Читать книгу My Kind of Christmas - Робин Карр, Robyn Carr - Страница 9

Two

The snow fell heavily on the Friday night after Thanksgiving and Angie was enthralled. Although she had done a little skiing in her time, she lived in a city that had to look up to the Sierras to see snow. The porch at the A-frame cottage was covered and for a little while she put on her heavy down jacket and sat out there just to watch it fall. So silent. So delicate. It was like being on the inside of a snow globe.

The fireplace in Mel and Jack’s little cabin was large and warm and there was no need for any additional heat. She fed it logs and cozied up on the couch under the down comforter that had been on the bed. The sofa was soft and deep and she couldn’t remember when she’d had a better night’s sleep. They got a good six inches that night, and the morning dawned bright and clear with a thick, white blanket of snow on the ground and a delicious dusting on the pine boughs. It was like being on another planet—so far from that L.A. freeway where her life had been forever changed, so far from the house in Sacramento where she’d grown up, the place where she had revisited her childhood so many times during her recovery.

Yes, this was what she’d been looking for. A respite—some old-fashioned peace and quiet.

No one really understood how difficult it was to wake up from a bad dream, determined to change your life. She’d had partial memory loss for a few weeks after the accident, though she knew what she’d been doing, who her friends were, what her plans had been. This whole idea of being a doctor—she knew she could do it and do it well. She’d been groomed for this since her intellectual parents discovered her interest in science. But it was more like getting a plaque or trophy than about what it would bring to her life. After striving toward this goal for years, what was she to do with that feeling that it just wasn’t enough? Perhaps after she watched falling snow, the orange sunsets, the explosion of autumn color and possibly a world-class geyser or waterfall she’d feel that enthusiasm return.

She still had the same friends, even if she hadn’t seen much of them. They were busy in med school and she had a rigorous rehab schedule, plus the relocation from L.A. to her parents’ Sacramento home. One friend was still missing, though—her boyfriend. Alex. They’d been together for several months before the accident—he was a med student, as well. It happened all the time. Students tended to date one another more out of convenience than anything else, because it seemed to fit well with the intensity of med school. Alex left her at some point during her rehab—after the coma, before she remembered everything and could walk again. Strangely, his actions had remarkably little effect on her except to make her think, Wow! Who does that? Leaves a girlfriend while she’s recovering from catastrophic injuries? That thought occurred every now and then.

The phone in the cabin rang, jarring her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. She tried to ignore it. It was still quite early, but she hadn’t brewed coffee and didn’t feel like cooking breakfast, so she pulled her scuffed-up cowboy boots over her torn jeans and grabbed her jacket. The phone was relentless, so with a heavy sigh she picked it up. “Hello.”

“You’re not staying with Jack,” her mother said.

“Hi, Mom. No, I’m staying in his cabin.”

“But I thought we understood each other—you would stay with Jack or Brie.”

“Nope. That was your expectation. I’m very interested in seeing them but not living with them. I was hoping for the cabin or, at the least, Jack’s guesthouse. I want a little time and space to myself.”

“This is exactly what I’ve been talking about. You’re not yourself at all. I’ve made an appointment with a neuropsychiatrist,” she said. “We should get to the bottom of this.”

Angie laughed. “Listen, Mom, do yourself a favor. Cancel it. You don’t need much more than an everyday counselor to figure out that my brain is fine. The problem isn’t me. I’m not doing things your way and it’s making you crazy. I have to go. I don’t want to be late for the raising of the tree.”

“Angie…!”

“Bye,” she said, disconnecting.

Neuropsychiatrist? Never gonna happen. Besides, she’d already seen at least one of those and no one, no matter how many degrees they had, could convince her that rejecting her mother’s plan for her life automatically signaled a personality disorder.

The phone rang again, but Angie zipped her jacket and headed out the door. She stopped on the porch to indulge in a moment of remorse. Sadness. There was bound to be friction between a firstborn daughter and her strong-willed mother. Angie had always known how to please her parents and, in fact, usually had. Her mother proclaimed her a handful to raise, and yet, she’d managed to be Donna’s pride and joy. Angie had never rebelled so thoroughly before.

