The Trouble with Temptation (3 page)

Since his place was farther out, he’d been crashing at McKay’s Ferry, the sprawling estate where he’d lived for the first eighteen years of his life. In many ways, Ferry was still home.

Try as he might, he hadn’t been able to slip past Ella Sue, the woman who had taken over the job of raising him and his sisters after his parents’ unexpected death twenty years earlier.

Brannon didn’t know why he’d even tried. There was no slipping past Ella Sue.

If Santa Claus had been real, he would have been like Ella Sue—she saw when a person was sleeping, awake, in the damn bathroom taking a piss, and everything else.

He’d no sooner taken a step out of his bedroom than he heard her smooth, rich voice drifting up the stairs. “Brannon, honey … is that you, boy? Get on down here and have some breakfast with me before you disappear.”

And there was no such thing as telling the woman you weren’t hungry. You might as well try to tell her there was no sun in the sky, or no stars at night.

So he’d eaten.

She hadn’t even had the decency to fry him up something fattening that would have turned his stomach.

No, she’d had oatmeal, creamy scrambled eggs, and toast and if he could have just had a little bit of sleep, he might have felt like a new man. Not that he
deserved
to feel like any kind of man.

Mentally kicking his own ass was getting old, but Brannon had no problem falling into a rut if that was where he felt like he belonged, and he was pretty sure he belonged in this one. As he made the drive to the hospital, he dug the rut a little deeper and worried himself sick all over again.

When are you going to wake up, baby?

What happened out there? What did you see?

Come back to me.…

Hannah had gotten hurt only hours after he’d left her at her houseboat.

He had hurt her—not physically, never that. But emotionally, yeah. He’d put scars on her soul. He knew that well enough.

And she was pregnant with his baby.

Right now, it was a closely guarded secret, one known only by him, her cousin, and a few needed medical personnel. Oh, and of course, Gideon. The cop who’d taken the time to interrogate Brannon.

She was pregnant.

Guilt choked him.

He’d hurt her. Then, during the hours when he’d left her and when Joe had stumbled toward him, something awful had happened. Had she seen something? Was she running? Had somebody tried to hurt her? Joe?

Hell, the guy was a stupid piece of shit, but he was more of a nuisance than anything else. Could he have hurt … But Brannon pushed the idea out of his head. It didn’t make sense. None at all.

Nothing
made sense. He didn’t know what to think about any of this.

The one thing he
did
know was that Hannah lay helpless in a coma, his baby inside her.

The elevator dinged and he stepped out, caught up in the familiar misery for a moment. So caught up, it took a moment for the low hum of voices to penetrate.

Coming to a stop, he looked up.

The voices came to an abrupt halt at about the same time he did.

He looked from the nurses gathered around the station to the two cops standing vigil outside Hannah’s door.

Something that might have been hope tried to grow, but he locked it down tight.

Ginny, a familiar face at the hospital, was still here. She’d been working here as a nurse back when he’d had his appendix out. He couldn’t think of another nurse he’d rather have taking care of Hannah. He caught her eye and arched a brow. “You’re usually long gone by now, Miss Ginny.”

“It was a busy night.” The smile on her face made that hope he’d hidden expand.

He didn’t remember crossing the rest of the hall, didn’t remember rushing into the room, but he must have because he was suddenly being shoved back by an irate nurse. “Do you mind, Mr. McKay!” She smacked a hand against his chest as she shoved him back, and he was so stunned, he let her.

Dazed, he wobbled and he would have collapsed if it hadn’t been for the solid, sturdy form of Officer Billings. A hand that was almost the size of a dinner plate patted him on the shoulder. “Let them finish up in there, Brannon,” Billings said, giving him a steadying smile. “Then you can go in and … uh … maybe finish up that book.”

Brannon found himself looking down at the book he clutched in his hands.

“Yeah. Um.” He nodded. “Yeah.”

She was awake.

Hannah had been half-sitting, half-lying on the bed, her gown hanging off one shoulder as the doctor listened to her back. Her hair hung in a tangle around her face. And she had stared blankly ahead toward the door, her eyes open and fogged.

