Читать книгу Winning Back His Wife - Melissa McClone, Melissa Mcclone - Страница 9

THE LAST THING Cullen had expected to become was Sarah’s walking buddy, but that was what happened over the next three days. His reluctance gave way to anticipation for the after-meal strolls through the hospital corridors. He’d wanted to be here and help her. This offered him the perfect opportunity to do both.

They didn’t discuss the past. They barely mentioned the future unless it related to her recovery. Sometimes they didn’t say much at all. It was enough to be with her, supporting her. Enough, he realized, for now.

As they walked through the hospital’s atrium full of tall trees and flowering plants, Cullen held Sarah’s hand. A satisfied smile settled on his lips. “You did have the energy to make it down here.”

“Told you so. This is much better than walking the hallways upstairs.” Sarah glanced up at the skylights. The ends of her long chestnut hair swung like a pendulum. Her bruises were fading, more yellow and brown than blue. “I can’t wait until I can go outside.”

“It won’t be long.” Sarah looked better, healthier. He squeezed her hand. “You’re getting stronger every day.”

Her green eyes sparkled. “It’s all this exercise.”

He wished it was because of him.

Yeah, right. He wasn’t foolish enough to think this time together meant anything. These walks were about her health, nothing else. “Exercise can be as important as medication in a patient’s recovery. So can laughter.”

She grinned wryly. “That’s why you wanted to watch the comedy show last night.”

“You laughed.”

“I did. And I’m smiling now.”

“You have a very nice smile.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at their linked hands. “Do you think I could try walking on my own?”

Cullen had gotten so used to being her living, breathing walker, holding her hand had become second nature. But it wasn’t something he should get used to, even if it was…nice. He released her hand. “Go ahead.”

Sarah took a careful, measured step. And another.

He flexed his fingers, missing the feel of her warm skin against his. “Tomorrow you’ll want to hop on a bike instead.”

Her lips curved downward in a half frown, half pout. “I like our walks.”

“Me, too.”

Her smile, as bright as a summer day at Smith Rock, took his breath away. He rubbed his face. Stubble pricked his hand. He’d been in a rush to get to the hospital and forgotten to shave again.

“But I have to be honest.” She looked around, as if seeing who might be listening. “I’m ready to escape this joint.”

“I don’t blame you.” Except once she left, everything would go back to the way it had been. They would live separate lives, in separate states. The realization unsettled him. “You should be released soon.”

“Has Dr. Marshall mentioned a discharge date?”

The anticipation in her voice made Cullen feel foolish for enjoying this time together. She wanted a divorce. He wanted one, too. “No. But given your progress, Dr. Marshall might have one in mind. Ask him when he makes his rounds.”

Hope danced in her eyes. “I will.”

Sarah took another step, swaying. She stumbled forward.

“Whoa.” Cullen wrapped his right arm around her waist and grabbed her left hand. “Careful.”

She clutched his hand. “I lost my balance.”

If that was the case, why was she leaning against him with her fingers digging into his hand? But he liked the way she clung to him. “This is the longest walk we’ve taken. Let’s head back to your room.”

He expected an argument. Instead she nodded.

Sarah loosened her grip and flexed her hand. “I can make it on my own.”

He laced his fingers with hers. “I know, but humor me anyway.”

She held on to his hand. “I suppose that’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.”

A list of what he’d done for her the past two years scrolled through his mind. “I suppose it is.”

Sarah owed him, and he would gladly take this as payback. He wasn’t about to let go of her. And that had nothing to do with how good having her close felt. He caught a whiff of her floral-scented shampoo. Or how good she smelled. Nothing at all.

That afternoon, Sarah gripped the edge of the hospital blanket. She stared at Dr. Marshall, wondering if she’d misunderstood him. She sure hoped so. “Don’t you mean an independent discharge?”

“An independent discharge is not going to happen.” Dr. Marshall looked like a grandfather, rather than one of Seattle’s top surgeons, with his silver-wire-frame glasses and thinning gray hair, but the man was turning out to be the devil in disguise. “You are unable to care for yourself. Your discharge planner and orthopedist agree.”

She hadn’t been waiting all afternoon full of hope only to hear this. “That’s…silly.”

Cullen, who leaned against the far wall near the window, gave a blink-and-you’d-miss-it shake of his head.

Her fingers tightened on the fabric, nearly poking through the thin material. She didn’t like being so aware of Cullen’s every movement. Her senses had become heightened where he was concerned. She’d wondered if he felt the same way. Now she knew.

No!

Frustration tensed her muscles, making her abdomen hurt more. Disappointment ping-ponged through her. They’d shared lovely walks though the hospital, holding hands like high-school sweethearts. She’d assumed Cullen would support her independent-discharge request, but he hadn’t. He didn’t want her returning to her apartment in Bellingham to stay by herself.

