"Mrs. Wellman. Please try to take a deep breath."
Cassie obeyed numbly, realizing somehow that the nurse meant her when she'd called her Mrs. Wellman. Not Maria.
The nurse and Bob helped her into a chair where she slumped, her head in her hands as she sobbed. Maria put her arms around her shoulders. "Don't cry so hard. You'll make yourself sick, Cassie. The doctors will take care of Ted," she said in a soft voice.
"But Maria, he's already dead," Cassie sobbed harder.
"No, my child. He is not dead and he will not die. He is hurt, but he'll heal."
"I've been so mean to him," she wailed. "I didn't know—"
"I know that you two had a fight, Cassie. When he is well, you can make things right again," Maria said with conviction.
Cassie wondered at her calm demeanor, and then remembered what Maria had been through. Her mother-in-law seemed to have an unshakable faith that God would not take her only living son from her.
Cassie quit crying as abruptly as she had begun. When she felt a little stronger, she got up to pace. Her mood swung from angry to sad every few seconds. One minute she was ready to fall on her knees and beg God for Ted's life. The next minute she was in a fury with herself for being so impatient and self-centered and angry with him all the time. She could barely remember why. None of it was important now.
When she paced down the hall, she saw an image of Ted as she'd seen him in the bus station diner, Ted kissing her as his new bride, Ted nose to nose with her when they'd fought over what his 'real' wife would do and be. When she reached the end of the hall and turned, she envisioned his bruised, broken body in the emergency room and was overwhelmed with feelings she couldn't even name.
Cassie willed him to live, live so that she might have a chance to love him. Life was so hard to understand. And so grotesquely unfair. Despite their differences, she'd seen that they were right for each other in many ways—and she'd hoped they could resolve everything and start over somehow . . .
She ranted against the cold fate that had struck down first John, and now his brother, and wept uncontrollably.
Through her tears, Cassie caught a flash of bright, hot pink—there were bushes blooming by the windows of the hospital corridor. Her granny had called them fire bushes and they were harbingers of spring—the first living things to bring color to the world after winter. Cassie didn't want them to bloom. Her world was suddenly full of death again . . . gray death, like the coldest day of a sunless winter sky.
She went outside for a breath of air and snapped off a blooming sprig of fire bush. She felt like pulling off every single brilliant flower, and . . . Cassie thought again of her grandmother, and how the old woman had cared for those in need. Her granny had had the sense not to argue with God—and the sense to do what needed to be done. She would have known exactly what to do at a time like this.
Cassie thought for a minute more, then went back inside to comfort Maria.
After two more agonizing hours of waiting, Brock pushed open the double doors. "He's going to make it," he said tiredly. "Got a broken right arm and a broken left leg. And one hell of a concussion, plus about sixteen stitches on his forehead." The tears started down his cheeks and his voice broke. "Oh, God. I thought we'd lost him for a while there, Bob." He crossed the waiting room to his brother and hugged him tightly.
"He'll live then." Maria's voice quivered.
"Yes, Maria." Brock stepped back and wiped his eyes. "It'll take a while for him to heal, but he's damned lucky he wasn't killed instantly. Why his air bag never opened is a mystery."
A nurse opened the doors. "Is there a Sassy out here? Mr. Wellman is ready to be moved to intensive care, but he's mumbling about someone named Sassy and he's fighting us."
Cassie dropped the blooming sprig of fire bush she'd held onto. "That's what he called me," she said. "When he didn't know my name he called me Sassy."
"Then come in and hold his hand. Maybe that'll keep him happy."
At exactly eight o'clock the next morning, Ted snapped his eyes wide open, focused somewhat uncertainly on his surroundings, and looked around.
"Momma?" He demanded a full explanation with that one word.
"You're awake," Maria said simply. She went to his bedside just as if it were something she did every morning. She silently gave thanks for answered prayers and kissed him on the forehead.
"What in the hell happened to me?" Ted reached up to feel the bandage on his head. "I remember—sort of. I had a wreck, didn't I?" The memory of swerving to avoid the other car came to him. "Was anyone else injured?"
