Morgan's Son (34 page)

Easing down the guardrail, Craig sat on the edge of the bed, facing Jason. A long time ago his mother had rubbed his shoulders and back when he was sick, so he did it now for the boy. Craig knew he couldn't take the place of Sabra, Laura or Morgan, but at least he could try to give Jason some solace. Little by little, he felt him begin to relax. The child looked so innocent lying there, and he himself felt so beat-up and battered by life. Jason had his whole life in front of him. Sabra might have hers taken from her. And Craig would be left alone.

Pain shattered his heart, and without thinking, he eased himself up on the bed and gently bundled the small boy into his arms, teddy bear and all. Maybe he couldn't hold Sabra, and he knew no one was going to hold him, but he could make Jason feel safe—and loved. Jason moaned a little and buried his head on his chest, his small hand stretching outward, then relaxed completely against him.

Craig's mouth curved slightly as he felt the child entrust himself to him. The feeling was warming. Almost euphoric. He slid his arm across Jason's small back, his own eye-lids closing. Craig could feel Jason's tiny heartbeat against him. The shallow rise and fall of the boy's chest told him he was now asleep. A ragged sigh escaped Craig's lips as he felt his muscles, one by one, begin to release the tension they'd held so long. Then he fell into an exhausted sleep, holding a little boy and praying for Sabra's life.

"Craig?"

He felt fingers squeezing his shoulder tentatively. Sleep pulled at him, and he fought to come awake. The voice was unfamiliar.
Who?
He forced his eyes open and realized groggily that Jason was curled tightly in his arms, still asleep. Blinking to clear his vision, he looked up toward the voice.

Dr. Parsons smiled wearily. "Killian told me to be careful how I woke you."

Instantly, Craig came awake. He eased Jason onto the bed, still keeping one hand on the boy's shoulder. "Sabra?" His voice was hoarse with sleep. His heart pounded hard in his chest, fear gutting through him.

Ann tightened her grip on his shoulder. "I think she's going to make it. Right now, she's critical, but she's in recovery."

Relief avalanched through Craig. He was dizzied by the news. Dr. Parsons still wore her green surgery gown, the cap over her hair, the mask hanging around her neck. Searching her smiling eyes, he rasped, "She's alive?"

"Very much so. We had to give her a blood transfusion. Nearly two pints." Ann lost her smile. "She went into cardiac arrest on the table due to blood loss, but we brought her back, thank God." She patted his shoulder. "She's doing much better."

Cardiac arrest.
Stunned, Craig felt tears flood into his eyes. He'd nearly lost Sabra. Somehow, he had known that; such was the invisible line of communication he had with her. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he fought against the tears. "When can I see her?"

"Now, if you want. She won't know you're there, though. It will be an hour or two for the anesthesia to wear off. You can't stay more than five minutes an hour until we upgrade her from from intensive care."

Carefully, Craig divested himself of the sleeping boy. Easing himself off the bed, he made sure that the teddy bear took his place as much as possible. Tucking the blanket over Jason's shoulders, he said, "Will someone be with Jason? He's really shook up over all this."

"I'll make sure a nurse comes in and sits with him," Ann said gently.

"What time is it?"

"It's 7:00 a.m."

He'd slept two hours. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Craig's heart soared with joy as he turned to the physician. "Thank you for saving her," he rasped, and he reached out, gripping her long, lean hand. If Craig didn't know better, he'd have guessed Ann Parsons was a painter, not a surgeon. But he supposed both were artists in their own way. One painted beautiful things, the other used the artistry of her hands to save a life. In this case, Sabra's life.

"I'll be over shortly, Craig."

He nodded and quickly left the room, heading down the hall toward the bank of elevators. Feelings raged unchecked through him as he waited impatiently for the elevator to take him to the recovery floor. The depressing numbness that had sunk its claws into him had miraculously disappeared. The weight that inhabited his legs was gone, too. What was left of his exhaustion was torn from him as he hurried down the hall to the ICU nurse's station.

Sabra was going to live! The thought kept playing through him like a wonderful chord of music. Craig barely felt the tile floor beneath his feet, was scarcely aware of anything beyond an inner joy that made him feel as if he were walking on air. A nurse spotted him coming and must have known who he was, because she met him and walked him to the recovery room.

"She's not conscious yet, Mr. Talbot, but Dr. Parsons said for you to stay with her, talk to her and hold her hand. She won't respond, but that doesn't matter. I'll come for you in five minutes."

Craig stepped inside the room. Sabra was the only patient there, IVs in both arms, the white sheet emphasizing her pale, slack features. Swallowing hard, he moved to the side of her gurney. Her thick, black hair had been gathered up in a white towel, and he saw the dressing that now hid the ugly, gaping wound the shrapnel had made in her neck. Her lips were colorless, her lashes lying softly against her taut skin.

Gently, ever so gently, Craig leaned over the bed and placed his mouth against her slack lips. He didn't care that she didn't know he was there. He wanted to kiss her, to welcome her back to life—to him—if she would have him when this was all over. Life had never seemed so tentative as now, as he felt the coolness of her lips beneath his own. Her breathing was so shallow that at first he was alarmed, thinking she wasn't breathing at all. He eased his mouth from hers and watched her chest for a long, fearful moment. Only when he saw the minute rise and fall of the white sheet draped across her did he release a ragged breath of his own.

Lightly, he grazed her smooth, flawless brow with a fingertip, lost in the soft texture of her skin. Even now, Sabra was beautiful—untouched. Yet the woman had the heart of a lion, there was no doubt. She had faced death with him—and won. Slipping his fingers over hers, he felt how chilled she was and grew worried again. Was she warm enough? How badly Craig wanted to take her in his arms, hold her and warm her as he had Jason.

