Читать книгу Rescued By Mr. Wrong - Cynthia Thomason - Страница 14
ОглавлениеHE ALMOST DROPPED the spatula he was using to flip the bacon. Without looking at Carrie, he said, “You want me to help you take a shower?”
Her laughter was infectious and at the same time intimidating. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”
He grunted under his breath. “Take it from someone who knows a bit about words, little girl. You should watch what you say to avoid finding yourself in a heap of trouble.”
“Quit calling me little girl and princess and all those other demeaning names.”
He scrambled three eggs. “Sorry. You’re right.”
“Why do you know so much about words? Do you do crossword puzzles?”
“Never. My interest goes beyond knowing what q words don’t have a u following them.”
“So, you’re a writer?”
“I write a bit.” She was curious this morning, and he was just as determined to keep his anonymity. Once a person realized who he was, who he had been, the questions began, and so did the reliving. Unless he was writing, Keegan had no interest in remembering his past.
She shrugged, accepting his succinct answers. “About the shower, I meant what I said. I certainly need help. You can get me into the bathroom, turn on the water, lay out some clean clothes and then leave. Oh, and maybe put a plastic bag over this soft cast.”
He turned the bacon once more. Concentrating on cooking was not as simple as it had been a minute ago. Maybe he’d allowed his mind to wander to inappropriate places. “I can do that,” he said.
He brought a plate to the table and escorted her to a chair. “Toast is coming up.”
“This looks great.” She took the paper towel he’d left by her place mat and settled it on her lap. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“You call this cooking? I call it survival training. Some of the places I lived, I’d have to prepare a meal and eat it before the insects could carry it off the plate.”
“You make it sound like you lived somewhere in the outback.”
Close. Though the outback would have been easier. He went to get her toast, and brought his plate to the table. He took the only other chair available and sat across from her. The third chair, the one his grandmother and grandfather had used when he visited, was still sitting by Carrie’s bed. She looked refreshed this morning, like maybe the pain had subsided and she could make a decision about her immediate future. But the bandage on her swollen forehead was surrounded by a sickening purplish color which he knew must be tender to the touch.
“How are you feeling?” he asked after they’d both consumed most of their breakfasts.
“Pretty good. I slept well, but that’s because I had the bed. Tonight we’ll switch. I don’t want to take up your bed when you need it. I’ll be fine on the couch.”
Tonight? He stared at the top of her head. Had that been a slip of the tongue or was she planning to stay another night? And another? He thought she’d be gone by this afternoon. Well, okay. He could deal with one more night if he had to. Heaven knew, he’d dealt with worse situations than this. But what did she think would change after the second night? She’d suddenly be cured?
After breakfast he helped her into the bathroom, lowered her to the closed toilet lid and set out a washcloth and towel. He then brought a large black plastic bag which he used to wrap her leg from her foot to her knee and secured it with duct tape. “That should work.”
“Where did you put my bag?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Okay. Would you pick out some clean clothes for me? My shampoo and conditioner is in a zippered case on the right side of the suitcase.”
“What clothes do you want?”
“I don’t care. Anything is fine.”
“Be right back.” He went into the bedroom, transferred the suitcase to the bed and opened it. A pleasant scent wafted up to his nostrils, and he resisted the urge to see where the floral fragrance originated. Not your business, Breen, he told himself. He picked out a pair of sweatpants, a shirt and some underwear, and went back to the bathroom.
Carrie gave him a strange, almost critical glare when she saw his choices.
“You told me to pick something,” he said. “Do you have a problem with this stuff?”
“Not with the sweatpants. The boot will fit around the ankle with no problem, but...” She held up a jersey knit shirt that had been embellished with silver beads. She’d brought it along in case her family wanted to go out to dinner. “Are we going someplace fancy tonight?”
“Which is why I asked what you wanted,” he said. “I just grabbed the first things I saw.”
“I understand. Just bring me a simple T-shirt. They are rolled up at the bottom of the case.”