“Nothing about this is silly,” Dr. Marshall said. “You are lucky to be alive.”

“Damn lucky,” Cullen murmured.

She didn’t feel that way. Nothing but bad luck could have put her at the crater rim when a steam blast occurred, something that hadn’t happened on Mount Baker in nearly four decades. Now she was stuck in the hospital with only her soon-to-be ex-husband for company when she needed to be at the institute figuring out if the event was a precursor to an eruption or just the volcano letting off steam as it had done in 1975. “Silly was the wrong word to use, but I’m not an invalid. I’m getting around better.”

Dr. Marshall gave her the once-over. “There’s a big difference between walking the hallways and being capable of caring for yourself.”

“You overdid it this morning,” Cullen added, as if dumping a carton of salt onto her wounds helped matters.

“I know I have a way to go in my recovery.” She would be doing fine once the pain of her incision and ribs lessened. The throbbing in her head, too. “But I don’t need a nursemaid.”

A knowing glance passed between Dr. Marshall and Cullen.

Sarah bit the inside of her cheek.

“No one is suggesting a nursemaid. But I agree with Dr. Marshall. You’re right-handed.” Cullen’s gaze dropped to her cast. “Dressing yourself, doing anything with your left hand, is going to take some adjustment. Not to mention your sutures and ribs. You’ll need assistance doing most everyday things. There will also be limitations on lifting and driving.”

Maybe she shouldn’t have expected Cullen to take her side. But even with his lack of support now, she had no regrets. Bringing up a divorce was better than waiting around for him to do it. And he would have. People always walked away. He would walk away from her once she was out of the hospital, leaving her alone. Again.

The sinking feeling in her stomach turned into a black hole, sucking her hope down into it.

No, she couldn’t give in and admit defeat. The institute relied upon her expertise. Others had been looking at the data since the steam blast, but volcanic seismology was her specialty. She couldn’t let people down. It wasn’t as if she had anything else in her life but her work. She glanced at Cullen, then looked away. “I don’t care if it hurts. I’ll figure out a way. I need to get back to the institute. I have a job to do.”

“Is your current health and your long-term health outlook worth risking for your job?” Dr. Marshall asked.

Sarah raised her chin. “If it means determining how to predict a volcanic eruption, then yes. It’s worth it.”

A muscle ticked at Cullen’s jaw. “If you return to the institute too soon, you won’t be doing them or yourself any favors.”

She saw his point, even if she didn’t like it. “I’ll be careful.”

“What does your job entail, Sarah?” Dr. Marshall asked.

“Analyzing data.”

“After she climbs Mount Baker to gather it,” Cullen added. “Or am I wrong about that, Dr. Purcell?”

Of course he wasn’t wrong. From his smug grin he knew it, too. That was why he’d used her title. “I can send a team up to download the data.”

Maybe that would appease him—rather, Dr. Marshall.

“Are you able to work remotely from home?” Dr. Marshall asked.

Sarah would rather be at the institute, but she would take what she could get. “Telecommuting is an option. I have internet access in my apartment.”

Dr. Marshall looked her straight in the eyes. “Is there someone who can stay at your apartment and care for you?”

Sarah’s heart slammed against her chest so loudly she was sure the entire floor of the hospital could hear the boom-boom-boom. Even though she knew the answer to his question, she mentally ran through the list of coworkers at the institute. Most would be happy to drop off food or pick up her mail, but asking one to stay with her would be too much. She couldn’t impose on any of them like that.

She’d never had a close friend, a bestie or BFF she could count on no matter what. Her life had been too transitory, shuttled between her parents and moving frequently, to develop that kind of bond with anyone. Not unless you counted Cullen. She couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to either one of them.

She chewed on her lower lip. “I could hire someone.”

“Home care is a possibility,” Dr. Marshall said.

Fantastic. Except her studio apartment was tiny. The floor was the only extra place to sleep, the bathroom the only privacy. She hated to admit it, but home care wouldn’t work.

“If Sarah’s in Bellingham, nothing will keep her from going to the institute or heading up the mountain if she feels it’s necessary,” Cullen said matter-of-factly.

She opened her mouth to contradict him, but stopped herself. What he said was true.

“You know I’m right,” he said.

It annoyed her that he knew her so well.

“Is that true?” Dr. Marshall asked her.

She tried to shrug, but a pain shot through her. “Possibly.”

Cullen laughed. The rich sound pierced her heart. One of Cupid’s arrows had turned traitorous. “A one-hundred-percent possibility.”

No sense denying it. He’d had her number a long time ago.

