Читать книгу A Family For Christmas - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

Prospector, Nevada

HIS PATIENT ASKED if he minded if she went to bed to read as soon as the dinner dishes were done on Friday. Boxed macaroni and cheese with hotdogs and peas were his offering that night. He’d prepared it all. She’d eaten everything on her plate. And cleared and wiped the table while he’d washed up.

If he were planning to keep the cabin—to ever visit it again once his eye was better—he’d put in a dishwasher. Telling her he thought it was a good idea that she lie down, though it was still early in the evening, he watched her walk away. The woman bothered him.

He knew she was hurting. The way she held her book...turned pages...when she’d wiped off the table...her left wrist was bothering her. And her neck or shoulder was, too.

She was tired, but had been sleeping well, so he let it go for the night. He’d have a look at her in the morning. And in the meantime, he was past due for his drops. Six and six, every day, a.m. and p.m. Two drops each time.

In the bathroom, he tried not to notice the towel his patient had used that morning as he grabbed the drops from the zipped leather duffel under the sink that contained antibiotics, cold medicine, pain relievers and anything else he might need.

The drops were prescription. To relieve pressure on the eye. Pressure caused by swelling. Pressure that could prevent him from regaining his eyesight. Or could cause the process to happen more slowly.

Positioning himself in front of the mirror above the sink, he focused on his nose. Reached up over his head with his left hand, careful to keep his arm visible in the mirror to the only eye that could guide him and held open the lid of his right eye. The right hand had the easy part: lift until his hand was exactly half an inch from his nose and squeeze gently.

A drop fell to his cheek. Just under his eye.

Cursing his vision, he leaned his head back a second time, kept his nose in view in the mirror, measured the distance from the dropper and squeezed again. The drop hit his lower lid. He lifted his hand only slightly and tried one more time. He got the corner of his eye. He’d failed to measure from his nose that time.

If his damned nose wasn’t so big he could see the right eye from the corner of his left, could aim better. You’d think, after weeks of daily drops, he’d be a pro.

Especially for a surgeon with hands as steady as his were.

It was a mental block. He’d thought, when he’d first diagnosed the problem a while back, that the acknowledgment would take care of it. It hadn’t.

And so, after letting his arms rest for a moment, he once again got a fix on his nose in the mirror, raised his left arm over his head, slid his hand past his forehead to open his right lid and lifted the dropper to squeeze gently. Missed for a fourth time. His best was two attempts. His worst was nine. But he’d had a beer that night...

“What on earth are you doing?”

Two drops fell in quick succession, trailing down his right cheekbone. Arms coming down, Simon held the dropper and turned to face his patient. Still in her jeans and T-shirt, but minus the zipped sweater she’d had on all day, she was watching him.

He might have noticed her approach if he’d had peripheral vision in his right eye.

“Putting drops in my eye,” he said when he’d determined that doing so could be for something as simple as dry or itchy eyes.

“I’d have thought a surgeon would have a steadier hand.” She looked slightly down as she said the words. Such a funny combination of sassy and demure. Not that he was interested in her personality.

Or in anything other than her health. And then her departure.

“My hand’s plenty steady.” Childish of him to rise to her taunt, but her remark about not liking doctors was still ringing in his ears.

“Then you’re just a bad aim.”

“I blink.”

“No, you don’t.”

He didn’t think so. But he was damned well not going to tell her that he was temporarily blind in one eye. He’d come to the cabin to get away from the naysayers. Those who didn’t believe he’d ever see from that eye again. Those who thought that his recovery meant accepting the blindness and moving on. He didn’t want to hear another person tell him there were many things he could do besides be a surgeon. He couldn’t afford to listen. To let doubts creep in. He was going to see again. It was a matter of will, now.

So many times, the difference between a patient surviving or not depended not on medical skills or science, but on the patient’s will to live. Lucky for him that his patients were so young—they almost all had that will. In spades.

“You want help?”

As opposed to having her stand there watching him play his nightly game of drop ball?

“Yes.” He handed her the dropper. Told her he needed two drops, directly into the middle of the eye. Then bent down and leaned his head back so she could deliver them.

“Wow, you didn’t blink either time. How do you do that? I always blink when something’s coming at my eye.”

She was getting chattier. Good sign in terms of her recovery.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the dropper from her. She didn’t leave. And he realized that she’d been coming to use the restroom.

“If you’d like to leave your clothes outside your door when you go to bed, I’ll throw them in the wash again,” he told her. “Tomorrow we can see about getting you a T-shirt of mine to wear, too. Or a flannel. It’ll be long, but you can roll up the sleeves.”

