by Janet Dailey
“No!” Angie came to her senses.
As she rolled toward the opposite side of the bed, she felt the mattress dip under his weight. Then he was catching her and trying to drag her back. She fought to escape, hitting and kicking, but she was no match for him.
“Stop it, Angie.” He pinned her arms to the mattress while his body held hers down. She halted her struggles briefly to look at him, breathing hard. “You aren’t fighting me,” Deke told her. “You’re fighting yourself. It’s no good, Angie. You can’t win that fight.”
He was right. She knew it and a limpness went through her body. She wanted him. She had always wanted him. She loved him. It was all so hopeless. Angie began to cry with tearless, silent sobs.
“I’ve fought the battle myself,” Deke murmured and gently smoothed the hair away from her neck. “It’s something neither one of us can control.”
“That’s not a good enough reason,” she protested softly, because she needed his love, not just his lust.
“Yes, it is.” And he kissed her slowly to prove it. Then his proof went beyond kisses to a union of the flesh that transcended mere desire. The completeness of it left Angie pleasurably exhausted and somehow reassured. Or maybe the reassurance came from the arms that stayed around her and held her close.
When Angie awakened the next morning, Deke wasn’t in bed. She glanced sharply toward the bathroom, but there were no sounds to indicate his presence. Then she noticed the note propped against the lamp on the bedside table. She rolled over to reach it and had to pause when a wave of dizzyness drained her.
Fighting the lightheaded feeling, she sat up carefully on the edge of the bed and waited until it receded. It frightened her briefly until she remembered that she hadn’t eaten at all yesterday. Lack of food would certainly make her weak and dizzy. Angie reached for the note and unfolded to read its message.
Angle,
You were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t have the heart to wake you. I just wanted you to know that I’ll be out of town for a couple of days. I expect to be back Thursday.
Deke
Not a single word that was remotely personal or affectionate. She wanted to cry, although she supposed it was considerate of him to forewarn her of his absence so she wouldn’t be worrying or wondering where he was. But that was cold comfort. She started to get up and had to sit down as another wave of nausea washed through her. She simply had to get some food in her stomach.
By early afternoon, Angie felt fine. She did a little cleaning, washed some clothes and fixed herself a light supper. She went to bed early and slept the night through. But when she woke up Wednesday morning, the nausea was back. The little fear that had been gnawing at the back of her mind insisted on being faced. She was pregnant.
Angie’s first impulse was to pack and run, but what would running solve? There was still the issue of Lindy to be settled. Although she dreaded telling Deke, he had a right to know. There was always the chance she wasn’t pregnant. It might just be a false alarm, a touch of the flu or some food that didn’t agree with her. There was only one way to confirm it.
Angie called the Physicians Bureau and had them recommend an obstetrician. Then she phoned his office and made an appointment for Friday. The dilemma remained whether to tell Deke when he came back on Thursday or wait until she had the tests back from the doctor.
It was a decision she hadn’t made when Deke arrived at the house Thursday night. She had dinner ready so there was little need for conversation. He told her about his trip to Kingsville to buy some registered cattle. After they’d finished the meal, he went into the living room while she cleared the table. She joined him in a few minutes, leaving the dishes to wash the next day.
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Deke observed, and he studied her much too closely.
“Am I?” Angie tried to smile but she knew the attempt at brightness hadn’t succeeded.
“It’s still Lindy, isn’t it?” he decided with a grimness tightening his jaw.
Angie moved to the large windows and looked out in an effort to avoid a discussion. She heard Deke come up behind her and she turned before he could touch her. He eyed her with an uncertain look, trying to discover why she was being so elusive. His inspecting gaze picked out the slight pallor in her complexion.
“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.
“N . . . Not really, no,” she admitted, coming to a decision at last. There was a faintly defiant tilt of her chin. “I think I’m pregnant.”
Her announcement rippled through him, bringing a frown to his expression as his narrowed gaze swept over her slim figure. “Are you sure?”
“I have an appointment tomorrow at the doctor’s. I won’t know for certain until the results come back from the tests.” Her body had already told her it was merely a formality. “But I’m sure.”
Angie watched his features harden in what appeared to be a surge of anger and something shriveled up inside of her. She had hoped . . . If he could have been happy about it... A terrible, wrenching ache tore at her heart as Deke turned away from her toward the window.
“Damn!” The flat of his hand struck the window frame with a shuddering force and Angie jerked her head to the side at the sound.
“I thought you should know—” Her voice was hoarse with the strain of attempting normal speech, “—before I left.”
“Leave?” Deke pivoted to face her. “You’re not going anywhere. We can be married—”
“No!” Angie violently rejected his suggestion. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth, Deke Blackwood!”
He drew back as if she’d struck him. And Angie knew she couldn’t spend another minute in his house. She had to leave before Deke managed to persuade her they could make it work. This was no different than the last time. There was never a marriage without love.
With tears filling her eyes, she started for the door, walking faster with each step until she was running. She heard Deke coming after her, which only panicked her.
“Dammit, Angie!” His angry voice broke over her. “You’re not going anywhere! You’re staying right here!”
