened.”
Micah chuckled. “Good to see you back, buddy.”
Mont closed his eyes against the pain in his eyes and now that he was aware of it, in his head. “Just tell me.”
“You were shot in the back of the head. The doctor said he didn’t know how you even survived, other than sheer willpower.”
Mont raised his hand to the back of his head, but all he felt was hair. There was no bandage. “In the back of my head? Where? I don’t feel any bandage.”
“Your hair’s grown back over it,” Micah told him.
“My hair’s grown…how?”
“That wound is healed, Mont. It’s been a while.”
“How long is a while, Micah?”
“Eight months.”
“What?” Mont yelled in surprise.
The doctor came through the door. “We don’t like yelling in our hospital, Mr. Bradford.”
Mont narrowed his eyes at the doctor more from annoyance than the pain anymore.
“What the hell do you expect? I don’t remember any of the past eight months.”
“You wouldn’t. You were in a coma,” the doctor explained, looking at Mont’s chart.
Mont couldn’t comprehend what the doctor just told him. “A coma?” When the doctor nodded, Mont glanced over to Micah, who sat in the chair staring at him. “Really? Eight months?”
“Yes,” Micah told him in a low voice.
Mont rested his head back against his pillow and stared up at the ceiling. Eight months of his life were gone. Why couldn’t he remember anything?
“Will I get my memory back? Wait a minute. I remember Micah, how is that?”
“You may not remember events but people you see, you may remember them all.”
Micah stood quickly. “Are you saying he’ll only remember people he sees, and none of those he doesn’t?”
Mont wanted to hear the answer to that question too. He gazed up at the doctor and watched as he blew out a breath.
“The mind is a mystery. We don’t really know which people from your past you will or won’t remember. I believe you remember your friend here, because he’s here with you and you’re close. Others from your past, I can’t be sure. Do you remember anyone else? Can you think of the names of other friends?”
Mont thought for a moment, and then nodded. “I think so—Lucas Taggart, Cooper Lang, Dakota Walker, Lincoln Cole, and Storm Bateman.” He glanced at Micah, who nodded and gave him a thumbs up sign. “Those are guys I grew up with in Dry River, Wyoming. Of course, I remember my mother too. I also remember that I’m an FBI agent.”
“What about your father?” the doctor asked seemingly impressed.
“I never knew him. So I remember my friends and family and that I’m an agent, but not what happened to get me shot.”
“You don’t remember anyone else?” Micah asked in a quiet voice, his brows knitted together again.
Mont looked at him. “Should I? Am I married or something?”
Suddenly, the vision of a beautiful redhead flashed through his mind but she was gone almost as fast as she came. He frowned at Micah, wondering what he wasn’t saying.
“No. You’re not married…or something.” Micah ran his hand over his whiskered jaw and stood patting Mont’s arm. “I’m going to call the boss and tell him you’re awake. I’ll be back later.”
“Micah,” Mont called after him, stopping him in his tracks as he moved toward the door. When he spun around, Mont narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re holding something back. What is it?”
“Nothing you need to worry about right now. Get some rest, buddy.”
Chapter Nine
Mont clenched his teeth together as the physical therapist put him through exercises to help him regain his strength and muscle mass. She’d told him they kept most of his muscles in shape by coming into his room every day and moving them but he’d need to work hard to get his full strength back.
“I take it I didn’t bitch as much then,” he growled, pushing his body harder.
The therapist laughed. “We don’t get cussed out as much that way.”
“I can barely stand. How long will that last?”
“We’ll have you up and walking soon, Mr. Bradford,” she told him.
“Don’t you think since you’re putting your hands all over me, you could call me Mont?” He grinned at her, and when she blushed, he chuckled. “I must be getting better since I can make a beautiful woman blush again.” Suddenly, smiling blue eyes and flushed cheeks flashed through his mind making him frown. Was there another woman he enjoyed making blush?
“Jesus, quit flirting and get your ass back to work,” Micah said from the doorway, one hand in his trouser pocket with his jacket pushed back so his badge was showing.
Mont laughed. “You’re just jealous.”
Micah grunted as he pushed away from the door and walked toward him. “Are you feeling better?” he asked Mont while he winked at the therapist, who blushed again. He laughed. “See? I can do it too.”
“I’ll let you two have some time alone for a few minutes. I’ll get you some water and I’ll be right back,” the therapist told them, looking directly at Mont as she spoke before hurrying from the room. Both men laughed, watching her trot off.
“Seriously, Mont, how are you feeling?” Micah asked with a serious expression this time.