Donna didn’t seem to push back on Angie’s younger sisters with the same kind of determination. When Jenna or Beth resisted their mother’s plans, Donna seemed to let go faster. Easier.

“Dr. Temple, do you think my personality has changed?”

“It’s possible. And there’s always PTSD. Catastrophic accidents and long recoveries can have that effect.”

“Do I have a disorder?”

“Disorder? I’m no expert, but I don’t get the sense of a disorder. Do you think you have a disorder?”

“You know, I just feel like I finally woke up. I feel as if I should change things. It’s filling me with a sense of relief, of second chances, but it’s upsetting my family. They’re worried and angry, especially my mother. I’m battling with her over things like school. Battling like never before.”

“Hmm. Well, have you asked yourself—do you like the new you?”

“I do. I want to be more independent. But I hate disappointing my mother. She’s had it in her head I should be a doctor for a long time.”

“I think, Angie, that you have to act on what’s in your head, not your mother’s. You’re an adult, not her little girl anymore. Maybe you two need a little space to figure things out.”

Not long after Angie had that conversation with Dr. Temple, Uncle Jack and Brie had stepped in. Jack called Donna and said, “The two of you are fighting like a couple of cats in a sack. You’re not going to get better this way. Send Angie up here for a while. A few weeks. Let her get some perspective and take a breather. This is ridiculous.”

It took a follow-up phone call from Brie, but Donna finally came around. She was persuaded to put off the head butting at least until after the first of the year.

Angie could almost hear her father breathe a sigh of relief.

* * *

When Angie arrived in town, she saw that even though the hour was early, the place was already a circus. The big flatbed with an enormous tree strapped to it blocked the street and mounted on another truck was a giant winch. The ground had been plowed free of snow right between the bar and the church, back off the road a bit in the area where, in milder weather, there were picnic tables. That’s where the tree would stand. The sound of a hydraulic post digger assaulted the morning air as meanly as a jackhammer, and a lot of people stood around watching while the tree was being attached to the lift. Cables trailed off the tree—likely to be anchored to stakes in the ground to steady it.

It was so big.

Someone pressed a cup of coffee into her hands and she turned to see Mike V, Brie’s husband, her uncle Mike. She had forgotten her desire for caffeine. “Thank you,” she said, kissing his cheek.

“How’s that little cabin working out?” he asked.

“It’s perfect. I’m going to get some candles from the bar—I sat on the porch last night and just watched the snow. If I’d had some candles…”

“I’m sure that can be arranged, chica,” he said, draping an arm around her shoulders.

As they stood together in the street, watching, chains were tightened, the motor on the lift was pumping away and more and more people who had been forced to park down the street were walking toward the tree-raising. Jack and General Booth stood near Paul Haggerty, talking and pointing and gesturing, but Paul seemed to completely ignore them as he directed his team.

It took long enough that Angie’s coffee was gone by the time the tree was finally lifted off the bed of the truck. Four men holding four cables maneuvered the airborne tree so that the trunk slipped into the hole that had been dug right in the ground. Then the cables were pulled tight, straightening the tree. There was a loud, collective “Ahh” in the crowd of people gathered around to watch. There was a bit of muffled applause thanks to the gloves and mittens worn by most of the spectators.

Finally Jack and the general had major roles—they were standing across the street from the tree to judge the straightness of it before the cables were secured to the ground. They were gesturing right, then left, then right....

And Angie saw him. He was standing on the porch of the bar, leaning a shoulder against a post. He was most definitely watching her. When their eyes met he did that smile thing again—half his mouth lifted. His eyes got just a little bit sleepy, but the glittering green was still overwhelming. She wanted a close-up of those eyes.

Real close.

Patrick lifted a coffee cup to his lips, but he never took his eyes off her, peering at her over the rim of the cup.

“You okay, chica?” Mike asked.

“That guy,” she said, just taking him in. “Do you know him?”

Mike followed her eyes. “Patrick? I know his brothers. I’ve only met him once or twice.”

“How long has he lived around here?”

“Just visiting, I hear. You okay?”

“He’s staring at me,” she said in a low voice, trying not to move her lips.

Mike cleared his throat. “Um, listen, if he’s making you uncomfortable, I could have a word with him.”

