Matt (24 page)

One of the men held up a hand. “Sorry. No one is allowed inside without permission.”

Frank shot them a look of authority. “We are Frank and Grace Malloy. Vanessa stayed at our ranch during the trial.”

The officers held a whispered conversation before one of them pulled out his cell phone and spoke into it. Listening intently, he stepped aside and held the door for the elderly couple.

As they paused just inside the door, a tall, handsome man in a rumpled white shirt, his tie undone, his mussed hair gray at the temples, looked up from the side of the bed with a look of pure anguish.

“Mr. and Mrs. Malloy, I'm Elliott Kettering.” He offered his hand.

“Frank and Grace,” Frank said as he accepted the handshake.

“I was on a plane from Chicago as soon as the verdict was returned. Captain McBride kept me aware of what was happening during the flight. How is your grandson?”

“Doc is taking him into surgery now.” Grace studied the young figure in the bed. “And your daughter?”

“I've never seen her like this. She was highly agitated and making little sense, insisting that she wouldn't accept any medical help until she knows what happened to her hero. That's what she kept babbling about. Her hero. Her Superman. And saying she was in love with him and willing to give up her own life if it meant he could survive.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Obviously she's too badly traumatized to know what she's saying. I demanded that the doctor give her something for pain. Dr. Anita said the wounds to her wrists and ankles are deep and need to be treated for possible infection. Apparently the plastic restraints those thugs used cut clear to the bone.”

Grace caught the young woman's hand, noting the heavy dressings at her wrists, and the bag of intravenous fluid hanging from a pole beside the bed. “I'm glad she's no longer awake and suffering.”

“I'm glad, too. I had a wildcat on my hands until she was sedated. This terrible ordeal has really scarred her…” His tone softened. “My daughter needs the best possible care, so I've made a decision. Since the doctor said it would be a matter of weeks before she can completely forego pain medication, I'm taking her back to Chicago immediately.” His tone turned businesslike. “I'm grateful for all they did here at the clinic. I hope you understand. After all we've been through, I don't want her out of my sight for a minute longer than necessary. Vanessa's all I have.”

Grace managed a halting smile. “I understand completely.”

Frank moved in to lay a big hand on Vanessa's arm. “I know you can't hear me, darlin', but I hope you'll let your father pamper you. He's earned that right. And so have you.”

Grace kissed her cheek. When she straightened, she turned to Elliott Kettering. “When Matt's surgery is over, we'll call you.”

“Of course. I appreciate that. And I want you to know that you have my heartfelt gratitude for everything your family did for my daughter. You'll never know what agony I went through these past weeks.”

“No more than we did.” Frank cleared his throat. “We're grateful for the outcome. There were some moments…” His voice trailed off.

After more handshakes, while Frank and Grace watched, Elliott Kettering was flanked by the police officers as he followed the gurney toward a waiting ambulance that pulled away from the clinic the minute they were settled inside.

It was their last glimpse of the young woman who had come to mean so much to all of them.

A young woman who had changed and been changed by their grandson forever.

M
att lay a moment, eyes closed, listening to the now-familiar beeps and pings of monitoring equipment and the sudden squeeze of an automated blood-pressure cuff. He would rather face stampeding cattle than another day in this sterile room at the clinic.

He'd been here nearly a week now. Seven long days of being numbed with pain medication, shutting down his mind. He'd been poked and prodded, and forced to listen to plans for physical therapy in the coming months.

Seven long days of waking to find his family keeping vigil, taking turns being with him day and night. When he'd asked them to go home, they'd agreed to cut back on their visits, and then promptly doubled up their time with him.

The one face he'd longed to see was missing.

He'd called and left dozens of messages on her phone. At first her father had answered, saying she couldn't be disturbed. After a while, the calls had simply gone unanswered.

It had to be by design.

As soon as the family noted his agitation, Dr. Cross had ordered all phones removed from Matt's room, including his cell phone.

As the days stretched on, and his questions to his family were met with silence, he gave up asking.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see her as she'd looked that last time, before he'd lost consciousness. Her wrists and ankles raw and bloody, the fierce look in her eyes as she'd knocked aside Homer's gun and then whipped him with her ropes, desperately fighting to keep him from ending Matt's life. She'd been fighting for both of them.

