Roomful of Roses. Diana Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ he towered over everybody? “Ed’s sofa is plenty long,” she grumbled.

      “His brother-in-law is visiting him next week.”

      She moved closer to the chair, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Odd that he didn’t mention that when he told me you were here.”

      “It’s press day,” he observed. “He’s out of his mind. Probably cursing you already. Surely you can’t be spared right now?”

      “I’m on my lunch hour,” she began.

      “Great. I’m starved. How about a sandwich or two?”

      “Now, just a minute, McCabe,” she said forcibly. “We haven’t decided where you’re staying yet, much less—”

      “I didn’t have any breakfast,” he sighed, laying a big hand on his flat stomach. “Hardly any supper last night. The press hounded me to death at the airport—” he peeked up to see how she was reacting “—and I was too tired to go out.”

      She felt herself weakening and cursed her own soft heart. “Well, there’s some ham in the fridge, and I bought potato chips yesterday.”

      “Ham’s fine,” he agreed quickly. “Thick, mind, and with lots of mustard. Got some coffee?”

      She threw up her hands. “I can’t argue with you!”

      “You never could, and win,” he reminded her. He moved and winced, and his face went oddly pale.

      She looked at the big leg resting on the hassock. Ed had said something about a torn ligament, but the shape of a thick bandage was outlined against one powerful thigh under the khaki fabric. A bandage.

      Her eyes went slowly back up to his. “That’s no torn ligament,” she said hesitantly.

      His shaggy head leaned back. “Hard to fool another journalist, isn’t it, Wynn? You’re right. I didn’t pull a ligament. You know how the press can make mistakes.”

      Her own face paled. “You’ve been shot.”

      He nodded. “Bingo.”

      She could feel her heart going wild, her knees threatening to buckle. It was an odd way to react. She drew in a slow breath.

      “You were with those journalists who were killed, weren’t you, McCabe?” she asked with quiet certainty.

      His darkening eyes fell to his leg. “I’d just left them, in fact,” he said. “We were going to follow an informer to a meeting with a high-level government official. Very hush-hush. It blew up in our faces. I got away by the skin of my teeth and spent the night in a chicken house. I nearly bled to death before I was able to get back to town.”

      Her heart was hurting now. No one had known what a close call he’d had. It was just dawning on her that he could have died. She felt oddly sick.

      “How far did you walk?”

      “A few miles. The bullets did some heavy damage, but I was flown to New York and treated by a very apt orthopedic surgeon. I’ll have a limp, but at least I didn’t lose the leg.”

      She stared at him, memorizing every hard line of his face. It had been a compulsion, even years ago, to look at him. She enjoyed that even when she imagined she hated him. It was a effort to drag her eyes away.

      “I’d better get lunch,” she said numbly.

      “I’m all right, Wynn,” he said quietly, watching her, “if you’re concerned with the state of my health. There were times when I imagined you might not mind if I caught a bullet,” he added calculatingly.

      She avoided his eyes. “I don’t want you to die. I never did.”

      She walked into the kitchen and made the sandwiches automatically, wondering at her own horrified reaction to his wounds. He was in a dangerous business, she’d always known that, and why should it matter? But it did! Her eyes closed and she leaned heavily against the counter. Life without McCabe would be colorless. She had to know that he was somewhere in the world, alive.

      With an effort, she loaded a tray with coffee and chips and the sandwiches and carried it back into the living room. McCabe was still sitting where she’d let him; his face was drawn, a little paler than before.

      “You’re in pain,” she said suddenly.

      He laughed mirthlessly. “Honey, I’ve hardly been out of it for the past week, and that’s God’s own truth.”

      “Do you have anything to take?”

      “Aspirin,” he said with a grin. “You know I don’t like drugs, Wynn.”

      “You might make an exception in cases like this,” she burst out, sitting across from him on the sofa.

      “I’m a tough old bird. My hide’s just about bullet-proof.”

      She handed him the plate with his sandwiches and chips. “How long will it take for it to heal?”

      “Another month or so,” he said with obvious distaste. “The bone has to knit back properly.”

      She stared at his leg again. “Are you wearing a cast?”

      “No. The bone’s not broken clean through. But it aches all the time, and I don’t walk well. There’s a lot of me for that bone to support.”

      Her eyes ran up and down him quickly. “Yes, there is,” she agreed.

      “I really do need a place to stay,” he said over his coffee. “It’s not easy for me to get around in this condition. Surely even in this little town, people will be able to understand that. I don’t care about gossip, but I imagine you do.”

      “Yes,” she agreed, glancing at him warily. “Andy’s going to go right through the ceiling, regardless.”

      “Let me handle Andy,” he said generously. “Man to man, you know.”

      That didn’t quite ring true, but perhaps she’d misjudged McCabe. She hoped so.

      “Won’t you be bored to death staying in Redvale for a whole month?” she asked as she finished her sandwich and washed it down with coffee.

      “If I didn’t have anything to do, I might,” he agreed. “I don’t have another book due for six months, and I was between assignments, so I took a job here in town.”

      She stared at him with dawning horror. “What job?”

      “Didn’t Ed tell you?” he asked pleasantly. “I’m going to edit the paper for the next month while he goes on vacation.”

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