Now he watched the steady stream of rain smear Hunter’s hospital room window, thinking how the downpour would smother the smoldering embers—all that remained of the once great Beaumont House.
A nurse came in and freshened Hunter’s water pitcher, took his temperature and pulse, noted them on a chart, and hurried away, giving Michael a small smile.
* * * *
The colors and blurring came again. But this time when Hunter’s lids fluttered open, his vision rapidly adjusted, and he saw the broad back of a nurse. The nurse looked up, adjusting the flow of the IV that hung on a rack above Hunter’s bed. Hunter’s gaze moved over a bit, and he saw a man he recognized: Michael.
Their eyes met.
Michael smiled, then cut his gaze for an instant to the nurse. “I think he’s awake.”