Читать книгу Home To Family - Ann Evans - Страница 10

MATT D’ANGELO had been the only one on the flight from Chicago who wasn’t upset about their late arrival in Denver.

He’d always considered himself a patient guy, unflappable. That ability to focus and remain calm in the face of confusion and crisis had made him a star during his residency and brought him accolades in the operating room. But this new willingness to suffer delays due to the weather, the airlines, the traffic, and finally, the girl at the car-rental counter with the speed of a baffled snail—this was a pretty sure sign that he really hadn’t wanted to make this trip after all.

True, he’d been eager to get away, tired of coming under the microscope of the powers-that-be at the hospital, tired of getting pep talks from his occupational therapist. Most of all, tired of having to reassure well-meaning friends and associates that he really didn’t mind spending Christmas and New Year’s Eve alone.

Just tired.

So when his parents had pushed him to come home for a visit, he’d allowed himself to be talked into it.

Now he wished he’d said no. The family, as supportive as they’d always been, would probably smother him with their loving concern. His friends in Broken Yoke would be solicitous, but people who lived in a small town and who’d known you all your life, often assumed they had the perfect right to grill you. They’d be unable to control their curiosity. They’d feel obligated to give advice.

Or worse, they’d offer pity. He knew he’d hate that the most.

In this strange, different year he’d discovered that most people meant well. They wanted to help. But he’d spent months trying to pull a black curtain over that night in the diner. The idea of having to revisit any of it, having those memories ambush him in some new and terrible way, made his heart feel as tight as a closed fist.

He wished suddenly that he’d followed his friend Larry’s advice—gone to the Bahamas for the holidays, where he could have found a sure cure for the blues under the warm sun.

Instead, he was almost home, watching snow flurries pelt the windshield of his rental car as he took the exit off the interstate.

He passed the familiar, aged sign that welcomed visitors to Broken Yoke. The turn up the mountain road that led to Lightning River Lodge would be just ahead, winding and treacherous in the worst of winter, but still as familiar to Matt as the route he took to the hospital in Chicago every day.

Lightning River ran along the lip of the Arapaho National Forest and widened into a deep, cold, crystal-clear lake. His parents had built the lodge on some of the prettiest land along the Front Range. The views from every window of the resort—mountains, lake and aspen-covered forests—left guests awe-struck, and its proximity to ski slopes, river rapids and quaint, historic towns in the area brought them back time after time.

A few years ago, when his father had first been incapacitated by his stroke, Matt had considered moving back home. He hadn’t really wanted to. His career had been on the fast track as he began to make a name for himself in microsurgery, and he could see endless opportunities ahead.

For a while, his mother seemed to manage the family business just fine. Her sisters, Renata and Sofia, had come from Italy to help out. Matt’s younger sister Adriana had just finished college and was more than willing to pitch in until things returned to normal.

But things didn’t return to normal. His father’s medical bills were astronomical. Rainy summer days and little fresh powder on the slopes to entice skiers made the situation worse. Matt had begun to talk to Doc Hayward about returning home and going into practice with the older physician—something Matt had never, ever considered before.

Luckily, his older brother Nick came up with a solution to keep the family business afloat and solve his problems, too.

Nick, an army helicopter pilot who had recently divorced, was concerned about having a proper place to raise his daughter Tessa. Matt couldn’t help feeling relieved when Nick quit the army and came home to take over, building his own cabin only a short distance from the lodge.

The change seemed to have worked. The business was doing well. Nick had added a helicopter tour company, Angel Air, to the amenities they offered guests, and Adriana, an entrepreneur at heart, had finally talked Nick and their father into reopening the old stable where they’d kept horses as kids.

Matt had been glad to leave running the business in Nick’s capable hands. And as much as he loved this area, he had never envisioned returning to live here permanently.

Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He wove his way through Broken Yoke’s downtown, past all the old familiar haunts. He saw that nothing much had changed, although a few more of the buildings looked empty; some were even boarded up.

Glad for a legitimate excuse to stall, he had called the lodge from the airport, telling the family not to wait, to go to Doc’s party without him. It was already past ten. Most of Doc Hayward’s guests had probably come and gone by now. Maybe even the D’Angelos. Everyone knew that Doc—always a morning person—would have booked an early flight tomorrow.

So if Matt skipped the party entirely, would anyone really notice? Or care?

He felt the muscles along his jaw tighten. No more avoidance, D’Angelo. Not tonight. You know you want to see Doc before he goes.

He could catch the tail end of the party. Say a few quick hellos and be gone before most guests even noticed his arrival. He had to. If he didn’t get a handle on these subconscious and not-so-subconscious evasion tactics, they would develop their own momentum. And then where would he be?

