Page 67 of How Much For A Broken Heart?

I tried to smile. It hurt. “Did I tell you?”

He laced our fingers and smiled down at me, fondly almost. “Tell me what?”

“Did I dream I said it?”

“What?”

“Did I tell you that I love you?”

He lifted my hand and kissed the knuckles. “Yep, you told me that.”

“Oh.”

There it was then, I’d told him, and even though he was holding my hand and reading out loud to me, he wasn’t going to say it back. Not that I expected it—driven by whatever vengeance he had in his heart, we’d probably end up being ships that passed in the night.

“Did you mean it?” he asked after a pause.

“Rangers never lie,” I said, attempting to joke it all off.

“Neither do SEALs,” he said, then kissed another knuckle before reaching to adjust my pillows gently, making me more comfortable. As I settled back into the softness, I found myself content. After all, I’d been honest, and now he could do what he wanted with that.

“Army?” he whispered next to my ear, and I turned to see his gray eyes burning with emotion. “Ryder? I love you too.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

AUGUST

I sat in the dimly lit medical room, as I’d done since we’d gotten back last night, the soft glow of a reading lamp casting a warm pool of light on the pages of the sweeping highland romance novel I held. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of medical equipment and the occasional beep of a monitor.

My attention was absorbed by the romance, and I was halfway through a scene where the rugged hero knelt before his stolen English bride after they’d been forced to marry, of course, pledging his undying love while chaos raged around them in the midst of a battle.

I snorted in disbelief. “Really? Who writes this shit? What hero in his right mind would stop in a battle to declare undying love?”

There again, who was I to question love when it had snuck up on me so quickly? Maybe I’d have done the same thing, given all the feelings I had inside for my man.

I turned the book to check the sexy cover depicting a rugged Scottish Highlander, his chiseled features and piercing eyes capturing the essence of a brooding hero. The stolen English bride, adorned in a flowing white gown, looked both vulnerable and determined, clasping a knife to her torn top. Yep. That wasn’t Ryder and me but the passion in the picture was certainly something I understood.

I’d picked up the book from a shelf near the kitchen, searching for something to read until Ryder shook off the anesthetic, and the tale of love and passion amidst the backdrop of battle was about the best I could find that I didn’t have to concentrate on.

I carried on reading. “I love you with all my heart,” I read out the proud Highlander’s words and even tried to add a Scottish brogue, which sounded atrocious. “I will protect you with my life.” I huffed. “Well, shit, he’s not doing a good job if a stray arrow reaches them. Blah blah, stolen bride, torn between loyalty to her people and her love, gazed down at him with conflicted eyes. Blah blah, love and courage conquer all obstacles. The End. Oh, wait there’s an epilogue.” I cleared my throat, but a slight movement and a soft groan from the nearby bed drew my attention. Ryder was waking up, again. I marked the place in the book and set it aside, waiting for Ryder to regain his bearings. Bit by bit, he was returning to the land of the living after the operation to repair lacerations to his abdominal muscles, also fixing where the knife had missed his femoral artery, and the back of his leg, which had been only a hair away from slicing his popliteal tendon.

If Amos hadn’t been dead, I’d have killed him again.

I shuffled the chair closer, and couldn’t help but steal a glance at Ryder, because everything had changed since I’d told him I loved him.

“Hey,” I murmured. “I hope you’re enjoying the story.”

“What about arrows, for fuck’s sake,” he murmured.

“Exactly,” I said, and he attempted to smile. “So, you’re all good. Doc Jen says you’ll be up and about in around three months.” His eyes widened, and I couldn’t help the snort of laughter. “Sorry,” I said, all innocence, “days, three of them, count it.” I held up three fingers.

He narrowed his eyes. “Fucker.”

I placed the book on his bedside table and stood, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m sending Doc in, but I’ll be back, okay? One thing though…” He stared up at me still sleepy and confused. “I love you.”

He smiled. “I love you, too.”

I pressed the call button, met Doc Jen on her way in, and closed the door behind me. Checking my watch, I saw I had ten minutes to fill, and stopping off at my room first, I wandered down to the room where I was meeting the child psychologist, Lizzie, and having time with Annie under her watchful eye. This was day one, step one, minute one, of me and Annie maybe connecting over her dad, and I was more nervous about this than I was about running towards a gun fight. I peered in through the glass panel, middle top, and saw Annie inside, sitting at a table, a ring of animals in tiny chairs—she was having a tea party, Lizzie sitting next to her, pretending to sip from a cup.

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