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“This is difficult for him—”
“If I could just see him, talk to him. I know I could help,” she insisted, glancing down the hall. She knew Denver was somewhere on the first floor, but had no idea which room.
“His brother and uncle are complying with his wishes—as I am. In a few weeks, after Denver’s had time to deal with everything, he’ll probably want to see you.”
A few weeks. Tessa couldn’t wait that long. It was a week since the fire, five days since she’d first tried to see him here, and now the doctor was talking about weeks?
Was it possible, as her father and brother had suggested, that Denver didn’t want to see her? She swallowed back every ounce of pride she had. “Could you please tell him—right now—that I’m here. That I have to see him.”
The doctor sighed, his thin face drawn. “It won’t do any good.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve spoken with him about you before. He doesn’t want to see you.”
“I don’t believe it!” she said, stricken, her worst fears confirmed. “I won’t. Not until I hear it from him!”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible!” she hissed, and started to half run, the soles of her boots muffled against the brown carpet. The fear that had been with her since the night of the fire gnawed at her, tearing a greater hole in her heart. Something wasn’t right—something more than the terrible tragedy of the fire.
“Hey! You can’t go down there!” she heard someone behind her yell, but she didn’t stop.
“Miss—miss! Stop her! Oh, hell! Someone call security,” another man said.
Tessa had been in the hospital only once before, but she tore down the halls, looking into private rooms, scanning the signs at each junction of the corridors. Where was he? Where?
She rounded a corner and collided with Colton McLean. She fell against the wall, the wind knocked from her lungs.
Colton’s gray eyes were cold as slate. “What’re you doing here?” he demanded, catching hold of her arm as she tried to scramble past.
“I have to talk to Denver.”
“No way.”
“Let go of me,” she demanded, jerking on her arm as her eyes peered into the surrounding rooms. “He has to be here. Where is he, Colton?”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Colton said, ignoring her question. “He doesn’t want to see you.”
“I don’t believe you! If I could only see him—talk to him—” She wriggled free and started down the hall again, only to be met by two burly security guards.
“I think you’d better leave,” the larger man said.
“Not until I see Denver McLean,” she insisted. She was so close! She had to see him—tell him how much she loved him!
“If you don’t leave of your own volition,” the shorter guard added, his kind eyes understanding despite the rigid set of his shoulders, “we’ve been told to call the police.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” Colton added. “Your family’s in enough hot water as it is.”
“My family had nothing to do with the fire!” She glanced yearningly past the shorter guard’s shoulder, down the hall to a wing labeled ICU. Intensive care! Of course! Desperate to see Denver again, she turned to Colton. “Please,” she begged, “please tell him to call me!”
Colton’s gray eyes flickered with sympathy before turning stone cold. “I’ll tell him you were here,” he said tautly as the heavier guard clamped a beefy hand over her upper arm and dragged her toward the doors.
The next day, she’d gone back to the hospital only to be told that Denver had been flown to a hospital in Los Angeles. All her cards and letters had been returned and even John McLean had kept Denver’s whereabouts a secret. If it hadn’t been for her brother, Mitchell, she wondered if she would have gotten through those first long, lonely weeks.
* * *
Now, as she thought of those seven lost years and the fact that Denver was back for the sole purpose of selling the ranch, her blood boiled. He had a hell of a lot of nerve, she decided, hurrying downstairs.
