Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(53)

I looked at the clock. It was six thirty. I knew two things from this. Mom didn’t sleep a wink and Tate was a seriously early riser.

“Tate’s running but I’ll be down,” I told her.

“He’s running?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“In a town he doesn’t know?”

“Um, he’s a bounty hunter, he gets around,” I guessed. “New places don’t faze him,” I guessed again. “He’ll be okay.” That wasn’t a guess. I figured Tate could run through the fires of hell and emerge unscathed.

“We’ll wait until he gets back. They aren’t letting us in for long visits and visiting hours don’t start until ten,” Mom told me. “I already called the hospital and they say his status hasn’t changed but it’s…”

She stopped and I listened to her breathing heavily, trying to control emotion.

“Take your time, Momma,” I whispered.

I listened to her inhale then she said, “They said it’s good he made it through the night.”

Darn but this sucked.

“That’s good,” I said softly.

“Yeah,” she replied.

“I’ll get a shower in, go down and leave Tate a note. He’s going back to Carnal today anyway, maybe his flight is early and he’ll need to skip breakfast and get a taxi.”

“He’s going back today?” Mom asked, sounding surprised.

“Um… yes.”

“Why?”

“Well…”

“He should stay, at least a day, see the farm.”

“He’s got things to do,” I told her.

“It’s just a day,” she replied.

I’d heard that before.

“Listen, Mom –”

“I’ll talk to him,” she decided.

“No! Mom, really –”

“At a time like this, you need him with you. He’ll understand.”

“But…” I searched desperately for something then stated, “He’s got fugitives from justice to hunt down. It isn’t like his job isn’t important.”

I didn’t like lying to my mother. It was likely Tate would go home and help out at the bar and get pissed about doing it all because Bubba liked to fish. Still, maybe there’d be some fugitive Tate had to go round up.

“There’s lots of bounty hunters, Laurie, there’s even one on TV. He can delegate,” she said like Tate worked in an office with a bunch of bounty hunters who got a call then said, “I’ll go,” or “You go,” or “No, you go,” or “Butch is up next, he’ll go.”

“Mom –”

“We’ll talk at breakfast.”

“Mom –” I repeated but there was a knock at the door and my eyes fell to Tate’s nightstand. I saw his cell, wallet and the Marriott keycard so I figured Tate went out without the keycard and he needed me to let him in. “Listen, there’s a knock at the door, Tate’s back. I’ll talk to him. If he has to go home then he has to go home.”

“Maybe, if he has to go home, he’ll come back,” she suggested hopefully.

There it was. My Mom thinking my life could begin again now that I found a man. Then again, she’d married my Dad when he was twenty-one, she was nineteen. She’d never known a life without a good man in it so she would think that.

Another knock came at the door, this one louder. Tate was getting impatient or perhaps thought he needed to wake me.

“I’ve got to go,” I said to Mom. “See you at breakfast.”

“Yes, say eight, or whenever you’re ready,” Mom replied. “I just want to get there before visiting hours. See if we can talk to the doctors.”

“Okay,” I threw off the covers and swung my legs off the bed. “See you at eight. Love you.”

“Love you too, Laurie, and glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“Glad Tate’s here too.”

I sighed.

“Me too.”

“Bye hon.”

I stood up and bent over the phone saying, “Bye Momma.”

I hung up and rushed across the room to the door.

Not looking because it could be no one but Tate, I pulled it open while talking, “You forgot the –”

I stopped talking because Brad stood there.

I couldn’t believe my eyes so all I could do was stand there and stare, which was a bad thing. It was bad because Brad took that opportunity to move into the room and he might not have been as big as Tate but he was bigger than me and I had no choice but to move back with him and I did, walking backwards staring up at him.

“What are you doing here?” I asked when we stopped.

“I saw him running,” he told me.

“Tate?”

“I knew you’d be alone.”

Oh for goodness sake.

I heaved a sigh then said, “Brad –”

“We need to talk, without him here.”

“No we don’t.”

He looked at me from top to toe then smiled his killer Bradford Whitaker smile. “You look great, darling.”

I was just awake, my Dad was in ICU and I was not in the mood for Bradford Whitaker’s killer smile or to contemplate the fact that it had, for the first time since I’d seen it, not even the slightest effect on me. Instead, I focused on forcing myself not to roll my eyes.