“I’ll leave my clothes, thanks.”

He had a feeling that having him do her laundry wasn’t on the top of her list of desires, but what else could she do but sit around in the hospital gown he’d made for her or stand naked in the bathroom while the washer and dryer ran through their cycles?

Catching sight of the bruise closest to her mouth, he reached behind her neck and pulled her closer. Under the bright light of the bathroom he could get a better...

“Don’t.” She jerked away from him. And stood there, meeting his gaze and then looking away. “I’m s—”

“No,” Simon stepped back. “I am so sorry, Cara. My bedside manner is usually impeccable. I should have told you I’d like to have a closer look at your face...”

It was then that it dawned on him that she hadn’t just been reacting to his pulling her forward, but that she’d thought he had something else entirely on his mind.

As if he’d take advantage...

“Why do you need a closer look at my face?”

“That bruise to the side of your mouth...its color is a little suspicious...” There’d been a slight cut there. If he hadn’t cleaned it out well enough, an infection could have developed.

She stepped closer to him, but didn’t look at herself in the mirror.

“Have at it, Doc,” she said, sounding completely not at ease. So much so that Simon felt sorry for her.

The woman had a lot of spunk for someone who’d been a regular punching bag for her lowlife husband.

He checked her bruise. Suspected that the swelling on the left side of her face indicated a minor zygoma—cheek—fracture but from all signs, including lack of displacement, nose bleeds or undue pain, he believed it was one that would heal itself.

As long as nothing happened to displace it.

He told her his findings.

Then left the bathroom to her.

But something had changed in those moments back there. Something that was going to have some impact. He’d realized something.

Something big. And problematic.

There was no way he was going to let her just walk away, to go back out into the world all alone, to go back to the life she’d led, and let that bastard hit her again.

Santa Raquel, California

EDWARD TOOK OFF his jacket, hung it over the back of a chair at Lila’s small dinette. She’d seen him in golf attire a couple of times, but she wasn’t used to seeing him in a dress shirt without his suitcoat on. Why he’d suddenly seem more vulnerable, she had no idea, and wasn’t sure enough of herself where he was concerned to risk delving any further.

In the fourteen years since her previous life had ended, Lila had never, ever, not once, been even remotely tempted to notice a man’s...attributes. Hadn’t been physically activated by the sight of man for much longer than that.

She’d shown him to the small table instead of to the sitting area that was where she’d occasionally invited other special guests over the years, because the table had felt more formal. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“I like your place,” he told her. Looking around, she had to wonder. A man with his financial success...a man in general...couldn’t possibly feel comfortable in her small, completely feminine apartment. The place really only consisted of one room divided into living room and kitchenette by the table at which they sat. There was a separate bedroom. And a bath. The entire place was decorated with lace and roses; prints of places she’d once dreamed of traveling to were framed on the walls. Her dishes were china. A gift from Brett Ackerman, founder of The Lemonade Stand.

Ashamed that it made her feel good to be able to impress him with her crystal wineglasses—wanting him to notice them—she opened the bottle and poured, carried both glasses to the table and then retrieved the deli tray out of the refrigerator. Pouring crackers into a lacy cloth-lined basket, she reached into a drawer for two rose-and-lace napkins—ones that matched the placemats on the table—and slid two dessert plates out of another cupboard.

All was done with silent, deliberate movements. Edward Mantle needed a friend. And Lila had to find her peace.

“Did you decorate this place yourself?” he asked as she sat down across from him, careful to keep enough of a distance that their knees didn’t touch.

She and Sara had shared a meal at the table a time or two. Mostly, she sat there alone.

“Yes.” She took a sip of wine before he could think about offering a toast. Afraid that he’d toast to their friendship and her heart would react again. Or that he wouldn’t. And her heart would react again.

“It reminds me of a cross between a tea room my mother used to go to when I was a kid and the Florida room my wife had at home.”

His wife. Cara’s mother. Lila didn’t know much about the other woman except that she’d passed away when Cara was in high school.

“Do you still live in the same house?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Cara was already exhibiting signs of extreme anger and rebellion by the time my wife passed and I felt that getting her out of that environment, reminders of the eighteen months she spent watching her mother slowly fade away, would be better for her. She loved the beach so much and our old home was a twenty-minute drive...”

“Your house on the beach... You bought it for her.” Edward had first mentioned the house in front of Joy, thinking he’d pique the little girl’s interest, but the gambit had failed miserably. Joy had withdrawn at the mere mention of the beach.

“Yes.”

