Blue-Eyed Devil (Travises 2)

I was cleaned and bandaged, and sent back to the trauma unit waiting room. As Gage had predicted, there was no news. Hardy was in surgery, although no one would tell us what it was for, or how long it would last. I sat and stared blindly at the television in the corner of the room, wondering if I should call Hardy's mother. I decided to wait until I found out something about his condition — hopefully something reassuring — that I could relay along with the news that he'd been hurt.

As I waited, guilt sucked me down like quicksand. I had never imagined Hardy would suffer for my past mistakes. If only I had never gotten involved with Nick . . . if only I had never started a relationship with Hardy . . .

"Don't think that." I heard Liberty's gentle voice beside me.

"Don't think what?" I asked dully, drawing up my knees to sit cross-legged on the hard plastic chair.

"Whatever it is that's put that look on your face." Her arm slid around my shoulders. "You're not to blame for any of this. You're the best thing that's ever happened to Hardy."

"Oh, obviously," I muttered, casting a glance at the doors leading to surgery.

She squeezed me a little. "When I saw the two of you at the rigs-to-reefs party the other night, I couldn't believe the difference in Hardy. I've never seen him look so relaxed and happy. Comfortable in his skin. I didn't think anyone could ever do that for him."

"Liberty . . . something's gone wrong the past couple of days. Dad and Uncle T.J. — "

"Yes, I know about that. Churchill told me. He also told me about something that happened today, which you really need to hear."

"What is it?"

"I think Churchill should be the one to tell you." She nudged me to look toward the visitors' entrance, where my father and Joe were just coming in. Liberty stood and motioned Dad over to us, and he eased into the chair beside me. And in spite of all my anger and feelings of betrayal, I leaned against him and put my head on his shoulder, breathing in his leathery Dad-smell.

"What happened, Punkin?" he asked.

I kept my head on his shoulder as I told him. Every now and then his hand came up and patted my arm gently. He seemed bewildered that Nick would have done something so crazy, and asked what had happened to drive him off the deep end. I thought of explaining that Nick had always been that way, that his abuse had destroyed our marriage. But I decided to save that particular conversation for a better time and place. So I just shook my head and shrugged and said I had no idea.

And then Dad surprised me by saying, "I knew Hardy was going to come see you tonight."

I lifted my head and looked at him. "You did? How?"

"He called me around five today. Said he was sorry he'd agreed to the lease deal, and he'd already told T.J. it was off. He said he hadn't been thinking straight on Saturday, and it had been a mistake on both sides — us for offering, and him for accepting."

"He was right," I said shortly.

"So the deal is off," Dad said.

"Oh, no it isn't!" I scowled at him. "You're still going to keep your end of it. You make sure Hardy gets the leases at the fair price he offered, and tell T.J. to forget the bonus. And if you do that, I'll be willing to give you another chance at a normal father-daughter relationship."

I was determined that for once in his life, Hardy Cates was going to have it all.

"And you're going to keep on seeing him?"

"Yes."

My father smiled slightly. "Probably a good thing, considering what he told me about you."

"What? What did he tell you?"

My father shook his head. "He asked me to keep it private. And I'm done interfering. Except . . . "

I gave an unsteady laugh. "Except what? Damn it, Daddy, why do you have to quit interfering when you finally have something I want to hear? "

"I can tell you this much. I've had two men approach me about their feelings for my daughter. One of 'em was Nick. And I didn't believe a word he said. Not because you're not worth loving. Nick just didn't have it in him. But Hardy Cates . . . for all that he's a rascal and a born redneck . . . I believed him today. He wasn't trying to sell me something. He was just telling me like it was. I respected that. And whatever you choose to do about him, I'll respect that too."

Two hours passed. I paced, sat, watched TV, and guzzled burnt-tasting coffee flavored with powdered creamer and fake sweetener. When I thought I was going to explode from the tension of not knowing anything, the door opened. A tall white-haired surgeon stood there, his gaze sweeping the room. "Any family for Hardy Cates?"

I shot over to him. "I'm his fiancée." I thought that might get me more information. "Haven Travis."

"Dr. Whitfield." We shook hands.

