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The doctor nodded in acknowledgment and spoke slowly. “It was a bad one, Zack. I won’t sugarcoat it for you. He’s still in bad shape. I’ll put him in intensive care and he’ll stay there until I see fit to let him out. It may be several weeks. He’s conscious, told me he had goddamned fried chicken for lunch.” When he saw that Zack was about to speak, he held up both hands in front of him. “I know, I know, you hate to nag him. Anyway, he’ll be monitored twenty-four hours a day. I don’t want him to relieve himself without my knowing it.” He suddenly became aware of Camille and glanced quickly to Zack before he apologized. “I’m sorry, young lady, for being so indelicate.”
“Dr. George Daniels, Miss Camille Jameson. She’s staying at Bridal Wreath and redecorating it for us.”
“Ah, yes. Rayburn mentioned you when I saw him at his last checkup. He was looking very forward to your arrival.”
“Is there anything we can do, Dr. Daniels?” Camille asked after shaking the strong, sensitive fingers of the doctor.
“Yes. As soon as he’s allowed visitors, you can come and sit by his bedside. The sight of your face and body would give any man a reason for wanting to recover.” He laughed and Camille blushed, looking timidly at Zack, who was smiling. Dr. Daniels was no fool. He had relaxed them all, and Camille was grateful to the crusty, brusque man for that. She liked him.
She excused herself, leaving Zack and the doctor to their own conversation, and told the anxious Mitchells the news about their employer.
“Why don’t the two of you go home. I’ll stay here with Zack. I’m sure he won’t be leaving any time soon. We’ll call you if there is any change in Mr. Prescott’s condition.”
Actually, they probably had more business staying with Zack than she did, but there was no way on earth she would leave him now.
She turned from the door after waving them off and saw the bed with Rayburn on it being rolled out of the emergency unit on its short trip to the ICU. He was surrounded by professional people. A nurse supported an IV bottle over his arm. When Camille drew closer, she saw the oxygen tubes inserted in his nostrils. His face still retained that unhealthy, waxen sheen, and Camille’s earlier alarm returned.
Zack was leaning over his father and clasping one of the pale hands in his own strong, brown ones. Camille couldn’t hear what they were saying. Rayburn’s voice was weak, but Zack was smiling. Just as they were about to roll the bed away, Rayburn caught sight of her. Much to her dismay and the censure of the nurses, Rayburn motioned her over. Dr. Daniels gave a perfunctory nod of his head when she sought his permission with her eyes. She moved toward the bed and leaned over Rayburn, placing her ear almost directly over his lips so she could hear his hoarse whisper.
She smiled down into his face and nodded her head, then brushed Rayburn’s forehead with her lips. The nurses rolled the bed down the hall with Dr. Daniels swaggering behind it.
“What was that all about?” Zack asked her as they followed the entourage at a distance down the hall.
“He asked me to take care of you. He said that you are stubborn sometimes and won’t accept help when you need it.” She slid her eyes in his direction.
“Oh, yeah? What do you think, Miss Jameson?” he asked belligerently.
“I think that is probably a fair assessment of your personality. I also think you need a cup of coffee.” When he started to protest, she argued, “They won’t allow you to see him for a long while yet. Come on,” she ordered, taking his arm and steering him in the opposite direction of the ICU ward toward the coffee shop.
“Yes, sergean
t,” he snapped.
When they were seated at the pink Formica-topped table sipping coffee whose only merit was the fact that it was hot, Zack said seriously, “I haven’t had a chance to thank you for what you did today. I—”
“Zack, please. Don’t say any more.” She shook her head sadly as she gripped the warm cup between her cold hands and stared at the oily, dark liquid it contained. “Do you really think I want your ‘thank yous’? After all that’s happened between us—”
“Yes,” Zack interjected. “Yes, something did happen between us.” He searched the golden-flecked brown eyes raised to his. They had become luminous with unshed tears. He took her small hand and enveloped it between his. “Why, in God’s name, Camille, why did you leave me that night at Snow Bird?”
He had never overtly mentioned their night together, and, now that it was there, in the open, between them, all the memories came flooding back, suffocating Camille, drowning her in recollections. She longed to reach out and touch the soft curls hanging loosely on his forehead, caress the firm chin and strong jaw line, lay her head against the hard chest, find succor in the strength of his arms. She composed herself enough to speak. “I… Utah happened so long ago, Zack. It was another time. I don’t want to talk—”
“I want to talk about it, goddammit!” The cords of his neck stood out and he spoke between clenched teeth.
“You’re upset, Zack. I don’t think either of us is emotionally stable enough right now to hash over ancient history.” It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but she had to be hard in order to save her life. Then she added a cheap shot. She knew it to be that when she said it, but she was fighting for her last shred of dignity. “I don’t think it’s fair to your father for us to sit here and discuss our problems.”
He muttered an expletive, pushed back from the table, and fished in the pocket of his tight jeans for change to leave on the table. As they were walking toward the door of the coffee shop, he gripped her upper arm and turned her around to face him.
His face was bending low over hers when he threatened, “I’ll know the reason why, Camille. No woman leaves my bed and makes no explanation. When this is all over, you’ll tell me why you did.”
He released her abruptly and she staggered before she regained her footing. That’s all it was! His male ego had been trampled, and he must know why she had left him. He didn’t care about her or her feelings. He only wanted his self-image restored. Apparently, he had had so many interludes, that a woman sneaking away from him was unheard of. Camille had remained vivid in his mind only for that distinguishing reason. She was the one—the only one—who had ever left him!
The words struck her like a physical blow. She had hoped that maybe Zack had felt a small measure of the tenderness she felt for him. Now she knew better. She had been a body, nothing more. An object to satisfy his sexual lust, not a person with a soul and spirit. When he had awakened to find that his bed partner for the night had left him, his ego had been bruised. His pride couldn’t tolerate that, and he still wanted to know the reasons behind her desertion.
And yet, even as she raged at him, Camille knew she loved him. She studied him as he consulted with the nurses and Dr. Daniels as they came and went out of Rayburn’s room all afternoon and evening. Yes, she loved him. What was she going to do? Over and over, throughout that interminable day, she asked herself that question.
When she and Zack finally left the hospital, it was after eleven o’clock. Dr. Daniels assured them that he would call if there were any change in Rayburn’s condition before morning. They drove home depleted and silent.
They still hadn’t spoken even as they let themselves into the darkened entrance hall. Nor did they speak before Zack took her in his arms and crushed her to him in a punishing embrace.
