Authors: Sherryl Woods
Without further warning, he slashed the knife through the air. Sam ducked instinctively and saw the blur as it barely missed his cheek. He felt the sting as it nicked his shoulder instead. Tank's next slice was poorly aimed and gave Sam a chance to grab his arm and twist it. He kneed him in the groin and heard his grunt of pain.
"Get him," Tank ordered, sounding breathless and furious.
Sam could have taken on two of them, maybe even three, but not five. They closed in around him, pinning him in place for Tank's attack.
Sam tried to get to the gun he had tucked into his boot, the one he'd sworn he didn't have and didn't want to use, but one of the boys slammed a punch into his midsection and doubled him over. Gagging and trying to catch his breath, he again reached for the gun, only to have Tank stab him again...and again. The pain was unbearable and unrelenting and then it faded as the world turned hazy and distant. He was losing blood.
It was the distant sound of sirens that probably saved him.
"Cops!" one of the teens warned, and then they were all gone, leaving him in an agony of pain, crumpled on the sidewalk in a pool of his own blood.
Just before he passed out, Sam thought he heard Penny's voice calling to him, demanding that he hold on. He could have sworn he felt her hand caressing his cheek, felt the brush of her lips across his, but that couldn't be. She was inside her apartment half a block away, safe. Dammit, she had to be safe.
P
enny stood by the pay phone in the emergency room shaking uncontrollably as she fumbled with her address book and tried to dial Dana's unfamiliar number. She got two wrong numbers, awakening some very cranky strangers, before she finally got it right by hitting the numbers with careful deliberation. As it rang, she tried to think of what she would say to Sam's sister.
Even though the paramedics in the ambulance had promised her that Sam was going to make it, she hadn't believed them. He'd been so terribly pale and his hand in hers had been like ice. She'd wanted to throw herself onto the stretcher to warm him. Only the awareness that the paramedics were providing him with essential treatments had kept her from shoving them aside to take over his care herself.
When Jason finally answered the phone, his voice groggy with sleep, it was all Penny could do to keep from sobbing. "Jason?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"It's Penny. Penny Hayden."
"Are you okay?" he asked, instantly picking up on the alarm in her voice.
"It's not me. It's Sam," she said, choking back a note of hysteria. "He's in surgery."
"An accident?"
"No. He was attacked outside my apartment. I think it was one of those gangs."
"How bad is it?" he asked.
The calm note in his voice soothed her. She could hear Dana asking questions in the background. Penny wanted to reassure her, to reassure herself, but she couldn't find the words. "The paramedics said he would make it, but I'm scared," she admitted. "He lost so much blood."
"We'll be there as soon as we can find someone to look after the kids," he promised. "Hold on, okay?"
"I'm trying."
Penny retreated to the waiting room and huddled in a chair, trying to ward off the chill of stark terror. She couldn't lose him, not like this. Not now. The moment she had seen him on the street, lying there bleeding and unconscious, she had realized with absolute clarity that what she'd dismissed all these years as a silly infatuation really was love, a love that had been tested by time--for her, anyway.
She was hardly aware of the passing of time, but a nurse brought her a cup of coffee and promised to return when there was any news from the operating room. It seemed like forever, but it was probably no more than an hour before Jason and Dana arrived. Dana's eyes widened in horror at the sight of all the blood spattered on Penny's clothes.
"Oh, my God, were you hurt, too?" she asked, dropping into the chair beside Penny and enfolding Penny's hands in her own warmer, stronger grasp.
"No, I wasn't there. He'd just dropped me off," she said in a shaky voice. "It happened as he was going back to his car. Randy, this kid who's been keeping an eye on me for Sam, saw the guys come out of an alley. Thank goodness he was there. Sam had given him the night off, but Randy took his assignment seriously. He passed by just to check things out. Anyway, when he saw what was happening, he ran to my apartment and I called for help. By the time I got downstairs, the ambulance was on its way and the gang had taken off."
Dana looked puzzled. "Why was somebody watching you?"
"It's a long story, but a gang leader had threatened me. Sam's been trying to keep an eye on me. When he wasn't available, Randy took over."
Tears welled up in Dana's eyes before she turned away from Penny. She stood and began to pace.
"I knew it," she said, her gaze going to her husband. "I knew one of these days he was going to get hurt. I hate the fact that he's a cop. When this is over, I'm going to insist that he leave the force."
Jason pulled her into his arms. "No, you're not. You know this is something he has to do. Being a cop is who he is."
"Well, he can damned well be something else," Dana snapped angrily.
