That she was already beginning to cling to her father was promising. Tentative acceptance was probably as much as Melissa could hope for. Jessica would have known how to deal with her at this stage; Melissa could only go by instinct. “I’ll come to see you tomorrow morning.”
“Now.”
“Tomorrow,” she repeated firmly.
“But I want to see you. I’ve seen you only the way you see yourself.”
And she wanted to see Cassie awake. “Okay, it may be a while. The doctor’s going to have to take care of my leg.”
“I’ll wait. Will Michael come too?”
Melissa looked down at Travis, who had been given a shot by the doctor who had arrived on the scene after Andreas had left. “Perhaps we’ll both go and visit him tomorrow. He got pretty banged up fighting the monster.”
“But he’s alive?”
“Oh, yes, he’s alive.” Thank you, God. It was a night for thanksgiving. Thanks for Travis. Thanks for Cassie. “We’re pulling into the driveway. I have to go now. I’ll see you later.”
“You did come,” Cassie said. “I told Daddy you would. He said the doctor would put you right to bed.”
“He tried.” Melissa made her way forward in the wheelchair. “And I can stay only a few minutes.”
“Are you hurting?” Cassie frowned. “You are hurting. I can feel it.”
“It’ll go away. The doctor gave me some medicine to make sure it does.” She stopped beside the bed and just sat, looking at Cassie. The girl was thin, but the fragility was gone, banished by the sheer vitality in her expression. “You look . . . good.”
“And you’re prettier than you think you are. Almost as pretty as Mama.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she made a face. “I’m all hoarse. I sound like a frog. Daddy said it’s because I’m not used to talking anymore.”
“That would cause it.” She couldn’t get enough of looking at the child. So alive. So wonderfully alive. She’d never seen this Cassie except in photographs and TV news. “It should get better in a few days.”
“I don’t care. It makes Daddy laugh.” She smiled. “And then I laugh.”
“That’s the way it works.”
“I forgot.” Her smile vanished. “You’re still hurting. You go to bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She turned and wheeled toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Early. Come early, Melissa.”
“Stop it. You don’t have to talk to me this way anymore.”
“It’s easier.”
“Don’t do it anyway.”
“But my throat’s sore. You wouldn’t want me to hurt my throat.”
“Not that sore. And people don’t understand when you talk like this. It would worry your mama and daddy.”
“Well, then I won’t do it with anyone but you.”
It was clear Cassie was going to get her way regardless of whatever Melissa said. Accept the compromise. “That might work.”
“Are you sure Michael is all right?”
She opened the door. “The doctor said he’ll be fine.”
“I’ve been worried. I’ve been trying and trying, but I can’t reach him. If I stay out, he has to stay out too. It’s not fair otherwise.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You tell him. It’s not fair. . . .”
“I want out of here,” Travis said as soon as Melissa came into his room the next morning. “And what are you doing in that wheelchair? Deschamps did hurt you. I wasn’t sure the bastard was lying. I hoped to hell he was.”
“Be quiet.” She moved close to the bed. “I’m okay. I’m just bound to this blasted chair for a while. Cassie and her father are going to visit you, but I wanted to see you first.” A luminous smile lit her face. “She came back last night, Travis.”
He stiffened. “My God.”
“She was jarred out of the trauma when she thought you were dying.”
“How is she?”
“Scared, eager . . . beautiful.” She swallowed hard. “So damn beautiful. I went in to see her last night and again this morning, and she smiled at me. I’ve never seen her smile.”
“Neither have I.”
She drew a deep breath. “We have to get you out of here. Right now Andreas is all sweetness and light.” She grimaced. “As much as he can be. But once he’s sure Cassie’s okay, I don’t know what he’ll do. He’s finding forgiving you a little difficult.”
“That qualifies as the understatement of the year. I didn’t expect forgiveness.”