The worst of his injuries were his eyes. The doctors had tried to explain it, but all she got was that something happened that made him temporarily blind. She wouldn’t have cared if he’d been permanently blind and had lost his hands if it meant he was still alive.
At the end of her third day, with no signs that he’d be waking soon, and at the urging of Finley and the doctors, she left. She’d had every intention of coming back immediately, but she had to report to the FBI and tell them everything that happened, several times. She hadn’t been all that surprised that it’d ended up taking a few days, just frustrated.
It was looking good for them, though. They’d managed to find the proof they needed that Bridgette had indeed been at Newlin’s office the night of Katelyn’s death in surveillance from a building across the street, and almost exactly in the amount of time it would take to drive from Thornfield to San Francisco. They’d also had a witness come forward that hadn’t when they’d first canvassed the neighborhood. It seemed suspicious, but he knew what she looked like down to the unseasonably warm shirt she had on. That, combined with what Helen had said in the manor, was enough to get a good case going against her.
After her work with the FBI officially ended, Brown had insisted she come back and start getting back into her old routine with Lee. It’d been nice to be back, and a case had given her the distraction she’d been hoping for.
Her little brothers had been glad to have her back. Apparently Kyle and Jake had taken turns checking in and even staying overnight at her apartment with Luke. He’d been a little nervous to be left alone, and her other brothers had picked up the slack. It made her proud.
Through all that, Patrick remained asleep. It was a week after she left that she’d finally gotten the call. He was awake, he was fine, but he still couldn’t see. She’d wanted to rush to his side, but the case she’d been so grateful to have gotten now prevented her.
Another week passed before they’d closed the case and she was able to head back to Thornfield. Her stomach churned as she made her way down the hall and past the nurses’ station. She hadn’t called him after he’d woken up. The things that needed saying needed to be said in person. She was nervous. What must he be thinking?
In front of Patrick’s hospital door stood a uniformed police officer.
Patrick’s voice drifted out to the hall. “I thought you said this was temporary.”
“It is,” the doctor said. “Your sight should return anytime.”
“Should return?” he snipped. “Should? Let me tell you something about shoulds. Trains should run on time, hot chocolate should be hot, and doctors should be more specific than ‘should,’ but that doesn’t always happen, now does it?”
“Hey, ease up,” Finley said.
Elizabeth hadn’t expected him to be here. She showed the officer at the door her badge, and he waved her through. She peered in before entering and leaned against the doorframe. Patrick sat upright in his hospital bed; the bandages that had been around his eyes were now in Dr. Jacobs’s hands. Finley leaned against the windowsill behind Patrick’s bed with his arms crossed over his chest and his gaze down.
Dr. Jacobs folded the bands and shoved them in her white lab coat pocket. “Mr. Daley, considering what happened, you should be glad you’re alive.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “I am, but I’ve also lost my home, my sight, the use of my hands and—”
“Temporarily blind, temporarily,” the doctor huffed. “And your hands will heal too.”
Elizabeth smirked. Patrick was a bad patient. Shocker.
“And my house?” he griped.
The doctor frowned.
Finley glanced over at him. “Daley!”
Elizabeth stepped through the door. “Did you really like that house, anyway?” He might have at some point, but he’d never really seemed comfortable in it, except perhaps in the library—the only place other than the kitchen where she’d ever seen him. His haven in a place full of dark memories. She’d certainly never felt comfortable in the manor, but she was sorry about his books. He’d had such a beautiful collection.
Patrick froze as Finley and Jacobs turned to her. “Elizabeth?” Her name on Patrick’s lips came out in barely a whisper, and his hands dropped to his sides.
Finley smiled.
“I’ll come back later.” Dr. Jacobs shook her head all the way out. “We still need to put the balm on your hands.”
“Can’t wait,” Patrick snarked.
Finley moved away from the window. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
“You look great,” Fin said.
Patrick breathed out loudly and rolled his unseeing eyes.
“Thank you.” Elizabeth’s cheeks reddened, but she was pretty sure she’d kept her voice calm. “What are you doing here?”
Finley shot a quick glance at Patrick.
“He’s come to deliver some bad news,” Patrick said. The snark that had vanished when she’d first entered the room was now back in full force.
Finley rested his hands on his hips and breathed out.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Can I have a word?” Finley pointed to the door.
“Sure.” She followed him out. “What’s up?”
He lowered his voice and turned his back to the open hospital door. “Bridgette Stevens died last night.”
Her eyes went wide and she wasn’t entirely sure her jaw didn’t drop. “What happened?”
“We won’t know for sure until after the autopsy, but it appears she’s been poisoned,” he said.
Now they’d never know who the man was that started everything. She pointed back to the hospital room. “You told him?”
“No, he guessed.”
