by Radclyffe
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” Blaise grimaced. “If I’d been more honest with myself about the attractions I’d started feeling in high school, I might not have so easily succumbed to the flattery your brother sent my way. And after learning what I’ve kept buried all these years, I should think you’d be the last person to consider me trustworthy.”
“Failing to disclose your personal business is not a lie, and neither is needing some growing time to understand who you are,” Grady said. “You’re entitled to your privacy. So is Taylor.”
“Thank you for that.” Blaise sighed. “I wondered how you’d feel when you had a chance to think about it. If you’d feel like I’d cheated your brother out of something. Denied your family something.” She hesitated. “Cheated you.”
“You didn’t cheat me out of anything. I said the time with you was a gift, and I meant it.” Grady swallowed hard. “I’d say that Gavin was the one who did that when he turned his back on you and Taylor.”
“It was a long time ago, Grady, and both of us made mistakes. I try not to think very much about him. And for the most part, I’m happy.”
“For the most part?”
Blaise was too tired to pretend, and she couldn’t lie to Grady. Wouldn’t lie to her. “I love my daughter more than my life, but I’m a woman too, and sometimes I’ve been lonely.”
“I understand.”
“I know, you always seem to understand,” Blaise said softly.
Grady could have said she was lonely too, and that she missed her. She wanted to—so much so just sitting beside her hurt. But not sitting beside her hurt far more. More importantly, Blaise was hurting, and Grady railed against her own powerlessness.
“There’s something I want you to know,” Grady said, offering the only thing she could.
Blaise stiffened. She probably expected Grady to ask her to pretend the past didn’t matter, so they could both ignore Gavin’s ghost threatening Blaise’s peace of mind and Taylor’s security. Grady would never put Blaise or Taylor in that position, no matter how much it hurt to walk away.
Grady rested her hand on Blaise’s, a tiny bit of comfort warming her when Blaise didn’t pull away. “I want you to know that Gavin will never hear about Taylor from me. If and when he does, it will be because you’ve told Taylor about him, and she wants to reach out. She deserves to make that choice—when and if she needs to.”
“Thank you,” Blaise said. “I’ve struggled with what and when to tell her since she was born, and the best I’ve come up with is to let her decide at her own pace.”
“I think that’s exactly right,” Grady said, even though the words sealed her own fate. She couldn’t have any future with Blaise if Taylor didn’t know her true relationship to her.
“And what about you?” Blaise turned her hand and ran her thumb over the top of Grady’s hand. “She’s your niece.”
“Maybe someday I’ll have a chance to know her better.” Grady smiled. “She seems like a great young woman, and I’m not at all surprised considering who her mother is.”
“I can’t take the credit for that,” Blaise said. “All I’ve ever tried to do is let her be herself. And know I would always love her.”
“And that’s everything.” Grady went on carefully, “There’s something else. You know my circumstances—I am a lot more than comfortable financially. I want to help with the cost of Taylor’s education.”
“Grady,” Blaise said, looking away on a long, tremulous breath. “I can’t.”
“No obligations, Blaise. Taylor never needs to know. No one ever will.” She leaned closer. “This is the least Gavin should have done for her—for you. Taylor deserves this. Please, let me do this.”
“I’ll—I’ll think about it,” Blaise finally said. “I don’t want Taylor to lose out because of my fears, or pride. But you don’t have to make up for your brother, Grady. Ever.”
“I’m not trying to. She’s family.”
“Stop,” Blaise murmured, “you’ll make me cry.”
“Don’t,” Grady whispered. “I’m not strong enough not to kiss you if you do.”
“I’m not strong enough to say no.” Blaise closed her eyes, and Grady slipped away while she could still make herself go.