Dr. Marshall gave her a patronizing smile, as if she were a five-year-old patient who would appreciate princess stickers rather than a grown adult who wanted him to work out her discharge. “My first choice in cases involving a head injury, however minor, is home care by family members, but Dr. Gray has explained your situation.”

Sarah assumed Dr. Marshall meant their marriage, since Cullen was the closest thing to family she had. She wasn’t an orphan. Her parents were alive, but they’d chosen their spouses over her years ago. “I’m on my own.”

“That leaves a sniff. A skilled nursing facility,” Dr. Marshall explained. “We call them SNFs. There are several in the Seattle area.”

Cullen’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, making her heart dance a jig. So not the reaction she wanted to have when she was fighting for her freedom. Independence. Work.

“That sounds like a perfect solution,” Cullen said.

Maybe for him. In Bellingham she had access to the institute and her own place to live. Down here in Seattle, she had…nothing. But what choice did she have? Sarah swallowed her disappointment. “I suppose. As long as I have my laptop and access to data.”

Dr. Marshall adjusted his wire-framed glasses. “Many SNFs have Wi-Fi.”

Might as well look on the bright side. “That’s better than dial-up.”

“Your concussion will make it difficult for you to concentrate for any length of time.” Cullen sounded so doctorlike. Totally different from the man who had helped her back to her room this morning. “If you push too hard, you may experience vision problems and headaches.”

“I’ll use a timer to limit my computer usage,” she offered.

“No symptom is a one-hundred-percent certainty, but Dr. Gray is correct. You don’t want to do too much too soon,” Dr. Marshall said.

Something about his tone and eye movement raised the hair on her arms. “What exactly am I going to be allowed to do?”

“Rest and recuperate,” Dr. Marshall said, as if those two things would appeal to her.

R & R was something a person did when they were old. Not when the second-most-active volcano in the Cascades might erupt. “The SNF sounds like my only option, but you might as well put me out of my misery now, because—”

“You’ll die of boredom,” Cullen finished for her.

In their one-plus year of marriage—over two if you counted the time they’d been separated—he’d figured her out better than anyone else in her life. That unnerved Sarah.

Dr. Marshall adjusted his glasses. “A few weeks of boredom is a small price to pay.”

Small price? The SNF sounded like an institutional cage. She’d be locked away and forced to sleep or “rest.” She stared at the cast on her arm.

Lucky to be alive. Maybe if she kept repeating the words she would believe them. Because right now life pretty much sucked.

“There is another option,” Cullen said.

Her gaze jerked to his. The room tilted to her left as if she were standing in a mirrored fun house. She closed her eyes. She must have walked too far earlier. When she opened them everything was back where it belonged, and Cullen was staring at her with his intense gaze.

She swallowed the lump of desperation lodged in her throat. Anything would be better than a nursing facility. “What other option?”

“Come home with me to Hood Hamlet.”

Her mouth gaped. The air rushed from her lungs.

“I have Wi-Fi,” Cullen continued, as if that made all the difference in the world. “I promise you won’t be bored.”

No, she wouldn’t be bored. She would be struggling to survive and keep her heart safe.

Here at the hospital, people came in and out of her room. She and Cullen were never alone for long. He left each night to go to his hotel. What would it be like if it were only the two of them?

Dangerous.

Sarah tried to speak, but her tongue felt ten sizes too big for her mouth, as if she’d been given a shot of Novocain at the dentist’s office. But she knew one thing… .

Going home with Cullen was a bad idea. So bad she would rather move into the SNF and die of boredom or stay in the hospital and die of starvation or go live in a cave somewhere with nothing but spiders and other creepy-crawly things for company.

Having him here made her feel warm and fuzzy. Taking walks reminded her of how comfortable they’d once been together. But she couldn’t rely on him to be her caretaker. She’d been vulnerable before they’d separated. She would be totally at his mercy in his care. If she found herself getting attached to him, or worse, falling in love with him all over again…

He would have the power not only to break her heart, but shatter it. She couldn’t allow that to happen.

Cullen wore a digital watch, but he swore he heard the seconds ticking by. He braced himself for Sarah’s rejection. He’d offered her a place to recover, but she’d reacted with wide-eyed panic, as if she was about to be sentenced to life in prison.

Stupid. Cullen balled his hands with a mix of frustration and resentment. He should never have made the suggestion. But she’d looked so damn miserable over the idea of the SNF, he’d had to do something. A good attitude was important in a patient’s recovery. He didn’t want her to experience any setbacks. Skilled nursing facilities had their role in patient recovery, but Sarah was better off elsewhere. He knew that as a trained physician. He knew that in his gut.

But no one was going to step up and offer Sarah an alternative. No one except him.

And she hadn’t even cared. At least not according to her anything-but-that reaction.

