Chapter 12
Jon squeezed her hand gently before letting go and stepping out of the room. The hallway was quiet, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow on the polished floors. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart before approaching the nurse's station.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice surprisingly steady. "Could you please send the doctor to room 314? She's in a lot of pain."
The nurse gave him a sympathetic nod and picked up the phone to page the doctor. Jon's mind wandered back to the traumatic events, the fear and desperation he felt as he searched for her, praying he wouldn't be too late. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to erase the haunting images.
The doctor arrived swiftly, a calm presence that Jon found reassuring. "I'll take care of her," the doctor said, placing a gentle hand on Jon's shoulder. "You should get some rest too."
Jon nodded, though he knew rest would be elusive. As the doctor entered the room, Jon lingered by the door, watching as they attended to her. She seemed so fragile, her strength sapped by the ordeal, yet she had survived. That alone was a miracle he cherished.
Finally, he forced himself to step back, knowing she was in good hands. He found a chair in the waiting area and sank into it, his body heavy with exhaustion. He closed his eyes, but sleep did not come. Instead, he replayed the moment he found her, the immense relief mingled with fury at the man who had brought her such pain.
He was bringing his hands to rub over his face when he saw the blood that had seeped between his blunt nails. Clenching his fists in potent anger, he had to take several breaths to steady himself.
The bastard was dead. He was lying cold and lifeless on a slab in a morgue and could not hurt her anymore. But that was not enough. He wanted him alive so he could tear him from limb to limb, for daring to lay a hand on her.
He should have been the one to kill him. He had hurt her, and Jon blamed himself. He was suffering from guilt. It had been unforgivably stupid to take her back to the cabin and leave her there alone.
And he wondered, the anguish rushing through him, if she blamed him too. She had been hurt because of him. She had come here to get away from her frenetic lifestyle and had almost lost her life.
Rubbing a hand over his knee, he closed his eyes wearily. He should call her parents, assure them that she was all right. By tomorrow, it would be all over the news, and he did not want them hearing from that source.
Pushing to his feet when the door swung open, he faced the doctor.
“How is she?”
“Sleeping. She lost a lot of blood and is a very fortunate young woman. One inch lower and she…”
“Yes.” Jon did not want to think about it. He had figured that out when he saw the wound. “Any complications?”
“No.” Dr. Alexander rubbed a hand over his face. “She is otherwise healthy, which was a plus.”
“How long do you anticipate keeping her here?”
“A week. We want to make sure she is fully recovered.” He glanced at the young man. “You should go on home. She will sleep through the night.”
Jon nodded. He felt as if he had aged several decades and even his bones were weary.
“I think I might. I will be back first thing in the morning. But if there are any changes…?”
“You will be contacted.” The doctor reassured him.
“Good. I just need to see her before I leave.”
“Of course.” Stepping back, the doctor made way for him to slide by.
Jon walked quietly into the room, his heart pounding in his chest. She looked so peaceful, her chest rising and falling steadily with each breath, belying the trauma she had endured.
He took a seat beside her bed, careful not to disturb her. Reaching out, he gently took her hand in his, feeling the warmth of her skin against his palm. It brought him a small measure of comfort.
He couldn't bear the thought of losing her, and the fear still gripped him tightly.
Leaning in, he whispered softly, "I'm so sorry. I promise I won't let anything happen to you again." He pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, his resolve strengthening with each passing second.
He stayed by her side for a while longer, simply watching her sleep. The weariness from the day's events weighed heavily on him, but he didn't want to leave her. Eventually, he knew he had to let her rest and take care of himself as well.
With a final squeeze of her hand, he stood up and walked out of the room. The corridors were quiet, and his footsteps echoed softly as he made his way to the exit. The night air greeted him, cool and crisp, and he took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind.
Tomorrow was another day, and he would face it with renewed determination. She would heal, and together, they would move forward. But for now, he needed rest, if only to be strong for her when she needed him most.
*****
“Mother.” He had intended to go straight upstairs to his room and take a much-needed shower, when she stepped from the living room, her face haunted with worry. “You did not need to wait up.”
She felt a pang as she realized how tired and drained he looked. “Of course I did. You must be hungry.”
To his surprise, he realized he was in fact starving. It seemed like ages since he shared breakfast and lunch with Kamilah, and they went to the cemetery together. The traumatic events following that had wiped everything from his mind.
“I am. I was about to go and get cleaned up.” He lifted his hands and stared at his bloodstained nails, wondering if he would ever get the blood out. “It’s her blood.” He stood there for a few seconds staring at it as if he had no idea what to do next.
“Darling…”
“I felt her life draining away and I wanted…” His breath hitched and the overwhelming emotions he had managed to keep a tight rein on, came crashing down. He dropped down on the nearest sofa and buried his face in his hands.
