The Comforts of Home (12 page)

“Are you sure?”

“Sure. I promise I won’t die on you.”

Tears rol ed unchecked down her cheeks, but he didn’t see them.

The nurse moved beside him. “He’l rest now.” She smiled at Reagan. “You’d best get some sleep too, honey, or you’l be checking into this place.”

Reagan didn’t want to leave, but she needed a bath and a change of clothes. She grabbed her bag and walked to the main entrance. A guard on the night desk agreed to cal her a cab.

Walking out into the cold night to wait, she thought about how much she hated hospitals. She felt like a miner who’d been trapped in bad air for days. If they brought canaries into hospital hal ways, the birds would be dead within minutes. Everything in the place smel ed of cleaning fluid, even the popcorn she’d had hours ago for supper.

When the cab pul ed up, Reagan realized she hadn’t stayed in a hotel since she’d been about ten and a caseworker had to take her to a group home a few hundred miles away. They’d been caught in a storm and pul ed off at a Hilton. The caseworker complained she’d never get her money back, but for Reagan it was like walking into a palace.

“Where to, miss?” the cabdriver said in a tired, bland voice.

“The nearest Hilton.” Reagan leaned back in the seat, hoping it wasn’t twenty miles away.

As it turned out, it was almost within sight of the hospital. She tipped the guy ten dol ars and walked into the lobby.

The clerk didn’t look much older than her. “How may I help you?” Her smile was wide, but not friendly.

“I need a room for the night.”

“Smoking or nonsmoking?”

“Non.”

“King or queen?”

“Queen.” Reagan guessed she was talking about the bed size.

“We’re out of queen, but we have a king.”

“Al right, king.” Reagan was beginning to think this was some kind of surprise game show.

“Fil this out, please, and I’l need to see a driver’s license and a credit card.”

Reagan pul ed out her driver’s license and the credit card she used for ordering on the Internet.

The clerk wrote down her room number on a folded envelope and passed it to her along with a card.

When Reagan raised an eyebrow, the girl whispered,

“Your key.”

Reagan took the card and decided she could figure it out. She took a step, looking around the lobby, then backstepped to face the girl again. “Is there a place to get a meal?”

“Room service is open until eleven. They mostly have sandwiches this late. You can charge it to your room.”

“Good. Send up a meal of soup, sandwich, and milk.”

“What kind?”

“Any kind. Whatever the cook has handy.”

Reagan picked up her card key and walked away. In the elevator, she read how to unlock her door, then broke into a smile when she stepped inside. The room looked like it belonged in a fancy decorating magazine. Within minutes, she’d stripped and stepped into the shower.

After she’d washed her hair and slipped on a white robe, she walked out into the room and found a tray of food waiting for her. As she ate, Reagan decided her one luxury from now on in life would be that every time she traveled, she’d stay in fancy hotels. Since this was only her second hotel in twenty years, the rule wasn’t likely to bankrupt her.

She slept until eight. Her first thought was of Noah when she woke. She cal ed the hospital and was told he’d be undergoing more testing most of the morning. Reagan got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast.

She bought a wool jacket from the gift shop and took a cab back to the hospital, wanting to be waiting in his room when he got finished.

When they rol ed him into his private room, he was asleep. Reagan waited more than an hour before he final y opened his eyes.

“You look better,” he said.

“You stil look terrible.” She laughed. “But then, they didn’t have much but bones and muscle to work with. I’ve never seen you looking so thin.”

“I know. They’ve been running tests al morning and not letting me eat. I keep tel ing them every part of my body hurts and they keep saying, ‘Isn’t that wonderful.’ Problem is, when I tel them how bad my back hurts the docs say they can’t find the reason.”

“You’ve got feeling in your legs?”

“Yeah. The bul did some damage, but he didn’t break my back. I guess I’m lucky. They want to keep an eye on me for two or three more days, and then they said I can go home. I’l have a few months of therapy, and then if everything goes wel I’l be back in the saddle by summer.

I’ve stil got a ways to go to fil my card.” Reagan didn’t want to hear it. She was thankful he would recover, but the idea that he planned to go back to trying to kil himself almost broke her heart. Rodeo cowboys paid more than a hundred dol ars for a pro card, then made a point for every dol ar they won in prize money. A thousand dol ars got the pro standing. Then it was big rides at big rodeos for big money.

A nurse came in and asked her if she would leave for a few minutes.

Reagan didn’t even want to know why. She almost ran from the room. If he didn’t have so many breaks and bruises already, she would have tried to kick some sense into him. Al he could think about was rodeo even after it almost kil ed him.

Standing by the window, she phoned home. Uncle Jeremiah was giving Foster al kinds of hel , which the retired medic claimed was grand. He’d had the old man up walking twice since dawn, and with luck he’d be out of the wheelchair within a month.

One load lifted off her shoulders. Maybe she’d have time to talk some sense into Noah while he was recovering.

She wanted her best friend back before the thril and the danger claimed him.

After walking the hal s for a while, she wandered into the coffee shop and sat thinking. Having Noah for a friend was like knowing an addict who wouldn’t quit no matter how bad the fal . She thought of cal ing that TV show that did interventions. Maybe if al of Noah’s friends and family got together and promised never to speak to him again if he didn’t stop the riding, he’d quit before he died in the mud.

No, she realized. His family loved the rodeo. They’d never go along with her plan. His father was a national champion. His friends were al the buddies he traveled with from town to town. They loved the thril s. They’d only look at her as if she were crazy for trying to make him stop.

