Beneath the Stetson(53)

She lay still as death, her skin unnaturally pale. A large bandage covered an area that included her temple. An IV was secured in the hand that rested atop the sheet. Gil stared at that hand, remembering how it had caressed him.

Knowing Bailey, she would have done everything to save Cade. But it hadn’t been enough. Bailey hadn’t saved him, and neither had his father.

Emotion roiled in him, hot and deep. This was the woman to whom he wanted to propose marriage. By all rights he should be sitting at her elbow, promising to remain by her side.

But though every cell in his body wanted to hold her and comfort her, a sick guilt held him back. How could he think about loving Bailey when the only other person he loved with equal intensity was out there somewhere? Alone. Terrified.

A male nurse stepped in to check BP and temp and adjust the flow of medication. “She’s doing as well as can be expected, sir. It was a nasty wound.”

Gil leaned against the wall. No one told him she had cut her face. A neat line of stitches closed a gash on her forehead. She must have hit a rock or some other sharp object when she fell.

“Should I leave my number?” he asked, his lips numb as he formed the words. He felt as if he were outside his body observing.

The man nodded, moving about the bed with efficient, gentle motions. “Write it on the board, if you will. Someone will get in contact with you if there is any change. If you’ll permit me to give you some advice, sir, I’d suggest you go home and get some rest. You look pretty bad. Visiting hours start at ten in the morning. There’s nothing you can do for her now.”

Gil didn’t remember walking back to his truck, but he found himself behind the wheel. In some dim corner of his brain, he realized that he was impaired. Driving as slowly as a geriatric en route to Sunday church, he made his way home, determined not to hurt anyone else.

Though it was cold, he sat on the back porch to call Nate. But there was no news. The investigation was ongoing. They were doing everything they could to find Cade.

The housekeeper had gone home. She left instructions for heating dinner. Gil fixed a plate of chicken casserole and ate five or six bites. Moments later he was in the bathroom throwing up.

He couldn’t walk upstairs. He couldn’t look into his son’s bedroom. He couldn’t look at the bed where he and Bailey had made love with such happy abandon.

His soul in ashes, he stretched out on the sofa in the living room and slung an arm over his eyes.

* * *

Bailey didn’t want to wake up. Somewhere just offstage, pain waited, deep and vicious. She clung to the drug-induced fog, well aware that the alternative was not something she wished to face.

Hours passed. Maybe weeks. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. Nothing could hurt her in this wonderful cocoon.

But eventually, her cowardice was challenged. Professional voices, sympathetic but demanding, insisted she accept reality. Swimming toward the surface, she noted the various aches and pains that held her down. The crushing throb in her skull was the worst.

She opened her eyes cautiously. The light was bright. Too bright. Turning her head slowly, she focused her eyes on the man sitting by her bed. Frowning, she tried to decipher what was wrong with the picture. “Nate?” she croaked.

The sheriff jumped to his feet, looking down at her with an indecipherable expression. “Let me get the nurse,” he said.

“No, wait.” She frowned. “Why are you here?”

He rubbed a hand over his chin. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Gil?” The omission of his name seemed ominous.

“He’s on his way.” The answer was too quick, too hearty.

She closed her eyes, sifting through the layers of memory. A hospital. Something had happened. Suddenly, the truth crashed down on her. A wail ripped from her throat. “Cade,” she cried, her head pounding. “What happened to Cade?”

Nate went white, and suddenly the room was filled with medical personnel. Seconds later, the fog returned...

* * *

Gil and Nate stood at the foot of the bed. Bailey’s doctor was there, as well. The older man’s expression was grim. “We’ve backed off the sedative. You’ll have to be quick. This morning her BP skyrocketed when she realized what had happened.”

“What if she can’t help us?” It was Gil’s worst fear. He had hung all his hopes on the fact that Bailey would be able to explain things when she woke up.

Nate shifted from foot to foot, his gaze watchful. “We’ll work with what we have.”

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Bailey returned to consciousness. The first sign that she was at all aware of her surroundings was the frown that creased the space between her eyebrows.