Prologue 5

Annie gazed up at Sam, almost child-like in her desperate hope. When she saw Sam’s face, she drooped: shoulders, body, eyes, face. She just sagged in defeat for a few seconds before pulling herself back to a sitting position, and Sam admired her regal position, right there on that horrible plastic chair. She was like a queen on her throne: strong and composed.

And so, so damn beautiful in that calm strength.

“Not today, Noah,” Sam said quietly, then he gestured at the book. “What’s that?”

“Puzzles,” Noah said, already turning back to the page in front of him. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam said. “Maybe Sarah will wake up in a few days. OK?”

“OK,” Noah mumbled, then his tousled head dropped back over the puzzle book. “Maybe in a few days.”

Annie smiled at Sam now, and his heart jumped in his broad chest. It wasn’t that brilliant, shining smile that she’d given Mac, but it was warm and it was welcoming, and it was more than good enough. He was happy to take anything positive that she gave him, and so he’d take this small smile.

It’s more than good enough – for now.

“Want to step outside for a minute?” he asked her. “Just for a change of scene?”

“Oh,” she began. “Oh, I don’t think that I should –”

“We’ll stay right here, Annie. Right next to the door. Alright?”

She glanced at the open door, at the bustling hallway just past it, at the huge window facing her now. It occurred to her that she hadn’t actually taken the time to look out of that window, not once in three days. Now seemed like as good a time as any, she supposed, and she’d be able to look over her shoulder and get an unimpeded view of Sarah, Noah, and Jax.

She nodded, got to her feet slowly, wincing a bit. “Alright.”

He narrowed his brown eyes behind his glasses. “What hurts?”

“What?” She gazed up at him. “Uh… nothing.”

“You showed pain on your face,” he said. “Just now, when you stood up. What’s hurting, Annie?”

“Oh.” She looked bemused. “You doctors, huh? Miss nothing much, do you?”

Not when it comes to you, he wanted to say, but he contented himself with simply repeating: “So what hurts?”

“My lower back,” she admitted at long last. “I’ve handled more than twenty years of standing on my feet for at least ten hours a day and carrying heavy trays of food and booze, but sit me in this chair for three days, and I’m almost bent over double.”

Sam glared at the offending chair, resolved to find her something better. “I’ll speak to someone.”

“Oh, no. Don’t be silly.” She stretched, and he saw how her full, lush breasts pushed up against the thin material of her uniform blouse. The blouse was cheap and a faded pink from far too many washings and it clashed with her red hair, but he didn’t give a good goddamn. She looked lovely. “People around here have more important things to worry about than a visitor’s chair, Doctor Innis.”

“Sam,” he reminded her, ushering her towards the hallway now. “Sam, please.”

“OK.” She sighed as she stepped out into the hallway, then almost immediately spun around, almost as if she expected Sarah to have woken up in the time that it had taken her to cross the room. “So… any news, Sam?”

“I’m sorry.” He leaned back against the window ledge. “Not yet.”

She nodded again, looked at her hands. They were rough hands, worn from years of dishwashing and carrying things, from being burnt and strained. Still, he wanted to reach out, take one in his own large, capable hand. He wondered if Annie was a hand-holder; decided on the whole, probably not. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who wanted her hand held through anything in life.

“Here,” he said now, handing her the coffee. “I thought you might need this.”

“Oh!” She looked startled again. “Thank you… how much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” He grinned down at her from his considerable height. Annie wasn’t a little pixie, but he still towered over her. “I saw you come in early this morning, and figured that you could use it by now.”

“You ain’t wrong, doc,” she said wryly as she opened the lid, peered in. She paused. “Is that – is that cinnamon?”

“Yep.” Sam grinned wider. “I know you love black coffee with a scoop of brown sugar and a sprinkle of cinnamon.”

She blinked up at him. “How did you – I mean… I asked Jax for a coffee once when you were in Sarah’s room, I think… how could you possibly remember how I like my coffee?”

Because I listen when you talk, baby. I hear every single thing that you say – and I hear most things that you don’t say, too.

“I’m a doctor,” he said. “And a trauma surgeon. I’m all about noticing and remembering the details, Annie. Lives depend on it. Coffee orders, too.”

She gave a tiny laugh. “Yeah. That makes sense. I bet your brain is like a steel trap.” She took a sip of her coffee, sighed. “Thank you.”