Chapter Three

After sending Ethan home, Riser collapsed into yet another wobbly, plastic chair in the corner of the tiny curtained-off room Laney had just left. The movement pulled his stitches, and he grabbed his side. Shit. He’d have to remember to move slower the next few days. His side burned like a mother, and weariness weighted his feet like ten tons of concrete. His head was a throbbing sledgehammer going full force in his brain, and his mouth felt like the desert. Typical for the amount of blood he’d lost.

Why the hell had he opened his mouth? If he’d minded his own business, he could be home right now, laid back on the couch, nursing a beer and watching a rerun of X-Men.

And he’d be alone.

For some reason, the thought wasn’t as appealing as it had been an hour ago. Maybe it was because he was a workaholic , adrenaline junkie who didn’t know how to take a day off. But maybe the thought of abandoning Laney to the overworked and hardhearted doctors in this hospital sat in his stomach like a stone. He’d never be able to look himself in the mirror if he pretended like he hadn’t seen her crying over her child. Like he hadn’t seen the quiet desperation in her face.

The last time he’d gotten distracted on a mission, his charge, Caroline Cotter, had been kidnapped not twenty feet from where he’d stood guard at her bedroom door. They’d captured Jack Mankel, the man who’d kidnapped Caroline, but Caroline herself was still missing.

They’d searched every location tied to Mankel from every single scrap of evidence collected over the years, but his team had turned up absolutely no new leads. That hard fact ate at him constantly, keeping him awake at night when there was nothing to distract him from his failure to protect his charge.

Caroline was locked up God knew where, suffering God knew what. And it was his fault. Why the hell had he been joking around with Ethan that night? He’d let his guard down, let his attention slacken, and he’d never heard a sound.

But he’d heard Laney crying, and he’d be damned if he’d leave her to fend for herself. No, he wouldn’t fail to protect someone else through his inattention.

There was something about Laney—something he’d noticed for the first time tonight. It didn’t have anything to do with her looks; she wore the same T-shirt and shorts she always wore when she was at work. Her brown hair was pulled back in the same sloppy ponytail, and there wasn’t even a dusting of makeup on her face. But styled hair and make up was just window dressing. There was something more about Laney—her doe-brown eyes had become the eyes of a fierce predator as she fought for her child, and that had hooked him.

Truthfully, he’d felt something the moment her hands had touched his arm in the hallway: an unexpected spark of heat. As far as he knew she wasn’t married, and part of him wanted to follow up on that spark to see if there was fire.

“Excuse me, sir, but Ms. Smith forgot to sign the HIPAA regulation forms when she checked her daughter in.” A nurse, her name tag said Margaret, could have doubled for a school principal tapping a ruler in hand. She stood just inside the curtain, tapping her foot.

“Smith?” Riser echoed.

Margaret huffed her impatience and shoved a chart under his nose, forcing him to either take it or get smacked in the chin.

“Yes, the woman you’ve been sitting with didn’t fill out all the paperwork. She signed it here—Ms. Jane Smith. She also left out her date of birth, Social Security number, and all the necessary insurance information.” The stalwart woman crossed her arms over a less than generous bosom. “We have to have this information in order for her daughter to stay in this hospital.”

“Look, lady—” Riser looked from the piece of paper to Margaret’s pissed-off expression, fully intending to shove the chart right back at her, but he spied Laney’s tattered purse next to the bed. Maybe he could help out after all. He could do her this small favor, so she wouldn’t have to worry about her daughter getting stuck in a closet for a hospital room after her surgery. “Fine. Give me one minute.”

“You’ve got five. I was halfway through charting her daughter when I saw her obvious inability to follow simple directions and complete a simple form.” Undaunted by Riser’s glare, Margaret wagged a weathered finger in his face and stormed off in a swoosh of curtains and squeaky Keds.

It was time for that lady to retire. Either that or take a long vacation in hell with her father.

The name thing was weird, but Laney could very well be a nickname. He wasn’t surprised she hadn’t filled the rest of the form out—she’d been so desperate and frightened… She’d been focused on getting her child help as quickly as possible.

Riser pulled Laney’s purse out and dug through a cluster of suckers, wipes and Kleenex, a small coloring book and crayons, and a pint-size bottle of juice. Her tattered black wallet was tucked away at the very bottom.

She’d never mentioned having a daughter before, but it was obvious she was packed for baby battle. He’d thought most females carried around a purse full of makeup and hair spray. Laney was ready to take on a kindergarten class.