She took a cab, went back to the Hilton, and booked another room for the night. Reagan knew she had to calm down before she talked to Noah again, otherwise they’d just fight.

NOAH WATCHED THE NURSE CHANGE HIS

BANDAGES. HE knew Reagan wouldn’t be back for a while. They were one step away from an argument. He wished he could find the moment in his memory when things stopped being perfect between them. They’d been so close once he swore he could read her thoughts. He didn’t know al the reasons why she didn’t want to be touched, but he told himself he’d wait. He’d go slow.

But he hadn’t waited. He’d decided al she wanted was to be friends. They’d never talked of love; neither was ready for that kind of commitment. She was focused on her farm and taking care of her uncle. He’d hit the road at eighteen.

For a while it was like some kind of crazy party. The rush of the rides, the drinking to calm down, the girls knocking on his door when he won.

The nurse asked him if he needed a pain pil and he said yes, knowing a pil wouldn’t end the hurt inside him. He and Rea could never be more than friends. He tried to make himself believe that he could accept it.

Only, how would he get her out of his thoughts? When he imagined making love, it was Reagan in his arms and no other. She was one petite little girl of a woman who didn’t have a single sexy thing about her, but she was the only woman he’d ever longed for. He’d spent a few hundred hours figuring out just what he’d do with every part of her body. Thoughts she’d probably kil him for thinking.

He didn’t deserve her.

Closing his eyes, he knew it had been a mistake to cal her. She was like a mirror of what he could be, held up to show him how little he’d made of himself.

Only he’d break his other arm and both legs before he’d tel her to go.

FEBRUARY 23

BLUE MOON DINER

TYLER WRIGHT SLID INTO THE BOOTH ACROSS

FROM HANK Matheson at the Blue Moon Diner. Even though Hank had final y married and built Alex, his bride, a house on his ranch that overlooked both their properties, he stil dropped by the main ranch house every Tuesday and Thursday morning to pick up his niece. He took her to breakfast and then school.

Saralynn was in grade school now and managed quite wel with her leg braces and crutches, but she stil loved it when her uncle carried her.

The diner was packed with locals and a few tables of truckers who’d discovered the place.

“How are you this morning?” Tyler addressed Saralynn first.

“It would be better if it was Saturday. Mom’s taking me to Oklahoma City then.” Saralynn made a face. “I wish it was Saturday.” She waved her hand and looked disappointed when the world didn’t change.

“Sorry, Princess.” Tyler smiled. “Give it time. Saturday wil come. No use wishing your life away.” She put her chin on her palms and sighed before turning back to the menu.

Tyler nodded in Hank’s direction. “How about you?

Staying out of trouble, I hope.” He smiled at Hank. “Wouldn’t do to have your own wife arrest you.”

Hank Matheson grinned. “It might be interesting to see her try.”

Saralynn, unaware there was a conversation going on, spoke up. “I forgot to say I’m fine today, Sir Knight.” She might be al grown up at eight years old, but she stil cal ed Tyler the name she’d given him when she was four.

“That’s good to hear, Princess.” Tyler handed her a set of art pencils he’d picked up at the hobby store the last time he’d been in Dal as. “I thought you might need a few more drawing pencils.”

She laughed. “Thanks.” Flipping her paper placemat over, she set to work.

Tyler leaned close. “Want to tel me what you’re planning to draw? They say you gifted folks see the picture in your head even when you look at a blank canvas.” She didn’t look up as she worked. “It’s a cave lit only by diamonds. A place where only fairies live.” Hank folded up his newspaper, ordered, then turned his attention back to his friend. “I blame you for her wild imagination. You’ve always played along with her dreams. I swear, her make-believe world is so real sometimes I wonder if I’m not part of the fantasy world just living in her mind.”

Tyler laughed. “Right. It’s al my fault. Your family being so grounded and al .”

Hank shrugged. With his mother a potter who rarely remembered what month it was much less what day, his sister an artist who only painted pictures of men suffering horrible deaths, and his other sister married to a graphic artist who wanted to name their children after superheroes, Hank had no room to talk about daydreams. At the Matheson place creativity must seep through the soil. It was no wonder Saralynn was off the charts with talent. “Forget my family,” Hank said. “You look like you fel off the hearse and the family car ran over you.”

Tyler touched the dark bruise on his face. “You should see the one on my hip.”

Hank laughed. “No thanks. I can miss that showing.” Both men laughed, knowing the girl was no longer listening to them. They settled into their routine of talking frankly with one another over coffee.

“How’s her legs?” Tyler said, pointing with his head toward Saralynn.

“This new doctor seems to know what he’s doing.

Another few weeks the braces come off, and maybe this time they’l stay off. The guy who looks after Jeremiah Truman’s recovery is living out on his place. He said he’d come over every afternoon and check on her once the therapy starts.”

Tyler nodded. He’d met Foster and Cindy Garrison. He seemed like a nice man, and his wife, Cindy, was as gentle and kind as they come. Some folks in town claimed that old Jeremiah wouldn’t have made it through his last spel if Foster hadn’t been there.

Hank studied the dark bruise on the funeral director’s forehead. “I heard about your accident from Alex. Got attacked by a flashlight, right?”

“Right.” Tyler sighed, owning his own stupidity. “But the bruises don’t hurt near as much as having to eat my own cooking. It doesn’t look like Wil amina’s coming back. Her sister cal ed me yesterday and told me she got a postcard from Saint Thomas. Apparently seventy-two is not too old to go native. Said she’d been skinny-dipping in the ocean.”