dried herself off and dressed in a navy shirt and jeans as quickly as she could, throwing a white cotton cardigan over her shoulders as protection against the chill that the rain had brought to the night air, and pushing her bare feet into lightweight slip-on shoes. Before Ramón had time to down the coffee he’d made for himself, she was ready to go, anxious to reach the hospital as soon as possible.
But after that things slowed down again. Once they reached the hospital it was to find that nothing very much happened fast. There were what seemed to Cassie like endless long hours spent waiting, with very little news to tell at the end of them.
As far as the doctors could tell, Joaquin hadn’t sustained any major injury. There was no fracture, nothing to worry about there. But he had had a nasty blow to his head, and he was deeply unconscious. They would monitor the situation overnight and watch what happened.
So Cassie settled in for the long vigil through the dark hours of the night. She settled in a chair beside the bed, took hold of Joaquin’s hand, fixed her eyes on his face, and waited…
She wasn’t alone. From the start, Ramón had stayed with her, and later, after he had phoned his brother’s family, Joaquin’s father and his younger sister Mercedes arrived in the small private room too.
The other brother, Alex, they discovered, was already at the hospital for his own reasons. His wife, Louise, who was expecting their first child, had gone into labour earlier that evening and he was in the maternity ward with her. He was obviously torn between two loyalties until Cassie took pity on him.
‘You should be with Louise,’ she told him. ‘She needs you. And everyone’s sure that Joaquin’s going to be all right. There’s no need for all of us to stay here. If anything happens, Ramón and I will let you know.’
If the truth was told, she much preferred being on her own, or with just the silent, watchful Ramón for company. The doctors had told her that it could do some good to keep talking to Joaquin, that he might be able to hear her and the sound of her voice might bring him out of the coma he had fallen into.
After the long, lonely week of being separated from him she welcomed the chance to be able to speak to him at last. And because of the darkness and the stillness of the night, because Joaquin’s eyes were closed and she didn’t have to face his reaction to anything she said, she snatched at the chance to tell him the truth about how she felt, murmuring to him how much she cared for him, telling him that he was her love, her life, her reason for existing. All the things that she would never dare to tell him to his face, because she was afraid of seeing the way his expression would change, the cynical scorn that would darken his strongly carved features.
She didn’t know whether she prayed that he could hear her or hoped devoutly that he did not. All she knew was that for once and perhaps for the only time in her life she had her chance to tell the man she loved just how she felt about him, and she couldn’t let that go without taking full advantage of it.
But telling Joaquin of her love reminded her of the brutal marriage proposal he had made to her earlier that evening, the grim travesty of a declaration of feeling that had accompanied it. And in her mind she heard again his voice declaring: ‘I want you all to myself. I’m not prepared to share you with any man—even my brother.’
‘Ramón,’ she said hastily, turning to where he sat in the corner, ‘there’s something I have to tell you.’
‘Can’t it wait?’ Joaquin’s brother asked. ‘It’s late—we’re both tired…’
‘It’s important!’
She couldn’t leave Ramón in the dark about what had happened between her and Joaquin earlier that evening. She had to let him know about the suspicions his brother had had, the faulty conclusion he had jumped to about their relationship. If she left it unsaid, and Joaquin came round to find his brother here, with her, then she shuddered to think of the possible repercussions that might follow. Recalling Joaquin’s rage, his savage bitterness, she couldn’t let his brother face that unprepared.
‘Okay.’
Cassie drew a breath, wondering where to start.
‘If it helps, I think I know what this is about,’ Ramón put in. ‘You were lying when you said you and Joaquin had come to the end of the line. He might have, but there’s no way that you—’
He broke off, staring hard at his unconscious brother.
‘Did he just…?’
‘I didn’t hear anything,’ Cassie began.
But at that moment a faint sound from the bed brought her head swinging round. Joaquin’s eyelids were fluttering, lifting slightly, half opening, then falling closed again as he gave a heavy, tired sigh.
‘Joaquin!’
At once all her attention was focused on him, her hand reaching for and clasping his fingers tight.
‘Joaquin, can you hear me? Are you okay?’
Another sigh was his only response. His eyes remained tightly closed.
But then he stirred again, moving his head slightly on the crisp white pillows. Clearly the movement disturbed him because he frowned faintly, made a small murmur of protest.
‘Joaquin?’ Cassie tried again.
Joaquin, darling, she wanted to say. Joaquin, my love, wake up! Let me see that you’re all right…
But she didn’t dare.
Remembering how she and Joaquin had parted—the blunt, outright rejection of his mockery of a proposal; the way that he had stormed from Ramón’s apartment—she had little doubt that he would rebuff any attempt on her part to show him the way she really felt. So she had to content herself with simply repeating his name, trying to draw him out of his dazed, half-conscious state into more awareness.
‘Joaquin? Can you hear me?’
This time she got a definite response. The heavy eyelids lifted slowly again and his dark, dark eyes looked straight into her anxious blue ones. But Joaquin’s gaze was clouded with confusion and lack of focus and when he frowned again in bewilderment she knew that he was only conscious, but still not thinking straight.
‘Where…?’ he managed and his voice croaked so badly, it was clearly such an effort to speak, that it tore at Cassie’s already far too sensitive heart just to hear it.
She was so used to knowing the Joaquin who was always totally strong, totally composed, totally in control, that to see him like this, struggling even to focus, was almost more than she could bear.
‘You’re in hospital. You had a fall—and hit your head. Do you remember?’
‘No…’
Again it was just a sigh and his hand went up to touch the spot on his forehead where the bruising was worst, flinching away swiftly at even the faintest pressure on a tender point.
‘Careful!’
Cassie moved instinctively to lift his hand, then hesitated, her teeth worrying at her lower lip at the thought that she didn’t know how he would react. She couldn’t take it if he pulled
