by Sharon Sala
“Okay,” Jesse whispered on a shaky sigh of relief, and allowed herself to relax momentarily. “Just remember you promised.” Her chin wobbled a bit as she struggled with the urge to scream and scream and never stop. “My students at Lee Elementary wouldn’t break a promise to me, so you can’t either.”
Jesse managed a slight smile and then took a deep breath as the first needle full of the pain-killing solution entered the shredded area of her hand.
It took longer than expected, but she managed to stay alert as they worked. It was only after she was in her assigned room, groggy from all the drugs they’d shot into her system, that she’d let down her defenses and dozed off. Then the medicine kept her lethargic enough that she couldn’t pull herself from the somnambulant state. She hung, suspended in a world of nightmares, where, as she had feared, she relived her attack over… and over…and over.
* * *
The elevator door opened as one lone passenger emerged. He stood unmoving, silently assessing the lay of Garrison Memorial Hospital’s second floor. He was just recovering from the tension of the flight. He’d had to find a hotel and deposit his luggage, when all he wanted to do was get to Jesse. He’d let his imagination run to all sorts of horror but felt that the sooner he saw Jesse for himself, the better he was going to feel.
Loud talking, telephones ringing, and carts being shuffled about alerted King to the location of the nurses’ station. He started down the long corridor, his nostrils twitching as he recognized the familiar smells of hospital disinfectant, the faint but unmistakable scents of flowers in the various rooms, and always, in spite of the constant antiseptic cleaning, the smell of sickness and dying. His muscular legs covered the distance quickly.
Several of the nurses watched his approach with more than usual interest.
“Look at that!” one of them whispered. “Don’t you love it? Boots, jeans, sexy walk, and all.”
“Yes,” the other nurse answered. “I’m sort of partial to those slim hips, broad shoulders, and that big old cowboy hat. Makes me wish I’d been born about a hundred years ago.”
“What do you need with a hundred years ago, dummy? Right there comes the civilized version of your dream.”
“Well,” she drawled, as King came closer, “I don’t want them too civilized, if you know what I mean.” And then she whispered, as King came closer, anxious that her words not be overheard, “Ooh, is there no justice? He’s got that lean, hungry look, too.”
She was referring to the chiseled planes of King’s face. They were distinctive features inherited from his Scottish ancestors. The high cheekbones, shapely nose, once broken and nearly mended as good as new, a strong, stubborn chin and full, yet firm lips that were capable of a sardonic or sensual twist, depending on his quicksilver mood. Dark hair and dark eyes were the only features he had inherited from his mother’s side of the family. His sport coat was draped casually across his arm in deference to the heat and humidity beyond the air-conditioned corridors of the hospital. The heat King was generating at the nurses’ station had nothing to do with the outside temperatures. His appearance was stunning, but he really got their attention when he asked for their latest patient.
King spoke even before he came to a complete stop. His voice was deep and raspy, a voice women always found incredibly sexy. It was actually the result of riding into a low-hanging clothesline on a horse—in the dark.
He had been celebrating his eighteenth birthday in a most unsatisfactory manner, as his father often reminded him over the ensuing weeks. He’d been a bit drunk. He knew never to drink and drive, but no one told him not to drink and ride. They didn’t have to tell him again after his accident. He hadn’t been able to talk for a month, and when he finally could, the husky rasp was all that was left of his voice. That was the last time he ever rode a horse full tilt in the dark, and the last time he ever got drunk. King McCandless was not a fool twice.
“Jesse LeBeau,” he asked, “what room please?”
The RN on duty stepped out of her cubicle as she heard the name of their incognito patient. They had been instructed by the police to check every visitor asking about the young attack victim.
King’s dark eyes followed the woman who stepped up to the desk to answer his question.
“What business do you have with her?” she asked crisply.
“Listen, lady,” King answered, “I got a phone call about four o’clock this morning that probably took ten years off my life and I’ve been on a damn plane ever since, trying to get here to Jesse. Now can you tell me where she is, or do I have to go find her myself?”
