lives with her father and she’s never been allowed to marry.”
The doctor didn’t have time for discussion. He settled Ethan with a nurse and vanished gratefully into the emergency room.
* * *
Hours later, Arabella drifted in and out of the anesthesia in a private room. Ethan was there again, staring angrily out the window at the pastel colors of the sky at dawn, still in the same clothes he’d been wearing the night before. Arabella was in a floral hospital gown and she felt as she probably looked—weak and wrung out.
“Ethan,” she called.
He turned immediately, going to the bedside. He did look terrible, all right. His face was white with strain and bridled anger.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Tired and sore and groggy,” she murmured, trying to smile at him. He looked so fierce, just as he had when they were younger. She was almost twenty-three now, and Ethan was thirty, but he’d always been worlds ahead of her in maturity. With Ethan standing over her, it was hard to remember the anguish of the past four years. So many memories, she thought drowsily, watching that dear face. Ethan had been her heart four years ago, but he’d married Miriam. Ethan had forced Miriam into a separation only a little while after they married, but she’d fought Ethan’s divorce action tooth and nail for almost four years. Miriam had given up, at last, this year. Their divorce had only become final three months ago.
Ethan was a past master at hiding his feelings, but the deep lines in his face spoke for themselves. Miriam had hurt him dreadfully. Arabella had tried to warn him, in her own shy way. They’d argued over Miriam and because of it, Ethan had shut Arabella out of his life with cold cruelty. She’d seen him in passing since then because she and his sister-in-law were best friends, and visits were inevitable. But Ethan had been remote and unapproachable. Until last night.
“You should have listened to me about Miriam,” she said groggily.
“We won’t talk about my ex-wife,” he said coldly. “You’re coming home with me when you’re able to get around again. Mother and Mary will look after you and keep you company.”
“How’s my father?” she asked.
“I haven’t found out anything new. I’ll check later. Right now, I need breakfast and a change of clothes. I’ll come back as soon as I’ve got my men started at home. We’re in the middle of roundup.”
“What a time to be landed with me,” she said with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, Ethan. Dad could have spared you this.”
He ignored the comment. “Did you have any clothes in the car with you?”
She shook her head. The slight movement hurt, so she stopped. She reached up with her free hand to smooth back the mass of waving dark brown hair from her bruised face. “My clothes are back in the apartment in Houston.”
“Where’s the key?”
“In my purse. They should have brought it in with me,” she murmured drowsily.
He searched in the locker on the other side of the room and found her expensive leather purse. He carried it to the bed with the air of a man holding a poisonous snake. “Where is it?” he muttered.
She stared at him, amused despite the sedatives and the growing pain. “The key is in the zipper compartment,” she managed.
He took out a set of keys and she showed him the right one. He put the purse away with obvious relief. “Beats me why women can’t use pockets, the way men do.”
“The stuff we carry wouldn’t fit into pockets,” she said reasonably. She laid back on the pillows, her eyes open and curious. “You look terrible.”
He didn’t smile. He hardly ever had, except for a few magical days when she was eighteen. Before Miriam got her beautiful hands on him. “I haven’t had much sleep,” he said, his voice sharp and cutting.
She smiled drowsily. “Don’t growl at me. Coreen wrote to me last month in Los Angeles. She said you’re impossible to live with these days.”
“My mother always thought I was impossible to live with,” he reminded her.
“She said you’d been that way for three months, since the divorce was final,” she replied. “Why did Miriam finally give in? She was the one who insisted on staying married to you, despite the fact that she stopped living with you ages ago.”
“How should I know?” he asked abruptly, and turned away.
She saw the way he closed up at the mention of his ex-wife’s name, and her heart felt heavy and cold. His marriage had hurt her more than anything in her life. It had been unexpected, and she’d almost gone off the deep end when she’d heard. Somehow she’d always thought that Ethan cared for her. She’d been too young for him at eighteen, but that day by the swimming hole, she’d been sure that he felt more than just a physical attraction for her. Or maybe that had been one more hopeless illusion. Whatever he’d felt, he’d started going around with Miriam immediately after that sweet interlude, and within two months he’d married the woman.
Arabella had mourned him bitterly. He’d been the first man in her life in all the important ways, except for the most intimate one. She was still waiting for that first intimacy, just as she’d waited most of her adult life for Ethan to love her. She almost laughed out loud. Ethan had never loved her. He’d loved Miriam, who’d come to the ranch to film a commercial. She’d watched it happen, watched Ethan falling under the spell of the green-eyed, redheaded model with her sophisticated beauty.
Arabella had never had the measure of self-confidence and teasing sophistication that Miriam had. And Miriam had walked off with Ethan, only to leave him. They said that Ethan had become a woman-hater because of his marriage. Arabella didn’t doubt it. He’d never been a playboy in the first place. He was much too serious and stoical. There was nothing happy-go-lucky or carefree about Ethan. He’d had the responsibility for his family for a long time now, and even Arabella’s earliest memories of him were of a quiet, hard man who threw out orders like a commanding general, intimidating men twice his age when he was only just out of his teens.
Ethan was watching her, but his scrutiny ceased when she noticed him standing beside the bed. “I’ll send someone to your apartment in Houston for your things.”
“Thank you.” He wouldn’t talk to her about Miriam. Somehow, she’d expected that reaction. She took a deep breath and started to lift her hand. It felt heavy. She looked down and realized that it was in a small cast. Red antiseptic peeked out from under it, stark against her pale skin. She felt the threat of reality and withdrew from it, closing her eyes.
“They had to set the bones,” Ethan said. “The cast comes off in six weeks, and you’ll have the use of your hand again.”
Use of it, yes. But would she be able to play again as she had? How long would it take, and how would she manage to support herself and her father if she couldn’t? She felt panic seeping in. Her father had a heart condition. She knew, because he’d used it against her in the early days when she hadn’t wanted the years of study, the eternal practice that made it impossible for her to go places with her friends Mary and Jan, Ethan’s sister, and Matt, his brother whom Mary had later married.
It was astonishing
