“What did you think of church?”
Larissa asked, expectantly.

“I thought you were the most beautiful woman there.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

They drove along in silence for a while. She thought Drew was asleep behind his sunglasses until out of the blue, he said, “I liked your church.”

Her mouth curved in a smile. “Does that mean you’ll go again some time?”

“Larissa.”

And just like that the sun went behind a cloud.

“I’ve always wanted you beside me at church. I loved having you there.”

She sounded pitiful, begging him.

Drew removed the sunglasses. “If it’s that important to you.”

Hope bloomed, sweet and lovely. God was at work. She had to keep believing.

LINDA GOODNIGHT

A romantic at heart, Linda Goodnight believes in the traditional values of family and home. Writing books enables her to share her belief that, with faith and perseverance, love can last forever and happy endings really are possible.

A native of Oklahoma, Linda lives in the country with her husband, Gene, and Mugsy, an adorably obnoxious rat terrier. She and Gene have a blended family of six grown children. An elementary school teacher, she is also a licensed nurse. When time permits, Linda loves to read, watch football and rodeo, and indulge in chocolate. She also enjoys taking long, calorie-burning walks in the nearby woods. Readers can write to her at linda@lindagoodnight.com, or c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

The Heart of Grace

Linda Goodnight

MILLS & BOON

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Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up.

—Psalms 71:20

To Gene, with all my love.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Prologue

Drew Grace jerked away from the office door and whirled, poised to run. A social worker was in there. He knew what that meant. It meant trouble.

Heart pounding, he pushed at the teacher blocking his way. A pair of strong hands, those of the school counselor, Mr. James, caught his shoulders and forced him inside the long narrow office.

Fury ripped through Drew, hot and powerful. He doubled up his fist. He might be only seven but he was tough and he could fight. He wasn’t ever scared to fight no matter how big the other guy. Anybody that didn’t believe that could ask Timothy Wilson. Timothy was in fourth grade but Drew bloodied his nose and made him cry yesterday on the playground. Stupid idiot said Drew stunk. So maybe he did. Big deal. It wasn’t none of Timothy’s business anyway.

“Sit down, Drew,” Mr. James said. “We need to talk to you boys about something.”

Talk. Yeah, sure. Drew knew better. They weren’t going to talk. They were going to drag him and his brothers off to foster care again.

He wasn’t going. Foster parents never liked him. They were mean. They said he was a troublemaker.

Well, he didn’t like them either. If grown-ups would just leave them alone, they’d be okay. Or if Mama would come home. When she was in the chips she brought them presents. That’s what she said, in the chips.

His heart hurt a little to think of Mama. And that just made him madder. He slammed the clenched fist into the social worker’s gut and pushed past her. Mr. James grabbed him around the waist. Kicking, flailing with all his might, Drew growled like a mad dog as the counselor pushed him into a chair.

Drew gazed frantically around the room looking for escape. He had to get out of here.

His big brother Collin stood beside the counselor’s desk, face as cold and hard as ice, arms tight at his sides. Drew knew that look. Collin was mad and probably scared, too, though he always said he wasn’t.

His baby brother Ian sat in a chair at the end of the room. Silent tears made dirty streaks on his face. Poor little kid. He was always nice to everybody. He was still in pre-K so what did he know. Ian didn’t yet understand all the things that Drew and Collin did. Sometimes you couldn’t be nice.

Drew tried to take care of Ian ’cause he was so little. Well, Drew and Collin together. Collin always knew the best places to find food and stuff.

They had a hiding place, a good one. If he could just get out of here, he’d head there. Maybe the teachers would chase him and give Collin and Ian a chance to escape, too. He was fast. He could outrun them. Then he’d be the hero, and his brothers would give him the biggest share of food. They’d make a fire and build a fort. Just him and his brothers against the world. They could do it.

Sometimes Collin got them out of trouble. But not always. Drew knew he couldn’t count on anything when adults were involved. He and Ian and Collin could make it okay by themselves. They always had.

Drew knew how to make a fire. He liked fire. He liked to watch the flames lick up the side of paper and turn it bright orange. He liked the smell of matches.

Just then some nosy teacher walked by and stuck her fat head inside the office. Behind glasses, her eyes bugged out.

“Poor little things,” he heard her whisper right before the social worker shut the door in her face. “Living in that old burned-out trailer, that trashy mother gone half the time. No wonder they’re filthy.”

Drew exploded out of the chair and started toward the door. He’d make her pay for saying that.

But once again, Mr. James caught him. This time he wasn’t too gentle. He pushed Drew down into the plastic chair and held him there. Most times Drew liked Mr. James okay, but not today.

“Collin,” the social worker said to his big brother. She had a hand on her belly where Drew had punched her. He didn’t care. She shouldn’t be sticking her nose into his business. That’s what Mama said. If welfare would just keep their nose out of her business, everything would be fine. “You’ve been through this before. You know it’s for the best. Why don’t you help us get your brothers in the car?”

Collin ignored her. Drew figured his brother was thinking the same thing he was. They had to get out of here.

Ian started sniveling, making hiccuping sounds like he was trying to keep from crying. Drew wanted to go to him and say everything would be okay. But he’d be lying. He didn’t want to lie to his brother. Besides, Mr. James was holding him down like a wrestler and wouldn’t let him up.

Collin must have noticed Ian, too, because he walked right past that social worker like he didn’t even see her and laid a hand on Ian’s head. Ian looked up at Collin with wet blue eyes and stopped crying. He kind of shivered like a cold kitten, and Drew got mad all over again. A little kid like that shouldn’t have to be scared all the time.

The social worker must have noticed Ian crying, too, because she knelt in front of his chair and told some big lie about taking them to a nice house and buying them all new shoes. Poor kid believed every word. Drew wished it was true, but it wasn’t.

Mr. James, who smelled like spearmint gum, loosened his hold the slightest bit and slid to his knees in front of Drew’s chair. Drew hoped this was his chance. Mr. James, who coached baseball and was stronger than some of the high school football players, wasn’t a dummy. He kept one big hand on Drew’s arm and another on his knee.

“Boys,” he said, looking around at all three of them. “Sometimes life throws us a curveball. Things happen that we don’t expect. But I want you to know one thing.” He stared over at the social worker. She was still on her knees in front of Ian. “No matter where you go from here or what happens, you have a friend who will never leave you. His name is Jesus. If you let Him, He’ll take care of you.”

Something inside Drew quieted. He knew who Jesus was though he’d never been to church. He didn’t know how he knew but he did. And even if it was a lie, he liked thinking that there was somebody somewhere that wouldn’t leave him and his brothers alone.

“Collin?” Mr. James said and twisted around, holding his hand out. When Collin ignored him, the counselor laid the hand on Collin’s worn-out shoe and bowed his head. He started whispering something and Drew knew Mr. James was praying. Praying for Collin and Ian and him.

