Making a Comeback. Kristina Mathews

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СКАЧАТЬ milk out of the refrigerator.

      The cordless phone on the counter rang. Caller ID showed Jones, Annabelle. He picked up, hoping Annabelle wouldn’t be too freaked out that a man answered instead of one of her daughters.

      “This is Officer Garcia with the California Highway Patrol.” A concerned male voice came on the line. “Am I speaking to Mr. Jones?”

      “No. Miss Jones is not married.” At least, her husband wasn’t living with her. And he’d heard she’d filed for divorce. Cooper felt his stomach knot. He instinctively turned away from the girls.

      “Is there someone in her immediate family I can speak to?”

      Cooper took the phone out to the back porch. He kept an eye on the twins but didn’t want them to overhear what was obviously bad news.

      “Her immediate family members are minors. I’m caring for her young children.” He called up the kind of steady nerves he’d needed coming into a game with the bases loaded and nobody out. “Tell me what I need to know.”

      “Miss Jones has been involved in a traffic accident. She’s being transported by ambulance to University Trauma Center.”

      Cooper sank against the porch railing as the officer relayed the address of the hospital. He pulled out his own phone and searched for the phone number.

      After hanging up with the CHP officer, he checked in on the girls and saw they were happily chatting as they ate their peanut butter sandwiches and washed them down with cold glasses of milk.

      Taking a deep breath, he dialed the hospital. Claiming to be Annabelle’s brother, he was able to find out the extent of her injuries. He hung up after discovering she’d been brought in with lacerations to the face, bruised ribs, and a concussion. They would release her if she had someone who could stay with her to observe for any post-concussion complications.

      With a heavy heart, he walked back into the sunny kitchen.

      Two innocent faces looked up at him. They trusted him. They needed him.

      “Your mom has been in a car accident.” He used the gentlest voice he could find. He didn’t want them to worry. He was doing enough of that for all of them. “She’s going to be okay, but we’ll need to pick her up from the hospital.”

      Sophie blinked back tears but held her head high.

      Olivia slid off the chair and threw herself at him. She clutched his legs, holding on with everything she had.

      “It’s going to be okay.” He patted her back, hoping to God he was telling the truth.

      * * * *

      Annabelle hurt. Everywhere. Her ribs, her back, her neck, and her left shoulder throbbed in pain. But most of all her head hurt, the worst headache she’d ever had. She tried to open her eyes, but could only see out of her right eye. Her other one was covered. Trying to focus with just one eye made her dizzy. Trying to sit up made her dizzy. Even lying still made her dizzy.

      Where was she? She looked around slowly, hoping the nausea would pass, or at least not get any worse. There was a heavy industrial-type curtain dividing the room in half. Along one wall stood a sink with foot pedals below and hand sanitizer above. An uncomfortable-looking couch stood against the other wall. The bed she was lying in had railings and a remote attached to the side. She could raise or lower the foot and head of the bed and call for assistance. A tube coming out of her arm was hooked up to a bag of some kind of fluid. Machines beeped softly behind her.

      She’d been in a place like this before. She just couldn’t remember why.

      Babies. There were babies before, one for each arm. Her babies.

      Was she still in the hospital with the twins? No. She could picture them, much bigger. Walking. Dancing. Starting school. They were definitely old enough to go to school.

      Was she having another baby? She looked down at her flat belly. No. That wasn’t why she was in this place. This… Oh, why couldn’t she remember what it was called? Why couldn’t she remember anything?

      A man stepped into the room. He was a tall man. A strong man. An oh-my-God very good-looking man. His long-sleeved gray T-shirt hugged broad, well-sculpted shoulders. Black athletic shorts hung low on his hips, almost clinging to muscular thighs. His dark brown hair was a little longer than she preferred, but she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to run her fingers through it. His lips were thick, sensuous, and framed by dark whiskers—thicker than stubble, but not quite a full beard. His green-gold eyes swept over her with concern and something else. What was it called? That feeling of wanting…or needing…something?

      Annabelle swallowed. Her throat was dry, too dry to speak. She reached for a glass of water from the bedside table. Even with one eye, she liked what she saw. But she couldn’t remember who he was. He wasn’t a stranger, she knew that much. Could feel that much.

      “Come in.” Her voice sounded raspy and harsh. But maybe that was the way it always sounded.

      He hesitated before entering, turning back to the hallway, he ushered two little blond girls into the room. Her daughters. Thank God. She recognized them. Olivia. And Sophie. The two bright lights of her life. The reason she fought through… What had happened to her? She closed her eyes, trying to recall the details.

      There was screeching, crunching of metal, shattering glass, and blood. So much blood.

      She remembered the blood.

      Her daughters crept carefully into the room, eyes wide as they took in her appearance. She must be a real mess. Sophie clutched the man’s hand. No. It was Olivia. Sophie never wore pink. Or did she?

      “Mommy, you look like a mummy.” Sophie skipped over to the side of the bed. The child’s energy bounced off her in waves. “Maybe I’ll call you Mummy from now on. Like I’m British.”

      Her daughter’s laughter filled Annabelle with joy, taking the edge off her pain and confusion.

      Olivia scooted closer to the man. He must be someone close to them. Olivia was slow to warm to people. She wouldn’t just reach out for someone if he wasn’t special.

      So who was he? And how did she ask without looking like an idiot, or worrying her girls?

      “How are you feeling, Annabelle?” She recognized his voice. It was familiar, comforting, and every bit as sexy as the rest of him. They way her name rolled off his tongue made her believe he was a lover. But she was married. No, divorced. Everything was mixed up in her head.

      She reached for her water again, took a long swallow, and watched him watch her.

      “I’m a little sore.” She tried to smile but her skin felt tight. Especially over her left eye. The one covered in a bandage. “But I’m alive.”

      He smiled, his lips curved almost sinfully, and his gaze roamed over her banged up body as if he knew what she looked like under the sheet.

      If he wasn’t her lover, he wanted to be.

      How could she even think about things like that? After what she’d been through? And with her daughters right there in the room.

      “Mr. СКАЧАТЬ