Tribute Part 17

"I probably just missed him in the house." But her stomach started to jump as Cilla reached the barn door. "Maybe he went up while I went down."

Sunlight splashed into the barn and erupted with dust motes. Cilla blinked to adjust her eyes and felt a fresh wave of anxiety when she didn't immediately spot the Harley.

Stepping in, she noted some of her storage boxes were tipped over, the contents spilled. An old chair lay broken on its side. She saw the Harley then, on the floor, handlebars up as if its rider had wiped out. Steve, arms and legs splayed, sprawled under the weighty bulk of it.

"Oh G.o.d." She sprang forward, Shanna beside her, to lift the bike off Steve. Blood matted his hair, and more stained his raw and bruised face. Afraid to move him, Cilla pressed her fingers to his throat. And nearly shook as she felt his pulse beat.

"He's alive. He's got a pulse. Call-"

"I am." Crouching, Shanna punched nine-one-one on her cell phone. "Should we get a blanket? Should we-"

"Tell them to hurry. Don't move him." Cilla leaped up and ran for the house.

HE COULD USUALLY sleep through anything. But the shouting sc.r.a.ped along Ford's consciousness, then the sirens drove straight in. Too bleary to put them together, he rolled out of bed, stumbled out onto the veranda. Yawning, he scanned across the road, wished he could conjure a cup of coffee with the power of his mind. The sight of the ambulance outside Cilla's barn had him snapping awake. When he didn't see her in his quick, panicked search, he rushed back inside to drag on clothes.

He streaked across the road, up Cilla's drive, keeping his mind blank. If one image, even one image, formed, a dozen horrible others would follow. He pushed through the crowd of workers, said her name once, like a personal prayer.

When he saw her standing behind the portable gurney, his heart started beating again. Then it slammed into his belly when he realized Steve lay on the gurney.

"I'm going with him. I'm going." Her voice teetered on the thin edge between control and hysteria. "He's not going alone." She gripped the edge of the gurney, stuck like glue as they transported it to the ambulance.

The fear in her eyes chilled Ford to the bone. "Cilla. I'm going to follow you in. I'm going to be there."

"He won't wake up. They can't wake him up." Before anyone could deny her, Cilla climbed into the back of the ambulance.

He took her purse because Shanna had retrieved it and pushed it into his hands. Shanna, Ford thought, who'd had tears streaking down her face.

"He was in the barn," Shanna choked out, and slid into Ford's arms for comfort. "Lying on the floor, under the bike. The blood."

"Okay, Shan. Okay, honey. I'm going to go. I'm going to find out how he is."

"Call me, please. Call me."

"First thing."

After a wild drive to the hospital, Ford carried Cilla's purse into the ER, too worried to feel even marginally foolish.

He found her standing outside a pair of double doors, looking helpless.

"I gave them his medical history, the stuff I could remember. Who remembers all of that kind of thing?" She pawed at the neck of her shirt, as if looking for something, anything, to hold on to. "But I gave them his blood type. I remembered his blood type. A-negative. I remembered."

"Okay. Let's go sit down."

"They won't let me in. They won't let me stay with him. He won't wake up."

Ford put an arm around her shoulders and firmly steered her away from the doors and to a chair. Instead of sitting, he crouched in front of her so her eyes were on his face. "They're going to fix him now. That's what they're doing. Okay?"

"He was bleeding. His head. His face. Lying there bleeding. I don't know how long."

"Tell me what happened."

"I don't know! " She pressed both hands to her mouth, and began to rock. "I don't know. He wasn't in his room, and I figured, I thought, well, I figured, he shoots, he scores. That's all. I almost left. G.o.d, G.o.d, I almost left without even looking, even checking. It would've been hours more."

"Breathe." He spoke sharply, took her hands and squeezed. "Look at me and breathe."

"Okay." She breathed, and she trembled, but Ford saw a hint of color come back into her face. "I thought he'd stayed at Shanna's, so I was going to go buy materials, but he didn't. I mean, she got there and said he didn't. I worried that he might've gotten lost or something. I don't even know. But I went to see if his bike was there. And we found him."

"In the barn."

"He was lying under his bike. I don't know what could've happened. His head, his face." Now she rubbed a hand between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Ford could almost hear the slam of her heart against the pressure. "I heard them say he's probably got a couple of broken ribs, from the bike falling on him. But how did the bike fall on him? And ... and the head injuries. His pupils. They said something about a blown pupil. I know that's not good. I had a guest spot on ER once."

She hitched in three raw breaths, then let them out in a gush. And the tears came with it. "Who the h.e.l.l has a motorcycle accident in a barn? It's so G.o.dd.a.m.n stupid."

Taking the tears, and the hint of anger, as good signs, Ford sat beside her and held her hand.

When the door flew open, they lurched to their feet together. "What is it? Where are you taking him? Steve."

"Miss." One of the ER nurses put herself in Cilla's path. "They're taking your friend up to surgery."

"Surgery for what? For what?"

"He has bleeding in his brain from the head injury. They need to operate. I'm going to take you up to the surgical waiting area. One of the doctors can explain the procedure to you."

"How bad? You can tell me that. How bad?"

"We're doing everything we can. We have a good surgical team prepping for the procedure." She gestured them to an elevator. "Do you know if Mr. Chensky was in some sort of fight?"

"No. Why?"

"The injury to the back of his head. It looks as though he's been struck. It's just not consistent with a fall. Of course, if he was driving without his helmet ..."

"It didn't happen when he was driving. It didn't happen on the road."

"So you said."

"Cilla." Ford laid a hand on hers before she could get into the elevator. "We need to call the cops."

HOW WAS SHE supposed to think? How could she sit in this room while somewhere else strangers operated on Steve? An operating room. Operating theater. They called it a theater sometimes, didn't they? Would the patient and doctor be costars? Who got top billing?

