Читать книгу His Pretend Wife - Lisette Belisle - Страница 10

His wife.

Abby pursed her lips, regretting the impulse the moment the words spilled from her mouth. However, once spoken, she couldn’t take the false statement back. With a few rash ill-considered words uttered in desperation, she’d claimed Jack Slade. How could she? In any case, she had little time to reconsider or come up with an alternative plan.

Preparing for liftoff, the pilot turned on the motor. The engine’s roar drowned out all thought. The helicopter blades spun, circling in a wide arc, churning up a thick white cloud of snow. Abby felt swallowed up in it. A few ice crystals struck her face.

She’d blocked out her brother’s presence.

Drew tried to stop her. He’d obviously heard her claim that she was Jack’s wife. He grabbed her arm, raising his voice above the motor. “Abby, this is insane. What are you doing? You can’t just pretend you’re married to Jack.”

“He’s unconscious.” Abby pulled free and took another step closer to the waiting helicopter. “He can’t go alone, not in his condition. How will he cope when he gets to the hospital? Someone has to go with him.”

“But not you. Jack means nothing to you.”

Abby squared her shoulders. “That’s not the point. He needs someone. There is no one else.”

Drew’s mouth tightened with disapproval. He searched her eyes for a long moment before releasing her. “All right, but God help you when Seth finds out.”

She shook her head. More than anything in the world, Abby wanted to feel truly connected to some place. Someone. Perhaps that someone was Seth Powers. And yet, she found herself saying, “Seth doesn’t own me.”

Drew said dryly, “Try telling him that.”

With a shiver of acknowledgment, Abby turned away from the warning in Drew’s eyes. When the paramedic reached down to give her a hand, she climbed on board the helicopter then quickly found a seat.

The sharp scent of antiseptic stung her eyes. A paramedic inserted an intravenous into the back of Jack’s hand, while asking, “How was he when you found him?”

“He said he was cold.”

“Did he recognize you?”

“Yes, he did.”

The man nodded, he was middle-aged with a kind face and thick eyebrows that shadowed his eyes. “That’s a good sign.”

“Jack will be okay?” She needed some reassurance, something to hang on to.

“We’re doing all we can. The thing is to get him to a hospital where the doctors can deal with his injuries. The nearest medical center is a good distance. So, hang on.”

“Yes, of course.” Fastening her seat belt, Abby took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

With the weight of her promise heavy on her conscience, she glanced at Jack. He lay still as death, and she prayed that he would live, that he would be whole.

She reached for his hand. “Hang on, Jack.”

Jack would never have asked for her help if he weren’t desperate. She’d seen it in his eyes.

From the moment they’d met, he’d seemed unapproachable, his hard eyes challenging her and a cynical edge creeping into his smile when he greeted her with a few terse words. He’d asked to see Drew. Abby hadn’t been able to see past his black leather jacket and motorcycle, but her brother had greeted Jack like an old friend. They’d met in prison—which did little to improve Abby’s opinion.

At the time, Jack had seemed so alien to all that was familiar. Since then, she’d never been able to shake that feeling of impending chaos. He threatened her secure world, adding to her concerns for her brother who was trying to rebuild his life after serving time in prison for violating federal safety code regulations.

Abby frowned, recalling that tumultuous time.

At the trial, Drew had pleaded innocent to the charge. However, he’d admitted to repairing a faulty gas tank valve instead of replacing it with a new one. That one error in judgment had caused an explosion at the family-operated migrant campground. Thankfully, no lives were lost, but the list of serious injuries and property damage was long. A jury had found Drew guilty, and the judge had thrown the book at him. Sentenced to five years in prison, Drew’s punishment hadn’t ended there. Everyone had turned their backs on him, his family had closed down their extensive farming and logging interests and left Henderson. Only Abby had remained loyal.

Three months ago, she’d come back to Henderson when Drew was released. Determined to atone for his mistakes, he’d reopened the sawmill and Abby had joined him. She’d invested both her time and money in the effort. Thus, she hadn’t been pleased when Jack Slade—an ex-con—turned up at the sawmill looking for a job. He was part of Drew’s past, a threat to the future.

Now, Abby leaned her head back with a sigh, admitting that she resented Jack’s presence for more personal reasons.

According to Drew, Jack Slade was an innocent man, wrongly imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit. Perhaps that part was true—but when Jack looked at Abby, there was nothing innocent about him.

For the first time in her life, she’d seen naked hunger in a man’s eyes. When she’d shrunk from Jack, his expression had quickly turned to derision. She’d been running away from him ever since.

Not that Jack noticed, she thought with a sad smile. He was obviously a loner.

Abby understood isolation.

She was the product of a small backwoods town and an exclusive boarding-school education. Separated from everyone and everything she loved best, she’d spent her childhood not knowing where she belonged. She’d been searching ever since.