She grinned at Mike. “He’s making me uncomfortable all right, but not exactly in a bad way. Don’t say anything, all right? Don’t make him stop. I don’t think anyone has ever looked at me that way before.”

Mike turned Angie toward him. His black eyes bore into her with intensity. “Ange, don’t play with fire. I don’t know much about Patrick except that he has some difficult situation going with the military. The Navy just gave him more leave to sit in Virgin River than they typically grant, which usually indicates a problem of some kind. You should at least talk to Jack before you do anything young and foolish.”

She laughed at him, amused. “Wow, doesn’t that sound fun, a chat with Uncle Jack about an interesting guy. Now I was kind of young at the time, but if I remember correctly Uncle Jack thought you were a bad idea for Aunt Brie. Do I have that right?”

Mike pursed his lips as he pondered this. “We were both older than you, for one thing. We had been through some real major crises, for another, which left Jack feeling a little on the protective side. And we were careful to take it slow—know what I’m saying? I don’t know any details but I hear Patrick has had some issues—real problems. Hear me?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “Fortunately, I haven’t been through any crises or had any problems....”

“Oh, man,” Mike said. “Now you’re scaring me.”

She patted his arm. “I’ll be just fine, Uncle Mike. I know it’s hard for everyone to accept this, but I’m not a little girl anymore. I can handle this.” She turned to look again at Patrick but he wasn’t there. “Crap,” she muttered. “I hope you didn’t scare him away. I wanted to talk to him.”

“I was on the verge of suggesting you don’t talk to him.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “I think I need a refill on the coffee. Thanks. By the way, where is Brie?”

“I think she’s in the bar with Ness, but, Ange—”

“I’ll catch up with you in a while. Thanks for the coffee.” She glanced at the tree and gave it a nod. “You might want to tell Jack it’s leaning west.”

* * *

Angie scored in the bar. Brie was there with little Ness, sitting at a table with Mel and Emma, chatting it up while the little girls made an attempt at coloring. There were only a few people in the bar since the tree-raising was occupying almost everyone in town. She noticed Patrick sitting at the far end of the bar on the other side of the room, all alone, far away from her aunts.

“Ah, my favorite aunts,” she said. She leaned down to give each of them a kiss on the cheek, telling them the cabin was awesome. She immediately excused herself to go to the bar for more coffee. They might’ve expected her back at their table after she’d gone behind the bar to serve herself. Instead, she paused, took a deep breath and hopped up on a stool right next to Patrick. She imagined that Brie and Mel wouldn’t know how much courage she’d needed to do that. They knew she wasn’t particularly shy, but they couldn’t possibly know how little experience she had with men, especially a man like this—handsome, sexy and out of her age range by at least a few years.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Angie LaCroix.” She put out a hand.

He stared at the hand for a moment, then lifted his gaze to her eyes. And, oh, sweet baby Jesus, he was beautiful. He took her hand in his much larger one. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Just go for it, she thought. Why not? “I thought we should meet, since you look at me like you’re the big bad wolf. And you are…?”

He couldn’t seem to suppress a short laugh. “I bet you know exactly who I am.”

“Ah, yes, Patrick Riordan, the youngest brother of a clan anchored here. Do I have that right?”

“More or less. I have a couple of brothers here and another couple not too far away.”

“Right. So you’re here visiting family?”

“Not exactly. I’m here because one of my brothers has a vacation cabin here and I had some time on my hands. Since the lot of them are planning a Christmas gathering in San Diego, there won’t be a crowd of Riordans here for the holiday. That suits me fine. I wanted a quiet place to hang out for a while. I wasn’t looking for a family reunion, but it’s always good to see a brother or two. Just not too much of them.”

She looked perplexed. “If you want to avoid them, why would you come to their little town?”

“It’s complicated. The Riordans are extremely nosy and opinionated. They gather. They swarm. If I hadn’t come here, they would have come looking for me. All of them. That’s what happens in my family. We can leave one another alone for months at a time but then when something happens, like a brother at some kind of crossroads, accident or crisis, the troops are called in and the wagons are circled. When you’re the one the wagons are circling, it sucks.”

She was silent for a moment. “That’s very grumpy of you.”

“Well, you did ask.”

