Читать книгу Midnight, Moonlight & Miracles - Teresa Southwick - Страница 9

Simon figured if he hadn’t already had his head examined, he would need to give it serious consideration in the near future. His thinking was crystal clear in spite of the goose egg. Although what he’d just asked sure didn’t prove it. What in the world had possessed him to ask for Megan? The shocked look on her face said she wasn’t keen on the idea, although there was no need to worry. He had no intention of actually going through with this home nursing thing. But her reaction made him damn curious.

She took one step away from the bed. “I’m afraid the home health-care system doesn’t work that way, Mr. Reynolds.”

“It’s Simon, remember? And what way is that?”

“Assignments are handled by the coordinator, Pat Gautreau.”

“What about requests?”

“It’s not a call-in radio show,” she snapped.

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that it was.”

“Time out.” The doctor put his hand up. “I’m going to put in the paperwork requesting a home nurse for you, Mr. Reynolds. I’ll get in touch with Pat and see what she can do to accommodate your personnel preferences. In the meantime, Megan, clean him up. One way or the other he’s going to need that. I’ll do the sutures when I come back.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

After the doc left, Simon watched her move around the small space. It took several moments to register that she never looked at him. She pulled over a stand-up metal tray and put a disposable cloth on it. Paper crackled as she assembled packaged squares, gauze and other mysterious packets. It looked like she was preparing for major surgery. If she pulled out a scalpel, he was outta there, even if he had to crawl.

Finally, she looked at him. “Okay, hero. Lie back down and grit your teeth.”

He complied with her first request, sucking in a breath when every part of his body protested. He slowly let the air out, then said, “So why don’t you want to come home with me?”

“What makes you think I don’t?”

“My brains might be scrambled, but I’m not stupid.” He watched her tear open a square white package, then closed his eyes. She was a bundle of energy, and it made his head hurt to watch her.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” The clipped tone said she knew damn well.

“You looked like you’d swallowed a whole bottle of castor oil when I asked for you.”

“Hold still. I’m going to spray on a topical anesthetic for the pain. It might sting a bit.”

He felt something cool on his skin. It stung for an instant, then stopped and there was blessed relief as the throbbing discomfort went down a notch. He opened his eyes. “Come on, Megan. What’s your deal?”

“I don’t have a deal. You’re imagining things. You should have your head examined.”

“I already did. What happened to the straight-talking, take-no-prisoners angel of mercy?”

“I’m still here. Although you might have your doubts about the mercy part when I get through with you. This is going to hurt. I’ll be as quick as I can.” She let out a long breath, then said, “I’m sorry.”

One minute he was thinking that her tone held heartfelt apology and he wasn’t sure why. The next, fire shot through him and it was all he could do to hold it together. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on holding still. Simon gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw to keep from making any sound as she dabbed and prodded, rubbed and poked his skin to clean the scrapes.

Should he tell her not to bother? There was nothing she could do for what really ailed him. The wound was deep inside where no one could reach it.

“There. Done,” she said.

He opened his eyes and saw her toss bloodstained gauze on the tray. “That wasn’t so bad.”

But he’d heard the raw edge to his voice. His scraped skin tingled and throbbed, hurting only slightly more than his throat from his effort to hold back any sound.

One of her eyebrows lifted. “Really? Maybe I missed something. I can check and see. Go through it again—”

“No!”

He met her gaze and saw the shadows in her wide blue eyes. Her lips turned up at the corners, evidence that she was teasing him. But it cost her. Every job had its downside. Hurting a patient, even to help, wasn’t easy for her. Humor was her defense mechanism.

“You’re absolutely sure?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He let out a long breath. “I’m squeaky clean.”

“At least your boo-boos are,” she qualified. “Now I’m going to put on some antibiotic.” She grabbed a packet and ripped off the edge, then squeezed until opaque ointment appeared. After touching a swab to the stuff, she applied it to his scrapes.

She met his gaze. “Okay, just a couple more spots on that pretty face of yours and you’re almost ready for the doctor to suture your shoulder before you go upstairs for the night.”

“You seem awfully cheerful at the prospect of passing me off.”

“Really? And I thought I was being subtle.”

“Why are you so anxious to get rid of me?” he asked, squirming.

“Hold still.” She finished dabbing the ointment at a spot on his jaw, then met his gaze without blinking. “You’re my worst nightmare.”

“Wow. Don’t sugarcoat it, Megan. Tell me how you really feel.”