Maybe Jack was searching too.

How odd to think they might have something in common—anything at all. Unwilling to grasp the implication, Abby glanced out the window.

Buffeted by a strong north wind, the helicopter lifted off the ground. The roar of the motor drowned out her thoughts. Flying into the clouds, she looked down at the ground below where Seth had joined her brother. Both men grew smaller and smaller as the helicopter gained altitude.

The downstate medical center was miles away; the trip seemed to take forever. In reality, it was less than two hours. Gradually, the city lights came closer until they were sweeping down onto the hospital roof, a flat rectangle that seemed too small to land on. Abby held her breath until the helicopter touched down with a jolt. It had reached its destination, but Abby’s journey was just beginning. Once the copter was anchored securely, she climbed down. She wrapped her coat around her, thankful for its warmth against the bitter cold and recalling how she’d shared it with Jack. Was he warm now?

An experienced hospital triage team took over.

After they exchanged a few hurried words with the rescue crew, a sense of urgency filled their faces. They sped Jack away. With very little experience of trauma, illness or hospitals, Abby struggled to keep up as Jack was whisked inside the building then down a labyrinth of corridors to an elevator. Doors opened, people rushed down hallways.

In the emergency unit, a nurse took over. “What’s his condition?”

While someone responded, the paramedic who had assisted Abby on the helicopter patted her shoulder. “He’ll make it. I have to go. Good luck.”

Abby caught her breath. She wanted to cling to him, he was the only familiar face among so many strangers. “Thank you,” she whispered. She didn’t even know his name, but he’d been kind.

When Jack disappeared through another set of swinging doors, the nurse barred her way. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait until the doctor has examined him. Admissions will want to speak to you. Someone will let you know if there’s any change in the patient’s condition.”

“And please try not to worry,” she added as an afterthought.

Abby wondered how many times the emergency-room nurse had to repeat those words in the course of a routine twenty-four hours. In any case, they did little to reassure Abby.

Feeling cut off, she retraced her steps and found the waiting room. A few tired decorations stood as a reminder that it was only six days after Christmas. She’d spent the holiday with Drew and his wife, Olivia. Abby wondered how Jack had spent the day.

The admissions desk was partitioned behind a wall with only a small window connecting it to the outside world.

Abby tapped on the glass to get someone’s attention. “I’d like some information,” she said when a nurse turned up.

The window slid open a few inches. “Weren’t you with the patient they just flew in from Henderson?”

Abby gripped the edge of the counter. “How is he?”

To Abby’s mounting frustration, the nurse answered indirectly. “We’re doing all we can.” She handed over a brown envelope. “Your husband’s valuables are in here. You can take them home with you.”

Feeling like a fraud, Abby took the thick envelope, then slipped it unopened into her coat pocket. “Can I see him?”

“One of the doctors will speak to you directly. In the meantime, I need some information.”

Abby volunteered Jack’s name, age, address, insurance information. She knew all those from his employment records at the sawmill. Allergies? None—that she knew of. Another line remained—next of kin.

Jack didn’t have any family to notify. Struck by the absolute aloneness of this man, Abby stared at the blank space, then took a deep breath. Gripping the pen, her hand shook as she penned in the name Abby Slade.

The black letters looked stark, a little thin and wobbly, nevertheless, the indelible ink couldn’t be erased. Releasing her breath, Abby dropped the pen on the counter.

To her relief, the receptionist gave the signature only a cursory glance. “We’ll let you know if there’s any change.”

The glass partition slid shut.

Completely cut off, Abby struggled with the urge to call the woman back and confess the deception. But then, she remembered. Jack. She’d promised to look after him. As the lies mounted, that was the only truth that mattered.

Abby bit her lip, buried her guilt and turned away. The thought of legal repercussions did cross her mind briefly; however, she dismissed the concern, refusing to let second thoughts deter her from helping Jack. Pretending to be his wife was a bit extreme by any standards, but as his self-appointed representative, she could see no other way to guarantee that he received the right treatment.

The waiting room was crowded.

A child was crying plaintively.

An elderly couple clung to each other.

Some teenagers talked too loudly in the hushed room.

Avoiding them, Abby bought a cup of coffee from a machine. Fortunately, she carried her wallet in her pocket. She found an empty chair. When she sipped the coffee, she spilled a few drops on her coat. Glancing down, she realized her hand was still shaking. She carefully set the cup down on a table.

Untouched, the coffee grew cold.

What was taking so long?

To distract herself, Abby watched a woman crocheting a pale-yellow wool scarf. Repeatedly, the ball of yarn rolled off the woman’s lap and onto the floor. Abby retrieved it twice before realizing the woman was apparently caught up in some inner turmoil and didn’t care. Abby wished she knew how to offer comfort. But the words remained locked inside. When the ball of yarn fell a third time, Abby looked away.

