Читать книгу Love Comes Home and A Sheltering Love: Love Comes Home / A Sheltering Love - Terri Reed - Страница 14

Rachel wiped perspiration from her brow with the corner of her oversize T-shirt and surveyed the pile of boxes filling the back of Mom G.’s car. Driving again had felt strange after living in a city where she utilized public transportation every day. She made a mental note to contact Pastor Larkin and see if he knew of a family in need to whom she could donate Mom G.’s car.

“That should do it,” she told the grocery clerk who’d come out to help.

“All right, you have a good day. And if you need any more boxes, you’re welcome to come back and get them.” The young man smiled and disappeared back into the grocery store.

She closed the back hatch and moved around Mom G.’s station wagon to the driver’s side. Thankfully she’d left the windows down. The high sun raged like an inferno, letting everyone know that summer had officially arrived in the Sierras.

Driving along the pine-tree-lined streets, seeing the houses of those she’d once called neighbors, Rachel shrugged off the feeling of isolation. This wasn’t her life and this wasn’t how she wanted to live. But as she pulled into the driveway of Mom G.’s ranch-style house, a wave of loneliness swept through her and she realized with a start that the sensation was all too familiar.

She felt the loneliness at night when she headed home from the hospital, she felt it on Sundays when she attended her church in Chicago and saw families sitting in the pews. She felt it every time she left Josh and Griff.

She was lonely. There, she’d admitted it. But she couldn’t do anything about it. Not now, not until she returned to Chicago. Then she’d be able to formulate a plan on how to end her loneliness. Maybe a dog or cat would help.

After dragging the boxes into the stuffy, closed-up house, she faced the task of sorting through all of Mom G.’s items and packing what she wanted to ship to Chicago. The rest would be donated to Goodwill. Forcing her tears away, she walked through the house, and with each step, with every effort to keep grief from overtaking her, the numbness returned.

“Might as well start in the family room,” she muttered, wanting to work up to the rooms that would be more emotionally difficult to face.

As she worked, her mind kept turning to Josh.

His steady strength appealed to her. Even when his overbearing behavior grated on her nerves, she found him compelling. Found comfort in his presence and in his sense of duty and honor. He was a man worth admiring. Worth loving. If only…

She ached for his loss, ached that he grieved for the wife he’d obviously loved. Would Andrea always hold his heart? Or would he heal from her death someday and try to love again? What would it be like to be really loved by Josh, to have his stoic presence filling her life, balancing the irregularity of the E.R. with his unwavering strength?

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, she chided herself for thinking of Josh in terms of the future. His life was here—raising his son, working for the forestry service. Her life was across the country where her newest ideas in triage treatment were waiting to be implemented.

She reached for a platter from the cupboard and paused, remembering with vivid clarity the look in Josh’s eyes the night before. He’d looked at her with such yearning and need. As if he wanted the relaxed and intimate atmosphere that had enveloped their time together to continue. As if somehow the past didn’t matter, only the present. As if he could finally accept her for who she was. As if—

She slammed her thoughts down. Getting caught up in the moment was foolish. For both of them. Josh would never accept her for who she was. He would never accept that medicine was important to her and he would never leave Sonora. Allowing even a brief hope that somehow they could make a life together was beyond absurd.

She forced herself to concentrate on the job at hand. She moved with renewed purpose, her mind so focused that at first she thought a loud pounding on the door was merely an echo of the pounding in her head. She started out of her single-minded drive to get the job done. Hours had passed and dusk had fallen, creating shadows along the walls. She made her way through the house turning on lights as she went. She peered out the peephole and froze.

Josh.

If she didn’t answer the door, would he go away?

The loud knocking persisted. No, he wouldn’t. She took a deep, shaky breath, opened the door and drank in the sight of him in faded denim jeans and navy polo shirt that revealed muscled biceps. His hair looked slightly damp as if he’d recently showered, and the clean scent of soap and man filled her senses.

“You okay?” he asked, concern etched in the lines on his face.

Under his considerate regard, her heart raced and her body heated. With more effort than it should have taken, she composed herself. “I’m fine. Just working on getting things packed. What can I do for you?”

His brows shot up. “You could let me in.”

“I don’t think so. I asked you not to come.”

“And I told you I would.”

She couldn’t argue that. She tried a different tactic. “I appreciate your trying to fulfill your promise to Mom G., but this is a little extreme. Honestly, Josh, the best thing you can do for me is leave.”