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck a few times. She’s tough, but I know it’s helping me. I can move more on my own every day. It’s hard to believe it’s been almost a month already. Once I can exercise on my own, I’ll get back in shape in no time. I want to do that before I see Isabella…” he stuttered to a halt and stared up at Micah. “Holy…Micah, I remember Isabella.”
Then he turned his glare on his friend, perhaps former friend if he didn’t answer correctly.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about her? You son of a bitch. Where is she?”
“Damn, Mont, I didn’t intend to not tell you. I just wasn’t going to mention her if you couldn’t remember her. It would have driven you crazy trying to remember,” Micah answered, running his fingers through his hair.
“I remember it all now. Being undercover to get Barkley, his kidnapping her instead of her father—Governor Lofton. I fell in love with her while watching over her, trying to keep Barkley from killing her, and then I was shot protecting her father.” He glared at Micah. “Damn you!”
“You can damn me all you want to, Mont, but I did the right thing. Why would I tell you about a woman you were in love with but couldn’t remember? Look, get yourself better then go find her. I’ll see what I can do to find out where she is. Once you get better, I’ll tell you but until then, don’t even ask.”
Before he had a chance to argue the point, Micah turned and strode from the room.
Mont picked up an empty water bottle and hurled it at the door, just missing the therapist as she returned. “Sorry,” he muttered, wishing he could see his Bella.
* * * *
Mont worked hard every day to get his body back into shape. He’d always prided himself on keeping in shape and soon his hard pecs and six-pack abs began forming again. It wouldn’t be long before he could go to Isabella. What he couldn’t get past was that she hadn’t been to see him, which brought Micah to mind. The last time Micah came in to visit him, it had ended in a shouting match between them.
“Why hasn’t Isabella been here to see me?” Mont had asked, wanting to know more about her.
“I have no clue,” Micah told him, seemingly all too innocent.
Mont sneered. “Now why don’t I believe you?”
“I really don’t care what you believe, Mont,” Micah replied. His voice rose, a sure sign he was lying.
“She should be here to see me.”
“She doesn’t know you’re alive,” Micah blurted out in frustration.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?”
“Shit, Mont. She was told you died. It was the right decision at the time.”
“The hell it was,” Mont roared, his anger making him wish he could destroy something.
“Yes, it was! Would you want her sitting here day in and day out watching over you in a coma with no guarantee you’d wake up? Sitting here, staring at a man who had a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving?”
“That wasn’t your decision to make. It was hers. Fuck you, Micah. Get out. Get the fuck out of here,” Mont growled between clenched teeth.
Micah stared at him for a full minute before he spun around and left. That was three weeks ago and Micah hadn’t been back. Mont stared out the window at the gray darkening sky. Storm clouds had rolled in and rain threatened to spill f
rom them. It fit his mood. He wanted out of here so he could find Isabella. He had to let her know he was alive and that he loved her.
What if she’s moved on and found someone else?
It had been almost a year now and she was a young, beautiful woman. God, he missed her so much. Her soft skin, her beautiful shimmering red hair, and those freckles he loved to kiss. His dick twitched at the thought of her. At least that muscle was working fine. Mont was almost back to his former self. After two months of grueling physical therapy and the gym, he was going to walk out of this hospital in two more weeks with finding Isabella at the top of his list of things to do.
A week later, Micah slipped into his hospital room, standing near the door staring at him. Mont huffed, and then motioned him in.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you, Micah. I did a lot of thinking and as much as I don’t like what you did, I know you did the right thing.”
Micah gave a nod. “It wasn’t just my decision, Mont. Your mom thought it was best too.”
“I know that now. Mom told me yesterday. She claimed it was mostly her call.” Mont shook his head. “I still have to find her though. I love her and I need to tell her.”
“I found her,” Micah said, glancing at a piece of paper he had carried in his hand.
“Where is she?”
Micah blew out a breath. “In Dry River.”
“My Dry River?” Mont asked, not sure he’d heard right. “Why is she there?”
“I guess she wanted to be close to you in some way. She bought a house with some acreage there.”
Mont chuckled. “It’s what she said she always wanted to do. Take care of animals too.” He pushed to his feet. “I need to go to her.”
“You need to stay right here for one more week. Get as healthy as you can, Mont, and then you can go to her.”
Mont knew Micah was right. He put out his hand for the piece of paper, and to shake his friend’s hand. “All right, but I will go to her. I just hope she understands everything.”
* * * *
Isabella stood in her stable talking to her horses. Something some people might consider crazy, but she loved talking to them as if they were people. They listened much more intently than most people did. She smiled thinking how true that was. When she heard a car pull up, she strolled out of the stable and smiled when she saw Patsy getting out of her car. They met up halfway and hugged.
Montgomery (Bad Boys of Dry River, Wyoming Book 2) Page 13