Читать книгу New Year Escapes - Leslie Kelly - Страница 27

“GEORGE?” SOPHY BLINKED at the sight of the empty couch, as if once she did so he would suddenly rematerialize there. But no matter how many times she blinked, no George appeared.

“George!” She raised her voice a little and she poked her head in the kitchen, expecting to see him standing there, leaning on his crutches, making a forbidden cup of coffee. When she found the kitchen empty, she checked the first floor bathroom. No George there, either.

She whirled out of the bathroom and back into the living room. “George!” She yelled his name now. “Damn it, where are you?”

His crutches were leaning beside the couch. But he hadn’t used them to get up the steps to the house earlier. So he’d probably taken advantage of her not being here to make his way on his own upstairs.

“Idiot,” she muttered under her breath.

He could have fallen. He was the one who’d said the world was tilting earlier. She pounded up the stairs two at a time, past her own room, up to the third floor, to George’s master bedroom, where she’d come to get his clothes earlier.

Then she had deliberately got in and out as fast as she could, refusing to allow herself time to look around, to imagine George in his surroundings. She’d deliberately rung Natalie so she wouldn’t. And she’d barely done more than glance in the direction of his king-size bed.

Now Sophy stalked into the room and flicked on the light, hoping it made his head hurt just a little. She was glad he’d had the sense to go to bed, and at the same time annoyed that he had waited to do it until she was gone.

“Damn it, George! You can’t do things like this! You’ve got to—”

Be careful, she was going to say.

Except there was no one to say it to. The bed was empty.

He wasn’t in the adjoining bathroom, either. Nothing had changed from when she’d come up the first time. Now she did feel a shaft of concern. Surely he couldn’t have had a relapse and called 911 in the half hour she had been gone, could he?

“George!” Back down the stairs she went, pausing to poke her head worriedly into the room she’d slept in just in case he’d only made it that far. But it was empty, too.

Maybe he had tried to get up, had fallen and was lying somewhere comatose.

“George!” she bellowed again when she reached the main floor, heading back toward the living room to check again.

“For God’s sake, stop shouting.” The disembodied voice came floating up from the garden floor office.

Sophy’s teeth snapped together. She skidded to a halt, grabbed the newel post and spun around it to head down the stairs.

George was sprawled in his desk chair, staring at his oversize computer screen, reading an e-mail. Gunnar, who had obviously found him right away, looked up from where he lay at George’s feet and thumped his tail.

George didn’t even glance her way.

Sophy stared at him in silent fury, then stalked across the room and peered at the screen over his shoulder. “Is this all you’ve got open?”

“I don’t multitask.”

“Is it saved?”

“Of course.”

“Good.” She stepped around to the side of the desk and pulled the plug out of the wall. Instantly the screen went black.

“What the hell?” At least he spun his chair a half turn to look at her then—even if the action did make him wince and grab his head. “What’d you do that for?”

“I should think that’s obvious. I’m saving you from yourself.”

“You could have just said, ‘turn off the computer.’“

“Oh? And that would have worked, would it? I don’t think so.” As she spoke she was methodically removing all the plugs from his surge protector, then looking around for some place to put it where he couldn’t just hook it up again. Her gaze lit on the file cabinet. She opened the top drawer, dropped in the surge protector, shut the drawer, locked it and pocketed the key.

George stared at her, dumbfounded. “Are you out of your mind? I need to work. That’s what I came home for.”

“Well, you’re not fit to work.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” Sophy told him. “And Sam. You hired me to take care of you and that’s what I’m doing.”

“Then you’re sacked.”

“Throw me out. Try it,” Sophy goaded him. “You can’t. And I’m not leaving. I gave my word. And I keep it.”

“Do you?” George said quietly.

And all of a sudden, Sophy knew they were talking about something entirely different. She swallowed and wrapped her arms across her chest. For a moment her gaze wavered, but then it steadied. She did keep her word. Always. No matter what he thought. She lifted her chin and met his gaze firmly. “Yes.”

He looked as if he might argue with her. But finally he shrugged. “Maybe you do,” he said enigmatically.

She didn’t know what he meant by that, wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She kept her arms folded, her gaze steady.

“I have to get some work done sometime, Sophy.”

“Not tonight.”

“My head feels better.”

“Good. Not tonight.”

He looked almost amused now. “Are you going to stand there and say that until tomorrow?”

“If that’s what it takes.” She didn’t move.

