S HE WAS TRYING to climb out of a dark pit, trying to open her eyes and come awake. A voice beside her said, “Ryan?” She wanted to be helped up, to be pulled up out of the darkness.
“Ryan?”
She opened her eyes, and a harsh light reflected on the pale wall, a stark metal lamp so bright it made her head hurt. This wasn’t her studio apartment, she wasn’t in her own bed, she didn’t know this place. But beside this bed, Clyde sat in a chair, watching her. “You’ve been asleep.”
She was in a strange bed, in a strange room, her head hurt like hell. Gingerly she fingered the bandage. “Why am I…What happened to me? I heard Charlie’s voice, and Hanni. Why is everything so muddled?”
“Someone hit you. You have a concussion. Leave your bandage alone, don’t pick at it. Don’t try to sit up, and don’t wriggle around. You had a blow on the head and if you…”
She turned just a little, to look at him, and her head throbbed. She remembered the stone room, Betty Wicken swinging a hammer and a man with a hammer…
“It’s going to hurt for a while. Everyone’s been here. Scotty; your sister, Hanni; Charlie; Wilma; the seniors; Lori and Dillon…Slipping in, holding your hand for a minute, and then leaving. The doctor pitched a fit. But they were here, touching you for a moment like some kind of blessing.”
“How long have I been here? You didn’t say Dallas was here. Where’s Dallas?” She sat upright, jarring a pain through her head that made her sick to her stomach. “Clyde, where’s Dallas?”
“Chasing the bad guys,” Clyde said easily. “Chasing the people who hit you. He’s fine, Ryan.”
She tried to relax, tried to think clearly. “Charlie was here? I’m missing her book signing, her opening…”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly six, she’ll be there now, for the children-the adult party starts at seven.”
She tried to look sideways toward the windows to see if it was still daylight, but that hurt. “And the contest? The girls…?”
“Their house is all in place. The judging is tomorrow.”
“Clyde, I can’t miss Charlie’s opening. I could just…?”
“You’re not supposed to talk so much. You need to rest, and mend.” He kissed her on the cheek and rose. “The doctor will be in around six. He’ll have the CAT scan and X-rays. He’ll want me out of here, he’s not happy about so many visitors.”
He picked up a gym bag that he’d set on the floor beside his chair. “There’s a guard outside. When Dr. Hamry leaves, go to sleep. They’re bringing a cot in for Hanni, for the night. She’ll be along later, after the opening, in case you need anything extra. I imagine she’ll bring you some party food.” He kissed her again, tenderly. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He turned away and was gone, disappearing into the hall with his heavy gym bag. Why would he bring a gym bag to the hospital, he didn’t work out in the evenings. As he swung the door halfway closed, she glimpsed a uniformed officer sitting on a straight-backed chair, just outside.
What had she done to deserve a police guard? Or, what had she seen? That she did not remember?
She guessed she slept, because the next thing she knew, more lights burned, the room was bright, and Dr. Hamry stood beside her bed, touching her shoulder. His voice was very soft and caring for such a clumsy-looking big man. She had dreamed about cats. Cats talking. She imagined she could still feel warm fur against her neck and cheek.
N OT UNTIL HE was back in his yellow roadster did Clyde open the gym bag. “I hope you didn’t leave cat hairs on the bed.”
The tomcat stuck his head out, sniffing the cold wind, then stepped out onto the creamy leather seat, stretching luxuriously. “That’s better. I thought I’d smother in there. Did you have to zip the damned thing?”
“It has air vents. What do you think that screen is? That’s why I used the gym bag, so you could breathe.”
“This is your gym bag, Clyde. You put your sweaty clothes in here. The damn thing smells like a jockstrap.”
Clyde glared, and started the engine. Joe, as they headed for Ocean and home, was still wondering how that bogus, look-alike blue van had been slipped into the school and successfully hidden back in the trees behind the Stanhope house with not one of Harper’s patrol guys seeing it. He looked up when Clyde started to laugh. “What?”
“She thought you were Rock. On the bed.”
“Watch the road. You don’t have to look at me to talk. What’s so funny about that? Rock isn’t some scroungy mongrel, I don’t see being mistaken for Rock as an insult. Anyway, the woman’s half out of it.”
“You have a lot of sympathy. I should have left you in the car.”
Joe looked a long time at Clyde. “You think she’ll be all right?”
“If she lies still and does what she’s told.” Clyde glanced at Joe. “She kept talking about cats. You heard her. About talking cats, Joe.”
“She was out cold, after Betty hit her. Well, we thought she was.”
Clyde turned to glare at him.
“When she’s better, how much will she remember?” Joe said diffidently. Then, “You heard her, her thoughts are all mixed up.”
“Let’s hope,” Clyde said.
“She thinks too much like a cop to believe that stuff,” Joe said. “Talking cats? No way.”
“Charlie figured it out.”
“Charlie’s an artist and a writer. Charlie encourages her imagination, it’s part of her work. With someone like Ryan, who’s all facts and reality, something that far out would never wash. Not for a minute.”
“Ryan isn’t all facts and reality. That’s really unfair. Don’t you think it takes imagination to create the houses she designs?”
Joe looked at Clyde, and shut up. For once, Clyde was right. “Just for the record,” Joe said, “you were so shaken over Ryan that you damned near asked her to marry you.”
“I didn’t do any such thing. Now whose imagination has gone wild?” Turning into their drive and killing the engine, Clyde reached to stroke Joe. “That would screw up our lives. You could never utter another word in your own home.”
“Sometimes even a cat has to make sacrifices.”
Clyde looked surprised. “Not you.”
Joe gave him a long yellow-eyed gaze.
“You’d do that for me?”
“Would I have a choice? If things got too uncomfortable, I could move in with Dulcie and Wilma.”
“I wouldn’t ask her to marry me without settling it with you. We’re family, Joe.”
“Maybe,” Joe said, “it’s time you got married. You’re not getting any younger. You would be acquiring a live-in carpenter, electrician, and plumber. And Rock is a very nice dog, as dogs go.”
Clyde swung out and headed for the front door. Unlocked it, flipped on the lights, and scowled down at Joe. “I’m not marrying anyone for her talents at home maintenance.”
Joe leaped to the couch. “You’re not marrying her at all, yet. You haven’t asked her properly. She won’t remember that half-assed hint at marriage when she was just coming to. Talk about a coward’s proposal.” Leaping up onto the mantle, he looked hard at Clyde. “The problem is, you’re not sure Ryan wants to get married. And you’re scared to find out.”
Clyde sat down on the couch. Confirmed bachelor and tomcat looked at each other. It was Clyde who glanced away, and rose again, and headed for the kitchen.
And his bachelor mind was indeed full of questions. There were a lot of reasons why Ryan might not want to get married, at least in the near future. She was still recovering from a bad marriage. She wanted some peace and independence. She was a self-sufficient woman, busy building her own design/construction business. She rented a nice big studio apartment with the room and solitude to work uninterrupted on her blueprints and architectural drawings. Did she really need, or want, to be jammed into the same house with him, on a full-time basis?