“Okay.”Bobby grinned at her.He didn’t even look at Delgado.
Del watched Rowan’s profile as she smoothed the boy’s fingers, then held his small hand in both of hers.Kids and adults alike, anyone in pain welcomed her attention.“Let’s see.”A slight smile touched her lips.“Did you like the horse?”
“The red one?Oh, yeah.That was neat.”
“Neat, huh?How about we turn it into a rocket ship this time?”
Delgado’s skin began to prickle faintly.Rowan’s eyes seemed luminous in the dim light.Eleanor and Boomer watched, and Emily took a sip of her coffee, her own eyes round as plates.
Bobby’s eyes closed.Delgado’s entire body tightened.He knew what it felt like—all the pain and the guilt washed away, leaving calmness behind.
And there was another thing about Rowan’s talent that nobody had expected: she couldheal.
Bobby’s broken arm was mending much faster than it should, and so was Boomer’s bullet wound.Delgado himself had felt the effects of hanging around Rowan while she learned to use her talent—his stitches had come out early, and the knife wound in his left arm had healed completely in a matter of days.Jilssen called it a sort of focused bioenergetic field and went around muttering about “cell mutations” and “frequencies.”
Ten minutes later, Bobby was breathing deeply.Rowan looked over her shoulder, her gaze met Delgado’s.He felt a sharp spike of pride that she would look to him for reassurance, and wondered what would happen when she didn’t need to.
“He’ll be all right,” she said quietly.“Just a bad dream.”
“I’m not surprised,” Delgado replied, just as quietly.“You okay?”
“I don’t even remember getting out of bed.”She moved, gently freeing her fingers and easing off the bed.Delgado stepped close and took her elbow, steadying her.“Maybe I should just sleep in here.”
“If you want,” he said automatically.I wouldn’t bet on it, angel.You need your privacy.You’ve got your nightmares, too.
“You’re a godsend, Ro,” Emily piped up, her cooling coffee still held in one hand.“I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, patients always call just when you get a cup of coffee or head to the restroom.”Rowan tucked her hair back behind her ear, a habitual motion.“I know that.How’s he doing, Emily?”
“Better than me,” Boomer snorted.“Can I go back to sleep?”
“You’re a crotchety old man.”Eleanor settled back in her bed, closing her eyes.“Shut up.Good work, Rowan.The boy’s much easier now.He even laughed yesterday.”
“Old witch,” Boomer said, just softly enough.
“Shutup,” Eleanor returned.
Emily was trying in vain not to grin.
Rowan smiled, shaking her head.“I suppose I should inquire about my other patients.Including a rather crotchety old man.”
“Just fine,” Boomer muttered.“Can’t a man get any sleep around here?”
Rowan cast an amused glance at Delgado.His mouth went dry.She brushed her tangled hair back and crossed to Boomer’s bedside.When she reached down and took his wrist to check his pulse, the stocky man peeked out from under his eyelashes at her.Then his face eased, and in a few moments, he was asleep too.
“There,” Rowan said softly.“Don’t dream.Just sleep until morning.”
“Good riddance,” Eleanor said.When Rowan took a step toward her, she added, “No, none for me, Miss Price.I’m fine.Thanks anyway.”
Rowan nodded, then looked to Delgado again, tucking her pale hair back again.Delgado shook his head and offered his hand.She took it, the electric jolt of her skin against his making him glad the lighting was so dim.How could a woman in a torn sweatshirt and shorts make his pulse race?
“Thank you, Rowan,” Emily said seriously.“I don’t know how we got along without you.”
“I’m just glad to be useful,” Rowan replied, and Delgado ushered her through the infirmary’s swinging doors, his arm carefully over her shoulder.
Out in the hall she sighed, her shoulders sagging.“God.Does it ever end?”
I wish it could.“Not really.They want psionics, and they’ll do what they have to do to get them.”