Her lips compressed into a straight line for a moment and she shook her head. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

“But you did. So come on. The least you can do is explain.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You’re not going to provoke me into saying anything else.”

“How unfair is that? I should get something for holding still while you tortured me.”

One of her delicate eyebrows rose. “Now there’s a switch. The person being tormented is usually the one who sings like a canary.”

“I think it hurt you more than me. So give.”

“No.”

“Why? Why am I your worst nightmare?”

Still holding the swab, she looked at him, her eyes snapping. “Are you going to drop this?”

“No.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “You win. Why am I anxious to pass you off? You’re dangerous, a loose cannon. Before you ask how I know this, I’ll tell you. No one in their right mind would try to leave the hospital in your condition. Obviously, you thumb your nose at the rules.”

“I prefer to think of it as marching to my own drum.”

“You didn’t bother to deny it. I have to admire that. But people like you are bad for me.”

“Junk food is bad for you. I’m—”

“The saturated fat in the veins of my life.” She dropped the used swab onto the tray beside her.

“Some son of a bitch dumped you.”

“How did you know?” Her head snapped around so fast whiplash was a real possibility. “Never mind. We’ve already established that you’re not stupid.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“It’s probably the nicest thing I will ever say to you.”

Simon found that bantering with her took his mind off the pain. There was no other explanation for the way he was acting, why he was pushing her—provoking her. If he didn’t know better, he would call it flirting. But that was impossible. A guy only flirted to show interest in a woman, and he hadn’t been interested for a really long time. Not in women—or anything else.

“So tell me about him—the jerk who dumped you.”

“It’s none of your business.” She picked up the empty packaging on the tray beside her, then toed open the metal trash can and dropped it in. “I refuse to discuss that with you.”

“Come on, Megan.”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“Isn’t a nurse supposed to help with pain? Talking helps take my mind off it.”

She put a clean paper on the tray. “Okay. We can discuss the weather. Sports. Movies. Books or—”

“I want to know about the creep who hurt you.”

“Why?” She looked over his injuries, then met his gaze and smiled. “Are you planning to beat him up for me?”

“Give me a little time. Seriously, how can I defend myself against being your worst nightmare if you don’t talk to me?”

“For a guy with recent head trauma you’re awfully stubborn, not to mention pushy.”

“And those are my good qualities.” He studied her face, the shadows that chased away the sunshine.

“You remind me of him,” she finally said.

“Go ahead—kick me when I’m down.”

“You insisted. Besides, I’m merely being objective—and truthful. He was a rule-breaker, too—probably still is, wherever he is. Good-looking—”

“You think I’m good-looking?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“On the contrary, you said I remind you of him.”

“I was talking attitude not appearance,” she retorted.

“So you think I’d have to sneak up on a glass of water?”

“I didn’t say that, either.” She positioned a nonstick square bandage on his left elbow. “Hold that.”

He did as she asked. “So what are you saying? Am I good-looking or not?” And since when did he care whether or not a woman liked his looks?

“The average woman would not run screaming from any room you entered. There. I’ve fed your ego. Are you satisfied now?”

“So you would stick around if I came into a room?” He watched her cut strips of tape and place them over the bandage.

“I’m a pretty average woman,” she answered with a shrug.

The backhanded compliment pleased him. He’d thought nothing and no one would ever do that again. “You’re a long way from average, Megan. Which makes any guy who would walk out on you a first-class moron.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “I choose to believe that, even though you don’t know me from a rock.”

“I know enough.” He knew she was carrying around a fair amount of animosity. That had to mean she’d invested a fair amount of time and energy into the relationship. “I’m sorry your husband—”

“No way,” she said vehemently. “Not my husband. I was stupid in so many ways, but at least I was smart enough not to marry him.”

“Where there’s fire, something’s feeding it. What did he do?”

Her blue eyes darkened and her mouth thinned to a straight line before she answered. “When I needed him most, he walked out on me.”

Her statement was simple and straightforward. But her expression told him there was a whole lot she wasn’t saying.

Why had she needed the jerk? No one knew better than he did that bad stuff happened to good people. What bad stuff had turned Megan’s perfect world so upside down that the guy hadn’t stuck around? Whatever had happened was still no excuse. A man didn’t run out on the people who needed him.

He’d made that mistake once and the rest of his life was punishment for it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, knowing the words were inadequate. He’d heard that until he was ready to scream. Sorry—five letters forming a polite response that made people feel better to say it, but hadn’t ever done him a damn bit of good to hear.

“Me, too. But one good thing came out of it. He gave me my daughter.”