"No." Cassie wanted to jump for joy, but she kept her voice quiet as the nurses had advised. "They're all fine."
"The lady in the other car managed to pull over," his mother told him. "She wasn't hurt and neither were her kids. But you got pretty banged up."
Ted looked down at his casts and bandages and winced.
"Well, it's nice to see the sun again," he said weakly. "I wasn't sure I was going to. What time is it?"
"Eight in the morning. You've been here since yesterday noon. Cassie and I stayed with you all night." Maria pushed the intercom button on the side of the bed and asked the nurse to page Brock. He came in less than a minute.
"Hello, nephew. You're up bright and early. You must be tougher than I thought." Brock pulled a tiny flashlight from his pocket and looked into both of Ted's eyes. "Hmm," he muttered. "I thought you'd probably come out of that concussion slowly instead of suddenly, but head injuries can be unpredictable."
"I feel like I was the only chicken at a coyote convention." Ted grimaced. "My head hurts like hell, my arm is throbbing, and my leg is killing me."
"Well, thank God." Brock laughed. "Anybody that hurts that bad can't be dead!"
The following days settled into a routine that was painful and boring for Ted; busy from daylight to dark for Cassie.
She was up at five o'clock every morning to help Maria with breakfast and then she was off for a hectic day at work. The minute the clinic closed, she changed from her uniform into jeans and a sweater and rode to the hospital with Brock.
On Tuesday, a week and a half after the accident, Cassie opened the door to his room at exactly five-fifteen. "What's for supper tonight?" she called. "I'm half-starved." Even hospital food tasted fine with Ted around to eat it with.
"Fried chicken." A new nurse answered for Ted. "And Ted seems to have his appetite back. He's going to teach me the two-step when he gets all better."
The nurse fluffed his pillow and accidentally brushed her breast against his arm. Ted didn't seem to notice, even though her thick, flowing dark hair swung past her waist when she bent over him. The nurse had a full mouth, high cheekbones, and Cassie hated her on the spot. Any man would have to be either blind or neutered if he wasn't attracted to this woman.
"Really?" Cassie's tone was noticeably cool.
"Which sister or cousin are you?" the nurse asked impertinently. "I haven't seen a redhaired Wellman yet."
"Oh, I'm a real Wellman, all the same. But I'm not his sister or his cousin."
Cassie crossed the room, threw her arms around Ted, and kissed him on the mouth . . . a long, lingering, wet kiss that surprised both of them.
"I'm his wife," she told the nurse sweetly.
"Well, you devil." The nurse smiled at Ted. I've been in and out of here all day and you never once mentioned a wife."
"I thought I was getting a divorce come June," Ted said by way of explanation, daring Cassie to deny it.
"Then all's fair in love and war," the nurse said before Cassie could reply. The woman had the nerve to wink at Ted. "Call me when it's over, honey. My name's Charity Lassiter. I'm in the book." She waved to Ted and closed the door.
Cassie turned to Ted, who was pretending to study the acoustical tile on the ceiling.
"Ted . . ." she said meaningfully.
He turned his head on the pillow to look at her.
"Yes?" he said innocently.
"Theodore Ashton Wellman, what's going on here?" she snapped. "How come that nurse thinks she's going dancing with you? You're not going dancing with anyone for a long time."
"Good Lord," Ted said disgustedly. "At least I'm sure she's interested. Before I smashed up my truck you were barely talking to me and now you won't leave me alone. I don't know where I stand with you and I think you like it that way."
He looked at her quizzically.
"Anyway, Cassie, that nurse is just trying to be nice to me. And you."
Poor, innocent Ted, she thought. He didn't even see the potential for a first-class cat fight when he was between the two cats. Cassie had to struggle to keep from laughing. "You know, you could have broken your left arm, Ted." She had to change the subject. "Then I wouldn't have to feed you."
"Maybe Charity could feed me," he retorted.
"I'll do the honors. After all, you're my husband, whether you like the idea or not."