He reached for a small bundle, held it up and wished he hadn’t. “Your underwear?” The miniscule thing hardly seemed to fit its description. Keegan was not comfortable around lace, especially when there was such a small amount of it connecting two triangles of nylon.
“Well, yes, but I wear that when I want to achieve the three f’s.”
“Which are?”
“Feminine, fancy and fun. I don’t think this situation applies.”
Darned right. Keegan would have felt better holding up a cotton brief he could have used as the jib sail on his boat. “I’ll put it back.”
“Never mind. It will do.” She waved her hand to dismiss him. “If you’ll just bring another shirt, I’ll manage.”
He set the bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the shower, brought a different shirt for her and left. As he picked up the breakfast dishes, all he could think about were those tantalizing scraps of lace.
She came out of the bathroom a short while later wearing the sweatpants and the green T-shirt which said Save a Tree, I Value My Job. Keegan smiled at the shirt. “I guess you really are a tree hugger.”
“I like things that grow and bloom and change with the seasons. Always have. I guess I believe that if people are close to nature, they can change, too.”
“Is there a human person in your life you love as much as you love trees?”
“A few,” she said. “But overall, I find it much easier and more comfortable to cultivate relationships with nature, cultivate being the definitive word. Trees adapt to their environment. Too many people don’t even bother trying. They settle into lives of stagnation.”
Keegan cringed inside. He’d been basically living a stagnant life for over a year, and he’d been fine with it. He wondered how her job choice fit in with her illness. Keegan didn’t know a whole lot about asthma, but he did know it was not curable. Once you had asthma, you had it forever. “So how do you manage your asthma out in the wilderness?” he asked her.
She sat on the sofa and patted the damp bandage on her forehead. He reminded himself to change the dressing for her.
“With medications and common sense. Asthma can be controlled if a person is aware of their triggers.”
“And what are your triggers?”
Her full mouth twisted in a frown of acceptance. “Almost everything. I have allergic asthma along with the standard one-size-fits-all variety. But I medicate every day and always keep a bronchial dilator handy for emergencies. And just so you know, I don’t live in the wilderness. I work in urban reforestation. There’s a big difference. The most remote areas I get to are acreage around lakes, public parks, that sort of thing.”
“And exactly how does a person reforest an urban area, with tree houses?” He thought he’d made quite the clever joke. At least she smiled. Oddly, he was truly interested in her answer. But he’d always been a fanatic about learning what he didn’t know.
“By choosing the right trees for a particular area. Just because a property is urban doesn’t mean it can’t use trees for beautification. We call them ‘working trees.’ Some we plant for shade, some for soil improvement, some to prevent erosion... The list goes on.”
“So your job is not just a matter of ‘there’s a good spot for a tree?’”
“Hardly. For instance, if I were to reforest this patch of ground you live on...”
“Hold on,” he said. “This property is as is and where is. I suppose there are a few dead trees and shrubs, but for what I have planned, it doesn’t need beautifying.” I’m selling it just like it sits, dead trees and all. It won’t matter once a five-story hotel occupies the acreage.
She frowned at him. “Obviously I wasn’t planning to go outside with a shovel and get to work. Do what you want. It’s your property. Besides, I haven’t even seen it in the daylight. There may have been so much neglect that it would be too costly to regenerate the soil.”
Now she was just being contrary or trying to make him feel guilty. So much neglect? Granted, no one had taken care of this place in years. But surely it was still salvageable. Doesn’t matter, Breen, he said to himself. When the hotel is here, when all the tree roots had been removed...
Wanting to change the subject, he put the last of the washed dishes in a cupboard. At that moment a persistent scratching sounded on the cabin front door, followed by a bump and a thump. “I suppose I should warn you about something...”
Before he could explain, the door opened, and a large dog bounded inside, leaving snowy paw prints on the floor. The animal headed straight for Keegan, tongue hanging out and tail twisting with wild enthusiasm.
“...about the dog,” he said.
