Beneath the Stetson(34)

Apparently, he wasn’t cut out for casual sex.

As a young man, before he had fully understood the extent of his wife’s emotional trauma, he’d had every reason to believe that he and Sherrie would spend a life together at the Straight Arrow, potentially filling the house with a number of children.

Once the truth came out, Sherrie withdrew, both physically and emotionally. Despite Gil’s every effort, he had been unable to reach her. The loneliness of living in such a marriage hit hard, and had only increased tenfold after Sherrie’s death.

Not even to himself had Gil admitted the great void in his life. It seemed ungrateful and almost wicked to complain when he had so many blessings. A happy, healthy son. A family property that generated a very comfortable lifestyle. A wide circle of friends.

But a man needed a woman in his bed at night. A woman by his side. A partner who would share dreams and sorrows and joy and troubles. Bailey seemed convinced that she was only passing through. And in truth, Gil had believed they had little basis for a long-term relationship. Their lives were so different.

But after last night...well...after last night, Gil was prepared to move heaven and earth to prove to her that she was wrong. He had no clear plan, no road map for avoiding the obstacles in their way. Nevertheless, he wasn’t prepared to walk away from an experience and a woman who had made him rethink his monastic lifestyle.

A cynical person might point out that sexual euphoria was no basis for making serious life decisions. That simply because Gil had made love to Bailey Collins five times in one night didn’t mean they were soul mates. That he was thinking with his male anatomy and not his brain.

Throughout history, sexual mistakes had brought down men with as much or more to lose than Gil. Sex often made fools of those who had the hubris to think they were invincible. Gil got it. He really did. But stubbornly, he believed his situation was different. That he and Bailey were different. They had connected last night with a fire and an intimacy that was as rare as it was stingingly real.

His thinking was muddled. There were things to be sorted out. And he felt as if he had a hangover, though he was stone-cold sober. But the future seemed brighter this morning. And for now, that was enough.

At the hospital, he parked and went to find Bailey. Royal Memorial was a modern, well-equipped facility outfitted with the latest in technology. Though Royal might not have the population of bigger towns and cities in Texas, there was plenty of money to go around, and the citizens had chipped in to endow various wings and such with generous gifts.

Bailey was waiting for him in the lobby. She had already checked with the information desk for the room number, so when Gil joined her, they headed for the bank of elevators.

“He’s in a regular room,” she said. “That’s a good sign.”

Gil kissed her cheek, hugging her briefly with one arm. They were alone in the elevator as they rode up. “I’m very proud of you, Bailey. Alex is a lucky man to have you on his side.”

Her small smile was gratified. “Thank you. But until we bring this to a close, I won’t be able to relax.”

They got off on the third floor. A doctor was just coming out of Alex’s room. Bailey flashed her badge and asked for an update.

The physician shook his head. “Not much to tell. We’re running some tests, but the headache is most likely tied to the concussion. Not to mention the fact that Santiago is trying so hard to force himself to remember. I’ve cautioned him to back off. To rest. To give his brain time to heal. But patience isn’t his strong suit.”

Gil had known the doctor for many years. The man was, in fact, a longtime friend of Gil’s parents. “Nate said there’s some kind of commotion going on.”

The doctor raised a bushy eyebrow, his expression slightly harried. “That’s why we wanted to alert Ms. Collins. You might say there are some new developments in the case. And unfortunately, the sheriff was summoned away on an emergency.”

Gil saw Bailey tense. “What kind of developments?” she asked.

“Mr. Santiago’s father and sister have arrived from Mexico. The sheriff examined their credentials thoroughly before we allowed them to have access, though he has posted security guards, as you can see. Alex is awake and resting comfortably at the moment. We did give him something for pain, so he’s a little groggy.”

Gil put a hand at Bailey’s back, following her into the room. By the window stood an imposing man with short, jet-black hair who bore a striking resemblance to the patient in the bed. The older man, probably in his mid-fifties, wore an expensive gold wristwatch and the kind of clothes that were made by a personal tailor. His brown eyes were not warm. Instead they had the flat, mud-like appearance of stagnant water.