hear the strain in his voice.
"Oh, you know how doctors are." Charity shrugged. Her eyes skittered over the length of her legs visible beneath the blankets, fixing on his face instead. Seeing the worry in his eyes, she forced a smile. "They tell me there's no reason why I won't walk again. It's just some bruising, I guess. As soon as it's healed, I'll be tap dancing."
The fear in her eyes brought a sharp pain to Gabe's chest. The fact that she was trying to hide it only made it more heartbreaking. He'd have given his right hand if doing so would have given her back her legs.
"Did you tap dance before?" he asked, forcing a light tone, even as his fingers tightened over the rail at the foot of the bed, the knuckles white with strain.
"No." Charity grinned at him, the expression less forced. "But when I asked the doctor if I'd be able to, he assured me I would."
"Did you tell him you hadn't been able to before?"
"No. I was all set to do my best Groucho and say "That's funny. I couldn't before.'" Her Groucho voice was moderately dreadful but Gabe couldn't suppress a grin.
"Why didn't you?"
"He looked so serious." She sighed regretfully. "I just didn't have the heart to tell him I'd been joking."
"Probably would have done him some good to lighten up a bit," Gabe suggested.
"Probably, but I figured as long as I was stuck in this place, it wouldn't be a good idea to annoy the staff. They might do something really hideous, like bring me more than three meals a day."
"Food's that bad, huh?"
"Worse than bad." Charity shuddered, seeing the smile on his mouth slowly creep into his eyes. "It's so bland, it's deadly. After a few days of this stuff, I'd just about kill for a pizza."
Gabe's smile became a chuckle. Charity relaxed back against the pillows, taking pleasure in seeing some of the tension ease from his features.
When he'd first walked in, he'd looked like a man on his way to a firing squad. White lines of tension had bracketed his mouth and his eyes had held a look of despair that had made her heart go out to him. Now he was beginning to look like the man she remembered, the one with the easy smile that had lingered in her thoughts more than it should have.
It was odd that the nervousness she'd always felt when he came into the store seemed to have faded. What they'd gone through together had created a connection between them that left no room for nerves.
In those terrible, tense hours of waiting, listening to each attempt at negotiation fail, wondering if she was about to die, Charity had held fast to the knowledge that Gabe was there. It didn't matter that their only contact was a brief meeting of their eyes when she checked the wounded man's bandage. It didn't matter that there was little he could do. Just knowing he was there had given her something to cling to when she felt her self-control slipping away.
She'd known even then that it wasn't Gabe's badge that convinced her everything would be all right. It was Gabe himself. There was a quiet strength about him that had reassured her.
"Mr. Kocek, the man who was shot first, is going to be all right."
"I heard. That's good."
Charity's eyes searched his face, seeing"the lines of strain that hadn't been there before the shooting, the tightness around his mouth. He didn't look as if he'd done much smiling lately.
"They told me that the others—the two you..." The words trailed off as she groped for the right words.
"The ones I shot?" Gabe finished for her. "They died."
"Yes." She wished she hadn't said anything. The look in his eyes was painful to see.
"Yeah, I was batting a thousand that day."
She saw his knuckles whiten where he gripped the low rail at the foot of her bed. She looked away, smoothing her hand over the covers beside her as if it was important to remove every wrinkle.
"You know, if you hadn't... done what you did, a lot more people would have died."
"Maybe." Gabe shrugged. "It's a little hard to feel good when two men are lying in the
"Oh, you know how doctors are." Charity shrugged. Her eyes skittered over the length of her legs visible beneath the blankets, fixing on his face instead. Seeing the worry in his eyes, she forced a smile. "They tell me there's no reason why I won't walk again. It's just some bruising, I guess. As soon as it's healed, I'll be tap dancing."
The fear in her eyes brought a sharp pain to Gabe's chest. The fact that she was trying to hide it only made it more heartbreaking. He'd have given his right hand if doing so would have given her back her legs.
"Did you tap dance before?" he asked, forcing a light tone, even as his fingers tightened over the rail at the foot of the bed, the knuckles white with strain.
"No." Charity grinned at him, the expression less forced. "But when I asked the doctor if I'd be able to, he assured me I would."
"Did you tell him you hadn't been able to before?"
"No. I was all set to do my best Groucho and say "That's funny. I couldn't before.'" Her Groucho voice was moderately dreadful but Gabe couldn't suppress a grin.
"Why didn't you?"
"He looked so serious." She sighed regretfully. "I just didn't have the heart to tell him I'd been joking."
"Probably would have done him some good to lighten up a bit," Gabe suggested.
"Probably, but I figured as long as I was stuck in this place, it wouldn't be a good idea to annoy the staff. They might do something really hideous, like bring me more than three meals a day."
"Food's that bad, huh?"
"Worse than bad." Charity shuddered, seeing the smile on his mouth slowly creep into his eyes. "It's so bland, it's deadly. After a few days of this stuff, I'd just about kill for a pizza."
Gabe's smile became a chuckle. Charity relaxed back against the pillows, taking pleasure in seeing some of the tension ease from his features.
When he'd first walked in, he'd looked like a man on his way to a firing squad. White lines of tension had bracketed his mouth and his eyes had held a look of despair that had made her heart go out to him. Now he was beginning to look like the man she remembered, the one with the easy smile that had lingered in her thoughts more than it should have.
It was odd that the nervousness she'd always felt when he came into the store seemed to have faded. What they'd gone through together had created a connection between them that left no room for nerves.
In those terrible, tense hours of waiting, listening to each attempt at negotiation fail, wondering if she was about to die, Charity had held fast to the knowledge that Gabe was there. It didn't matter that their only contact was a brief meeting of their eyes when she checked the wounded man's bandage. It didn't matter that there was little he could do. Just knowing he was there had given her something to cling to when she felt her self-control slipping away.
She'd known even then that it wasn't Gabe's badge that convinced her everything would be all right. It was Gabe himself. There was a quiet strength about him that had reassured her.
"Mr. Kocek, the man who was shot first, is going to be all right."
"I heard. That's good."
Charity's eyes searched his face, seeing"the lines of strain that hadn't been there before the shooting, the tightness around his mouth. He didn't look as if he'd done much smiling lately.
"They told me that the others—the two you..." The words trailed off as she groped for the right words.
"The ones I shot?" Gabe finished for her. "They died."
"Yes." She wished she hadn't said anything. The look in his eyes was painful to see.
"Yeah, I was batting a thousand that day."
She saw his knuckles whiten where he gripped the low rail at the foot of her bed. She looked away, smoothing her hand over the covers beside her as if it was important to remove every wrinkle.
"You know, if you hadn't... done what you did, a lot more people would have died."
"Maybe." Gabe shrugged. "It's a little hard to feel good when two men are lying in the
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