Rachel Lee (25 page)

"Probably just as well. Some things don't need to be remembered, like moments of sheer terror."

She managed a weak laugh. "Yeah."

Giving in to an impulse he'd been trying to curb since he set eyes on her lying in the bed, he bent over and gently kissed her forehead.

"God, I'm glad you're okay. I've been scared to death."

"It's just a concussion." She sighed and turned toward him, bringing their faces to within a couple of inches. "They won't let me go home until tomorrow. Not that I've got a home."

"You'll always have a home with me, Joni. Always." It was a rash promise, but every cell in his body compelled him to say it. He thought she caught her breath, but the sound was so slight he wasn't sure. What difference did it make? He'd probably just surprised her.

"Thanks, Hardy. But I won't impose forever."

"You can impose for two fore vers and I won't mind."

Her blue eyes opened a little wider, searching his face as if for some kind of confirmation.

"Thank you," she said again. But he could hear the hesitation in her voice.

Hell, he thought, it wasn't what she wanted to hear from him. Of course not. Last night had been a big mistake. She'd said so.

Feeling as if he were horning in where he wasn't wanted, he backed off until he was standing straight beside her bed. Just in time, as it happened, because at that moment Witt and Hannah came bursting into the room.

Witt glared at him. "You!"

It was not an auspicious greeting. Hardy felt something inside him wilting, curling up into a protective knot as both his mind and his emotions tried to fling him back into that night so long ago when Karen had died.

But he was not eighteen years old anymore. He wasn't the same person.

Joni wasn't dead. And Witt, he suddenly realized, was nothing but a scared, sick old man.

"Yeah, me," he said to Witt, trying to keep his tone nonconfrontational. He wasn't sure he succeeded, especially when he felt his jaw harden.

"Witt, please," Hannah said sternly. "Joni."

Then Hannah brushed past Witt and approached the bed across from Hardy.

"Honey," she said, her voice unsteady. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, except for a headache. And except for having to spend the night here." Joni's voice, unlike her mother's, was cool, detached. As if she were talking to a stranger. Hardy hated the sound of it.

Hannah flinched. "That's a good thing, actually."

But Witt was not to be silenced for long. "You're lucky you're not dead," he said harshly. "What were you thinking, getting into a car with that man?"

Joni's face set in hard lines. "What the hell difference does it make to you?" she demanded. "You disowned me, remember? And anyway, the accident wasn't Hardy's fault. He's probably the only reason I'm still alive!"

Witt opened his mouth, his face reddening, but before he could speak, Hannah's voice cut through the room like a whiplash. "Witt, enough!"

"Oh, just get out of here, you two," Joni said. "I'm ashamed of both of you!"

Great reconciliation scene, Hardy thought uneasily. He wished he knew what to say or do to help all of them past this, but he was acutely aware that he had no right to intervene. And acutely aware that Witt would object to anything he said. Anything. God, what a mess.

A nurse came into the room. "Who's shouting? All visitors out of here now."

"No," Joni said. "I want Hardy to stay. Those two can go. Now."

Witt barely glanced at Joni as Hannah took his arm and began to lead him from the room. But he did glare at Hardy, a look that said he had plenty more to say and was going to say it at a later time.

Which, Hardy suddenly realized, was something he was going to look forward to. The last time he'd really faced Witt was when he was eighteen and frightened and hurting. The meeting at the hardware store a few days ago didn't really count. No, he had plenty he wanted to go toe-to-toe with Witt about, and this was as good a time as any.

"Hardy?"

He looked down at Joni. "What?"

"Don't let him get to you. He's a mean old man."

There was a time when Hardy would have agreed with her, but at that moment he couldn't bring himself to. "He's not mean, Joni. He's terrified."

"Of what?" She started to shake her head, then winced. "God, this headache."

He took her hand again, squeezing gently. "He's scared of losing everything he cares about, including you."

"Me? He disowned me!"

"He was angry. And scared."

"Scared of what?"

