Rivals (60 page)

She caught back a little sob of joy and tried to not let her expectations get too high. “I'd…I'd like to see him.”

“I'll send him in.”

When Chance walked through he door after Ellery left and Flame saw the hard, smooth lines of his face, faintly shadowed by a night's beard growth, she wanted to cry. But she had too much control, too much pride, even now when she realized how wrong she'd been. He came to the side of the hospital bed and stopped near the foot of it, his blue eyes hooded and dark. She noticed his right arm was in a sling.

“You were hurt.”

He glanced at the sling as if he'd forgotten it was there, then touched it briefly with his other hand. “A minor flesh wound. This will come off tomorrow, if not sooner.”

“I'm glad.” She hesitated, conscious of the tension, the strain, the awkwardness that was between them, and wishing there was a way to erase it. “I'm sorry about Molly. I know how close you were to her.”

“You know, then.” His gaze probed her expression, a hint of anguish and regret surfacing in his eyes.

She nodded. “Ellery told me. He said you saved my life. I—”

“It was my fault you were in jeopardy in the first place.” Guilt—was that what he felt? She couldn't tell as he moved a step closer, briefly bowing his head before lifting it again to look at her, his jaw line held rigid. “Flame, I want you to know that…Morgan's Walk is yours.” She felt her hope start to crumble at his words. Again it was the land. “There will be no more attempts by me to take it from you. I swear it was never worth your pain—and God knows it was never worth your life to me.” Conviction vibrated through his voice, deepening its timbre.

“But I don't want it either,” she protested, a little stunned to discover she meant it. “There's been too much pain, too much bloodshed, too many wrongs committed in its name—on both sides.”

“I came to the same conclusion last night,” he said, nodding slowly and watching her.

“In a day or two,” she said, thinking out loud, her gaze clinging to him, “I'll talk to Ben about possibly deeding it to the state…maybe for a park.”

“Tell him that…that I'll lend any support he needs.”

“I will.” It seemed the final break. Without Morgan's Walk between them, she'd have no other excuse to see him. And she wanted to see him. Dear God, she still loved him.

A nurse walked in, her starched uniform rustling crisply. She smiled politely but firmly at Chance. “I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave now.”

As he looked at her one more time, then turned to go, Flame knew she couldn't let him walk out. “Chance.” Her fingertips caught at his hand. He turned back, his thumb coming down to hold on to her fingers, something stark and painful flashing over his face. “Is…Is it too late for us, Chance?”

Just for an instant there was a bright flare of blue—that same warm look he used to give her. Then he glanced down at her hand curved over his. “It's never too late, Flame, if we don't want it to be.”

Behind his guarded reply, she detected the emotion-charged tightness in his voice and hope soared. “I don't want it to be.”

He looked at her as if to make sure she meant it. “And I never have,” he declared huskily.

Wordlessly she pressed her hand more tightly onto his and watched his mouth curve into that lazy warm smile that had always tugged at her heart. For the first time, she honestly believed it wasn't too late.

The nurse interposed again, “I'm sorry, sir, but—”

“I'm going,” Chance said, his gaze remaining fixed on Flame, that warm glint in his eyes. “But I'm coming back.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against her forehead, then whispered against her skin, “Till next time.”

“Till next time.” As she echoed his words, she felt a strong, rich eagerness. There was hope, dear God, there was more than hope.