George sighed and shook his head. “You’re a bully.”

And there was the pot calling the kettle black. She remembered so many times when she’d been expecting Lily that he had gently bullied her into taking extra good care of herself. But that was not a memory she wanted to dig into right now. Sophy just shrugged. “It’s time to go to bed.”

“Is that an invitation?” George’s brow lifted. He grinned faintly.

“No, it’s an order.”

He laughed, then winced at the effect it had on his head. But finally he pushed himself slowly up out of his chair and started to hobble slowly toward the stairs. He had to pass within inches of her to get there.

She wanted to step back, to give him plenty of space, to keep her distance while he passed. Yet she sensed that if she did, he’d see it as a retreat. And Sophy was damned if she was retreating.

She stayed where she was, even looked up to meet his gaze when he reached her and stopped to loom over her, so close that if she’d leaned in an inch or two she could have pressed her lips to his stubbled jaw.

He didn’t say anything, just stood there and looked down at her for a long moment. She could see each individual whisker on his jaw, trace the outline of his lips. She flicked her gaze higher to meet his eyes. He didn’t speak, but the air seemed to crackle with some weird electricity between them. Sophy didn’t blink.

Finally he limped slowly on toward the stairs. “Coming?” he said over his shoulder, with just a hint of sardonic challenge in his voice. “Or are you going to stay down here and set fire to my office?”

Sophy drew a breath and said with far more lightness than she felt, “Of course. I’m right behind you—ready to catch you if you fall.”

It was like climbing Everest.

And he couldn’t complain because if he did, Sophy would just say, “Told you so,” or something equally annoying.

He couldn’t even just go lie down on the couch again because when he finally got to the first floor she said, “Might as well go all the way up since you’re feeling so much better. I’ll get your crutches.”

At least the thirty seconds it took her to do that gave him a half a minute’s respite before she was standing there, holding them, saying brightly, “After you.”

Serve her right if he fell on her.

He didn’t. But not for lack of opportunity. Ordinarily he didn’t even think about all the times he clattered up and down the flights of stairs in his house. Tonight he counted every single blasted one of them.

There were twenty per floor. It felt like a hell of a lot more. The crutches didn’t help, which he already knew from his experience outside. And going down to his office hadn’t been a problem. He’d eased his way down by sliding carefully on the bannister. Not that he intended to tell Sophy that!

She stayed behind him the whole way, wordlessly watching while he made the laborious climb. She never said a word, but he could sense her eyes on him.

“Don’t feel you have to wait. Go right on up,” he said through his teeth.

“No hurry,” she replied. “I don’t mind.”

He did, but he wasn’t telling her that, either. So he just kept on going, aware as he did so that sweat was breaking out on the back of his neck and the palms of his hands. He hoped Sophy didn’t notice.

He thought she might have, though, because when they got to the second floor, she said, “Would it help if you leaned on me?”

“No, it would not.” Then, realizing he’d snapped, he gritted his teeth and added, “Thank you,” as lightly as he could.

Not that he wouldn’t like to put an arm—hell, both arms!—around Sophy, but not now. Not this way. Not under these circumstances. He used the railing for support as he hobbled down the hall toward the next flight of the twenty thousand steps that would take him to his bedroom.

“Maybe you should just spend the night here.” Sophy hovered behind him, sounding worried. “You could have this bed and—”

“You offering to share it with me?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. I’m fine.” He wasn’t going to admit he couldn’t make it because, damn it, he could make it. He took the first step. Only nineteen thousand more to go.

In the end it probably didn’t take him as long as he thought it had. All George knew was that his bed had never looked so good.

Sophy had darted around him as he’d reached the door to his room, going in ahead of him and turning down the duvet and plumping the pillows. By the time she’d finished and stepped back, he was able to ease himself down onto the mattress, all the while trying not to make it look as welcome as it was.

“Shirt,” Sophy said before he could lie down.

He stared up at her and blinked. She was holding out a hand expectantly.

“You can’t sleep in your clothes,” she said patiently.

Of course he could. He’d done it often enough after working far into the night. But Sophy was having none of it. She knelt between his legs and unbuttoned his shirt as if he were four years old. Then she stood again and gently eased it off his shoulder, making sure she didn’t hurt it any more than he’d already done hauling himself up three flights of stairs.

“Lie down,” she directed.

“I thought you said I couldn’t sleep in my clothes.”