She had reached the stairs when he grabbed her arm to stop her. Angie whirled around so violently that he lost his hold. Her foot slipped off the top step and she started to fall. She grabbed for the railing to try to save herself, but her fingers couldn’t grasp it. In the next second, she was falling helplessly. She screamed Deke’s name. Then there was pain, shooting colors blinding her eyes and then blackness.
“Angie!” Deke chased her tumbling body down the stairs, not catching up with her until she came to a stop more than halfway to the bottom. It was all a nightmare to him. White-faced and sweating, Deke knelt down next to her unconscious form. There was a gash on her forehead oozing blood. His first impulse was to gather her up in his arms, but caution warned him not to move her. “My God, Angie,” he groaned. “What have I done to you?”
He pressed his trembling fingers against her neck and felt life pulsing beneath his touch. Relief shook him. He had never known such heart-stopping fear or such an agonizing feeling of helplessness as he had when he’d watched her falling and been unable to reach her.
“Thank God, she’s alive,” Deke murmured, clenching his hands into impotent fists.
It was an effort to make his legs stop shaking and carry him up the steps to the phone. He dialed the emergency number for the ambulance and rushed back to her side as soon as he was assured they were on their way. Not once did she move during all the agonizing minutes of waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Deke stared at her deathly pale face and knew a greater hell than any he’d gone through before.
Deke rode in the ambulance with Angie, holding her limp hand to reassure himself. His eyes never let their gaze stray from her face, clinging to her as if she was his lifeline. When they wheeled her into the emergency entrance of the hospital, Deke walked beside the stretcher.
In the emergency room, he stayed by her side, barely
noticing the nurse checking the vital signs. He dragged his gaze from Angie only when the doctor walked in.
“What happened?” The attending doctor bent over his patient, making his own examination.
“She fell down a flight of stairs,” Deke replied in a voice that didn’t sound like it belonged to him.
“Mmm,” the doctor grunted noncommittally.
“She’s pregnant,” Deke said, and felt the doctor’s glance.
“We’ll see what we can do for both of them then,” he said.
Despite his strenuous objections, Deke was banished to the waiting room. The minutes dragged while he waited for some word—any word on Angie’s condition. He was alternately angry with himself for driving her to the point of running from him, impatient with the seeming slowness of the hospital staff and frightened that she might die.
He was seated in one of the vinyl-covered chairs, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together in a fisted prayer. The strain showed in the underlying whiteness of his tanned features as he hung his head.
When the doctor appeared, Deke looked up and sharply scanned the man’s face for some advance knowledge. “Angie. How is she? Will she be all right?”
“She has a rather severe concussion, two cracked ribs, and a colorful assortment of bruises, but there is nothing to indicate any lasting damage,” the doctor paused in his assessment of her injuries.
“Thank God.” Deke closed his eyes tightly, the muscles along his jaw working convulsively. He let out a long breath and looked at the doctor. “Can I see her now?”
“Yes.” There was another hesitation. “Mr. Blackwood, I’m afraid she lost the baby.”
A twisting pain knifed him as Deke turned his head away. The doctor received the slightest of nods in a silent acknowledgment of the information. There was no other outward indication in Deke’s expression to show his reaction.
Pushing to his feet, he looked at the doctor. “Where is she?”
“The nurse will take you to her room.”
Deke stiffly followed the uniformed woman to a hospital room. He walked to the bed where Angie lay so quietly and stared at the intravenous tube in her arm. There was a bandage around her head, covering the cut on her forehead. Her honey-blond hair seemed dark against the pillow, its sterile whiteness almost matching the paleness of her features.
A chair was sitting by the window. Deke carried it over by the bed. The nurse glanced at him with detached sympathy when he sat down.
“Why don’t you come back in the morning, Mr. Blackwood?” she suggested quietly.
There was a brief shake of his head in refusal, his gaze not leaving Angie. “I’m staying.”
“There’s really no point,” the nurse began, then realized he wasn’t going to listen to her. “Very well.” She let the door swing shut as she left the room.
Deke leaned closer to the bed and gently slipped his hand under hers. His fingers slowly tightened as he closed his eyes. No sound came from him. No tears spilled from his eyes. Yet sobs of pain shook his shoulders in the grief of guilt and remorse.
Chapter Twelve
Slouched in the chair, Deke was half asleep when he heard the soft swish of the hospital room door opening. He came awake and started to sit up, then winced at the crick in his neck. He lifted his hand to massage away the muscle spasm and glanced at the door, expecting to see the nurse, or the doctor, on his morning rounds. A frown knitted his brow.
“Marissa, what are you doing here?” he demanded. “You’re supposed to be in Dallas. And where’s Lindy?”
“She’s at the ranch with Jessie,” his sister explained with gentle patience. Her glance darted to the sleeping patient in the bed. “How is she?”
“They say she’s all right.” But he didn’t sound convinced. His muscles protested when he insisted on standing. Deke rubbed his forehead, a little groggy from a lack of sleep. “When did you get here and why are you here?”
Privately, Marissa thought if her brother had looked in the mirror lately, he would know the answers to his questions. He hadn’t shaved in two days, his clothes were wrinkled, and he looked like he was out on his feet. Which he should have been by all the reports she’d gotten from the nurses. Except for catnaps in the chair, he hadn’t slept in more than forty-eight hours.