Drew got a funny lump in his chest, like he might cry. He squeezed his eyes shut. Mr. James loosened his hold, but Drew didn’t try to run. He wasn’t mad at Mr. James, not really. He wanted Mr. James to take him home with him and teach him how to play baseball.

When the prayer was over, Drew opened his eyes, curious. The room was real quiet. Even Ian had stopped whimpering.

Mr. James reached into his pocket and pulled out some little key chains and handed them each one. Drew gazed at his, curious about the silver metal fish with words on the back.

He was in second grade. He could read. But not that good.

“I want you to have one of these,” the counselor said. He stared at the social worker again in a way Drew didn’t understand, like he was daring her to say anything. She looked down and fiddled with the floppy sole of Ian’s shoe. “It’s a reminder of what I said, that God will watch over you no matter where you go or what you do.”

“Where we going this time?” Collin asked, voice hard and mad.

“I have placements for Drew and Ian.”

“Together?”

Drew’s head jerked up. They always stayed together. They had to stay together.

“Not this time. All the placements are separate.”

Blood pounded in Drew’s head. He clenched the key chain until the metal bit into his skin.

“Ian gets scared,” Collin said, his voice shaky. “He stays with me.”

Collin was right. Ian needed his big brothers. They needed each other. All for one, one for all. Like the Three Musketeers movie they saw at a friend’s house.

Drew’s blood started to heat up again. Separate placements. Places for bad boys. For troublemakers.

He looked frantically at Collin. Why didn’t Collin say something? Why didn’t he tell her that they couldn’t be separated? They’d die if they weren’t together.

He opened his mouth to say so, but only a growl came out.

“I’m sorry, boys. This will work out for the best. You’ll see.” The social worker tried to sound jolly, but Drew was no fool.

They would be separated. Him and Collin and Ian. He would never see his brothers again.

He said a cussword and bolted toward the door. Too late, too late. Mr. James picked him up and carried him out the door, kicking and screaming.

Chapter One

Twenty-three years later, Iraq

Life as he knew it was about to end.

Drew Michaels had made a mistake and now he had to pay the price. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how badly he wanted to hang on, he had to let go of the most important thing in his life—his marriage.

He just hoped he could survive the aftermath.

“Mr. Michaels, take a shot of that.”

Camera ever ready, Drew followed the direction of his driver’s pointed finger but didn’t press the shutter. He was on assignment somewhere outside Baghdad, and if he’d seen one herd of goats he’d seen them all. He wasn’t in much of a mood today to take useless photos. Or any kind of photos, come to think of it. The memory of yesterday’s telephone conversation with Larissa was too fresh and painful.

He’d finally told her the truth.

Well, not the real truth, but the truth she needed to hear. Their marriage had been a mistake, and he wanted a divorce.

Remembering her reaction made him want to shoot something all right, but not with his camera.

Larissa had cried. He hated himself for that, just as he hated himself for ever thinking he could make a woman like her happy. Any woman, for that matter. Drew Michaels didn’t have what it took to settle down and be a husband and father. He wanted to. He just couldn’t.

He and Amil, the amiable Iraqi driver, were bumping through another nameless village with the usual string of squat, sand-colored buildings and local citizens going about the normal business of living. Women in long, flowing abayahs, children herding goats with a stick, soldiers poised with automatic rifles.

Drew had spent so much time in the Middle East that the military presence had actually started to look normal to him.

Next week he was off to Indonesia. A volcano was on the howl, and disasters were his specialty. Earthquakes, volcanoes, famine, war. You name it, he shot it. Not the usual stuff though. That was boring. He either went for that elusive moment of ambient light or for the people, the human side, the kids. He was good and he knew it. In fact, photography was the only thing he’d ever been good at. If he’d stuck to his work, he wouldn’t be in this mess now.

Sand swirled up in front of the jeep and Drew shaded his face. Sunglasses weren’t adequate protection against Middle Eastern sand and a photographer couldn’t be too careful of his eyes.

Photographic art buffs said he had great artistic vision, an eye for the perfect detail. Able to capture an image that spoke to the consciousness.

He didn’t know about all that, but he didn’t argue. If they wanted to pay exorbitant prices for his photos, he’d take their money.

The memory of one particular photo exhibition shimmied to the surface. Tulsa. Three years ago.

He’d felt as phony as his last name. All those society types swarming around a display of his work, murmuring things like, “inspired,” or “provocative.”

He should have known then to cut and run. But he hadn’t.

And then Larissa had walked toward him, an artsy diamond choker around her elegant neck, sparkling diamonds dangling from her ears. His eye for detail had served him well at that moment, though he’d wished for a camera to capture her. In a long white fitted gown of some satiny material, chestnut hair pulled up at the sides, one gleaming lock over a bare shoulder, she’d captivated him.

He’d never expected to love anybody, but he’d fallen in love with Larissa on the spot. It was stupid and foolish. Now he had to right the wrong he’d done to her.

“Another week and I’m out of here, Amil,” he said to the driver.

“Going home to your woman, huh?”

His woman. The words poked at him like a sticker. He should have known back then that Larissa was too wonderful for a street bum like him. He should have known he didn’t have what it took to be a husband.

Attention diverted by a soldier and an Iraqi toddler in a pink dress, Drew didn’t bother to answer. Some things hurt too much to discuss.

A G.I., gun slung behind him, had gone down on both knees to tie a little girl’s shoe. The contrast was stunning—an innocent toddler and a hardened marine gentled by a child’s trust.

Drew pressed the shutter. Now that was a picture.

In front of them, two other jeeps bounced along. Though he normally worked alone, he’d been lucky to tag along on this trek into the countryside. They had a meeting with one of the tribal chiefs, and a man never knew what might come of that.

His vest rattled with rolls of film and various lenses as he reached into his inner pocket and removed a photo of Larissa. He’d taken hundreds of the woman who was his wife. She was a photographer’s dream, all grace and class and innocence.

He clenched his teeth. His wife. The burning ache in his gut grew hotter. Must be getting an ulcer, a common malady for a disaster photographer.

Larissa was his love, his life, and his wife. But in three years he’d never been the man she needed. The phone call yesterday had been the hardest call he’d ever made. He hadn’t slept more than three hours all week, working up to that call.

Tulsa with Larissa was the only home he’d ever known, but now that was gone, too. He couldn’t go back and face her. If he did, he might chicken out. For her sake, he’d remain abroad. And selfish as always, he’d lose himself in the job and leave the dirty work to his lawyer.

His chest pinched tight as he thought of all the things she wanted that he couldn’t give her. Himself mostly, but lately she’d mentioned babies.

Even though the temperature outside hovered somewhere around a hundred and ten degrees, Drew shivered. Babies. The idea scared him more than walking through a minefield. Larissa didn’t know, didn’t understand the dark, secret reasons why he could never, ever father a child.

“She is very beautiful.”

“What?” Drew glanced over at Amil. “Oh, Larissa. My wife.” The words fell from his lips as if he needed to call her his as long as he could.

