Loving Again: Book 2 in the Second Chance series (Crimson Romance) (19 page)

“You sleeping beside me would never interfere with me. Of course, I can’t promise I won’t try to interfere with you.” A full-fledged grin appeared on his face. “This shitty day has suddenly gotten a helluva lot better.”

“I’m glad you like my idea.”

The grin faded as fast as it had appeared. He cocked his head, frowning. “Seriously, are you sure? You’re not doing this because you think you owe me something or you’re feeling guilty or responsible for what happened or bullshit like that, are you?” he asked. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“I’m doing this because I want to. Because I thought it would solve your problem, and make you happy. Because … ” she paused.

“Because?” he prompted.

“Because this will probably be the only chance I’ll ever have to take care of you. Or, maybe more accurately, the only time you’ll ever let me take care of you. So, let me.”

The smile was back although a bit wary. “Okay, your house it is. But, just so you know, once I move in, you may have a helluva time getting me out.”

“We’ll worry about that later, if we have to.” She attempted to stand up but he held on to her. “If you’ll let me go, I’ll have the nurses page your doctor and see if this works for him. If he’ll agree to let you go tomorrow, I’ll take your keys and move things from your apartment to my house so it’s all ready for you.”

“I’ll move stuff to your house when I get out of here.”

“No, you won’t. There is a condition attached to this offer — you have to do exactly what the doctors tell you to do. If you don’t, I swear I’ll hire an eighty-year-old nurse in a bikini to shower you and take a photo of it for Danny to show around the precinct.”

“Christ, she’d love that. Okay, I’ll find out what the rules are.”

“
I’ll
find out what the rules are.”

“You don’t trust me?” His grin was sly now.

“I trust you about everything. Anything. Anything, that is, except an accurate recital of the restrictions the doctors will put on you. That I don’t trust you about.”

“You’re probably right.” He let go of her hand. “Okay, call the doc and see what he says. If he says no, tell him I can always sign myself out. See what he comes back with after that.”

“This isn’t a hostage negotiation, Sam.”

“Sure as hell feels like one to me.”

The surgeon agreed to her plan. After asking if she knew what she was getting into, he gave her a five-minute crash course in how to take care of a curmudgeonly patient with a cast on his arm and a fresh surgical incision, and said he’d leave discharge prescriptions at the nurses’ station in the morning when he made rounds.

He answered all her questions about Sam’s restrictions, which included no weight on his arms, no lifting anything heavy with his uncasted arm because of the incision, no driving, horseback riding, running or weight lifting. Wondering how willing and cooperative Sam would be when she got him home, Amanda went back down the hall to break the good news.

Getting his stuff from his apartment was easy. Getting him out of the hospital the next day was more complicated. Amanda brought his favorite cowboy boots and a pair of jeans, along with a blue, button-down shirt, thinking only of what he’d be most comfortable in, not of the logistics of getting him into the clothes with a cast and an impaired shoulder.

When she asked if he wanted help he turned her down. After he struggled a bit, he admitted she was going to have to assist. As she helped him with his shirt, he grumbled that he like it better when she undressed him. Amanda could barely keep a straight face.

Next came the inevitable fight over riding to the car in a wheelchair. “Hospital policy,” the nurse said. “Fuck hospital policy,” Sam responded. But she made it clear he couldn’t get signed out until he sat in it. Amanda left in the middle of the standoff, sure the nurse would win, and went to get her SUV.

Sam rode downstairs in the wheelchair but claimed a small moral victory by jumping out of it just before they got to the front door. Before the nurse turned to go back with the empty chair Amanda thought she saw an expression of relief that would seem to indicate she was happy Sam was now someone else’s problem.

Their arrival at Amanda’s place was easier. He hopped out of the Highlander as soon as she turned off the ignition and almost ran to the door. Chihuly greeted them with enthusiasm. Sam knelt and there was face licking (by Chihuly) and ear scratching (by Sam) while Amanda emptied the car of the books, flowers, and personal items from the hospital.

“Want to go upstairs and see where I put your things?” she asked when she’d brought in the last load.

