Читать книгу Starlight On Willow Lake - Susan Wiggs, Susan Wiggs - Страница 13

6

It turned out the useless guy was actually Mr. Mason Bellamy, the son of her potential client and the person in charge of hiring Alice’s caregiver. And clearly he’d seen something he liked in Faith at the scene of the bloodbath.

The van backfired three times as she followed his sleek, silent car down a long, winding drive toward the house, where he said they could get cleaned up before the ER. Slender poplar trees lined the winding lane, the spring-green leaves filtering the late-morning sunlight and dappling the beautiful landscape.

As they rounded a curve in the private drive, the historic mansion came into full view in all its glory. The house was a breathtaking vintage Adirondack lodge of timber and stone, with a wraparound porch, a turret on one end, mullioned windows and walkways draped in blooming vine pergolas. Surrounding the main house was a broad lawn featuring a grass tennis court and swimming pool, a gazebo on a knoll and a boathouse with a long dock jutting out into Willow Lake.

“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” Faith murmured, studying the place over the shiny roof of Mr. Bellamy’s car. One of the EMTs had given her sterile draping for the car seat and a microfiber cloth for her hands, so she didn’t slime the steering wheel with the stranger’s blood. She was going to need buckets of soap and water to get cleaned up. Mason Bellamy had promised there were ample facilities at the house.

“I knew you’d say that.” Cara propped her feet on the dashboard. “You always say that.”

“It’s from The Wizard of Oz,” Ruby informed her.

“Duh.”

“I say that whenever we enter a new world that’s nothing like the place we came from,” Faith explained to her younger daughter.

“I know, Mom,” Ruby said.

“The driveway’s a quarter mile long,” Cara said. “I ran the whole way.”

“How do you know it’s a quarter mile?” asked Ruby.

“Old lady Bellamy said.”

“You met her?” Faith glanced over at Cara. “What’s she like?”

“Cranky.”

“Cara—”

“You asked. So are you going to take the job?”

“We’ll see.”

“You always say that, too,” Ruby pointed out.

“Because we will see. I need to meet with Mrs. Bellamy—who, by the way, should never be called old lady Bellamy—and see if we’re a good match.”

“That guy already said you’re hired,” Cara pointed out. “I heard him.”

“The client is his mother, so she gets final say,” Faith explained. “Frankly, I’d pay them just for the chance to scrub this blood off me.”

“It’s really gross,” said Ruby. “But this place is like a castle,” she added softly, leaning forward in her seat. “If you take the job, do we get to live here?”

“That’s what the job description said—that it’s a live-in position.” When she had replied to the posting, Faith had been open about her situation. She had explained that she had two girls, and that the younger one had special needs. The reply, which had come from a woman named Brenda—“Assistant to Mr. Bellamy”—had stated that they would still like her to interview for the position. To Faith, that meant the Bellamys were either very open-minded or very desperate.

“I want to live here,” Ruby said, scanning the arched entrance at the end of the driveway.

“If we did, then we wouldn’t have to change schools,” Cara pointed out.

Faith caught the note of yearning in her elder daughter’s voice. She was just finishing her junior year at Avalon High School and longed to graduate with her friends. Since Dennis had died, they had moved at least six or seven times; Faith had lost count. It was rough on the girls, always being the new kid and having to start over at a new school every time their mom changed jobs.

Cara coped with the situation by adopting an edgy, rebellious attitude. She had a mouth on her that sometimes reminded Faith of Dennis—sarcastic, but never truly mean. Cara was a lot like her late father in other ways, too. She was scrappy and smart, cautious about whom she let in. Dennis’s doctors said he had outlived his prognosis by several years simply because he was such a tough guy, and Faith could see this trait in her elder daughter.

Ruby, by contrast, went the opposite direction, retreating into her books and toys, hiding behind a bashful facade. Even as a toddler, she’d been far more cautious and fearful than Cara ever was.

It would be nice to offer the girls a sense of security. From the looks of this place, security was assured. The compound looked as if it had sat here forever at the water’s edge. Large enough to billet a small army, it seemed like a lot of real estate for one woman.

That was Faith’s first clue to the high-maintenance quality of Alice Bellamy.

She parked in front of a multibay garage with an upper story that ran the entire length of the building. Mr. Bellamy’s car glided silently into one of the bays, and the door automatically rolled shut. A few seconds later, he joined them.

