than you can ever spend, he obviously loves you—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ed must have heard the pain and weariness in her voice because he instantly fell silent, an unusual state for her father. “I don’t want to go into it right now, but you’re going to have to trust me on this one. Things have gotten pretty bad around here.”
When he remained silent, Lara knew exactly what he was thinking. He’d told her more than once it’d almost killed him when her mother had left him. She’d been the only woman he’d truly loved, and it was Lara’s theory he’d been searching ever since for the same feeling.
After a moment, he asked quietly, “Is it another man, baby? Are you in love with someone—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I’m not in love with anyone else. It…it just isn’t working, Ed, and hasn’t been for years. That’s all I can say for now.” The vehicle’s heater suddenly kicked in and sent a blast of feverish warmth toward her face. “I’ll call you from the hospital as soon as I know something.” She reached over and switched off the phone, then did the same with the heater.
After fifteen more minutes of fighting the snow and wind, she pulled under the overhang at the Red Feather hospital.
THE HOSPITAL WAS like hospitals everywhere. Cold, stark and sterile. Lara shivered as she raced down the corridor toward the emergency room. He had to be okay, she told herself. Theresa hadn’t seemed too upset and God knew how competent she was. On the other hand, that was part of the problem. The world could be exploding and Theresa Marchante probably wouldn’t react.
A flashing red light above one of the doors caught Lara’s eye and she hurried toward its blinking beacon, the crimson letters ER standing out against the white of everything else. Her throat was tight and clogged as she pushed open the door and rushed inside.
In contrast to her own turmoil, the room inside was peaceful and quiet. It was too early for the skiers who’d be brought in later, and the drunk drivers from the night before were all long gone. The only people in the waiting area were a mother and father, a small child cradled between them who looked lethargic and stuffy.
Lara quickly crossed to the desk that lined one wall. “I’m Lara Harrison,” she said, leaning over a high Formica barrier. “My husband, Conley was brought in a little while ago. I think it was a car accident—”
The woman behind the counter wore a brightly colored nurse’s smock, her hair tied back in a no-nonsense fashion. She tilted her head in a puzzled way. “You’re Mrs. Harrison? I thought…” She shook her head then finished her sentence. “There’s a woman with him. I got the impression she was Mrs. Harrison.”
A cold chill rippled over Lara before she understood, relief hitting her hard when she did. “You must be thinking of Theresa. She’s his attorney. She found him.”
A chagrined expression crossed the nurse’s features. “I’m so sorry…I just thought…” She broke off her words. “Please go on back. He’s in cubicle number one. I believe the doctor’s with him right now.”
Lara followed the woman’s wave toward a door on one side. Stepping into a long corridor sectioned off by curtains, she quickly located the first one. She pushed aside the dark-blue fabric and her heart stuttered to a stop.
Conley sat on a metal examining table. Theresa Marchante stood close beside him, patting his bare shoulder in a comforting way. She nodded at Lara, touched Conley one more time, then dropped her hand as Lara stared at Conley in distress. It was obvious someone had cleaned him up, but just as obvious he was hurting. A huge bruise on his temple was already turning black, the edges of it ragged and painful looking. His right pant leg had been sliced from his hip to his ankle, an angry swelling distorting the calf, a long, nasty cut on the side. His eyes were what stopped her, though. They were full of something Lara had never seen before. She ran to his side, Theresa stepping away slowly.
“My God…Conley…are you…are you all right?” Lara touched his jaw and then his arm, her horrified eyes taking in a litany of minor wounds she hadn’t seen from the doorway.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
From across the cubicle, an older man with his back to her spoke before Conley could, his voice deep and reassuring. He turned, a syringe in hand, a stethoscope around his neck. A name tag on his smock identified him as Dr. Sorelli.
“His injuries appear severe, but they’re mostly insignificant. Landing in the snowdrift saved his bacon, big time. You’re Mrs. Harrison, I presume?” The man’s manner was forthright, almost crusty and Lara suddenly realized why his name sounded familiar. He was well-known in town, having been in the emergency room for almost two decades.
Lara nodded, but her eyes stayed on her husband’s face. “Conley, I can’t believe this happened. Good grief—”
“I’m fine, Lara.” His words were brusque and curt, and somehow that made her feel better. He didn’t look like himself, but he sounded like himself. “It was a stupid accident, that’s all. I wasn’t paying attention when I crossed the street in front of the office. A car came out of nowhere and clipped me as I stepped up on the curb.”
Lara’s knees went weak. She gripped the edge of the bed and held on, fighting nausea as well. “A car hit you?” She turned to Theresa then sent her horrified gaze back to Conley’s face. “I thought you were in the Suburban…I thought there’d been a wreck, not this!”
The doctor came to where she stood. “If you’re going to faint, do it outside. I need to give him this shot and we can’t handle you, too.”
Pulling herself together, Lara nodded numbly then watched Conley wince as the needle went in. The doctor stepped back to the counter, dropped the syringe into a red jug then he started to wash his hands.
Lara had more questions, but Sorelli grabbed a towel and turned around, speaking before she could. “I want to keep you for a couple of hours, Mr. Harrison. For observation. Sometimes nasty things develop that we can’t see at first. After that you’ll need to take it easy for a day or two—”
“I can’t do that.” Conley shook his head then grimaced. “I don’t have time to be here as it is. I’ve got a flight to Baku tomorrow and work to do before I leave.”
The doctor crossed his arms. “You’re not going anywhere tomorrow. You’ll be lucky if you can make it from the bed to the bathroom without these little white pills I’m going to give you.”
“But I feel fine—”
“No, you don’t,” the doctor said, “and you definitely won’t tomorrow. Especially after I sew up that leg. It’s going to be stiff for at least a week.”
Conley’s mouth went into a familiar line of stubbornness and Lara stepped closer to the table. “You need to listen to him, Con.”
“She’s right.” Theresa spoke up from the side of the room. “You were lucky out there, Conley. Don’t be a fool. Stay home and take care of yourself.”
“And Baku?” he asked.
“Matthew could go,” Lara suggested.
Conley answered her, impatience heating his voice. “No, he can’t. Matthew designs the damn chips but I can’t let him