“Might as well, sure.”

She showed him where she’d put his clothes and began to explain where things were in the bathroom. Then she caught his reflection in the mirror. He was running his hand over his face, not seeming to register what she was saying. “You can change anything around that you want, Sam. I … ”

“No, it’s fine. Whatever you did is fine.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, still looking at him in the mirror.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

She turned around. “If you’re having second thoughts about the arrangement, if you’d rather be at your apartment, I understand. We can unravel all this, make other arrangements. But if we’re going to change things, we should do it before it gets more complicated.”

He took the few steps he needed to get close enough to put his arms around her. “I’m not having second thoughts. I want to be here. It’s just … ”

“It’s just … what?” She touched his face and ran her thumb across the bruise on his cheek. “Tell me, please.”

“I wanted to get out of the damn hospital so bad I didn’t think about what it would be like when I was released. Maybe expecting things to go back to the way they were before is too much to ask right now.”

“What things?”

“Like … ” He paused and scanned her face. “Oh, hell, it’s me. I feel … detached, maybe. Nothing seems normal.” He blew out a breath. “I just need a couple good nights’ sleep. I didn’t get much in the hospital.”

“Do you want to reconsider where you’re sleeping? Maybe one of the guest rooms would be better after all.”

He rubbed his hand over his face again.

“Was it noisy staff or bad dreams in the hospital?” she asked when he didn’t respond.

“Both.”

She took his hand and played with his fingers, then traced the veins on the back of his hand, not looking at him. “Have I ever told you why I got Chihuly?”

“Wasn’t it for security?”

“Not really. I got him because I was having such a hard time in Seattle that I wondered if I’d made a mistake accepting the residency at Pilchuck. I’d begun to have horrible dreams, nightmares really, after Tommy died and they didn’t stop after I moved. Cynthia suggested I get a pet and told me about this breeder who had a new litter of curly coated retrievers.”

“All with names of people with curly black hair.”

“Exactly. At first, I let Chihuly sleep with me, to get him used to being without his littermates, I told myself. In truth, I loved having a warm furry ball of puppy next to me in bed. And when I’d wake up crying from a nightmare, he’d lick my face. It was probably because he liked the salt in my tears but it was comforting. A week or so after I got him, the dreams stopped.”

She looked up just as he smiled.

“So, you’ll lick my face when I have a bad dream?” he asked.

“That’s not where I was going with this, Sam. I just meant it takes some time to feel normal again, to get past something bad. But you will.”

In response, he kissed her, a tender, sweet kiss, full of hope and affection.

She broke from his embrace just as he was turning it into something more serious and said, “How about I fix lunch for us? And then maybe you’d like a shower?”

“Umm, a shower. I would have killed for a shower in the hospital.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Does helping me shower involve you naked?”

“I got a hand-held shower head so you can keep the water off your cast and … ”

“You’re not answering the question, Amanda.”

Without replying, she headed for the hall. “Come on, I roasted a chicken for sandwiches and made potato salad. And there are fresh tomatoes and pears and grapes.”

Hesitating for a moment, he finally followed, Chihuly trailing after him. “Is this like the first time I stayed over? You had enough breakfast in the refrigerator to feed the precinct.”

“If you’re not in the mood for chicken and potato salad, there’s ham and cheese. I can make tuna salad. Of course, I can do grilled cheese. Oh, and I have a panini machine so I could make anything into one of those. There’s falafel and hummus on pita bread, if you want to go vegetarian. There’s also macaroni salad — it’s from New Seasons, I didn’t make it — and I have lettuce so we can put together a green salad … ”

“Are you planning anything other than stuffing me with food while I recuperate?”

• • •

After lunch, Amanda took Chihuly for a walk. Left to himself, Sam went into the living room armed with a new thriller by his favorite writer to divert his attention from … well, from a lot of things, now that he thought about it. But after he’d read the first chapter twice trying to get into the story, he put the book down, wondering if the writer had lost his edge. He tried a second book and when that didn’t make any more sense than the first one had, he decided the writers were just fine. He was the problem. Pacing up and down didn’t distract him either, so he put in a CD, and lay back on the couch.