“Welcome to Casa Bellamy,” he said as they got out of the van. He’d removed his tie and opened his shirt, and the cuffs were rolled back, but he still looked decidedly uncomfortable in his blood-spattered clothes.

“This is Ruby,” said Faith, gesturing at the little girl.

“Hiya,” he said affably. “I’m Mason. I’d shake your hand, but I’m a mess.”

“That’s okay.” She pressed herself against Faith’s side. “Mom, you’re a mess, too.”

“And you’ve already met my other daughter, Cara.”

“I did. Between you and your mom, you saved that guy’s life.”

Cara merely stood back with her arms folded across her middle. She’d never been the type to be easily won.

“Tell you what,” said Mason. “We’ve got some major cleaning up to do.” He eyed her skirt and top, which were covered in blood, sweat, dirt and grass stains. It was her one decent job interview ensemble. She’d forgotten the ruined jacket at the scene of the accident.

“I have a change of clothes in the van,” she said.

“Okay, the girls can go inside for a snack or something while you and I use the showers in the pool house.”

There was a pool house. With showers. Definitely not Kansas anymore.

“You remember the way in?” he asked Cara.

She nodded.

“Tell Regina we’re back, everything’s going to be okay with the guy and that your mom and I will be in after we get cleaned up.”

“Sure. Okay. Come on, Ruby.”

Ruby towed her Gruffalo along. She clung to the threadbare plush toy in times of stress.

Faith grabbed a bag with a clean dress in it.

Mason briefly checked out the van. “This a paratransit vehicle?”

She nodded. “It’s pretty old, but the lift still works.” Noting his inquisitive expression, she said, “It hasn’t been used for paratransport in quite a while.”

“Is it for clients?” he asked.

“My late husband was in a wheelchair.”

“Oh. I’m... I see.”

She could sense him processing the information. People didn’t expect a woman in her midthirties to be a widow, so that always came as a surprise.

“He passed away six years ago,” she said.

“I’m sorry.” Awkward silence. No one ever knew what to say to that.

Faith gave a brisk nod. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

The pool house had separate showers, the space divided by weathered cedar boards in a louver pattern.

Faith scrubbed her hands and arms with a cake of soap that smelled of lemon and herbs.

“I have to admit, that’s a first for me,” Mason called from the adjacent shower stall.

Even though they couldn’t see each other, Faith felt awkward and exposed while she showered within earshot of a man she’d just met. “I wish I could say the same.” She watched a thin stream of watered-down blood drain into the river-stone bed of the shower. “In my line of work, things sometimes get messy.”

“How long have you been a nurse?”

“All my life, pretty much. I was raised by a single mom. She was sick—congestive heart failure—and I was her caregiver until she passed away when I was about Cara’s age.”

“Damn. That’s rough. I’m sorry to hear it, Faith.”

“I went to school but couldn’t afford to get my RN degree. I trained in a work-study program and I’ve worked in the field ever since.”

She dried off with a big bath towel, which was as thick and luxurious as a robe at a Turkish spa—not that she’d ever been to a Turkish spa. But she’d imagined one, many times.

Then she put on a clean dress, hoping it wasn’t too wrinkled from packing. It was a blue cotton wrap dress, not her first choice for meeting a potential client, but it would do in a pinch.

“All set,” she said, finger combing her wet hair as she stepped out of the cabana. “I just need to— Oh.”

Words failed her as Mason Bellamy came out of the shower stall wearing nothing but a towel and a smile. Time seemed to stop as she had a swift, heated reaction to the sight of his body, a reminder of just how much time had passed since she’d had a boyfriend—or even a date. He was built like a men’s underwear model, perfectly proportioned, with sculpted arms and legs, shoulders and abs not found in nature. His towel-dried hair lay in damp waves, framing his face. His lips curved upward at the corners even when he wasn’t smiling, and she detected both kindness and wariness in his eyes. A small, upside-down crescent scar at the top of his cheekbone kept him from being too handsome. She gave herself a stern, silent reminder that a guy who looked like this undoubtedly spent too much time at the gym. He was probably obsessed with himself.

Or maybe he might just be the kind of guy who took care of himself, said another little voice in her head. In her profession, she saw too little of that. Might as well enjoy a little eye candy.

“Guess I need to find some clean clothes, too,” he said. “Getting drenched in a stranger’s blood wasn’t on the agenda today.”

“I need to check you out.”

He raised one eyebrow, looking intrigued. “Yeah?”