The nurse knew rope when she saw it, and this man was just about at the end of his. She came around the desk and motioned for him to follow.
“She’s down at the end of the hall. Room 202. It’s a single, makes it easier to maintain security, and there’s an officer at the door. You have to get past him. And your name had better be on his list or threats won’t make a whistle-stop worth of difference.”
Her sardonic tone was not lost on King, and he turned his head sharply, eyeing the nurse with newfound respect and a silent look of apology. He smiled slightly as he saw her accept. Sure enough, it took several pieces of identification proving he was actually who he claimed to be before the guard would allow him inside.
He hesitated, suddenly afraid of what he might see when he opened the door. But his hesitation disappeared when he heard the soft, agonizing moans and mumbled cries for help. King took one frantic look at the guard. He answered with a grimace and a shrug. He was helpless to stop what was going on behind the closed doors, too.
“She’s just dreaming, Mr. McCandless. It’s been going on for hours.”
King muttered under his breath as he shoved his way past the guard and entered the room. It was obvious Jesse’s agitation had been going on for some time. The bedclothes were in a wadded mess. The high, chrome guard rails were in place to keep Jesse from rolling out of the bed, but she had bunched herself completely against the back of one, trying in sleepy desperation to escape her attacker.
King couldn’t describe the emotion that overwhelmed him as he witnessed the terror she was living. His first instinct was to awaken her, get her to see she was no longer in danger; but something made him hesitate. He didn’t want to frighten her more. A cold rage filled his mind, and he knew, if he ever had the chance to do anything about it, the man responsible for her injuries and terror would know far worse before King was through with him.
He took his sport coat off his arm and laid it across the foot of her bed. Walking quietly for so big a man, he came around to stand beside her and began to speak softly, hoping to penetrate her semi-conscious state enough that she would know who was present when she awoke.
Her hair was fanned out across the pillow, and dark, tiny wisps had plastered her heart-shaped face in damp disarray. He resisted the urge to touch her and had to satisfy himself with a vocal approach instead. All the while he was talking, he was thinking of the joy he’d felt, when he realized there were no tubes or machines hooked to her fragile body, beeping her life signs for all who entered to hear. That had to mean she was not in any serious danger. All he could see in the way of obvious injuries were the bandages on her hands. They were hard to miss since she kept waving first one and then the other weakily in the air, continuing to fight the man who’d attacked her. The sight was finally more than King could bear. He spoke a bit louder, trying to penetrate her dream world.
It was the first time in nearly three years that he’d seen Jesse. They’d spoken off and on, but always by phone. Jesse kept him at a distance emotionally, and King was still at a loss as to why. One day everything had been normal, and the next thing he knew, she had taken a job and left the Double M Ranch. He hadn’t been able to decipher his feelings then, and he was still unable to put his feelings for Jesse into words. She was just his Jesse, the kid who’d followed him all over the ranch and then turned to him in desolation when Andrew McCandless died. The frien
dship he’d felt for the young girl had deepened into a close relationship with the woman. But he hadn’t had time to absorb the difference before Jesse left. There was still a big hole in his life that no one had been able to fill.
He started to touch her, anything to stop the horrible nightmare that was stuck on instant replay in her mind. But the decision was taken from his hands. She thrashed out wildly, bumping one of her bandaged hands on the guard rail. The pain penetrated her semiconscious state with a rude awakening.
Jesse moaned and blinked, trying to assimilate her surroundings and the unfamiliar smells that assaulted her senses. Her heart accelerated. She couldn’t stifle the small scream that slipped from her lips as she saw the silhouette of a tall man standing beside her bed. It was only after she heard the familiar, husky voice that she allowed her heart to slow down to a sprint instead of the race in which it had been indulging.
Oh God! she thought. He looks so big and gorgeous and worried. And for the first time since her ordeal had begun, Jesse felt safe.
