Читать книгу Branded as Trouble - Delores Fossen, Delores Fossen - Страница 11

CHAPTER FOUR

“I DON’T WANT whipped cream in my boxer shorts,” Roman mumbled. He wasn’t sure why, but it was hard to speak.

“All right,” someone agreed. “Seems like a reasonable request to me.”

It took Roman several moments to process the comment. It wasn’t easy because, in addition to it being hard to speak, it was also hard to think. His head was whirling like an F5 tornado. But, despite the whirl, he thought he might recognize the voice. Not Tiffany Ann, standing in his living room.

But rather his mother.

Hell. Even in a dream he didn’t want to talk to his mother about whipped cream sex, so Roman forced himself to wake up. Maybe there was glue or something on his eyes because he had to struggle to get them open.

Bad idea.

The light stabbed in his eyeballs and therefore his head. In addition to the whirling thoughts and dreams, he was also in pain.

“Would you like whipped cream somewhere else?” she asked. “Maybe like in some hot chocolate or on a piece of pie?”

Definitely his mother.

Roman got his eyes open again, expecting the remnants of the dream to vanish. It didn’t. His mother was right there, standing next to his bed. Except it wasn’t even his bed. Not his room, either.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“The hospital. We both are.”

That’s when he noticed his mom was indeed wearing a hospital gown. And he remembered. She’d been admitted for the heart problem with the funny name. His son was here, as well, and that caused Roman to jackknife to a sitting position so he could check on Tate.

Another bad idea.

Because the pain wasn’t just in his head. It was also in his side where the bronco had kicked him. His mom caught on to his shoulders and eased him back down on the mattress. Roman was already going in that direction, anyway, because he didn’t have a choice. He had to get control of the pain before he could walk.

“Your appendix ruptured a couple of hours ago,” Belle explained. “You had surgery.”

Yes, he remembered falling. Remembered the concern he’d seen on Mila’s face. But he didn’t have a single memory of the surgery. Later, he would want to know more about that, but for now there was something a lot more pressing.

“Where’s Tate?” he asked. “I want to see him.”

“He’s with the doctor right now, but he’ll be done in a few minutes.” Belle motioned toward the two other beds that were to Roman’s left. “Doc Sanchez fixed up this room for all of us. Isn’t it nice? It used to be two rooms, but it had one of those squishy dividers that he pulled back. This way we can be together but still have two bathrooms.”

Maybe it was the fog in his head or the pain, but Roman didn’t get it. “All of us? Here? Together?”

Belle nodded, smiled. “He thought it would be a good idea for you, me and Tate to be close to each other.”

It wasn’t a good idea at all. “He knows that you and I don’t get along,” Roman reminded her.

Belle shrugged. “Maybe he thought it’d be good therapy or something.”

Well, it was or something, all right. It was stupid.

As soon as he could, Roman would request another room. Better yet, he’d get out of here the moment he could stand up. No way did he want to be trapped with the woman he’d left town to escape.

“You want me to see if the nurse will bring you some whipped cream now?” Belle asked. “That’s all you’ve been mumbling about since they brought you in from recovery.”

Hell’s bells. He hoped he hadn’t said too much. Of course, unlike Tate, his mom probably didn’t know what a Brazilian strip wax was.

“But I have to tell you,” she added. Any time she started a sentence with those six words, Roman knew that nagging would shortly follow. “I think it’s a bad idea to eat all that sugar right after surgery. Of course, you always were a rebel like that even when it wasn’t good for you. I don’t think you can argue with me about that.”

Oh, he could, but Roman chose not to.

“No whipped cream,” he assured her. He glanced down at her arm and realized she had an IV pole next to her. An IV needle in her arm, too. Roman had one, as well, but he wasn’t standing. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Probably, but when you started talking, I thought we should have a little chat first before Tate gets here.”

Roman groaned. “I don’t want to hear anything from you about Valerie and me not getting married—”

“Agreed.”

It was a good thing Roman was lying down because he would have collapsed from shock. In the past thirteen years, his mother had never passed up an opportunity to harp on him. Maybe she was drugged up or something.

