Chapter Twenty-Five
The charge nurse, a very capable, very efficient, very compassionate woman named Mary, caught them near the station as they returned to the fourth floor.
“I was just about to call you,” she explained. “Mr. Taggart woke a little while ago, and Sheriff Waring is with him now.”
“What, is the guy hauntin’ the halls, or what?” Tom wanted to know, only half-humorously.
“Oh, he showed up, hoping to be able to talk to the patient. Timing is everything, you know.”
“So I’ve heard. Well, Carrie, let’s go see what’s goin’ on.”
The sheriff, a member of the turnbuckle club in his brown uniform, was standing close to the bed so he could hear every strained whisper in response to his questions. “Ahuh. Former employee, you said?” he continued, glancing sideways with a nod as the newcomers made their entrance.
“Yeah,” Ben managed in a husky, hesitant tone entirely unlike his usual bass voice. “Recognized…recognized…truck…”
“All right, then. We’ll have every man jack of the force workin’ on this, and we’ll find him. Sorry to be botherin’ you, Ben, but I needed to get started as soon as I could.”
The faint movement of his tubed and bandaged hand gave permission at the same time it absolved blame.
“Okay, thanks. I’ll see you later, then. Tom. Ma’am.” The sheriff offered a tilt of the hat in greeting to the man he knew and the lady he didn’t but whose identity he could guess. The door softly whooshed open and shut as he made his departure.
“Well, you damned ole hawse thief.” Grinning widely, Tom approached the bed, which had been elevated just a bit to accommodate conversation. “’Bout time you finally wake up. You been lollygaggin’ around too long already.”
The patient’s cloudy gaze raised to his visitor, then shifted to follow Carrie. She was at the castered tray table, collecting a glass of ice water, inserting a straw. Moving nearer, she leaned forward, trembling in every muscle, to let Ben allow a few cooling sips down his parched throat.
“Good…” A long sigh, a rumbling breath. “Carrie…don’t—don’t go…”
Very gently she lay the back of her hand against his bewhiskered cheek. “I won’t go, Ben. I’m here. I’ll be right here.”
His eyes drifted closed, then opened halfway. “Tired. So—damned—tired…”
“It’s to be expected. You’ve been through an awful—” Involuntarily she shuddered, “—ordeal.”
“Huh. Maybe—almost died…” A glint of something like the hale and hearty Ben would have shown sparked suddenly, despite the grogginess. “Wouldja—miss me…?”
“Hey, man, we’d all miss you,” cut in Tom, to prevent Caroline being forced to answer. “I’d have to change my will.”
With a surprising bit of strength, he pushed himself an inch or so higher on the pillows. “Yeah? Leave stuff—to Carrie, I—reckon…Huh. Niece—in law…”
Caroline, frowning, sent a worried glance across the bedside to the cowboy standing opposite. Had Ben suddenly gone delirious? Was he hallucinating? Should she ring for the nurse?
“Naw, not that a’tall,” said Tom as if he had read her mind. “He ain’t goin’ crazy, darlin’. Reckon he’s just finally about t’ let down his hair.”
“Tom.” There was that glint again. Encouraging. “Ain’t no—hired hand. Partner. Uncle.”
With a gasp, she took a hard step backward. “Your what?”
“The boy is such an ass, sometimes I’m plumb sorry t’ admit I’m related to him.” Tom, sounding sheepish, hung his head. “It’s true, I’m his uncle. His mama was my sister.”
Fortunately the chair was nearby. Because Caroline’s legs would no longer support her, and, flabbergasted, she needed to collapse onto the upholstered seat. “His uncle. His uncle.”
Still standing beside the bed, in that hipshot way he had, Tom quirked a brow. “Gonna tell her the rest now, son?”
“Rest?” Caroline, still taking in this announcement, and all the ramifications involved, seemed dazed. “There’s more?”
“—Later—” croaked Ben, in a bid for sympathy.
“Ahuh. How much later?”
“Dunno. Soon.”
“Promise?”
“May be a—dyin’ man here.”
“Bull pizzle. You gotta lot of years left on this earth. All the more reason t’ spit it out now.”
“Water…” Ben pleaded.
Still shaking her head with disbelief, Caroline rose to offer the drinking cup to him for another few sips.
By now, giving up on his mission for the time being, Tom had moved away to hook a chair forward and sink down into it. “So, you think you know who pulled a gun on you, boy?”
“You’ve—been shot. Y’ know—who did it?”
“Every lambastin’ bullet that ever hit my moldy ole carcass, hell, yes.”
“Me, too. Riley. Riley—Lundigan…”
Another gasp from Caroline coincided with a snort from Tom, with both protesting something about “Because of the dog?”
“Reckon.”
He looked suddenly exhausted, with every bit of animation gone, his blue gaze closed down against the light, and his breathing labored.
“Son of a bitch,” muttered Tom in disgust. “Well, we’ve got Waring on his trail. Hard t’ tell how far he might’ve gotten, but with every law officer in the state beatin’ the bushes to find him, Lundigan can’t go far enough.”
“—Carrie…”
Immediately she was but inches away, holding the hand not weighed down by medical paraphernalia tight to her breast. “Yes, Ben. What do you need? What I can get for you?”
One of his sassy grins struggled to the surface, and his eyes opened to sweep her in. “Kiss. Need—a kiss.”
“Ben.”
“Well, looks like this is my cue t’ take off.” Tom was smiling in great relief. “Reckon even a slowpoke like me can tell when I ain’t wanted around no more. O’ course, my feelin’s are mighty hurt, but—”
“Bull pizzle,” said his nephew.
The smile broadened. “Suit yourself. I’ll come back later and take you out for supper, Carrie. You been spendin’ far too much time with this pain in the butt.” Touching one finger to his hat, Tom discreetly disappeared.
“Still waitin’—for that kiss…” whispered Ben, giving Caroline his most appealing glance.
Careful not to touch any part of him that was hooked up, beeping, or bandaged, she complied. But with a light press of her lips to his cheek only. He wasn’t about to get the benefit from one of their full-blown, mouthwatering kisses. She wasn’t sure what he’d do with it.
“D’zhoo know the docs—shocked me twice—?”
“Oh, my God,” Caroline breathed in horror, straightening to stare at him. “Ben, are you serious? Your heart actually stopped?”
“Ahuh. And here you—you thought I didn’t have one…”
Not strictly true. She knew he had a heart. She’d just assumed it to be encased in stone.
“Yeah, hell—burned off—my chest hair.”
At that she scoffed. “I don’t believe it. There isn’t a single mark anywhere.” On that beautiful, sculpted torso that she’d thought never to lie upon again.
“Under—under wraps. Heard ’em—talkin’…” He paused, coughed a little, and looked up at her bleary-eyed. “Listen. Gotta tell you—gotta tell you…”
“Yes, Ben?”
“Gotta…” Once more, his eyelids closed, and his voice trailed off. Exhausted by so much effort, he was sound asleep.