“King?” she whispered, afraid to believe her own eyes.
“Jess,” he said softly, holding out his hand to let her make the initial contact. “Oh, Jesse Rose, what did he do to you honey?”
It was the old, familiar term of endearment that did it. Jesse hadn’t been able to cry, but now she felt it coming from so deeply inside her, she was afraid she couldn’t stop. No one ever called her Jesse Rose but King. No one else would dare.
King reached down and lowered the guard rail on one side of her bed.
“Will you let me hold you, Jess? I just need to feel for myself that you’re all in one piece. You’ve scared Maggie and me out of years we couldn’t spare, sweetheart.”
The husky plea was unnecessary, because the moment the rail went down, Jesse was in his arms.
He gathered Jesse, bedclothes and all, in a gentle but fierce embrace, breathing a sigh of relief in the dark cloud of hair on her neck. He felt her tremble and heard her trying to swallow the misery that wanted out of her heart.
“Just let it go, Jesse Rose. I’ve got you now, honey. And, I swear to God, no one will ever hurt you like this again. Do you hear me? No one!”
King swung her up in his arms, cradling her like he would a child, and carried her to a big, stiff-backed chair by the window. He lowered himself carefully and swaddled Jesse in his lap like a baby.
She let herself absorb the essence of this man…her King. Once he’d been her world. And then… She stifled the thoughts and buried her head against his shirt front instead. She couldn’t deal with old hurts. The new ones were too overwhelming. Sobs flowed into deep, racking gulps of misery, and the strong arms that cradled her kept her from flying apart.
“I was scared, so scared, King. I thought I was going to die!”
“I know, honey. I know. It’s okay now, Jesse,” he muttered as he rocked her gently in his arms. “Cry all you want. I won’t let you go.”
Jesse cupped her bandaged hands carefully against her chest and let the tears flow, relishing the utter and complete feeling of security that crept inside her heart. For the first time since her attack, Jesse believed she would survive. She wasn’t alone now. King wouldn’t let anyone hurt her again. She believed that as surely as she knew the sun would rise each day.
The guard outside the door heard Jesse’s sobs and carefully peeked inside to assure himself that all was well. The big man seemed to have everything under control. It was obvious that the girl was glad to see him. He nodded once at King’s sharp look of distrust toward the opening door, and then quietly pulled it closed.
CHAPTER 2
Several hours later, Captain Shockey and another officer who doubled as a police artist came down the hall to Jesse’s room. The guard saw them approaching and stood at attention.
“Anything new?” Shockey asked, as he started into Jesse LeBeau’s room.
“That McCandless fellow you called got here just before noon. He’s still inside.”
Shockey grunted in surprise. He looked down at his watch and noted it was almost four in the afternoon. Almost twenty-four hours had elapsed since the girl’s attack, and they still had no strong leads. Just a blood type, the knife the girl had taken away from the intruder, and a trail of blood that ended in the middle of a street. No fingerprints, no witnesses other than the girl, and she hadn’t been able to give much of a description. Shockey was hoping the police artist could get more since she’d had a chance to calm down. Shockey was beginning to believe this wasn’t just a random, spur-of-the-moment attack. It had been thought out to the degree that the perpetrator was wearing some kind of surgical gloves and had an accomplice waiting. But waiting for what? If they had been planning to steal her belongings, the accomplice had waited. It was too far to carry televisions, stereos, silver, and the like. And, in Shockey’s experience, someone intent on rape or murder didn’t usually work with an accomplice. Something just didn’t ring true on this one. Well, he thought, as he stepped around the guard at the door, maybe we’ll get lucky and come up with a pretty good sketch.
King was dozing between trying to balance himself in the stiff-backed chair and stretching his long legs against the corner wall while still cradling Jesse safely in his arms. She looked so tiny and so hurt, yet there was something different about her. He supposed it was just that he hadn’t seen her in so long. He gazed hard at the delicate shape and plane of her face while he held her against his heartbeat. While he was trying to absorb this new and different person he held so intimately within his arms he fell asleep.
