Australian Outback Kings / The Cattle King's Mistress / The Playboy King's Wife / The Pleasure King's Bride (33 page)

The Range Rover came to a halt. As Tommy switched off the engine, a great welling of urgency turned Sam towards him. “I'm sorry.” She reached out to touch him, to draw his attention to her. “It was wrong of me to…to…” She shook her head in anguish over her erratic emotions. “It's not your fault. I know it's not. I'm sorry I…”

“It's okay,” he broke in gruffly. “I'm sorry, too. We've come through a lot in the past twelve hours…feels like a lifetime.” His mouth curved into a wry smile. “Hard to balance a whole lifetime and get a perfect outcome when the factors are confused by other things.”

She released a long, tautly held breath. “I want to trust you,” she whispered, pleading his understanding.

He nodded. “Give it a chance, Samantha. Give
us
a chance.”

“I want that, too. I've wanted it for so long, Tommy, it scares me. Like it can't really be true. Like something's going to smash it or take it away or make it wrong.”

He undid his safety belt and leaned over, cupping her face, his eyes blazing with an intensity of feeling that demanded she focus on him…only him. “Nothing can make this feel anything but right,” he murmured, and kissed her…kissed her with such passionate fervour, everything else was driven out of her mind.

She responded with a desperate hunger for the dream to come true…she and Tommy bonded together by love for the rest of their lives. The heat of desire swept away the cold reality of where they were, and why. This was a life-force that needed affirmation here and now, needed nurturing and growth. For a little while the dark clouds of the night were banished and only the two of them existed, pouring positive energy into each other.

“Hold on to the thought of us, Samantha,” Tommy commanded huskily, his lips lifting away from hers. “I'm here for you. Understand? Whatever else happens this night, promise me…”

He stroked the tumbled curls away from her brow. She opened her eyes, the banked passion in his voice alerting all her senses to the import of what he wanted of her. Their kiss had re-energised every nerve and flooded her with warmth and hope and faith in their feeling for each other.

“Promise me…” he repeated, his dark eyes glowing like fiery coals “…you won't
let
anything get in the way of sharing with me all we can share.”

“My family might need me,” she reminded him.

“Through this crisis, yes,” he agreed. “And I'll support you all I can. I meant for you to keep believing there's more to what we started today, Samantha. Much more.”

She sighed, her heart warmed by the reassurance that he really did see a very definite future in their relationship. “I'm here for you, Tommy,” she blurted out. “I always have been.”

And that was the honest truth.

He sighed, too. “That's good to hear.” With a wry little smile, he asked, “Do you want to go in now?”

No, she didn't. She wanted to stay with him. But she quelled the selfish need and answered, “They'll be expecting me.”

He nodded, unfastened her seat belt, and swivelled to alight from his side of the Range Rover. Sam didn't wait for him to open her door. More conscious now that her parents would welcome the comfort of her presence, perhaps even anxious for her to join them, she swung herself out of the vehicle, closed the door and was relieved to find her legs performing as firmly as they should.

Hand in hand, she and Tommy walked into the hospital, the bouyant feeling of being harmoniously linked with him unshaken by the clinical surroundings and what had to be faced. They found her family and the Findlays in a facilities room where mobile patients could go and make a cup of tea or coffee. It contained a kitchenette, dining setting, a couple of sofas, a bookcase and a television set.

Pete and her parents were seated at the table, hunched over coffee mugs and a plate of untouched biscuits. Ron and Marta Findlay were huddled on one of the sofas, Marta's head resting limply on her husband's shoulder, both of them looking totally worn out. They were all still dressed in their wedding finery, an incongrous touch, given the grim situation.

“Heard any news?” her father asked Tommy.

“No.”

“They took them for X-rays.”

“We should know something soon then.”

Sam sat next to her mother and Tommy moved on to speak to the Findlays. Pete got up to make both of them coffee, glad to have something to do. The waiting was oppressive. It made any attempt at conversation feel stilted, forced. Speculation was futile. Until they knew the extent of Greg's and Janice's injuries, no plans could be made. Everything hinged on hearing something definite.

