Читать книгу The Doctor's Surprise Family - Mary Forbes J. - Страница 11

A woodpecker rat-a-tatted somewhere in the pines outside his window. He jerked awake, not because of the bird, but because the sun stood well above the trees and the clock read 9:46 a.m.

He’d slept ten hours straight. When was the last time he’d overslept? Not since college when he’d been studying half the night for a physics exam.

His tangled brain took in the tiny bedroom with its one piece of knotty pine furniture housing his underwear and socks. Kaitlin. He was in her cottage.

And, he’d fallen asleep to wake hours later with—he glanced down—the worst arousal he’d had in two decades.

Scraping both hands down his stubbled cheeks, he drew in a sigh, then flung back the downy quilt and set his feet on the rug beside the bed. He needed a shower, a freezing shower.

Naked, he headed down the short hallway to the bathroom.

The kitchen phone rang. Who’d be phoning on the landline? Had to be her.

Down the hall he went and into the kitchen. A glance at the window; no boy peered back at him. Dane picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Good morning,” she sang.

He cleared his rusty throat. “’Mornin’.”

Pause. “Oh, Dane. I woke you, didn’t I?” If he’d needed a shower to cool down two minutes ago, that breathless Oh, Dane doubled the requirement. “I’m so sorry,” she went on. “I’ll let you get back to bed.”

“No, no. Was up reading,” he fibbed. He glanced toward the front door and its half-moon window draped with a frilly curtain that let in the light, but obscured prying eyes. Phone to his ear, he walked over, tried to peer through to the Victorian, and imagined her in that country kitchen with its big worktable.

She said, “I didn’t mean to disturb you—”

Just thinking of her disturbed him. “Kaitlin?”

“Yes?”

“Stop apologizing.”

Another pause, longer this time. Was she remembering his asinine remark last night? I’m not the man you remember. And where the hell had his grouchy tone come from? He’d been raised to respect and honor a woman, to treat her with decency. To do anything less was as foreign to him as giving birth. He just wasn’t built that way.

“I wanted to make sure you were still coming to dinner tonight.”

So, she had been recalling his words.

He headed for his bathroom. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. Um…Is there anything you need from town? Anything for your fridge? I’m doing a grocery run in about ten minutes.”

“No thanks.” The only thing he needed she couldn’t give.

“Okay…. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I’ll be there.”

He waited for her to hang up. She didn’t.

“Aren’t you hanging up?” His voice scratched.

This time her hesitation stretched even longer. “Aren’t you?” she replied softly.

Oh, hell. What could he say? I want to hang up but can’t? I need to hang up before I grab a pair of jeans and go to your back door?

Where he’d kiss her the way he wanted to last night—

“I’m looking forward to seeing you again,” she whispered into his ear, and pictures of her in the night bloomed across his brain.

“You’re all I thought about before I went to sleep,” he confessed.

“Me too, you.” And then she released a long breath as if coming to a conclusion. “However, I’d rather be friends.”

“I’m not interested in a relationship.” Not the kind she deserved.

“That’s good to know.” Relief crept in. “Because it never would have worked. We’re too different.”

She was right, they were; but that didn’t make the truth easier. “Says who?”

“Says me. You’re too intense, too…dark.”

“Dark?”

“You’ve got things inside you.”

How could she know he had Zaakir inside him? Zaakir, who was never going to leave, who would haunt Dane until his dying breath.

Except, last night Dane had been free. For ten hours the ever-present guilt had lifted, flown. Until now, until he realized he hadn’t thought of the boy since yesterday.

He needed to get off the phone. He couldn’t hold her responsible for fixing him, and somehow he knew she’d want to do exactly that if she found out about the darkness that plagued him.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he repeated, because he had promised. Then he set the phone gently in its cradle.

He no longer needed a cold shower.

He’d been working on the Harley thirty minutes when he sensed Kaitlin’s son enter the carport from the backyard. Crouched on a square of cardboard, Dane continued to sweep the battery terminals clean with the small steel brush that was part of his toolkit. Maybe if he ignored the kid, he’d go away again.

“Whatcha doin’?”

No such luck. The boy was here to socialize and Dane wasn’t in the mood, and for damn sure not while he was checking out the bike’s battery. Already memories of another kid and a different battery surged up; he worked to control his breathing, to pinch back the images.

Blake wandered to the cardboard. His sneakers were scuffed, but what Dane could see of the boy’s blue jeans appeared clean. Go away, son. You could get hurt again.

“What’s the matter with the battery?”

“Needs a checkup.” He had yet to look the kid in the eye.

“My mom gets her car checked at the garage in town.”

“Good for her.”

His tone didn’t deter the boy; he squatted on his haunches next to Dane. “Harley-Davidson motorcycles are the best, right?”

That’s it, kid. Go for the power, the look, the sound.

Picking up his flashlight, Dane shone the beam against the clear box to check the fluid in each cell. His pulse rate accelerated. Didn’t Blake realize battery fluid was acidic, what it could do to your skin? Damn it, didn’t they teach anything in school? And where was Kaitlin? Did she know her son was in a place where he could get hurt?

“You need to back up,” he told the boy, pointing to a spot at least six feet away.

“Why?”

“Batteries can be dangerous.”

“Really? My dad once changed the battery in his pickup and he never said that.”

“Ever heard of acid?”

“Uh-huh. We did an experiment in science last fall with acid.”

“Know what it can do?”

“Sure. Can I sit on your bike when you’re done? I’ve never sat on a motorcycle before.”