What an amazing woman.

And yet, because of his carelessness, she'd nearly lost her life in the Montana wilderness. It wasn't something he could ever forgive himself for, nor forget. He'd let her down. Badly.

No wonder her father had whisked her away to Chicago. To have his own doctors care for her. To keep her safe and to ensure that she could resume the life she was meant to live.

Time spent back in her own environment had surely given her a chance to clear her mind and make her realize all she'd been missing.

A woman like that didn't belong here, on thousands of uninhabited acres, chasing herds of mustangs, sleeping in rough cabins or, worse, under the stars. She might have rhapsodized about the wonder of it all, but that was simply because she was, for a brief time, living her childhood fairy tale. Now it was time for a reality check. She was an urban career woman, chasing what everyone wanted—success on her own terms.

Over time, when her wounds were completely healed, and she was back at work doing what she loved, the time spent on his ranch would fade into the background. He and his family would become a pleasant memory.

A feeling of desolation swept over him, dragging him down.

Colin and the pretty young doctor walked into his room talking quietly about something. When they realized he was awake, they hurried to his bedside.

“Hey, Matt.” Colin started to punch his arm, then checked himself and squeezed his hand instead. “How're you feeling?”

“Fine.” He hated being coddled. Hated being the object of so much concern.

He turned to the doctor. “When can I leave?”

She smiled at him. “Your uncle and I were just talking about it. I think, if you promise not to do too much, you can go home today.”

Matt brows shot up. “You mean it?”

She nodded.

He turned to Colin. “Get my clothes.”

“Right. Quick, before she changes her mind.”

Colin and the doctor both chuckled before she left the room, giving Matt enough privacy to dress. With his uncle's help he managed to get into his jeans, but when he lifted his arm to slip on his shirt, the shaft of pain in his shoulder had him swearing.

By the time he was completely dressed, he was sweating and hating the fact that he felt as weak as a newborn calf.

Agnes arrived with a wheelchair, and he gave her no argument, grateful he didn't have to walk.

At the door to the clinic, Dr. Anita was waiting with a list of medications and physical-therapy sessions already scheduled.

“One thing before you go, Matt.” Her tone went from sweet and sunny to one of authority. “From everything I've learned about you, you'll go home and expect to resume your ranch activities tomorrow. Please don't push your body. It was seriously damaged, and it's healing. But in order to avoid any setbacks, let it dictate when you're ready to do all the physical activities you once did.”

“Sure thing.” He would say whatever it took to get out of here.

She glanced over his head to where Colin stood watching and listening. “I hope you'll convey to your family what I said. When you see Matt pushing himself, remind him that he still has a lot of healing to do.”

“I will.” He stuck out his hand. “And thanks, Doc. For everything.”

Burke stepped out of the ranch truck and hurried around to help Matt up to the passenger seat. Colin stayed back to say something more to the young doctor before climbing into the rear seat.

As they started toward home, Matt was unusually quiet, holding himself tensely.

Burke glanced over. “That niece of old Doc Cross's is one damned fine-looking woman. Quite an improvement over her uncle.”

“I didn't notice.” Matt gazed hungrily at the scenery outside the window, grateful to be free of the clinic.

Burke chuckled and gave his elbow a nudge. “I guess your injuries were worse than we thought if you never even noticed a beautiful woman. Now if this had been your uncle, he'd have probably insisted on staying another week, just to have an excuse to look at pretty little Dr. Anita Cross every day.”

When Matt didn't even smile, Burke exchanged a look with Colin in the rearview mirror. They both knew it wasn't only Matt's physical injuries that were causing him such pain. The damage to his heart was another matter altogether.

It looked like that injury still had a heap of healing to do.

Despite the doctor's warning, Matt eased back into ranch life, mucking stalls, tending to the millions of chores required to keep a ranch of this size operating smoothly.

But when the chores were done, his family watched helplessly as he rode off alone to the range shack to brood. The same shack where Vanessa had been abducted. The same shack where they'd once loved.

There, alone in his beloved wilderness, he chopped wood until his shoulder throbbed. He sat in front of a roaring fire, remembering what his grandmother had conveyed to him when Elliott Kettering had taken his daughter home. That Nessa wanted him to know how grateful she was that he'd come to her rescue. And that she loved him.