Tommy mentioned that accommodation had been booked for both families at the Kununurra Lakeside Resort. This information evoked grateful murmurs. Rest would be needed, sooner or later, and returning to King's Eden was not an option tonight. Sheer fatigue was already casting its pall over the tension of waiting, eyes drooping, bodies slumping.

At last Doc Hawkins appeared, his entrance acting like an electric shock, jolting them into a hyper alertness. He was in his fifties, grey-haired, lean and rather sharp-featured, but he had kind eyes and a gentle manner that inspired confidence.

“They'll mend. Both of them,” he announced, instantly relieving them of their worst fears.

The tense stillness was broken. Everyone stirred, stretching tired and aching muscles.

“So what are the problems?” Sam's father asked, rising to his feet, ready to meet them head-on.

“Well, no cranial fracture or spinal damage, but they are both badly concussed. That will need watching for a couple of days.”

“Greg's left leg?”

“Broken in two places. He also has three cracked ribs. No serious internal injuries, but quite a lot of deep bruising. The scalp wound needed stitching. Other cuts and abrasions have been dressed. He'll be sore and sorry for himself for quite some time but the healing should not be complicated.”

“Thank God!” Sam's mother whispered, her eyes welling with tears. “Can we see him?”

“Shortly. Though don't expect to speak to him.”

“What about Janice?” Ron Findlay demanded gruffly, also on his feet, wanting action.

Doc Hawkins turned to him with a sympathetic grimace. “I'm sorry to say it will be a longer haul for your daughter. Apart from the superficial injuries, her right arm and hip are broken. There is some internal damage. Nothing life-threatening to her but…”

“But what?” Marta demanded shrilly.

In a quiet, grave voice, Doc Hawkins delivered the bombshell that was to shatter the soothing effect of his previous words.

“There was nothing we could do to save it. The bleeding…” He shook his head sadly, sighed and simply stated, “She lost the baby.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

B
ABY
!

For a moment, Tommy's mind went blank with disbelief. Shocked incredulity was swiftly followed by a violent inner surge of protest. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. He pushed up from his chair at the table, needing to face Doc Hawkins, needing to refute what he'd claimed. His whole body was in revolt against the idea that Janice
had been pregnant
.

“What baby?” Marta Findlay cried in bewilderment.

It snapped his head towards her. Marta's face reflected his own mental turmoil as she struggled up from the sofa, pulling at her husband's arm in an agitated need for answers she could understand.

“Ron…Ron…do you know anything about this?”

“No, I don't.” Having gathered his distressed wife into a comforting hug, he frowned at the doctor. “You say Janice was pregnant?”

“No doubt about it,” came the firm reply.

Not to me
, Tommy thought fiercely. He'd used protection. It had to be to someone else…someone careless, and probably as drunk as Janice, just as Greg had been tonight.

“She was about three months along,” Doc Hawkins added.

Tommy felt as though someone had kicked him in the stomach.
Three months!
Even as his mind fought to deny it, the spectre of Janice carrying
his
child clung, and the recollection of everything he'd said to her today hit him like a series of sickening blows. What if the protection he'd used had failed? Nothing was a hundred percent certain.

“Three months,” Ron Findlay repeated, struggling to take in the fact that his daughter had not confided in him or her mother.

“She should have told us,” Marta wailed.

“I'm sorry it's come as a shock,” Doc Hawkins said sympathetically. “I didn't realise…” He sighed, grimaced. “She probably wanted to work things out with the father. Privately.”

Why would Janice wait until today to tell him, Tommy argued to himself, still pushing away the unacceptable. He
wasn't
the father. It felt totally wrong to him. There had to be another answer. Yet…if he was wrong…

“Three months…” Ron Findlay frowned over the time span. His gaze suddenly lifted and targeted Tommy. Without a doubt, Janice had not kept their affair a secret. Awareness of the connection and calculation on it were coming straight at him. “Do you know anything about this, Tommy?”

