Among The Tulips. Cheryl Wolverton
for Annie, however.
He was surprised that she didn’t speak a single word of Dutch or German.
She had rattled him, that was for sure. He’d actually been surprised by her sweet innocent smile. He’d smiled when she’d rubbed up against his hand. Her skin was soft and smooth and smelled of something sweet. He’d never smelled that scent before but it drifted up from her as she’d moved her head. Perhaps a shampoo or perfume. And then she’d commented on his chin. Some women were put off by the dimple, but she seemed to like it, though he wasn’t sure about her feelings regarding the light bit of beard he’d worn for his last movie. His long hair and beard were leftovers, and he hadn’t cut them yet.
Of course, the drugs were affecting Annie. She’d been slurring every word she spoke.
If he had his way, he would prefer her to be in a different hospital. But since he was there, he would make sure she was treated right.
He frowned. “She is going to be okay?” he asked the attendant.
The attendant shrugged. “She probably has a fractured tibia or fibula and possibly a concussion. Normally we wouldn’t give meds so strong, but she’s a tourist and pretty unsettled. Americans,” the technician said disrespectfully and then winced. “Except for you, Mr. Rivers. Your mother was from Holland so you’re not really American, exactly.”
Victor thought that attitude was typical and sighed. “It’s not important.”
As if to make up for his lapse, the attendant sat up straighter and examined the patient more closely. “She could have internal injuries. The doctor will let you know.”
They pulled into the entrance to the hospital.
The technician leaned forward and wiped away the blood that was running along Annie’s hairline.
Victor didn’t care too much for real blood.
Then he realized his own hands had her blood on them, in quite another sense.
He hoped she wasn’t seriously injured.
She was actually very pretty in a simple sort of way—innocent, perhaps. She didn’t have that world-weary look that so many of his friends did.
In the circles he traveled, it was rare to see someone that looked so fresh at…forty, she’d said?
Forty.
He would have guessed her much younger.
She was only two years younger than he. He had turned forty-two two months ago.
Annie shifted her head. Victor blanched.
A cross.
She wore a tiny cross around her neck.
All good feelings toward this woman were shoved aside as memories of his parents flooded his mind.
She was a Christian—like them.
How could she be? he wondered. But then she hadn’t been herself either.
The bitterness and anger—hidden but always near to his heart—threatened to surface. It would have too if he’d had more time to dwell on it, but just then, the ambulance pulled to a stop at the emergency room entrance. Victor realized he still held Annie’s hand.
Releasing it, he stepped back and allowed the technicians to do their job.
He followed the stretcher into the hospital and into the ward. Maybe she just wore the necklace because she liked the look. Besides, not all people who wore crosses were like his parents. His parents hadn’t believed in wearing any jewelry, so maybe she wasn’t like them at all. Anyway, it didn’t matter. She was here alone and needed help. And he would help this woman, regardless of her religious beliefs. He forced those bitter memories away by becoming the persona he had created so many years ago through so many parts.
When the nurse came in, he gave all of the information he could and then stepped away to make a call to his home. He needed some fresh clothes. He also needed to talk to this woman when she woke up.
Of course once she was in her right mind and had calmed down, she would recognize him and that might pose a problem. But then, he was used to that.
He would simply be prepared for whatever her reaction would be.
He supposed that the sweet innocence he’d perceived would disappear and he would find out just what type of person Annie really was. Money had that effect on people—money and fame. And he had both. Wearily he sighed and accepted that that was how it would be.
Thinking about that, he decided it might not hurt to put in a call to his lawyer as well.
It was going to be a long day.
Chapter Two
Annie groaned.
She heard someone speaking to her, though she couldn’t understand him, and then she felt herself being prodded to sit up.
Painfully she opened one eye. And immediately realized she had been unconscious—again.
“A cast?” She looked down at her right leg in dismay. “I’m in a cast.”
“You’re awake.”
Her gaze went past the other beds in the room she was in, and, to her relief, she saw her rescuer coming down the main aisle, the very man who had just spoken. Wow. She hadn’t imagined it. He was hot.
His footsteps echoed on the tiled floor. She could hear other noises from other beds around her, though the curtains blocked her view of the people in the cubicles. Light shone through the windows near where Victor had entered, and she was relieved to realize that not much time must have passed if it was still light out.
“What happened?”
The man who had been prodding her to sit up now pointed at a wheelchair before pointing at the bed.
She didn’t understand him.
Victor said something to him, and the man replied. Victor commented again in a sharper tone and the man strode off, not looking back.
“I’m sorry he woke you. I stepped out to freshen up. I thought you’d be okay for a few minutes. I guess I was wrong.”
She pointed at the obvious. “I have a broken leg.”
Victor nodded. He stopped next to her bed and lifted his hand to touch her just above her eye. “How do you feel?”
She winced in pain, yet at the same time felt her heart flutter at how close this man was. He was really good-looking and somehow, strangely familiar. His magnetism was unbelievable as well. She really liked the change he’d made while she was unconscious. Instead of the paint-spattered shirt and jeans, he wore a casual pair of dress slacks and a tucked-in polo shirt along with a light tan leather jacket.
She forced a breath in and then said, “I really can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.”
He shook his head. “We need to talk.”
He waited and stared at her.
She wasn’t sure what he wanted.
Disconcerted, he tilted his head. “Do you have any questions for me?” he finally asked as if he knew something she didn’t.
She thought a moment and then slowly nodded. Dropping her eyes, she asked, “Do they arrest foreigners for what happened today? I mean I hit some man with my car—where is he, by the way?”
“That’s your question?” He sounded surprised.
She lifted her gaze to meet his and found something akin to amazement, or maybe it was perturbed shock, on his face. “I want to go home,” she added, thinking perhaps that was what he was wanting to hear.
He let out a breath and simply glanced past her for a moment as if centering his thoughts.
“You’re