He stepped closer, consuming the air, making breathing suddenly difficult. She involuntarily stepped back, trying to allow more oxygen to come between them. “Josh, please.”

In a low, subdued voice he said, “Let me help. The quicker you’re done, the quicker you can leave.”

So that was it. Never mind that his words reflected her own thoughts. All his offers of help were to hurry her along her way. She shouldn’t feel this bubble of disappointed hurt choking her. Shouldn’t feel betrayed that he’d want her gone. She should be glad of the help, glad to move things along so she could leave and resume her life once again. A life without him.

The tumultuous conflict going on inside nearly made her stagger. But she drew herself up, arranging her features into what she hoped would appear as a polite, unaffected smile. “Of course. Leaving’s my priority. But I don’t need your help.”

“I’d think that you’d want the packing done quickly,” he grated out.

She bristled. “Am I not moving fast enough for you?”

“Frankly, no.”

She couldn’t let him in. She’d put off working on her old room and Mom G.’s room for fear of being swamped by her grief. Lord, I need Your strength. She was almost done with the rest of the house. “I can do this on my own.”

He let out an exasperated breath. “Rachel, you shouldn’t be doing this alone.” His voice softened, wrapping her up in its even tones.

She resented how much she suddenly wanted him to help, wanted him to take her in his arms and make all the grief disappear. “I’ve done perfectly well alone for years. What makes you think I need you now?”

His quick intake of air was unmistakable. She peered up into his face, trying to discern his expression in the porch light. A shadow obscured his features, frustrating her attempt to decipher why her words would cause him distress.

“I can’t believe you’re going to renege on your promise so easily. Let me take care of you.”

Stabbing guilt made her open the door wider and step back. He stepped in, engulfing the house with his presence.

She hastily closed the door then moved to a stack of empty boxes and watched him survey the piles she’d scattered about the living room. “I’ve boxed up what I’m having shipped and the rest will be donated to Goodwill.”

He nodded, his piercing, gold-specked gaze making a fire rise in her cheeks. She swallowed, fighting the attraction that always hovered close to the surface. He was a big, handsome man and it was natural for her to find him attractive.

Get a grip. She picked up a box and held it out to him. “We can finish the kitchen.”

In two long strides, he came toward her and took the box. “After you.”

She could do this. She marched past him and into the kitchen. They worked together in tense silence. Rachel found it hard to concentrate with only a few feet separating them. She’d catch herself watching his hands as they wrapped newspaper around dishes, those large masculine hands that with the slightest touch brought her comfort she’d never experienced with anyone else. She forced her mind to focus on her task. Soon the kitchen was packed.

“That’s done.” Josh stretched, his navy blue shirt pulling taut across his shoulders, emphasizing the broad width.

Rachel blinked and quickly turned away as she rose from her position on the floor where she’d finished taping closed the last box. Her stiff legs ached, reminding her she’d hadn’t exercised in a while.

“Now where?”

Her stomach clenched in nervous agitation. “The bedrooms.”

She hoped she could make it through this without breaking down. She didn’t want Josh to witness any weakness.

Josh followed her down the hall to her old room. She pushed open the door, expecting Mom G. had already boxed most of her things and would have used the room for her own purposes, and was surprised to find it much as she’d left it. The frilly white bed coverings were neatly made, the shelves lining the walls held the various books and dolls she’d left behind.

Josh peered over her shoulder. “It’s like walking back in time.”

She closed her eyes against the sudden images of herself as a teenager. With graphic clarity, she saw herself sitting at the desk beneath the window doing her homework, her hair held high in a ponytail, her feet tucked beneath her.

She could still remember the night Mom G. had opened her door and said she had a visitor.

Josh had walked in with his easy grin and gentle manners. She’d secretly had a crush on him since the first day of high school. She hadn’t known he’d noticed her. She hadn’t known that one day he’d break her heart.

She opened her eyes and deliberately stepped forward and began pulling books and dolls from the shelves.

Without further comment, Josh dragged in several empty boxes and placed them at her feet.

“Thanks,” she muttered, grateful for his thoughtfulness.

After a moment she paused and noticed his perplexed expression. The big, strapping male looked wholly out of place in the little girl’s frilly room and clearly he didn’t know what to touch and what not to.