Awake
.

Hannah was
awake
.

*   *   *

She was awake.

That fact had been pointed out to her in grand detail several times in the past few minutes.

If she heard one more comment along the lines of …
Welcome back to the land of the living
! or
Decided you’d had enough rest, Sleeping Beauty?
she thought she just might scream.

As the doctor shone the bright light in her eyes once more, she winced and tried to push it away.

“I know it’s not pleasant,” he said, an understanding smile on his face.

Then quit doing it!
She managed not to say it, but the words leaped to the tip of her tongue and it was a struggle to bite them back.

“Think you can sit up for a few minutes?”

Instead of telling him she didn’t want to, she sighed and wrapped her hand around the bed railing. She already knew she was ridiculously weak. Things had been explained to her and she was trying to wrap her head around everything. She’d been in a wreck. She’d hit her head. She’d been in a comatose state for seven days and sometime during the night, she’d started showing signs of reviving. She’d been awake for … how long? She didn’t know.

She wanted to get up.

She wanted to walk.

She wanted something more than the ice chips they’d given her, but anytime she asked for water, they said they needed to finish their assessment first. If she heard that
A
word one more time, she had an
A
word for them … as in
kiss my A-S-S
.

She sat up—or tried—and her body protested the movement. The nurse, a kind, older woman came to help steady her until she had her balance. Once she was mostly upright, the doctor studied her for a moment and then nodded, pleased. “Your motor skills are coming along nicely, almost like you napped for the week.”

“It feels like longer,” she rasped.

“You’ll get your strength back.”

She wanted to ask if everything
else
would come back. But she was afraid.

“Let’s finish up here so you can—”

“Hey!”

She lifted her head up at the sharp sound of the nurse’s voice. Her heart started to pound at the sight of the man in the door. Tall and broad, his face brushed with stubble and a mouth that fell slightly open at the sight of her. That was fine, because she also seemed to have trouble closing hers just then.

He was … wow.

He had a powerful face, framed by vivid red hair. That hair was disheveled, making her wonder if he knew what the idea of a
comb
was. But even as she thought it, she had the image of him driving a big, long-fingered hand through that hair.

Green eyes. Such brilliant green eyes. He stared at her and she felt the punch of his gaze, like he’d reached out and touched her. Images swam through her head.

Then the nurse was standing between them.

“Do you mind, Mr. McKay!” she snapped, shoving him back out into the hall and slamming the door. “That boy, I swear. Ms. Parker, I’m so sorry.”

“Brannon,” she said softly.

The doctor’s head whipped up to hers and the stethoscope he’d had on her back fell away. “You remember him?”

Hannah swayed on the edge of the bed and the doctor had to steady her.

“His name.” She laughed weakly. “I don’t remember
mine
, but I remember his. Can you explain that to me?”

CHAPTER THREE

The fine, outstanding officers of McKay’s Treasure Police Department thought there might be something besides the car that connected Hannah Parker’s accident and Shayla Hardee’s murder.

It could have something to do with the fact that Hannah had been driving Shayla’s car. Shayla, now deceased.

Never let it be said that the local law enforcement goons were complete idiots. Nobody came outright and said anything about the two incidents, but then again, it wasn’t necessary.

He was no fool. Reading between the lines was rather easy, considering the fact that a day didn’t go by without a cop standing guard at Hannah’s door.

Word of it ripped through the little town like wildfire and people talked about it with near-savage glee. The death of Shayla was almost offhand news compared to what people had to say about Hannah.

Why do think they’ve got cops sitting with her?

What do you think is going on?

Speculation gave way to rumor, but there was little concrete information.

It was odd, because more often than not, there was always
something
.

But very little was being said about Hannah Parker and her odd accident.

It was a problem—a
big
one. He couldn’t visit her without raising concerns. Rumor had it that the only people allowed in to visit her as she lay in the coma were those who’d been already screened and approved by the police, namely the McKay family.

