Love - From His Point Of View!. Maureen Child

not, since it had happened. But arguing with idiots is a waste of breath, and I didn’t have breath to spare. “I need to call my brother—Officer Duncan McClain.”

      “You did not lose any substantial amount of blood from this wound tonight.”

      I gave up and turned my head. “Pete, I need to call Duncan.”

      Pete looked at me helplessly. “I imagine someone has already called him. He’ll be here soon.”

      “No!” I’d had enough of lying flat while everyone ignored me. I struggled up onto one elbow. Things spun for a second and my forehead turned clammy, but I made it.

      “Lie down, Mr. McClain.”

      “Why? You decided maybe I am hurt, after all? Pete, I need to call Duncan myself. Don’t want him worried. I—”

      “This man creating a disturbance?” said a voice from the doorway.

      “I tried to stop him, Doctor,” said a harried female. “He wouldn’t listen.”

      Relief hit like a slap in the face, puncturing my anger. My strength drained right out with it, so I let the nurse ease me back down. “I’m okay, Duncan.”

      “Yeah?” The man who cut through the medical crowd to stand by my bed was shorter and lighter than I am. Better looking, too, with smoother features and eyes as pale as mine are dark. We have the same hair, though. Dark brown and board straight.

      Duncan had on his blank face, the one that makes him a good cop and annoys the hell out of me. Never have been able to read the boy when he doesn’t want to be read. He put a hand on my good shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I can see that you are.”

      “I am,” I insisted. But I was sure tired, and the pain wasn’t coming in waves anymore. It was this huge, steady presence, almost solid. I felt as if I’d bounced myself off that solid mass of pain a few times too many and rattled my brains. “Truck’s a mess, though.”

      One side of Duncan’s mouth quirked up. “You’ve looked better yourself.”

      “Yeah, well…I tried to call you, but this stupid—”

      “Now, now,” he said.

      “Belligerence is not uncommon with those in shock,” the doctor said, all pompous and tolerant. “I’m afraid your brother’s attitude is impeding his treatment, however. Normally I would not allow a family member to be present at this point, but if you can persuade him to cooperate, Officer, you may remain.”

      As if he could stop Duncan. I snorted.

      “Belligerent, is he?” For some reason that made Duncan smile. He squeezed my good shoulder again. Anxiety nestled in the corners of his eyes, keeping the smile out, but I could read him now.

      I relaxed. If Duncan didn’t need his blank face, he wasn’t too upset.

      “You heard the man, Ben. Play nice.”

      “Man’s an idiot,” I muttered, but someone had tied weights on my eyelids. They were closing in spite of me. It was all right, though. Duncan would keep an eye on the idiot. He’d take care of things. “You’ll tell Zach…make it so he doesn’t worry.”

      “I will.”

      Good. That was good. The darkness beckoned, no longer threatening. “And the angel,” I murmured as I let myself go. “You’ll find her for me.”

      Doctors and nurses are not reasonable people.

      No question about who was in charge, and it wasn’t me. Admittedly, I wasn’t in any shape to go home right away. After they’d finished poking and stitching and X-raying me, pumping me full of antibiotics and O-negative, they finally strapped me into a fancy sling and put me in a room where I could get some sleep. Then, of course, they kept waking me up.

      In spite of this, I felt a lot better by late afternoon. But no one was interested in my opinion of my condition. Mostly they seemed irritated that it wasn’t worse. At least that prissy E.R. doctor was out of the picture now.

      I’d finally remembered where I knew him from. Twentysome years ago, Harold Meckle, M.D., had been a couple of grades behind me in school. Harry had been a certified brain back then, so he was probably a competent doctor now. But it would take a personality transplant to turn him into a competent human being.

      Harry had a real bee in his bonnet about my shoulder. At one point he’d actually wanted to do surgery in order to find out why I didn’t need surgery. He was convinced I had to have some internal injury that was bleeding like a mother to account for all the blood I’d lost.

      Fortunately, my own doctor had arrived by then. Dr. Miller didn’t see any point in cutting me open to satisfy Harry’s curiosity. Or, as he put it, he preferred a conservative approach, which meant keeping me under observation. Which meant keeping me in the hospital.

      I’m a reasonable man. I could see that they needed to hold on to me awhile. I had a concussion, among other things. That’s why they’d woken me up every blasted hour on the hour, until I finally stayed awake in self-defense.

      I knew all that. I just didn’t like it.

      Shortly before supper a skinny little blonde showed up carrying a plastic sack from a department store. Her pink sweater was big enough for two of her, hiding what I knew to be a curvy bottom. She’d cut her hair again, I noticed. For some reason she liked it short. Long or short, I enjoyed looking at her hair. It was a pale, shiny blond, like sunshine on freshly cut pine.

      Her name was Gwen. She was my son’s mother and—as of three months ago—my brother’s wife.

      “I’ve got a book on Samuel Adams I hope you haven’t read,” she said, bustling up to my bed, where she deposited a peck on my cheek and the sack on my bed. “Also two magazines, a crossword puzzle book and some pajamas so you don’t have to wear that hospital gown. You’re looking better, I must say, though your bruises are coming out nicely. How are you feeling?”

      “Hungry. Where’s Duncan? With Zach?” I used my good arm to dig through the sack. The pajamas were new, of course, since I didn’t own any. I wondered how much of a fuss she’d make when I paid her back for them.

      “Duncan is getting something else I understand you asked for. Zach is with Mrs. Bradshaw.”

      “How’s he taking all this? He’s not too upset?”

      She smiled. “We may have overdone the reassuring. He wanted to know if you’d still take him camping this weekend.”

      “We” meant her and Duncan. I was getting used to that. I grimaced. “We’re likely to have had our first snow by the time all the dings in my carcass have healed enough for me to take him.”

      “Probably. He’ll survive waiting until next spring. Oh, I talked to Edie. She wants you to let her know if there’s anything she can do.”

      She might try leaving me alone. One date is not a lifetime commitment. Couldn’t say that, though. The woman was a friend of Gwen’s. “What about Annie? Did Duncan ever get hold of her?” I knew Duncan had called Charlie, my youngest brother, but Annie was harder to get hold of.

      My little sister was currently in a tiny village in Guatemala with her husband, Jack, a construction engineer who works for a nonprofit organization. ICA builds schools and hospitals and such in developing countries. Right now, Jack was putting up a clinic while Annie taught the kids in a one-room, dirt-floor hut.

      I still hadn’t gotten used to her being so far away most of the time.

      “Oh, yes. Sorry—I forgot to mention that. I talked to her after lunch. She’s worried, naturally, but I persuaded her to hold off on buying a plane ticket.”

      I would have liked to see her…but that was selfish. She was needed where she was. I pulled out the book Gwen had brought. “I’ve been wanting to read this one. Thanks. But