Indivisible. Part 46

"Last I heard."

"Then you guys don't need me hanging around."

Tia objected, but Jay quieted her with a hand.

"I'll go fraternize with the nurses. One in particular."

Jonah sank into the pillows, pain making an edge inside him. He wouldn't be much good if it got hold, so he depressed the morphine pump.

Tia noticed. "Is it bad?"

"Bad enough." He brushed her hand. "Are you okay?"

"Me?" She looked incredulous. "No." She paced beside the bed. "My emotions are trapped in time warp. I'm an eighteen-year-old girl in over my head with the boy I've adored pretty much always."

"Is that so bad?"

"I want to be the woman I am now with the man I can't live without." He'd take that. But last night he'd seen the chasm. "How do we get there? Intact."

"I don't think we can." Tears sprang to her eyes.

"Tia."

"No, Jonah. It's bigger than us. All this ... stuff. We're like the racc.o.o.ns, utterly dependent and still ripping ourselves apart."

"So what-"

Someone tapped the door and entered, a bushy-bearded man who amply filled his clericals. His voice boomed like Friar Tuck. "I heard someone's catching bullets."

Jonah looked at the bandages on the side of his torso. "This one got away."

"Even better." He extended his hand. "I'm Chaplain Casey."

"Jonah Westfall. And this-" He turned to Tia, who stood staring. "Tia?"

She startled. "I, um, I'm Tia." She gathered herself. "And I don't think you're here by accident."

"At G.o.d's disposal, I hope," the big man said.

She brushed a tear, huffing a soft laugh. "I have no doubt."

Jonah frowned. She'd been saying the connection between them was killing her as surely as the animals tearing their bodies apart. What could she want from the chaplain?

Tia searched his face for something, permission maybe, then started to tell their story. His chest swelled and constricted with the memories, things he'd forgotten, things he hadn't realized she knew, things he wished she didn't. He hadn't known her feelings went so deep so young. She was feisty and loyal and tough and sensitive, and he filled himself with her, more intoxicated than any bottled spirit could render him.

She stopped pacing. "The crux of it is, we can't go on like this. We need ..."

"Christ in the middle?" the chaplain said.

Eyes sparkling with tears, she nodded.

When they had finished the coffeecake and drunk their tea, Miles washed and Piper dried the dishes. "There's nothing at all you would change?" She slid the last plate into the cabinet.

"It was perfect. Not too much orange, not too much mango. Just perfect."

She handed him a fresh towel to dry his hands as the water gurgled down the sink. His story had broken her heart. But she was thankful he wasn't soul-damaged by abuse. A growth disorder, a traumatic incident reinforced by repeated admonitions-they could work with that, couldn't they?

Bob's bullying as much as the contact might have set him off. That jerk. He'd probably already talked or bought his way out of trouble. And why not? He was only half to blame. She'd been so desperate to dull the maddening monologue, she hadn't even noticed the wine turning blue. That kind of stupid got taken advantage of. She'd seen it her whole life, the way her family identified the marks.

People not paying attention. Complacent. Distracted. She shuddered. Bob hadn't touched her, except for a brief fondling of her knee when they drove and a clasp of her hand on the table. She'd pulled away after each contact. Touching should mean something.

She looked at Miles, recalling the taut tension of his wrist, his pulse against her fingers, his life in her hand. That meant something.

"Miles? You only mentioned your aunt. What about your mom and dad?"

He smoothed every wrinkle from the towel he'd hung on the rack. "My dad was a high-level executive I never met. My mother worked for him before she died of leukemia."

Her heart melted all over again. "How old were you?"

"Almost four." His brow rippled. "Everyone wore masks and gloves and said, 'Don't touch her, you'll make her sick.'"

Talk about reinforcement.

"Aunt Beth took me home to her house. So many pretty things." He sighed.

"She told you not to touch."

"She wasn't mean."

"But didn't she ever hug you?"

His big shoulders rose and fell.