His heart clenched. Impossible to deny knowledge. And it would damn him…damn him in everyone's eyes. Especially Samantha's. She'd heard it all from Janice's own mouth and she would no longer believe his defence, not in the face of this medical evidence.

He heard her chair scrape out from the table. He swung to face her, desperate to stave off a rift between them. She stood up and there was a terrible dignity in her stiffened, upright stance. She looked straight at him and he knew she was in retreat from what they had shared tonight. Her blue eyes were glassy, projecting a flat challenge.

Tell them or I will
.

To her it was a matter of integrity. No escape from it. No excuse for ducking what she would see as
his
responsibility. He had to bear the weight of Janice's accusation now, whether it was true or not. By cutting Janice off and branding her a liar, he was probably already an irredeemable skunk in Samantha's eyes.

He turned back to the Findlays, automatically squaring his shoulders, knowing he had to deal with the situation. “Janice told me earlier tonight that she was pregnant,” he stated flatly. “Quite frankly, I didn't believe her. I thought she was playing games.”

“Games!” Marta repeated shrilly, her eyes sweeping him with scathing contempt. “More likely it didn't suit you to believe her.”

“When was this?” Ron demanded, his gaze flicking to Samantha, the inference clear that he'd observed how closely they'd stayed together throughout the wedding. “When precisely did Janice tell you?”

The timing damned him even further, inevitably linking him to what followed, Janice going off with Greg, the accident.

“Excuse me, please,” Samantha broke in. “Doc, I think this is private business between Tommy and Mr. and Mrs. Findlay. Could you take us to Greg while they're sorting things out?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he quickly acceded, waving the Connelly family forward.

Tommy watched her go. She skirted the other side of the table to where he stood, clearly demonstrating a disinclination to even pass by him. There was to be no standing by her man from Samantha Connelly, he thought with bitter pride, though to be scrupulously fair, could he expect her to?

He would have stood by her.

Come hell or high water he would have stood by her!

She followed her parents and brother out of the room without so much as a backward glance at him, leaving him to face the firing squad alone. Not worth listening to. Not worth defending. Not a word or a look from her to show he was still worth something to her. Just walking out of his life as though he meant absolutely nothing. Zero.

“I'll be straight back to take you to Janice,” Doc Hawkins assured them before bowing out and tactfully closing the door.

Tommy tightened his jaw as he turned back to the Findlays. There was a lot he would take on the chin, but he wasn't about to be heaped with more guilt than was his due. Ron and Marta wanted truth from him. They'd get it, along with a few truths about their daughter.

Janice was not fighting for her life.

The baby.…his mind sheered away from thinking about that loss…what might have been. He didn't know—still didn't know—if it had been his child.

What he did know was he could lose more than a child tonight.

Sam didn't quite know how she made it out to the corridor. Her head was buzzing as though it had been invaded by a swarm of bees. She felt too sick to even try to drive them out. Sick and faint and stupid for believing Tommy. For wanting to believe him.

The Playboy King.

For all she knew he had fathered other children on women he'd been with, as Janice had snidely suggested. He might well have fathered one on her tonight. And that definitely gave the lie to his claim of always using protection. Would he deny their child, too, if she'd conceived? Would he treat her as he'd treated Janice when he fancied someone else?

Sam felt herself swaying and reached out to prop herself against the wall. Black dots were dancing before her eyes and her face felt clammy. Doc Hawkins had passed her, striding ahead to lead the way to wherever Greg was. If she just rested a few moments, she would be able to catch up.

“Sam!” Her father's voice, calling to her thickly.

Her vision was wavering but she saw them all stop and look back at her. “Coming,” she forced out, and tried to wave them on.

It must have been a limp, inept gesture, because her father ignored it. He backtracked so fast, Sam suddenly found herself scooped off her feet and cradled against his big barrel chest, relieved of having to take any further action.

“Pete, you go with your mother and check on Greg.” His voice rumbled over her. “I'll be taking Sam outside. My little girl needs a breath of fresh air.”