Branding A Legacy (A Silver Star Ranch Novel) (7 page)

“It’s okay.” My voice shakes and my hand pulses as he stares down at me. I’m literally left speechless.

“Thank you for taking care of my granddad like you have. He never shuts up about you.”

The room falls silent as I’m stunned beyond belief, not knowing how to react or even what to say. All I can feel is the burn from his palm resting on the top of my wrist. It’s the same sensation I’ve gotten each time he’s touched me.

“There’s a lot going on and I should’ve never lashed out at you like that.” He grips my wrist tighter and then flops his head back on the pillow. “I know I should say thank you for that night. The truth is I still wish I would’ve died, but I don’t hate you, Clover.”

He lets go of my wrist with his last word, and I remain frozen standing over him. It takes moments before I regain my wits and go about my duties. I check both of his bandages with the chest wound being the last. It’s still in the healing stages and one hell of an injury.

“I remember.”

“Excuse me?” I look up to Marvel while putting on new latex gloves.

“I remember you.”

I can tell he pauses for a moment as his voice hitches. Trying my best to keep calm, I go about cleaning the wound, soaking it with a liquid antibiotic, and then finally packing it with gauze.

“I remember you holding your hands there, keeping me alive that night in the ER.”

This time his words hit me hard, causing me to quiver and even tear up.

“I only did what I thought was best.” I use my forearm to wipe a stray tear away. “I never ever would cause harm to you or anyone else.”

“I’m seeing that,” Marvel adds.

We both remain silent as I clean up my tray and then check his IVs.

“Do you think you’ll need a sleeping pill tonight?” I ask him.

“Naw, it seems only fitting that I’m forced to remember my nightmares each night.”

“I don’t think you deserve that, Marvel.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“I don’t care. It’s not my place to judge you.” This time it’s my hand that covers his. I’m shocked when he laces his fingers with mine. A deep and very real urge comes over me and I want, no, scratch that, I need him in this moment. It’s the first he’s ever reached out, and it pulls at something deep inside me. I want to react and need to react but don’t. His touch is so unreal. I need to come undone under it. It’s everything I’ve fantasized about, then my reality is blasted in my face as my nursing badge stares back at me.

“Good thing your hottest patient got his catheter out tonight.”

His wink and toothy smile is adorable, and his abnormal attitude could make the banter easy between us. I look to his crotch where the hospital gown is loosely covering it and am thankful his catheter is out.

“This must be the Marvel everyone talks about?”

I feel bad after the comment comes out as Marvel hangs his head low while letting go of my hand.

“I’m trying, Clover, but not sure any of it is worth it.”

“Need to talk about it?” I stand near his bed with my hands perched on my hips. “I mean with someone other than family.”

“I fucked up. That’s all there is to it.”

“I have all night.” I let out a light laugh. “Well, I’d have to take breaks going to check on other patients.”

“My best friend and an innocent man were killed. I killed them.”

Using the tip of my shoe, I drag the chair over to his bedside then fall back down in it.

“You killed them?” I raise my eyebrow. “You don’t look like a killer, and from what your family has said you’re practically a kitten.”

“Jesus, that came from Merek, uh?” Marvel shakes his head side to side.

“Yeah, he’s quite rambunctious.”

“Oh yes, he is.” Marvel covers his face with the palms of his hands. “It’s my fault they were killed.”

Our conversation, which I was fighting to keep light-hearted, just detoured straight to tense. I scramble to find something to say and come up empty. The turmoil he’s struggling with overtakes the whole room and conversation. I rise to my feet, place my hands over the top of his, and pull them down so I can see his face. And that undeniable force that’s been pushing me toward him tugs a bit harder on my heartstrings when I clutch his hands in mine. Marvel doesn’t make eye contact as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’d save you all over again. I’m sorry, but I would. I barely know you, Marvel Slatter, and know that you’re so worth it.” Without thinking, I lean over and land a gentle kiss on his forehead before I exit the room.

“
Y
ou’re pushing
it too hard, Marvel. Take it easy.”

