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“If you think I’m going to do anything more than let you sleep and eat, you’re way off base.”
“Really? I thought you’d have incentive to get me up to my fighting weight again.”
“Why’s that?”
“So you can show me the rest of your tricks.” She grinned at him. “I can’t wait. I’ve been lying here for the past week wondering what they are.”
The tension in his face relaxed as a smile touched his mouth. “It’ll be a while before you’re in shape for any of that.”
“Depends on how fast you get me into shape, doesn’t it?”
“We’re going to take it nice and easy. A ruptured liver isn’t something you get over in a day or two.” She was also missing part of her spleen, and the bullet had shattered two ribs. On the other hand, John was still alive, and that was the most important thing. He’d have been shot down in front of her if she hadn’t drawn their attention.
“What were you doing?” she asked, drawing back and frowning at him as she was finally able to ask the question that had been nagging at her since she’d regained consciousness. “Why were you going for Ronsard like that?”
“The bastard held a gun to your head,” he said simply. “And I lost control. I do that a lot where you’re concerned.”
“This can’t keep happening.”
“I’ll try to do better.” The tone was dry now—very dry.
“The deal I made with Ronsard—I haven’t talked to Mr. Vinay about it. Will it hold?”
“Hold? They’re ecstatic.”
“The whole thing seemed like a good idea at the time. All he wants is money to take care of Laure; he doesn’t care where it comes from or how he gets it.” She paused. “Can you find her a heart?”
“We’re trying. The odds are against it, but we’re trying.” He sighed. “And if we find her a heart, that means a healthier child somewhere won’t have that chance.”
“With the information Ronsard can provide, a lot of other lives will be saved, though.”
They were both silent, the ethical considerations weighing heavy on each side of the argument. Where one stood, she suspected, depended on whether or not one’s child was involved. She understood Ronsard’s single-minded devotion to his daughter; someone else whose child was waiting on a heart wouldn’t be at all understanding.
She put her hands on the arms of the chair and slowly pushed herself to a standing position. John stood also, his face anxious, his hands outstretched to catch her as if she were a toddler taking her first steps. She grinned up at him. “I’m not that fragile.”
“You are to me,” he said, and remembered terror swept over his face. “Damn you, no more heroics, do you hear me?”
“Leave them to you, is that it?”
He took a deep breath. “Yeah. Leave them to me.”
“I can’t.” She put her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. “Heroes are few and far between. When you find one, you gotta take care of him.” How fortunate she had been, she thought, to have loved and been loved by two such men as Dallas and John—extraordinary men by any standard.
Slowly his hands stroked up her back, his touch light so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt her. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
Niema turned her lips against his chest, breathing in the hot male scent of his skin. She had lost the thread of conv
ersation as soon as he touched her. “What’s that?”
“When you find a hero, you gotta take care of her.” He tilted her chin up with his hand. “Partners?”
A slow, delighted grin spread over her face, dispelling the aura of fragility. “Partners,” she said, and they shook hands on the deal.
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