“You are a lucky man.”

“She wants a baby,” he blurted and then wondered why. It was a moot point now.

“So give her one. A fine son to carry on your name.”

Which name? he wondered grimly. Michaels? Grace? Another of the reasons he had to let her go. Larissa had no clue she’d married a man who didn’t exist. Wouldn’t that be a shocker to her rich, politician daddy?

He’d done all right as Drew Michaels, though, and had gained a bit of a reputation with his work. Even if he did feel like a fraud most of the time, he was fine as long as no one else discovered the truth. But he wouldn’t pass that legacy of lies on to an innocent child. He knew what happened to kids who came from bad bloodlines.

After making sure Amil’s attention had returned to the convoy in front of them, Drew touched the photo to his lips, then slid it back into his vest. Over his heart. She was his heart and always would be, long after the ink was dried on the divorce papers, and she was happily married to some nice man who could give her all the babies she wanted.

“You come to Amil’s house,” the driver was saying. “I will show you sons. Seven of them, I have. They will make you smile and you can—” He lifted one hand from the steering wheel and pretended to snap pictures.

Drew was readying a wisecrack when suddenly, the world exploded.

In a split second of horror, he comprehended the sound and knew what was happening.

Attack. A roadside bomb. God help them all.

The last thing his conscious mind registered was the smile fading from Amil’s face and the bizarre experience of flying backward out of the jeep, one hand frantically gripping his Nikon.

He screamed Larissa’s name.

Larissa Stone Michaels sat straight up in bed, heart thundering louder than an Oklahoma rainstorm.

Another bad dream. The third time this week she’d awakened from a terrible nightmare that she couldn’t remember. Any time Drew was in the Middle East, she suffered sleepless nights and bad dreams.

Then the memory of yesterday’s phone conversation flooded into her consciousness. No wonder she’d had another nightmare. Drew wanted a divorce.

A sob choked out, loud in the silent bedroom. The little Yorkie, Coco, lying at the foot of the bed, raised her tiny head. Larissa pressed a hand to quivering lips, holding back the sorrow that had ended only when she’d finally fallen asleep.

She glanced at the illuminated clock on the curio lamp stand. Four in the morning. Less than three hours since she’d last noted the time.

Many nights she awakened unable to sleep until she’d prayed for Drew’s safety. But this night was different. This night, she didn’t have that sweet promise that her husband loved her and would be coming home to her.

He was never coming home again.

Tossing back the duvet comforter, she swung both feet to the plush carpet. Her body trembled. The soft whoosh of the heating unit was the only sound in the quiet Southside villa. Weary and heartsick, she went into the bathroom and flicked on the light. After a moment of blindness she found a glass, ran it full of water and drank deeply. The reflection in the mirror looked wild, dark hair tangled around a pale face.

“Oh, Drew,” she whispered to the mirror. “What did I do? What happened?”

With grim determination, she swallowed hard against the ache in her throat, pushing back the tears. She couldn’t keep doing this. She had to get hold of her emotions long enough to think things through.

She’d had no idea anything was wrong until the phone call. She loved him. Six months ago when he was home, everything had been as good as ever. Before he left for Iraq, he’d held her such a long time and told her how much he loved and needed her.

And now this.

“Jesus. Dear Jesus.”

Hands braced on the sink, she squeezed her eyes tight and did the only thing she knew to do. She prayed. For Drew’s safety, first and always. For their bewilderingly troubled marriage. For her breaking heart.

But this time the usual sense of peace evaded her. Her emotions were too raw and confused.

She returned to the bedroom, certain she’d slept her last. As she slipped beneath the petal-soft sheets, the phone rang.

A frightful pounding in her temples started up. A call at this time of night could not be good news.

She picked up the receiver and said, “Hello?”

And the nightmare began again. Only this time, she was awake.

Chapter Two

Drew hurt everywhere. His head, his leg, his back, his guts. Even his hair hurt.

He tried to open his eyes but they were too heavy. The drugs, he supposed. Drugs were good, but they didn’t eliminate the pain. They only made him stupid, too groggy to form an intelligent sentence, too relaxed to care.

The first time he’d awakened after the blast, he’d been in a helicopter. The whump, whump, whump had sent him into violent tremors. Shock, the docs in Germany said.

Well yes, he was shocked. Getting blown up wasn’t on his list of fun things to do.

He wondered where his cameras were.

“Mr. Michaels.” A male voice penetrated the haze. Someone lifted his wrist and felt his pulse. Hard, strong fingers. He wanted the voice to go away but figured he’d slept his allotted quota for the day.

Around this place fifteen minutes was tops before someone else came along to poke, prod or wheel him off to radiology. He’d been scanned and x-rayed so much he probably glowed in the dark. A radioactive photographer.

Funny. He had a brief image of using the glow from his body as available light to snap photos. All good photographers experimented with different light sources. And he was good. Really good. Everybody said so. Especially Larissa. She thought he was wonderful.

Larissa. The sharpest pain yet hit him.

Did she know how much he loved her? Did she know he was hurt? He hoped not. She’d be upset. He’d already caused her enough trouble.

The floaty feeling came back and he leaned into it, ready to go where it led. Thinking of Larissa hurt too much to remain conscious.

“Mr. Michaels.”

With an inner sigh, Drew resurfaced and managed to raise his eyelids. Squinting at the bright light and too-white room, he saw his tormenter. A doctor. But he wasn’t sure which one. That was one of the problems he’d been having. His memory wasn’t as good as it used to be. Things were a little fuzzy. His head hurt. A lot.

“I’ve never been in a hospital,” he grumbled.

“So you told me.”

He had?

Eyes wider now, he focused on the physician’s name badge. Dr. Pascal. Neurology. “When can I get out of here?”

The doctor sidestepped the question with one of his own. “How’s the vision? Any more problems?”

Drew’s gut lurched. He didn’t like thinking about the hours of blackness that had surrounded him after the blast. “Twenty-twenty.”

“Let’s have a look.”

Drew wondered who let’s was. Doctors all seemed to speak as if they were polymorphic. The God complex, he supposed.

His own drug-twisted humor amused him, but in truth, if he looked at the doc too long, he saw more than one. He sobered instantly. There was nothing funny about that.

Two were better than none, but still…

Dr. Pascal’s thick fingers stretched Drew’s eyelids apart while shining a pin light back and forth. Back and forth. The doc smelled like mouthwash and antiseptic soap.

“No more episodes of blindness? Double vision? Blurriness?”

“Some,” he admitted, hating the truth but figuring the doc should know. “How long before it goes away for good?”

“No way to tell. You sustained a pretty nasty concussion, but the CAT scan didn’t indicate anything permanent. If you’re lucky, this will be gone by the time you are dismissed.”

He’d only been lucky once in his life. The day he’d found Larissa. And look how that turned out.

If luck was required to heal his vision, he was in deep trouble.