I know the physical therapist means well and is only concerned about my well-being, but you’d think she’d want to push me to my limits. Only a few more days until I’m freed from this fucking prison. Physical therapy has become my favorite part of the day. It’s liberating to punish myself to the point of exhaustion. Every single muscle and joint aches with each fucking step.

“Okay, you’re over a mile on the treadmill.” I watch as she plucks the red safety key card from the machine. “That’s enough for the day.”

I groan out in frustration. Pushing through the pain and letting out my frustration in physical therapy has been rewarding. The pain that shoots from my left leg is mind-blowing, but I relish in it knowing I deserve every single ounce of it.

“I’m just going to rub down your leg with this cream. It will help relieve sore muscles tomorrow.” The therapist stands up, facing me. “You are doing great, but don’t push it, Marvel. It will only prolong your stay. Your body is very susceptible to any type of virus and infection. You don’t want any setbacks now.”

I tug up on the hem of my gym shorts and only nod to her. If this bitch knew of the thoughts and memories that race through my mind at all hours of the day, she’d appreciate me taking my frustration out on the treadmill.

“Is my patient ready?” Clover pops her head in the door with a bright smile covering her face.

I haven’t been able to place it yet. One day just the mere look of her face sets me off, putting me in a foul mood, and other times she’s the only person I look forward to seeing. I even found myself pouting on her day off. She uses the excuse of checking up on me for Granddad, but my gut tells me there’s more.

I don’t deserve her. I have to pound it over in my head day after day.

“Got your wheels here.” She pats the seat of a wheelchair.

“I’m not riding in that damn thing. We’ve had this discussion before, Nurse Nancy.” I snag a towel from the table and wipe my brow.

“And your shirt. You have to wear a shirt out in the hallway.” Clover points at me.

I don’t miss her gaze that trails from my neck down to the top of my shorts, and it’s shit like this that makes me want to live again until reality slaps me in the face.

“Hospital policy, sit your heinie down now.” Clover fumbles with the handles and gets awkwardly shy in seconds. I’m used to this by now. The girl is the poster child for awkward shyness. I have to hand it to her, though; over the past few days she’s really starting to come out of her shell, and I know it’s from time spent on the ranch with my brothers.

“You just like being bossy, don’t you, Nurse Nancy?” I flip her name badge as I plop down in the chair.

“You know it, and quit calling me that.”

“Why? I like it, and it’s so fitting for you.” Clover wheels me out in the hall and leans over each time she talks to me. Her sweet smell assaults my sense, her hair tenderly falls on my shoulder, and it takes everything inside of me to hold back from pulling her down into my lap. Yep, it’s days like this she makes me want to live and fight off the demons.

“It’s a lame nickname. I want a good one.”

“I’ll give you a good one.”

Her sweet giggle fills the hallway right before she rams into a cart.

“Damn, Clover, pay attention.”

“You’re distracting me and probably going to get me in trouble.”

When we make it into the room, both of us laughing from Clover hitting a doctor and then knocking a box off a counter, several faces stare back at me. Granddad, the agents, Marvel, and Merek all surround my bed with their arms crossed.

Jillian holds a large file in her hands, and I now know shit is about to go down—the real storm I’ve been avoiding. Jail time, hell, even prison time has been thrown in my face, along with losing the ranch. All if only I cooperate, but the simple fact is they don’t get it…they’ve never felt Saint’s sharp blade slice across their skin or felt the end of blunt metal crushing into their bones. They will all feel it once I cooperate. Yeah, so that word is the furthest from my vocabulary.

I feel Clover’s grip on my shoulder, gently squeezing then letting go, and a piece of me fades away. It’s a rare form of torture, and it seems I’m growing accustomed to. When she’s around a part of me flares to life and she makes me feel like the old Marvel, the carefree and hardworking one. Granted, I’d never let her know that, but when I experience it, it’s a high that I fear letting go of. Our fun and light moment dissipates in the room filled with tension and scowls, which I know I’m to blame for all of them. Every single ounce of guilt lands squarely on my shoulders.