"Five minutes," the nurse murmured from the entrance, giving him an apologetic smile.

Craig nodded. He leaned down, his lips close to Sabra's ear. "Sweetheart, this is Craig. I want you to know I love you. I should have said it earlier." He closed his eyes, choking back a wealth of feelings. "Listen, I just want you to get well, okay? Dr. Parsons says you're going to make it. You've lost a lot of blood, but you're going to be fine. I love you, Sabra. Don't ever forget that. No matter what happens, no matter what life throws at us, just know I'll always love you…."

Sabra heard voices, heard a little boy's high-pitched, excited tone. Then she felt the touch of a small hand on her arm—a warm little hand. Another voice. A woman's, soft and strained. She fought to come awake, but her lashes felt like weights against her cheeks. And then she heard a very familiar voice, along with a touch that could never be mistaken. It was Craig. She felt his strong fingers wrap around her left hand. On her right hand, she felt the boy's touch. The voices melded together in confusion. She stopped struggling, feeling so very weak. The voices ebbed away, and she felt as if she were floating once again within a warm cloud of light.

The touch of Craig's hand brought her back to consciousness, drew her out of that floating cloud of light. She felt his fingers stroking her arm gently, with reverence. This time she recognized the other voices—Jason's and Laura's. Fragments of scenes blipped in front of her closed eyes—of being hit with a bullet and flying five feet forward. Dully, Sabra felt the bruising pain in her back where the vest had stopped the bullet from penetrating her body. She should be dead, she thought.

Then she remembered the helicopter crashing, remembered jerking Jason into her arms and running as hard and fast as she could through the cane field, away from the smoking aircraft. The explosion…Sabra's brows knit at the memory. She recalled the heat rolling across her, recalled pressing Jason hard against her chest to protect him from flying debris. And then a white-hot sensation had slammed into her neck, making her drop him. It was the last thing Sabra recalled: falling in slow motion to the muddy, wet ground and hearing Jason screaming her name.

"I think she's coming awake."

Sabra heard Laura's tremulous voice and felt her hand on her shoulder. Her whole focus swung to Craig's touch, which never left her hand.

"I think so, too," he murmured.

Craig's voice was low and off-key. Sabra felt the warmth of his mouth press briefly against her brow. She absorbed his unexpected kiss, feeling a joy and lightness flow through her. How she loved him!

Where was she? Was he all right? And Jason? Those anxious questions forced her to barely open her eyes. The first person she saw was Craig, looking down at her, worry in his dark, exhausted gaze. She was alarmed at the bloody scabs on the right side of his face, the redness in his eyes, as if he'd been crying, and the tortured line of his mouth. Opening her lips, she tried to speak, but only a whisper of sound came forth.

"Ssh," Craig said, squeezing her hand gently, "don't try to talk, sweetheart. We're all safe. You're going to make it." He tried to smile and failed, drowning in her shadowy gray eyes.

"Thank God," Laura whispered, leaning over and touching her shoulder, "you're going to be fine."

Sabra divided her limited attention between them, as they stood on either side of her bed. Laura looked gray with fatigue, her eyes red rimmed, filled with tears. Only Jason's bubbly smile encouraged her. The boy leaned over and placed a very wet kiss on her cheek.

"Get well, Auntie S! Mommy says you get to come home with us. We get to fly in Daddy's airplane!"

Sabra's mouth pulled into a slight smile, and she held Jason's sparkling, shiny gaze. Of all of them, he looked the least damaged by what had happened. She found it hard to believe that he could spring back so quickly from the kidnapping. Perhaps that was a testament to his youth—his small, innocent view of the world. Craig's fingers interlaced with her own, and she slowly moved her head to meet his blue gaze. The warmth in his eyes, the unabashed welcome for her alone, made her try to smile again. Weakness spread through her, and though she wanted to speak, it was impossible.

"Honey," Laura said to her son, "I think Auntie S wants to sleep now…."

"Ahh, Mommy, I want to tell her what happened!"

"Not now, honey. Come on, let's leave Craig to stay with Auntie S. Come on…."

Craig watched Laura pick up her son and leave the room. He brought a chair over to Sabra's bedside and sat down. Stillness fell over the room, and only her soft, shallow breathing could be heard. At least the beeps and sighs of the multitude of ICU instruments and monitors were gone. In twenty-four hours, Sabra had gone from critical to serious. No one had breathed a greater sigh of relief than Craig. Gently, he slid her hand between his again and held it. Her flesh was still cool to the touch.

When Sabra's lashes moved, he realized she hadn't fallen back asleep. Clearing his throat, he rasped, "Can you hear me, Sabra?"

She squeezed his hand weakly. Did Craig realize how wonderful it was to be touched by him? To hear his roughened voice once again? Did he know how much she'd feared for his life? Tears stung her eyes, and she felt them bead and slip down the sides of her face. She felt Craig release her hand. Then his trembling fingers eased the tears from her cheeks.

"It's okay," he said unsteadily. "Everyone is okay, Sabra. You're the one we were worried about." He hesitated. "Worry wasn't even close, sweetheart. God, I thought you were going to die out there in the cane field. I was so scared. So damned scared, Sabra."

What little strength she had she used to open her eyes again. She saw the tortured look in Craig's gaze, felt the terrible pain in his voice and in his hand as he barely touched her arm once more. She wanted to ask questions, but the weakness claimed her, and all she could do was surrender to that white cloud of light. As she drifted away, she could hear Craig speaking to her, but the words became garbled and distant. Right now, she needed to sleep.