“Miss Ashton?”
A male voice.
She opened her eyes.
The nurse was back, accompanied by a man who obviously had more authority. “I’m Dr. Jefferson,” he said. “Your fiancé is in surgery. He has broken ribs, one of which punctured his lung. I can assure you he’s in good hands.”
In surgery.
Fear sucked the breath out of her lungs.
Her father had died in surgery.
Which was why her mother had frantically sought other ways of ridding Harry of his liver cancer.
You can’t die, Quin, she thought fiercely. I won’t have you die on me.
“Now we have to get you up to X-rays, Miss Ashton,” the doctor carried on. “It appears you’re only suffering from concussion and deep bruising but we have to check. Do we have your co-operation?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She clung to the thought that Quin was in good hands while she was X-rayed and had her head-wound stitched up. He was very fit and healthy. Most people did live through surgery. Quin would surely recover. It was just a matter of time.
As soon as she could, she’d tell him they could start planning to get married. The plain truth was she didn’t want to live her life without him again. Pain or pleasure…she no longer cared…as long as they were making a future together as best they could. For Zoe. And for each other.
She gratefully accepted the sedation the doctor ordered. She needed the pain to go away, needed the gnawing treadmill of worries and resolutions to stop for a while, needed to blot out the waiting time before she could go and see Quin for herself. The last hazy thought drifting through her mind was…
Tomorrow will be a new day.
No looking back…only looking forward.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
QUIN could hear his mother talking to him in Spanish. She was telling him about the games she’d played with Zoe, what an imaginative child she was, how sweet and caring and clever. It struck Quin there was something wrong with this scenario and he struggled to work out what it was. His mind seemed to have acquired layers of cotton wool. He concentrated on peeling them away. His mother continued to rave on about her beautiful grand-daughter.
But you’ve only seen photos of her, Quin suddenly thought, and the jab of that memory opened the door to other memories. The car accident. Nicole unconscious, bleeding from her head. His eyes flew open. He was in hospital, tubes attached to him, his mother sitting by his bed.
“Madre!” he croaked. His vocal chords felt as though they were rusty from disuse.
Before he could manage to say more, his mother leapt up from her chair in shock and alarm. “You are awake! Gracias Dios!” she cried as though it were a miracle, clasping her hands together in prayer. “I beg you, Joaquin, do not move. I must fetch a doctor.”
She was already turning to do so when he got out the most important word. “Nicole…”
It halted her only momentarily. “Nicole is fine,” she threw back at him in an agitated rush. “They only kept her here two nights to watch over her concussion and ensure there was no infection in the head wound. She has been home for days. Now please lie still while I get the doctor.”
For days?
Relief at being assured of Nicole’s well-being mixed with confusion over what had happened to him. How long had he been out of it? The tubes suggested they had been feeding him intravenously. He was attached to some kind of monitors, as well. He wriggled his toes to check that he still had mobility. His chest was sore. He had a hazy memory of being prepared for surgery.
But everything was okay. Nicole had not been badly hurt and he was alive, though not exactly kicking at the moment. His mother returned with a doctor and he was subjected to a series of medical checks, as well as a host of questions testing his memory and cognitive ability. Apparently he’d been in a comatose state since the surgery—broken ribs, punctured lung—but he was mending very nicely due to the absolute rest of not being conscious for the past five days.
Orderlies came in and cranked up the back third of the hospital bed so he could sit up with comfort and support. In moving, Quin caught sight of the blue Ulysses butterfly on top of the bedside cabinet. Seeing it caused a severe jolt to his heart. What did it mean? He hadn’t forgotten the silver chain. Being injured through no fault of his own didn’t deserve rejection.
He reached out to it. “How did this get here?”
“Zoe insisted on bringing it to make you feel better,” his mother answered with an indulgent smile.
The surge of fighting adrenalin eased.
“Your daughter and fiancée have been regular visitors,” the doctor remarked.
Fiancée?
Another thump to his heart.
“Oh!” His mother cried, clasping her hands again. “I have to call Nicole. I promised I would if you woke up.”
“Then do it, Madre,” Quin urged, wanting very much to ascertain if Nicole had changed her mind about not marrying him. It was highly encouraging news that she had come to visit him in hospital, bringing Zoe with her, too! Or had she simply been obliging Zoe’s wish to see her Daddy since he’d been in no condition to visit her. She might have simply called herself his fiancée to get easy access to him. Quin couldn’t quite bring himself to believe she’d had a complete change of heart since Friday night.
The doctor told the orderlies to bring Quin a light meal, then took his leave, satisfied that his patient had come out of his coma with no ill effects.
His mother returned in a flurry of excitement. “I couldn’t get onto Nicole. I forgot about evening classes at the dance school. But I spoke to Linda and she’ll let Nicole know. I expect she’ll come and visit you tomorrow morning, Joaquin.”
Would she? Now that he was out of the woods?
“Is it evening?” he asked, the artificially lit room making it impossible to tell.
“Yes, dear, and Nicole won’t get home until ten-thirty. Too late to visit tonight.”
“You’ve met her mother, as well as Zoe?”
“Oh, yes. The police informed us separately of the accident—how they’d been chasing a car thief and he ran the red lights, ploughing straight into your car. We both rushed here to the hospital and introduced ourselves to each other in the waiting room. I must say Linda has been very kind, giving me her company and welcoming me into her home to visit Zoe.”
“Did Nicole welcome you, too?”
She hesitated, possibly hearing the doubt in his voice. “She did not object, Joaquin,” came the cautious reply. “Nicole has been very quiet. Mostly we’ve met in passing. We have taken turns to sit with you, trying to talk you out of the coma.”