She takes care of the situation just like any other time when she springs easily and carefree over to Granddad who’s perched on the single chair in the corner. I can’t make out any of the words, but they all seem cheerful and abundant. I hear something about Sunday dinner and if she’s working he’ll whoop her ass. I can only assume that he’s pulled a chair up to the table for her and she’d better get there or her ass would be whooped. Jesus, I can’t even picture that scene right now.

I adjust my sitting position in the wheelchair and try like a fucking warrior to remind myself that Clover is the enemy and I should hate her for saving me.

“See you Sunday, grumpy old man.” Clover walks lightly over to me and then bends down. “Need help?”

I could scream a million different things in her direction, one being, “Save me. Take me, Clover, rescue me from this hell.” But I only nod toward my empty mug. She knows I like ice chips and just a tad of water.

I’d love to give her more in this moment, relieving everything from my damn shoulders. Granddad has pressured me into cooperating, and that’s what’s about to go down, but I’m more afraid it’s like round two about to ding.

“You know where the button is if you need anything.” Clover’s fingers dig into my shoulder as her hair tickles the sensitive skin on my neck, and if I didn’t know any better, the clumsy ass nurse could be classified as the seductive temptress of the county. I only nod to her when other scenes play out in my mind.

“Sunday.” I hear Granddad’s voice in the background.

“Good luck, Clover.” Merek’s voice stings my eardrums.

I look to him and then back to her. Clover’s typical deer in the headlights look blankets her face. Everything is so innocent about her that she doesn’t need words to ask him what he’s referring to.

“Good luck with your date. Sterling hasn’t shut up about you.”

Life, karma, fucking Mother Nature always has a funny way of reminding someone just exactly what he or she deserves. The crowded room, and then this revelation is enough to throw me right where I belong…to the wolves to let them finish me off.

Clover stumbles and clambers until she finally gives up knocking over a tray of magazines propped up next to the door. I don’t need to ask her if what Merek is saying is true because her actions just answered it. I didn’t expect anything fucking more from her.

“It’s just dinner not a date.” Her cheeks are flushed, and they’re the last things I see before the heavy mahogany door to my room slams shut as she scurries out.

“What was that?” the taller of the FBI agents asks.

Nobody in the room answers or even dares to flinch. Several moments of stale silence float around in my tiny room until I finally find my voice.

“It was a nurse leaving the fucking room. Any other questions?”

All the agents stand to attention when they hear my voice. It’s like a lion has roared, gaining the attention of the room. I don’t miss my granddad’s look or my brother’s. I know the assholes can read me like the back of their hand. The thing is, my heart has regained its vision. The whole reason it set out on this dusty trail and that was to bring justice and pride back to Silver Star Ranch.

It’s what pumps through me and the sole reason my heart beat so long when it should’ve stopped. It’s not Clover’s fault or the man who found me last on the desert beating me once more. It was my own selfish pride the whole time, the same pride creating a heartbeat right now in my eardrums. I never gave up or gave in, and it was all for the brand.

“Marvel?” I look up to Granddad and see the clear confusion and heartache covering his face and decide to rip open each of my scars one by one. The stinging tears of my flesh and rancid smell of infection coats the room as I rehash each memory in fine detail. Salty liquid flows down my face as it all comes out.

Time has become irrelevant as I let it all go. I swear in moments of speech I taste the stinging metallic taste of blood on my tongue, and then memories of Weston flood my mind. I want no more harm to come to anyone, but in this moment I realize Saint needs to be brought to justice for the crimes he’s committed. If roles were reversed, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt Weston would fight for me.

Slowly the invisible lines of regret and stubbornness fade away as the right thing to do becomes more prevalent. Greed, revenge, and hatred have clouded my judgment for far too long.

The agents are giddy with talk about wires, jurisdiction, court cases, and several other indictments only if we can get Saint Johnson on this charge, then a steady flow of others will follow. Nothing means a thing to me as I focus in on my granddad’s face, and with each nod he offers me I know deep in my gut I’m branding a legacy and getting our pride back.