Читать книгу Double Blind - Hannah Alexander - Страница 12

P reston shoved his cell phone into the front pocket of his shirt as Blaze walked up the hill toward the house, with a child holding on to each hand. Brittany chortled with laughter at something he had just said; Lucy chuckled with less abandon…though not with less enjoyment. Blaze knew enough animal jokes and stories to keep the girls entertained all day, and he seemed to be having as much fun as they were.

Several of the staff at the Hideaway Hospital had tried to convince Blaze that he had a future in pediatrics. His favorite comment was that he preferred piglets to kidlets, though judging by his behavior with Lucy and Brittany, he would be hard-pressed to charm a baby pig with any more tenderness.

“What’s up?” Blaze stepped up onto the deck, eyeing the glass Preston held in his hand. “That your famous Preston Black iced coffee? Got any more?”

Preston jerked his head toward the kitchen door behind him. “Help yourself. There’s coffee and ice in the kitchen. You know where the glasses are.”

Blaze grimaced and shook his head. “Nah. It doesn’t taste the same if I have to make it myself. Yours are always the best.”

“Who’d ever suspect the great, hardworking Blaze Farmer would be too lazy to make his own drink?” Preston quipped.

“Ask Cook. He’ll tell you how my cooking skills have dropped off since I started college. I can peel taters and haul groceries from the store, but once I start to work around the stove, the boys at the ranch suddenly discover they’ve got to be somewhere else for supper.”

“I guess it’s a good thing Fawn Morrison can cook, then,” Preston teased, and was rewarded by a warm, if clueless, smile. Blaze and Fawn—both students at College of the Ozarks—had been best friends since Fawn’s arrival in Hideaway two years ago. Nearly the whole population of the town knew they were sweet on each other, except for the two of them.

“She’s got Bertie’s black walnut waffles down to a fine art,” Blaze said. “And she’s about to improve on the recipe. I get the rundown on every ingredient change she makes, and I get to sample the results.”

Preston didn’t pursue the subject. Those two kids would pick up on the obvious one day. Until then, let their friendship continue to develop; it was the best way to build a long-lasting marriage. But then, Preston hadn’t ever been married, so what would he know?

Blaze frowned at him. “You got something on your mind today?”

Preston glanced toward the door. “Why don’t I make you my special iced cappuccino.”

“Why don’t I take the girls horseback riding as soon as they wash all the lake mud off their arms and legs,” Blaze said, giving the girls a pointed look.

Before Preston could respond, Lucy and Brittany were racing into the house, arguing over who would be first at the sink.

With a smile, Preston jerked his head toward the door, and led the way inside to make Blaze’s favorite coffee drink.

Blaze followed. “Sheila get to Arizona yet?”

Preston nodded.

“She doing okay?”

Preston placed ice in the blender and started adding coffee, cream, spices. “Not sure.”

“That don’t sound good.”

Preston gave his young friend a glance. Blaze had arrived in Hideaway as a fifteen-year-old kid with dreadlocks, an undeserved reputation as an arsonist…and a broken heart. His father, a divorced veterinarian, had raised Blaze well until the day of his death.

That was when life for poor Blaze—whose given name was Gavin—went swiftly downhill. According to the local grapevine, Blaze’s mother had no maternal instincts, and consequently, the boy had ended up at the boys’ ranch across the lake. Dane and Cheyenne Gideon loved him like a son and were obviously proud of his scholastic accomplishments.

Blaze was very literate, but he had a tendency toward slang, perhaps used in an effort to fit into his surroundings.

Preston set the completed coffee drink on the counter. “One Preston Black Special, just for you.”

“You still thinking about a road trip?” Blaze asked.

“Thinking will do me no good. She doesn’t want me there.”

Blaze waited, his coffee-dark eyes watchful as he sipped his drink.

Preston had never been one to make friends easily. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the reason: no child with a mentally ill mother dared to invite friends over after school. And so he was therefore surprised by his developing friendship with this kid. Blaze had a special talent for sliding beneath a person’s defenses.

Preston also reminded himself that Blaze had a reputation for matchmaking, earned since his arrival in Hideaway, and the kid was proud of it.