Brannon McKay, the bastard, had rarely left her side.

It made a big problem even more complicated.

Nothing had gone as it should lately.

Of course, if things had gone
as they should
, he wouldn’t be here now, would he?

Grimacing, he turned away from the river to stare up toward the town.

He hated this place.

He hated the people.

He hated the town.

He hated the heat.

Somebody ambled by, carrying a soft-sided lunchbox and he nodded. “Heading in to work?”

“Yep.” Walt Stephenson wasn’t one to move around with a spring in his step, but he definitely had a smile on his face.

Since he had a part to play, he cocked his head and gave the foreman a concerned smile. “How is your wife doing?”

“She’s doing just fine.” Walt’s grizzled face softened as the smile on his face went misty. “She’s doing just fine. Doc says she’ll be good as new, as long we make some changes in how we eat and she starts exercising and stuff.” Walt patted at the belly that strained his shirt. “Won’t hurt me to make some changes, either. Yep, she’ll be just fine. Things didn’t get held up too much here, did they?”

He shrugged. “They don’t tell me anything.”

Walt squinted his faded blue eyes and then chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth? Well, I better get on up there and make sure nothing got messed up while I was gone. I’ll see you around.”

Once he was alone, he went back to studying the town.

It was still the same, quiet small town it had always been. A few more businesses here and there and a few more people.

The same place he’d hated with a passion for as long as he’d known it.

He counted down the days until he was ready to leave.

But yet again, that prospect had to be put by the wayside. He hadn’t found what he was looking for and he couldn’t resume his search until he had solved this new problem.

Another problem.

It wasn’t enough that Neve had come home and was living back at McKay’s Ferry. The more people he had to deal with while he searched, the more it would slow him down. Fortunately she spent most of her time with that bartender, but still, she was another nuisance. Another problem.

Just like Hannah.

What had she seen? Did she know anything?

He couldn’t eliminate her unless he had to, because the more he mucked around the mud, the more people would start to ask questions.

Of course, all of this would have been easier if the stupid bitch had simply been courteous enough to just
die
.

*   *   *

How long had he been cooling his heels out here? Twenty minutes, thirty? An
hour
? Brannon didn’t know. But
finally
, the door opened and Brannon all but pounced on the doctor standing there.

Before he had a chance to slip past the shorter man, Dr. Briscoe caught his arm.

“Not so fast.” Dr. Briscoe caught his arm.

The mild-mannered internal physician was stronger than he looked and his hazel eyes studied Brannon closely. “You need to slow it down a bit, Brannon.”

“No,” Brannon said slowly, as though he was speaking to an idiot. He knew damn well he wasn’t but as far as he was concerned, anybody who tried to get between him and Hannah needed to get their head examined. “What I need to do is get in there to see Hannah.”

Briscoe reached up and tugged off his glasses, polishing the round spectacles with a handkerchief he unearthed from inside his lab coat. “Brannon, would you step over to the lounge with me? We can get a cup of coffee and have a moment to talk.”

“I’m good, thanks.” Brannon gave him a tight smile and tried to go around him.

“I’m going to have to insist.” Briscoe’s voice went hard and the mild-mannered doctor disappeared, replaced by a man more than willing to go head-to-head with Brannon McKay.

The doctor may or may not win, but Brannon knew if he pushed, he’d have his ass thrown out of the hospital.

The cop standing at the door leaned back up against the wall, and it was clear from the carefully blank look on her face that she was trying not to smirk.

Brannon took a slow breath and then backed up a step. “Five minutes.”

*   *   *

“I’m going to be terribly personal here, although it’s pretty clear what the answer is.”

Brannon felt the blood creeping up the back of his neck. It was the bane of most redheads. He might not be as pale as he’d been as a kid, thanks to spending untold hours out working on the winery he was still busting his ass to make happen, and maybe he wasn’t as prone to blushing at thirty-two as he’d been when he was … oh, say, twelve, but certain people could still make it happen. Ella Sue. His sisters. And apparently, the good doctor.