Page 16 of The Perfect Hosts
“How many acres?” the agent asks.
“Three thousand, give or take,” Wes says, impatiently. “Listen, can we do this later? My wife needs to get home, and I still haven’t found my brother.”
“I understand,” the agent says. “Please, go get some rest. I’ll check in with you in the morning.” He holds out his hand, his eyes intently examining Wes.
Madeline can’t quite name the expression on the agent’s face. A prickle of fear runs through her. Could this really have been all their fault? Could Wes really go to jail? Could she? Wes reluctantly shakes the agent’s hand, then quickly releases his grip.
“Mrs. Drake,” the agent turns to Madeline, grasps her hand. His fingers are strong and warm, reassuring. “Congratulations on the baby girl. I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll be in touch.”
“What did he say his name was?” Wes asks once the agent steps from the hospital room and gently closes the door behind him.
“I can’t remember,” Madeline says, numbly. “Saldano, maybe? Please, can we go home now?” She can’t hold it together much longer.
“Yeah,” Wes says, distractedly as he scrolls through his phone.
Madeline doesn’t have to ask what he’s looking for. She knows he’s searching his contacts for their attorney’s number.
“Wes, please,” she says, trying to keep the irritation fromher voice. It’s been a terrible night for them all. “Can’t you call him later? Besides, we don’t even know what happened yet.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Wes says, as he helps Madeline to her feet. “The fire was on our property, and whatever caused it, we’ll be on the hook. We can be sued for all we have. And why do you have to question everything I do? I know what people are like. And why would you bring up the Prestons? The last thing we need is for people to think we’re blaming them. It’s only going to hurt our business. From now on, just let me talk.”
“But how can you think about that right now?” Madeline asks, horrified. “Of all things, you’re worried that someone is going to sue us? And that poor girl who got burned so badly. If it’s our fault, of course we have to help her out.” Her voice is shaking, and a tightness forms in her chest.
“What girl?” Wes asks.
“The waitress. Mellie something,” Madeline says. “We shared an ambulance to the hospital. She’s pregnant too.” She looks down at her lap.
“I fucking don’t care about some pregnant waitress, okay?” Wes says with a vehemence that surprises Madeline. “Can’t you just stop talking right now? I have to think.” The shock must show on her face, because Wes lowers his voice. “I’m sorry. All I want to focus on is you and our baby. That’s all that matters to me.”
Madeline looks down at the hospital scrubs she’s still holding and doesn’t know if she has the energy to put them on. With effort she shrugs out of the robe, and pain shoots through her lower back, and her breath hitches.
Instantly, Wes is at her side. “I’m sorry. You’re right, let’s not talk about that now. Here, let me help,” he says. Madeline stays seated while Wes unties her hospital gown. She is self-conscious of her nakedness, of the strangeness of her pregnant body, but she is too sore, too tired to protest. Wes tosses asidethe hospital gown, then gently pulls the scrubs over her head. He gets down on his knees in front of her, presses one large hand on her belly. “I can’t believe I could have lost you,” he says, looking up at her. His eyes are wet. “Both of you.”
Madeline runs a hand across the top of his head. His hair smells of smoke and is dusty with ash. “We’re okay,” she says, and Wes wipes his eyes. He guides each of her legs into the scrubs and carefully pulls them up over her bandages.
“How are the horses? Pip?” Madeline asks with another surge of worry.
“I don’t know,” he says, voice grave. “That’s why we have to get home. And I have no idea where my brother is. My phone’s dead. Do you have yours?”
“No, I lost it,” she says, looking down at her bare feet. She lost her shoes in the explosion too.
“Jesus, Madeline,” Wes says. “You’re always losing your phone. I’m going to check with the nurse to see if she knows anything about Dix,” Wes says. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Yeah, of course. Go ahead,” Madeline says. “I’ll meet you at the front doors.”
“You can walk okay?” Wes asks.
“I’m fine,” Madeline assures him, thinking of Mellie, possibly burned, somewhere in the hospital.
After a few minutes, Madeline gets painfully to her feet and limps from the room. Down a long hallway, she sees a hunched figure moving toward Wes. It’s Dalton Monaghan. A sob escapes her throat. Poor, poor Dalton. Madeline expects Wes to embrace Dalton, to offer him some comfort. Instead, he just stands there, hands hanging helpless at his side. Voices rise, but the distance keep the words from reaching her. Are they arguing? But as quickly as the encounter began it is over.
Dalton moves down the hallway with the deputy while Wes storms off. That’s when Madeline notices the ATF agentleaning against the nurses’ station. He also witnessed the exchange between Dalton and Wes.
Could the explosion really be their fault? Madeline knows how conscientious Wes is about safety. With the horses and the equestrian center, they have to be. Yes, blowing up an old truck was over-the-top, but Wes had overseen nearly every aspect of the setup, except for placing the pink powder and the explosive inside the truck. That was left to Dix and one of their ranch hands. Could they have made a mistake?
Madeline makes a slow trek to the emergency room exit. She glances into an open doorway and catches sight of a familiar face. The young waitress from the party. Madeline hesitates, a little voice in her head telling her to not get involved—she has enough to worry about as it is—but they bonded in that ambulance ride. Both scared, injured, pregnant, and in that moment very much alone. What harm could come from peeking in and saying hello?
Chapter 6