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“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Reagan hated the coolness of her tone, but she needed to wear aloofness like a suit of armor. She had no idea what she was walking into — obviously some sort of parallel universe where English Barlowe was adored — and she wanted to remain cautious and protective of her own fragile emotions.

“I came alone,” Reagan added.

“Oh.” Shock froze the woman’s expression into a wide-eyed, oval-mouthed mask. “Oh, my dear. Are you alright? Jackson said you were—”

“Held at gunpoint? Almost kidnapped? Caught in the middle of a brawl right in front of my house? I don’t know who Jackson is, but he would be right. All of that happened. What I came here to find out is why it happened and why to me.”

The woman’s lips stretched into a thin line. “So you didn’t come for your father?”

Reagan pierced her with a direct stare. “You must be the person who called me. Becky, was it? You seem to know more about me and English than even I do, so this shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. I did come to fulfil my responsibility as his medical proxy, though why he would want me in charge of his life-or-death decisions, I can’t imagine. I also came here for answers. I did not come to try and have a relationship with a man who doesn’t deserve to be called my father. Once I get what I want, I don’t plan to stay for him either. He lost the right to be my father a long time ago when he walked out on us.”

Becky looked crestfallen. Reagan immediately regretted her harsh words. This woman wasn’t the cause of her broken relationship with English, so she didn’t deserve Reagan’s ire. Whatever her relationship with English was, Becky obviously cared for him and wanted to do right by him. Reagan could respect that, even if it was more than English deserved. She started to apologize when she felt a presence behind her, and then a deep voice spoke.

“Becky, everything alright?”

Reagan turned to note the tall man watching her with a hawk-like gaze. The blue eyes were beautiful if a bit intense. His nose was a touch too wide to be considered classic, but it didn’t detract from his good looks. He was pretty, like a boy next door whom all the parents loved because they had no idea how he would corrupt their young daughters.

Becky nodded. “Of course. We’re fine. Luke, this is Reagan Barlowe. I’m sorry. I mean, Reagan Bell. She’s English’s daughter.”

The man circled around Reagan to stand by Becky’s side, his hand resting protectively at the woman’s back. “The prodigal daughter has come. ‘Bout time. We’ve been searching for you.”

Reagan stiffened at his judgmental tone. “That’s what I hear. The nurse said the doctor would come speak to me once he was out of surgery, but why don’t you two fill me in on English’s condition? What happened to him?”

Becky attempted another smile and motioned toward his room. “I was about to check on him. Would you like to come in? The nurses have been great to let us visit outside of the designated hours. Once you see him, we can sit in the waiting room and talk.”

Reagan didn’t want to see him. The nurse made it sound as if he was a poor sight to behold, and she didn’t want to feel an ounce of sympathy for his plight. But she couldn’t put off the inevitable, so she finally nodded. Since she was seeing him for the first time in years, she hoped facing him while he was unconscious and unaware of her presence would be easier on her raw emotions.

“I’ll be right out here,” Luke murmured to Becky before eyeing Reagan like a mall security guard following a shoplifter.

English must have woven one hell of a spell on these people for them to regard her as the bad guy. He left her and her mom long before any of these people were in his life. They can think her heartless, but it would only be a matter of time before they saw English for what he was — a selfish man who used people and walked away, leaving only damage and heartbreak behind.

Reagan hardened her expression as she moved ahead to English’s room. She couldn’t let these people get under her skin. She was only here for answers, and then she would be gone, never to see them again. Stepping around the curtain, she stopped with as much distance between her and the hospital bed as she could get. Her eyes swept the room before studying the figure in the bed. The beeping of a heart monitor grated on her frazzled nerves.

The lines around his eyes, mouth and cheeks were more pronounced than she remembered. His lush head of hair and full beard were stark white, his skin deeply tanned in contrast. His frame was still broad but trim, and yet, lying in the bed, he’d lost some of the larger-than-life façade she’d always associated with him. She didn’t try to trace all of the tubes running from his body to the various monitors, IV bags and machines in the room. She did note the damage to his face and arms. The skin around his eyes was the color of overripe grapes, the tissue puffy with swelling. Tiny cuts marred his nose, forehead and jaw, and his bottom lip was cut and repaired with liquid adhesive. His arms rested on top of the covers, showcasing the numerous bruises and abrasions which had Reagan wincing.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was sleeping.” Becky had stepped in beside her, her eyes fixated on English.

Reagan didn’t reply. Noting the paleness under his tan, she thought he already looked dead and not only sleeping. The thought unsettled her.

Becky sighed. “When I saw him in the alley, my heart stopped. I’d never seen him hurt like this before. He’s always seemed invincible. Almost untouchable.”

Becky spoke aloud but more to herself. Reagan wondered if Becky had forgotten she was in the room, but Reagan jumped on the opportunity to find out more.

“You have no idea what happened to him?”

Becky shook her head. “The boys are investigating, but I haven’t asked them what they found out. All I can tell you is I stopped by the bar to bring English some breakfast. When I couldn’t find him, I stepped out into the alley, and there he was, on the ground. I thought he was d—”

Her voice caught over the word “dead,” and she didn’t bother trying to say it again before she continued. “I don’t know how long he’d been there. The boys saw him when they closed the bar last night, and he said nothing about leaving. He must have been taking the trash to the dumpster after they locked up, so he could have been laying there all night. If he’d only let the boys take care of the trash, he wouldn’t have…”

Reagan saw the tears building in Becky’s eyes, and she averted her gaze back to the man in the bed. She expected to feel hatred toward him the moment she saw him again, but she only felt pity and sadness. And anger. He’d obviously touched Becky and the boys she kept talking about. From what Reagan could discern, they loved him, and she suspected Becky was in love with him, much as her mother had been years ago.

Reagan’s bitterness mounted. Why couldn’t she have known English the way Becky and the boys did? What made them special for him to choose them over her and her mother?

A young nurse stepped in dressed in scrubs the color of sherbet. She smiled at them with what she probably considered a socially acceptable amount of pity, telling Reagan what no one had managed to confirm so far. English’s prognosis wasn’t good. No one believed he would survive, and Reagan would be the one left to handle his affairs. It was like he was abandoning her all over again.

“Miss Barlowe,” the nurse spoke to her quietly. “Your father’s doctor is available to speak with you now. I can show you to the private waiting room where you can meet with him.”

“My last name is Bell, actually,” she corrected the nurse automatically, ignoring the sharp look Becky sent her way.