Слепой. Груз 200. Андрей Воронин

was very sweet of you, Danny.”

      “I made some for the Carruthers kids, too,” he said. “I thought they could hang them on the wall above their beds.”

      “I’m sure everyone will love them,” she said, marveling as she often did at what a thoughtful child he was.

      Feeling blessed to have him, she peeked at the biscuits. “Almost done,” she announced. “How many eggs do you want?”

      “Two,” he said promptly. “Soft.”

      “I’ll have two, myself,” Edward said from the doorway.

      “Coming right up,” Rachel said, reaching for the brown crockery bowl that held the eggs she bought from a lady in town.

      “I’ve been thinking about tomorrow,” she said, cracking the first egg into the sizzling bacon grease.

      As they had the previous year, the Stones had planned to have their Christmas meal with the Gentrys and Caleb’s former in-laws, the Emersons. “Why don’t I stay here with Gabe and you and Danny go to Abby and Caleb’s?”

      “Absolutely not!” Edward told her. “You and Danny go, and I’ll stay here with Gabe. You can bring me back a plate.”

      “It will be stone cold in this weather,” she argued.

      “Then we’ll warm it up in the oven. Really, Rachel, you go. It’s a special day for Danny, and it’s seldom you get much uninterrupted time with him. Besides, it will give you the opportunity to check on Abby and the baby.”

      He had a point. Rachel put the first two eggs onto a plate and set it in front of him. The hot biscuits and a bowl of fresh-churned butter were placed on the table next to a platter of bacon. She looked from the determination in her father’s eyes to the hopeful expression in Danny’s. “If you’re sure...” she said. “We’ll be gone most of the day.”

      “I’m sure. Gabe is stable, and I think I can handle anything that comes up during that short time. Besides—” he shot a smile toward Danny “—I can read that new book on Italy you’re giving me for Christmas.”

      “Edward Stone!” Rachel cried, her eyes widening in disbelief. “How do you know you got a book about Italy?”

      Edward’s eyes twinkled. “Never tell an eight-year-old anything you don’t want repeated.”

      Rachel pinned her son with a familiar, narrow-eyed look. “You little rascal!” she said. “Christmas presents are supposed to be a secret.”

      “I didn’t exactly tell him,” Danny hedged, slathering a biscuit with butter. “He just asked me a buncha questions and sorta guessed.”

      “Mmm-hmm,” Rachel said, trying to fix her father with that same stern look and failing as her mouth began to twitch with the beginnings of a smile. It was no secret that when it came to Christmas and secrecy, Edward Stone was a total failure.

      “You’re as bad as he is,” she charged. “Worse. At least he’s just a child.”

      Stifling a smile, Edward said, “It’s settled, then. You and Danny are going. Now don’t you need to see to those eggs?”

      * * *

      With the cookies all baked, Rachel spent the day stirring up pumpkin pies and an apple cake liberally laced with raisins and the black walnuts she and Edward had cracked and painstakingly picked out.

      Finished with the baking, she and Danny loaded up their goodies and made deliveries to the Carruthers family and a widow or two who had a hard time making ends meet.

      By the time their visits were over and they’d finished the evening meal, she was pleasantly weary. The day had been so busy that at times she was able to forget the man lying in the bedroom down the way. Danny helped with the dishes, and they were getting ready to begin their yearly Christmas Eve ritual when an agonized cry came from Gabe’s room.

      Tossing her dish towel onto the table, Rachel ran toward the sound, throwing the door open against the wall in her haste.

      Gabe lay on his back, just as he had been, but as she neared the bed she realized that he was fully awake. His eyes were shadowed with pain that became stunned disbelief as he struggled to raise himself up to his uninjured elbow.

      “Rachel?” His voice was deep and husky, as if he were getting over a bad sore throat. Looking to blame him for everything, she’d often thought that his voice was the first weapon he’d used in his insidious assault on her senses. Now, even in her concern, she imagined she heard a hint of wonder in his voice.

      “Lie still,” she commanded, placing a restraining hand against his shoulder. Offering him no time to formulate a reply, she continued, “What on earth were you thinking trying to get up? You might have injured yourself worse than you already are.”

      Ever professional even in her irritation, she placed gentle, questing fingers against his bound ribs. “Does it hurt?” she asked, unaware that the question was somewhat silly under the circumstances. She just wanted to get him easy again and steer clear of the feelings churning inside her now that they were face-to-face.

      Despite the pain and grogginess reflected in his eyes, he attempted a smile that more resembled a grimace. “Only when I breathe.”

      Nothing had changed, she thought. Still quick with a smile and a glib reply.

      “Do you remember what happened?”

      A spasm of pain crossed his features. “A couple of guys jumped me between here and Antoine. How did I get here?”

      All business, she leaned over him to check the bandage on his head. “Simon Teasdale found you and brought you to me.”

      She stepped back and allowed her gaze to roam his face. As she had, he’d aged and looked older than the twenty-nine she knew him to be. But, as it seemed with most men, he’d done it better. Maturity had firmed the boyish softness of his jaw and chin as she knew it would Danny’s, making it more sharply defined and making his resemblance to Caleb more pronounced, though Gabe would always be the handsomer of the two.

      He, too, had a tanned face with crinkly lines at the corners of his eyes, but she knew from past experience that these lines would not have come from worry or the elements but laughter as he pursued countless pleasures. He was still disturbingly handsome and she suspected the inevitable scar he would carry would only add to his aura of mystery and danger. That thought awakened her slumbering anger.

      “Did you know them?”

      He gave a slight shake of his head. “They had bandannas. I won a lotta...money from a couple guys in a poker game...Little Rock.” He made another pitiful attempt to smile. “Guess they wanted it back.”

      She dabbed at the still-seeping gash on his head with a piece of cotton wool saturated with peroxide. His hiss of pain gave her far more satisfaction than it should have.

      “Simon did find your wallet nearby, and it was empty, but if it was someone from Little Rock, why would they wait so long to attack you?”

      His eyes looked troubled. “Guess I’m not...thinking straight. Feel like...death warmed over.”

      “As well you should. You have broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder, which will be pretty painful while it heals. You have a possible concussion. There’s a cut on your scalp and another on your cheek that will probably leave a nasty scar.”

      He attempted a shrug that elicited another grunt of pain.

      “You need to go back to sleep,” she told him, feeling a sudden, unexpected and annoying rush of sympathy.

      “How long have I been here?” he asked, once more speaking through clenched teeth.

      “Since yesterday morning.”

      She could almost see his fuzzy mind trying to calculate what day it was. “So it’s...”

      “Christmas