“You know, we have a little something in common,” she said. “I’m here for a little R and R myself and for a similar but not identical reason. I dropped out of school. I’m not sure I want to pursue my original plan and I need a break. My parents, who are both college professors, are going a little crazy on me. A little distance from them seemed like a good idea. In fact, it was Uncle Jack’s idea.” She grinned at him. “Though I suspect I didn’t get far enough away. My uncle Jack can get a little…intrusive…protective. For example, he suggested I stay away from you.”

“Me? Why? What’s wrong with me?” he asked.

“Apparently you’re scary and dangerous,” she informed him with a sly smile.

“What? Dangerous? Me? Who said that?”

“It was implied,” she admitted. “I’ve been advised by the older men in my life not to get involved with you, but no one has told me exactly why. So, why?”

He chuckled silently and shook his head. “Listen, I’m just here for a few weeks. Maybe you should stay away from me. And you look like you finished school a long time ago. You must be younger than you look.”

“I finished college. It’s a postgrad thing. But… How old do I seem? Because you undress me with your eyes. Skillfully. And at a great distance, too.”

He leaned toward her. “How old are you?”

“Almost twenty-six,” she said, straightening, sitting tall.

“How almost?” he pressed.

She took a breath. “Twenty-three.”

He groaned and looked down, shaking his head. “God. You’re younger than you look.”

“So how old are you?” she asked. “Forty?”

“Hey,” he said. “I’m thirty-three.”

She leaned her head on her hand, elbow braced on the bar. “Had a hard few years or something?”

“Whoa! You’re brutal!”

But Angie was really starting to enjoy this adventurous, flirty side of herself. This was certainly new territory for her, but she suddenly had the urge to explore it. “The way you look at me should at least be considered a misdemeanor. Or a proposal, I’m not sure which. But it didn’t feel that bad and I thought maybe if we talked…”

“What? You thought I’d ask you out on a date or something? Sweetheart, this is Virgin River. If we sit here and talk for even five more minutes, everyone in town will put us together.”

“Let’s take a chance,” she said, amazing herself. But then, she was on a mission. She wanted to know someone who she could relate to. Who could relate to her. And it sure didn’t hurt that Patrick Riordian was smokin’ hot. “Talking isn’t against the law.”

“What if I don’t feel like talking? You don’t want to mess around with the big bad wolf.”

“Do you feel like listening? Because I can always talk. And we have things in common, you and I.”

“I don’t feel like fighting off the vigilantes who’ll come down on me to protect your honor, so I think me going home right now is a better idea.”

At that, Angie smiled so big that Patrick actually leaned back slightly. “So!” she said. “You do like me!”

“How the hell would I know?” he barked at her. “I don’t even know you!”

“Then why do you watch me? Stare at me? Get mad when I suggest we spend a little time talking?”

“Because you’re a cute little sexpot, and while you might be old enough for this flirtation, I can tell you’re way too inexperienced for it, and you have a posse in town looking out for you and I don’t need any trouble! Believe me, I have enough trouble!”

She glanced down at herself. Old jeans with a torn knee, a pair of battered cowboy boots that she’d been attached to for years, khaki canvas jacket and an oversize white sweater—and no makeup.... She looked up at him and laughed. “Sexpot? Jesus! Are you serious?”

He pursed his lips and put his hands in his jacket pockets. “Serious,” he hissed.

“Well, holy shit, if this gets your motor running, I’m not going anywhere!”

“Angie…”

“You should see me when I get dressed up! I can look damn good.”

“Angie…”

“Patrick,” she mimicked.

Suddenly Brie was standing on the inside of the bar holding the coffeepot. She wordlessly refilled their cups without making eye contact and disappeared back to her table. Angie knew they were talking about her. She knew it and didn’t care.

“I have an idea,” Angie said. “Let’s just have a cup of coffee. Then we’ll reassess things. However, I have to warn you, I kind of like that you find me irresistible.”

“Did I say that?” he asked, a slight tint creeping up his stubbled cheeks. “I didn’t say that! I find you completely resistible.”

“Touchy, huh? Maybe you should have something a little stronger than coffee.”

He gave her a slow look, a full appraisal that made her warm, a feeling she couldn’t remember having before, and she liked it. She was growing more bold by the minute. Then with his eyes narrowed he said, “All right, we’ll have a cup of coffee. You’ll talk. Then I’ll head home and you’ll stop looking for trouble.”