"Mr. Cates used up all his luck on this one," the surgeon said. "The bullet nicked the spleen, but no other organs were damaged. Almost a miracle. I'd have expected the bullet to bounce around a little more, but thankfully it didn't. After we removed the bullet, we were able to do a relatively simple suture repair on the spleen and salvage it completely. Given Mr. Cates's age and excellent health, there's no reason to expect complications of any kind. So I'd say he'll be in the hospital for about a week, and then it'll take about four to six weeks more until he's all healed up."

My eyes and nose stung. I passed a sleeve over my eyes to blot them. "So he won't have any problems from this in the future? No gimpy spleen or anything?"

"Oh, no. I'd expect a full recovery."

"Oh, my God." I let out a shuddering sigh. It was one of the best moments of my life. No, the absolute best. I was electrified and weak, and breathless. "I'm so relieved, I actually feel sort of queasy from it. Is that possible?"

"It's either relief," Dr. Whitfield said kindly, "or the waiting room coffee. Most likely the coffee."

The hospital rule was that intensive care patients could have twenty-four-hour visitation. The catch was, you could only stay fifteen minutes per hour, except in special circumstances as approved by the nursing staff. I asked Gage to pull whatever strings he could to make sure I could come and go at will. My brother seemed vaguely amused by this, and reminded me about how I had once objected to using power and money to get special treatment. I told him that when you were in love, hypocrisy won out over principle. And Gage said he certainly understood that, and he went and got me special permission to stay with Hardy as long as I wanted.

I dozed in a reclining chair in Hardy's room most of the night. The problem was, a hospital was the worst place in the world to sleep. Nurses came in hourly, exchanging IV bags, checking the monitors, and taking Hardy's temperature and blood pressure. But I welcomed each interruption, because I loved hearing about how well he was doing, over and over again.

At daybreak Gage came to the hospital and told me he was going to drive me back to my apartment so I could shower and change. I didn't want to leave Hardy, but I knew I looked like something the cat dragged in, and it was probably a good idea for me to clean up some.

Hardy had woken up when I came back at seven, and he was not pleased, to say the least, to find himself in a hospital bed and hooked up to monitors. I walked in to hear him arguing with a nurse, demanding that she take the IV out, and categorically refusing the pain medicine that he obviously needed. He didn't want to be poked and prodded, he said. He felt fine. All he needed was a bandage and an ice pack.

I could tell the nurse was enjoying the argument with the big, blue-eyed male who was at her mercy, and I didn't blame her a bit. He looked lost, a little anxious, and utterly appetizing.

And he was mine.

"Hardy Cates," I said, coming into the room, "you behave, or I'll step on your tube."

The nurse seemed taken aback by my unsympathetic bedside manner.

But Hardy's gaze met mine in a moment of bright, hot voltage, and he relaxed, reassured in a way that cooing sympathy could never have done. "That only works if it's a breathing tube," he told me.

I went to the tray on the bed-table and picked up the Vicodin tablets the nurse had been trying to get him to take, along with a cup of water. "Take these," I said. "No arguing."

He obeyed, shooting a glance at the nurse, whose eyebrows were slightly raised. "She's little," he told her, "but she's mean."

The nurse left, no doubt wondering why such a hunk hadn't been able to find a nicer girlfriend. When the door had closed, I fussed over Hardy a little, straightening the covers and readjusting his pillow. His gaze didn't stray from my face.

"Haven," he muttered, "get me out of here. I've never been in a hospital before. I can't stand being hooked up to all this crap. All I need is — "

"Surrender to the process," I told him, "and you'll get out of here a lot quicker." I kissed his forehead. "Will you behave if I get in there with you?"

Without hesitation, Hardy maneuvered himself over to the side, grunting in pain at the effort. I slipped off my clogs and climbed in carefully, resting in the crook of his arm. He sighed deeply, a sound of contentment.

I nuzzled gently into his warm neck, breathing him in. Hardy smelled antiseptic, medicinal, like he'd been sprayed with eau-de-hospital. But underneath the sterilized blankness I found the familiar fragrance of him.

"Hardy," I murmured, stroking his wrist, "why did you take that stupid deal from Dad and T.J.? And why'd you call it off?"