The jitters in his belly turned to earthquakes. His eyes were everything. A photographer had to see and see clearly.

“Anything you can do for it?”

“Time.” The doc fingered something on the bedside table. “And divine intervention, if you believe in such things.”

Drew raised his pounding head ever so slightly and saw the doctor holding the small pewter fish he usually wore on a leather string around his neck. His hand went to his throat. He never liked to be without it. Someone had been thoughtful enough to realize that.

“I’m not a religious man.”

He saw no point in explaining to the doc or anyone else that the ichthus was his only link to the past and to the brothers he hadn’t seen in more than twenty years. Other than this small reminder, he had nothing. He didn’t even know where they were.

Like Larissa, his brothers were gone.

Something deep inside him began to ache. He wished the morphine would kick in again.

The memory of his two brothers, of that last day in the school counselor’s office sometimes overwhelmed him, especially when he was weak or sick or overtired.

Times like now. For a few painful seconds, Ian and Collin hovered on the edge of his mind.

Ian, cute and small and loving had probably been adopted. No one could resist that little dude. And Collin. Well, Collin was like him, a survivor. Collin would be okay.

Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to find them again, to be with his brothers, but he couldn’t. Never would. He was no longer Drew Grace, pitiful child of a crack queen. He was Drew Michaels, successful photographer. He never wanted anyone, especially Larissa, to discover that he was literally nobody—a nobody with a deadly secret and a gutful of guilt.

Over the years, he’d become a master at forcing his brothers back into the box inside his mind where the past resided.

He did that now, carefully, painstakingly shutting the door on the childish faces of Ian and Collin Grace.

“The brain is an interesting organ,” Dr. Pascal said, handing him the necklace without comment.

Drew reclaimed the ichthus, but didn’t answer. He didn’t know how interesting his brain was and didn’t much care. But he couldn’t afford to lose the one thing that made him a photographer—his eyes.

“Most visual disturbances resolve as the swelling in your brain returns to normal.”

Drew swallowed. His throat was raw and scratchy from what the nurses called intubation. Basically, having a tube stuffed down his throat during surgery.

“And when the problems don’t resolve themselves?” he asked.

The doctor patted his shoulder. “No use borrowing trouble. You have enough to think about.”

Drew was not comforted. “What happens next?”

“In a few days your surgeons and I will look at dismissal. But you’re still weak from the blood loss.”

“Tell me about it.” He could barely feed himself.

“Losing your spleen is a serious operation. How’s the incision?”

“The other docs looked at it this morning. At least, I think it was this morning. They said it was looking good.”

“You’re fortunate to be healthy and in good physical shape. It probably saved your life.”

“I’m a survivor,” he said grimly.

“You’ll need some rehab on the shattered ankle and heel and plenty of time for the broken ribs to mend.”

“So, are you sending me to one of those rehab places?”

The doc’s brown eyes crinkled as if he was about to offer Drew the grand prize. “Wouldn’t you rather go home?”

The question was a kick in the gut. Sure, he’d like to go home. Wherever that was.

Larissa’s knees trembled as she traversed the long white corridor toward Drew’s hospital room. For five days, she’d done nothing but pray and make telephone calls and argue with her parents. Even though she was thirty-two years old, they still attempted to run her life. To their way of thinking, she never should have married Drew. And she sure shouldn’t run to his bedside after he’d announced his intention to divorce her.

But how could she not? He was her husband and she loved him.

Right now, she refused to deal with the pressure from her parents. Knowing her husband was lying in a hospital bed, seriously injured was all she could handle. The list of injuries was frightening, to say the least. Broken ribs, ankle, heel, a ruptured spleen, and too many cuts and bruises for anyone to tell her about on the telephone. She was terrified to see him.

Her Prada heels echoed in the sterile white environment. She reached room 4723 and stopped, suddenly short of breath, not from the climb but from the uncertainty.

How would Drew look? Would he be conscious? Was he in awful pain?

The new worry crowded in. Would he want her here? Would he be angry that she had come after he’d made it clear that he never wanted to see her again?

During the time Drew was in a military hospital in Germany, she’d called every day. He either hadn’t been able or willing to speak to her. Now that he was here in Walter Reed, she’d given up calling. She’d gotten on a plane and come.

The fact that he’d initiated a divorce didn’t mean anything at this point. Drew was her husband. He needed her. And she was going to take care of him whether he liked it or not. During his recovery, she would pray every single day for God to change Drew’s mind and heal their marriage. A politician’s daughter didn’t give up without a fight.

Fingers on the handle, she paused to draw in a steadying breath.

“Help me, Lord,” she whispered, and then slowly pushed the heavy door inward.

The semi-darkened room was quiet. Drew was alone, eyes closed. A shiver of relief rippled through her. Though bruised and sutured, he still looked like Drew.

She breathed a prayer of gratitude. A roadside bomb often did much worse. From the bits and pieces of information she’d gathered, the rest of the convoy hadn’t fared as well.

Given the rhythmic motion of his chest, Drew was sleeping. An IV machine tick-ticked at his bedside, and his left leg was elevated on pillows. A medicine scent permeated the small unit. Monitors she couldn’t name crowded in around his bed. The whole scenario was surreal and frightening.

Heart in her throat, Larissa tiptoed inside, careful not to wake him. She wanted a minute to drink him in, to love him with her eyes, to remember all the beautiful times they’d had together. And most important of all, to thank God above that he remained alive and would recover. Her husband, her heart. How could he want to end the precious gift God had given them when they’d found each other?

As always, Drew looked larger than life, his tall form too big for the standard issue hospital bed, his skin dark against white sheets. One long, manly hand lay across his chest gripping the necklace he always wore. She’d asked him about the tiny fish more than once, but his vague answers hadn’t satisfied. Now that she was a Christian, she wondered even more. Drew tolerated her new faith, but he wasn’t interested in sharing it, which made his attachment to the necklace even more curious.

“A friend gave it to me when I was a kid,” he’d say. “It’s nothing special.”

But she didn’t believe that. Since he was never without it, she suspected the necklace carried a deeper meaning than he let on. But she had never pressed.

That was part of the problem in their marriage. She never pressed. Drew was dark and brooding at times and she’d learned to tiptoe around the topics that set him off. Part of the attraction from the beginning had been that air of mystery, the things he didn’t say or talk about. She wanted to unlock the secrets and see inside his heart. She wanted to know him as he knew her. Drew had never allowed that. For a long time, she’d wondered if he’d ever let her in, if he’d ever let her know the real Drew Michaels. Now she knew he never would.

Once he’d mentioned a “tough” childhood and her hopes had soared that he was about to share his heart. The next day he’d been on the phone about an assignment, and the next day he was gone. She hadn’t seen him again for six weeks. That was the way he was, and she’d learned to accept it. As long as he’d continued coming back to her, she’d been happy.

At some point, he’d decided she wasn’t enough.