The sound of the door hitting against the back wall woke him instantly. He straightened up from his slumped position, knew he was going to have a crick in his neck, and glared silently at the intruders, indicating with a look at Jesse that they keep quiet. It did little good. Evidently the older of the two men who entered wasn’t the patient type.
“You’d be King McCandless,” he said, making no effort to lower his voice.
Jesse jumped at the sudden, loud voice and uttered a small cry of fright as she awakened to two men looming over her.
“Dammit!” King muttered. “It’s okay, Jesse,” he said roughly, and began to pull himself from his slumped position while not losing his hold on Jesse.
“What? What’s wrong?” Jesse asked, trying to absorb the presence of the other men in her room. She sensed King’s antagonism. Had something happened while she was asleep that she’d missed?
“Nothing’s wrong, honey,” King muttered. He laid Jesse back in bed, quickly pulling the covers around and over her to shield her bare legs and thighs from the two men. “They were just leaving.”
Jesse recognized the ominous tone of voice and knew that, if she didn’t intervene, King would find himself in trouble for assaulting a police officer.
“Wait, King,” Jesse urged, placing a bandaged hand carefully on King’s arm. It wasn’t much of a restraint, but her voice was all that was necessary. King focused on the intensity of her eyes, imploring him to listen. “They’re police. They told me earlier, before you arrived, that they would be back. I just forgot. Captain Shockey,” Jesse said. “This is King McCandless. He’s the son of the man who finished raising me after Daddy died. He’s just about all the family I have.”
A funny pain shot through King’s chest as Jesse spoke the words “all the family.” He hadn’t realized how true that was, and felt guilty that he’d let so much time pass without forcing her to come home, or at least talk about what made her leave. Unfortunately, now was not the time. Jesse’s imploring look slowed his anger and he gently brushed the hair away from her face. He sighed, then turned back to the men.
“Shockey,” he acknowledged, as the older of the two men shook hands with him.
“Sorry for the intrusion,” he said, for all who cared to listen. It was all the apology they would get. He had a job to do. “This is Officer Ramirez, Miss LeBeau. He’s going to try and help you remember all you can about the man who attacked you and then
try to draw his likeness. But he’ll need your help. You’ve got to think of the intruder, what he looked like, what he felt like, what he smelled like.” He saw the look of horror on the woman’s face and wondered if she had enough spunk in her to do the job. She’d been through a lot already. “I know you don’t want to, little lady. But I need you to close your eyes and pull this man out from wherever you’ve buried him. Okay?”
His blunt, matter-of-fact manner was just what Jesse needed to fortify herself for the ugly job ahead of her.
Jesse’s lips trembled and the tears that pooled in her eyes slipped down her cheeks, past the dark, purple bruise on her face. King shook with fury. She wasn’t up to this. He started to intervene when Jesse’s voice stopped him.
“I’ll do whatever it takes, Captain. I want him caught more than you do. If he’s not, I’ll never feel safe again.”
“Good girl,” he said, and motioned for Ramirez to come forward.
The police artist had been through this many times and did all he could to put the victim at ease. His low, soothing voice and casual manner soon had Jesse absorbed in trying to remember every minute detail.
As Jesse worked with the police artist, losing herself in the task of remembering what she’d been so desperately trying to forget, King stepped away from her bed and motioned Shockey aside.
“When they let Jesse go,” King said, “I’m taking her back home with me.” His words were almost a dare for the older man to disagree. To King’s surprise, he did not.
“Probably a good idea. She doesn’t need to be alone at this point.” He squinted his eyes a bit as he leaned back and looked up at the big man who’d backed him into a corner of the room. Damned if he couldn’t use someone like McCandless on the force.
“Where’s home anyway?” Shockey asked, and pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket. “Might need more information from Miss LeBeau and you’ll want to know when the man is apprehended. We’ll need her to come back and identify him then, you know.”