He squeezed her hand gently and leaned down to speak into her ear. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “I won’t leave you.”
Not this time...
* * *
Maggie shivered slightly in the cool air of the hospital room. The thin cotton johnny they’d given her was practical for the staff, but it did little in the way of providing warmth.
Or modesty.
She tugged the mint-green blanket higher on her lap and tucked the edges under her legs. Fortunately, Thorne had stepped out of the room when she’d been asked to change, and he hadn’t seen her out of the bed since. Not that it mattered. He already knew what she looked like naked.
“Are you cold?”
She jumped a little at the unexpected question. Thorne had been sitting silently by the bed since she’d returned from getting a scan, unmoving except for the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders with every breath. At first, she’d found his presence awkward and uncomfortable. She was not in the mood to discuss their one-night stand. But after a few moments, she realized Thorne wasn’t here to talk. And as the silence in the room had continued, her agitation had gradually faded until she’d almost forgotten he was there.
Truth be told, she was surprised he’d noticed her movement. He’d spent the past three months doing a bang-up job of ignoring her, so why should now be any different?
She bit her lip to hold back a sarcastic response and settled for a nod.
“I’ll see if I can find you another blanket.” He rose from the chair and lifted his hands over his head in a quick stretch. Maggie followed the motion with her eyes, noting the flex and play of his muscles under the blue cotton shirt he wore. All at once, she was assaulted with the memory of his strong arms banded around her, the feel of his work-roughened hands on her body. She flushed, and was grateful his back was turned so he didn’t see her reaction.
His boot heels tapped against the tile as he walked out of her room, and Maggie let out her breath in a sigh. Why was he still here? More importantly, what was she going to do about it?
She knew why he’d come to the hospital, of course. After all, she’d practically begged him to, the way she’d grabbed his hand like he was some kind of savior. The explosion of her car and the chaotic aftermath had left her terrified and vulnerable, and she’d latched on to the first familiar face she’d seen. It was kind of Thorne to indulge her moment of weakness, but now that the situation was under control, he no longer had to stay. He was probably itching to get back to the ranch to assess the damage and make sure the horses were okay, and as soon as he returned she would suggest he do so. Mac likely needed his help cleaning up the mess, and it would be easier for the both of them if they no longer had to tiptoe around each other.
A steady click announced Thorne’s return and he slipped into the room carrying another blanket. Without saying a word, he walked over to the bed and carefully spread it across her legs.
The fabric was surprisingly warm and she burrowed into the heat, fisting her hands in the waffle-print of the weave. She felt like she’d been run over by a truck, and her bruised and battered body welcomed the warmth. It soaked into her muscles, dulling the sharp edges of her aches and pains. “Thank you,” she said.
He nodded. “Is it helping?” His voice was slightly scratchy from disuse, and it brought back another memory from that night—or rather, the next morning, when she’d woken to find him watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. When she'd met his gaze, she’d seen a flash of something she’d sworn was love in his light brown eyes. But it was there and gone in the space between heartbeats, and as she’d watched, he’d thrown up a wall between them.
“I should make coffee,” he’d said, his voice rough with the morning. Innocent words, and yet Maggie had known in that instant the magic they’d shared the night before had not survived to see the dawn.
“It’s not too hot?” His question cut through her unhappy reverie and she blinked to find him staring down at her, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in concern. “The nurse took it out of some kind of incubator. It felt pretty warm to me when I was carrying it.”
“No, it’s perfect,” she said. Time for him to go...
Just as she opened her mouth to suggest he leave, the door swung open to admit her doctor.
“I’ve got test results,” he said, holding up a manila folder and wiggling it in illustration. Maggie nodded and offered him a smile. “That was fast.”
“Lucky for you, it’s a slow day.” Dr. Jenkins wheeled the stool over to her bedside and sat, then glanced at Thorne. “Do you mind if we talk in front of your friend? I’m afraid someone is going to need to take care of you for the next few days, so it’ll be good for him to hear the instructions firsthand.”
Great. Just wonderful. Before Maggie could clarify that Thorne would definitely not be her caretaker, the man in question sat on her bed and pulled out his phone. “Do you mind if I record this so I don’t miss anything?”
Dr. Jenkins nodded. “Be my guest.” Then he turned to look at her. “Okay, so here’s the deal. The CT scan revealed you have a minor concussion and a few cracked ribs. There’s not much we can do about either of those things—you need rest and time to heal. And I do mean rest.” He tilted his head down so he could level a serious look at her over the top of his glasses. “Your brain has been bruised. It is imperative you give it time to heal. That means no reading, no watching TV, nothing that would cause any kind of physical or mental strain. How is your head now?”
“It hurts,” she admitted.
He nodded, as if he’d expected that response. “You can take Tylenol for the pain. Stay away from ibuprofen or aspirin, as they may cause bleeding.”
“What about her ribs?” Thorne asked, leaning forward as if he was hanging on the doctor’s every word.
Dr. Jenkins shrugged. “Again, rest is what she needs.” He turned back to Maggie. “We can’t really do anything except make you aware of the problem so you don’t exacerbate it. I want you to do some breathing exercises a few times a day—I’ll have a respiratory therapist come show you what to do before you’re discharged.”
Maggie nodded. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Why do I need help?”
“Because I’m serious about you needing to rest. You basically need to stay in bed for the next few days—no fixing yourself food, or doing any household chores, or anything like that. The only time I want you up and about is when you’re walking to and from the bathroom.”
“But—” she began, but the doctor shook his head.
“No buts. Besides, I’m pretty sure the OB will tell you the same thing.”
Maggie frowned. “What are you talking about? Why would an obstetrician have anything to say about my recovery?”
Dr. Jenkins stared at her for a moment, as if reassessing her mental status. Then realization dawned on his face, along with a flicker of horror. “Oh, dear,” he said, under his breath. “You didn’t know.”
“Know what?” Maggie’s stomach started to churn threateningly and her heart pounded hard against her breastbone, causing the monitor beside her bed to beep in protest. Dr. Jenkins glanced at it and pressed a button, silencing the electronic noise.
“Ah, take a deep breath for me and try to relax,” he said. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and ran a hand through his graying hair, clearly uncomfortable.
“Doctor,” Maggie replied, careful to keep her gaze locked on him and away from