Men of Intrgue A Trilogy (44 page)

On the sixth day, Colter was moved from intensive care to a private room, and Karen decided that a showdown was in order. She waited until the evening when Miss Mandeville was on rounds, and then asked for some privacy during the visiting hour. When she let herself in to his room he was sitting up, his back propped against several pillows. He was watching a British marathon on the portable television set that had somehow found its way into his hands.

“Do you run?” Karen asked brightly as she entered.

“Only when chased,” he replied.

Karen pulled a chair next to his bed and said, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I took a bullet a week ago.” He reached for the remote control and shut off the set.

“You look much better,” Karen observed.

“You say that every day.”

“And every day it’s true.”

Colter sighed heavily and ran the hand on his good side through his hair. The bottles and tubes were gone, the only remaining vestige of his injury the dressing on his bare torso. The gauze bandage had shrunk in thickness and size, but its presence was a grim reminder of how close he had come to death. His blue eyes, clear now that the haze of drugs had lifted, met Karen’s as she leaned forward to face him.
 

“Why are you hanging around?” he asked. “Isn’t it obvious by now that I’m not kicking the bucket?”

“Why are you so determined to drive me away?” she countered.

“Because this is no place for you. You can’t do anything to change what’s happened, and you’re just wasting your time here.”

“May I ask you a question?” Karen said.

He studied her for a moment before replying. He had shaved that day for the first time since he was hospitalized, and she noticed a small crust of blood on his upper lip where he’d cut himself.

“Go ahead,” he finally said.

“Why did you mention me when you were brought in here?”

He looked away, not answering.

“I’m waiting,” Karen said.

“A momentary aberration, temporary insanity,” he said.

“I think it was because you were scared.”

His head whipped around, his eyes flashing. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“You knew you were hurt badly, thought you might die. And there was no one to care. Suddenly being alone didn’t seem so wonderful anymore, and you wanted contact with someone who would remember you and mourn your passing. Me.”

He stared at her, then shook his head. “You flatter yourself. You weren’t that important to me,” he said cruelly.

“Then why did my name come up when you found yourself in a hospital?” Karen asked calmly.

“I was probably delirious.”

Karen stood and faced him at the foot of the bed. “You’re not going to admit it, are you? You can’t admit that you need me.”

“I don’t.”

“Then what am I doing here?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking you.”

Karen had resolved before entering the room that she would keep her temper, but the task was becoming more difficult.

“Miss Mandeville says you can be discharged in a few days,” she informed him.

“Great.”

“She also says that your recovery has been nothing short of miraculous, but you still have to take it very easy for a while.”

“So?”

“So she told me about her cousin who has a cottage in the Republic, down south by the Kinsale coastline. We can rent it for a month or so until you get back on your feet.”

His eyes widened and he sat up straighter. “‘We?’” he said in a strong voice.

“Yes. I’m making the arrangements with her tomorrow.”

“No, you’re not,” he said firmly. “You’re going back where you came from as fast as I can manage it.”

“You can’t manage anything just yet. So why don’t you let me handle this and take a little vacation on the Irish Sea?”

His jaw hardened, and she saw that he was getting really angry. “Look,” he said harshly. “I have tried every way I know of to get rid of you and nothing has worked. I’m sorry I ever told that nurse to send you my stuff; it was the worst mistake I ever made. I don’t need anybody to take care of me, and I don’t want you here. I don’t even like you. You’re always fussing around, making me nervous, taking charge like a top sergeant or something. I’m not the man of your dreams, and I’m lousy husband material. So give up, go home and set your trap for some other sucker.”

Karen stared at him, tears welling up in her eyes. She couldn’t speak for several moments and then she cleared her throat.

“Fine,” she said quietly. “I’m going. But there’s one thing I want you to understand first. I didn’t come here to set a trap for you; I came because I thought you were alone and injured and needed help. And as far as I can see that is still the case. For your information, I should be home right now, looking out for myself, instead of standing here taking this abuse from you. I don’t care how sick you are; there’s no excuse for treating anybody the way you’ve treated me from the moment I arrived. No wonder nobody cares that you’re hurt. You don’t know the first thing about relating to another human being. I feel sorry for you.” She turned her back on him and strode out the door.

She was almost to the nurse’s station, blinking rapidly to clear her blurring vision, when the duty nurse came running down the hall after her.

“Miss, please come back. Mr. Colter is trying to get out of bed and follow you, and he can’t be up yet at all.”

Alarmed by the woman’s concern, Karen hurried back to Colter’s room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor, pushing himself up with his good arm.

“For heaven’s sake, Steven, are you trying to kill yourself?” Karen said, dropping her purse on the chair. She and the nurse got on either side of him and levered him back into the bed.

“Can I speak to Miss Walsh alone, please?” Colter said pointedly.

“If you give me your promise we won’t be having any more of these antics,” the nurse replied severely.

“I promise,” Colter said grudgingly. “And don’t tell Mandeville.”

“You’ve a deal,” the nurse replied.

“Afraid of Miss Mandeville, are we?” Karen said archly when the woman had left.

“I see her in my dreams,” Colter replied grimly. “‘This won’t hurt a bit, Mr. Colter,’” he chirped, in a close approximation of Miss Mandeville’s chipper brogue. “‘Just give over and let me tidy up your dressing there, Mr. Colter. Not eating our praties, today, Mr. Colter? Mustn’t miss out on all that niacin.’” He tilted his head back against the wall behind the bed. “And she took all my cigarettes, too.”