Heck, maybe he was drugged up.

“Tate needs peace and quiet right now,” she went on. “I’m supposed to have that, too. And I’m betting the doc won’t like it if you’re all agitated and wanting to eat whipped cream. Might cause you to pop a stitch. Anyway, I thought we could each come up with a safe topic to discuss like the weather or whipped cream. We could even have our own safe words.”

“Safe words?” Maybe his mom would have known about a Brazilian, after all. Mercy, he hoped not. He had enough unresolved issues with her without putting that in his head.

“Yes, you know like bumfuzzle or Dippity-do,” Belle explained. “Words that we wouldn’t normally say. We could say one of them if the conversation is taking a direction that might hit one of our hot buttons. Then we would immediately stop talking about whatever it is we were talking about. I mean a complete verbal shutdown on the subject.” She paused. “You don’t use Dippity-do in conversation, do you? Because if you do, we could go with another word.”

Roman was certain that even with the pain and fog, he managed a blank stare. “I don’t use Dippity-do. I don’t know what the hell it is.”

“Hair gel,” she said as if the answer were obvious. “And bumfuzzle is when you’re confused. My granddaddy used to say it. But I have to tell you, Roman, you’ve got more hot buttons than I do. Any little thing will tick you off. You’ve always been that way, and I think it’s gotten worse—”

“Dippity-do,” Roman snarled through clenched teeth. He didn’t expect it to work. But it did.

Belle hushed—a complete verbal shutdown on the subject—but she did add an indignant wobble of her head as if disapproving of the shushing.

“Well, this was your idea.” He stared at her, daring her to disagree with that, or with anything else he might add to it.

“Bumfuzzle,” she mumbled.

Good. They’d reached a truce. A weird one with words he didn’t especially want to say aloud, but the truce was in the nick of time.

Because Tate came into the room.

His boy looked better than he had when Roman had seen him earlier. Tate wasn’t throwing up at least. But he was in a wheelchair, and Sophie was pushing him. That caused Roman to try to jolt from the bed again to help her, but Sophie waved him off.

“Don’t even think about getting out of that bed,” Sophie scolded Roman. “You scared the living daylights out of all of us when you collapsed. How’s your head? You smacked it pretty hard when you hit the floor.”

Roman touched his fingers to his forehead. Yep, that was the source of the pain, and he remembered hitting it. Also remembered Mila trying to break his fall.

Sophie maneuvered the wheelchair close to the middle bed, and Tate got out of the chair and onto it.

“Are you okay with this sleeping arrangement?” she asked, glancing at all three of them.

Roman would have slept in a pit of rattlesnakes if he could be near his son. Since there was a sudden lump in his throat, he settled for nodding. Tate nodded, as well. Maybe because he figured Roman wouldn’t chew him out in front of Belle. He wouldn’t. But not because Belle was there. He needed to have a long, serious talk with Tate, but he had to keep his temper out of it.

Even if he was hurt and furious that Tate had done what he had.

“Are you okay?” Roman asked him.

Tate shrugged and grunted. It was more of a response than Roman normally got so he’d take it.

“The doctor said he’d be in soon to talk to you,” Sophie explained. “And a nurse will be by to take Tate to meet the therapist.”

Tate grunted again, a sound that could have meant anything. Roman hoped it was a sound of approval because Tate certainly needed to see someone.

“Garrett and Nicky will be here in a couple of minutes,” Sophie went on. She dropped down into the wheelchair and rubbed her belly. “Clay’s on his way, too. They won’t stay long, though, because visiting hours end at nine.”

Roman tried to check the time, but he wasn’t wearing his watch. He didn’t have his phone, either. But since it was dark outside, it had to be past eight.

“Is Clay gonna arrest me?” Tate asked.

Sophie glanced at Roman and Belle again, maybe to see if either of them had put that idea in Tate’s head. Roman certainly hadn’t. Belle shook her head, as well, and got back in her bed.

“No, of course not,” Roman assured him, and Clay had better not try, either. He wasn’t sure if attempted suicide was illegal or not, but it didn’t matter. “Any idea how long we’ll all be here?” he added to Sophie.