Rachel stifled a smile. “You could strip the bed and pile it with the Goodwill items.”

He flashed a relieved grin that hit Rachel with the shock force of a defibrillator. Quickly she turned back to her shelves. Focus, focus, she chanted inside her head.

After those first few awkward moments, they worked together like a tenured surgical team. She’d load a box, he’d tape it closed and fill out the address label.

Slowly conversation started, tentative at first. Rachel sought for neutral subjects and Josh seemed eager to keep their talk light.

As teens they’d had similar tastes in movies and books. Rachel was mildly surprised to discover that as adults they still shared many common interests.

They relaxed into a sort of rhythm, where one thread of conversation quickly led to another and another. They laughed and companionably argued over politics, choices for the Oscars and which authors should appear on the New York Times bestseller list.

In an amazingly short amount of time, they had her old room boxed up. “Thank you, Josh, for your help,” Rachel said as they finished dragging the boxes into the living room.

“Sure thing.” He held out his large hand. “Just one room left. You ready?”

She swallowed back the sudden tears that burned at the edges of her eyes. His offer of support nearly undid her. Clearly they both knew how hard this was going to be. She shored up her defenses. She couldn’t show weakness, but she took his offered hand and allowed his warm palm to give her strength as they headed down the hall.

Mom G.’s room also was as she remembered. The double bed with its fluffy pink comforter, the dresser cluttered with trinkets and jewelry. The bedside table still held the picture of Mr. Green as a young man.

Rachel headed toward the closet, then stopped as she noticed the new pictures hanging on the wall. They took her breath away.

There were pictures of herself in beautiful frames. School pictures, pictures of her with Mom G., at the prom with Josh at her side, her graduation pictures from high school, college and medical school.

“She was very proud of you.”

Josh’s softly spoken words sent shivers of fire down her spine. If only he could be proud of her. She frowned at the thought and began pulling the pictures from the wall.

Lovingly she wrapped each frame in paper and stacked them in a box Josh had carried in. This time they worked in reverent silence, occasionally sharing memories of Mom G. Rachel kept more of the items from Mom G.’s room than she had from any other.

The large armoire that graced the wall next to the closet drew her attention. She’d find a place for it in her apartment. She ran her hand over the gleaming wood.

“When I first came to live with Mom G. I was a very scared little girl,” she commented aloud. “Once again frightened by a new place, a new parent and a new set of rules to learn. One day I hid inside this chest.”

“What happened?” Josh asked as he came to stand beside her, his presence comforting.

She smiled up at him, liking the way his interest was centered on her. “Mom G. found me. Instead of the anger I had expected, she lovingly held me and told me stories until the fear went away. She was an awesome woman.”

Josh reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was electrifying as his knuckles grazed her cheek. “She was.”

His gaze trapped hers. She was letting him get too close both physically and emotionally. She didn’t want that, couldn’t allow it. Only pain would result. She stepped back out of reach and gulped for air. “I’ll have the shipping company pack up the armoire.”

One corner of Josh’s mouth tipped up as if he knew how he was affecting her. Disconcerted, she turned her focus to the closet. She touched each garment and Mom G.’s scent wafted up from the clothes, tugging at Rachel, making her ache.

“What’s that?”

She wiped away a tear before facing Josh. “What?”

He tilted his head upward. “There.”

She followed his gaze. A white box on the top shelf of the closet bore her name. She glanced at him. “Would you mind?”

Josh squeezed beside her, eating up space, and Rachel stepped back, nearly falling into the clothes piled on the floor. He reached out to steady her, his huge, strong hand closing around her forearm, sending hot sparks shooting up her arm.

“Thanks.” She extracted herself from his grip and moved a safe distance way. Josh’s proximity and his touch did funny things to her insides and she didn’t want funny things going on inside. It made staying focused difficult.

He easily retrieved the box. “The living room?”

“Please.” She headed down the hall. Josh set the box on the coffee table. She opened the lid and widened her eyes in pleasure. A tattered teddy bear lay on top of a scrapbook.

“Yours?”

“Yes.” She picked up the bear and ran a hand over it. “My mother gave him to me before she died. I’d thought I’d lost him. Mom G. must have packed him up to preserve him.” A lump rose in her throat. She held the bear close to ease the tightness in her chest.

Setting the bear aside, she picked up the scrapbook and laid it on the table. She sat on the sofa and flipped through the pages. Josh took the seat beside her, distracting her.