Riser set the clipboard down in his lap and unsnapped her wallet, which looked like it was on a starvation diet. She had two cards. An emergency medical card stating she was highly allergic to penicillin and peanuts and a driver’s license. Neither of which said Jane Smith.

Right next to a picture of her with platinum blonde hair, cut into a cute bob, was the name Laney Browder.

Riser shifted, trying to get comfortable, but the burning inside didn’t budge. He propped up her ID and quickly copied down all of her information. He put the cards back in her wallet, right where he found them, and made his way out to the nurse’s station. After taking Margaret’s permanent glare like a good soldier, he handed her the mostly completed chart and shuffled back to the torturous, plastic chair.

How much longer was this going to take? Had something gone wrong with the surgery? Should he have gone with her, offered some kind of support or something? He knew shit about kids, and he probably knew even less about women, but maybe he shouldn’t have let Laney go off by herself.

As far as he knew, Laney had no other family he could summon. He could call the bar, see if Cheri was around to come lend a hand, but for some reason he found himself hesitating.

He didn’t want someone else comforting her.

Riser stood and yanked the curtain back, ready to march down the hall, when he caught sight of the old nurse, the one with no bedside manner, staring down at her computer screen with an expression that could melt granite. Another nurse looked over her shoulder, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. Margaret yanked the phone off its cradle and quickly punched in a number. She glanced at Riser and then spun around to avoid his gaze, but not before he saw a trickle of unease in her eyes.

Riser shifted uncomfortably. Something wasn’t right. A woman like that would whack a bear in the face without blinking.

Riser grabbed Laney’s purse and marched down the hall. He didn’t have to go very far, it turned out. She was just around the corner, plastered to a small, narrow window in a pair of double doors. A red sign for Operating Room hung overhead. Riser stopped in his tracks when he noticed her shoulders shaking. Thoughts of the nurse, Margaret, vanished. He sat her purse down on a nearby chair, approached Laney cautiously and nudged her to get her attention. “Laney, is she okay?”

She turned red, watery eyes on him. She looked like she’d been crying the whole time, and he’d been twiddling his thumbs in the empty room being useless.

“I can’t tell anything. They wouldn’t let me go in there with her. No one’s come out. If anything happens to her, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Riser shoved a hand through his hair, fighting back the instinct to take her into his arms to comfort her. Her child was lying in the OR—this wasn’t the right moment to do anything that could be misconstrued as making a move. “I don’t think anyone’s allowed in the OR other than the doctors and nurses. Standard operating procedure. If they’re doing an appendectomy, they’ll be in there for about an hour.” Riser glanced at his watch. “Only been about forty minutes.”

“How do you know that?” she asked breathlessly.

Because he was addicted to watching Grey’s Anatomy. Riser shrugged. “I’m the medic for my team. I’ve got a little bit of knowledge in this area.”

He could sew a severed leg, stitch up a sliced artery, and apply a tourniquet like a pro. And most of time he had to do that sort of medical troubleshooting in a shit-hole situation, sometimes in the middle of a fire fight, not a nice, sterile hospital.

But Laney had a wild look, like she thought maybe they were in there butchering her daughter instead of helping her. He could tell the irrational fear was taking over her logic. “An appendectomy is a common procedure; kids get it all the time. Hell, one of my best friends got it when he was ten. Had a nice-looking scar from his hip to right below his belly button.”

Laney flinched and covered her mouth, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. Damn, he was a dumb bastard. Laney wasn’t one of his hard-ass teammates; she was a soft-hearted woman. But even more obvious, that girl in the operating room was her entire world. “Shit, Laney, I’m sorry. I was just trying to tell you these things are common, and I’m confident your daughter will be just fine. I have complete faith the doctor will see your daughter through and she’ll be better for it.”

Riser held his breath as Laney wiped her eyes, but she gave him a nod that was full of more gumption and strength than he’d seen in her since they wheeled Lily into the OR. “Thanks, I know you’re trying to help. And I know she’ll be okay. She will,” Laney said the last like an afterthought.

He couldn’t stand here and look at her all broken and sad and scared without doing anything. Careful not to startle her, he slid an arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his uninjured side, tense and waiting on her to shove him away. She deflated like a hot balloon, leaning on him for strength.

And he liked it. A lot.

He liked it enough that he didn’t want to give her a chance to pull away. “Come on, there’re a couple of chairs right behind me. How about we sit down and give the doctors time to work their magic?”