* * *
Sometimes running at night, when the shadows closed in, cocooning her in silence, Grady found peace. City streets hadn’t offered much of that, but in this village, with almost all the businesses except the bar at the far end of town closed by the time she was ready to leave the hospital, and everyone asleep, she’d found what she needed. Not tonight, though. Tonight she ran from the hospital down the mountainside into the empty streets, need and frustration roiling in the pit of her stomach. Adrenaline fueled equal parts temper and despair, and heightened the twitchy edginess in her muscles. She’d never been completely free to choose her own destiny—she’d been expected to follow in Gavin’s footsteps, who’d followed in her father’s, who’d followed in his, and back generations. She loved medicine, so she hadn’t minded all that much. She minded now. She minded very much that she could not change her circumstances when it mattered most. She wanted Blaise. Dreamed of her, desired her, longed for her, and ached in her absence. She’d seen her need echoed in Blaise’s eyes. She’d felt it in Blaise’s body when they’d made love. How many times in her life would she find someone who touched her like that?
The answer was obvious. She’d been lucky to find it once and would be a fool to think she would again.
Frustrated, powerless, helpless, she ran. Her pace picked up, but still she couldn’t find the rhythm. She ran past the turnoff to her street, to the end of town and back again, circling, finally coming up Blaise’s street for the simple, pathetic need to see the porch where she’d sat with Blaise, sipping wine in the darkness, sharing bits of herself and teasing little pieces of Blaise from the very deep well of her secrets.
And the kiss. The kiss that haunted her and remade her. She slowed, half a block away, and the silence and the stillness settled inside her chest, bringing certainty and assurance at last. She wouldn’t give up. If she had to wait until Taylor left home for college, until she was older and strong enough in her own right to weather whatever fallout her relationship to the McClures might bring, if anything at all, she would. Peace stole through her chest, and as if the wind had felt the rightness of it too, the porch swing swayed a little, to and fro. Grady saw herself there again, sitting beside Blaise as Blaise gently rocked the swing.
Grady slowed further, eyeing the swaying swing. The breeze was faint, not enough to provoke that much motion, but the swing was empty. The shadows on the porch were alive, though, shifting pools of inky black melting and reforming the closer Grady approached. As she trod cautiously up the walk, the shadows coalesced into the shape of a man outside the front window, his arm reaching toward the front door latch.
“Hey!” Grady bounded up the steps. “What are you—”
Pain shot through her face. Her feet flew out from under her and she sailed backward, landing with a teeth-jarring thud on the front stairs. The porch light flicked on, and Taylor’s voice cut through the fog in Grady’s pain-addled brain.
“Who’s out there?”
Somehow Grady got her legs to work and staggered up as Billy Riley grabbed Taylor’s arm and tried to shove inside the house with her.
“Hold it!” Grady lowered her shoulder and rushed Billy. He was six inches taller and probably a hundred pounds heavier, but she hit him at an angle just above the hips, using every bit of power in her thighs and her center mass to plow into his soft flank. The blow knocked him off balance, and as he stumbled away, he crashed into the railing and tumbled over into the yard along with a good portion of the spindles and rails.
“Get in the house and call the police,” Grady yelled.
Taylor, bless her, didn’t argue and the door slammed. Grady leaned an arm on the remaining bit of railing and peered over the splintered banister into the yard. Billy sprawled on his back, whimpering. N
ot going anywhere.
Grady rubbed her forearm over her face, noted absently the streaks of blood as she went back down the front stairs to the side yard, and knelt beside him.
“Don’t move,” she said. “What hurts?”
“My fucking arm,” he groaned.
She ignored the stench of alcohol. Wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last time she dealt with an injured drunk. In the light coming out from the front room, she could make out his rolling eyes, glazed more from alcohol and likely drugs than injury.
“Can you feel your arms and legs?”
“You hit me,” he muttered, moving all extremities except the injured one he cradled against his chest.
“Stay put. Help is on the way.” Grady straightened. The broken arm, if that’s what it was, looked like his worst injury. Sirens sounded, coming closer fast, and she rose, put her hands in front of her, and stayed in the light. Two uniformed officers trotted up the walk, Maglites directed at her.
“Police,” the male officer said. “We got a call there was an attempted break-in and someone was hurt.”
“I’m Grady McClure, a doctor at the Rivers. This guy was lurking on the porch and tried to push inside when the occupant opened the door.”
