Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

“It would appear that he’s anxious to have her back, that and to cover his tracks,” Saint said.

Maggie looked toward the closed bedroom door “Where did you hear it, Saint?”

“From Del Saxton. He told me that Ira was frantic, telling everyone that his poor wife is suffering from female delusions—crazy, in other words. He’s offered a huge sum of money for information about her. The poor child, he says, must be confined for her own protection. Hints of violence to herself, and all that. Pretty smart of old Ira, I’d say.”

“The bastard,” Brent said again.

“I just don’t understand any of this,” Maggie said.

Saint merely shrugged.

“Well, Brent,” Maggie said, turning to him, “it looks like you’ve set yourself firmly in the middle of this mess. What are you going to do?”

“I haven’t the foggiest notion. Any ideas?”

“First, obviously,” Saint said, “Byrony has to get well again. I don’t suppose you want to send her on her way until then, right, Brent?”

“I’m not a monster.” Actually, he had no intention of letting her leave, ever.

“Of course you’re not,” Maggie said, shooting a surprised glance toward Saint. “You rescued her. That was very noble of you, Brent.”

Saint rose. “Well, I’ve got other patients. I hope we can keep Byrony’s whereabouts a well-kept secret.”

“Can you imagine Ira ever thinking that his wife was in bed in a saloon, next to a brothel?”

“Good point, Maggie. Brent, keep feeding her whenever she wakes up. And Brent, no arguments, all right? You know,” he said from the doorway, “I think Del might be a help to us in this situation. What do you think, Brent?”

“I agree, but let’s give it a few days before we speak to him.”

Byrony slept twelve hours. Deeply and dreamlessly. When she awoke, she stretched under the covers, queried her body, and received a painless response.

“Good. You’re finally back to the land of the living.”

She opened her eyes and smiled at Brent. “I feel marvelous, I think,” she said. “Is that food you’ve got? I’m starving.”

She pulled herself to a sitting position. “Brent,” she said, her voice tight with embarrassment, “could you leave, please?”

“Leave?” he said, frowning down at her. “Whatever for?” Then he understood and grinned. “I’m pleased that you’re functioning again. I’ll be in the other room. Call me if you need anything.”

She discovered she was still a bit weak, but she managed to relieve herself without accident. She stared at herself for a moment in the small mirror above Brent’s dresser.

“You look just fine. Come back to bed now.”

She ate everything he gave her—the warm crusty bread piled with butter, the chicken soup, the thick cocoa.

She sighed, and leaned back against her pillows. “If I die now, it will be with a smile on my face,” she said.

“No dying. I forbid it.”

“It would ruin all the nice things you’ve done for me, wouldn’t it?”

“Very true,” he said.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you rescue me? I didn’t think you—well, you’ve never given me any reason to believe that—I don’t understand you, Brent.”