“Since when did Sheila start telling you where you could and couldn’t go?” Blaze asked.

Preston gave Blaze a mock glare. “I’m for sure not going down that road, pal. I want to stay friends with her, not alienate her completely.”

Blaze took a long, slow drink of the Preston Special. “Seems to me it can’t get much worse than it already is…unless she up and renews her friendship with that man in Arizona. You got any guarantee against her doing that?”

“There are never any guarantees about anything when it comes to women,” Preston said. “You should know that by now.”

Blaze shook his head. “Not me. I’m just a poor student, trying to figure out how to make his own way in the world.” He set his glass down. “Of course, even busy as I am, seems I’d have time to take a trip to Arizona, if anyone were to ask me to ride shotgun.”

The girls ran back into the room, ready to go riding with Blaze. Preston grinned at them. “Don’t be too hard on the horse.”

“We won’t, Uncle Preston,” Lucy said, gazing up at Blaze with complete adoration.

Blaze winked at her, then opened the door to usher the girls outside. He looked back over his shoulder at Preston. “We could call it a mission trip, you know. From what Sheila said, they could use some more medical help out there to check the kids.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Preston asked. “I’m not medical.”

“Clinics always need willing aides, and you’re a whiz with numbers and finances. Mission schools always need a lot of that, too. If the place doesn’t need your brain, it could probably use your brawn, fixin’ things, hammerin’ nails, you know, things like that.”

Preston nodded as Blaze walked out the door with the girls. Blaze always tended to slice to the heart of a matter. Sheila wanted space, and she was candid about the reason why.

Neither Preston nor Sheila could deny the attraction between them—a powerful draw that often left common sense and thoughtful consideration in the dust. Though they remained chaste, their attraction still influenced their ability to make good decisions.

At least, that was what Sheila said. Preston knew she had good reasons to go to Arizona—even more compelling reasons than Blaze’s—but Preston couldn’t help feeling that one of her unspoken motives was to get away from him so it would be easier to break things off with him for good.

Until now, he’d been comfortable respecting her wishes. But after talking with Blaze, that didn’t seem like such a good option, after all. Sheila had spoken of Canaan York with a great deal of affection, which Preston found impossible to ignore. Did she hold some kind of hope of renewing her childhood friendship with the man?

What if the unthinkable happened? Sheila and Canaan had been good friends once—and he was the grandson of the owner of Twin Mesas School, as well as a physician, and most likely a Christian. Buster Metcalf, Sheila’s father, had mentioned, too, that Canaan was no longer married.

Preston wasn’t the kind of man to panic, but neither did he want to just sit on his thumbs here in Missouri and risk losing the only woman who had ever made him see the possible merits of a lasting marriage.

He knew Blaze had a passion for medicine of any kind, be it animal or human. Trauma junkie that he was, the kid could make a great pediatrician or a great E.R. doc, if he wanted. And he’d made it obvious he would love to take a trip to Arizona.

With some creative reasoning, Preston and Blaze might be able to drive to Arizona and call the drive a mission trip. For sure, it would be that for Blaze.

Preston’s first priority was Sheila’s safety. The Navajo reservation didn’t seem to him to be a safe place at the moment, and the more he thought about Blaze’s words, the more convinced he became that sitting here waiting for Sheila to call wasn’t necessarily the best thing for her.

Sheila wouldn’t buy this thinking, of course, and she would resent his interference. No matter what Sheila said, though, one thing was obvious—Canaan York needed more help just to see that the kids and their families received the usual medical screening before school let out for the summer. Blaze could help get it done in half the time, and Preston did know how to do paperwork.

Wouldn’t that be worth a little emotional risk for her, in the long run?

A black shadow-image with long, pointed ears and sharp, blood-smeared fangs raced across the darkness after Sheila. Her mouth opened in a mute scream. Her body tensed, then jerked, bringing her wide-awake. She lay still for a moment, body stiff, as awareness of the dream slipped away and relief flooded her.

She gazed around the shaded room, grown darker with the dying sun. Perspiration filmed her skin, soaking her hair and clothes, even the bedspread.