“Mrs. Slade?” The doctor had to repeat it twice.

Abby jumped. He was speaking to her. “Yes?”

He was frowning—not a good sign. “You came in with Jack Slade?” He looked down at some notes. “It says here you’re his wife?”

Abby couldn’t find the words to deny the connection to Jack. She nodded. And so, the web of lies grew.

And grew.

The doctor pinned her with a look that had her bracing her spine for bad news. “I don’t need to tell you he’s in pretty rough shape.” Not mincing his words, the doctor listed Jack’s injuries—a minor concussion, a broken arm, a couple of cracked ribs and a punctured lung, some possible internal injuries and spinal swelling. “We won’t know the extent until we take X-rays and run more tests.”

With each added word, Abby’s head spun. This was much worse than she’d feared. Poor Jack. Gradually, she became aware of what the doctor wasn’t telling her. “But what about the injury to Jack’s leg?”

The doctor wouldn’t meet her eyes. “We have to get him stabilized first. Then we’ll see.”

Abby took a fortifying breath. “Please, just tell me.”

“I’ll be frank. We’ll do what we can, but I can’t perform miracles. We may have to amputate.”

Abby gasped. “But you can’t do that!”

He argued, “We may not have a choice.”

Choices.

Abby tried to find words to persuade him. “But I know Jack. He would never give you permission.”

“He’s unconscious. In cases like this, we’ll need your permission as his next of kin.”

She clenched her hands and slid them into her coat pockets. “I won’t sign anything. I want Jack to have the best surgeon available. I don’t care what it costs.”

She could afford to pay the medical bills. More than likely, Jack would resent being an object of her charity. Well, he could just go ahead and hate her. At least, he would be alive and kicking—hopefully, with both legs.

The doctor offered no encouragement. “Flying someone up from Boston might take more time than we’ve got.”

“I’ll accept full responsibility.”

He frowned. “If you’re determined to do this, I won’t try to talk you out of it. I suppose you want to see him. I’m warning you, he’s not a pretty sight. The next hours are critical. If he’s going to make it, he’s going to need you to stand by him with every ounce of courage you can muster.”

Courage.

Abby wasn’t sure she qualified in that department. She’d never been tested, never had to fight for anything she wanted. Or anyone. Of course, the doctor was assuming she was married to Jack, which meant she must be in love with him. Thank goodness she wasn’t in love with the man! A woman would have to be out of her mind to love Jack Slade, or very reckless. And Abby was neither.

Apparently, taking her silence as consent, the doctor ushered Abby into the treatment room. There, she was shocked to find a hospital chaplain giving Jack the last rites.

Thus, while a medical team worked over Jack’s damaged body, the chaplain prayed for his soul. And Abby prayed for a miracle.

The lights glared bright and white; the room was green and sterile. A nurse said sympathetically, “I’m sure your husband can feel your presence. He’s semi-conscious, but if you speak to him, he might hear you.”

Feeling awkward, Abby leaned closer. “Jack, it’s me—Abby.” When she repeated the words, he turned his head, his eyelids fluttered. His face was ashen, the gash on his forehead stood out in stark relief. “You’re going to get well,” she whispered, touching her lips to his, as if to breathe more life into him. “Don’t give up.”

When he made no response, she held his hand. It was hard and calloused. And warm. Despite his grave injuries, his spirit was strong. She clung to that thought, wanting to believe it was true. From what she knew about Jack, he was no quitter. But would he recover from this latest blow? Even if he survived his injuries, the doctor didn’t hold out much hope when it came to saving Jack’s leg.

Jack clung to something.

Hope?

He wasn’t sure where he was. He didn’t remember many details of the accident. There were brief flashes of a helicopter ride; everything else was a blur. The pain was intense. He drifted in and out of consciousness, unaware of what was real and what was not, haunted by the fear that his leg had vanished into thin air. He couldn’t walk, couldn’t run. Voices penetrated the thick fog.

He opened his eyes, surprised to see his bedside surrounded by faceless shapes. Someone was praying over him. How many times did he have to repent? In truth, he was only guilty of making wrong choices and trusting the wrong people. Was he bitter? Yes. Nevertheless, the prayers soothed his soul and made him wish he had a life to live over.

Given a chance, he’d do so many things differently.

His grandmother had done her best to teach him right from wrong. She’d even insisted he serve time as an altar boy. Somehow, according to Gran, that was supposed to keep him out of trouble. It worked—but only after he’d beaten up the bully on the block who teased him for wearing a dress—standard altar-boy issue. After he won the boy’s respect, the other kids had left him alone, which suited Jack. He didn’t need friends, he didn’t need anyone.

Anyone who believed otherwise was a fool.