The stabbing pain sliced through her heart again. What had she done? Why had he stopped loving her?

Drew stirred then and turned his head, emitting a gentle snore that made her smile. Light from the door illuminated his face. His cheeks were sunken and he was much thinner than normal. Beneath his naturally dark skin existed an unnatural pallor. Pinch lines of pain encircled his supple mouth. She longed to soothe them away with her fingertips.

He needed a shave, too, but then Drew had always gone for the scruffy whiskered look. She’d gone for it as well, head over heels.

Her eyes lingered for a moment on his face. Her beautiful, rugged, dangerous Drew. So deep and mysterious, so brilliant and creative and loving. He had many wonderful traits.

Her thoughts wandered back to the first time they’d met. After paying an enormous price for a group of his stunning photographs, she’d been thrilled for the opportunity to meet the man who could portray children with enough beauty and sensitivity to make her cry. She’d pictured an equally sensitive artist with a gentle and unassuming demeanor.

What she’d met was a wild man with a cocky attitude, dark hair tied back with a leather strip, the tiny fish resting in the hollow of his darkly tanned throat. Dressed in tattered jeans, a denim jacket hanging casually from wide, muscular shoulders, the startling photographer had slowly removed his shades and devoured her with wolf eyes. It had been love at first sight.

Three whirlwind weeks later, over the furious protests of her parents, they’d married.

Her parents had been wrong. Drew was wrong. Now she was the only one left who believed in their marriage.

Deep in his sleep-drenched subconscious, Drew smelled Larissa’s perfume. Sweet and expensive, just like the wearer. Pleasure washed through him, stronger than the throbbing, incessant pain in his body. Larissa.

Coming slowly out of his latest fifteen-minute nap, he hoped he hadn’t been dreaming. He wanted to see her, to hold her. All of the agony of the last few days would disappear as soon as he held her.

Opening his eyes to slits, he saw with relief that she was, indeed, in the room. For a satisfying moment, he looked his fill, unnoticed. She stood at his bedside deep in thought, her attention focused on the wires and tubes dangling around him. She looked stricken, frightened, and he longed to take her in his arms and tell her everything was okay. A fierce protectiveness came over him, laughable because he was too weak to stand up, much less protect anyone.

His Larissa. Classy. Vulnerable. Gorgeous.

He wished for his camera.

Where was his camera anyway? He touched his chest, feeling for the pockets in his vest before realization crept in and he remembered where he was. He also remembered the other thing. He couldn’t hold Larissa ever again.

The throbbing in his head reached a crescendo. She would have been so much better off if he’d made her a widow.

As if sensing his wakefulness, Larissa slowly turned, her gorgeous violet eyes liquid with unshed tears. Drew’s guts clenched with the need to comfort her. He bit down on the sides of his tongue to hold back the words. Divorce was the right decision, regardless of his physical condition. Maybe because of it, too.

Mustering every bit of courage, he ground out the words, “What are you doing here?”

His hand lay limp across his chest. She reached for it, and her soft, silky fingers soothed more than any medicine. In a minute, he’d pull away, but right now, he just couldn’t let go.

“I’ve come to take you home,” she said.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the torment her words brought. Home. He didn’t have a home.

Through clenched teeth, he said, “We’re getting a divorce. I’m not coming home.”

“I don’t want a divorce, Drew, and you’re in no condition at this point to pursue it.”

He hardened his heart and his voice, saying as coldly as possible, “It’s happening. Get used to it.”

Her shimmering tears spilled over then and nearly killed him. Against his own will, he reclaimed her hand.

“Hey, don’t do that. I’m not worth crying over.”

Face sad, she leaned in and laid her head on his chest. He was sure his heart would explode.

“My ribs,” he said, using the injury as an excuse, although her touch made him better instead of worse.

She jerked upright, all concern and contrition. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. Should I call the nurse?”

Her hands fluttered above him, afraid to touch but needing to comfort. A born nurturer, Larissa’s sweet concern was getting to him fast.

Before he became a blubbering idiot, he said, “I don’t need a nurse. I need you to leave.” He dragged in a painful breath. “Go home to Tulsa and forget me.”

“I can’t. I won’t.”

“Sure you will. Marry some great guy and be happy.”

“I married a great guy, and I was happy.”

He turned his face away. If he looked into those suffering eyes much longer, he’d be lost.

“I’m not leaving, Drew,” she said gently. “And there really isn’t anything you can do about that.”

He squelched the grudging admiration for his smart wife. In his pitiful condition, he couldn’t do much physically, but he knew how to make her miserable enough to leave. Oh yeah. He knew how to make other people miserable. That seemed to be his specialty. He squeezed down hard on the metal fish in his opposite hand.

Inside, he whispered, God, if you care about her, make her go away.

Not that he believed, but Larissa did. And if God was a good God, He’d know Drew was the worst possible choice of husbands for a wealthy socialite whose daddy was a squeaky-clean politician. She was a sweet, loving Christian who had too much to lose by staying hooked up with the likes of him.

But how could he make her go away without being cruel? Her inability to accept the inevitable was exactly why he’d planned to never see her again.

“We’ll talk about this later,” she said, her voice soft and shaky in the quiet. “Tell me about the accident.”

“Accidents are not intentional.”

“You know what I mean. What happened over there?”

He noticed how smoothly she’d sidestepped his demand that she leave him alone. All right then. He’d talk, tell her what she needed to know, and then try again to make her see reason. Right now, his head hurt too much to formulate a battle plan against a smart cookie like Larissa.

He related most of what he could remember, omitting that last horrible experience of flying away from the jeep. He hadn’t asked but figured he knew what happened to the rest of the convoy. Not knowing was the better option at this point. He wasn’t sure he could handle the truth right now.

“I guess I’m lucky to be alive.” A little part of him was scared about that, even though the practical portion thought the world would be better off without him. What if he’d died? Where would he be right now? A near-death experience made a man wonder about things like Heaven and Hell and eternity.

“It’s more than luck, Drew.”

“Still praying for me?” He knew she was. Every time they spoke on the telephone, even that last time, she ended the call with the same words, “I’m praying for you, Drew.”

When she’d first gotten into the religion-thing, he’d thought church was a nice, wholesome hobby to keep her occupied while he was away. But Larissa took her newfound faith very seriously, and he’d noticed the change in her.

“Constantly,” she whispered. And one look at her face told him it was true. She was probably praying this very moment. The idea both comforted and disturbed.

Did God even care about a sewer rat like him? If He did, why had life been so ugly? Why was he so filled with garbage that he tainted everything he touched, even his marriage?

But this was where the tainting ended. He’d hurt Larissa enough. He wouldn’t damage her more.

“Thanks,” he said.

She didn’t answer, just sat there looking beautiful and uncertain. He felt like a jerk of the grandest order. The woman who was comfortable with senators and billionaires didn’t know what to say or how to act, all because of him.