“You won’t be.” She put a hand against his chest and gave him a soft push so that he lay back against the pillows. Then she lifted his legs onto the bed and took off the orthopedic boot, his single shoe and his sock. Then she started to unbuckle his belt.

He suddenly took a much greater interest in the proceedings.

“Don’t,” Sophy said briskly, “think this is going anywhere.”

With the disinterested efficiency of a hospital nurse, she made quick work of the belt buckle, the button and the zip.

“Lift,” she commanded. And he barely had time to react before she was dragging his khakis over his hips and down his legs. She gave the duvet a shake and spread it over him, then stepped back. “There,” she said, sounding satisfied. “I’ll get you a glass of water. You can take one of those pills Sam sent, then you can get some sleep.”

She disappeared briefly into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water and the requisite pill, which she handed to him.

“What’s it for?”

“Pain.”

“You didn’t think to give it to me before I climbed three flights of stairs?”

“You could have asked for it,” she told him. “If I’d offered, you’d have said no, wouldn’t you?”

He frowned and didn’t reply because, damn it, she was probably right.

Sophy grinned at him. “I thought so. You wanted to impress on me how tough you were. Besides, it might have made you dopey and I thought you would probably need all your strength to get up here.”

“I could’ve slept on the couch,” he pointed out grumpily.

“But your bed is much more comfortable.”

He raised a brow. “You know that, do you?”

Sophy’s cheeks reddened. “I’m speaking generically,” she told him primly. “Beds are generally thought to be more comfortable than couches.”

“Ah.” He shifted his shoulders against the pillow. It was true. He shut his eyes and felt like he didn’t quite want to open them again.

“Go to sleep,” Sophy said, and for once made it sound more like a suggestion than a command. “Good night.”

She started toward the door.

“Sophy.”

She turned. “What?”

“Don’t I get a kiss good-night?”

He was just trying to provoke her. Sophy knew that.

Because she had stood there and watched as he’d battled his way up the stairs, not going away to let him do it alone. Because she’d kept her distance and her equilibrium—barely—while taking his shirt and trousers off. Because she had almost escaped with her sanity intact.

But George wasn’t going to let that happen.

“What?” she countered. “And raise your blood pressure? Sam wouldn’t approve.”

If anything was designed to raise his blood pressure, apparently mention of Sam was it.

The faint teasing grin instantly evaporated. George’s bandaged head dropped back against the pillows and he stared at the ceiling.

“And God knows, we wouldn’t want to do that,” he said bitterly.

She stared at him surprised. Sam wouldn’t approve. But she meant Sam in his neurologist suit. That Sam would not want his patient overdoing things. A kiss might not exactly qualify as “hot sex,” but after three flights of stairs, who knew what George’s blood pressure might be.

George, however, didn’t seem to be thinking of Sam the neurologist, but of Sam the hypothetical womanizer.

Now it was Sophy’s turn to frown. “What is it with you and Sam?” she demanded.

He turned his head slightly to look at her. “Me and Sam? Not a damn thing.”

“Then what are you suggesting?”

“Nothing. I’m not suggesting anything.”

But clearly he was. And just as clearly he wasn’t going to talk about it. Sophy shook her head. “Fine. Be that way.”

Then, because she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled her, she said, “And for what it’s worth, here’s your good-night kiss.”

Crossing the room quickly, before she could have second thoughts, she bent down, dropped a nanosecond-long kiss on George’s lips, then stepped back, smiling and, she dared to hope, unscathed.

“Good night, George,” she said firmly, turned and flicked out the light.

“Not much of a kiss,” he said.

She kept on going, refusing to be baited further as she tried not to notice that her lips were tingling ever so slightly.

“Sweet dreams, Sophy.” His voice drifted after her as she headed down the hall to the stairs,

Shut up, George, she thought silently, scrubbing her fingers against her mouth, assuring herself that whatever she was feeling had nothing to do with kissing him.

It was just because … because …

Well, she didn’t know. She couldn’t think what else might have caused it, and fortunately she didn’t have to because just then her mobile phone rang.

It was a local number, but one she didn’t recognize. “Hello?”

“Sophy? It’s Tallie. I couldn’t reach George on his cell phone. So I called the hospital and they said his wife had taken him home.” His sister sounded surprised to say the least.

“It wasn’t my idea,” Sophy protested. Then she explained what the doctor had told them. “He wouldn’t let George go unless someone came with him. So George hired me.”

“Hired you?”