“Mrs. G. put effort into this,” he remarked.

“It’s wonderful.” She couldn’t believe how much she enjoyed looking at the pictures and the little anecdotes written beside the frames. The book chronicled her life with Mom G., starting with the first day she’d arrived to the last picture Rachel had sent. On the last line in the book Mom G. had written, “The rest of the book is for you to fill with pictures of your family.”

Rachel stared at the words. Mom G. was her family. Without her, Rachel was alone.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Josh asked softly, “Are those pages going to be filled, Rachel? Do you have someone waiting for you in Chicago?”

She slanted him a glance, aware of the anger stirring in her chest. Anger because he had no right to ask her that, anger because the answer was no.

“What do you think? No, wait.” She held up a hand before he could respond. “What was it you said? ‘No man would want to marry a woman whose priority in life was her career.’ My priority is my career.”

His words still haunted her. Every time a man had shown interest in her, she’d remember those words, remembered the pain of loving only to have to make a choice between the man and her God-given path. And her choice would always be the same.

Her life was about making a difference, about being a doctor.

“Rachel, I’m—”

“You’re what? Sorry?” Rachel scoffed, her strength rapidly depleting. “Don’t be. You were right. I wouldn’t have accomplished what I have if I’d married or stayed in this town.” She couldn’t stand the pity in his eyes but hated even more that she’d validated his position on her career.

She closed the book.

Josh tipped the box forward. “There’s something else in here.”

She watched as he pulled a large manila envelope from the box and handed it to her. Anxious to get through this, she broke the seal and grabbed an official-looking file. Her name stared at her from the tab.

Ignoring the prickling awareness of Josh’s gaze, she flipped open the file. The contents marked her progress through the Department of Child Services, starting with the day she became a ward of the state and continued on, noting every foster home with comments by the foster parents. She quickly read and absorbed the words. For out of the five homes she’d lived in, the comments were nearly the same: “The child cooperates well, is very quiet and insecure.”

Rachel’s mouth twisted. More like scared to death.

Mom G.’s name appeared as the last foster home. The remarks made by Mom G. touched Rachel deeply. To Mom G. she wasn’t “the child,” she was Rachel. A little girl who needed love and affection.

With a snap, she closed the file. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, but a grown woman who just lost the last bit of family she’d ever known.

The hospital. The people there would be her family now. Her focus would be entirely on the patients, and their care, with no distractions.

Impatiently she dumped out the rest of the manila envelope. A hospital bracelet with her mother’s name and the blue and white insignia of Sonora Community Hospital, a birth certificate and a small grouping of photos fell out.

Her breath caught in her throat. With shaky hands, she reached for the top snapshot. The woman in the picture had curly hair, which framed her face, and blue eyes sparkling with intelligence.

“Is this your mother?”

She nodded, afraid that if she spoke he’d hear her anguish. She had one picture of her mother that the social worker had given to her. It sat on her bedside table in a crystal frame.

“You look like her.”

The compliment nearly shattered her composure.

Gathering every vestige of her control, she spread the rest of the photos out on the table. Five in all. “I’ve never seen these. I wonder why Mom G. never gave them to me.”

“Maybe she thought they’d make you sad.”

In one frame, her mother stood on a beach staring out at the waves, her expression pensive. In another, her mother held a tiny baby wrapped in a pink blanket. The next was a park setting. A two-year-old Rachel sat on a swing, her mother behind her, joyous smiles on both of their faces. The last photo was of her mother, dressed up and looking like a princess.

“I wonder if my father took these?” Everything hurt inside and she willed the pain away.

Josh took her hand. His fingers wrapped around hers, anchoring her as the tide of grief began to rise within her.

“I don’t even know who he was, Josh. What he’d been like. Why he’d left.”

“I didn’t know,” he responded softly. “You’d said he was gone. I’d assumed he was dead.”

“He was gone before I was born.” She picked up the birth certificate. Her own. She pointed to the line where her father’s name should have been. “’Unknown’?” Her voice rose, betraying the anguish building in her chest.

At sixteen she’d needed her birth certificate for her driver’s license. Any hopes or plans she had of seeking her father out died when she’d seen that one word. “I can’t accept he was some stranger my mother hadn’t loved. Some one-night-stand type of deal.”

“Maybe he hadn’t known she was pregnant when they broke up.”