A child—a girl. Crushing pain seized his chest. It wasn’t physical, but felt as real as the injuries she’d just tended. From deep inside him, it rippled outward and settled around his heart. Marcus. His son. The best thing in his life. And he was gone.

Simon held still while she secured a bandage on his forearm. She looked at her handiwork and nodded with satisfaction. “Now we wait for the doctor to do your stitches.”

“What do you suppose is keeping him? If he doesn’t get back here soon—”

“What? You’re going to dash out of here? You agreed to spend the night in the hospital and hire a home nurse,” she accused.

“Technically, I never agreed to anything. But if you agree to be my nurse—”

“Even if I wanted to, I’m blocked off the schedule until tomorrow afternoon. If you’re set on getting out of here first thing in the morning, that’s not going to work for you.”

“Sleeping in to get your beauty rest?” If so, she didn’t need it.

“Not a chance, hotshot. Bayleigh has a doctor’s appointment.”

“Who?”

“My daughter.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

She shook her head. “A checkup with her ophthalmologist.”

“Can you reschedule?”

“I could. But I won’t.”

Before he could ask any more questions, the doctor returned.

“How are you doing, Mr. Reynolds?”

“Good as new, Doc.”

“Glad to hear it.” He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses farther up on his nose then looked at Megan. “Pat is on the phone at the desk. She wants to talk to you.”

“Okay. And unless there’s something else, it’s time for me to punch out.”

The doctor shook his head. “I don’t need you for the stitches. Go home.”

She nodded then walked to the foot of the gurney. “Good luck, Simon. Take care of yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me.” She started to turn and he said, “Megan? Watch out for saturated fat.”

She smiled, a beautiful wide smile, then she was gone. Instantly, he missed her—correction, he missed her sharp wit. For a while, it had taken the edge off his pain and emptiness. The two joined forces and closed in around him. The doctor talked as he injected a local anesthetic, but Simon didn’t feel the prick or hear the words. He needed to get out of here. Megan was wrong—he was a stupid man.

A stupid man who would sign himself out AMA.

It had been a long night. When the sun finally came up, Simon reluctantly admitted that he’d been more stupid than usual. His body was like an orchestra’s percussion section—throbbing, aching, stinging. And it repeated over and over. The slightest movement was agonizing, and he’d walked out without taking the prescription for pain medication the doctor had tried to give him. So he didn’t move more than necessary. But now even he could see he needed help. He needed a nurse.

So he’d called the number on the card for Home Health that the ER doc had insisted he take with him. They’d sent someone right over. In five minutes he’d sized her up and realized she wouldn’t do. She wasn’t Megan. He’d called back and insisted they send Megan Brightwell—or no one at all. The consequences were theirs. Megan had told him she wasn’t available until afternoon. He glanced at the clock on the living room wall. It was afternoon, and he was still waiting.

Leaning heavily on his crutches, Simon lowered himself onto his sofa. He clenched his jaw against the hammering pain as he carefully hoisted his Velcro-and-canvas-splinted leg up, then carefully swung it around and lowered it to the cushion. After letting out a long breath, he vowed never to take for granted the simple bodily function of going to the bathroom. He also made a mental note to decrease his liquid intake to just this side of dehydration so he wouldn’t have to get up again anytime soon.

When the doorbell rang, he swore. “Come in,” he called out, hoping it was Megan.

He watched the front door open and his visitor step onto the wooden floor in the entryway. “Simon?”

“Hi, Janet.”

The attractive, fiftyish woman wearing designer jeans, tailored T-shirt and matching navy cardigan stood motionless, studying him from across the room. Her short blond hair was neatly arranged around her softly lined face. Her normally warm brown eyes stared at him in horror.

“Good Lord, Simon. What in the world have you done to yourself now? I came over because I was afraid of something like this.” She slammed the door, then walked over to him.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Jan.”

“The fact that you’re a mess from head to toe? Or that Marcus died two years ago yesterday?” She came farther into the room and stood by the couch, studying him. “Or do you not want to talk about the decision I was forced to make after the accident?”

“None of the above,” he said, throwing his forearm across his eyes. But that didn’t stop him from seeing the memories. “You’ve done your good deed for the day. You’re off the hook.”

“I was never on the hook. But okay.”

For a moment he thought she’d listened and was going to leave him alone. But when she cleared her throat, he knew it was only the beginning.

“We won’t talk about it now,” she said. “But mark my words, the day is coming—soon.”

