Rose of Betrayal (24 page)

           
Although
there was much truth in what Bernie said, it was not that simple.
 
He was uncertain as to his feelings for
Sam.
 
Maybe it was exactly what Ted was
feeling, pure lust?
 
Denial warring with
the truth took first place.
 
“I'm not in
love with Sam.
  
I don't even know her,
for Christ's sake, and I sure as hell, don't want to lose Ted as a friend.”

 
Bernie's vexation was so great
she was unable to cease her foot from tapping wildly beneath the table. “Bull
shit.
 
What an ass you are.”

 
“Dammit, I
hate it when you swear like that.”

 
Moving her face closer to
Brad's, Bernie hissed, “You just hate it when I’m right.”

           
Pressing the palms of his hands
against the sides of his head, Brad's long fingers weaved within his hair
willing them to erase Sam from his mind.
 
His brooding created a dense fog of silence.
 

  
Despite
the ache surrounding her heart, Bernie spoke, “That's it, isn't it, Brad?”

           
Drained
from sparring with her, surrender was his only respite.
 
The idea was futile.
  
Bernice was wiser than they were.
 
Refusing to raise his head, he quietly
uttered, “What do you mean?”

           
Trying to keep painful sobs from breaking
through her chest, Bernie continued, “The difference between Sam and me.
 
She doesn't swear, wear whore clothes,
plaster make-up on her face, screw every guy who comes along.
 
She's probably a God Damn virgin.”

           
The sting of Bernie's self-recrimination
filled Brad's eyes with turbulence.
 
Clutching her shoulder’s he shook her.
 
“Stop it.
 
Stop it right now.
 
Don't ever put yourself down, or allow anyone
to appear better than you.
 
I cannot
explain it.
 
Believe me, I don't need
this shit.
 
I didn't plan on falling in
love.
 
I don't want to be in love,
especially with Sam.
 
My life is a
three-ring circus now.
 
But how in hell
can you fight something you can't even see?”

Brad's rough hands slid down Bernie's arms to
clasp her hands.
 
“Forget it.
 
It was a bad idea.
 
Forgive me.
 
I'm sorry.”

Tugging a hand from Brad's grip, Bernie raised it to his prickly cheek.
Flinching, as if expecting a slap, her gentle strokes of calm confused him.

           
Hot liquid filling her eyes began
spilling, streaking her rouged cheeks and dripping onto her fiery lips.
 
“But you are, you big oaf.
 
It’s hit you between the eyes and you're too
damn blind to see it.”
    

           
While her hand singed from desire,
her thoughts wandered.
 
If you only knew
how much I love you, possibly as much as you love Sam.
 
I understand what you are feeling, how you
are hurting.
 
Denied what you want most
is a terrible thing. Fool that I am I will do anything to be with you if only
for a short time.
 
Maybe I can convince
you Sam will break your heart, and, my love, she will.

           
Cloaking Bernie's hand with his,
Brad pressed it against his cheek before easing her palm to his mouth to plant
a lingering kiss.
 
Closing his eyes, he
whispered pitifully, “Help me, Bernie.”

           
His eye lashes tickling her skin sent
tremors through her body coaxing an oath, “Anything you want, my love,
anything, anytime.”
   
This time she
allowed the kiss to remain.
    

CHAPTER
22

“JUNE, 2011”

Knee
height grass rippled like waves from alternating currents of the warm breeze.
 
Extending from the sun, haze like fingers
stretched their arms against the intense blue-sky announcing mid-day.
 

Sweat
trickling into the fine crevices of Brad's forehead, cheeks, and neck became
lost in the forest of fur growing from mounds of muscle.
 
Never did he feel so sluggish, heated, and
spent.
 
Brushing his forearm across his
eyes, through a film of perspiration he became lost in the mirage appearing
before him.

           
A white stallion, stance proud,
carried an exquisite form with lissome legs spread across his back.
 
Black velvet threads shinning like silver
draped the female's breasts and continued on to her waist scarcely disclosing
the nudity beneath.
 
       
Mesmerized he watched as the stallion
rose up on its hind legs, pawed at the wind and galloped toward him.
 
He felt the pounding of hoofs in his chest,
the thrust expelling the breath within. It was Sam.
 
It had to be.
 
No one else was as ravishing no one else possessed a smile so
entrancing, and yes, those eyes, deep blue . . .

...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................……………………………….…………………......

A
muffled cry startled Brad into wakefulness.
 
Eyes automatically skimmed the still form stretched before him for
encouraging movements.
  
There was none.
 
Weary from hours of verbal reminiscing in
hopes of bursting through the steel fortress Sam had built, he had fallen into
a wish-filled sleep.
 
The muffled cry was
his.

Muscles,
stiff from leaning his weight on the mattress were throbbing as they awoke and
straightened.
 
A shooting pain rushed his
toes when he stood and began massaging the anger from his back.
 