That he’d ever managed to win her love in the first place still amazed him. He, a nobody from nowhere, had won the heart of the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful girl in Tulsa society. He didn’t fit with her kind at all, and they had let him know. Especially her parents.

“I guess your mother and dad were happy to hear about the divorce.” The bitterness in his tone surprised even him.

She stared at him, lost for a minute. He was lost, too, his brain tumbling from one topic to the next. The only thing he could think of for very long was the pain in his body and the worse one in his heart.

“Mother and Dad don’t run my life.”

That was a laugh. She worked for her father, and couldn’t say no to her spoiled, whining mother. In the more than three years that he’d known the Stone family, Drew had never done one thing that pleased them. Mostly, he didn’t care.

But he did care about Larissa, and the estrangement brought her sorrow.

He’d do anything for Larissa. That’s why he had to do this. “I’m tired. Maybe you should leave now.”

She stared down at him, biting her bottom lip. “Go ahead and sleep. I’ll just sit here beside you.”

She wasn’t making this easy.

“Go home.”

“Not until I can take you with me.”

The crashing in his temples grew louder.

“Get this straight, Larissa. I don’t want to come home with you. Not now. Not ever.”

“You have nowhere else to go.”

That hurt. “Sure, I do.”

“Where? What else can you do except come home to Tulsa?”

“Rehab. One of those in-patient places. I already talked to the docs.” Not quite the truth, but close enough.

“Don’t be ridiculous. We have a huge house. I can hire nurses or whatever you need. I can take better care of you than some impersonal rehab facility.”

She reached out again, and he shrunk away. If she touched him, he’d lose his courage. With superhuman determination, he stared straight into her movie-star eyes and said, “Let me be clear about this. I can’t stand to be in the same house with you anymore. Now, get out and leave me alone.”

Abruptly, he closed his eyes and rolled his head to the side.

But not before he saw the stricken expression on his beloved’s face.

Chapter Three

Larissa tossed a tiny Gucci bag onto a chair and collapsed on the bed at the nearest hotel. Fat raindrops, like tears, ran in rivulets down the window.

She was too exhausted for tears of her own. Emotionally and physically, she’d gone about as far as she could for now.

The meeting with Drew had been harder than she’d expected, and she hadn’t expected an easy time. But she had expected him to want to come home to recuperate.

He was badly injured and disturbingly weak. The thought of him alone in an impersonal rehab facility tormented her.

How could he prefer such a place to their lovely, spacious home? The home they’d bought together? He loved that place as much as she did.

He just didn’t love her anymore. At least that’s what he claimed.

To hold back the cry of despair, she buried her face in a pillow.

Though she’d wanted to question why he had suddenly given up on them, after seeing his injuries, she was too concerned with his health. First, she’d get him well and then she’d fight him. She’d fight and she’d win because, even if it was arrogant, deep down she couldn’t believe he’d stopped loving her.

Something was wrong, though. Terribly wrong.

The thought stopped her cold.

Insecurity reared its ugly head. Sometimes men strayed, even strong, steady, decent men like her father. Mother had never guessed, but Larissa had. A politician, like a photographer, traveled widely and alone. Good-looking, charming—both the men in her life would have no problem finding companionship outside the home.

No. She couldn’t believe that about Drew. He might be secretive and mysterious in many ways, but he was faithful. She would know if he wasn’t.

The other woman in Drew’s life had always been his work. Could that be it? Was she cramping his freewheeling, traveling lifestyle?

No, that didn’t make sense either. He came and went as he pleased already, even though she’d asked him to be home more often. His job had always come first, even before their marriage.

The familiar tune of her cell phone played and she fished the instrument from the bottom of her handbag.

A quick glance at the caller ID brought a groan.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Have you seen him?”

With a sigh, Larissa pinched the bridge of her nose. It was always like this—the tug of war between her parents, especially her mother, and her personal choices.

“I had a dreadful flight. Thank you for asking, Mother. And I’m exhausted. Yes, I’ve seen him. His name is Drew.”

“I know that,” her mother snapped. “Is he all right?”

“Do you care?”

“Larissa! That is no way to speak to your own mother. I have a terrible headache, too, but I wanted to check on my little girl before I took some medication and went to bed. Your happiness is the only thing that ever mattered to me.” Her voice took on the whiney, childish quality Larissa had dealt with since childhood. “I wish you were here to make some of your delicious tea. I find it so soothing at times like this.”

For Larissa’s mother, Marsha Edington Stone, times like this occurred more or less every day.

Her discontented sigh huffed through the telephone lines, and Larissa imagined her sinking into the lush, reclining chair in the vast sitting room, one wrist dramatically tossed across her forehead like some eighteenth-century princess.

“What’s upset you this time, Mother?” She’d long ago accepted the fact that Mother’s troubles were far more important than her own.

“The luncheon was today. I don’t know what possessed me to go without you. I’m not well enough, and now I’m paying for my dedication. All that chatter over who’s going to chair next year’s art council was too much. You’re the logical choice, if they have any sense at all.”

Mother had been sick and needy as long as Larissa could remember. Having grown up as the adored only child of a very wealthy oil man, Marsha was spoiled, although she did suffer from migraines and too much time on her hands. Larissa vacillated between pity and annoyance, but like her father, she never refused her mother anything. Larissa steered the conversation away from her mother’s health. Marsha was a good person when she wasn’t focused on herself.

“I’m sorry,” Larissa said, automatically. Say it now, or pay for it later. “Please forgive my selfishness.”

“I understand, honey. You’ve been under so much strain lately. It’s no wonder you’re edgy. As soon as this thing is over, you can get back to normal.”

This thing, Larissa assumed, was her marriage. Her mother refused to believe Larissa could be happy married to Drew. She’d long planned a huge society wedding for her only child, and when Larissa and Drew eloped, the die was cast. There was no forgiveness in Marsha Stone for a perceived wrong, and since Larissa was her daughter, Drew remained the focus of the animosity.

Larissa’s marriage, to her mother’s way of thinking, was a dead horse. No use beating it.

“I do have some lovely news,” Mother said. “Did your father tell you?”

Larissa’s last conversation with her father had been terse to say the least. “I guess he forgot to mention it.”

“We’re going on a cruise to Italy. I am so excited. I can hardly believe Thomas has finally agreed to get away from his office long enough to go. We’ve discussed it for years.”

Larissa managed a laugh. “You make it sound as if you’ve never been out of the house.”

Her parents had traveled to enough places to be U.N. ambassadors.

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

Actually, she didn’t.

“Why don’t you come to Italy with us? Oh, darling, it will be such fun. A nice vacation is exactly what you need. We’ll go to Venice and let some handsome Italian woo you in a gondola. Then we’ll go shopping for the most wonderful wardrobe of Italian leathers. And by the time we return all this unpleasantness will be over.”

“Mother.” Larissa’s anxiety level rose even higher. “I have to be here for Drew.”