Penny could sympathize. In the past hour she'd grown to despise the job that put Sam's life in danger every single day. Chances were when things calmed down, Dana wouldn't say a word to him, but Penny vowed that she would. She would not have him endangering his life just because he thought he didn't matter to anyone. With a sudden flash of insight, she realized that that conviction was behind all of his actions. Couldn't he see how many people cared about him? Hadn't he figured out yet how much his life was worth?
Just look at the gathering in the waiting room. In the time since word had gone out about the attack, Ryan and Jake had turned up, along with several other police officers. Dana and Jason had been joined by Kevin and Lacey. And Randy hovered nearby. Penny went to him.
"Would you like to go to the chapel with me?"
He lifted his distressed face and met her gaze. Finally he nodded. "I haven't said too many prayers in my life," he admitted.
She squeezed his hand. "Then this one will count even more," she promised.
They sat side by side in the dimly lit hospital chapel for what seemed an eternity. They were still there when Jason came in search of them.
"He's out of surgery."
Penny waited for more.
Jason smiled at her. "The doctors say he'll be fine."
An astonishing sense of relief washed through her. He would be fine, she repeated to herself. And then she vowed to strangle him herself if he ever took unnecessary chances again.
"You're very lucky," the doctor said to Sam a few hours after he finally regained consciousness.
They'd told him it had taken forty-eight hours for him to emerge from the haze of painkillers and anesthetic. He'd come to and started yelling. He'd raised such a ruckus that the nurses had fled, sending Dr. Kline to settle him down. Apparently the physician's favorite technique for taming a troublesome patient was to scare him to death.
"A hairbreadth to the right and he'd have cut a main artery," the surgeon added. "You would not be in here giving all my nurses a rough time. You'd be on a slab at the morgue. As it is, you should come away from this with nothing more than a nasty scar or two. Most of your wounds were superficial."
"How comforting."
"Don't knock it. It will impress the hell out of the ladies. One in particular has been fascinated with the damage ever since we brought you in."
He dragged his head off the pillow. "Penny? Where is she?" Awakening alone, he had been struck anew by the fear that she had been harmed in the attack.
"Not to worry," Dr. Kline soothed, his manner changing in response to Sam's obvious distress. "I sent her off for coffee. I would have preferred she go home and get some sleep, but she hasn't budged any farther than the hospital cafeteria."
So she had been there, Sam thought. "Was she hurt?"
"No. You can stop your worrying on that score. From what I hear she arrived at the same time as the ambulance, insisted on coming along for the ride. She has a stubborn streak a lot like yours."
"Who called for help?"
The doctor shook his head. "She'll have to tell you that. My expertise begins with your arrival on our doorstep."
"I want out."
The doctor grinned. "I'll just bet you do."
"Well?"
"Not if you threatened me with jail time." He waved on his way out.
For the next hour there was a steady parade of visitors beginning with Dana and Jason and Kevin and Lacey, all offering him a place to stay when he was eventually released. He responded testily to the offers. Then Ryan and Jake stopped by with a promise to have Tank and his pals locked up before the end of the day. They vowed to see that they were tried as adults and spent a long, long time in prison. Sam reacted crankily to them, as well, his eyes peeled on the door, waiting for Penny to return. He wanted to see for himself that Tank hadn't gotten to her. Fear warred with impatience.
When Penny eventually sashayed into his room, he took out his frustration on her before he noted the exhaustion on her face and the blood spatters all over her clothes. She hadn't even taken time to go home and change clothes. Alarm at her appearance made him even more irritable.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "You should be at home getting some rest."
"Rumor has it some creep tried to cut you down to size," she said, reacting to his testiness with amazing calm. "I thought I'd stick around to hear your version."
"It wouldn't have happened if there hadn't been five of them," he grumbled. "I couldn't keep my eyes on all of them at once."
"Tank, I assume. At least, that's what Randy thought. He saved your life, you know. He ran to my apartment and we called for help. Whoever attacked you had run off by the time we got back outside."
"It was Tank."
"How come you didn't spot him?"
"My mind was on other things," he admitted reluctantly, recalling the conversation they'd had only moments before the attack. "It'll never happen again."
"Too bad he didn't aim for your hard head. The knife would probably have ricocheted off."
This wasn't going the way he'd meant it to at all. He'd expected a woman who'd spent two days at his bedside to display a little sympathy. She wasn't giving him an inch. "Did you stick around here to cheer me up?" he asked.
"Sure did."
"You're doing a lousy job of it."
"Ah, but I have news. Word is that you want out."
"I asked. The doctor said no."
"Obviously you didn't use your charm on him. He told me he would be willing to spring you day after tomorrow if you will go someplace where someone can watch out for you and where you will be guaranteed a week or so of bed rest."
