Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(213)

Then his head dropped and he muttered to his knees, “Jesus f**king Christ. Jesus f**king Christ.”

“Honey,” I whispered and his head shot up and then he filled my vision because his mouth was on mine, gentle but firm and his big hands had spanned either side of my head, holding me still.

He broke the connection of our lips and he rested his forehead against mine.

“Baby,” he whispered.

“Jim-Billy?” I asked.

“Okay, knife did more damage on him than you, went through his stomach, but they patched him up.”

I closed my eyes this time then opened them to have the only thing I saw be his.

“Thank God,” I breathed then asked, “Jonas?”

“Outside sleepin’ on a couch with Krys and Stella and Sunny and Wendy and half of Carnal.”

“Half of Carnal?”

He nodded, his forehead rolling against mine. “Half of Carnal.”

“Must be a big waiting room,” I whispered, realizing this was taking it out of me, my eyelids were getting heavy and I fought it. It was the first time I didn’t want to sleep.

Tate saw it and his head came up a couple of inches but both of his hands slid down to my jaws.

“Go to sleep, honey,” he urged gently, both his thumbs lifting up, stroking my cheekbones, “I’ll be here when you get to the other side.”

“Don’t wanna,” I muttered, my lids lowering and, with effort, I pulled them open again.

“Go to sleep, Laurie.”

“Tate,” I whispered, my eyelids falling again and I couldn’t pull them open.

But before sleep swept me away, I felt his lips on mine form the words, “Sweet dreams, baby.”

* * * * *

Jim-Billy

Jim-Billy woke feeling something he hadn’t felt in seven years.

A soft, warm female pressed to his side, her hand under her cheek at his shoulder.

With effort, he looked down to see the top of Laurie’s blonde head, her shoulder covered in a hospital gown, the rest of her body covered in a thin hospital blanket.

He sensed movement, his head settled back on the pillow and his eyes turned to the bright, Colorado sunshine coming through the window where Tate stood, Tate’s eyes on the two people in the bed.

“She asleep?” Jim-Billy asked, his voice a soft rasp.

Tate nodded.

“Made me bring her in here, wanted to be with you,” Tate whispered, his voice barely audible.

Jim-Billy nodded.

“She okay?” Jim-Billy asked.

“Better than you,” Tate answered.

Jim-Billy nodded again.

He didn’t feel much pain but then again, he wasn’t moving and he had a soft, warm female body pressed to his side. She was Tate’s but she was still a soft, warm female and she was Laurie, alive and breathing. It was a gift and life was too short, you get a gift, especially one as precious as the one squeezed next to him in a damned hospital bed, you accept it.

Tate walked from the window to the bed, the entirety of this short trip his eyes never leaving Jim-Billy’s.

Once he made it to the bed, though, they flicked down to Laurie then back to Jim-Billy.

Then he said in a fierce whisper, “Owe you, Billy, owe you huge.”

Jim-Billy nodded again.

“I know.”

And he did know, not because Jim-Billy suffered whatever was behind the complete numbness of his gut, made that way from whatever was feeding into his bloodstream from the drip in his arm but because Jim-Billy suffered it to do his bit to keep what was squeezed in bed beside him alive and breathing.

Jim-Billy grinned his semi-toothless grin at Tate.

Then he said, “Merry Christmas.”

Tate stared at him for a second and he did this hard.

Then Tate’s face relaxed and Jim-Billy heard his low, amused chuckle.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Where Are They Now?

“In one of the most remarkable where are they nows, Tatum Jackson, All-American linebacker for Penn State and first round draft pick for the Philadelphia Eagles, is back in the news after a twenty-two year absence.”

The minute they said Tate’s name, I pushed a bit up Tate’s chest where we were lying on the couch.

Me and my whole family were watching the football commentators doing their bit during halftime of the Sunday (the day after Christmas) game.

Pop had called my folks the minute he had a chance after they found me. They decided not to wait for the next flight out, which was late the next morning because by that time, my Dad said, they could be halfway across Nebraska (and were). So they packed up their stuff and all the presents and took turns driving all night to get to Colorado.

“Turn that shit off,” Tate growled, as he would, since he was in a very bad mood even though it was the day after Christmas.

I’d been let out of the hospital on Christmas Eve.

I’d talked to the cops in the hospital. Dalton was in bad shape from a gunshot wound and the beating Tate had given him. He’d also confessed after Special Agent Tambo explained the extent of the evidence against him which was a lot, considering he’d abducted me, cut my hair, kept trophies, didn’t dispose of his mattress that was covered in DNA and used the same knife on us all, leaving that knife in Jim-Billy’s gut.

Not to mention, Sunny had given a partial ID.