“If she doesn’t have another episode and agrees to bed rest at home, Mom will be released tomorrow. Tate will stay until you’re discharged. That’ll be two or three days, depending on how you behave,” Sophie quickly added when Roman opened his mouth to complain that he didn’t want to spend that much time in a hospital. “If you try to rush this, you could mess up your stitches.”

That bit off whatever complaint he was about to make. Plus, there was a silver lining to this that he was just now seeing. Once Belle was discharged, Tate and he would be in here alone. Where they could maybe talk.

There was a soft knock on the door, and since it was already open, Roman saw Mila. Her expression was as tentative as the look in her eyes. As it usually was whenever she was around him. She was already nibbling on her bottom lip.

“Come in,” Sophie insisted. She went to Mila and pulled her into her arms for a hug. They’d been best friends for as long as Roman could remember, and it was clear their friendship was still strong.

Roman wished he could feel the same way about Mila. After all, she’d been damn good to Tate, and today she’d probably saved his life. He owed her for that, but sometimes when he looked at her, she reminded him of Valerie and the heart-kicking he’d taken from her.

When Mila and Sophie finished the hug, Mila lifted a bag. “My mom sent gifts. Sorry,” she immediately added. “They’re wrapped so I don’t know what they are.”

She took out a pink box for Belle, a blue one for Tate and a bright red one that she handed to Roman. He was a little surprised that Vita would remember to include him in the gift giving. Or, for that matter, that she even knew he was in the hospital. Of course, everyone in town probably already knew. If they’d had a local TV channel, it would have been on the news.

Belle opened her box right away and took out what appeared to be a small jar of ointment. “It says on the label it’s for healing.” She unscrewed the lid, smelled it, and some of the color blanched from her face. She quickly resealed it. “Well, it’s the thought that counts. Please tell your mother thank you.”

After the face his grandmother had made, Tate was a little hesitant opening his. He touched it the way a person might if they were trying to avoid poison ivy. But there was nothing smelly inside. He took out a yo-yo. Tate glanced at him, Belle, Sophie and then Mila as if they might have an explanation for the gift choice.

None of them did.

Roman wasn’t sure Tate even knew what it was, but his son forced a smile. “Please tell Mrs. Banchini thanks and that I like it.”

Mila smiled, not forced, and all attention then turned to Roman. He nearly feigned being too weak to deal with opening presents, but one of them would just open it for him. He was going to have to man-up and deal with whatever Vita had given him. Considering, though, that the woman put curses on people, he approached his with the same caution that Tate had.

There was a gold foil wrapper inside.

At first, Roman thought it was candy, but no, it was a condom.

He quickly shut the lid, cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, personal,” he said because everyone was clearly waiting for the big reveal. “Tell Vita thanks,” he added, and hoped it sounded sincere.

He wasn’t.

Did the woman expect him to be having sex while he was in the hospital? Good gravy. He really had to do something to tone down his badass reputation.

“Is it an egg with poop on it?” Mila asked. “Because my mom likes to send stuff like that. She gave me chicken poop earlier when—” She stopped and suddenly got very interested in looking in the empty bag that had once held the gifts.

Roman didn’t think there was anything else interesting in there, but he did wonder why Mila hadn’t finished. And why Vita had given her chicken shit. He had no intention of asking her either of those things—he could probably find out from Sophie, anyway—and besides, they were interrupted.

A nurse stepped into the doorway. Not the Busby sister, but it was someone Roman knew well. Alicia Dearman. He’d lost his virginity to her way back when, and judging from the smile she gave him, she was remembering that in great detail. Roman remembered, too, and it wasn’t something he wanted to repeat.

He could almost feel his testosterone levels drop with that thought.

Still, Alicia was a barracuda in bed. And yes, teeth were involved, and even if he hadn’t just had surgery, he wasn’t looking for sex. He wanted to focus on his son.

Even though Vita obviously thought the sex would win out.

“How are y’all doing?” Alicia asked. She spared Belle, Mila, Sophie and Tate only a glance and kept her attention on Roman.