The woman officer shone her light on Billy and made a disgusted sound. “Riley, jeez. I didn’t think you’d come up with anything dumber than your last stunt, but you managed.”
“I think he’s got a broken arm,” Grady added, lowering her hands.
“I’ll call the EMTs,” the male cop said. “You look like you took a hit there too, Doc.”
She grimaced. The left side of her face was sore, and considering the blood, she probably had a laceration. “I’m okay.”
“Perkins,” he said to the female officer, “you stay here with this idiot until the EMTs arrive. I’ll call for backup and run the doc over to the ER to get looked over.”
“Hey, Tom,” Taylor said from the porch, “I’m coming too.”
“Sure,” he said. “You can tell me what happened when we get there.”
Grady said to Tom, “Maybe you should let the ER know we’re coming, and that Taylor is okay. Her mom is working tonight.”
“Yep.” Tom headed for the patrol car and Grady followed. Taylor caught up with her on the front walk.
“You okay?” Grady asked quietly.
“Yeah,” she said, although her voice shook. “You really nailed him.”
“Lucky hit.”
“Lucky for me,” Taylor said softly.
Grady wanted to put her arm around her, but held back. To Taylor, she was practically a stranger.
* * *
“Blaise?” Abby said from the door of the utility room where Blaise had spent the last half hour cataloging supplies.
“Need me?” Blaise said, punching the next to last number on her inventory list into her tablet.
“Everything’s okay,” Abby said, “but Tom Kincaid is bringing Taylor over here right now. She’s not hurt.”
Blaise carefully set the tablet aside. Her stomach pitched and rolled. She breathed in slowly to steady herself. “You’re sure she’s not hurt.”
“She’s fine. It sounds like Billy Riley was trying to get into your house.”
“That son of a bitch,” Blaise said. “Where is she?”
“They should be here any minute.”
Abby stepped aside as Blaise flew past and raced down the hall toward the ER entrance. Halfway there, Taylor vaulted through the door, saw her, and ran into her arms. Blaise clutched her, running her hands over her hair, down her back, and up her arms. She stepped away an inch, all the distance she could bear. “You’re not hurt?”
“I’m okay, Mom, but Grady’s hurt.”
Looking past Taylor to the ER entrance, Blaise gasped. Sean entered, pushing a pale, disgruntled looking Grady in a wheelchair, a blood-soaked gauze taped to her left temple.
Heart skittering with worry and fear, Blaise said, “God, what happened?”
“Billy Riley, that dickhead,” Taylor spat, “was on our porch, looking in the window, and when I opened the door, he tried to get in.” Her voice broke, and Blaise pulled her back into her arms again.
“It’s all right, honey. It’s okay. He will never do that again. No one will ever do that.”
Abby appeared next to them. “Blaise, why don’t I take Taylor back to the break room and get her something to drink.”
“Yes, okay, thanks,” Blaise said as she watched Sean take Grady into a treatment room.
“I think you should relieve Sean,” Abby added. “Vic Perkins is bringing Billy Riley in. Sean or Glenn can take him.” Abby threaded her arm around Taylor’s waist. “Come on, honey.”
“Taylor,” Blaise said. “I won’t be long, okay?”
“It’s okay, Mom.” Taylor already looked more settled. “I’m good. And Grady was awesome.”
Her daughter gave her a ghost of a smile, and Blaise’s heart settled. She kissed her on the forehead and hurried toward the treatment room.
“Sean,” Blaise said as she pulled back the curtain and slipped inside, “I can take care of Dr. McClure. Vic Perkins is bringing in another one.”
If Sean was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Sure.”
Grady sat propped up on the stretcher. “How’s Taylor?”
“She’s okay. With Abby right now.” Blaise adjusted the light and pulled on sterile gloves. “Let me see what we’ve got.”
Grady picked at the tape holding the gauze in place. “Got a mirror?”