She laughed. “Glad I took my medication this morning. He’s beautiful.”
“She. Flo is a female Irish setter.”
“Is she yours?”
“No. Belongs to Duke, but she likes to split her time between the two of us.”
Flo picked that moment to shake vigorously, sending snowflakes fluttering around the cabin.
“I’d love to pet her,” Carrie said. “But so not a good idea.”
“Yeah, among the triggers you talked about, dog hair must be a biggie.”
“Yep, it is. My sister has a dog, but she always keeps Mutt at least a hundred yards away from me.”
Keegan took a dog treat from a canister, teased Flo with it a few moments and finally let her win. Then he walked to the open front door and snapped his fingers. “Out now, girl. Go find a chipmunk to chase.”
The dog obeyed. If only all females were as cooperative as this Irish setter. He closed the door. “Are you ready to make that phone call to Grady?” he asked Carrie.
“Oh, right. Sure.”
“Just remember, even if he gets your car running, you can’t drive it. You’ll have to get two people to come and get both you and the car.”
“So you keep telling me.”
He brought her the number, and she dug her cell phone out of her purse. Once she’d made the arrangements to have her vehicle towed, he unpacked the supplies a nurse had given him at the hospital. Ointment, gauze, sterile tape. “Let me put a clean bandage on your forehead.”
She sat still, letting him do his clumsy thing. Good grief, Breen, your hands didn’t shake this badly when you were in a war zone with IEDs exploding around you. But then, embedding with a bunch of military guys was far different from cohabitating with this one delicate female. At least his world, as unexciting as it had been pre-Carrie, would go back to normal once she called in her own personal troops to get her out of here.
As unexciting as it was... Keegan lived with the reality that his life now was uneventful. When he wasn’t working on his book, he watched television news broadcasts. He still couldn’t quite get his fill of news. Now, since Princess Carrie had plowed into a snowbank within shouting distance of his cabin, he felt like he was approaching the starting gate of a wild roller coaster ride, which might involve facing feelings again. There were too many feelings he didn’t want to relive except on a computer screen.
What was it about Carrie that intrigued him? He didn’t want to be intrigued. She was all smiles and hope and consumed with nature. Keegan was the exact opposite. And he was growing accustomed to a low-energy existence. Yet, he was intrigued. He figured his all-but-forgotten libido would settle down once she headed to wherever home was. And he could go back to sleeping in his bed and the nightmares that plagued him every night. Now if he could just get rid of that recurring pain...
She lightly touched her forehead where he’d just applied the bandage.
He occupied his inexperienced hands with putting away the amateur doctoring equipment. “How does that feel?” he asked.
“Fine. You do good work, doc.”
He huffed a disbelieving breath. “Hopefully you won’t get gangrene. Want me to help you to the sofa and turn on the TV?”
“Sure. I could watch something, I guess.”
He started to help her to her feet when he heard a knock on his door.
“Geez, Breen,” she said. “Aren’t you a card-carrying hermit?”
He frowned. “I thought so, but it’s a bit like Times Square around here this morning.” He went to the door and opened it to a rather large woman with a heavy winter coat and a scarf around her frizzy gray hair. She held a basket in her hands.
“Oh, it’s you, Delores,” he said.
She thrust the basket toward him. “Scones. Just made ’em warm from the oven.”
He hesitated. “Take them,” she ordered. “I can’t eat a dozen scones.”
No one could, he thought. But maybe Carrie could help. He glanced at Carrie. Her bright eyes told him that Delores’s English accent might have mistakenly indicated that the woman actually knew how to make a good scone. Wait until Carrie tasted one. She’d learn soon enough that accents do not automatically hint at good bakers.
He raised the cloth around the biscuits and pressed on one with his thumb. Yep. Dry and hard as ever. “Thanks, Delores.”
She stuck her head inside the cabin, looked around, spied Carrie and said, “Hello there, darling. I heard Keegan had some company.”
