The Beaded Bride
an excerpt

Layla, too tight in her throat to say anything, gave Greg's hand a squeeze and a tiny little smile, and walked to the doorway. Tim noticed her rubbing her head on the way over.

"Are you okay?" he asked in an undertone.

"I'm fine," she said, tightly, as they waked out of Greg's hospital room and towards the waiting room.

"You're very pale." Tim was concerned. "If you aren't well, you should go back to your hospital room and rest."

Layla glared at him. She knew he was being nice, but..."You're not my parent, nor am I a 6-year-old."

Tim backed off..."Okay, okay. Just doing the job assigned to me by YOUR neurologist."

Layla just sort of growled back, and stomped away, but her balance was off, and she she tripped. Luckily, she hadn't gotten very far away yet, and Tim was able to catch up with her and snag her shoulder and haul her back to her feet. He looked into those magnificent green eyes and for the briefest second imagined hauling her against him and kissing her into compliance. But a second later that thought was dismissed due to poor location, inappropriate timing, and crutches. Tim shook his head to clear it and gave a little shove away from him and in the right direction.

"Don't stomp off or we'll both end up on the floor."

Layla decided to apologise. "I'm sorry. This is all too much for a person to process you know. But I can't break down again," she said, referring to her earlier crying jag, "and sometimes anger can take the place of fear."