But his mind wouldn’t shut off. He’d been only half-truthful when he’d told Amanda what was bothering him. Yes, he was feeling a bit off-balance after being shot and in the hospital, but he was even more uneasy about being at Amanda’s house. In spite of what she’d said, he wondered if she’d only volunteered to help him while he recuperated because she felt guilty about what happened. He didn’t want her to pity him, to take care of him like he was some kind of damned charity case. He wanted Amanda to love him.

She’d said the words, once. But that was when he was in the hospital and she thought she’d put him there. And, okay, she’d pecked him on the cheek every time she came to see him, but she hadn’t held him or really kissed him since they’d had their last dinner together, whenever the hell that was. And upstairs today she’d backed away just when the kiss was getting interesting. Not to mention suggesting he sleep someplace other than with her. What the hell was that about?

Suppose she expected him to leave when he was cleared to go back to his job? What would he do then? He hadn’t been kidding when he said he wouldn’t want to move out once he moved in. If he’d had his way, he would have given notice to his landlord before he left the hospital.

He heard the sound of the door unlocking, the clunk of her keys as she tossed them onto the table in the hall, the thud of her shoes as she took them off and tossed them under the table. Chihuly came bounding in, eager for a drink and a little rest, Amanda with him, presumably on her way to the kitchen to clean up the lunch dishes.

Might as well get it over with. At least he’d know where he stood.

He beckoned to her. “Hey, come here, pretty lady.” He rose from the couch, as she got closer.

“Do you need something?”

“Yeah, I need you.” He held out his hand. “I put on your favorite Tom Grant CD.”

“I hear.” She ignored his outstretched hand.

The sounds of
Gold
began and he put his arms around her waist. “This sounds like a song you can dance to.”

“I thought you said … ”

“ … I wasn’t good at dancing?” He pulled her closer. “I’m not. Except for the slow ones.”

“Rubbing up against each other while music plays isn’t dancing, Sam.” She rested her hand on his good shoulder.

“It’s fun, though, don’t you think?”

She looked sternly at him. “Shouldn’t you be resting instead of dancing? You’re supposed to be recuperating, and the doctor said that meant mostly resting. You promised. I still have the address of that eighty-year-old nurse and she still has a bikini.”

“I was resting on the couch. Couldn’t get more rest-ier than that.” He nestled her head on his chest. He didn’t want to look at her when he asked what he needed to ask. “I thought I’d check with you one more time … are you really okay with this?”

“What ‘this’ do you mean? The ‘this’ that you can’t dance or the ‘this’ of your being here?”

“That one.”

She pulled back and cocked her head, a puzzled expression on her face that slowly changed to amusement. “Oh, my God, you’re still worried about why I offered to have you move in, aren’t you? I thought you were more secure than that. What happened to my tough cop who couldn’t be brought down by a stupid bad guy?”

“I’m not so tough when it comes to you, baby.”

Smiling at him, she put her hands on either side of his face. “I’m not sure whether I’m more flattered or amused that you’re still concerned. But for the record, I want you here because I love you. I’ve loved you for longer than I was willing to admit, even to myself. Then, about the time I finally faced it, it seemed like last year was happening all over again and telling you got lost in trying to keep everything from falling apart again.” Gently she kissed him, nibbling on his lower lip when she ended it, as if reluctant to let go of him.

“But having you here, I have another chance. So, it’s too bad about the not dancing thing but we can work on that. While you’re here. Because I’m really happy about that. And if it turns out you never go back to your apartment, I’ll be really happy about that, too. Is that the answer you were angling for?”

He answered without words, capturing her mouth with his. Her lips parted so he could taste her with his tongue. Her back arched, her hips pushed against him. His erection pressed into her as he slid his hands down her back and molded her against him.

“Any more questions, cowboy?” she whispered as she kissed down his jaw line to his neck.

“Just one more.” His hand went under her sweater and cupped a breast. He rolled her nipple between his fingers and felt it harden at his touch. “It’s been a while so tell me if I’m wrong, but don’t I start here?”