“How long did the two of you live there before she moved to California with Shawn?” Ran off with him was more like it. Edward’s daughter had disappeared into the night without warning or word. As Lila understood it, the two of them had been barely speaking at that point—Cara blaming Edward for her every unhappiness, accusing him of hating Shawn.

“We lived there together for two years,” Edward said, no rancor in his tone. “Her room is still just as she left it.”

That news—evidence of Edward’s hidden emotional depths—didn’t surprise Lila.

Cara had met the guy who ran a surfing school shortly after her mother died—Edward had been certain the school was a front for drugs, but the more he questioned, the more Cara pulled away, saying that he didn’t want her to be happy.

Once they were out of the state, Shawn had contacted Edward and let him know where they were living, that they’d married on the way across the country and that Edward was not to contact his daughter.

Edward had insisted on speaking with Cara—which he had—and Cara had, not kindly, reiterated her new husband’s words. She’d been eighteen at the time. Shawn had been several years older. They’d opened a surfing school in California.

From what she understood from Edward’s nephew, Hunter, Edward had hoped the business was legitimate, that Cara was healthy and happy. Cara hadn’t contacted him in years—or responded to any of his efforts to contact her. When Shawn Amos had warned Edward to leave Cara alone, he’d said that Edward did nothing but make her unhappy. And apparently Edward had begun to take all of the blame for the breakdown between them upon himself. He’d been too distant—too involved in his career for most of her childhood—was all he’d said to Lila.

“I was so certain that Shawn was the biggest problem between Cara and I,” the man said now. “She was young, grieving, lashing out and was far too vulnerable. I should never have moved her to the beach.”

“If she was as rebellious as you say, she’d have found some other way to put distance between you...”

“I tried to tell Cara that there were things about Amos that weren’t quite right. He was too controlling, for one thing. She had to text him every time she got home from somewhere. And every night before she went to sleep. And he refused to come to our house for dinner. Or hang out with any of Cara’s friends. But any time I said anything that could be even slightly construed as a criticism of Shawn, Cara shut down on me.”

Lila understood his need to talk. To confide in someone. What she didn’t understand was the strong urge she had to take his head to her breast and run her fingers through that short, graying hair.

“What happened today when you saw him?” That was the real question now. Neither of them had touched the food. Or their wine after the initial sip.

“I only saw the back of him. He was in an orange jumpsuit with his hands cuffed behind his back. He never turned around. Was in and out in less than a minute. He was indicted on charges of first-degree murder and kidnapping. Pleaded not guilty, said that he would be hiring an attorney to replace his court-appointed one, was remanded and held without bail, and they led him away.”

About the best-case scenario, given the current circumstances. But Edward’s frown, his fingers rubbing across his palm over and over, indicated otherwise.

Lila’s stomach tightened. “Did Chantel speak with him?”

Something had happened. That much was for sure. And Edward had internalized it, whatever it was. He’d dealt with it by staying close to the granddaughter who, like her mother, didn’t give any sign of returning his affection. One might think that Cara had soured her daughter against Edward, except that Joy had not known, until she’d been told several weeks ago, that he’d even existed.

“He agreed to speak with Chantel,” Edward said now, his fingers still busy against his palm. When Lila barely caught herself before reaching out to take that hand in her own, she slid her hands under her thighs.

“The first thing he did was ask Chantel if anyone had found his wife. Chantel was convinced that he was honestly worried about Cara. That he has no idea where she is. She said he had tears in his eyes when she told him that no one had reported seeing her.”

“So...if Shawn didn’t kill her, this means she’s probably still alive.” Lila tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. She was relied upon to instill calm.

Edward merely shrugged. “If he didn’t kill her, where is she? And why hasn’t she contacted anyone? By all accounts, my daughter doted on her daughter. From everything we’ve heard, Cara would die before she’d abandon Joy.”

“Maybe she thinks Joy is safe with Mary.”

He shook his head. “It’s been all over the news in both Nevada and California that Shawn is in jail—partially due to the alert put out about Cara’s abduction and the vehicle they were in.”

“Maybe she’s in the hospital someplace with amnesia...” She was grasping. But she had this strong urge to ease his pain. To give him hope.

When she knew that her responsibility was to help him accept what was and find a way to move forward.

Hope was the basis of all healing. But relying on false hope meant avoiding that healing. She, of all people, knew that.

“There’s more.” He sounded the same as he had all along. But she was sitting close enough to see the nuances on his face, the tightening of the cords in his neck as though he was struggling to hold back tears.

It was then that Lila knew Edward needed a friend that night. And that she was going to have to get whatever was going on with her under control, because she couldn’t turn her back on a family member in need.