"That you might get so mad at him over his reaction to my bid that you'd stop talking to him. Scared because what you did showed your major disapproval of him. So he preempted you."

Joni mulled that over for a few minutes, then finally sighed. "My head hurts too much to think about it."

"So think about it another time. I do have one word of advice for you, though. Talk to your mom."

"I can't."

He sighed and leaned closer to her, fixing her with his gaze. "You know, Joni, you're a wonderful woman. But there's part of you that's still very much a spoiled child. Don't you think it's time to grow up?"

Then, before she could say another word, he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I'll check on you tomorrow. Right now, you need your mother."

Then, as if it wasn't one of the hardest things he'd ever done, he walked out of the room.

God, he couldn't believe he'd said that to her. Now he would probably be on her list of people she was never going to speak to again. And for some weird reason, he didn't think he could stand that.

Hardy found Hannah in the waiting room. Witt was nowhere in sight.

"Where's Witt?" he asked.

"I sent him home. Why? Do you want to have it out with him?" There was no challenge in her tone, merely curiosity.

"No, I was just surprised not to see him. Anyway, I'm leaving now. Why don't you go see Joni?"

Hannah patted the chair beside her. After a moment's hesitation, he sat.

Hannah spoke quietly. "Did she tell you why she's so angry with me?"

Part of him wanted to lie to her to spare her embarrassment, but he'd never been very good at lying and rarely was inclined to, anyway.

"Yes."

She nodded, looking down briefly. "How do you feel about that?"

"Me? What does it matter what I think?"

"Because you might be influencing her opinion."

He hadn't thought of that. "Well, I don't give a damn, if you want the truth." Which wasn't strictly true. The idea that he was tangled up with another one of Wilt's daughters gave him serious heartburn when he thought about it. But that didn't mean he thought any less of Hannah.

"I mean, human beings are human beings. We all do things that later we don't feel too proud of. Things that other people can't understand.

But what I think doesn't really matter."

"It could," she said enigmatically. But before he could pursue that assertion, she continued. "I wish Joni would let me explain. I suppose I don't have any excuses, but I certainly have some reasons."

"Which are better than excuses any day. I told her she ought to talk to you. Why don't you go in there now? Maybe she's finally ready to listen."

Hannah nodded. "I'll do that. And you stay clear of Witt until I can talk sense to him."

Hardy couldn't help it. He might be aching all over from bruises and muscle strains, and his heart might feel as heavy as lead over Joni, but he couldn't prevent himself from seeing the humor in that statement. "Nobody can talk sense into Witt."

A smile flickered over Hannah's face. "You might be surprised. Take care, Hardy."

Then she squared her shoulders and left the waiting room. And he realized he hadn't asked if she had a way home. Sighing, he went to call his mother and tell her he was going to be late. He couldn't leave Hannah here to fend for herself.

That was when he remembered that Barbara didn't even know there'd been an accident. He'd been able to prevent Sam and the medical personnel from calling anyone except Hannah. So there Barbara sat, thinking her son was safely in some motel in Wetrock. Hah! Maybe he shouldn't call her at all.

Then he thought how mad she would be when she found out that he'd kept this from her. Hell, he didn't know who was going to give him a worse tonguelashing: Barbara or Joni.

Probably Barbara, he decided. She loved him. And Joni didn't give a damn.

Hannah discovered that Joni had been moved upstairs to a regular room.

It took her a few minutes to get the number out of the admitting clerk, then she headed upstairs, hoping Joni would still be awake.

She wanted to talk to her daughter. Needed to talk to her daughter.

They had a lot of things to clear the air about, and she was getting rather tired of living with this emotional pain and emptiness. If Joni didn't feel up to it tonight, that was fine, but she was going to make it clear to her daughter that they were going to discuss this soon.

However, when she reached the second floor and was on her way down the hushed corridor toward Joni's room, doubt began to gnaw at her. Maybe she shouldn't confront Joni. Not just at this time, but ever.