Silent sobs shook his broad shoulders and for a minute, Leonie stood there stunned by the display of raw emotions. She had never seen her son cry – not since he had become an adult. Not even when his dad had died. Sucking in a breath, she rushed forward and knelt in front of him, wrapping her arms around him.
He resisted at first, but then leaned into her as the horror of what might have happened course though his body.
Taking a deep cleansing breath, he eased back and wiped his face with the back of his hand. His blue eyes swam with moisture and caused her heart to ache.
“Something to eat.” Slapping her hands on her thighs, Leonie rose gracefully and went to the sideboard where a dish was already prepared for him. “And something to drink.”
“In that order.” He smiled at her weakly, grateful that she was giving him the chance to recover his composure.
“Of course.” She brought a tray over to him and sat on the opposite sofa. “You need your strength.”
“The sheriff will want a statement.”
“They already got one from your men. Billy was the one who pulled the trigger. It was ruled self-defense.”
He scooped up the thick beef stew and automatically chewed, not really tasting anything.
“He was going to rape her.”
“She is a very brave young woman. I understand, she fought him off.”
His breath hitched, and he felt the emotions coming to the fore again. Battling them down, he forced himself to continue eating. “It’s my fault.”
“Darling…”
He shook his head, “He did all of it, kidnapped her, assaulted her and then tried to kill her, but I should not have left her at the cabin.”
“You could not have known.” Leonie leaned forward and stared at him earnestly. “We have never had anything like this happen before…”
“She came here for peace and quiet.” Picking up the glass of scotch, he swallowed too quickly and almost choked. “And was almost killed. By a goddamned ranch hand that I hired.” His hands clenched into fists. “She’s going to blame me.”
“How can she?”
Shoving out of the chair, he strode towards the hearth where a cheerful fire was burning in earnest. Everything will be back to normal tomorrow.
He had no doubt that his men had already cleaned up the mess the bastard had made, and Jack was back home recuperating. But in his heart and mind, things were still unsettled. His woman was lying in a hospital bed with a hole in her flesh, her flawless skin was going to be scarred, and he could not stand it.
Her face was still bruised where the bastard had put hands on her and he wanted to kill the son of a bitch – but that had been taken away from him. He was not her hero; he had not saved her. And had almost been too late. He felt raw and infuriated.
“Jon?”
Shaking himself from the murderous thoughts filtering through his mind, he tossed down the rest of the drink and slammed the glass down on the marble.
“I’m sorry Mother, but I just need to be alone right now. I have to be back at the hospital first thing in the morning and there are things I need to take care of.” He started to leave the room and then turned back to smile at her. “Thanks for waiting up and for the meal.” With that, he was gone.
Leonie carefully removed the tray with the half-eaten meal and tried to still her shaking hands. She was also trying her best not to blame the girl who had put that look of anguish and pain on her son’s face.
It was unfair, considering that the woman had just been shot and could have lost her life. But she was a mother and hated to see her son hurt.
He was in love with her. All the way. Leonie had never seen him like this before. It was worse than before. Back then, he had been able to shake off the hurt and betrayal and get right back into the fray of things.
After several weeks, he had been like himself again. This time, she feared for him. If that young woman decided that she was leaving, if she decided that here was not where she belonged, Leonie knew instinctively that her son would not weather that particular storm. It would destroy him.
The unease that gripped Leonie was deepening. She couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom, the sense that something irrevocable was on the horizon.
She mechanically put away the tray, her mind racing with thoughts of Jon and the woman who had come to mean so much to him. She had seen the way he looked at her, the gentleness in his eyes that had never been there before.
As she finished cleaning up, Leonie wandered into the living room, her gaze falling on the photograph of Jon as a young boy, proudly holding up his first catch from a fishing trip.
She smiled wistfully, remembering the boy who had grown into the strong, determined man she saw today. Yet, beneath that strength lay a vulnerability that only someone who truly loved him could see.
The clock ticked on, the silence of the house enveloping her like a shroud. Leonie knew she needed to talk to the young woman, to make her understand the depth of Jon's feelings and the consequences of her decisions. But she also knew that she had to tread carefully, for one wrong word could push her away forever.
Picking up a framed photo of father and son, she passed a finger over the protective glass, holding the ornate frame carefully in both hands. It had been taken on their fishing boat. Her husband had decided that it was time to introduce their son to the world of the sea and beneath the surface.
James had been an active outdoors man and wanted that for Jon as well. They had gone scuba diving, fishing, deep sea diving, sporting events that had the hairs standing on the back of her neck.
Lowering herself on the sofa, her son had previously occupied, she felt the unbidden tears at the back of her eyes. She missed him every single day of the week. The scent, his deep, rolling laughter, the steadiness of his gray eyes and the way he used to hold her when they sleep.
She had loved him since the first day she saw him and loved him even now. He had been her first and would very likely be her only.
She had had men approaching her with the intention of starting something up – men who had been friends with her husband, business associates and men who she met during her travels, but something had held her back from going all the way.