“Well, that’s what he called it,” Sophy said. “Don’t worry, I’m not letting him pay me. I owe him, so I’m returning the favor and paying him back.”

“I’m sure George doesn’t think of it that way.”

Sophy was hard-pressed to articulate what George thought. All he did was confuse her—and try to run her life.

“At least you’re staying! That’s wonderful. We’ll have you over. Of course Lily will be coming. When?”

It was a given that she would be staying long enough for her daughter to come as well, Sophy noted.

“On Saturday,” she said. “My cousin is bringing her.”

“Great. We’ll have you over. Elias can grill. Or if George can’t do that much yet, we’ll bring food and come by your place.”

“His place,” Sophy corrected. “He’s still pretty battered,” she felt compelled to say. “He needs calm and quiet right now.”

“We’ll wait until you say you’re ready then,” Tallie decided. “This is such good news,” she went on eagerly. “Wait till the folks hear.”

“No!” Sophy said quickly and more forcefully than she should have. “I mean, they’re a long way away. You don’t want to tell them about George’s accident. They’ll worry. And I don’t want you telling them I’m here, either,” she said firmly.

There was a pause, as if Tallie’s thoughts had finally caught up with the eager wheels turning in her brain. “Yes,” she agreed, suitably subdued. “You’re probably right. Better not say anything until it’s settled.”

“Tallie!” Sophy protested. “This is not a reconciliation. I’m here for the short-term. I live in California. George lives here. We’re getting divorced.”

“You could change your mind.” Tallie wasn’t going to give up.

“Good night, Tallie,” Sophy said firmly. “I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day.”

She took a quick shower, then put on the elongated T-shirt she’d brought to sleep in, brushed her teeth, washed her face and had just turned back the duvet on the bed when her phone rang again.

Again it was a local number, but not the same one. Surely Tallie wouldn’t be calling her back to continue the conversation on another phone. No. Tallie was determined, but she would know when to back off.

George?

Sophy felt her heart quicken. But she hadn’t given him her number. She probably should have, she realized, so he could call her if he needed her.

She punched the talk button. “This is Sophy.”

“Hey, it’s Sam.” She could actually hear him smiling.

And while she liked him and had felt comfortable with him, she felt herself stiffen. Was he, as George had suspected, calling her up to hit on her?

“Hi,” she said cautiously.

“Checking on my patient,” Sam said. “Figured I’d get a straighter answer from you than from him.”

Sophy breathed again, feeling foolish. “He’s alive. Grumpy. Annoying. I took the dog for a walk at one point and while I was gone he went downstairs to his office to work.”

“You’re going to have to keep an eye on him.”

“I will,” Sophy said, feeling guilty.

“Tonight. All night.”

“What do you mean, all night?”

“If he were at the hospital, he’d be on monitors. And he’d have someone awake and checking on him regularly. You don’t need to be awake, but you do need to wake up and check on him regularly. And you need to be right there.”

“There?” Sophy said warily.

“Wherever he is.”

“In bed.”

“Perfect. Wake him every couple of hours. Make him talk to you. Be sure he makes sense. Call me if there are any problems. Do what you have to do.”

And just like that, Sam was gone.

Sophy stood there and stared at the phone in her hand, feeling a strange compelling urge to throw it across the room. Then she felt another urge to pretend she hadn’t got the call at all, to just crawl into bed and forget it. She could set her travel alarm and go up and check on George every couple of hours like Sam said.

Yes, and what if he needed her?

He wouldn’t call her. Not if he needed her. He was too bloody-minded to admit he needed help. But what if he really did?

“Oh, blast,” she muttered and, pulling on her lightweight travel robe, then dragging the duvet and her pillow with her, she climbed the stairs to George’s room.

It was dark. It was silent. He was probably sound asleep.

She hoped to God he was. She padded over to the near side of the bed and began to make herself a nest on the floor.

“What the hell are you doing?”

So much for him being asleep. She kept right on making her nest. Gunnar came over to see what she was doing. “I’m sleeping here.”

“On the floor?” George rolled onto his side and peered down through the darkness at her. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Sam called. He said I’m supposed to stay with you. Keep an eye on you,” she corrected herself immediately.

“Did he?” George sounded all of a sudden in far better humor. “Good old Sam.”

Sophy snorted. “Right. Good old Sam.” She sat down on the duvet. It had felt warm and fluffy on top of her on the bed. It felt flat and thin between her and the floor. At least she’d be awake to wake him up.