“That makes you, Duke, Flo and me who know about this arrangement,” Keegan said, nodding at Carrie. “This is Carrie. Carrie, Delores. Now all the people that matter know that I have company, and I don’t see any reason to tell anyone else.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you implying that I’m a gossip?”
“Ever since you invested in a cell phone,” he said.
“Why are you trying to keep this lovely young lady a secret, Keegan? What have you got up your sleeve?”
“Nothing but my arm,” he said attempting to close the door and send a clear message. But Delores was too quick for him and had apparently just noticed the walking boot on Carrie’s leg. She was inside and removing her scarf before he could step out of her way.
“Oh, my, you poor dear,” she said, casting a disapproving glare at Keegan. “You didn’t do this to her, did you?”
His jaw dropped. “You know, Delores, I should start charging you rent. Sometimes your conclusion jumping is just too much!”
Carrie quickly came to his defense. “I had a car accident. Keegan has been a perfect gentleman and a fairly good nurse. In truth, he more or less got stuck with me after pulling me out of a snowbank.”
Delores patted Carrie’s hand. “Well, that’s fine, then. He could use a little company in this place. I live just out back in the yellow unit by the tree line. If you need anything, just open the bedroom window and holler. I’ll hear you.”
Carrie smiled. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. I’m only here temporarily until my car is fixed.”
Now she was staying until her car was fixed? When would that be? A couple of days? A week?
“I’ll be on my way, then,” Delores said. She rewrapped the scarf and headed for the door. As she left, she called back, “Ta-ra, then, see you cozy couple later.”
One glance at Carrie’s round eyes confirmed that she had heard the comment.
When he’d shut the door on the latest visitor, Keegan set the basket of scones on his table and grumbled. “Neighbors. Never liked ’em. Never will.”
Carrie responded as casually as her telltale grin allowed. “Except one you risk your life for to get his medicine. And the other you let live here rent-free.”
“They both live here rent-free,” he grudgingly admitted. “They sort of came with the property when I moved in.”
She nodded slowly. “I see. Then what choice did you have?”
Not much. And when the property sold, he thought, both of those decrepit trailers and their nosy old residents would have to go. And he sure wasn’t taking them with him.
* * *
THE CLOSEST CARRIE had gotten to fresh air on this first full day of confinement had been when she stuck her head out the kitchen window. Ordinarily she never went a full twenty-four hours without being in the open, communicating with the trees and plants she loved so much. But unwilling to test her walking boot in the snow, she’d had to settle for a deep breath of cold, crisp Ohio winter air from the windowsill. Cold almost didn’t describe the outside temperature. Frigid, freezing, approaching zero was more accurate.
Her decision to test the environment had almost caused an asthma reaction. When she felt the first signs of laboring lungs, she quickly drew her head back inside and closed the window. Bitter cold temperatures were not kind to asthma sufferers, which was why Carrie had recently made plans with the US Forest Service to send her for the worst of the winter to Tennessee where the temperatures were fairly moderate. Now, of course, with this broken bone, she might have to reconsider.
So, as darkness settled around the cabin, she thought about her future. If she didn’t go to Tennessee on her next assignment, and if she didn’t go back to Michigan where temperatures could be almost as severe as Ohio’s, what would she do? Swallow her pride and go home to Dancing Falls where her father would pamper her until she felt like a near invalid?
While she was growing up, her father had constantly checked the outside temperatures to determine if his youngest daughter could go out and play. If the thermometer dropped below thirty-five, she was bundled in a snowsuit, mittens and a hat. And still her father watched from a window.
And he wondered now why Carrie had chosen to work in nature and a lifestyle that allowed her to choose for herself when she could go outside. Independence was a wonderful thing, and the Fosters had encouraged all their daughters to be independent, even if their teaching backfired occasionally. The Forest Service had been an understanding employer, allowing Carrie to move assignments according to climate changes. But her father still believed that he, and only he, knew best.