She stared at him levelly. “Do women actually find you scary?” she asked.

* * *

Patrick couldn’t remember ever treating a woman like that, rudely looking her over, trying to make her uncomfortable to scare her off, running roguish eyes up and down the length of her. Especially a sweet young thing like Angie. In fact, he had always been the complete opposite, a gentleman to the core. Present circumstances had put a rough edge on him. Plus, his instincts told him it would be practical if not wise if she just didn’t get too close. He was a wreck without much to offer. The only woman who had his attention right now was his best friend’s widow, that’s how sad his life had become.

But Angie wasn’t easily discouraged. With a cup of coffee in front of him he said, “No young woman should come on to a man she doesn’t know, especially after being warned away from him by her protectors. That sort of thing could get you hurt.”

“Oh, stop,” she said. She took a sip of her coffee. “Jack and Preacher and Mike said they know you a little bit and are friends with your brothers. They all said you were troubled by something but no one ever suggested you were dangerous—I made that up to flatter you. So guess what? I might be troubled, too. You might think I’m a little nuts, but the truth is I wouldn’t mind having a friend who also has some things to sort out.”

He just stared at her. “And what might be troubling you, miss? Dropping out of some cushy college program?”

“Exactly right,” she answered. “But not because I was bored or disillusioned. I was in an accident and had to take leave. It was a medical leave.”

He was startled and it showed in his eyes. He might’ve overheard something about a hospital at the bar, but the details were vague right now. “What kind of accident?”

“The kind that means having rods and pins put in you and lands you in physical therapy for a few months.”

An image of Patrick’s brother, Colin, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, barely alive after a Black Hawk crash, came to his mind. He shuddered involuntarily. “What happened?”

“Well, I had to learn to walk, of course, but—”

“No, what kind of accident?” he asked, genuinely interested.

“Oh—a car accident. Three cars, actually. And what happened is still being disputed—the driver at fault was killed. She lost control of her car, jumped the median on the freeway and hit two oncoming cars, the one I was in and another. There was a witness who said she was cut off by a speeding car that didn’t stop. It was raining and the roads were slick. Another witness said there was no speeding car and that it looked like her car suddenly hydroplaned, like she lost control because of a flat or broken axel or something. Someone suggested she might’ve fallen asleep, but it wasn’t like she’d just come off a twelve-hour shift or anything—she was on her way out to meet a date for dinner and hadn’t driven far. I don’t remember much. I remember lights, sirens, my girlfriend crying—she had a broken ankle, a couple of broken ribs and a really badly shattered wrist, plus lots of bad bruises and cuts. They had to pry both of us out of the car. She remembers that—the sawing and crunching of metal—but I don’t.”

He was quiet for a moment, in something of a trance. “Man,” he finally said in a whisper. “One killed?”

“Yes, and the third car was a family with little kids, but thankfully they didn’t have any critical injuries. The kids were in their safety seats and they were in a big SUV. I feel terrible about the lady driver, though. There were no drugs or any alcohol involved. I think, in the end, what we have here is an accident.”

“And you were badly hurt,” he clarified.

“All banged up. I was in L.A. at the time, a student at USC, and my parents live in Sacramento so they jumped in their car right away. My dad drove like a bat out of hell so they could be there when I got out of surgery. My mom stayed with me for two months, until I could be moved home to complete my checkups and therapy. The whole time I was in L.A. there was a steady stream of aunts and uncles and cousins visiting to see how I was doing even though some of them had to travel a ways. I come from a big family and I’m the oldest grandchild. My grandpa was there several times. I don’t know if you’ve ever had the experience of looking like absolute shit and feeling even worse and having thirty or so people stare at you....”

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t,” he said.