As he spoke, the boy moved in the direction Dane had instructed. He breathed easier. “Don’t you have something to do?” he grumped. “Like help your mother?”

“Already did. I cleaned my room and collected the trash around the house.”

“Well, maybe there’s something else you could help her with, something she hasn’t thought of.”

“Nuh-uh. She said I could go outside ’cause it’s not raining. And anyway, I like talking to you.” The boy flushed and shot Dane a sheepish grin. “You know…about the Harley an’ stuff. When my dad was alive I was too little to know about motorcycles and anyway he didn’t have a Harley.”

Was the boy was looking for a stand-in daddy? Hell. Knees popping, Dane rose to his full height and gazed down at Kaitlin’s son for a long moment, so long the kid’s grin faded. One sneaker heel began bouncing up-down, up-down.

Ignoring the flare of sympathy in his chest, Dane said in a rough voice, “This isn’t going to work, Blake. I’m the kind of guy who likes his privacy and—”

“I thought I heard voices out here.” Kaitlin stepped into the carport, cutting off Dane’s next words.

“Mom!” The boy waved her over. “Come see Mr. Rainhart’s Harley. Cool, huh?”

“Yes, it is,” she replied, eyes on her son. “Did you apologize to Mr. Rainhart yet?”

The boy hung his head. “Oh, yeah. Sorry for looking in your window. It was a really bad thing to do.”

Dane stood on the other side of the cardboard square wishing Kaitlin would take her son and leave. Family conferences weren’t his thing. Still, he nodded. “No worries.” He looked directly at Kaitlin. “Look, I need to finish up here.”

His message put a small tight smile on her lips. “Let’s go, son. You promised to play with Danny this afternoon, remember?” She darted a look at Dane. “Danny’s Blake’s eight-year-old cousin.”

“Aw…Can’t we wait until Mr. R’s done fixing the Harley?”

“No,” Kaitlin said. “Aunty Lee is expecting you.”

“O-kay.” Shoulders hunched, feet dragging, Blake left the carport.

Kaitlin’s gaze flicked to the Harley. “My son won’t bother you again.” She turned to leave.

Dane stepped around the battery and was in front of her before she got to the door. “It’s not what it seems.”

“You don’t need to explain, Dane. Kids can be intimidating for someone who’s not used to all their questions.”

He let his head fall back on a weighty breath before he said, “It’s not that. I…I had a bad experience with a child.”

A puzzled expression crossed her features. “I don’t understand.”

His memories battled with the yearning to tell all. The memories won. He would not put the quagmire of his past, of Zaakir’s death, on her shoulders. She had enough in her life with an asthmatic son and trying to operate a business without a husband. Still, he couldn’t let her walk away without some kind of explanation.

“A child was hurt on my watch,” he said.

“And you blame yourself.” Her brown eyes, full of commiseration, held his for three thick seconds.

“I need to get back to work.” He strode to the motorbike.

“Dane…”

“Go, Kaitlin. Your son is waiting.”

When her footsteps ebbed, he crouched at his toolkit and with shaky fingers dug out a wrench. Concentrate on the bike. Don’t think of her. Don’t think at all.

Two hours later, when he took the Harley out on the road, her words trailed him like wisps of a ghost. You blame yourself.

Oh, yeah. She was dead-on there.

Carrying a canvas tote filled with fresh produce, Kat walked through the electronic doors of Dalton Foods on the corner of Main and Shore Road. A block up the street, in the library lot, she’d parked her car under the leafless elms. She would make a quick stop, pick up the book Ms. Brookley had called about this morning, then head home to prepare for tonight.

A smile flickered on her lips. She hoped Dane liked baked red potatoes, seasoned with basil and oregano, and shallots and mushrooms in cream sauce. She hoped he liked upside-down pineapple cake. Tonight’s dinner would be beyond special, she rationalized, if for no other reason than to create other memories for him, to take away that emptiness she saw so often in his eyes.

“A child died on my watch.”

Had the child died on the operating table? Had Dane—

“Kat,” a male voice called as she reached the crosswalk to the Burnt Bend Library. “Got a minute?”

She turned to see a stocky man, face shielded by a worn ballcap and a foam cup of coffee in one hand, jog across the street that ran behind the shops edging the boardwalk of the village’s tiny cove. Kat recognized him immediately. Colin Dirks, Shaun’s cousin, from Bainbridge Island. They hadn’t seen each other since Colin’s fishing trawler capsized during a sudden squall. Since Shaun drowned in that squall and Colin lived. Kat couldn’t help the spurt of anger. He’d been the one to coax Shaun away that weekend.

Oh, initially Colin had offered condolences, but then things changed. His calls and e-mails took another slant. Rather than asking about her and Blake, or talking about the man Colin claimed had been like a brother, he wanted to know when was she going to sell him the Kat Lady?

Never, she thought for the hundredth time as she observed him approach with his feigned concern.

“Here with your family, Colin?” she asked, certain he’d come alone to Firewood Island; certain, too, of the reason.

“Nope. They’re home. I was just—” he glanced over his shoulder “—getting a mocha at Coffee Sense before I came to see you. But this is even better. Can I buy you a coffee?”

A snarky retort on her lips, she turned. But then she remembered that this man had been Shaun’s childhood best friend. It wasn’t as if Colin had planned the squall, or the capsizing of his trawler. And Shaun had gone on his own volition that weekend to pitch in when one of Colin’s helpers had come down with the flu.