She flushed, wondering if he’d read her mind. “What I mean is, I should check your hands, see if you have any open wounds. When we follow up at the hospital, they’ll need to check again.”

Mason blanched and stuck out both hands toward her. Immediately, the towel hit the ground. “Whoops,” he said, bending to pick it up. He tucked the towel in more securely around his waist. “Didn’t mean to flash you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She felt a bit light-headed, because of course she’d peeked. His body was amazing.

“I’m not worried. Just don’t want to seem rude.” He held out his hands again. “So you mentioned blood-borne pathogens. Like HIV?”

“It’s extremely rare, but yes. Also, HBV, hepatitis, malaria—all very unlikely, though it’s best to rule them out.”

“How will we find out if the guy is okay? Will the hospital tell us?”

“There are privacy issues. The victim doesn’t have to share the results of his panel if he doesn’t want to. Most people are pretty reasonable about it.” She bit her lip, deciding not to postulate what might happen if the guy never regained consciousness, or died. “The hospital will help us figure out if there’s a serious risk. You can also be tested every few months just to make sure you’re in the clear.”

“Lovely.”

“Hazard of the trade.”

“Not my trade,” he murmured.

She took hold of one hand at a time, inspecting every detail—nail beds, cuticles, palms, wrists. She could tell a lot about a person just by checking out his hands. Thick calluses meant manual labor, or hours at the gym, handling body-sculpting equipment. He didn’t have any calluses to speak of.

Ill-kept nails meant poor grooming. Bitten nails were a sign of issues.

His hands were well-shaped and well-groomed, no surprise. His skin was warm and damp, and he smelled heavenly. She turned his hands over in hers again. As a nurse, she did a lot of touching, but usually with more clinical detachment than she currently felt. Maybe it would seem more professional if he didn’t happen to be standing there in a towel. Smelling heavenly.

He wore no wedding ring, but there wasn’t a chance in hell that he wasn’t taken. She ran her fingers over a recently healed cut at the base of his thumb.

“Cut it on a beer stein,” he said.

Was he a wild party animal, smashing beer steins while drinking with his buddies? If that were the case, it would be easier to crush this funny feeling inside her. She pushed his hand aside and stepped back. “A beer stein. Like a pottery mug?”

He nodded. “This is probably going to sound weird to you, but my dad’s ashes were in the stein. My brother and sister and I were scattering them according to his wishes.”

“Where, out on the lake?”

“No. The three of us were on a mountain in New Zealand. It’s kind of a long story.”

“New Zealand. Wow, that’s a long way to go for...” She stopped herself. “I’m sorry about your dad.” Then she turned his hands over in hers and was surprised to discover he was trembling. Delayed reaction to the emergency? She looked up and studied his eyes, her gaze flicking to the faint crescent scar. “Hey, are you feeling all right?” she asked.

He flexed his hands, giving hers a brief squeeze. “Yes, sure.”

The hesitation in his voice snagged her attention. “You don’t sound so sure.”

“I’m not good with stuff like this. Traumatic injuries and blood. I’m fine now.” He looked down at their joined hands, then gently let go. “Thanks for asking.”

There was a spot of blood on the side of his neck. “Hold still, you missed something,” she said, dabbing at it with the corner of a towel. She stood close enough to feel his body warmth, to catch the soap-and-water smell of them both, mingling together. In her work, she got close to people; in her personal life, not so much. It occurred to her that this was the most intimate she’d been with a man in...forever, it seemed. She needed to get out more. Maybe after she was no longer homeless and broke, she would give it some thought.

“You’re most likely okay,” she told him, finishing up the exam quickly. “Are you free to go to the hospital tomorrow?”

“Sure. Guess I won’t worry until there’s something to worry about,” he said. “Tell you what. I’ll send someone to help you move your things into the house.” He spoke like a man used to taking charge.

“That’s getting ahead of things,” she said. She hadn’t even set foot in the house or met the client.

“You mentioned in your email that you’d be able to start right away.”

“That’s assuming your mother and I agree that this is a good match. I need to learn more about the job. It might not be the right thing for me.”

As if she had a choice.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

She couldn’t decide whether his can-do attitude was annoying or attractive. “First things first. Your mother and I need to meet and have a nice long chat.”

“She’ll agree. She’d be crazy not to.”

“Why do you say that?”

He held open the door and stood aside to let her pass. “Because you’re awesome. See you inside.”