“It sucks. And when I was back in Sacramento, there was even more checking in. I was never alone, never. So—there you have it. Well, no, you don’t have it yet. The thing is, my mother is the toughest, strongest, least sentimental overachiever I know. She’s Uncle Jack’s oldest sister and she’s been pushing him around for over forty years. She’s a journalism professor at Berkeley. But having her oldest child hurt and in the hospital brought her to her knees. Kicked the stuffing out of her. She took a leave from the college and dedicated herself to my care, which was a wonderful thing to do, but I think she lost her mind a little bit. She’s always been domineering in her way…bossy, you might say. The accident really amped that up. She was determined to get me healed and back on track. But suddenly, she wanted to bring my sister Beth home from her senior year at NAU in Flagstaff—she couldn’t sleep at night thinking about her driving those mountain roads. And my littlest sister, Jenna, she wanted to keep in Sacramento at a state college even though she’d been attending UCLA.”

“And what about you?” he asked.

Angie couldn’t help but laugh. “She wants me to sleep in a helmet.”

He laughed a little with her. “I bet you want to sleep in a helmet sometimes, too.”

“Well, that’s where Mom and I have had a breakdown in communication. I want to not be afraid. I never want to be scared to live life because of one bad experience, as terrible as it was. It’s not like I could’ve done anything differently—I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. So—should I live the rest of my life in a padded room?”

He shook his head. “No, but you shouldn’t follow strange men into bars, either. Even bars owned by your uncle. You should have yourself a nice young man who has a normal life and calls you for a date, then picks you up and takes you someplace special.”

“Oh, I had one of those,” Angie said with a sigh. “I had him for months before the accident and he said he loved me. He wandered off sometime during physical therapy.... Haven’t heard from him since.”

Patrick felt the color drain from his face. And he found himself thinking, I was one of those nice young men who did what his woman expected, and I was left…. He couldn’t believe people did that—abandoned their partner in a time of need. He’d never be so cruel as to run out on a person he’d once loved like that. Angie’s experience with her former boyfriend was very close to the hurt he felt over the woman who had left him behind. Leigh had said she loved him, too. Then suddenly she told him, unemotionally, that they weren’t right for each other. She had a career of her own and wanted a full partner, not some Navy flyboy. He hadn’t been with another woman since then.

Yet what tore him up the most was the fact that when he’d called Leigh to tell her Jake was dead, she hadn’t come to him. She hadn’t comforted him beyond the telephone condolences of that one call. She hadn’t come to the memorial. She’d sent Marie a card—she might have even had a card sent by one of her assistants—but she hadn’t called her. That’s when he realized they must never have been good together in the first place. If the tables had been turned and she’d lost someone close, he would have been there for her even if they were no longer a couple.

They’d spent so much time together, the four of them. Didn’t she grieve Jake? Sympathize with Marie? Worry about Patrick’s feelings? It had baffled and hurt him. He felt he had never known her at all.

He looked at Angie and said, “So he just kind of wandered off?”

“Yeah. At first he was too busy with school, then he said he just couldn’t watch my struggle, it was too difficult for him. This guy wants to be a doctor! And he couldn’t bear seeing me in pain? Pah! Then one of my friends said he was seeing someone else. I cried. For an hour. But something tells me I got off easy. I’m going to need a much tougher man in my life. I’ll hold out for that.”

He grinned suddenly. His immediate thought was, And I’ll need a much stronger woman. Could it really be that simple? “You should.”

“You don’t look at all scary when you smile,” she said in a rather soft voice.

“You said I didn’t look scary before.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want you to get all bigheaded. So, Patrick Riordan, what’s got you all messed up?”

He slid back in his chair. “I thought we agreed not to talk about me?” He took a sip of coffee.

“I certainly don’t intend to insist, but when you’re sharing, you know, there’s usually a little give and take....”

“I’m a Navy pilot,” he said after a short pause. “I was on a mission and another pilot flying in the same sortie was killed. Shot down. Right beside me. We were flying cover for Marine rescue choppers near Kandahar, avoiding missiles, and then… The unexpected. A heat seeker came out of nowhere. He was my closest friend. I was his lead. He was my wingman.”

“I’m so sorry. I can understand why you didn’t want to talk about that.”

“Someone would’ve told you eventually. Jake went down and it’s time for me to get orders—a new assignment somewhere. I just feel like I need a little time to decide if I really want that life. I always thought I did. But lately I’ve been thinking that it might not fit with the other things I’d like to have—like a family, for instance. Jake left behind a wife and two-year-old son.”

“But do you love flying?” she asked him.