The idea actually made him smile, and Cassie smiled back.
"Ted, I do believe I hear the supper cart coming. Are you as hungry as I am?"
"I sure am. I could eat the north end of a southbound pack mule and have my belt buckle and boots for dessert." His smile turned into a wolfish grin.
"That's pretty hungry," she said.
A chubby nurse's aide brought in two chrome covered trays. Little gold earrings with cowboy boot charms dangled from her earlobes, and for the first time since his accident, Ted remembered what he had on that Sunday.
"Cassie, what happened to my boots and my suit?"
Ted uncovered his tray to find a chicken leg smothered in lumpy white sauce over rice. He put the lid back on.
"Don't even look at this, Cassie. You'll gag. Call the pizza place. We don't have to eat this stuff. Looks like the first person who took a bite didn't like it."
"Now I know you're getting better," she retorted. "You're fussing about your food." She picked up the phone and dialed the now familiar number. "What kind of pizza do you want?"
"Extra cheese. Pepperoni on my half and mushrooms on yours. Tell them to hurry or we'll starve to death, and they'll have to drop our carcasses at the funeral home on the way back." Ted picked up the remote control and turned on the television set.
"Shh." Cassie giggled and placed the order.
"Did you take my suit to the cleaners? Where's my boots?" Ted didn't look at her but concentrated on the quiz show they'd watched together since he'd been in the hospital.
"They cut them off." Cassie propped her feet up and got ready to solve the first quiz before Ted did.
"Cut them off?" he said peevishly. "You let them cut my custom-made boots off? They were handmade—cost me seven hundred dollars. Some wife you are," he fumed. "Did you let them cut off my suit, too?"
"Yes." Cassie tried not to lose her temper over his complaining. Brock had told her that head-injury survivors were often irritable and irrational, and she tried to keep that in mind. "Ted, your suit and shirt were so damaged they couldn't be cleaned or repaired and besides, they were soaked with blood. I told the nurse she could throw them out."
"Damn it, woman, you haven't got a lick of sense," he muttered.
Cassie forgot about the television quiz show and about being hungry. She forgot about the pizza, and everything else, except that she'd spent her evenings in this hospital room with this cranky man for more than a week and he was complaining about a pair of boots and a suit. . . when he had enough money to replace them fifty times. Was it going to be her fault next that he'd wrecked his damn truck?
She did remember to keep her voice low.
"Dead men don't usually care about boots or suits," she said evenly. "No one thought about waiting until you regained consciousness so they could ask you if they could cut off your clothes. They were all too busy trying to save your life. And I come here every damn night trying to save you from dying of boredom—and what thanks do I get?"
Ted reached up to grab her scolding finger and grinned. Damn, Cassie was cute when she was mad. Her hair was curlier than usual and her eyes were sparkling with the effort it took her not to yell.
Every nerve in his body was tingling with excitement. This redhaired hellcat would always make him toe the line—but what a time they would have. She was right, too. Here she'd been waiting on him hand and foot just as if she really did care for him after all, and he'd been taking her for granted.
"I'm sorry, Cassie. You're right. I shouldn't complain. I am most definitely alive—especially when you're around."
"Hmph. Apology not accepted."
"Why not?"
"Because you still haven't told me why that nurse was hanging all over you."
"Hey, I've always been magnetically attractive to women. Wait a minute. No. It only started happening after you came into my life. Guess they know I'm taken, so they want me."
Cassie softened a little. "You're not really taken. We're only married on paper."
"Come here, Cassie," Ted said suddenly. "You know I don't want that nurse. I want you."
"Why?"
He pulled her down to him with his good arm.
"Lie down by me. You need some tender loving care, too."
"Ted, you've got a broken leg and a broken arm. Providing T.L.C. is my job."
"Well, as of tonight, it's my job," he said stubbornly. "Put your head on my shoulder and let someone take care of you for once."
Cassie decided not to argue. She did need some tenderness. She felt like she'd been running herself ragged ever since his accident—running so hard that she didn't know if she was coming or going half the time.