Roman adjusted his badass expression and added a bunched-up forehead so it would look as if he was in pain. He was, so it wasn’t that hard to do.

“Poor baby,” Alicia said. “I’ll see about getting you some meds. For now, though, I need to borrow this little guy. Dr. Woodliff wants to see him.”

That was a name Roman didn’t recognize, but he figured it was the therapist. “Can I go with him?” Roman asked.

“No, that’s okay,” Tate quickly said, and Alicia made a sound of agreement.

Roman tried not to let that sting. Especially since it would have been hard for him to get out of bed right now. Still, he wanted to know what the therapist was going to say to Tate. And vice versa.

Especially the vice versa.

Tate might tell the doc that the reason he took those pills was because he hated his dad. Hell, Tate could think Roman hated him. He didn’t. But for some reason, Tate just wasn’t feeling the love. Maybe because he was feeling Valerie’s rejection even more.

“I’ll just walk with them,” Sophie said when the nurse wheeled Tate out into the hallway. “That way, I can maybe find out how long Tate’s session will take.”

Roman thanked her. Sophie wouldn’t listen at the door or anything, but she might be able to get a sense of how Tate felt about all of this. His son was far more likely to open up to his aunt, or even to the janitor, than he was to Roman.

“I should be going, too,” Mila said. She headed for the door, but Belle practically scurried off the bed to stop her.

His mother looked in the hall and shut the door. She also pulled Mila closer. “I had one of those life-changing moments when I thought I was dying,” Belle said to her.

His mom probably thought she was whispering softly enough for Roman not to hear her. She wasn’t.

“I’ve heard that can happen.” Mila glanced at him as though he knew what this was all about. Maybe Belle was going to give her some safe words, too. If so, he hoped they were better than bumfuzzle or Dippity-do.

“It got me thinking,” Belle went on. “I stopped living my life when I lost my husband. It was as if I buried myself right along with him, and I want that to change. I’m only sixty, not a hundred and sixty.”

Mila gave him another uncomfortable glance, but his only response was a “you’re on your own here” shrug.

“Anyway, I know you love those online fantasy sites,” Belle went on. Now, that got his attention, and Roman found himself trying to quiet his pulse just so it wouldn’t drum in his ear and he could hear better.

Fantasy sites? Maybe this had something to do with books. After all, Mila did own a bookstore.

“I’m off those for a while,” Mila whispered. Her voice was considerably softer than Belle’s, but he still heard it.

“Yes, the Buttercup fiasco. I heard you talking to Sophie about it on the phone. But that was just one negative experience out of a dozen or more, right? And honestly, as pretty as you are, no wonder Wesley wanted to get in your pants.”

That really got his attention. Was this Wesley guy real? From the sound of it, yes. And also from the sound of it, he’d done something to Mila to upset her.

“I want the name of the site,” Belle went on. “I want to have a 10 movie experience. You know, Bo Derrick running down the beach with her hair braided.”

Mila shook her head. “I’m not familiar with that—”

“’Cause you’re too young, but I remember it.” His mother made what appeared to be a dreamy sigh. “And I always wanted to do it. I want to do that beach scene where the seaweed washes over the kissing couple, too.”

What the hell?

Roman must have made some kind of sound, probably a grunt of uncomfortable confusion, because both women looked at him.

“Did you hear us?” Belle asked, her tone one of pure shock. He wasn’t sure why it was hard to believe he’d heard her since he was only about ten feet away.

“I heard some of it. What’s this about, anyway?”

Mila couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable if he’d put wet Pop Rocks in her panties. “Nothing. Just a way to keep myself entertained.” She brushed a quick kiss on Belle’s cheek. Waved an equally quick goodbye to Roman. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” she added to his mom, and hurried out.

Roman waited for Belle to explain. And waited. And he waited some more. When it was obvious she wasn’t going to spill all, he opened his mouth to ask her about it. But opening it was as far as he got.

“Bumfuzzle,” she said. His mother made a locking motion with a key over her lips and got back in bed.

Heck. Roman hadn’t expected the safe word to work in her favor. But he didn’t press it. One way or another, he’d just get the truth from Sophie.