So much for the past. He didn’t have much of a future. He frowned when someone took his hand. Someone feminine clasped him firmly, palm to palm. He tried to hold on, returning the pressure, and felt the flutter of a pulse racing against his thumb. His own heart jumped in his chest. Reality started to fade. The room and its occupants receded, everything turned gray. More prayers. Jack couldn’t make out the words. But he recognized one voice.

Abigail.

He struggled to grasp her presence. Had she been around earlier? He was hurt, possibly dying. Why couldn’t she leave him in peace?

Then, incredibly, he felt her lips against his—as soft as he’d imagined. In his dreams.

So, this was a dream. He welcomed her presence because everything around was cold and dark and empty. On the inside, he was burning up, a white-hot pain knifed through him with each breath.

“Please, Jack, don’t give up.” That voice pulled him back from the brink. Her soft words penetrated the cloud of pain, making it almost bearable. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

He wanted to believe her.

His hand clenched around something soft and feminine; he wanted to hold on and never let go.

Time lost its meaning.

Hours later, while the rest of the world prepared to celebrate the arrival of a brand-new year, Abby sat alone with Jack in the intensive care unit where he was recovering after surgery. The doctors had dealt with the worst of his injuries—all but his leg—and he was breathing better.

Abby was still recovering from the shock of what she’d done—she’d lied, more than once, claiming to be Jack’s wife. Amazingly, no one had questioned her. Now, she was alone—with Jack. She’d never felt more frightened in her life.

She should call someone back home. No doubt, her brother was waiting for news of Jack. Somehow Abby couldn’t deal with all the questions. Not yet. A day of reckoning would come soon enough. She wondered how much Jack would remember—if anything.

She’d used her fake status to insist the doctors delay surgery on Jack’s leg until the following day. A top surgeon was flying up from Boston. Jack still wasn’t out of danger. She desperately wanted him to get well. That was the only real part of this whole charade.

A new year was about to ring in. In the holiday spirit, a nurse brought Abby some pastries and mock champagne—fizzy apple juice. “I know it’s difficult. But you’ll need your strength. You really should eat something.”

“Thank you.” Abby obeyed, unable to recall when she’d last eaten. All that was normal seemed unreal.

Jack’s accident had wiped away everyday considerations. How odd to realize that life could change and rearrange itself in a heartbeat. From the moment Abby had realized Jack was missing, nothing had been the same.

The nurse injected some medication into Jack’s intravenous and adjusted the drip. “If it’s any comfort, the whole staff is pulling for both of you.”

“That’s very kind of you. Please thank everyone.”

“Have you been married long?”

Unable to hide her growing discomfort, Abby blushed. “Not very long.”

“You must be very much in love with him.”

Abby wanted to shout a denial, but she couldn’t bring herself to burst the young woman’s romantic bubble. “How can you tell?”

“It shows.” The nurse smiled. “If you’re planning to spend the night, the chair’s comfortable. You’ll find an extra pillow and some blankets in the closet.” Before she left, she added, “Oh, I almost forgot—your brother called.”

That startled Abby. “What did you tell him?”

“That Jack’s current condition is stable.”

“Oh.”

Abby had no idea how she was going to explain her erratic behavior to her family. In addition to her parents, she had three brothers. Drew would understand. He wasn’t exactly known for his caution. In fact, his impulsiveness had gotten him into trouble a time or two. However, claiming a relationship to an unconscious man would be considered extreme even by Drew’s standards.

There was simply no explanation for her rash decision to embark on a rescue mission that included masquerading as Jack’s wife. After the nurse left, Abby sipped mock champagne from the paper cup, wondering if she was losing her mind.

The midnight hour came.

A flurry of hushed well-wishers out in the hallway announced its arrival. Only a few patients were well enough to join the staff in the subdued celebration.

How odd to start a new year in this place. With Jack Slade. Abby stared at his sleeping face. It wasn’t a soft face, his life experiences had left their mark. He was only twenty-seven but his youth had been spent in harsh places.

Now he had some new bruises, a cut over his left eye. Luckily, it wasn’t deep enough to need stitches and wouldn’t leave a scar to mar his ruggedly handsome features.

However, some scars remained on the inside, hidden from view, but they were there. Jack probably had a collection of them. Of course, he’d never share them with Abby. They were little more than strangers really. She wondered why that knowledge should hurt.

No doubt he would be furious when he learned she’d claimed to be his wife. It was only temporary. Abby silenced an irrational pang of regret. Then, out of some deep well of emotion buried deep within, she reached over and gently kissed him. There was no response.

In fairy tales, all it took was one chaste kiss to turn a frog into a prince. With a sad whimsical smile, Abby acknowledged that fanciful transformation wasn’t likely to happen in this case.

Nevertheless, she pressed her lips to his a second time and whispered, “Happy New Year, Jack.”