“Good for her,” Karen said crisply. “I can’t imagine how you got them.”

“Bribed an orderly,” Colter said with satisfaction.

“Did you tell him that less than a week ago you were on oxygen?” Karen asked pointedly.

“He didn’t take my medical history, just my money,” Colter replied. He folded his arms. “I was trying to come after you just now,” he announced, eyeing her warily.

“So I gathered.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I guess there was something in what you said,” he admitted grudgingly.

Karen waited.

“I’ll go with you on one condition,” he said.

“Don’t do me any favors,” Karen replied flatly, still smarting from his acid commentary.

“Look, do you want me to do this, or not?” he asked testily.

“All right,” Karen replied, putting his health before her pride. “What’s the condition?”

“That we remain just... friends. I mean, nothing more, okay?”

“What makes you think I’m your friend? Friends aren’t shown the door when all they’ve done is express legitimate concern.”

He shook his head and looked out the window at the foggy, drizzly evening.

“Boy, you aren’t easy, are you?”

“I’m glad you’re finding that out.”

He turned his head and met her gaze again. “So? What do you say?”

“About the condition?”

“Yeah.”

Karen looked him over carefully and he had the good grace to flush. She understood the workings of his mind better than he thought. To him, sex was fine as long as it remained a sport to be shared with casual acquaintances, but he didn’t want to risk sleeping with someone who might actually care about him. Karen’s recent interest in his welfare had proved that she fell into the latter category, and making love to her now posed a risk of personal involvement he wouldn’t take.

“I promise not to ravish you,” she finally said dryly.

He stared back at her, his color deepening.

“Of course it may be difficult, but I think I’ll be able to restrain myself,” she added consideringly.

“Very funny,” he observed darkly, looking away.

“I’ll tell Miss Mandeville we’ll take the cottage,” Karen said, turning to go.

“Karen?” he called after her. Karen turned back.

“Why are you doing this for me?” Colter asked. He seemed genuinely puzzled.

She faced him squarely. “Because whether you’ll admit it or not, right now you need someone, and I seem to be the only candidate for the job.” She headed for the door, calling back to him, “I’ll be in to see you in the morning.”

He followed her departure with his eyes, aware that he was getting involved with a woman unlike any he’d met before.

* * * *

Colter lay awake long after Karen had left him. Night quiet descended on the hospital corridor and the lights were dimmed, leaving only the old fashioned hall lanterns burning. He could hear the now familiar nocturnal sounds punctuating the stillness: the padding of rubber soled shoes on the tiled floor, the swish and click of a nursing sister’s beads, the rattle of ice in the metal water carafes as an aide refilled them. The coughing man across the hall was still coughing, and the moaner in the room adjacent to his was still moaning. It was a typical night on the third floor and he, typically, couldn’t sleep.

But this time it wasn’t the pain from his wound that kept him awake. That had subsided to a dull, throbbing ache and had become so much a part of him that he hardly noticed it anymore. It was the subject of Karen that occupied his mind as he stared at the rain streaming down his windowpane, Karen’s presence in Belfast that he couldn’t forget.

When he first awoke after his shooting and saw her standing at his beside, he’d thought he was dreaming. But when he looked again and she was still there, he realized that the hospital administration had summoned her. Then all he could think about was getting her to leave, an effort that had met with a spectacular lack of success. He soon discovered that she was as stubborn as he was and as tenacious as poverty. She wasn’t going home.

Which left him with a significant problem: how to deal with a woman who wanted to give more than she was getting, whether that was a night of pleasure in his bed or the rescue of a comrade. Colter was accustomed to thinking of relationships in terms of barter, a trade of one commodity for another. Karen Walsh didn’t fit into this set picture and that fact made him very nervous.

Colter stirred and settled his injured side more comfortably against the pillows at his back. His left arm was becoming more mobile as the torn muscles along his side knitted and healed. The bullet had carved its path of destruction very neatly, exiting out his back. He remembered clearly the moment of impact when it had ripped into him and he’d said to himself, I’m hit. He’d been shot before, and he always reacted calmly, but it took him only seconds to realize that this time the injury was far worse than his previous surface wounds. Blood poured from his chest and his legs refused to function; he’d felt as if he were walking, dreamlike, through a sea of molasses. For the first time in his life he’d felt faint as the red river of life flowed out of his veins, leaving him staggered and dizzy. He’d been dimly aware of the stretcher, the ambulance, the scared young intern who didn’t know quite what to do for him during the trip to the hospital. But it wasn’t until he reached the emergency room and saw the grave expressions on the attendants there that he had felt the flash of panic and knew he might die. And in that instant he’d remembered Karen’s face, a pale oval surrounded by a cloud of dark hair, and the touch of her lips on his. Who would care if he bought the farm right there? He’d known somehow that she would, and his momentary weakness then had led to his present predicament.

The rain increased in volume, drumming on the ancient slate roof above him, and he closed his eyes, listening to it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Karen; he wanted her too much. But she posed a threat to the distant, uninvolved existence he’d come to call his own, and he didn’t want to change it. He was too old to take that kind of a chance.

His subconscious, however, refused to be instructed along those lines. Ever since the night when she’d melted into his arms on that Caracas beach, he’d been tormented by erotic dreams in which he’d imagined, alternatively, her helpless submission or her aggressive pursuit. In some scenarios she was ardent, clinging, shuddering under him with complete abandon; in others she was wild, tearing at his clothes, as eager and passionate as he was. But now, confronted by her reality and the possibility of fulfilling these imaginings, he felt like running for the nearest exit.