Might as well get the word sucker tattooed on him. He’d let their pleasant walks and hand-holding soften him up.

A buzzing sound disturbed the silence.

Dr. Marshall checked his pager. “I have to go. Tell the nurse your decision and have her relay it to me and the discharge planner.”

The surgeon strode out of the room without a glance back.

The minute the door shut, the tension in the air quadrupled. Cullen had faced challenges working as a doctor and as a mountain rescuer, but he’d never felt more out of his element than standing here with his wife, a wife who didn’t want him for a husband. Not that he wanted her, either, he reminded himself.

Sarah toyed with the edge of her blanket. Her hands worked fast and furiously, as if she were making origami out of cloth.

The silence intensified. Her gaze bounced from her cast to the colorful bouquet of wildflowers from MBVI to everything else in the room. Everything except him.

Hard to believe that at one time they were so crazy about one another they couldn’t keep their hands or lips off each other. Now she couldn’t bear to look at him.

He hated the way that gnawed at him. Time to face the music, even if a requiem played. “I’m only trying to help. Give you another choice.”

“I’m surprised you’d want me around.”

Her words cut through the tension with the precision of a scalpel. He was about to remind her she had been the one to ask for the divorce, but held his tongue because she was right. He didn’t want her around because she messed with his thoughts and his emotions, but he had to do the right thing here, whether he liked it or not. “I want you to recover. Get you feeling better and back on your feet in the shortest amount of time possible. That’s all.”

She studied him as if she were trying to determine what type of volcanic rock he might be. “That’s nice of you.”

Her wariness bugged him. “We’ve been getting along.”

Her lips parted. She pressed them together, then opened them again. “It’s just…”

He hated the hurt lying over his heart. “Would it be that awful for a few weeks?”

“No, not awful,” she admitted. “Not at all.”

Her words brought a rush of relief, but added to his confusion. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

A burden was the last label he’d use for her. “You’re not.”

“You’ve put your life on hold this past week.”

“I won’t have to do that when I’m in Hood Hamlet. I can get back to work and my mountain-rescue unit.”

Sarah moistened her lips. “I didn’t think I was supposed to be alone.”

“Friends have offered to help.”

Her gaze narrowed. “So you won’t be around that much?”

“I work twelve-hour shifts at the hospital. The rescue unit keeps ready teams stationed on the mountain in May and June.”

“Oh.”

That single word didn’t tell him much. He rocked back on his heels. “So what do you think?”

“I appreciate the offer.”

“But—?”

Sarah squinted. “I…I don’t know.”

Her uncertainty sounded genuine. He had expected to hear a flat-out no.

She sank into her pillow. “Is it something I need to decide right now?”

“Dr. Marshall wants you to tell the nurse your decision. Arrangements have to be made if you choose a SNF.”

She rubbed her thumb against her fingertips.

“Attitude plays a role in healing,” he continued. “Hood Hamlet will be better for you in that regard.”

“Give me a minute to think about it.”

Cullen didn’t know why she needed more time or why he was trying so hard to convince her. Yes, he wanted to do the right thing, but her decision changed nothing. If she refused his offer, the next time they saw each other…They wouldn’t be seeing each other unless she challenged the divorce terms. The way it would have been if she hadn’t had her accident.

The bed dwarfed her body, making her look small and helpless. Strange, given she was the strongest women he knew next to Leanne Thomas, a paramedic and member of OMSAR.

Sarah grimaced.

Two long strides put him at the side of her bed. “Your head.”

She gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I may have overdone the walking today.”

His concern ratcheted. “Does anything else hurt?”

“Not any more than usual.”

Using the back of his hand, he touched her face. She wasn’t flushed, but a temperature could mean another infection. “You don’t feel warm.”

She closed her eyes. “My brain might be rebelling from having to work again. Think I probably need another nap.”

“Probably.”

But Cullen preferred to err on the side of caution. He checked the circulation of each finger sticking out from her cast. He wanted to blame his anxiousness on the Hippocratic oath, but he knew there was more to it than that. The more part revolved around Sarah. He wished it weren’t so. In time he hoped—expected—not to care or to be so concerned about her. Time healed all wounds, right?

She opened her eyes. “You always had a nice bedside manner.”

He didn’t want her words to mean anything. He hated that they did. “It’s easier with some patients.”

“With me?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

“Yes.”

Sarah’s lips curved into a slight, almost shy smile. “Thanks.”

He brushed hair off her face. “You’re welcome.”

Her eyelids fluttered like a pair of butterfly wings.

He remembered when she’d slept against him and her eyelashes had brushed his cheek. The urge to scoop her up in his arms and hold her close was strong, but he couldn’t give in to temptation. This woman had trounced his heart once. Whatever else he did, he couldn’t let himself fall in love with her again.