She had allowed a few of them some liberties. One had come close to getting her into bed, but at the last minute, she realized that she could not go through with it. Besides that, she had to be careful.
She was the widow of a very wealthy man and the mother of the heir to a fortune. Yes, she acknowledged that she was still beautiful, despite her advanced years, but most of them looked at her and saw dollar signs.
She had listened to stories from friends and acquaintances. Women who had been unable to bear the loneliness and jumped into relationships, only to suffer immense regret.
She was not capable of falling for another man, the way she had with James, and she accepted the status quo. Trailing a finger over the laughing face, she fought back the tears and wished to God that he was still here with her.
“Our son needs you, darling.” She whispered achingly. “Now more than ever. I don’t know what to do for him. He’s in love, deep and over his head and I am terribly afraid that she is going to hurt him. And there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.”
Leaning back, she clasped the framed photo to her chest and closed her eyes wearily.
*****
Slapping his hands on the blue green tiles, he ducked his head, closing his eyes as the steaming hot water pommeled him. He did not want to think. His emotions were too raw, his insides bruised, and his body exhausted. It had been a hell of a day that had started out so wonderfully good.
Making sweet love to the woman he was beginning to think of as his own and serving her breakfast.
He had shared some things he never shared with another living soul, had taken her to visit his dad’s grave and had every intention of taking her back to make love to her until they were both weak and unable to cope.
How could he have imagined it would turn out to be such a disaster and a near tragedy? How could he predict that one of his own men, albeit an itinerant would do something like that? Would wreak such havoc in their lives?
Touching the knob, he turned off the water and just stood there with droplets dripping off him. Clenching his hands into fists, he slammed it against the tiles until the skin was broken and even then, he did not feel the pain.
Turning, he braced himself against the tiles and slowly slid down, his knees weak. Clasping his hands between his thighs, he stared at the bruises, actually surprised to see them there.
Still staring at the bruises, his mind wandered back to the past few hours. He remembered the terror in her eyes when the attack had started, her desperate cries for help.
He had been like a man possessed, driven by the primal instinct to protect her, to keep her safe from harm. But the damage had been done, and he felt an overwhelming sense of failure. He had promised her safety, and yet she had been hurt.
Jon felt a surge of anger rising within him. Anger at himself for not being able to prevent the incident, anger at the world for its unpredictability. He had wanted to give her the world, to show her the depths of his love, but now all he had to offer her – was what? He wondered.
As he sat there, the water cooling around him, he thought about his mother. He knew she worried about him, that she saw the pain he tried to hide. He remembered her words, her gentle voice urging him to be careful, to protect his heart. But he was in too deep, too far gone to turn back now.
He took a deep breath and stood up, the cold tiles pressing against his back. He had to face her; had to see the woman he loved and assure her that they would get through this. Together.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he stepped out of the shower, water still dripping from his hair. Toweling himself dry, he searched for a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt.
He had told his mother that he had to be up early, but the truth was that he was afraid to go to sleep. The cold dread was inside him that the minute he closed his eyes, he would get the call that something had happened.
That some complications had come up and she had taken a turn for the worse. He should not have left her side, he thought angrily, as he paced the length of the bedroom.
For the first time in his life, the place felt like a prison. Moving towards the recessed cabinet, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and took it with him to bed. He would try not to get drunk out of his mind, but he needed something to take the edge off and make him sleep.
*****
Her eyes flickered open and for a few seconds, she had no idea where she was. A frown touched her brow as she stared at the snowy white walls and the unfamiliar surroundings.
Turning her head, she felt a jolt at the machines humming at the side. Then memories, the awful reality of what she went through came tumbling back in rapid order.
She had been kidnapped, dragged from the cabin at gun point. Assaulted and almost raped and had to fight tooth and nail to get away from the bastard who had been determined to have his way with her. A sob escaped her, and she clamped down on her bottom lip to stop it. She was not a damn victim.
But it’s just that she had spent her entire life in the big city, hopping from country to country and never experienced anything like this before. The irony was that she had come to a small town to get some R&R, a place that was noted for its peaceful existence and almost crime-free reputation.
Blinking back the enraged tears, she looked for him and when it was evident he was not in the room, she felt a sudden sense of acute longing. She wanted him with her, wanted to feel his strong arms around her, to reassure her that everything was going to be fine, that the bastard was really dead, and she had nothing to fear.
“No.” She whispered. “You’re not a damsel in distress. You survived it. And you certainly don’t need a man to tell you that you’re okay.” Inhaling sharply, she fought to quell the panic and fear welling up inside her.
She felt shaky and weak. The bandage on her shoulder was plain to see and was an evidence of what had happened. The fact that she was still here, and breathing was an immense relief to her, because she was aware that it could have gone a different way. If Jon and his men had not…
Shaking her head, she fought the unconsciousness trying to claim her. She would go back home of course. And first thing in the morning, she was going to have to tell her family what had happened to her.