Letters from Peaceful Lane, page 3
But then, they’d never parted the way they’d parted tonight.
It was almost midnight, and Allison was beginning to drift, when the ringing phone shattered the silence. Her eyes shot open. She groped wildly, catching the receiver as the phone went crashing off the nightstand.
“Burke?”
“No, Allison, it’s Garrett.” His voice was calm. Too calm. Allison went clammy with fear.
“What is it? Is something wrong?” she croaked into the phone.
“The ambulance just took Burke to the hospital. I’m on the road now. I’ll be by to pick you up in about twenty minutes.”
She fought the creeping numbness of denial. “What—happened?”
“He rolled the Porsche on the way to town,” Garrett said. “After I left your place I went to the American Heartland. Nobody there had seen him. When he wasn’t at the agency, and his cell didn’t answer, I got worried and called the highway patrol. The troopers finally found him down the slope from the road, pinned under his car.”
“Oh, God, is he—?”
“He’s alive. But he was still unconscious when the paramedics arrived. We’ll know more when we get to the hospital.”
Allison battled waves of nausea. “I’m coming now,” she said.
“Now, Allison, you’re in no condition to—”
She disconnected the call.
CHAPTER 2
Allison walked into the hospital room at Cox Medical Center, her eyes bloodshot, her hair falling in strings around her face. She had flung on the first things that came out of the closet—her jogging shoes, a pair of jeans, and one of Burke’s old gray sweatshirts. Her headache lingered like a dusty cobweb in her brain, but she’d forgotten it in the rush to reach her husband’s side.
Refusing to wait for Garrett, she’d driven the mountain highway herself, screeching around the hairpin curves in the white Lexus Burke had given her. This couldn’t be happening. Not to Burke. He was so strong, so vital. Surely she would arrive at the hospital to find him sitting up in bed, joking about the brief scare. They would collect his belongings and she would drive him home. Everything would be all right.
But it wasn’t all right. The truth struck Allison as soon as she caught sight of her husband through a maze of plastic tubes and blinking monitors in the ICU. There could be no going back. Burke’s life, and hers, would never be the same.
The polite young Indian doctor had tried to prepare her. Burke was semiconscious now, but he’d suffered a concussion and some spinal injuries, which would need surgery. It was too soon to know whether the damage would be permanent.
Allison walked toward the bed, feeling the liquid resistance of the air as if she were moving through water. Burke lay between blinding white sheets, the neck of the faded green hospital gown falling loose around his throat. An IV needle connected to a saline drip was taped to the back of his left hand. Above his head, monitors blinked and hummed like a committee of cold-eyed robots.
Struggling for self-control, she stood looking down at him. His sunken eyes were closed above the plastic oxygen mask. His skin was grayish and mottled with bruises. A white bandage wrapped his head. He looked worn-out, vulnerable, and wounded. The urge to bend down, gather him close, and rock him in her arms was so overwhelming that it brought a freshet of tears. How could she not have noticed the exhaustion, the strain in him? How could she have been so wrapped up in her glamorous new life as Mrs. Burke Caldwell that she’d allowed this to happen?
Her eyes traced the outline of his body beneath the thin cotton blanket—the taut belly and lean hips, the muscular legs, lying slightly apart with the feet making a little tent beneath the covers. Denial surged through her brain like a drug. Permanent damage? What nonsense! Tomorrow morning Burke would be fine. He’d wake up, bound out of bed, and life would go on as if this nightmare had never happened. There was nothing wrong with him that a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure!
It was the urine bag that finally undid her—the sight of it dangling like a flat yellow moon from under the sheet near the foot of the bed. Allison stared at the fluid that dripped out of the catheter tube, flowing from the body of a man so helpless he couldn’t even get up to relieve himself. Her knees went weak.
Sagging against the bed, she groped for his hand, found it and held on tight. His eyelids fluttered but failed to open.
“It’s all right, my love,” Allison murmured. “I’m here. We’re going to get through this together.”
His dry lips moved ever so slightly. “Kate . . .” he murmured. “Don’t leave me, Kate . . .”
Overwhelmed, she sank into a bedside chair and pressed her face against the sheet.
* * *
She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until she heard his voice.
“Allison.”
Her eyes shot open. Gray light filtered through the half-closed blinds. Burke had pulled off the oxygen mask and was watching her with alert blue eyes. Emotion welled in her throat. He was awake. He knew her.
“How . . . are you doing?” she asked idiotically.
“I’ve seen better days.” He gave her a twisted smile. “How about you?”
She leaned over him, raised his hand, and kissed it. His fingers were cold against her lips. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know, Burke—about the company problems, the strain you were under. How could you have let me make such a fool of myself?”
His only reply was a brief tightening of his hand around hers.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She gulped back a sob. “Why did I have to learn the truth from Garrett? I would have understood. I would have stood by you.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. We need to talk, Allison.”
Still gripping his hand, she sank back onto the clammy metal chair. “What you need right now is rest. Anything you have to say to me can wait till you’re feeling stronger.”
“This can’t wait.” With effort, he twisted his neck to turn his face toward her. “Just keep still and hear me out.”