A warm, dry breeze blew through the open window beside the bed, pushing past the lapis lazuli curtains. The tang of cedar was pleasant, but it stirred the dead ashes of the dream, evoking once more the monster that kept stalking her into her waking hours—a familiar specter that had impelled her here in the first place.

“Sheila?”

At the sound of her name, she had no trouble imagining the voice of that monster, calling to her from beyond the divide between sleep and consciousness.

“Are you in there?” he asked.

She felt a wash of relief and relaxed. It was Canaan’s muffled voice, reaching her from outside the apartment door. She blinked and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

Canaan knocked.

“Coming,” Sheila called, her voice barely more than a croak. She closed her eyes and swallowed, willing her heart to slow. The day’s events had mingled with her nightmares, making it all more real and more frightening.

“Are you okay, Sheila?”

“Yes, I’m coming, keep your cap on.” Great. She was in no mood to exchange small talk in the school cafeteria with new faces and with old acquaintances who had lived only in her memories for the past twenty-four years, and her reunion with Canaan wasn’t turning out to be as comfortable as she’d hoped it would be. So much for old friendships. After the incident with the dog, even Doc Cottonwood might no longer be so welcoming. She had prepared herself for this, though. She’d known it might not be easy to come back here; this could be a challenging exercise in patience—and fortitude.

She opened the door, still fingering the hair out of her face. It didn’t surprise her to see that Canaan had on a different ball cap than the one he’d worn this afternoon.

Sheila tried to force a smile that she couldn’t quite get to materialize. “Hi. Guess I fell asleep.”

“I’m glad you decided to take a nap. Are we on speaking terms again?”

“I hope so, because I wanted to ask you about your ball cap collection. How many do you have now?”

He grinned. “I’ve whittled them down over the years, but I still have about fifty.”

“You had more than that when I lived here.”

He removed the one on his head to reveal shiny black hair, cut above his ears. Shorter than Preston’s.

And why was she comparing the two men, all of a sudden? “I also wanted to ask you about the beautiful works of art.” She gestured toward two wood carvings on the coffee table. One was a life-size head of a bighorn sheep; the other was a startlingly beautiful replica of the famed Rainbow Bridge stone arch on Lake Powell.

“The initials on the bottoms of these are CY. ” She picked up the carving of Rainbow Bridge. “Anyone you know?”

“Sounds familiar,” he said.

She sighed. Canaan York had always been willing to shoulder responsibility when anything went wrong, and always reluctant to take credit—like for the beautiful results of his creativity.

“So you followed in your mother’s sculpturing footsteps,” she said. “Is she still creating her fascinating works?”

He nodded, obviously proud of his mother. “Her name is known in some circles all across the country.”

“I think these are just as beautiful. I’m honored you used them to decorate my apartment.”

She replaced the carving on the coffee table, aware of Canaan’s flush of pleasure and his effort to suppress it.

“Thanks. Are you hungry?”

“Not too much.” Sheila glanced at her watch. “Look, I’m sorry, but I’m really not up to this right now. Why don’t you—”

“You need to eat.” His deep voice suddenly became firm. “Besides, you should start meeting some of the staff. You don’t want them to think that you think you’re too good to eat with them, do you?”

Sheila grimaced. Her head ached. But she did need to start meeting the staff, and she didn’t want to do it all alone.

“You aren’t my boss until I start work,” she said. “But I guess I can force myself to eat.”

Canaan gave her a smile, erasing the serious expression that seemed to be permanently attached to the adult Canaan York. “Hope you still like mutton stew.”

Sheila made a face, and Canaan chuckled.

“It’s a special treat for the others. They’re also serving chicken fried steak for those with biligaana tastes.”

“Good.”

“By the way, Betsy Two Horses is still in the cafeteria. She’s head cook now. She and your mother were once pretty good friends, weren’t they?”

“Yes, they were.” It would be good to see Betsy again. Not that she and Sheila would have time to talk with a dinner crowd around, but just to see her again…Sheila reached up and fingered the turquoise-and-gold cross at her throat.

Seeing Betsy would bring so many of her memories crashing back. But the time had come to face them—and there was no turning back now.