When Hearts Collide - By James, Kendra Page 0,26
Yes, the thought of lying in his bed, wrapped in the same sheets he’d used, his masculine scent enveloping her, was wickedly tempting. She could close her eyes and almost feel his arms enfolding her.
Stop it. The man is lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life, a stranger that you haven’t spoken more than a few scattered words with, and you’re dreaming of sharing a bed with him.
Last night Molly had done no more than open the doors and peek inside. Tonight she brought her suitcase up to the bedroom next to Gracie’s. With its canopy bed, homemade patchwork quilt, sedate landscapes, and French provincial furniture, the room had the homey air of family–well-loved treasures and kindred spirits. Molly pulled back the lace curtains to reveal the manicured garden below. The tulips drooped, but the lilac bush was in full bloom. The fragrance from their lavender blooms created a warm and cozy feeling. Dropping the curtains, Molly did a pirouette in the middle of the room. Yes, this would be a lovely place to spend a few nights.
Within minutes, Molly was slipping under the homemade quilt. Her eyelids, too heavy to stay open, drooped like the fading tulips in the garden below. There was no need to count sheep tonight. And in this room, there were no pictures of a sexy, scarcely clad Pearce to disturb her sleep.
But she didn’t sleep for long. Screams from the next room woke her. She was out of bed in seconds, racing down the hall and throwing open the door. Gracie’s eyes were closed and she continued to sleep, but she had thrown her covers and thrashed wildly in the bed.
“Gracie. Gracie, it’s okay.”
The child screamed unintelligible words and continued to flail. Molly ran to her and pulled her into her arms. Sitting on the bed, she rocked her and stroked the damp strands of blond hair. She whispered soft, soothing words to the child, but it took several minutes for Gracie to settled.
When she had calmed, Molly laid her back on the bed and replaced her cover. She placed a quick kiss on the child’s forehead and went to step away. Before she could even straighten, Gracie realized she was no longer cloistered in Molly’s arms, and began to whimper.
Molly sighed. Exhausted, she just wanted to head back to her room and fall back asleep. The child continued to sleep but would the nightmare return? Would the whimpers escalate to screams?
Molly slid under the covers. Gracie immediately curled into her. The whimpers ceased and she settled into a peaceful sleep. It was early morning before Molly slipped out of the child’s bed and headed back to her own.
Doctor Summerville examined Pearce’s exposed incision. “Considering what you went through in the accident, this looks pretty good. I want you on intravenous antibiotics for a couple of weeks. Don’t want to have any infection set in.” He turned to Molly. “You’ll be able to administer the antibiotics?”
Molly found her head nodding at the same time her brain told her no, she wouldn’t be able to do it; she’d be on her way by that time. She planned to leave once Pearce got home. Scrutinizing the object of her thoughts, Molly wondered how he would manage. His broken leg, his intravenous antibiotic therapy, and his physiotherapy regime were not going to be easy to deal with. There must be home care nurses in the area. Maybe she could stay until that was arranged.
“Well, Rita,”—Doctor Summerville spoke to the nurse—“do you think you can get everything arranged for discharge tomorrow?”
Tomorrow? Molly jerked her head to look at the doctor. Her hands started trembling. She couldn’t believe her ears. Pearce had almost died less than forty-eight hours ago and now he was being discharged tomorrow. Was she ready to take on two charges? She looked at the patient in the bed beside her, his eyes questioning, pleading, begging. She thought of his helpless child with her blond curls and brilliant blue eyes, and she found herself nodding again.
Molly was rewarded with a grin so disarmingly wicked, she couldn’t help grinning back. She felt as if she were no longer on solid ground. In fact, she felt like Nadia Comaneci doing a somersault on a balance beam. She was just getting her feet back on the ground when Rita turned to her. “Give your husband a kiss and out you go. He needs to rest if he wants to go home tomorrow.”
Hoping Rita would leave the