What could she possibly offer in her own defense? The weak excuse that Lewis was doing it, too? That wasn't going to hold much water with a daughter who had been raised to believe that "everybody's doing it" was no excuse to lower herself.

Hannah paused and leaned against the cool wall, closing her eyes. This past week had worn her out. Age must be catching up with her, she told herself, but she didn't quite believe it. At no time in her past had she had to deal with so much in such a brief time. Witt disowning Joni, Witt's heart attack . and now Joni apparently disowning her.

She'd felt emotionally battered and bruised before in her life, but never quite like this. Never.

What did she hope to accomplish by confronting Joni, anyway? Surely she wasn't hoping that Joni would give her some kind of absolution that would allow her to shed her disgrace and guilt? Because if so, she had no business talking to her daughter about this at all.

But no, there was Joni's relationship with Witt to consider. That was what had prompted her to tell the story in the first place. If she'd had her druthers, she would have told Witt first, but . but not when he was so sick. Although after tonight, she figured he might be able to handle the shock.

Now she didn't feel she could tell Witt without Joni's permission. So what good had she accomplished? Her intent had been to encourage Joni not to accept Witt's rejection as final. But all she'd achieved was to create another split.

Dear God. It was all her fault. She should have told Witt the truth years ago and withstood his anger at her deception. Back when Joni was small, it never would have come to this. Everything might have been different.

"Hannah?" A woman's soft voice reached her, and she opened her eyes to see Martina Escobar, a nurse she'd known for years. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Hannah lied. "Just exhausted."

Martina smiled. "After taking care of Witt Matlock? I should think so. He's a handful and a half. But your daughter's fine."

"I know." Except for the remote possibility she might still have some brain swelling. It had been a bad concussion, and Joni had been unconscious a long while. But Martina was probably right. At this point, with Joni fully awake, they were almost certainly out of the woods.

Smiling back at Martina, she straightened. "I can see her, right?"

"If you'll help me keep her awake all night, you can stay."

The teasing way Martina said it brought a small laugh to Hannah's lips, the first in what seemed like forever. "I'll help."

Moments later she was standing on the threshold of Joni's room. It was a private room, possibly because Joni was a hospital employee. Joni's face was turned toward the dark window, split by horizontal blinds set between the panes of thermal glass.

Hannah's heart squeezed with such pain that she stayed on the threshold, paralyzed by feelings too strong to bear. The reality of what had happened gripped her fully for the first time. Joni could have been killed in the accident. She could have died without ever smiling again.

Hannah would have given anything to see that happy smile again.

Anything. Unfortunately, she didn't know how to accomplish it. And even if she'd had an idea, she didn't think she would trust it. All her other attempts to protect those she loved seemed to have turned into disasters.

Finally, acknowledging that hovering in the doorway wouldn't accomplish anything at all, she entered the room.

If Joni heard her, she gave no sign. She continued to stare blindly at the window. Hannah felt a sharp pang of fear.

"Joni?"

"What?"

It was an irritable, truculent question, not so very different from the way Joni had said it when she was little and feeling cranky. "How's your headache?"

"Better." But she still didn't turn to look at her mother.

"Good." Hannah approached the foot of the bed, unwilling to step into Joni's field of view until she got some sign that it was okay. "You're just like Witt," she said, trying to keep her voice light. "He's been grousing at me and throwing things since he got out of the hospital."

No response. The tide of sorrow and fear began to rise in Hannah's heart again.

"Well," she said, trying to sound brisk, "they told me I could stay here with you tonight and help keep you awake."

"I don't see why I have to stay awake." Crabby, petulant.

"Because you've had a severe concussion. They need to keep an eye on you. If they let you just fall asleep, you might wake up dead."

She had chosen her words with care and felt a brief surge of relief as she saw one corner of her daughter's mouth lift slightly.

"No one wakes up dead," Joni said. But not quite as irritably.

"Depends on your point of view, doesn't it?"

At last Joni turned and looked at her. "Will you please not make me laugh?"