Silence hummed through the wires. Larissa could imagine the flat line of disapproval on her mother’s collagen-injected lips.

“That’s ridiculous.” This time her mother’s tone had a bite to it. “Stop being a doormat to this man. He’s never been a husband. Traipsing all over the world and leaving you behind, embarrassed in society. Give him a divorce and move on with your life. Find a good man of our social standing and have a child. You’re not getting any younger you know.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Her biological clock was ticking loudly, and she hungered for children like a starving lioness. But she wanted Drew to be the father of those children, something he flatly refused to discuss. Children, he claimed, were not part of the package.

A headache threatened. She pressed a thumb and forefinger against her eyes. “I can’t talk to you about this. I’m sorry.” Lately, all she did was apologize.

“We used to talk about everything until you joined that religious group. I suppose they’re behind this insane idea of yours to bring Drew home, instead of cutting your losses while you can.”

Hoping to avoid a lecture, Larissa said, “I haven’t had a chance to talk to anyone at church about this. It’s all too fresh. You’re my mother. I need you.” Boy, was that ever true. “I love you.”

“Well,” Marsha sniffed. “I love you, too, honey. You’re all that matters to me. I’m happy that you enjoy your church friends. Although in my opinion, you take this new religion fad far too seriously. Everybody gets divorced these days. Divorce isn’t a sin, you know.”

Larissa couldn’t agree. According to her Bible, Christians didn’t divorce even if they wanted to. And she most certainly did not want to.

But to the Stones, church was strictly a social institution, mostly used to better her father’s political career. Though they attended occasionally as a family, especially during election years, they had never discussed personal faith in their home. She hadn’t a clue what a relationship with Christ was about until her friend Jennifer had invited her to a Bible study last year after Drew had disappeared on one of his long treks to who-knew-where. Out of boredom and missing Drew so much she was willing to do anything, she’d gone. Within the month, she’d given her life to Christ and become a different person on the inside.

Her mother was still puzzled by her sudden devotion.

Though she’d tried discussing the topic with both her parents, the words had fallen on deaf ears. They said they were Christians “like everybody else” and that was that.

As much as she wanted to revisit the conversation, she didn’t want to offend. Mother’s sensibilities were so delicate.

“All I ask is that you think about it, Larissa,” her mother was saying. “Daddy knows the best divorce lawyers in Oklahoma. Everything can be taken care of while we’re in Italy. You won’t even have time to be stressed.”

“Drew is seriously injured. That’s my concern right now.”

“Daddy and I are not unfeeling beasts. If you are going to be stubborn about this, we will also arrange for the best rehab care available.”

“Just as long as I don’t bring Drew back to Tulsa. Right?”

There was a miniscule pause and then, “It’s for the best, honey. Let Daddy take care of everything.”

Mother made it sound so simple and bloodless. A vacation to Italy. She shook her head, depressed by her parents’ lack of understanding. They were wonderful parents, who thought they knew what was best for their child.

Only she wasn’t a child anymore.

Thoughts of Drew crowded in. Drew laughing and teasing. Drew charging into the ocean with her on his back. His expression intense when he spoke his love.

No matter what anyone said, she could not forget the beautiful parts of her marriage. They hovered inside her heart and mind like golden butterflies, too rare and special to release into the wild.

Somehow she managed to end the conversation, certain she hadn’t heard the end of the Italy cruise. Then she fixed a cup of tea in the hotel coffeemaker. It wasn’t her special blend of chamomile and raspberry, but the hot, sweetened drink warmed the chill in her bones.

Outside, a cold rain slashed the windows in incessant sheets. Inside, the hotel room was cozy. She climbed beneath the comforter, pillows propped behind her head, to drink tea and read the Bible.

In her haste, she’d left her own beautiful, Moroccan leather Bible at home. But the bedside table held the familiar Gideon version.

She flipped through the stiff book, finally settling on a page in Corinthians. Much of the Bible was still new to her and this was no different. She read out loud, hoping scripture would soothe her inner tumult. “Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

This was what real love was all about. God’s kind of love.

As if the ancient words were written just for her, Larissa read them again and again.

“Love is patient,” she murmured. “I can be patient with Drew.”

And she could also trust and hope and persevere. Because God promised that if she would, love would never fail. She closed her eyes and smiled, ready to sleep now as she hadn’t done in days. “Thank you, Lord.”

Deep down, she understood what God was telling her. Just keep on loving Drew the way Corinthians stated. Keep loving. Because love would not fail.

The next morning, Drew awakened as soon as the weak winter sun slanted through the gap in the ugly green drapes. He was nervous. Larissa was going to fight him, and right now he was weak. Last night he’d tried to get up and head for the shower on his own. He’d made it to the end of the bed before collapsing like a Slinky. The nurses had scolded until, chastised, he’d promised to stay put.

He wouldn’t necessarily keep that promise. He had to get out of here before he lost all courage.

A nurse arrived, and Drew went through the now familiar humiliation of being treated like a helpless infant. Ah, what was he saying? He was a helpless infant.

“Tell the doc I want to see him right away.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up first. I heard you had a pretty visitor yesterday.”

He gave her a look intended to shut her up, but she was a cheeky sort. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and grinned. Drew ignored the insinuation. “Call the doctor.”

“I heard you. The doctor will make his rounds soon. Right now he’s in surgery.”

“Great.” He needed to get the rehab arrangements made today and get out of here. His frustratingly weak body was not cooperating. All he could do was wait.

As the nurse administered his morning ablutions, he stared at a painting on the far wall. What was it? A seascape? Mountains?

He squinted, trying to bring the blues and greens into focus. He blinked several times to clear the fog, and just that quick, the picture faded to gray and then to black.

His heart lurched. Cold fear snaked through him. He blinked again and again. Nothing happened.

He dropped his head back onto the pillow, fighting the panic. A groan escaped him.

“Mr. Michaels?” The cheeky nurse’s voice held concern. “Did I hurt you? Are you in pain?”

Yes, though not the kind she meant.

For lack of a better excuse, he said, “My side,” and grabbed for it.

No way was he telling the nurses about the unpredictable state of his eyesight. They might tell Larissa and then he was done for. If she thought for one minute that he was going blind, she would insist on taking care of him. He wouldn’t saddle her with a cranky, worthless, blind photographer.

As professional hands skimmed over the bandage on his belly, Drew fretted. The doc had called the blindness transient. It would go away. It had to.

“There. Is that better?”

Though he had no idea what the nurse had done, he nodded anyway. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She rattled around his bed and he waited for the sound to disappear before opening his eyes again.

A relieved sigh shuddered through him.

The world had somehow come back into focus.

He looked at his hands. They were shaking.

Outside in the hallway, people passed by talking in low tones. So as not to think about the frightening blindness, he concentrated on the noises and waited for his doctor to arrive.

He didn’t have long to wait. In moments, he heard the murmur of a male voice. But there was another voice, too. Larissa. He’d recognize that soft, educated drawl anywhere on earth.