Riser maneuvered Laney, who stayed plastered against him even as they sank down into the chairs. He fought off a flinch from the stabbing pain in his side. He’d be damned if he was gonna let her go for any reason. She was all soft and leaning on him, as if her life depended on it. His teammates would say his hero complex was going into overdrive, but he wasn’t about to psychoanalyze himself. Not right now. He just wanted to savor this moment of closeness, and he wanted to make her feel better. “How come you never mentioned you had a daughter before?”

She shrugged. “I work at a bar. It’s not exactly the kind of place where I’d go around talking about children.”

“True that. So, has she got a father?”

Laney stiffened and he instantly wished he could take the words back. Why’d he asked that? Shit, he knew why. He was fishing to find out if she was single, not that he was looking for a relationship or anything.

“He’s not a part of Laney’s life. Or mine,” she said in a quiet voice.

Riser didn’t bother trying to interpret the rush of relief he felt hearing that. The guy had to be a prize asshole. If Riser ever had a kid of his own, no matter what happened, he wouldn’t leave her. If she got sick, he would be there in an instant and nothing could keep him away.

Riser started putting the picture of Laney’s past together. The birthdate on her driver’s license put her just as young as she looked, twenty-five years old. Guess she got pregnant with her daughter pretty young, and the father had probably abandoned them. She worked hard at the bar, and as far as he knew, she hadn’t hooked up with anyone since she’d been there.

Riser continued, not wanting to let the conversation drop on such a sour note. “So, what do you do when you’re not working?”

“Mostly spend time with her. We don’t get out much. What about you? What do you do when you’re not working?” She glanced up at him, and he found himself lost in her light-brown eyes. How did he not notice her full mouth before now? Her flushed lips were parted, like she was waiting on him to kiss her.

As if reading his mind, her gaze dropped to his mouth, and she blushed.

Maybe she wasn’t totally immune to him after all.

Perhaps he’d have to stop by the bar later this week when she started back to work. Check on Lily. Check on her. “Not really much of anything. Getting ready for my next mission. Hanging out with the guys some.”

Now that he thought about it, what did he do when he wasn’t on a mission?

The past few years flashed through his mind in sequences, from mission to mission, mostly in the desert, some stateside, and then his last little adventure in the jungle. He didn’t think about family or people or relationships; he thought about guns and ammo and tactics.

Not that he hadn’t had the occasional one-night stand, but he couldn’t remember any of the women’s faces. They’d served a need, helped him take the edge off, and then he—and they—had moved on.

“What about family? Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Laney asked.

“Nope. One and only right here. My folks have a little ranch back in Texas, but they keep busy like me, so I don’t see them very often.” Come to think of it, last time he made a trip back home was a year ago. His mom and dad had been helping birth the spring calves on his last visit. Watching the little boogers stumble around on their knobby legs was hilarious.

“I haven’t seen my parents in a long time either,” Laney whispered.

The hint of sadness in her voice drove his attention back to the woman in his arms. She’d never spoken this much about herself before and he was eager to delve deeper. “Do they live in your hometown?”

She nodded and began to trace absentminded circles on his leg. That light touch sent chills down his leg, but he acted like he didn’t notice. He didn’t want her to yank her hand away.

“Don’t feel bad, I haven’t gotten to see my folks in almost a year.” His voice came out gruffer than he’d anticipated, but he was finding it hard to concentrate on keeping a conversation active. All he wanted to do was lean down and capture her lips in a gentle kiss.

“Me neither. I’m not sure if my daughter even remembers them.”

Riser’s gaze was pinned on the abstract prints on the wall across from them, meant to bring comfort, no doubt, but he wasn’t actually looking at them. Laney filled his senses. He’d spent plenty of time around her at the bar, but not with her. Not like this. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about her refined features—her petite, curvy nose and her satiny, pale skin; her long brown hair. He let himself look at her again, filled by the sudden impulse to pull her hair down from that ponytail and see it falling in waves around her shoulders. Because he wanted to see all of her, and also because it would give him an excuse to touch her.

Laney glanced up and his breath caught in his chest at the raw emotions playing out on her face. And then she focused on his lips and his vision tunneled. They both needed comfort right now, and he couldn’t think of any other place he’d rather be.

In some kind of blood loss-induced haze, Riser lowered his head, taking in the way her pulse quickened at the base of her throat and her lips parted. She didn’t jerk back or gasp in outrage.

He wanted to taste her. Smell her. He wanted to swallow her whole. Instead, he let his lips hover an inch away, giving her plenty of opportunity to stop him.

She quit tracing circles and her nails dug into his thigh through his jeans, sending a rush of blood to pool in his cock.

Riser was barely aware of the nurse approaching.

“Mrs. Browder?”