The One Worth Waiting For Read Online Free Page B

“Cagney?” she asked hesitantly, her easy smile slipping for just a minute. “Why do you suppose that after all these years he came here? Why not your parents’ porch? Why not yours?”
    Garret saw Cagney square his shoulders, the sheriff’s face composing into the quiet, steady expression for which he was known. “Mitch thinks someone may come looking at Mom and Dad’s,” he said evenly. “But there’s no reason for anyone to investigate here.”
    Suzanne nodded, her chin still high in the air. “I figured it must be something like that.”
    “Well, hopefully, we’ll know more once he comes around.”
    “Of course. Take care, Cage. And remember, I’ll call if there’s anything to report.”
    Cage disappeared through the doorway, leaving Suzanne alone in the bedroom, her rich brown hair curling in gentle tendrils around her face. Garret continued to stare at her, willing his throat to work, but no sound escaped.
    Perhaps she felt the pull of his gaze instead.
    She turned, and her large hazel eyes connected with his black, glittering gaze.
    “Garret?” she asked immediately. He opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. Quickly, she crossed the room to the pitcher of water next to the bed. With slightly trembling hands, she poured half a glass and raised the cool plastic mug to his full, cracked lips.
    He drank like a forty-day drought victim, and she poured him half of a second glass, forcing him to take it more slowly this time. At last he leaned back, the sweat still beading up on his forehead and rolling down his cheeks. Without another thought, she picked up a damp cloth and began to wipe down his forehead in quick, efficient strokes. It was much better to keep moving, she decided. Anything was better than the force of his eyes upon her face.
    “Roses,” he whispered.
    She jumped at the unexpected sound, then laughed a little self-consciously at her own nerves. She patted his forehead with the cloth a couple more times, then glanced down to find his burning eyes still locked upon her own.
    “Roses,” he told her again, the words rasping. “I couldn’t figure out why there were roses amid all the stones.”
    Before she could move, his hand abruptly touched her cheek. The feel of his finger, dry and hot, caused her to flinch, and his hand fell down.
    He sighed, the sound like a desert wind upon loose rocks. “I always knew you would still be here.”
    She jerked upright at that, the spell broken by her immediate outrage. She picked up the damp cloth and resumed her efficient movements. “Of course I still live here,” she said primly, her chin up as she dabbed the cloth around his hairline. “This is my house, my home. I will always live here.”
    He seemed to smile, but his eyelids were already beginning to flutter down. Just as well, she told herself. She didn’t want to talk to the insufferable bastard anyway. She nursed him for Cagney’s sake and because she always helped the downtrodden—it was her civic duty. But she’d be more than happy for him to get well and leave. After all these years, she certainly didn’t want anything to do with Garret Guiness.
    She wasn’t some sixteen-year-old fool anymore.
    He winced, and she realized her movements had grown rather brisk. Immediately, she relented, redipping the cloth in the basin while she took another look at his flushed face. The cloth stilled in her hands, and her expression froze just for one instant.
    He did look so sick, and the lump on the corner of his forehead had turned a putrid shade of green.
    She wrung out the cloth and returned it to his closed eyes.
    “Rest up now, Garret,” she told him softly. “You hear me? You’ve got to get well for Cagney and me. There’ll be plenty of time to raise hell then.”
    “Mrtavi,” he groaned suddenly, thrashing his head to the side. The movement hurt him. She saw his lips curl back with the pain and the muscles cord on his neck. “Mrtavi,” he yelled, thrashing to the other side. His