"I can watch out for myself."
She glared at him with obvious impatience. "Do you want to get out of here or not? The entire medical complex has voted you worst patient of the year and you've only been awake for the past couple of hours. When Didi calls because she's heard the grumbling clear over in the labs, it has to be bad. Pretty soon, they're liable to start withholding food just to weaken your spirit."
"So what the hell am I supposed to do? Hire a babysitter?"
Wide blue eyes regarded him thoughtfully. "Let's see now. You could have gone to Jason and Dana's, but you turned them down. As I recall, you said something about not being cooped up with a squalling brat, one neurotic toddler and a budding delinquent, which I might add would probably earn you ten to twenty in prison if Grandfather heard you talking that way about his great-grandchildren."
He flinched. "Dana knew I didn't mean it. They're actually great kids."
"Perhaps you'll tell them how great they are, if Dana and Jason ever permit you near them again. Now let me think. Kevin and Lacey were willing to have you stay out at Cape Cod, but what were your exact words?"
She regarded him expectantly. He remained stubbornly, guiltily silent. It didn't matter. She filled them in for him. "I believe you told them if you wanted to retire to the damned beach, you'd go someplace that wasn't overrun with tourists. Was that it?"
"Something like that," he muttered. "So what's your point?"
She studied him with a look that made him very, very wary.
"Looks like I'm elected," she announced.
"You?" he repeated weakly. This was beginning to sound like a very bad idea. Perhaps he should just stay put and deal with the whims of the nurses.
"That's right. Me. Grandfather's already called from California to check on you. He says we can stay over at his place."
"What's wrong with my own apartment? I'd rather be in my own place."
"Yeah, well, we don't always get what we want in life. Besides, do you honestly think the two of us could survive without killing each other in that cramped space you've described to me? Ditto my apartment. Besides, the housekeeper's at Grandfather's."
Sam sensed a new twist in Brandon's plot. Even though he might have wanted something exactly like this, he reacted with suspicion now that Brandon's fine hand was involved. "If Mrs. Farnsworth is around, why do I need you?" he inquired testily.
"To keep her from quitting," she said succinctly.
I
t was just for a couple of days, a week at the outside, Penny told herself the next night as she packed a bag to take across town in the morning. She could put up with anything, even a foul-tempered beast like Sam Roberts, for that long. Who knew, maybe she'd even become totally disenchanted with the man. That would be a welcome change from the anguish she'd felt when a nearly incoherent Randy had come pounding into her apartment, tears streaming down his face while she frantically dialed 9-1-1.
She had relived the terror of the next few hours over and over again in her mind. In the time it had taken her to figure out what had happened to Sam and to reach him where he lay bleeding on the sidewalk, she had died a thousand deaths.
Ironically, her distress had calmed Randy and he'd knelt beside her, reassuring her over and over that Sam would be all right. He'd demonstrated a maturity far beyond his years and she'd been grateful for his presence in the emergency room while she and the rest of the family had awaited word on Sam's fate.
In the middle of the night when the trauma surgeon had eventually made the same promise for his recovery that she'd heard from the paramedics, she hadn't entirely believed it. Only when Sam had regained consciousness the previous afternoon had she finally been convinced.
Then, when she'd returned to Sam's room and been the target of his cranky attitude, she had known he was already on the road to recovery. Relief had washed through her even as he'd verbally sparred with her. She'd thought then that she would take endless doses of his foul humor any day over losing him. She'd actually looked forward to the coming days together.
Twenty-four hours later, after they'd settled into Brandon's, Penny wasn't so sure either of them would survive Sam's slow recovery process. She was beginning to understand why the hospital had been so anxious to get rid of him. Saying that Sam was a bad patient was like saying Attila the Hun had a minor interest in power. His shouts echoed through her grandfather's house.
"Dammit, get your hands off of me! Penny! Penny!"
Sitting at the kitchen table having a much-needed cup of tea, Penny glanced at Mrs. Farnsworth, whose expression was filled with tolerant amusement.
"I guess he doesn't care to be bathed by the visiting nurse's aide," Penny noted drily.
"He'd probably rather it be you," the housekeeper said, looking innocent as a lamb as Penny choked on her tea.
Penny doubted it was anything that lascivious. He was just being obstinate and mule-headed. "Is it time for his painkiller yet?" she inquired hopefully. "That usually knocks him out for an hour or so."
Mrs. Farnsworth grinned. "He just took it. Probably stuck it under his pillow, if I know him."
"Was he this obnoxious as a teenager?"
"Worse. And he wasn't even sick when he'd hang around here then."
Penny shook her head. "Hard to believe Grandfather didn't beat the dickens out of him."