"Miss McGowan?"

"What?" She stared into the blank eyes of the cop. What was his name? She'd already forgotten it. "I'm sorry." She groped through the chaos of her mind for the question he'd asked. "I'm not sure what time he got back. I went to bed about midnight, and he wasn't back. Shanna said he left her before two. Just before two, she said."

"Do you have Shanna's full name?"

"Shanna Stiles," Ford supplied. "She works for Brian Morrow. Morrow Landscape and Design."

"You found Mr. Chensky at approximately seven-thirty this morning?"

"I said that. Didn't I say that?" Cilla pushed at her hair. "He wasn't in the house, so I checked the barn for his bike. And I found him."

"You and Mr. Chensky live together?"

"He's visiting. He's helping me out for a few weeks."

"Visiting from?"

"Los Angeles. New York. I mean, he was in New York, and he's going back to L.A." Whatever churned in her belly wanted to rise up to her throat. "What difference does it make?"

"Officer Taney." Ford put a hand over Cilla's, squeezed. "Here's the thing. A few nights ago, I saw someone walking around, going into Cilla's barn. It was late. I was working late, and I looked out the window on the way to bed and saw someone, saw a flashlight. I thought it was Steve, and didn't think anything of it."

"But it wasn't." Remembering, Cilla shut her eyes. "I was supposed to buy a padlock, but I didn't. I forgot about it, didn't think about it, and now-"

"What do you keep in the barn?" Taney asked her.

"I cleaned out the attic and stored things there. A lot of things I have to sort through. And there's other stuff. Old tack, tools, equipment."

"Valuables?"

"For some, anything connected to my grandmother is valuable. Stupid, stupid to think I could turn it all around, make it new." Make it mine, she thought. Stupid.

"Was anything taken?"

"I don't know. I just don't know."

"Mr. Chensky went out at approximately eight last evening, to a bar. You don't have the name of the bar-"

"No, I don't have the name of the bar. You can ask Shanna Stiles. And if you're thinking he was drunk and somehow bashed himself on the back of the head, smashed his face into the concrete and knocked his bike on top of him, you're wrong. Steve wouldn't get on his bike drunk. You can ask Shanna or anyone else who was in the bar last night about that."

"I'm going to do that, Miss McGowan, and if it's all right with you, I'll go over and have a look at your barn."

"Yes, go ahead."

"I hope your friend comes through okay. I'll be in touch," he added as he rose.

Ford watched him cross to the nurses' station, take out a card.

"He thinks it was drunken clumsiness, or that Steve was stoned and stupid."

"Maybe he does." Ford turned back to Cilla. "Maybe. But he's still going to look at things, talk to people. And Steve can fill in the blanks when he's able."

"He could die. They don't have to tell me that for me to know it. He might never wake up." Her lips trembled before she managed to firm them. "And I keep seeing him in there, in this scene out of Grey's Anatomy , with the interns up there in that gla.s.s-walled balcony looking down at Steve. And everybody's thinking more about s.e.x than they are about Steve."

Ford took her face in his hands. "People do their jobs while they think about s.e.x. All the time. Otherwise nothing would ever get done." When she let out a weak laugh, he kissed her forehead. "Let's take a walk, get some air."

"I shouldn't leave. I need to be here."

"It's going to be a while. Let's clear the head, hunt up some decent coffee."

"Okay. A few minutes. You don't have to stay." She looked down at her hand as they walked to the elevator, saw it was caught in his again. "I wasn't thinking. You don't have to stay. You barely know Steve."

"Don't be stupid. I do know him, and I like him. Anyway, I won't leave you alone."

She said nothing, couldn't, as they rode down. Her eyes stung, wanted to flood. Her body ached to turn into his, press against the solidity of him, be enfolded. Safe. She could hold on there, she thought. Be allowed to hold on.

"You want food?" he asked as they stepped out at the lobby level.

"No, I couldn't."

"Probably still sucks anyway."

"Still?"

"My dad was in for a couple days a few years ago, so I choked down the cafeteria fare a time or two. It hadn't improved since I was a kid and did my own time."

"What were you in for?"

"Overnight observation-concussion, broken arm. I, uh, got the idea to put these Velcro strips on my snow gloves and socks. Thought I'd be able to climb up and down buildings like Spider-Man. Fortunately my bedroom window wasn't that high up."

"Maybe you should've tried climbing up before climbing down."

"Hindsight."

"You're taking my mind off Steve, and I appreciate it. But-"

"Five minutes," Ford said as he drew her outside. "Fresh air."

"Ford?"

Cilla looked over as he did toward the pretty woman wearing a suit of powerful red. A laugh played over lips painted the same bold color, while she drew off sungla.s.ses to reveal eyes of deep, dark brown.

Her arms opened wide, then closed around Ford in a hard, proprietary hug. She added sound effects, Cilla noted, a low mmmmmMM! before she broke off, shook back the short swing of glossy brown hair. "It's been ages!"

"A while," Ford agreed. "You look seriously great."

"I do my best." She turned those eyes, those smiling lips on Cilla. "Hi there."

"Cilla, this is Brian's mom, Cathy Morrow. Bri's doing a job for Cilla."

"Of course," Cathy said. "Janet Hardy's granddaughter. I knew her a little. You certainly have the look of her. And you're fixing up the old farm."

"Yes." It was surreal, the conversation. Cilla thought of it as lines from a play. "Brian's a big help. He's talented."

"That's my boy. What are y'all doing here?"

"Cilla's friend's in surgery. There was an accident."

"Oh G.o.d, I'm so sorry." The bright, flirtatious smile transformed into a look of concern. "Is there anything I can do?" Cathy's arm went around Cilla in a gesture so genuine, Cilla leaned into it instinctively.