Part 22 (1/2)

The guy finally crashes, there was no way she was going to wake him up just yet. Wasn't like the cot would be much more comfortable than the chair, anyway. She glanced at her chart, gauged the time. Ms. Branch's wounds were healing well enough, and she could hold off an hour before she changed the bandages.

That hour wasn't much. This man looked like he needed a week horizontal. During s.h.i.+ft changes, the nurses had talked about their unusual ICU patient. They didn't get too many patients come in with a collapsed lung, an injury from a whip, and an escort that consisted of federal agents and a bestselling fantasy author.

A bestselling author who hadn't left the patient's side for more than ten minutes at a stretch, and then only to get food or cal and check on his daughter. A bestselling author who was currently sleeping by the patient's bed and, to her knowledge, this was the first time he'd done more than catnap for five or ten minutes.

This was no catnap. Already his chest was moving in the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep. Since he hadn't woken up at the sound of the cot's squeaky arrival, she figured he wasn't going to wake up for a little while, not until he rested some or she woke him up.

No, an hour wasn't much, but it was the best she could do right now. Too bad he hadn't waited until after she'd changed the dressings on Ms. Branch's wounds. He could have managed two or three hours before s.h.i.+ft change.

EVEN before Cullen opened his eyes, he knew he was dreaming.

Instead of the steady beep of hospital machinery, he heard the crash of waves into the sand. Instead of the cool air that smelled faintly of antiseptic, he could smell the ocean and the scents of summer: hot sand and sunscreen.

Yeah, he knew he was dreaming, but still he panicked. The sound of the heart monitors was the only thing that kept him sane right then, and not hearing them was enough to have his own heart speeding up in panic.

Body braced, he opened his eyes.

And then he sagged.

Taige.

She stood staring out over the blue green waters of the Gulf, her arms crossed over her chest, her hair blowing back from her face. Incongruously, she still wore one of those ugly, utilitarian hospital gowns. It flapped around her body, a body that was too thin and battered.

The sight of her was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and once more, the panic inside him welled up.

s.h.i.+t-she wasn't . . .

Stop it! She hadn't survived those first hours only to die now. Stil , when he finally opened his mouth to speak, he had to clear his throat twice, and his voice cracked on him.

”Taige?”

For a second, she didn't respond, and then she turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder. ”Hey.” A faint grin curled her lips. ”You look like h.e.l.l.”

”You look beautiful.” And he meant it. It didn't matter that her hair was tangled, that she still had that dull, grayish cast to her skin, or that she looked like she needed a month's worth of decent, home-cooked meals. She looked absolutely beautiful to him.

Her grin spread into a ful -out smirk, and she laughed. Plucking her hospital gown away from her chest, she gave it a disgusted look. ”Yeah, I bet. I look ready to walk down a runway, don't I?”

That wry, self-deprecating humor finally managed to break through the ice surrounding him. He crossed the sand in four long strides and grabbed her, not thinking about the injuries that had put her in the hospital bed. These were dreams-sort of. Whatever was physically hurting her didn't really exist here.

Pain of the nonphysical variety was different, though. Cul en knew it for a fact, because he had a very real, very huge ache centered square in his chest, taking up the void that had been his heart ever since she'd gotten shot. ”My G.o.d,” he muttered, burying his face in her hair. ”I've been so d.a.m.n scared . . .”

He wouldn't say it, though. Saying it made it real. Until she actually woke up and talked to him, that was more reality than he could handle. Even after she woke up, he suspected that would be too much.

She cuddled into him, her hands curling into his T-s.h.i.+rt. ”I'm okay.”

”You're in a d.a.m.n coma. That's pretty d.a.m.n far from okay,” Cullen gritted out. Finally able to touch her, even in a dream, he hadn't thought he'd pull away from her so quick, but he did, leaning back just enough so he could see her face. ”You died on us three d.a.m.n times.”

”I know.” That plain, simple statement froze him clear to down to his feet. ”Close to four, I think.” She reached up, touched her fingers to his mouth. ”But I heard you. You kept calling me, and you just wouldn't let go.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he said, ”I'm not going to, either. Ever. So you might as wel wake up.”

He pressed his forehead against hers and whispered, ”Come on, Taige. You need to wake up, baby.”

”I'm trying . . .” She grimaced as she spoke, and then she started to fade away.

In his arms. As he was holding her. She faded, growing more and more insubstantial until he couldn't see her, feel her, smell her-although he did hear her.

I love you . . .

AT first, when Cullen woke up, he wasn't certain what it was that had disturbed him.

His head had that m.u.f.fled, disconnected thing going on that came from far too little rest, and he knew however long he'd been out, it hadn't been long enough.

But then he heard it again. Something soft.

Something faint.

Something he'd been praying for, pretty much nonstop, for the past four days.

A sound. From Taige.

Her lips were moving. Her lids were still closed, but her lips were moving. He couldn't understand what she was saying at first, and the words had no real sound to them. At least no coherent sound.

He was out of the chair so d.a.m.n fast, he tripped over his feet and ended up on his knees beside the bed. Apt enough, since she'd been knocking him to his knees on a regular basis for a good, long time. He reached out, folding her cold hand between his.

She wasn't as cold . . . was she?

She whispered again, her lips forming the same words, and finally, he understood what she was saying: ”I love you.”

”Taige?”

Her lids flickered. A faint smile curved her lips. And between his hands, hers moved, her fingers sliding between his. She squeezed, oh so faintly. And then, a soft sigh escaped.

She fell silent, as though that simple movement had drained her.

But for the first time since she'd been hurt, Cullen breathed just a little easier.

TWELVE.

A WEEK after that, seven days after she'd roused from her coma and smiled at Cullen, they finally let her leave the hospital. She didn't remember smiling at him, talking to him or the doctors, the nurses, Dez. Nothing, not until a day or two later when she fully woke up.

Taige did remember the dream, though. Just like most of her dreams with Cullen, it had been almost painfully real. But it hadn't been bittersweet. No, that dream had been different.

It had left her hopeful.

Hope wasn't something she had wasted a lot of time on over the past few years, and letting herself feel it now was more than a little bit terrifying. Fortunately, the drugs clouding her brain, the pain that managed to bleed through those painkillers, and her very overpowering desire to put some miles between herself and the hospital all combined to keep her from dwelling on much of anything else for too long.