Right, of course he had. No wonder he was so cranky. Well, that and his eyes. All of it was a sure recipe for one cranky Patrick Daley. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Thank you.” He heaved a sigh of relief.
She started back in, but Fin caught her arm.
“Listen,” he said. “I meant what I said. If you ever change your mind about him or me, the offer stands.”
She gave him a little grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Leaving Fin, she stepped back into the room. Patrick sat a little taller as she got closer, clearly listening to her approaching footsteps. For a moment, Elizabeth could only stare. His eyes were open and wide, but gazing into space. The surrounding burns looked much better than they had last time she’d been here. Even his eyebrows, which had been a little singed, looked normal. In fact, he looked more handsome to her now than he ever had before.
“You still there?” he asked.
She shook her head to rid herself of the daze she was in. “Yes, sorry.”
“You’re here.”
She went to his bedside. “I just said—”
“I meant you came back.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple dropping and rising again.
“I figured you’d need someone to stick around for a few days to help.”
“That’s why I have Alice. They called her when I woke up, and she came right over.” He pointed in the general direction of the door, and she wondered at how easily he seemed to get his bearings. “In fact, she’s getting me a hot chocolate from the cafeteria as we speak.”
She took a deep breath. “I could leave.”
“With Finley?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, he asked you out, didn’t he?” He was starting to sound cranky again.
“That’s none of your business.”
“He did. He’s been mooning over you for weeks. And it explains how awkward you two just were.” He cleared his throat. “Don’t want to flirt with the new boyfriend in front of the old one.”
She reached down to his forearm and pinched it.
“Ow!” He pulled away. “What was that for?”
“For being a louse.”
He glared at her with his new strange gaze. “If you
think so little of me, I’m surprised you’d stay.”
She sat on the bed next to him, the rough fabric scratching against her legs below her shorts, and gently took his wrapped hand in hers. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work. Finley is a nice man, and yes, very handsome. I do like him. And you are being a louse, but only because you want me to say nice things to you. And I won’t be bullied into it. Now, you’re the smart one. Why am I here if not for you?”
“Maybe you want to harass me.”
She sat his hand down. “Fine, I’ll leave.”
He leaned forward, almost frantic, and grabbed her hand again. “No. Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like it very much if you stayed.”
“You would?”
“Yes.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Besides, if I have to listen to Alice complain about all the flashlights she lost one more time, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
She chuckled. “Oh, hush.”
His grip tightened. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. So am I.” A tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away. Before she could stop herself, she leaned forward and kissed him.
He startled briefly, but then wrapped her in his arms. She breathed in the clean, fresh scent of him and felt her breathing ease for the first time since that night. More than once, she’d thought she’d never have this again. More than once, she’d mourned over the loss. She’d never leave him again.
He pulled back and wiped at her face. “Why are you crying?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat until she was sure she could speak normally. “I lost my flashlight too.”
He poked her side. “Very funny.”
“I’m sorry about Bridgette,” she said.
He blinked. “I’m not. She got what she deserved.”
“What about the man who approached Helen?” She held her breath. Did he still want revenge instead of justice? Would he go crazy again and do something foolish?
“You don’t need to worry about me. I lost you once, and that was enough. Seeing you walk out of that kitchen after you’d figured out what I’d done, followed by waking up here with you gone—for good, as far as I knew—was enough to put me on the straight and narrow.” He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “One day, that man, whoever he is, will be found. And when he is, the law will take care of him.”
Her heart swelled and she almost felt on the verge of crying again. He knew her well—knew what she needed from him and what he’d have to do to keep her, and he’d decided it was worth it.
“I love you,” she said. For the first time in her life, she used the words with someone outside her family. She always thought it’d have to be dragged out of her, but there was no doubt in her. No regret at having said it. She wanted him to know.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “Does that mean you’ll stay with me?”
“Yes.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated. “We’ll see how things go.” Though she could admit she liked the way “forever” sounded.
“So, if I proposed …?”
Her heart thudded against her chest. One. Hard. Thud. Maybe one day she would marry him, this infuriating, marvelous man who she loved. In so many ways, they complemented one another—in so many ways, the one filled in the gaps where the other lacked. They just made sense. Still, this wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have right now. “Daley.” She added a warning to her tone.
“Patrick,” he corrected.
“Patrick, then.”
“Since you’re staying, surely this means you’ll help nurse me back to health?” A slow smile spread over his face. “I’m going to need someone to spoon-feed me, and help me dress, and bathe me—”
She smirked. “I know. That’s why I hired Bob.”
His smile fell. “Who?”
“He’s a nurse. Big guy, lots of hair on his chest. I think you’ll like him.”
“That’s not funny.”
She chuckled. “It is that you think I’m joking.”
