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“What about Mick and Trey? He’ll go after them too, won’t he?”
“Probably. I’ve instructed them to wear bulletproof vests until we get this resolved. And we’ve got two more guys coming up from DC to help us out.”
“Okay. Then they’re on the case, and you don’t need to get out of your sickbed to help them. You need to get better, or you won’t be any good to anyone.”
“I know that,” he grits out, glaring at me with narrowed eyes.
For the first time in hours, I almost laugh at his mutinous expression. “The better you take care of yourself, the sooner you’ll be back up to full speed.”
“I know that too. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. It’s some sort of torture. Stuck in this bed while you’re in danger.”
“Well, how about this? I’ll stay here with you. I need to take care of you anyway, so I’ll just hang out in here with you. That way you’ll know I’m not getting into any trouble when you aren’t there to protect me.”
He makes a grunting sound that I take for agreement.
“Okay then. So you stay in bed and try to rest, and I’ll stay where you can see me. Then we can both get what we want.”
“If I was getting what I want, I wouldn’t be injured.”
“Well, same, but it is what it is. Nothing to do about it now. At least you’re not dead.” My voice breaks as I realize how close the bullet came. How the unthinkable could have happened.
I could have lost him forever.
“Damn it, baby.” He shifts, making moves like he’s trying to push himself up out of the bed.
“No! Don’t you dare get up.”
“You’re about to cry.”
“No, I’m not. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t appear to believe me. I can hardly blame him since a tear slides down my cheek just then.
With a sigh, I walk around to the other side of the bed and climb in beside Caleb. I scoot close, and he wraps his good arm around me.
I hear him let out a thick exhale, like he’s finally relaxing.
“I’m okay, baby,” he murmurs, nuzzling at my hair. “I’d much rather I get shot than you get shot.”
“Well, maybe you can believe that I feel the same way. I mean, I’d rather get hurt than have you hurt. It works both ways, you know.”
He tightens his arm briefly. We adjust our positions to get more comfortable. Then I finally close my eyes, trying to let go of the stress and fear of the day.
Nothing is resolved yet, but for right now Caleb is okay. He’s safe, and so am I.
So we can finally rest.
* * *
The next day Caleb is feeling better. So he says.
From what I can tell, the wound is doing okay, and he doesn’t have a fever, but his mood is in the pits.
I’m stuck in the house, unable to do anything to distract myself. And there’s still no sign of Montaigne.
At the end of the day yesterday, I felt so close to Caleb as he held me, but today he’s acting like he hates everything and everyone—and that includes me.
It’s probably just being injured. For a man like Caleb, feeling helpless, unable to manage his body, has to be the worst. But he doesn’t have to take it out on me when I’m just trying to help. After getting him breakfast, checking the wound, assisting him to get up and go to the bathroom and then straightening the bed while he’s in there, I give him some space for the rest of the morning.