He didn't want her gratitude. And she'd obviously had time to realize he wasn't worthy of her love.

Not one phone call. Not a word. Not that he blamed her.

Everything bad that had happened to her had been his fault. Hadn't he ordered Burke to keep the wranglers at a distance because he selfishly wanted time alone with Nessa?

Time alone. It had been everything he'd ever dreamed it would be. And then it had all gone wrong. And he'd had no one to blame but himself.

And now, judging by the silence from Chicago, Nessa blamed him, too.

Each time he returned from the hills, his family watched for any sign that he was ready to let go of the sadness they could read in his eyes. But it was always there. Like a bruise that told of a deep wound. The only problem was, a bruise around a broken heart was much harder to heal.

Burke stepped inside the barn and paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. It was barely dawn, and already Matt was mucking stalls.

The foreman leaned against the stall door and watched for a moment before breaking the silence. “I'm worried about you, son.”

“I'm not overdoing anything.” Matt deposited a load of dung and straw into the honey wagon and bent to his work.

“It's not the chores that worry me. It's you.”

Matt paused to lean on the handle of the pitchfork. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about. You tackling ranch chores before dawn. You riding up alone to the range shack as often as you can get away.”

“That's nothing new. I've always taken my alone time there.”

“In the past, that alone time renewed your spirit, son. Now it has the opposite effect. You come back sad and quiet.”

“There's not much to laugh about these days.”

“Things around here are the same as they've always been. Nothing's changed. Not the ranch chores or the family business. Not even the small-town gossip. The only thing that's changed is you.”

As Matt opened his mouth to speak, Burke held up a hand. “And don't try to deny it.”

Matt looked away before nodding. “Yeah. I know what you're saying, Burke. But I don't know what to do about it.”

“You can call her.”

“I tried that. She never answers. That tells me she doesn't want to hear from me. Besides, what can I say to her except that I'm sorry?”

“You've got to stop carrying that load of guilt. It's weighing you down, son, and all of us along with you.”

“I can't let it go. Don't you think I try to stop playing that scenario over every day in my mind? I was the one who asked you to keep the wranglers away from the cabin so Nessa and I could have some time alone. It was foolish and selfish, and Nessa nearly paid with her life.”

“Son, I think there's something you need to know. Everybody here knew what you and that pretty little lady were feeling long before the two of you did. So when you asked me to give you some space, I said I would, but that doesn't mean I called off the wranglers.”

Matt's head came up. “You didn't?”

The old man grinned. “I knew what the two of you were planning on doing, and it didn't involve leaving that cabin. So I left the wranglers in place, right where they'd always been, guarding the lady.”

“Then how…?”

“What none of us had counted on was having those Chicago thugs discover that old abandoned cattle trail, which they used to sneak up on the cabin, and which they'd probably hoped to use as their getaway, once they realized it was deep in wilderness. While we were watching for them, they were already in place, watching us. They spotted the guards, and to draw them away, they slit the throats of a dozen or so head of cattle. They knew once their dirty deed was discovered, the wranglers would ride out in search of the perpetrators. And that's exactly what happened. Even though we were nearby, our attention was on the herd, and not on the two of you in that cabin, as it should have been. Even when they shot you, the sound was drowned out by the lowing of cattle. If they hadn't shoved you and your truck over the ravine and caused that explosion, we wouldn't have known about their attack until hours later.”

The shock Matt was feeling was evident in his eyes. “You're not just saying this to ease my guilt?”

“It wasn't your fault, son. You and Nessa did what any couple in love would do.” Burke clapped a hand on his shoulder. “If you want to blame it on something, blame it on fate or timing or just plain bad luck.”

Without another word the old cowboy ambled out of the barn, leaving Matt alone to mull all that he'd learned.

As he continued mucking stalls, Matt felt a measure of relief as some of the guilt began to slip away. But though these facts eased his guilt, nothing would change the fact that Vanessa didn't want to speak to him.

He swore under his breath.

He hoped the worst of her wounds had healed.

He hoped she'd been able to put behind her all the fear and pain she'd been forced to endure.

He hoped, desperately, that now that she was back to her old life in Chicago, she would think of him from time to time, and remember the love they'd shared.