Straining to hear, he caught bits and pieces of the conversation. “Mr. Michaels expressly asked me not to release his information to you, Mrs. Michaels.”

Way to go, doc.

“But I’m his wife.” Larissa’s bewilderment was evident.

“He said you were going through a divorce.”

“That’s ridiculous. He must have gotten a concussion. We are not getting a divorce.”

Drew couldn’t hold back a smile of admiration. His woman was gutsy, that was for certain. She’d worked on her father’s political campaigns long enough to know how to stand her ground.

The doctor’s smooth, professional baritone answered, “He’s asked me to make arrangements in a rehab facility here in D.C. I was just stopping by to discuss the particulars with him.”

Drew clenched the sheet with both fists, reminding himself that the rehab was his idea. Nevertheless, the thought of going to any institution filled him with dread. He’d been in way too many of them over the years, and probably should have been in others.

Flashes of his early teen years kaleidoscoped behind his eyelids. Boys’ homes, therapeutic homes, group homes for troubled kids. He’d battled his way through dozens, fending off bigger, meaner boys, learning to steal and smoke. Learning which illegal drugs manifested what effect.

He’d tried everything and then some but had gone cold turkey after the fire….

He slammed the door right there. Sweat broke out on his body.

Not the fire. He didn’t ever think about the fire.

He wasn’t that wild, undisciplined kid anymore. He was Drew Michaels, professional photographer. Disciplined, controlled.

Jaw set, he bit down almost hard enough to break a molar. He could do this. He could go to a rehab center for a while and then get back to work where he belonged. And Larissa was not going to interfere.

Larissa stood outside Drew’s room, glad to have encountered Dr. Spacey in the hallway so they could speak candidly. According to the nurses, he was the physician in charge of Drew’s case.

“As sorry as we are to admit this, Mrs. Michaels,” the bespectacled doctor said after listing Drew’s many injuries, “our hospital is at capacity. We have to move patients out as quickly as possible—without jeopardizing care, of course. Your husband is well enough for release.”

“He can’t take care of himself.” She stated the obvious.

“Not for some time, I’m afraid. His body has been through a lot, and he’ll need several months of healing to get his strength back.”

“That’s why I’m here. I’m taking him home.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Have you spoken with him about this?”

“Do I have to?”

He looked amused. “Any man that didn’t want to go home with you would be crazy, but he has a right to make that decision.”

Larissa played the only card she had. She only hoped it worked. “I thought you said he had a severe concussion.”

“That’s true. He does. It’s healing but he’s still suffering some aftereffects.”

Larissa filed that piece of information away. Maybe the aftereffects were adding to Drew’s reluctance. “Then, are you certain he’s capable of making the appropriate decisions about his health?”

Dr. Spacey studied her behind black-framed glasses. Graying blond hair peeked out from beneath a green scrub cap. “What do you have in mind?”

“I can charter a plane whenever you say he’s ready. We have a large home, easily accessible to the best physicians in the Southwest. I can hire nursing care, physical therapists, whatever you think he needs. No expense will be spared. I can give him much more personalized care than any facility in this country. If his head is giving him trouble, what better place than home and familiar surroundings to help him recover?”

Dr. Spacey rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, thinking. “You have a valid point. The best thing for your husband would be home and familiarity. Patients who’ve been through great trauma usually recover faster and with less psychological effect among family and friends.”

Larissa felt a victory coming on. If she could just keep pushing, she might pull this off. “What do I need to do first?”

“Take him home and let him rest. The leg is non-weight bearing for at least six weeks anyway, but a physical therapist will have the details about that after you get him settled. He needs time more than anything else.”

She smiled, weary to the bone, but satisfied that she was doing the right thing, whether Drew liked it or not. “I have all the time in the world.”

The doctor patted her shoulder. “With that attitude, your husband will get along just fine. Let’s go in and talk with him about this.”

“But—” She stopped the protest rising in her throat. How did she tell him that her husband preferred a cold, sterile institution to any place with her?

She couldn’t. She could only pray that she’d been persuasive enough here in the hall to counteract anything Drew might say in the next few minutes.

Dr. Spacey pushed open the door and went inside the room. There was nothing for her to do but follow, carrying the balloon and box of chocolates picked up at the gift shop.

What would she do if Drew refused to come home with her? How would she manage to convince the doctor that Drew was too ill to know what he was doing?

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Drew would heal more quickly in her care. If she was injured, she would want someone familiar to care for her. She’d want to be home with her family, her friends, and her animals.

Drew had nobody else but her to turn to. Right now he needed her too much to refuse.

The man she’d promised to stand by in sickness and in health had nearly died. And she was not about to abandon him, no matter how much he protested.

Drew was seething. Seething. Larissa and his doctor were conspiring against him.

He stared at the squat surgeon standing over him. “Do you have that rehab set up?”

“Actually, your wife has a better plan.”

He refused to look at Larissa, though he could feel her in the room. If he looked, he might weaken.

“I don’t like her plan. Send me to rehab.”

“You have a healing concussion. I can’t be certain you’re able to make the best decisions for yourself at this time.”

“Meaning?”

“In my judgment, since Mrs. Michaels is your legal wife, she is the more appropriate decision-maker at this time. I’m going to dismiss you tomorrow morning into her care.”

Drew shot upright but pain slammed him right back down. He lay back against the pillow, too breathless to speak.

“Everything will be fine, Mr. Michaels. Just be sure to see your doctors in Tulsa. Have them call for your records.” He took a card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Larissa. If Drew had been able to get a good breath, he would have complained. This was his life. What was the matter with this crazy doctor?

Giving him a pat on the shoulder, the doctor departed. Drew was furious.

Larissa, her perfume pure torture, moved closer to set her gifts on the nightstand. A teddy bear balloon. Normally, he’d make some wise remark about that, but he was too angry. She was destroying his plan.

“I hope you’re not upset.” She fiddled with the balloon.

By now, he’d found his breath and his voice. “Just what do you think you’re trying to pull?”

“Dr. Spacey and I were discussing your dismissal.”

“Yeah, I overheard.”

“Good. Then you already know. You are not going to a rehab. You’re going home. To our home where you belong.”

“What did you do, convince him I’m crazy?”

She found where his fist was clenched against the bedsheet and tugged his hand into hers. He tried to resist, but for once, a woman was stronger than him. Imagine, too weak to resist a girl.

Violet eyes smiled down at him. “Get used to it, Drew. You married a woman who plans strategy for political campaigns. I outmaneuvered you.”

“I’m not going back to Tulsa.”

She bent down and kissed his cheek. He thought he’d die of pleasure. “Yes, you are. Tomorrow morning.”

With an angry huff, he jerked his hand away. But he was no fool. He knew he’d been beaten.

He was about to spend the next few months convincing the woman he loved more than life, that he couldn’t stand her.

This was not going to be fun. His stomach curled in anguish. Not fun at all.

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