"You listen to me, Miles. Before we're done-you and me and Tia? You're going to give me the biggest bear hug ever."

He studied her like a program that had developed a fatal glitch.

"I don't mean now, and I don't mean tomorrow. But you better run if that's not okay with you."

He gulped. "Can I use your sink?"

"No."

He startled.

"You're not dirty. And you won't make me sick."

Her ringing phone broke their eye contact. "It's Tia, and I have to take it. The chief got shot last night."

His jaw dropped.

She brought the phone to her ear. "Tia?"

"Piper, do you feel up to driving? To the hospital?"

"Um, sure."

"Room 312."

She looked over at Miles. "We'll be right there." She hung up. "Come on. We're going to the hospital."

Miles bent his arms like a pretzel over his chest, his two fists framing his neck as though he had a bad chill. "No, no, no, no, no. No hospital."

"Tia needs us."

"People die in hospitals."

"Some do. But most get well." She s.n.a.t.c.hed her purse. "Are you driving, or should I?"

"Do you know how many germs are in a hospital?"

"You can tell me as we drive."

She dug for her keys, but Miles formed a deep sigh. "I will drive."

She shot him a brilliant smile. "Come on, then." She locked up and stepped into the brisk morning. Half a block down the leaf-strewn sidewalk, she realized what car he was leading her to. Her mouth fell open.

"The engineering makes it very safe on mountain roads." He touched the handle, then opened the pa.s.senger door of the deep blue BMW Z4 Roadster.

"Omigosh." She slid into the buff-colored leather as she would a feather bed.

Miles fit surprisingly well, as though it had been formed to him.

"Miles ..." she breathed. "How rich are you?"

He slid her a look. "That's relative. And it fluctuates."

She laughed. "And you could probably tell me down to the penny. But I don't want to know. Bob went on and on about the money he makes. I almost puked."

The big hands clenched.

"Don't get upset."

"It's my fault. Every other time you said no."

"Maybe I did do it for you, but that was my decision. Now fire it up, and let's feel this sweetness."

Miles looked at her. "I don't think you're real."

"You haven't seen me on a bad day. Well, I guess this was a bad day, but it's better now, so just get me to the hospital."

Obediently, Miles made the motor purr, and it was s.e.xier than any roar. Last night she'd been tossed about, but Miles took the curvy highway with such precision she hardly moved in her seat. Her teddy had talent.

"My name is Forsythe," he said. "Miles Forsythe. Corny, I know."

"It's not corny. It's distinguished."

"If we don't die at the hospital, I'll show you my house."

The smile almost hurt her face. "I'm hoping real hard we don't die at the hospital."

Outside Jonah's flower-scented hospital room, Tia paced a hall that smelled of canned peas and tomato soup. Inside, the chaplain questioned Jonah. He'd been shot last night-she still didn't know how. He had burns and cuts and respiratory problems. Was he in any condition for this?

She moved closer to the wall to let a staff member with an instrument cart pa.s.s. Jonah had started it by proposing in her store. He'd been proposing in little ways this whole time, every time he tried to keep her safe, tried to make her see, to break her free of the blinders. He'd been saying he wanted her in his life a million different ways. But would he say it now?

The door opened, and the chaplain motioned to her. "He'd like to talk to you."

Quaking, she went in. Jonah's face was far too serious.

He reached for her hand. "This isn't what I wanted."

Her heart fell hard.

"I intended the whole big deal, the dress, the flowers, the string quartet."

She blinked back tears. "I think you have me confused with Reba."

He searched her face. "I want everybody to know you're the one."

"Jonah, it's always been you and me. Everything else would be extraneous."

He pulled her close and kissed her.

"I love you," she breathed.

"I love you more."

"You are so not going to win that one."

His eyes crinkled. "Wanna bet?"

She sniffled. "Are we doing this?"

"I need to know it's not because of this bullet hole in my side."

"You think almost losing you had no impact?"

He tightened his hold on her hand. "You're not losing me."