“No, it’s not. When are you going to give up on me?”

“Never.”

“Why do you bother?” He removed his arm and looked at her. “I made your daughter miserable.”

“It takes two people to make or break a relationship, Simon.” She sighed and sat on the coffee table to face him. “Donna wasn’t blameless. I’m afraid she had expectations that most men couldn’t live up to. Now we’ll never know if she might have found happiness,” she added sadly.

“I still don’t know why you waste your time on me. Surely you’ve got better things to do?”

“You didn’t give up on me after I lost Hank.”

“That was different.”

“Oh? I loved and missed him. How is that different?”

“I don’t have the strength to explain. It just is.”

“You and Donna were divorced. But that didn’t stop you from calling and coming by when I needed some chore or manly thing done around the house. Did you consider it a waste of time when you took me to lunch or dinner, giving me a reason to put on makeup and get out of the house? What about that line you fed me? That I was your son’s grandmother and that made us family.”

“It wasn’t a line. You’re a good person, Jan.”

“And you’re not?”

She knew the answer to that as well as he did. Why did they have to play twenty questions? He lowered his arm and met her sympathetic gaze. He didn’t want or need her to tell him anything. Marcus had dibs on forgiveness, but he was gone and wasn’t coming back.

“Don’t think you’re fooling me. I know what you’re trying to do,” he said.

Her mouth quirked. “What?”

“I invented the innocent act. It won’t work on me. Have you been taking those classes again?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sure you do. Those touchy-feely things you like. You know the ones I mean—Armchair Psychology. Ten Easy Steps to a Better Relationship, even with the former son-in-law who made your daughter’s life a living hell.”

“Oh, please. Don’t be so dramatic. And don’t scoff. Those classes are very informative and have made a big difference in my life.”

“Have they helped you get over losing Marcus and Donna?”

“Nothing on earth can do that.” The light in her eyes flickered, then was extinguished. “We both lost our only child. We share the same pain, Simon.”

“Do we?”

“Maybe not. Mine is compounded. I lost my grandchild, too. It was a shattering loss. And I’m still trying to put myself back together. But we could help each other. I need to talk about it.”

“I don’t. And the last thing I want is help. Nothing will bring them back.”

He wanted to recall the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Her expression made him wince. She didn’t deserve his abuse. He was very fond of her, but he wasn’t fit company. He just didn’t have enough reserves to play nice.

She stood. “Not that you care, but at least I’m trying to move forward with my life. You’re living in perpetual midnight.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Doom and gloom. Your new best friends. As much as I wished it was me who had died, I had to come to grips with the fact that it wasn’t. Every day without them hurts like hell. But I put one foot in front of the other. You taught me that. And it takes courage. But I guess you’ve got more brains than guts. You talk the talk without walking the walk.” She stared at his bum leg, then slung her purse over her shoulder and walked toward the door.

“Janet, I—”

She turned back and held up a finger to stop him. “Don’t say anything. I’m really ticked off. You lashed out on purpose to get rid of me. It worked. You hurt me, and I’m leaving. But that’s not why I’d like to punch your lights out. You’re wasting your life, Simon. I have no patience for waste.”

Maybe this time he’d finally gotten through to her. He wasn’t worth her effort.

She took two steps, then pointed at him. “And don’t think for one minute you’ve gotten rid of me. I’m not through with you yet, buster. If it takes the rest of my life I’ll keep after you. But I’m finished for today. I’ll leave you alone now, since that’s what you seem to want. But if there’s any justice in this world and a god in heaven, each time you haul yourself up off that sofa, every muscle and nerve in your body will hurt like a son of a gun.”

Then she opened the door and slammed it after herself.

Simon let out a long breath. That certainly wasn’t his finest hour. And he’d definitely gotten his wish. He was alone. Although he didn’t feel a whole lot of satisfaction from it. If only the kitchen, the TV remote and everything else he needed could be within arm’s reach.

In spite of the fact that he’d sworn not to consume liquid, he was so thirsty he couldn’t stand it. Steeling himself for the pain, he pushed to a sitting position, then grabbed his crutches and stood. By the time he had accomplished that feat, he was sweating and dizzy. He’d held his breath against the discomfort he knew was coming and had forgotten to breathe.

The doorbell rang. Since he was already standing, he hobbled across the short distance to answer it. Maybe Janet had come back and he could make up for his churlish behavior. She reminded him of one tough, straight-talking ER nurse.

But when he opened the door, it wasn’t his former mother-in-law standing there.

“Megan.”