Branded as Trouble. Delores Fossen

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      “I DON’T WANT whipped cream in my boxer shorts,” Roman mumbled. He wasn’t sure why, but it was hard to speak.

      “All right,” someone agreed. “Seems like a reasonable request to me.”

      It took Roman several moments to process the comment. It wasn’t easy because, in addition to it being hard to speak, it was also hard to think. His head was whirling like an F5 tornado. But, despite the whirl, he thought he might recognize the voice. Not Tiffany Ann, standing in his living room.

      But rather his mother.

      Hell. Even in a dream he didn’t want to talk to his mother about whipped cream sex, so Roman forced himself to wake up. Maybe there was glue or something on his eyes because he had to struggle to get them open.

      Bad idea.

      The light stabbed in his eyeballs and therefore his head. In addition to the whirling thoughts and dreams, he was also in pain.

      “Would you like whipped cream somewhere else?” she asked. “Maybe like in some hot chocolate or on a piece of pie?”

      Definitely his mother.

      Roman got his eyes open again, expecting the remnants of the dream to vanish. It didn’t. His mother was right there, standing next to his bed. Except it wasn’t even his bed. Not his room, either.

      “Where am I?” he asked.

      “The hospital. We both are.”

      That’s when he noticed his mom was indeed wearing a hospital gown. And he remembered. She’d been admitted for the heart problem with the funny name. His son was here, as well, and that caused Roman to jackknife to a sitting position so he could check on Tate.

      Another bad idea.

      Because the pain wasn’t just in his head. It was also in his side where the bronco had kicked him. His mom caught on to his shoulders and eased him back down on the mattress. Roman was already going in that direction, anyway, because he didn’t have a choice. He had to get control of the pain before he could walk.

      “Your appendix ruptured a couple of hours ago,” Belle explained. “You had surgery.”

      Yes, he remembered falling. Remembered the concern he’d seen on Mila’s face. But he didn’t have a single memory of the surgery. Later, he would want to know more about that, but for now there was something a lot more pressing.

      “Where’s Tate?” he asked. “I want to see him.”

      “He’s with the doctor right now, but he’ll be done in a few minutes.” Belle motioned toward the two other beds that were to Roman’s left. “Doc Sanchez fixed up this room for all of us. Isn’t it nice? It used to be two rooms, but it had one of those squishy dividers that he pulled back. This way we can be together but still have two bathrooms.”

      Maybe it was the fog in his head or the pain, but Roman didn’t get it. “All of us? Here? Together?”

      Belle nodded, smiled. “He thought it would be a good idea for you, me and Tate to be close to each other.”

      It wasn’t a good idea at all. “He knows that you and I don’t get along,” Roman reminded her.

      Belle shrugged. “Maybe he thought it’d be good therapy or something.”

      Well, it was or something, all right. It was stupid.

      As soon as he could, Roman would request another room. Better yet, he’d get out of here the moment he could stand up. No way did he want to be trapped with the woman he’d left town to escape.

      “You want me to see if the nurse will bring you some whipped cream now?” Belle asked. “That’s all you’ve been mumbling about since they brought you in from recovery.”

      Hell’s bells. He hoped he hadn’t said too much. Of course, unlike Tate, his mom probably didn’t know what a Brazilian strip wax was.

      “But I have to tell you,” she added. Any time she started a sentence with those six words, Roman knew that nagging would shortly follow. “I think it’s a bad idea to eat all that sugar right after surgery. Of course, you always were a rebel like that even when it wasn’t good for you. I don’t think you can argue with me about that.”

      Oh, he could, but Roman chose not to.

      “No whipped cream,” he assured her. He glanced down at her arm and realized she had an IV pole next to her. An IV needle in her arm, too. Roman had one, as well, but he wasn’t standing. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

      “Probably, but when you started talking, I thought we should have a little chat first before Tate gets here.”

      Roman groaned. “I don’t want to hear anything from you about Valerie and me not getting married—”

      “Agreed.”

      It was a good thing Roman was lying down because he would have collapsed from shock. In the past thirteen years, his mother had never passed up an opportunity to harp on him. Maybe she was drugged up or something.

      Heck, СКАЧАТЬ