Blocking the low drone of the television, Carrie continued thinking about her father. She loved him dearly. He was sweet, caring and brilliant. His current life was divided between his career and his responsibilities to his ill wife. And yet he still found time to fuss over Carrie. Every phone call, every visit was always punctuated by questions on her health, reminders to take medicine, gentle urges to get her to come home. And she couldn’t convince him that she was fully capable of making her own choices and monitoring her health. She didn’t even want to think of his reaction to her foolish decision yesterday. Embarking on a five-hour trip in a snowstorm had not been such a good choice, as it turned out.
How different her life would have been if her mother, Maggie, were still the vibrant, funny, sensible woman who’d raised the girls into early adulthood. She would have understood Carrie’s need to be herself, her striving for normalcy in the career she’d chosen. She would have balanced Martin Foster’s obsessive worry with calm rationality. Maybe their new neighbor, Aurora, who’d become a trusted friend to her father and sisters, could provide the support her father so desperately needed.
Carrie’s thoughts were interrupted by the local weather report. She sat up straight on the sofa and hit the volume button on the TV.
“Fairer temperatures, a slow warming trend...lots of sunshine with highs tomorrow in the upper thirties.”
Carrie smiled. Practically bathing suit weather in northern Ohio. Tomorrow she could go outside and investigate these seven acres which seemed to not matter to Keegan Breen. The prospect made her almost giddy.
She turned off the television, leaned into the comfortable sofa cushion and closed her eyes. Keegan had been stuck at his computer most of the afternoon, doing what, Carrie didn’t have the faintest idea. Now he was in the bedroom with the door partially closed. But she could hear his voice, low, peaceful...almost loving. The mellow timbre of his words vibrated deep inside her in a soothing, comforting way, as if she could listen to that voice all night.
“Sounds like you had a good Christmas,” he said. “Did you do anything special to celebrate?” There was a pause after which he said, “No, I don’t need to talk to her. The check arrived, I assume.” Another pause. “You’re welcome. I love you, Taylor.”
Keegan uttered a few more words which Carrie couldn’t make out. Then she heard him disconnect with a simple, “Take care of yourself.” Carrie opened her eyes as he came into the living room rubbing the back of his neck. He suddenly seemed tired.
Carrie sat up. “Everything okay?”
“Sure. Why would you ask?”
“I heard part of your conversation,” she said.
“You were listening to my phone call?”
“Not intentionally, but you didn’t close the door all the way.”
“I thought you were watching TV.”
“I turned it off.” She waited for him to say something else. He went into the kitchen and started making a pot of coffee. “If you’d like to talk about anything...” She laughed softly. “I am the perfect captive audience.”
He turned away from the coffeemaker to stare at her. “Carrie, if you want to know who I was talking to, why don’t you just ask?”
“Okay. Who were you talking to?”
“My son. He lives in Seattle. And again I just spent another Christmas away from him.”
“That can’t be easy.”
“It’s not, but over the years I’ve missed plenty of holidays, and I’ve got no one to blame but myself.” He pressed the button on the coffee brewer. “You want a cup? It’s decaf.”
“Sure, thanks. And, Keegan...?”
“What?”
“You must be divorced from the boy’s mother, right?”
“That’s a logical assumption.”
“Did she not invite you to spend Christmases with your son? Did she keep him from coming to see you?”
He frowned, and she hoped she hadn’t crossed a boundary of privacy. But he seemed like he was having a tough time with missing his son.
“My ex-wife isn’t an unreasonable person,” he said. “I’m just not Daddy-of-the-year material. Let’s leave it at that.”
Wow. Keegan’s conversation with his son had been short and almost awkward. Yet his voice had been comforting, his tone almost sweet. If she had to guess—and since he wasn’t going to say anything else, what other choice did she have—she concluded that he had genuine feelings for his son.
“Okay,” she said. “Conversation closed. You take the bed. I’ll sleep fine on the sofa.”
“Never mind.” He took a long sip of coffee and brought a mug to her. “I won’t be sleeping much tonight anyway.”