Doc lived just off Main Street, and when Matt pulled in front of the house he was surprised to see how many cars were still in the drive and along the road. He had to park half a block away and walk back, trudging along the darkened blacktop that glistened wetly in the street lights. Snow, falling like a lacy curtain, obscured his vision and made him tuck his chin into the collar of his coat.

The Christmas lights Doc had put up outside twinkled a festive welcome.

Strange how the sight of those decorations could make his gut go cold.

Matt could still recall how every window in the diner that night had held a lighted candle. He remembered the plastic evergreen that had clung to one corner, blinking a sad welcome. The way his own blood had oozed in a slow spill across the linoleum to soak the cheap Christmas skirt around that tree.

Shayla had worn a sprig of holly pinned to her lapel that night. Even now he could remember the scratch of it against his cheek as he’d bent down to kiss her when he’d left the car.

How long would it be before he’d be able to look at a symbol of Christmas and not think of death?

Feeling his back stiffen as if for battle, he continued up the walk.

The decorations were wasted. There wasn’t another soul outside. Too bad. This was the sort of Colorado night Matt loved. Crisp and clear in spite of the snowfall, so chilly that your breath rose in little clouds around your face. The sky was so deeply midnight blue that it could leave you speechless, and he could barely tell where the mountains ended and the heavens began.

In spite of the lecture he’d just given himself, he approached the front steps slowly, delaying the moment when he’d have to enter the house. Not so brave after all, it seemed.

And then suddenly he realized he’d been wrong. Someone was out here in the darkness.

A woman stood with her back to him, nothing more than a black silhouette. Illumination poured from the tall windows in warped, lemon squares of light along the length of the porch. Her body looked as if it had been dipped in gold, as though she’d bathed in it. In spite of the shawl draped around her shoulders, Matt could tell she was tall and slim. Because she seemed intent on watching the goings-on inside the house, he couldn’t see her face. She remained absolutely still, a silent observer. He wondered what had snagged her attention. And what had driven her outdoors.

She raked her fingers along the side of her hair. Then she shoved her hand underneath the dark mass of it, scoping upward along her scalp, so that momentarily it lifted off her shoulders. It was a gesture of impatience. Of annoyance. He knew it well. Over the years, that little habit of Leslie’s had always given her away whenever they’d squabbled.

It had been like a warning flag. Back off, D’Angelo, that movement had said. You’re making me angry.

He smiled to himself. Of all the people to encounter during this visit, he was ridiculously relieved to have Leslie Meadows be the first. With the exception of a few stolen hours at Nick and Kari’s wedding, he hadn’t seen her in so long, and he realized just how much he had missed her. Now here he was, running into the moment he’d been dreading, and Les’s presence would make it so much easier.

She was so intent on watching whatever was going on inside the house that she didn’t hear him come up behind her. He cupped her shoulders, then bent his lips to her ear. “What’s so fascinating?’ he whispered.

She whirled. The startled look in her eyes turned into exuberant pleasure almost immediately, so that warmth rushed through him.

“Matt!” she said on a little gasp of excitement and gripped his arm. “You’re here! You did come after all!”

“Of course I came,” he said, and when she grabbed him close for a hug, he pushed her dark hair away from her cheek and placed his lips against hers. His kiss was quick, friendly and unplanned. But it was nice—because on a cold night like this her lips were warm.

When he pulled away, he grinned at her. “Merry Christmas, Les.”

She angled back a little, and the way she blinked and looked at him said she hadn’t expected that kiss, either. But what the hell? After all these months of watching his life take a frightening and unknown course, her welcoming smile was a real treat.

She was, and always had been, the only woman he could be completely comfortable with. The only woman he had ever trusted with his dreams, his confessions and his secrets. More so than his family, his male buddies, or even the shrink the hospital had forced him to talk to after that awful night.

He felt a loosening inside his chest, as though something had given way, and suddenly he was glad he’d come home for the holidays.

In the golden light, Leslie’s eyes sparkled and gave her skin a lovely glow. She’d let her hair grow long again. It flattered her face. It seemed impossible that he had known her nearly all his life and had never once realized just how pretty she was.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

“Not half as much as I’ve missed you. You look terrific.”

Difficult to tell in the poor light, but he thought she blushed at that comment. Les had never been comfortable with compliments. He’d always suspected that it came from getting so few of them growing up. Her mother and father had never been demonstrative to their only child. Hell, when it came right down to it, they’d hardly known she existed.