His smile fell, and she burst out laughing. Then she kissed him, happy to be with him like this again. Happy to feel his strong arms wrap around her. Happy to be in love and with the one she loved. And happy to spend the rest of her life like this.
Epilogue
A week later, Patrick sat in the front seat of Elizabeth’s Mustang as she drove them back to Thornfield. He still couldn’t see, but this morning, when he’d woken, light filled his eyes. He hadn’t been able to make anything out and had put the bandages back on his eyes and covered them with sunglasses like he had every day. But he thought today was the day.
He’d been discharged from the hospital a few days prior, and Elizabeth had driven him to his apartment in Sacramento. It’d been good to be back, and even better when he’d learned just how close Elizabeth actually lived. Perhaps it was just dumb luck that she happened to live in the same city he’d called home before his desperate search for his wife’s killer had led him back to the manor house, but he felt it was much more than that. While never big on the idea of fate, that was the closest thing he could think of in regard to Elizabeth.
He held her hand in his lap and squeezed.
“Did I mention how nice you look today?” she asked, a smile in her voice.
She meant because he was in a suit again. The last week he’d only worn sweats, and Elizabeth preferred him in suits. He’d known that since he’d first met her; she never quite seemed to get enough of him in them, and had on several occasions tried to hide her wandering gaze. He loved it. It’d been a long time since he’d cared about what a woman thought of him, in any way. It was convenient for him because he always felt his most comfortable in them. No tie, though. Never a tie.
He tugged on his lapel with his free hand and smiled. “Thank you. Bob came by this morning and helped me get ready.”
“Did he wash your hair?”
“He did, in fact. Man has surprisingly soft hands.”
She laughed, filling him with warmth that was still slightly foreign to him.
If he’d lived a thousand lives, he was sure she would’ve been in every one. Their connection wasn’t just the friendship they’d made since she’d arrived at the manor and yelled him out of Katelyn’s tree; it wasn’t only the things they had in common, or the intimacy they shared, though all those things meant the world to him. No, their connection was soul deep, if there was such a thing.
He’d loved Katelyn, and he would always regret what’d happened. He’d never forgive himself for not being there when she needed him, and he’d miss her—so much—but Helen had been right. They hadn’t been happy the last year of her life. It was why he’d half-heartedly agreed to move from the city and to the manor after his father bequeathed him the house. Patrick hadn’t wanted to go to Thornfield, but he loved Katelyn and she’d thought that it would help him get away from his charlatan ways. He just hadn’t been ready to give it up.
But despite all, years later, there was this woman: kind, forgiving, tough as nails, and more stubborn than him, and she loved him. And he loved her. He’d been given a second chance at life, and deserving or not, he was going to take it.
They made a turn, and she took a deep breath. “We’re here.”
He breathed deeply. He’d felt fine all the way until this moment, but suddenly he wasn’t so sure this was a good idea.
She parked and turned to him, squeaking in her leather seat as she did. “Are you sure about this?”
He nodded anyway.
“All right.”
She got out and, a moment later, helped him out. The smell of burnt rubble and ash and smoke hit him full on. She led him up the driveway and around the path at the side of the manor, stopping about where the back door would’ve been.
“It’s not so bad back here,” she said. “I’d bet some of your books even survived.”<
br />
She started to lead him away again, but he planted his feet. He removed his sunglasses and squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled off the bandages. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes. At first all he saw was light, but as his eyes adjusted, curves and edges and colors came into focus. The only thing left of the house was back where they stood now by the kitchen and library; everything else was charcoaled piles of debris.
A sudden loss hit him that he hadn’t expected. He’d never loved this home, but it had been where Katelyn had spent her last days. Her memory had been in every stone and had both comforted and haunted him. His vision blurred as tears fought to spill over. He blinked and took a deep breath. He was done crying.
“Hey,” Elizabeth said, stepping in front of him, the lines of her face drawn in worry—her golden eyes searching his for any signs of sight.
His pain fled as he took her in.
She smiled wide. “You can see?”
He took in every curve of her face: her high cheekbones, strong jaw, and rosebud lips. He grabbed a strand of her raven locks, running the silky texture through his fingers. Behind her were the heaping ashes of his past, but she stood between him and that. No matter what would come for him from now on, she was all the balm he’d ever need.
He nodded. “And what a sight for sore eyes.”
Afterword
Afterword
Elizabeth made her way through the boxes of books that had been recently shipped to Patrick’s apartment in the city while Patrick and Lee kneeled in front of pieces of what would be Patrick’s new book shelf; if the two men could stop arguing long enough to put the thing together.
“No, that’s the two inch toggle we need the one and three-quarter inch.” Lee held the instructions in one hand and pointed to something on the floor.
“How do you know this isn’t two inches?” Patrick held up the piece. “Did you measure it?”
The Heir of Thornfield Manor Page 17