Quickly checking the corner, he was relieved
to see Franklin still on duty.
 
“How long
have I been asleep,” he inquired.
 

A
deep gruff voice replied, “A few hours, sir.”

“Any
developments?”

Maintaining
a cool detached tone, the figure responded, “The nurses and doctors have been
in several times but say there has been no change.
 
I've received no reports pertaining to the
investigation.”

“Watch her, will
you?
  
Don not let anything happen to
her.
 
I will be in the cafeteria having a
cup of brew, if you would like I'll bring one back for you.”
 

A hard gaze fixed on
him, “Sorry, sir, I don't eat or drink while on duty.
 
Thank you anyway.
 

Giving Franklin a wink and the barest
of smiles, Brad continued, “Be back shortly.”
 
Leaving the room, he wondered if Franklin liked or ever trusted
anyone.
 

At
first, it was difficult to determine whether Franklin was male or female.
 
Muscles raised the blue cloth of her uniform
in places typical of the male species.
  
Her face resembled a bulldog.
 
She
was tall and stocky.
 
The required cap,
always positioned properly on her head, shielded most of her mossy brown,
cropped short hair.
  
No one would ever
question whether Franklin could or would use the night-stick or weapon worn on
wide hips.
 
Had it been up to Brad to
select someone to guard Sam, Franklin would have won his favor.

Entering
the hallway, his concentration found an elderly couple conversing with Dr.
Swartz.
 
The woman crying hysterically
into a handkerchief sat alongside a man whose arm was around her slender
shoulders, suddenly it hit him, and they were Sam's parents.
 

How
could he not have known?
 
Had the lack of
sleep and nourishment during the past twenty-four hours destroyed brain
cells?
 
Presumably, they just arrived and
the doctor was divulging their daughters’ condition.
  
Arduously contemplating words to relay his
empathy and offer of assistance, he continued at a listless pace.
  

He
became acquainted with Sam's parents soon after returning to Wyoming.
 
Occasionally he helped Jim with repairs,
retrieved strayed cattle, and unloaded hay or feed.
 
At the end of day, Sarah invariably insisted
he join them for dinner.
 

           
Sam's mother missed her terribly and
although Sam called and emailed, Sarah thrilled at the stories Brad told of her
escapades in the big city and her loving relationship with Ted.
 
To ease their concern, he managed to paint a
picturesque scene finding weaving the tales also served to soothe the severed
cords of his heart.
  
Spending time with
Sam's parents was like being with her.

How
was he ever going to face them with the possibility Ted was accountable for her
injuries, that he had allowed it all to happen.
  
Gaining ground on confronting reality, he
over-heard a portion of the conversation.

Blowing her nose,
pathetically Sarah asked through the tissue, “What about the baby?”

Baby
. . . baby . . . what baby, God almighty!
 
A hand placed on the wall braced Brad from the shock,
its
cool façade a resting place for his forehead.
  
No one told him Sam was pregnant.
 
Only last week he had called and asked Maggie
about Sam.
 
She said nothing about a
baby.
 
Ted a father, the very idea
churned turmoil deep inside.
 
He had been
trying to come to terms with the possibility that Ted might beat a woman, a
pregnant woman, never, or was there a chance, if no one else knew about the
baby, Ted didn't either.
 
A cold sweat
cloaked his body.
 
Vomit surged to this
throat.

“I'm
very, very sorry, Mrs. Waverly.
 
We could
not save the baby.
 
We believe your
daughter's coma is self-induced due to her body sensing the tragic loss and
therefore is rejecting life.”

Jim cradled Sarah
soothing her with quiet words as she slumped over in grief’s grasp.
 
Sobs wrenched her body.

Patting them
reassuringly on their shoulders, the doctor continued, “We are doing everything
in our power.
 
Please have faith.”

Unable
to witness their agony, turning his head, Dr. Swartz noticed Brad leaning
against the wall appearing quite ill.
 
Excusing himself, he headed toward him.
 
“Are you O.K.?”

 
Words expelled in short bursts of air,
“Baby?
 
Sam was pregnant?”

“I'm sorry.
 
I explained everything to Ralph and assumed
he told you.”

Overcome
with puzzlement as to why Ralph withheld the information, Brad began to
sway.
 
The doctor gripped his shoulders
to stabilize him. With a voice brimming with bitterness, Brad asked, “How far
along?”

“Six months.
  
Sam is very small, no one would have known.”

“What was the
sex?”
          

“Brad, believe me,
it's only going to make it harder on everyone by knowing.”

“I have to know,
please,” Brad's voice sounded too loud in the echoing corridor.

Knowing
Brad intended to find out one way or another, with a shake of his head the
doctor surrendered.
 
“This is against my
better judgment.
 
You have to swear you
will not tell anyone until they are better able to cope, especially Sam's
parents.
 
For heaven's sake, do not
mention it to Sam.
 
Promise me?”