His voice had dropped to a whisper. Allison leaned closer, a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. She kept her grip on his hand, refusing to let go.
“Everything you said to me at the house was true.” His voice rasped in his throat. “When I asked you to marry me, I made you a lot of promises—promises I meant to keep. I wanted to lay the world at your feet, girl. I wanted to spend every minute of the time God gave us just making you happy. If I’d known what a rough ride this was going to be, I’d have walked away and kept right on walking.”
“Hush!” Allison laid a finger against his chapped lips. “Don’t you dare talk like that. I behaved like a fool. I said stupid things, ugly things I didn’t mean. But that’s all in the past. Right now, all I want to do is help you get—”
“I said hear me out,” he snapped. “Damn it, Allison, this is hard enough to say without you interrupting!”
She stared at him, shocked by his vehemence.
“I thought there was a chance to save the business. But now that this has happened, it’s all going down,” he said. “The American Heartland, the money, me, the whole damn-blasted house of cards! A year from now, if I’m still alive, I’ll be lucky to have a roof over my head. This isn’t what you signed on for, girl. It’s not what I promised you.”
“Burke, it doesn’t mat—”
“Listen to me! There’s nothing you can do here but sit around and wring your hands. As soon as it’s light outside, I want you to drive back home. When you get there, call a lawyer, the best one you can find. Tell him you want to file for divorce.”
* * *
Garrett stepped into Allison’s path, halting her as she fled blindly across the waiting room.
“Are you all right?” His hands clasped her shoulders, forcing her to face him. “Lord, what’s wrong? Is Burke—?”
Allison willed herself to speak calmly. “Burke’s awake and talking. I’m just a little . . . unraveled, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”
He shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot, but his thick brown hair was neatly combed. He’d changed from his dinner clothes into khakis and a fresh navy polo shirt. “You look like you could use some coffee,” he said, steering her toward the cafeteria. “Come on. We need to talk.”
We need to talk. Burke’s words came back to haunt her as Garrett steered her past the nurses’ desk and down a tiled hallway that smelled of coffee and disinfectant. It was important that she file at once, Burke had told her. Missouri wasn’t a community property state like California. Only assets acquired after the marriage were considered marital property, which in this case was next to nothing. But with Burke’s help, a sharp lawyer should be able to secure her a share of his assets before hungry creditors closed in and took everything. The American Heartland was likely beyond saving, but Burke had promised to hold off the vultures long enough for her to get her cut of his financial accounts, as well as the house and the cars.
“I owe you that much for the pain I’ve caused,” he’d said. “You’re a smart, beautiful woman, Allison. You’ll get along fine without me.”
Allison had risen slowly to her feet, feeling as if the floor were crumbling away underneath her. “I’m your wife, Burke,” she’d said, forcing each syllable out of her constricted throat. “I married you for better or for worse. If you want a divorce, you can bloody well get one yourself!”
Without waiting for his response, she had turned away and walked out of the room.
“Here you are.” Garrett guided the steaming Styrofoam cup into her hands. He had seated her at a table next to the window. Allison realized she had no memory of walking into the cafeteria or sitting down in the chair.
“Anything else? A Danish?”
She shook her head and took a sip of the scalding black coffee. It burned her tongue but the sudden caffeine jolt jump-started her brain. “What about the American Heartland and the agency?” she asked, astonished by her own self-possession. “Burke seems to think they’ll go under without him.”
He gazed at her intently over his coffee cup. “I’ll be running things in Burke’s absence,” he said. “I’ll do everything I can to keep the business going. But I’m going to need your help.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake? Burke was lucid when I left him just now. He seems perfectly capable of making decisions.” Allison winced inwardly as she remembered the scene in the ICU.
“True. But he’s had a concussion. Even if he’s sharp, he’s going to need weeks of rest, especially if he has back surgery. While he’s recovering, you can act as a go-between and keep me informed about his condition.” Garrett took a sip of his coffee. “But that’s down the road a bit. Right now I need a favor.”
He waited for her to respond. When she remained silent, he continued. “We have three contracts pending for future acts. There’s a woman who does a great Patsy Cline cover and a couple of others. Burke took them home for a final read-through a couple of nights ago. I need them by tomorrow in case we have to renegotiate. Can you find them and get them to me by then?”
“You’re sure Burke didn’t bring the papers back? Have you checked his briefcase? His car?”
Garrett nodded. “I’m certain they’re still at your house. If it isn’t too much of an imposition—”
“No, it’s fine. The papers should be somewhere in his study, most likely his desk. I’ll look for them when I go home to shower and change.”
“It might save time if we asked him where he put them.”
“No. Leave him be. He needs his rest.”
When Garrett shot her an odd glance, Allison realized she’d spoken too quickly. He was probably wondering what was going on. Well, let him wonder. She was going to need some time before she faced Burke again.
“Once you’ve found the contracts I can send somebody to pick them up,” Garrett said. “That way you won’t need to hurry back.”
“Don’t bother. In any case, I don’t plan to be at the house long. I can bring them here or to your office.”
“The office, then, if you don’t mind. The sooner I get back to work, the better. For now, I’ll be doing two jobs. I’m depending on you to keep me informed about Burke.”
