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“I’m not supposed to…”
“I’ll fight you until you do,” Nicole threatened, totally uncaring of hospital protocol. “His name is Joaquin Sola. Have you got that?”
“Yes.”
Nicole released her arm. The nurse set down the cloth on the mobile tray and hurried away. The effort of fighting for action had exhausted Nicole. Her head spun sickeningly. She closed her eyes and grimly held back a wave of nausea. How long she lay there, waiting for news, determined to remain conscious, she didn’t know.
She kept willing Quin to be alive. For all she had railed against his intrusion on the life she’d made without him, and the terrible turmoil he’d given her over how good a father he’d be to Zoe, she couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again, never being with him again. In her heart, she desperately wanted the chance for a different relationship to grow between them. He’d promised it would. A new beginning…
“Miss Ashton?”
A male voice.
She opened her eyes.
The nurse was back, accompanied by a man who obviously had more authority. “I’m Dr. Jefferson,” he said. “Your fiancé is in surgery. He has broken ribs, one of which punctured his lung. I can assure you he’s in good hands.”
In surgery.
Fear sucked the breath out of her lungs.
Her father had died in surgery.
Which was why her mother had frantically sought other ways of ridding Harry of his liver cancer.
You can’t die, Quin, she thought fiercely. I won’t have you die on me.
“Now we have to get you up to X-rays, Miss Ashton,” the doctor carried on. “It appears you’re only suffering from concussion and deep bruising but we have to check. Do we have your co-operation?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She clung to the thought that Quin was in good hands while she was X-rayed and had her head-wound stitched up. He was very fit and healthy. Most people did live through surgery. Quin would surely recover. It was just a matter of time.
As soon as she could, she’d tell him they could start planning to get married. The plain truth was she didn’t want to live her life without him again. Pain or pleasure…she no longer cared…as long as they were making a future together as best they could. For Zoe. And for each other.
She gratefully accepted the sedation the doctor ordered. She needed the pain to go away, needed the gnawing treadmill of worries and resolutions to stop for a while, needed to blot out the waiting time before she could go and see Quin for herself. The last hazy thought drifting through her mind was…
Tomorrow will be a new day.
No looking back…only looking forward.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
QUIN could hear his mother talking to him in Spanish. She was telling him about the games she’d played with Zoe, what an imaginative child she was, how sweet and caring and clever. It struck Quin there was something wrong with this scenario and he struggled to work out what it was. His mind seemed to have acquired layers of cotton wool. He concentrated on peeling them away. His mother continued to rave on about her beautiful grand-daughter.
But you’ve only seen photos of her, Quin suddenly thought, and the jab of that memory opened the door to other memories. The car accident. Nicole unconscious, bleeding from her head. His eyes flew open. He was in hospital, tubes attached to him, his mother sitting by his bed.
“Madre!” he croaked. His vocal chords felt as though they were rusty from disuse.
Before he could manage to say more, his mother leapt up from her chair in shock and alarm. “You are awake! Gracias Dios!” she cried as though it were a miracle, clasping her hands together in prayer. “I beg you, Joaquin, do not move. I must fetch a doctor.”
She was already turning to do so when he got out the most important word. “Nicole…”
It halted her only momentarily. “Nicole is fine,” she threw back at him in an agitated rush. “They only kept her here two nights to watch over her concussion and ensure there was no infection in the head wound. She has been home for days. Now please lie still while I get the doctor.”
For days?
Relief at being assured of Nicole’s well-being mixed with confusion over what had happened to him. How long had he been out of it? The tubes suggested they had been feeding him intravenously. He was attached to some kind of monitors, as well. He wriggled his toes to check that he still had mobility. His chest was sore. He had a hazy memory of being prepared for surgery.