"We need to talk, Cassie."
"What about?"
Ted stroked her hair gently. Cassie felt herself relax a little.
"I care about you, Cassie. I hope you know that."
She nodded, happy to nestle in his arms, although she had no reply at the moment. Cassie had known, in the terrible hours after his accident, that she loved him. Whether or not she wanted to. Whether or not she was married to him. But telling him that now—well, that wasn't something she could do just yet.
"And I know you've been here every day since I got hurt to take care of me, and you've been helping Momma out at home, and there's everything else you do for us. I appreciate it. I don't ever want to take you for granted."
"Good," Cassie said. "I'm glad to know you noticed." She pulled out of his embrace for a moment, being extra careful not to jar him in any way, and braced herself on one elbow. Ted stroked her cheek tenderly.
"I've been thinking about a lot of things, Cassie."
"Like what?"
"Like you and me, for starters. This accident might actually be good for me."
"How do you figure that?"
"I almost got killed. I figure I got a second chance at life here. And I don't feel like blowing it."
He was silent for a long moment.
"I guess Momma told you what happened to my brother."
"Yes. She did," Cassie said, very quietly.
"He didn't have a prayer. He never got to—" Ted struggled to speak, and his voice was thick with emotion. "John never got to grow up, or laugh again. Or love anybody. Since he died, I've been stuck . . . in about the same place. I haven't been able to feel anything."
Cassie nodded, and let him talk.
"But that day you walked into my life—" He stopped and looked at her. "Things began to change. Because of you."
Cassie was taken aback. "Oh—"
"Hear me out, Cassie. Up to now we've done more arguing than talking. Or loving. I want to change that."
"I don't think I'm ready, Ted."
"We need to start over. Getting married is no way to begin a relationship." Cassie had to smile.
"I did that to keep you out of the sheriff's clutches. I still don't know why. There was something about you—you looked so lost. And so afraid. Anyway, it's probably the best thing if we do get a divorce or an annulment."
"That was the original plan. I'm
not sure I want to change it."
Ted looked at her mournfully, and Cassie almost melted. Almost.
"Ted, there are a lot of things I'm not sure about. Exactly how I feel about you . . . I still can't say."
He sighed.
"I know. Look, this is what I'd like to try. We'll still plan on ending the marriage when you turn eighteen, and you'll be safe from Cecil. No matter what, I'll protect you from him. Anyway, until then, let's just try to get to know each other. And ourselves. I've got to deal with my past—my brother's death—" Ted paused. Those were words that might never be easy for him to say, but he went on.
"And you've got to find out who you are, Cassie. And what you want from life. I don't know the answers to those questions. But—"
"But what?"
"I love you. You make me feel like a whole person again. Like I came back to life. I don't ever want to lose you."
"I think I love you, too, but—"
"There are no buts in real love," Ted said stubbornly.
"But there are in real life," Cassie insisted. "I think I should go away after Uncle Ash gets us unhitched. Go back to school and get myself an apartment and grow up some."
Ted frowned. Cassie going away was his worst nightmare at the moment.
"Listen up," she continued, ignoring his mulish expression. "You need some space, too. To find out if I'm the woman you really want."
"I don't need space," he said sulkily. "I need to get these casts off and throw you over my shoulder and take you away and teach you once and for all how much I love you."
"Whoa, cave man. That's not how it's going to be. These are the ground rules: you and I are married in name only. It would probably be better if we didn't even mention the word marriage at all if we're really going to get to know each other. And let's try not to drive each other crazy, or bicker too much. Then maybe we can talk about a relationship. But I want a divorce or an annulment first, so we can start over and do it right."
"Okay," he sighed. "Maybe we're both too young to be certain of anything. I guess I have to agree. But I want one concession from you."
"And what might that be?"
"You said you think you love me. Will you give me a chance after we're divorced to show you that I really love you? Then we can talk about—"
Small Town Romance Collection: Four Complete Romances & A New Novella Page 48