You can’t just pick up the phone and call him? Allison bit back the words as she slid her chair out and rose to her feet. “What do the contracts look like?” she asked.
“About five pages each, together in a plain manila envelope. The margins should have Burke’s notes on them in red. You’ll know them when you see them.”
“Fine. I’ll drop the envelope off on my way back here.” Allison rose wearily to her feet. “If you have any questions, you can ask Burke. He’s still the man with the answers. Thanks for the coffee.” She turned to go.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked. “I’d be happy to drive you back to the house.”
“You have a business to run, remember?” She strode away, willing her unsteady legs not to betray her. Right now, Garrett Miles was the only person who could save Burke’s business. But he was an ambitious man, and he was clearly looking out for his own interests. She would have no choice except to cooperate with him. But she could not afford to lean on him.
As she stepped into the parking garage, the truth struck her like the flash of sunrise coming up over the hills. It wasn’t just Garrett. In her small circle of people who mattered, there was no one she could count on for support. Burke was wounded and defiant. Brianna hated her. She had no family, and her single friends, even the close ones, had moved on after her marriage. There was no one she could confide in, no one who would offer so much as a comforting shoulder when she felt beaten and bloodied.
Her safe, pretty little world was falling apart, and there was no one to help her pick up the pieces.
* * *
Allison rolled the windows down and opened the sunroof for the drive back to Peaceful Lane. She drove with the wind in her burning eyes and Mick Jagger’s raunchy baritone blasted “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” from the stereo. Fighting the black undertow that threatened to drag her down, she sang along at the top of her lungs.
By the time she’d parked the car in the driveway, left a message on Brianna’s cell phone, showered, dressed in gray slacks and a black T, and twisted her hair up with a silver clip, it was after 7:00 A.M. She would find the missing contracts, then force down a bite of breakfast. After that it would be back to the war zone that Burke’s hospital room had become. The day was bound to be hellish, but no matter how much he tried to hurt her, she would be there for him.
Burke’s study had not been greatly changed by the remodeling. He’d allowed Allison to replace the curtains with shutters and the worn-out carpet with colorful kilim rugs over hardwood flooring, but he’d refused to part with the battered walnut veneer desk, the shabby leather chair, or the outdated brass reading lamp that hunkered beside it. The bookshelves lining the inner walls were stocked with a lifetime of treasures—books, photos, travel souvenirs, and models of boats and planes. These Allison had known better than to touch.
Burke had tactfully boxed up the pictures in which Kate appeared. Still it was here, in this very masculine room, that Allison most strongly felt the woman’s presence.
Walking to the desk, she glanced around its cluttered surface for the manila envelope containing the contracts. There was no sign of it, nor could she find any loose pages that matched Garrett’s description. Allison sighed. She had hoped this task would be simple. She was in no mood for a long search.
One by one, she opened the desk drawers and pawed through their contents. Common sense told her she was wasting her time. Burke would never have stowed a vital contract in the center drawer with its clutter of pens, pencils, sticky notes, string, tape, and paper clips. Nor would he have put it in the drawer that contained nothing but household bills, receipts, and unused checkbooks, or the drawer that held the instruction books and spare cables for his computer. But at least, if she failed to find it, she’d be able to tell Garrett she’d gone through the desk.
The large file drawer was next. Allison riffled through the folders, knowing that the missing envelope wouldn’t be there. Why would Burke file away the documents he’d planned to take back to work? Maybe he’d left the envelope in the foyer, the kitchen, or even the garage on his way out of the house. She should have checked there first.
Only one drawer—the small lower right one—remained. Sliding it partway open, Allison saw a box of powder-blue linen stationery with matching envelopes, an assortment of flowery all-occasion note cards, several pens, and a roll of unused 33-cent postage stamps. Kate’s things, most likely. They looked as if they hadn’t been touched in years.
Pushing on the drawer to close it, she felt a slight but stubborn resistance. Something in the rear had caught on the inner frame of the desk. Not wanting to do any damage, she worked the drawer the rest of the way open. There in the very back, crumpled at one corner, lay a large, plain manila envelope.
As soon as she lifted it out of the drawer, Allison knew it wasn’t the envelope she was looking for. The contents, whatever they were, felt too thick and lumpy to be flat legal documents. She was debating whether to return the envelope, unopened, to the drawer when the phone jangled. She answered on the second ring.
“Allison? Garrett again.”
Her pulse slammed. “What is it? Burke—?”
“Relax. That’s not why I’m calling. I’m at work, and I just found the contracts under some papers in Burke’s office.”
“So I can stop looking.”
“Right. Sorry, I hope you didn’t spend too much time.”
“Only a little. I’m glad you found them.”
“Are you holding up OK?”
“Fine,” she lied.
“You’ll call me if there’s any change in Burke’s condition?”
“Of course.” Allison hung up the phone without saying goodbye and sank back into the worn leather chair, feeling as if every ounce of energy had been sucked from her body. With the contracts in Garrett’s hands, there was nothing to keep her from returning to the hospital. But she lacked the strength to face the war of wills that would erupt as soon as she stepped into Burke’s room.
