been very content to lie in a hospital bed and let people bring things to me. The nausea had eased, but the pounding in my head hadn't. I'd had to go to the bathroom twice, and moving wasn't fun, but neither had it been as bad as I'd feared it would be.
The nurse—she probably had a name tag attached to her pocket, but the way she was leaning over the bed I couldn't see it—turned the sheet back to check out all my scrapes and bruises, all the while asking questions about my wedding. Where it would be, what my gown looked like, that sort of thing.
"It's going to be at Wyatt's mother's house," I said happily, glad of something to distract me from my headache. "In her flower garden. Her mums are gorgeous, and I usually don't like mums because they usually come with dead bodies attached. If it rains, which isn't that likely in October, we'll just move inside. "
"Do you like her?" Her tone was a little clipped, which made me think she had trouble with her own mother-in-law. That was too bad; in-law trouble could really hurt a marriage. I had liked Jason's mother well enough, but I adored Wyatt's mother. She gave me inside information and was generally on my side in the man-woman things.
"She's great. She introduced me to Wyatt, and now she's giving herself big pats on the back because she said she thought from the first we'd be a good match."
"Must be nice, to have a mother-in-law who likes you," she muttered.
I started to suggest that maybe the bad dye job was a bit off-putting, but stopped myself. Maybe a do-it-yourself home job was all she could afford, though nurses generally make decent money. For all I knew, she could have three or four kids at home to feed and clothe, and her husband could be handicapped, or just plain no good. There had to be some reason for the hair.
She peeled back the bandage over the biggest scrape on my left thigh, and the peeling-back hurt . I gasped, knotting my fists against the pain.
"Sorry," she said, peering at the scrape. "This is a good one. What were you doing, riding a motorcycle?"
I managed to unclench my teeth. "No, some psycho bitch tried to run me down in the mall parking lot last night."
She glanced up, eyebrows arching. "Do you know who it was?"
"No, but Wyatt is probably looking at the mall and parking lot security tapes right now, trying to get a license plate number and I.D." If he could get them without a warrant, that is, because I doubted a judge would issue a warrant; the incident just wasn't serious enough.
She nodded and replaced the bandage over the scrape. "Must be handy, having a cop for a boyfriend."
"Sometimes." Unless he was making me go to the police station when I didn't want to, or tracking me down through charges to my credit card. He can be a tad ruthless in getting what he wants. Of course, I couldn't complain too much, because what he'd wanted when he did those things was me—and he got me, too. Even with the headache from Hell, the memory of how he'd got me made me shiver. His testosterone almost reached the toxic level, but the benefits… oh, my, the benefits were wonderful.
The nurse made a note of something on a small pad she fished from one of her pockets, then said, "You're doing fine. I'll see what I can do about some food for you," as she left the room.
Siana hadn't said a word the entire time, which wasn't unusual; she likes to size up people before she commits herself to conversation. After the door closed, though, she said, "What's up with that hair?"
Siana could be arguing a case before the Supreme Court—which she hadn't, yet—and she would notice the hair of everyone in the courtroom, including that of the justices, which is a pretty scary thought when you look at some of them. Jenni and I are the same way, and we all got that gene directly from Mom, who got it from her mother. I've often wondered what Grammy's mother was like. I said that once to Wyatt and he'd shuddered. He'd met Grammy once, at her birthday party a month ago;
The nurse—she probably had a name tag attached to her pocket, but the way she was leaning over the bed I couldn't see it—turned the sheet back to check out all my scrapes and bruises, all the while asking questions about my wedding. Where it would be, what my gown looked like, that sort of thing.
"It's going to be at Wyatt's mother's house," I said happily, glad of something to distract me from my headache. "In her flower garden. Her mums are gorgeous, and I usually don't like mums because they usually come with dead bodies attached. If it rains, which isn't that likely in October, we'll just move inside. "
"Do you like her?" Her tone was a little clipped, which made me think she had trouble with her own mother-in-law. That was too bad; in-law trouble could really hurt a marriage. I had liked Jason's mother well enough, but I adored Wyatt's mother. She gave me inside information and was generally on my side in the man-woman things.
"She's great. She introduced me to Wyatt, and now she's giving herself big pats on the back because she said she thought from the first we'd be a good match."
"Must be nice, to have a mother-in-law who likes you," she muttered.
I started to suggest that maybe the bad dye job was a bit off-putting, but stopped myself. Maybe a do-it-yourself home job was all she could afford, though nurses generally make decent money. For all I knew, she could have three or four kids at home to feed and clothe, and her husband could be handicapped, or just plain no good. There had to be some reason for the hair.
She peeled back the bandage over the biggest scrape on my left thigh, and the peeling-back hurt . I gasped, knotting my fists against the pain.
"Sorry," she said, peering at the scrape. "This is a good one. What were you doing, riding a motorcycle?"
I managed to unclench my teeth. "No, some psycho bitch tried to run me down in the mall parking lot last night."
She glanced up, eyebrows arching. "Do you know who it was?"
"No, but Wyatt is probably looking at the mall and parking lot security tapes right now, trying to get a license plate number and I.D." If he could get them without a warrant, that is, because I doubted a judge would issue a warrant; the incident just wasn't serious enough.
She nodded and replaced the bandage over the scrape. "Must be handy, having a cop for a boyfriend."
"Sometimes." Unless he was making me go to the police station when I didn't want to, or tracking me down through charges to my credit card. He can be a tad ruthless in getting what he wants. Of course, I couldn't complain too much, because what he'd wanted when he did those things was me—and he got me, too. Even with the headache from Hell, the memory of how he'd got me made me shiver. His testosterone almost reached the toxic level, but the benefits… oh, my, the benefits were wonderful.
The nurse made a note of something on a small pad she fished from one of her pockets, then said, "You're doing fine. I'll see what I can do about some food for you," as she left the room.
Siana hadn't said a word the entire time, which wasn't unusual; she likes to size up people before she commits herself to conversation. After the door closed, though, she said, "What's up with that hair?"
Siana could be arguing a case before the Supreme Court—which she hadn't, yet—and she would notice the hair of everyone in the courtroom, including that of the justices, which is a pretty scary thought when you look at some of them. Jenni and I are the same way, and we all got that gene directly from Mom, who got it from her mother. I've often wondered what Grammy's mother was like. I said that once to Wyatt and he'd shuddered. He'd met Grammy once, at her birthday party a month ago;
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