His hand found mine, long fingers folding over my palm. "I went a little crazy after I saw my dad on Friday night."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"I bailed him out and dropped him off at a motel with some money. And I told him to get lost. But what I didn't tell you . . . I should have . . . is that he and I talked for a few minutes. And he said — " Hardy stopped, gripping my hand more tightly.

I waited as he took a few unsettled breaths.

"He got pissed when I told him what I'd do to him if he ever called Mom again," Hardy muttered. "He said that was funny coming from me, because . . . I was the reason they'd gotten married. Mom had stopped going out with him, but then she had to go back to him because she was pregnant. It was my fault she ended up with the son of a bitch. Her whole life has been hell because of me. She's suffered — "

"No. Hardy . . . " I lifted up and stared into his dark blue eyes. My chest ached with sympathy. "You know that's not right. You know it wasn't your fault."

"But it's a fact that if I hadn't come along, Mom wouldn't have married him. And once he got her, her life was ruined."

I understood Hardy's feelings even if I didn't agree with his logic. But his anguish and irrational guilt couldn't be solved with convenient platitudes. He needed time, and love, to come to terms with the truth. And I had more than enough of both to give him.

Hardy kissed my head. His voice was deep and rough. "I hate being his son. I hate the half of me that's him, and I can feel it, that part that's a bad, low, worthless son of a bitch, and when Churchill and T.J. came to me with that deal, I thought why the hell not. I was going to have to leave you anyway. Because I loved you too much to drag you down with me."

My hand crept up to caress the rigid line of his jaw. "Why'd you change your mind?" I whispered.

"After I calmed down a little and had a chance to think, I figured . . . I love you enough to try and deserve you. I would do anything, be anything, for you. Last night I went to your apartment to beg you to give me another chance. I was shaking in my boots, thinking you might not forgive me for Friday night."

I flushed as I remembered the long, erotic hours with him in the darkness of his bedroom. "Of course I . . . I mean, there's nothing to forgive." My voice lowered to an abashed whisper. "I wanted to do all that with you."

His body had turned so warm, I wondered if he was blushing too. "I thought it might have been too much for you. I pushed you too hard. And after what you'd been through with Nick . . . well, I was afraid you wouldn't want me in your life anymore. So I was coming to your apartment to tell you how sorry I was. How gentle I would be from now on. And even if you don't want me now, I wish you'd just . . . let me be near you, at least. In case you ever need me for anything."

I had never heard him so utterly humble, never imagined it was possible. I guided his face to mine until our noses almost touched. "I need you for a lot of things, Hardy. A lifetime's worth of things."

He kissed me with surprising strength, his mouth warm and demanding.

"I love you," I whispered. And it was a testament to the man's considerable vigor that in spite of blood loss, drugs, and a distinctly unromantic hospital setting, he put some serious moves on me.

"Don't," I said with a shaky laugh as his free hand wandered boldly over my front. "We'll set off the cardiac monitor. And they'll kick me out for compromising your recovery."

But Hardy paid no attention, of course, doing exactly as he pleased.

"You know," I said, arching a little as he kissed my neck, "I told the hospital staff I was your fiancée, so they'd let me stay in here with you."

"I'd hate to make a liar out of you." Hardy smoothed my hair back. "But after what happened last night, you're feeling grateful, and I don't want to take advantage. So tomorrow, when the gratitude's worn off . . . I'll probably ask you to marry me."

"I'll probably say yes," I told him.

Hardy brought my forehead to his, and I was lost in the brilliant blue depths of his eyes.

"Soon?" he whispered against my lips. "As soon as you want."

It occurred to me in retrospect that I probably should have been nervous about getting married again, in light of my past experiences. But everything was different with Hardy. His love came with no strings attached, which I thought was the greatest gift one human being could give to another.

"You know," I told him on our wedding night, "I'm just as much me when I'm with you, as I am without you."

And because Hardy understood what I meant, he pulled me into his arms, against his heart.

EPILOGUE

"He's on the phone, Mrs. Cates," Hardy's secretary says. "But he said to send you in as soon as you got here."

I'm at Hardy's high-rise office on Fannin, an aluminum and glass building that looks like two puzzle pieces put together. "Thanks," I tell the secretary, and I go to my husband's door and let myself in.