LITMIR.BIZ

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      It wasn’t Grant. It was Kevin. Kevin had been driving. She glanced at the passenger seat, not breathing. It was empty. It was empty.

      Her heart began to beat quickly. “Grant?”

      “Yes. I’m here. I’m all right.”

      He appeared suddenly on the other side of the car, as if he’d rolled out, and then dragged himself to a standing position. His shirt was muddy, clinging to his shoulders, and he held one arm strangely, clutching the elbow with the other hand and propping it across his chest. Above that, his hard-boned face was pale, his golden-brown hair drenched, water streaming down his cheeks.

      “Are you all right?” The bulk of the car was between them, and she couldn’t think how to fix that. She couldn’t think at all. “Are you hurt?”

      “No. But Kevin’s unconscious. I’ve called 911, but—”

      “I called 911, too,” the man from the Mercedes said. “Are you okay?”

      Grant ignored him. He kept his eyes trained on Crimson, as if she were the touchstone that kept him focused, kept him from sinking back into the mud. “Where is Molly?”

      “In the truck. She’s fine. We’re fine. Is Kevin—” Her teeth chattered, as if it were deepest winter, and she couldn’t form words. Not that word. It was not a word you spoke aloud. It couldn’t be true, anyhow. It couldn’t be true.

      She put her hand against the window, as if she could touch Kevin through the glass. But Kevin wasn’t aware of her. His face was turned sideways, pointing toward the passenger seat, and she couldn’t tell how badly hurt he was.

      “Oh, God,” she said. “Kevin...”

      “He’s breathing. It’s okay. He’s breathing.” Grant started to take a step, as if to come around the back of the car. As if he wanted to comfort her. But something was wrong with one of his legs, and he stumbled, falling against the hood with his bad arm.

      He groaned, clearly in agony.

      “Grant.” A pain shot through her own chest, as if she could feel what he felt. His contorted face was so tortured she could hardly bear to look at it. His arm must be badly broken.

      “He’ll live, Crimson,” he said thickly. “I promise.”

      And with a low moan, he slumped to the ground and out of sight.

      Every part of her body felt cold and numb and strangely distant, as if she weren’t really here. As if she might, please God, be dreaming.

      Dimly, she heard Molly wailing from the truck. In front of her, Kevin was still slumped over the wheel, motionless. Unconscious, unresponsive, unaware.

      And Grant... She couldn’t see him at all, and somehow that was the worst, as if she were an astronaut free-floating in space, her lifeline snipped in two.

      The emptiness of infinite space roared in her ears, and she wondered if she’d gone deaf.

      But then, finally, she heard the noise she’d been waiting for, the one sound her ears, her heart, her entire soul had been listening, straining, praying for.

      The sound of the ambulance, screaming toward them through the rain.

       CHAPTER THREE

      IT WAS ALMOST midnight before Grant was able to go home.

      Actually, he was secretly shocked that he’d been able to talk the doctors into discharging him at all. Given how scrambled his brain was right now, he wouldn’t have thought he could talk a bear into sleeping in the woods.

      But luckily Harry Middleton was the doctor on duty, and Harry had bought Grant’s first foal, Tender Night, out of Charisma Creek. So a few corners could be cut. Besides, once they set Grant’s arm and did a CT scan on his brain, they didn’t have anything left to hold him for.

      “Observation” wasn’t a good enough reason to keep a man in the hospital, not when he had a ranch to run single-handedly.

      He looked down at the cast that covered his right forearm from palm to elbow. Single-handedly, indeed. He might have smiled at his inadvertent pun, except his head hurt like a demon, and his bruised ribs were killing him.

      And who could feel like smiling about anything while Kevin lay up there on the third floor, unconscious? Sure, Grant’s right ankle was sprained and his arm broken, but that was nothing compared to the crushing Kevin had suffered. He’d never regained consciousness after the accident, and no one seemed sure when—or if—he might wake.

      Condition serious but stable, they called it. Whatever that meant. Grant shook off the memory of Kevin’s bandaged form. He didn’t have time to dwell on worst-case scenarios. He had to stay focused. Not only were there chores to do, horses to look after and accounts to settle...but he also had a baby to take care of.

      With one hand.

      Earlier, while he’d been waiting for his CT scan, Crimson had sent word that Marianne Donovan would babysit Molly for the evening. He’d been surprised at first, because Crimson normally never missed a chance to be with the baby. But he realized how dumb that was. Of course Crimson would want to stay at the hospital as long as she could, even though they wouldn’t let her in Kevin’s room.

      She would want to be as close to him as she could get.

      If Grant had ever been fool enough to wonder about Crimson’s feelings—to wonder whether maybe Molly was more the attraction than Kevin himself—he knew better now. The look on her face when she first saw Kevin slumped over the steering wheel had said it all. She had been pale with terror, mute with grief.

      God, the quiet hospital hallway seemed endless. The polished floor reflected the overhead lights in hazy circles, as if someone had spilled milk at intervals—and the line of circles seemed to stretch on forever.

      He’d lied to Harry and the nurses about how much his ankle hurt, hoping they wouldn’t insist on a wheelchair. Limping as little as he could, he followed the path of watery lights to the waiting room on the second floor.

      Crimson had sent word she’d be there, and she was.

      To his surprise, though, she was deep in conversation with another female, a teenager, he’d guess, and a bottle blonde. The two huddled together in adjoining chairs by the far wall, talking in low tones even though they were the only two people in the room.

      They both looked up as Grant entered. Only then did he see that the blonde had a black eye, a swollen upper lip and a bandage across the bridge of her nose.

      “Grant!” Crimson rose jerkily. “Is there news?”

      He shook his head. “Nothing since I sent the note around nine.”

      She nodded. “Thanks for that. No one would tell me anything.”

      He’d figured as much. A couple of weeks ago, when Kevin had learned that his new law firm would be sending him overseas periodically, he’d filled out forms naming Grant his official healthcare surrogate and the emergency guardian for Molly.

      It was a sudden outburst of practicality, which, frankly, had been a shocker. In their college days, Kevin had been the least sensible person Grant knew.

      Of course, he hadn’t seen Kevin in years, so maybe he’d grown out of that long ago. Working with the law could make you overly cautious. And fatherhood changed even the craziest frat boys.

      Grant knew that, too.

      So now Grant got all the medical updates. Crimson, who had no official standing, couldn’t force the doctors to admit Kevin existed, much less that he lay in one of these rooms, unconscious.

      “They may move him to Montrose in a day or two,” Grant said, uncertain whether he’d included that in his note. The painkillers they’d given him were powerful, and a lot of tonight was a blur. “They

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