The Hero's Sweetheart. Cheryl WyattЧитать онлайн книгу.
then she looked up.
Jack’s breath hitched. Pretty would be an understatement. Stunning? Close, but still not strong enough. Shimmery sapphire eyes shone starkly against alabaster skin, spiky-cropped raven hair and—Jack leaned in to get a better look under subdued light—purple lipstick? What kind of person walked into an emergency hospital with intentionally cyanotic-looking lips?
This could not be the soft-spoken Olivia.
Then again, her presence at his father’s side suggested otherwise.
Okay, so maybe he wouldn’t hug her after all. She looked not so approachable with her nose and ears riddled with piercings, bold makeup, chains for a necklace and a tattoo snaking up the side of her neck. Not to mention her off-limits body language and untrusting eyes as they zeroed in on him approaching the bed. Her rocker-chick look sat at serious odds with the sweet voice that had literally kept him sane and calm on the phone during the last thirty hours.
Her slight smile slid into a frown, prompting Jack to shake off his dismay and find his manners.
“Olivia?” Maybe this wasn’t her.
The tiny smile swept one side of her mouth up as she nodded briefly before gazing back at the bed. Distress entered her eyes. He knew the feeling and dreaded facing the hard sight cradled within her eyes.
He’d put the inevitable off long enough. Resisting reality never made it go away. Reluctantly, he forced his gaze off the floor and brought it slowly to the bed.
Dad.
Jack swallowed hard as he approached the frail-looking man engulfed by a huge, flimsy hospital gown. Jack reached through the side rail, took his dad’s hand and squeezed. Emotion clogged his throat and an invisible grenade detonated inside his chest. He swallowed but the lump in his throat refused to move. “Dad, I’m—” was all he could manage before his throat clogged again. He was what? Sorry he hadn’t been here? Sorry he might be too late? Sorry for deploying for another tour? His father looked so weak, so frail, so close to death.
“Sully, Jack’s here,” Olivia finished for him. Maybe she picked up on Jack’s fear because her face softened measurably, then her tense mouth molded into a smile. Wary of giving trust, Jack felt his muscles tighten with the typical guardedness he’d had to develop while working in a war zone amid enemies who sometimes posed as friends. Not wanting to be rude, Jack forced a mannerly smile but it felt thin and strained.
Nonetheless, the chill in her eyes thawed by several degrees as she said, “The doctor says since he got here so fast he’ll likely make a full recovery with help from physical, speech and occupational therapy.”
The tank sitting on Jack’s chest eased off a bit, allowing his voice to come back. “That’s good.” Relief was an understatement for the way her words made him feel, delivered in the same velvet voice that had kept him calm from one continent to another all the way here.
“Dad, all the guys in my unit said to hurry and get well soon or they’re gonna come kick your caboose.” He rubbed his dad’s hand, longing with all his heart to feel a squeeze back.
He knew that even though Sully slept under medical sedation and stroke aftereffects, he’d likely still be able to hear, since hearing was the last sense to go. Olivia seemed to know that, too. Actually, based on their phone conversations, Jack assumed she’d had medical training of some sort.
He caught and held her gaze. “Thank you, miss, for everything. Most of all, for recognizing what was happening, relaying it to doctors and for getting him help so fast.”
She blushed. “Thanks, but it was a team effort.” Her shy motions and soft demeanor juxtaposed with her spiky sense of fashion. Upon deeper observation, her intelligent eyes projected a strong will and an expression daring anyone to try and cross it.
She wore a black T-shirt overlaid with a gothic cross in gray graphics. White low-rise jeans sported a black patent leather belt with silver studs. Big triangle earrings and combat-style boots completed her ensemble. Somehow, it worked for her.
And surprised him with its appeal.
She must’ve noticed his assessment of her because her eyebrows drew down in a scowl. Not the usual female reaction, for sure.
He found her response refreshing, but he was irritated by his own intrigue, especially since he didn’t know or therefore trust her true motives for being here. He courteously moved his perusal from the mysterious and mesmerizing creature and shifted his gaze to the drip rate of his dad’s intravenous solution and scanned numbers on the machines, glad to see stable vital signs despite Dad’s horrible pale color.
“They think he had an undiagnosed heartbeat irregularity.” Her brows knit. “I’m not far enough into EMT school to know which kind, but they seemed to think it would be easy to treat.”
Jack nodded, deeply appreciative of the information. He’d explain heart rhythms to her in a less intense moment. For now, he needed time with his dad, preferably alone. He needed to say some things and didn’t want an audience. His apology was going to be hard enough without a stranger hearing him acknowledge his mistakes in not being here and for being a medic yet not realizing Dad was ill. They video chatted almost nightly. He should’ve noticed something was wrong. He peered at Olivia but she hadn’t budged. In fact she didn’t seem the slightest bit inclined to leave.
“I’m sure you have things to do, Miss... I didn’t catch your last name?”
“Abbott, and I have nothing more important to do.”
Jack shifted to capture her gaze but she seemed even more determined to avoid his eyes. “Thanks, ma’am, but I’ve got this. You may go now.”
Her dark eyebrows slid into a sharp V and her lips pursed. “I’m fine right here, thanks.”
Jack had never felt more territorial and annoyed in his life. He was a longtime military leader accustomed to people following his orders without hesitation.
How could this waif of a waitress not get that he wanted her to leave?
She wasn’t family. She had no right to be here. Why’d she think she did? It irritated Jack to no end.
As if sensing Jack’s thoughts, Olivia narrowed her eyes in a challenge that said if he wanted her gone, he was going to have to physically carry her out.
He was tempted.
Releasing Dad’s hand, he marched around the bed. “It wasn’t a suggestion, Miss Abbott. I’d like time with my dad. Alone.”
She scowled at first, but slowly the tenseness left her shoulders as she studied his face. Then she nodded. She grabbed her gunmetal-gray purse, studded down the sides, leaned over, brushed a gentle hand along his dad’s face and said, “Sully, I’ll be back tomorrow. Jack will hold vigil until then.” Then she slipped out of the room avoiding Jack’s gaze.
“I’m walking Miss Abbott out, Dad. Be right back,” Jack said, following her.
Once in the hallway, she turned to face him. “I realize this is the first time you’ve seen your father in person in a while. You’re entitled to want time alone with him. I was out of line.”
He studied her face like a war map. “Yet you still seem angry about having to leave.”
She started to say something then bit her tongue. “He needs someone there. It’s your place, not mine. So go back in.” She paused to peer back into his dad’s room.
A look that Jack could only describe as terror flashed across her face before calm funneled back into her expression. Then she turned without another word and strode away. Jack realized that she was scared to leave his dad. He considered calling her back but then came to his senses. This was a family matter.
This regret was his reckoning. He should have spent time with his dad while he had the chance. But the fact that Sully survived this stroke meant Jack was looking his second chance right in the face.