“Don’t be an idiot. Get up here and share the bed.”

“I’m fine.” She wrapped the duvet around her and snuggled down with her head on her pillow. Gunnar stuck his nose down and poked her cheek. She reached out a hand and scratched his ear.

“Sophy.”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Like I was fine climbing all those damn stairs.”

“Exactly.” She kept her back turned and snuggled farther down. Damn this floor was hard.

George said a rude word and Sophy heard the bed creak. She ignored it. She ignored him—until she realized he had got up and was dragging the duvet off his bed and throwing it down on the floor beside her.

She rolled over and sat up in the darkness to see his white T-shirt in the moonlight as he eased himself off the bed and down onto the floor beside her!

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

White shoulders shrugged. “Being as stupid as you are.” He stretched out on the crumpled duvet. “Which is pretty damn stupid,” he muttered. “God, this floor is hard.”

Sophy grunted. “Then get on the bed. You need to be on the bed, George.”

“It’s up to you,” he said.

She glared. She grumbled. She wished she could just say, Fine, stay there, and let him be as uncomfortable as she was. But she doubted that was what Sam had had in mind when he’d said to keep an eye on George tonight.

“And here you are again, making me do what you think is best for me,” she pointed out.

“And sometimes I’m even right,” he said mildly.

Which, damn it, was actually true.

“Fine.” She flung back her duvet and scrambled to her feet, flung her duvet onto his bed and plopped down on top of it to glare at him, which might have been more effective if she could really have seen him and not just the shape of him in the darkness.

“Ah, sanity rears its ugly head.” George grunted and tried to shove himself up as well. It was harder for him. Served him right, Sophy thought. But then guilt smote her. He was only in this shape because he’d saved a child’s life, because he’d put his own life on the line.

“Give me your hand.” She offered hers.

Immediately he gripped it, his long hard fingers wrapping around hers as he tried to lever himself up. It was more complicated that she imagined. He didn’t have his boot on, so had to be careful of his ankle as well as his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you did this.” She shifted to get a better grip, had to move in to slide an arm around him to get enough leverage to get him to his feet. “Of all the stupid—”

“Your fault,” he reminded her. But as she could hear the words hissing through clenched teeth, she didn’t think he was enjoying it.

Neither was she. Having her arm around George’s hard body, being so close she could smell the hospital soap, the disinfectant and something male that she remembered as quintessentially George unnerved her more than she wanted to admit. She shoved, hauled, hoisted.

And at last he stumbled to his feet.

“Don’t do that again.” His arm was over her shoulders and hers, still wrapped around him, allowed her to feel the thundering of his heart.

“I won’t if you won’t,” he said, a catch in his breath.

She didn’t answer that. It didn’t merit a reply. Wordlessly she edged him over to the bed. He sat. Gunnar put his chin on George’s knee. Sophy picked up his duvet and spread it over the bed, then pulled it back so he could lie down.

Then, because she knew he’d just do something stupid again if she didn’t get in bed, too, she went around and slid beneath the duvet on the far side. There had to be at least two feet separating them. Plenty as long as they were awake.

But asleep she didn’t trust herself.

Like Lily, she had a homing instinct for the nearest warm body. And she didn’t want to wake up and find herself in George’s arms.

“Told you it was a big bed,” George said gruffly.

But not big enough, Sophy thought. “Gunnar,” she said. “Here, Gunnar.”

It didn’t take any urging. In a second she felt the bed move and Gunnar’s black form appeared, looming in the moonlight, looking up at them from the foot of the bed.

“For God’s sake,” George muttered.

“You’ve never let him on the bed? Oh, right. Tell me another.” Sophy patted the space between them, and Gunnar instantly obliged, lying down there and heaving a contented sigh.

George made a disgruntled huffing sound.

“Just be glad you’re home,” Sophy said. “You could still be in the hospital.”

“Promises, promises.”

“If you want to go back, I’ll call Sam.”

“I’ll bet Sam wouldn’t think much of the dog in my bed.”

Sophy smiled. “Sam said to do what I had to do. I’m just following instructions. Good night, George. I’ll wake you in a couple of hours. Wake me if you need anything.”

She rolled onto her side away from him. Away from Gunnar. It was the best she could do. She wondered if she would get a wink of sleep before it was time to wake him again.

It was a shock the next time she opened her eyes to see that it was morning and worse to discover that the warm body she was snuggled against wasn’t covered with black fur.