She turned back toward the window. “Everyone will be so glad to see you.”

“Hmmm…Can’t wait,” he offered in a noncommittal tone.

Looking over her shoulder, he peered into Doc’s front parlor. Guests stood in little knots of conversation around the room, laughing, talking, sipping wine. He caught no sign of their host, whom he wanted to speak to before the older man headed off to California. Practical, logical, straight-talking Doc Hayward had been the one to guide Matt through every step of med school. He’d know what to make of the mess Matt’s life had become.

But passing time with everyone else in there? The thought made Matt’s head ache, made his lungs feel as though a band of steel encased them.

“Who’s here?” he asked.

“The usual crowd.”

“I see Ellis Hughes. And there’s Chad Pilcher. What’s he looking so sour about?”

“Felicia took him back to court. The judge increased his alimony.”

Matt let his gaze drift to another pocket of guests. “Tom Faraday’s gained weight.”

Leslie nodded. “Doc put him on a strict diet last summer, but so far he’s still fighting it.”

A statuesque blonde with a figure that had clearly been enhanced by something other than nature passed in front of the window. As first, Matt didn’t recognize her. Then he gasped. “Good Lord, is that Stacey Merrick? What did she do to herself? She looks fantastic.”

Stacey could be a first-class witch, and he remembered that she and Leslie had never been friends. Not surprisingly, Leslie made a disgusted sound. “She says it’s because she’s found inner peace, but her husband let the cat out of the bag. Dale’s complaining that she spent thirty thousand dollars of his hard-earned money getting nipped and tucked.”

“Thirty thousand! Damn, I knew I went into the wrong field of medicine.” He spotted his brother Nick in a corner alcove and was shocked to see him nuzzling the neck of his wife, whose eyes were closed in pure delight. That kind of behavior from Nick surprised him. “I see my big brother’s gotten drunk.”

“What makes you say that?” Leslie asked, with a frown in her voice.

“He’d die before indulging in a public display of affection.”

Leslie glance back at him, laughing. “He’s in love, silly.”

Conceding that love made people do crazy things, Matt moved on, catching sight of his sister talking to a tall, handsome fellow he didn’t recognize. Most of the men inside wore casual clothes, but this guy had on a suit that hadn’t come off any department-store rack. Neither of Matt’s parents had mentioned a new man in Adriana’s life.

“Who’s the blond Romeo talking to Addy? He’s better-looking than Stacey Merrick.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Don’t tell me he’s the new man in her life.”

“No.” Again, she looked back over her shoulder at him. This time, she smiled broadly. “Actually, he’s the new man in my life. Perry Jamison.”

He couldn’t help jerking upright suddenly. In the old days, Leslie had hardly dated, and when he thought of her recently, for some reason he never envisioned her with anyone. He shook his head. “He’s not your date.”

She scowled at him. “Why? Don’t you think I can attract someone that good-looking?”

She sounded a little hurt, and Matt realized he’d made a mistake.

“Of course you can,” he said quickly. He lifted a strand of dark hair off her shoulder, rubbing it between his fingers. It felt like silk. “I just meant he doesn’t strike me as your type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“Sure you do,” Matt told her with a smile. “Every woman is drawn to a man for very specific reasons. Whether or not she understands exactly what those reasons are…” He jerked his head toward the window. “So what’s he offering?”

“He’s attentive and treats me well. Comes from one of the founding families of Colorado—”

“God, a blueblood.”

“Good breeding is important.”

“If you’re a poodle at the Westminster Kennel Club.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “He’s confident. Has money. Power—”

“But you’re not completely sold on him yet.”

“What makes you think that?” she asked sharply, her head tilting to give him a close look.

“Because if you were, you’d be in there by his side instead of out here keeping me company.”

He let go of her hair, swinging his gaze back to the parlor. The guy laughed at something Addy said. Matt recognized that sort of false, patronizing good humor, the kind of focused attention that most women seemed to crave. He’d used that trick often enough himself.

“What’s the matter?” Leslie asked.

He realized he was frowning, but frankly he was disappointed at Leslie’s choice. “You can do better than that pompous ass.”

She stared at him, open-mouthed. “You don’t even know him.”

“I know him all right. And I don’t like him.”

“Well, I do,” she said stubbornly. “And you don’t get a vote.”

“C’mon, Les. Look at the arrogance in his stance, the superior way he tilts his head, as though Addy’s requested an audience with a king. You can just tell that he thinks he’s someone special. God’s gift to the world.”

She made an annoyed sound, though he could tell she wasn’t really angry. “Oh, now I get it. You’re afraid he’ll take that title away from you.”