"Are you kidding? Those two were thick as thieves from the minute they met. Mr. Halloran always did admire a person with spunk. He loved having Sammy drop by."
"Then Mr. Halloran ought to be back here babysitting him."
Any further observations about the patient's temperament were cut short by another indignant shout. "Hell, woman, what are you trying to do? Scrub the skin off me? Penny! Get up here!"
Penny and the housekeeper exchanged a glance.
"I guess I'd better get upstairs before the woman refuses to set foot inside the house again," Penny said. "Have you got some lemonade? That ought to suit his sour mood."
"Just made a fresh pitcher. You go on up. I'll bring it."
Penny reluctantly climbed the stairs. The nurse, an expression of grim satisfaction on her face, met her halfway up.
"Everything okay?" Penny asked Ruth Dawkins, a handsome African-American woman with twenty years' experience dealing with surly patients. She didn't look any the worse for her encounter with Sam.
"It is now," she said. "Showed him this great big needle in my bag and told him I'd use it to dose him up with tranquilizers, if he didn't mind his manners."
Penny didn't even try to contain her grin. "How'd he react?"
"He's quiet, isn't he? I'll be back tomorrow. Same time. I don't expect I'll be having any more trouble."
"No, I don't expect you will," Penny said. "Thanks, Ruth."
"Honey, you decide to marry that man, I'd suggest you have counseling first to talk you out of it. He's a fine-looking man, but he's got the temper of the devil."
"I don't think marriage is an issue, but if it ever comes up, I'll remember your advice. Maybe I'll even borrow that needle of yours."
She climbed the remaining stairs quickly. She wanted to see if Ruth had actually tamed the beast. She found him sprawled across clean sheets, his head propped up against freshly fluffed pillows. His blond hair was tousled and he was still unshaven. Apparently he'd refused to allow Mrs. Dawkins near him with a razor or comb.
The top sheet was draped strategically, leaving his bandaged chest bare and one leg poking out. Penny seriously doubted Ruth had left him covered so provocatively. She'd probably tucked that sheet up to his handsome chin.
He turned an accusing look on Penny. "You left me alone with a crazy woman."
"I hear she found a way to bring you in line."
"She threatened me with a needle the size of one of Dana's knitting needles."
Sam seemed faintly bemused by that. Penny grinned at him. "I've already asked her to lend it to me."
He scowled at her. "Don't even think about it." He struggled into an upright position and swung his leg off the bed. "Help me up."
She regarded him with astonishment. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Outside. I do not intend to stay cooped up in this room. The sun's shining. I want to be outdoors."
"The doctor doesn't want you climbing stairs."
"Then you shouldn't have stuck me up here, should you? Get my pants."
Penny folded her arms across her chest defiantly. "No."
His gaze narrowed. Finally he shrugged. "Suit yourself."
He stood and the sheet fell away. For the second time in recent weeks Penny was treated to an eyeful. The man was... She searched for a suitable word. Gorgeous didn't seem remotely adequate. Her pulse raced, in spite of her efforts to pretend indifference.
"Sam," she protested.
His eyes glittered with amusement. "Told you to get my pants."
"Hasn't anyone ever introduced you to the concept of underwear?"
"Sure. I've got a whole drawer filled with it."
"You're supposed to wear it."
"In bed? What for?"
Penny groaned. She grabbed his pants off the back of a chair and handed them to him. "If you can get them on by yourself, then we'll talk about going downstairs."
He glowered at her. "I can see why you decided to spend your life with books and germs. You don't know the first thing about getting along with flesh and blood people," he accused as he struggled to stay upright.
"Talk about the pot calling the kettle black," she muttered. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to go to his aid as his complexion turned ashen. He finally uttered a sigh of disgust and collapsed back on the bed.
She smiled at him as she gently tugged the sheet back into place. "Maybe tomorrow."
"What am I supposed to do now?"
"Rest."
An oddly wistful expression came over his face. "Sorry. Don't know how."
She realized in a heartbeat that it was probably true. He'd had a tough adolescence and turned into a compulsive overachiever from the day he'd joined the police force.
"When was the last time you took a vacation?"
"I was at the Cape a couple of weeks ago."
"For the weekend," she reminded him.
He shrugged. "That's it."
"You took two consecutive days off and considered it a vacation?"
"Three. I had Friday off, too."
Penny shook her head. "It's going to be a very long recovery, isn't it?"
"For both of us. Is that what you're saying?" He kept his gaze fastened on her when he spoke. "Are you already regretting the fact that you agreed to do this?"
Sam sounded as if it were no more than he had expected, as if he'd known from the outset that she'd run out on him at the first hint of discord. There was a bleak, accepting expression in his eyes that made her want to weep.