“When I called the ranch yesterday, Jessie told me you were here at the hospital with Angie. Lindy and I caught a plane for Corpus Christi and arrived late last night,” she told him.
“It wasn’t necessary,” he protested grumpily.
“Wasn’t it?” Marissa chided. “You’re the one who looks like death warmed over. If Angie woke up now, you’d scare her.”
He rubbed the stubble on his cheek and jaw. It made a rasping sound against his hand. “I guess I need a shave.”
“I guess you do,” she agreed on a mocking note. “And a shower and a change of clothes wouldn’t hurt either.”
His gaze was pulled back to the bed. “Later.”
“Deke, it isn’t going to do Angie any good to see you like this,” she murmured, but he didn’t pay attention to her. “Deke, they told me she lost the baby. It was your baby, wasn’t it?”
She watched the muscle leap in his jaw, then the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “Yes.” His reply came in a hoarse whisper.
Marissa blinked at the thin film of tears and walked silently to him. This was her older brother, who had always been so strong and unemotional. Yet if he had cried loud and vocally, she wouldn’t have been more affected than she was at that moment. Somehow Marissa had known Deke needed someone. She hadn’t hugged her brother since her preteenage days, but she put her arms around him now.
“I’m sorry, Deke,” she whispered and felt him shudder.
“It was my fault.” His voice was half-muffled. “She was running from me when she fell down the stairs. Oh, God, Marissa—” he choked up and pulled away from her, turning to move to the window and regain control.
There was a lot more to the story, but Marissa didn’t think it was the time to talk about it. “I brought you some clean clothes. The nurse said there’s a place where you can shower and change.” She paused, then added, “You’ll feel better.”
He half-turned and appeared ready to argue, then gave in with a nod. “Okay.”
Her lashes felt very heavy when Angie tried to open them. The pain was excruciating. It felt like someone was trying to split her head open with an axe. The first second, everything looked blurred. Then she managed to focus her gaze on the man standing beside her bed. Gray-haired, he was wearing one of those white medical jackets over his business suit. He was writing something on a clipboard. Angie frowned, trying to fight through the pain to figure out where she was. The man glanced at her through the lenses of his eyeglasses.
“I see you have blue eyes, Miss Hall,” he remarked with a half-smile. “I was wondering what color they were. How are you feeling this morning?” The faint smile seemed to reach his eyes. “Probably like someone who’s fallen down a flight of stairs, I imagine.”
Angie tried to nod, remembering what had happened, but the movement sent a shaft of pain through her head. She tried to raise her hand, but it made her aware of more aches.
“Your head hurts, doesn’t it?” the doctor observed. “You banged it pretty good when you fell. That headache should go away after a few days, but we’ll give you something for the pain in the meantime.”
As long as she didn’t try to move her head, the pain seemed bearable. Her lips felt parched and thick. Angie tried to moisten them, but it was difficult to get them to function.
“You’ve cracked a couple of ribs, so I wouldn’t do too much laughing for awhile if I were you,” the doctor joked.
Her mouth curved into a weak smile at his attempt at humor. Something didn’t feel right. Then she knew it had to do with the life she had carried inside her. She looked at the doctor, her blue eyes expressive in their silent question. Her hand moved t
entatively toward her stomach in a belated gesture of protection.
“My baby?” Her voice was hardly more than a croaking sound.
“I’m sorry.” His smile was amazingly gentle. “You suffered a miscarriage from the fall.” Tears welled in her eyes and slid slowly off her lashes. Angie tried to avert her head, but it hurt too much. “There’s no reason to think you can’t have more children.” The doctor attempted to comfort her with that knowledge. “There’s a gentleman who is probably more capable of cheering you up than I am, so I’ll leave you two alone.” At Angie’s questioning look, he smiled, “I’ll be in to see you tomorrow.”
Her gaze went past him and noticed Deke standing in the foreground. He seemed a little gaunt-cheeked, but otherwise his appearance was fresh and crisp. There was a shadowed darkness to his eyes that didn’t let her see inside. Angie ached for him to take her in his arms and share her tears for the baby they’d lost. But he hadn’t wanted the baby. She remembered how angry he’d been when she told him.
Regardless of the pain it caused, Angie turned her face away from him. Her head felt as if it was breaking into as many pieces as her heart. There was so much pain throbbing through her that she felt like one big ache. She wanted to close her eyes and shut it all out, drift back into that black world where she hadn’t known anything.
“Angie.” The husky pitch of Deke’s voice wrenched at her heart. It was all she could do not to look at him. “Please. I’m sorry.”
Her throat was constricted so tightly that it hurt to talk, but she forced the words out. “I don’t want your pity, Deke.”
“It was my fault.” His low voice continued, rough with guilt. “I shouldn’t have tried to stop you. I should have let you go.”
Oh, God, she hated him for being so damned noble and taking the blame for her fall. She didn’t want him to feel tied to her out of some sense of responsibility. That was why they had argued, because he had felt honor-bound to marry her because she was carrying his child. Duty was a poor replacement for love.