“I always have, but that…” His voice trailed off.

“That’s one of the things I’m struggling with, too, Patrick. But I’ve realized that there are fewer NASCAR drivers killed than girls like me who were singing along with the radio one minute and dead the next. None of those people on commercial jets on 9/11 were taking chances. Besides, if you’re doing something you believe in and are expertly trained to do… But then, you might have to ask the woman in your life before you listen to me.”

He just stared at her for a second. “There’s no woman.”

“Oh,” she said.

“And my friends call me Paddy.”

She smiled at him. “I like that.”

“What’s your next move, Angie?”

She took a deep breath. “Oh, I’ll probably end up going back to medical school eventually, but not—”

“Medical school?” he asked, wide-eyed. “You mean you’re not getting some degree in basket weaving or tennis?”

She laughed lightly. “Nah. I’m a brainiac with limited social skills, as you can probably see.”

He shook his head, but his mouth was still open. He hadn’t been ready for this. “You take chances, but now I think I get it. So, you’ll go back to school?”

“Well, like you, I have to make a decision—I don’t know if I want to go back to med school. The second I said ‘doctor’ when I was about sixteen my parents were on the case—going over my classes, my major and my transcripts, my med school applications. I missed a lot of life being the perfect student. While I was recovering, I had some great docs but there was one I was close to. Dr. Temple was never in a hurry. He talked to me. It’s possible he was simply studying me, looking for signs of brain damage, but still…” She gave a shrug, then shook her head. “I’ve been fighting with my mother a lot. She wants me back in med school before too much time passes, and I’m not sure I’m ever going back. Next for me, Paddy, is a little more balance in my life. If I’ve learned anything from what happened, it’s that you shouldn’t miss opportunities to live life. It could always be your last chance. And not just if you’re a Navy pilot. It could be your last chance even if you’re just making a grocery store run.”

“No one can make you go to medical school.”

“I so hate to disappoint them. But I might be looking for something more.”

“Going to become an adventurer?” he asked.

“That’s not really what I mean. I think watching the snow fall in candlelight and cuddling a baby—those can be watershed moments, too.”

She stood up from the bar. He stood, as well. “For today, I chased down an interesting guy—something I’ve never done before. I’ve had a nice cup of coffee, and now I’m going back outside to watch the decorating of the tree. I’m also going to try to talk my way into one of those cherry pickers, but I might have to get my uncle Jack drunk first.” Then she laughed.

“I gave you a hard time, Angie,” he said. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Paddy. You have stuff to work out, too. Big stuff, and again, I’m sorry for your loss. And,” she added with a shrug, “I’ve been told I can be a lot to take. Especially lately…”

He grabbed her hand before she could leave. “No, you’re not,” he said. “Maybe you should have another cup of coffee.”

She shook her head, but the look in her eyes said she was tempted.

“You started it,” he accused.

“Aw, I think you did, with your green eyes and that look.”

He put his right hand against the side of her head in an affectionate gesture and suddenly time stopped. He had a strange look on his face. His fingers rubbed against a raised, hairless spot behind her ear. She had long, thick, pretty brown hair streaked with blond but there was no mistaking a scar. He pulled away from her to look into her eyes.

“A shunt,” she said. “I don’t know why the hair doesn’t grow there, but I guess it’ll grow back someday. I think.”

“Shunt?” The word was not completely alien to him, but he wasn’t making all the connections.

“My brain swelled while I was in a coma. They fixed it with the shunt to drain the edema but then they leave it in. It’s not working anymore but they don’t remove the shunt unless it creates a problem. We don’t do brain surgery unless we have to.”

He watched her eyes. “Coma,” he said, still gently touching that lump. “Brain swelling. You had a head injury. A serious head injury.”

“But really, I’m fine. Completely recovered. I mean, I think I am. Even given my chasing dangerous men into bars…”

“It was a bad accident,” he confirmed. “Very bad.”

She nodded. “Which explains why my mother thinks I have a personality disorder and wants me in a padded suit for the rest of my life. And maybe it also explains my resistance to that idea.”

He smiled gently and said, “I like your personality.”

“Thanks,” she said, some confidence restored. “That actually means a lot to me.” She gave him another smile, then turned and headed out to join the festivities.