“If I was, I promise you, I’m not anymore.”

His response stunned him. He didn’t like the way those words came out, slightly bitter and angry-sounding. He felt every muscle in his body tense. When Les’s smile faded and her posture went rigid, he knew she’d heard it as well.

“Matt—”

“Sorry,” he said, hoping to keep her from saying anything he didn’t want to hear. “I didn’t intend to kill the mood.”

Before he could stop her, she lifted his left hand and tilted it toward the light.

Sometimes that hand seemed like a foreign object to him now. A part of him, and yet not. It wasn’t misshapen or repulsive, really. Some unattractive scars where the bullet had entered and exited. A network of stitch marks from the last surgery that had excised scar tissue bogging down the tendons. Most of the damage couldn’t be seen.

Leslie turned his hand over a couple of times, looking at it closely, like a mother inspecting a messy kid before he sat down at the dinner table. “How bad is it?” she asked in a soft voice. “Really?”

He considered lying. He didn’t want to discuss it, not even with Les. But she knew him too well, and because she was a nurse, she’d probably know if he tried to down play it.

Still, he shrugged, trying to sound as if he didn’t spend nearly every night wondering how the hell he was going to reinvent a medical career that depended on the most subtle dexterity of both his hands.

“The flexor tendons are still totally screwed,” he told her on a ragged breath, in a voice he hardly recognized. “There’s triggering in both the middle and forefinger so that there’s a sixty percent loss of flexibility.”

She looked up at him. “Cortisone injections?”

“Back in the beginning.”

“Therapy?”

He gave her a grim smile. “I’ve had some progress since the immobilization cast came off. The ring finger used to be completely locked so I had to straighten it by force, but that’s getting better.” He shook his head. “It could have been much worse, I suppose, but you know as well as I do what the ramifications will be if I can’t get significant mobility back.”

Les shook her head at him. “I wish you’d have let me come to Chicago to help you. Doc would have given me the extra time off, and I know I could have made a difference.”

That was the last thing he had wanted—Les or his family seeing him at his worst. “I had the whole hospital helping me,” he told her. “There’s nothing you could have done for me that wasn’t already being done.”

“I’m not talking about just the physical help,” she said. “I know how to make you do what’s best for you. How to keep you on the straight and narrow when all you want to do is slack off.”

He knew that was true. Les had always been the practical one, the one who never let him get away with anything. But the thought of her witnessing his weakness, his struggle…. In their relationship, he was the one who had always been strong.

“It wasn’t a good time,” he admitted. “I wasn’t someone anyone liked to be around, and I would never subject you to the person I was during all those months of recuperation.”

It wasn’t just the poor lighting. She looked stunned. He realized that, before this moment, she hadn’t had a clue how serious this injury was for a man who’d been touted in a medical magazine last winter as one of country’s rising stars of microsurgery. No reason why she should have known, he supposed. God knows, he hadn’t shared much of this with his parents, who already had enough to worry about with running the lodge.

Lost in the private misery of his own thoughts, he wasn’t prepared for Les’s reaction.

Cradling his hand in hers, she bent her head, touching her lips to the center of his palm. Spellbound, he could do nothing more than watch her, every nerve in his body tingling. In all the years of their unique history together, they’d never shared this kind of deliberately intimate moment before. Not once. Not even on that cold January night so long ago.

He felt a sweet sense of expansion in his chest, and a piercing alarm, all at once. He might even have reached out with his good hand to stroke her hair.

But in that moment, she lifted her head and looked at him. “I’m so sorry, Matt,” she said in a whisper filled with sadness. “This should never have happened to you. Not this.”

Pity was in her eyes. The one thing he did not want to see. From anyone. Especially not from Les.

He felt his pulse strong in his throat, as though he had swallowed a clock and it had lodged there. He pulled his hand out of her grasp, and somehow managed to shrug. “It shouldn’t happen to anyone, but I’m sure I’ll adjust,” he said. “Pity doesn’t make it any more palatable.”

She looked confused. “Matt, I wasn’t—”

“I should go in,” he said, stepping away from her. “There’s no point in standing out here in the cold. You should go in, too. It’s been good to see you again, Les.”

Inside the house were friends and family, full of questions and curiosity. They would touch those locked places in his mind. There would be whispers in quiet corners and surreptitious looks. They would stumble through well-meaning, but completely unrealistic predictions about his career. But how bad could it be compared to what he’d just witnessed in Les’s eyes?

Leslie made a move toward him. “Matt…” she began in an aggrieved voice, but by then he had already swung away from her and was headed for the front door.