“Stop playing doctor for a minute. You’re the patient now,” Blaise murmured, gently swabbing the dried blood around Grady’s left eye. She focused on evaluating the wound to calm the sick feeling in her stomach. She would not let herself think about what could have happened to Taylor, or Grady, now. “You’ve got a five-centimeter laceration just above your left eyebrow. The direction is favorable, and it probably won’t be noticeable once it’s healed.”
“He must’ve caught me just right. Shear forces. Lucky hit.”
Blaise meant to smile, but her lips trembled. “Oh God, Grady. You could have been hurt so much worse.”
“Hey,” Grady said, reaching for Blaise’s hand. “I wasn’t. It stings a fair amount, but it’s not a big deal. I didn’t lose consciousness. A little bit of a headache. That’s it. How’s Taylor?”
“I believe you’re her new hero.” She trembled as the adrenaline surge abated. “He was trying to get in the house?”
“He was drunk,” Grady said disgustedly, “and nosing around, looking in the windows, and when he went for the door, I called him off. Taylor heard us, and when she opened the door, he tried to get inside.”
“I never worried about her being alone at night. She’s smart, and in this town, everyone feels safe at night.” Blaise took a steadying breath. Later. She could be terrified later. “What were you doing there?”
“Running. I just…happened by.” Grady lifted Blaise’s hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “Neither you nor Taylor is at fault here. The door was locked. She’s sixteen years old. Plenty old enough to be home at night alone. This is all on Billy Riley.”
“I want to kill him,” Blaise seethed.
“Get in line,” Grady said darkly.
“We need to take care of you,” Blaise said, gathering her wits and remembering what she was supposed to be doing.
Grady shrugged. “Just put some Steri-Strips on it.”
Flann twitched the curtain aside. “How about you let me decide that, champ.”
Taylor stood right beside her, and Grady was still holding Blaise’s hand. She let go, and Blaise stepped back an inch or two.
Grady frowned at Flann. “Oh, for crying out loud. What are you doing here?”
“Didn’t have anything else to do.”
“Abby called you,” Grady muttered.
“News travels fast around here,” Flann said, rolling up the sleeves on her rumpled plaid shirt.
&n
bsp; “I’ve noticed.” Grady tilted her head toward Taylor. “How you doing?”
Taylor moved over to the side of the stretcher. “I’m good. I forgot to say thanks.”
“Believe me, it was my pleasure.” Grady grinned, and Taylor rewarded her with a smile that lit up her eyes. She looked a little pale and shaky, though, and Grady tamped down the desire to toss Billy Riley over another railing. “You handled that just right, by the way.”
Taylor’s smile grew. “I wish I could have knocked him on his ass the way you did.”
“College rugby—you ought to think about it.”
“Ah, maybe we should talk about that first,” Blaise chimed in, a hint of laughter in her voice.
Taylor huffed. “Mom, Margie and Blake are on the way over here. Can I stay at Blake’s tonight?”
“Of course.”
Taylor hesitated. “Um, maybe you could come over later too?”
Blaise brushed a strand of hair from Taylor’s forehead. “Can I pick the TV show?”
“We’ll negotiate.”
“Deal.”
Flann said, “Let’s get the hero here fixed up, Blaise, and you can get out of here.”
“I still have half a shift left,” Blaise said.
“Abby says you’re covered.”
Taylor said, “Thanks again, Grady.”
“You’re welcome.” Grady eyed Flann. “It’s nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” Flann pulled on gloves, examined the wound, and shrugged. “You’ll have a pretty little scar above that eyebrow that you can tell lies about in the future. And you’ll need some stitches.”
Blaise said, “I’ll get the suture tray. Three-oh chromic, six-oh nylon?”
“Sounds like a good choice,” Flann said, breaking out the sterile drapes and setting them around Grady’s shoulder and head. When Blaise stepped out, Flann said more quietly, “You all right?”
“Yeah, just hurts like a son of a bitch. And I feel like an ass for getting clocked. The guy was drunk. I’m surprised he could even focus.”
“If he’d gotten into the house…” Flann blew out a breath. “He needs an ass kicking.”
“He’s going to get a legal one this time,” Grady said.