Impulsively, she reached out and squeezed his hand. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Roberts."
She thought she detected a vague hint of relief in his eyes before his eyelids fluttered closed and he drifted off to sleep, still clinging to her hand.
Penny thought perhaps they'd reached an understanding. She'd actually hoped that her reassurances that she wasn't bailing out no matter how difficult he was might actually be a turning point. However, the next day brought absolutely no improvement in Sam's mood.
The arrival of Ryan O'Casey and Jake Washington served as only a minor distraction. Even their announcement that Sam's attackers had been caught and jailed, thanks to an informant in the gang, didn't cheer him up. He seemed to think they should have waited until he could personally capture Tank and his accomplices. Testosterone run amok, Penny thought in disgust.
How could anyone possibly live with a man who dealt with people and danger like that day in and day out, who actually seemed to thrive on it? She was beginning to wonder if she could.
Add in his lousy temper and it was doubtful anyone else would ever be able to pull it off, either. To her surprise, she found herself worrying about him going through life all alone, even though that was what he claimed to want.
Of course, under the circumstances, it could be a very short life. That worried her most of all. Since his attack, she was awakened again and again by nightmares in which he'd been lying in a pool of his own blood, only this time there was no one around to save him. For a long time afterward she'd lain there, bathed in sweat, her heart thudding as she fought off panic.
If she was this terrified now, knowing that he was safe in the bedroom down the hall, what would happen to her when he went back on duty? Her gut-wrenching fear was totally unexpected. In her entire secure existence, she'd never experienced anything like it. She knew it was something she was going to have to confront and confront soon, if she really hoped that one day she and Sam might have a future together.
He regarded her worriedly when she walked into his room the next morning after one of the worst nightmares she'd had. "You okay?" he asked.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
"I thought I heard you pacing last night."
"Just a bad dream. I couldn't get back to sleep."
"What kind of bad dream?"
She wanted to tell him, wanted him to know how fearful she was, but something in his expression told her he'd already guessed. "It was nothing," she said.
He regarded her bleakly. "If you say so," he said. He rolled onto his side, his back to her, effectively shutting her out.
Penny sighed. Someday soon she would have to be honest with him. For now, though, her only goal was to survive his rotten mood swings, to get him well again.
The next morning before Penny got up, Sam managed to haul himself out of bed and down the stairs. She found him collapsed into a chair on the terrace, his breakfast tray beside him. He stayed where he was, silent and morose, for most of the morning. She could tell when he began getting restless.
He stood and paced back and forth in front of her, until she was ready to scream.
"Sit down and read a book before you tear your stitches open," she advised finally.
He looked as if the concept were alien. She handed him something by Ernest Hemingway that she'd brought out in the distant hope of reading it herself. Maybe he'd buy into all that macho stuff that drove Hemingway's male protagonists.
Fifteen minutes later he'd tossed it aside. "The guy's a jerk," he declared.
"The author or the character?"
"The character," he said at once. Then paused. "Maybe the author. He created the guy, right? Hell, both of them."
To Penny's astonishment, they wound up having an actual conversation about books. It didn't last long, but it was heartening just the same.
When he tired of it, though, he regarded her speculatively. "Want to play poker?"
She caught the unmistakable gleam in his eye. "I don't think so."
He took the refusal in stride. "There are some computer games upstairs. I used to hang out here and play them. Drove Granddad Brandon crazy because he could never beat me. Mrs. Farnsworth told me he used to practice when I wasn't around, cursing a blue streak the whole time."
"That is not an incentive to get me to take you on," Penny told him. "You're already driving me crazy."
"I'll go easy on you," he promised.
Anything was better than watching him mope around, Penny decided. Besides, it was time to get him back up those stairs and closer to the bed he belonged in.
Fifteen minutes later, she realized to her astonishment that she had a fierce competitive streak. Apparently it had lain dormant all those years when she'd excelled at everything without even trying. Because she also had more patience than Sam, she watched carefully, analyzed the timing of those little characters on the screen and slowly began to get the hang of the game. Once she did that, it was only a little while before she started gaining on him.
"You've played before," he accused when she beat him by several hundred points. "You hustled me."
"Nope. First time I ever played. It's all a matter of mathematics, timing, maybe some innate coordination."
She stood. He snagged her hand and pulled her onto his lap. Startled, she stayed where she landed.
"Now let's see if I have this," he said.
His gaze was intent in a way that should have made her nervous, but only filled her with an odd little thrill of anticipation.
"One, that's you," he said. "Plus one, that's me, equals two. And if I were to kiss you, say right now, that would be a matter of timing."