Like a combination lock clicking into place, Sarah finally realized what Joss was so scared of. “I get it now. You don’t want to be responsible for another person directing their emotional energy on you. Sacrificing for you. Making you the center of their world. You don’t want to be your father at all, do you?”
Joss’s face twisted into a mask of pain. Sarah leapt out of her chair, knelt beside Joss, and threw her arms around her. She tightened her hold as Joss began to cry softly against her shoulder.
* * *
All Joss could smell was the shampoo of rosemary and lemon in Sarah’s hair and her faint perfume of wildflowers as she fell into her arms. She couldn’t stop herself from seeking comfort in the soothing touch of her fingers, in the strength of her arms, and in her sympathetic murmurings. She hated this show of weakness, and yet she needed what Sarah was offering every bit as much as she needed air to breathe. Caving quickly, she admitted she’d lost a patient late yesterday and hadn’t slept a wink all night.
“Tell me what happened,” Sarah said with an unbearable tenderness.
There had been a routine surgery three days earlier, her patient a sixteen-year-old boy with a rapidly degrading bicuspid aortic valve that needed to be repaired, she explained. It was rare, but an infection—endocarditis—had set in. He didn’t respond to the IV-drip antibiotics, she said, still full of disbelief. “He wanted to be a doctor someday. A cardiologist because of his own heart problems, he told me before he died.”
“Oh, Joss, I’m so sorry.” Sarah drew tiny circles on Joss’s back with the softest of touches that couldn’t have been more powerful. “It wasn’t your fault, you have to know that.”
“I know.” Joss pulled away, retrieved a Kleenex from her pocket to wipe her eyes. “I’ve gone over and over it in my mind. I did everything right, but it shouldn’t have happened. It just…it doesn’t make any damned sense.”
“A lot of things don’t. You can’t always force them to, and you can’t control everything. You told me as much the other day when you talked about Roxi and how you handle it when patients die.”
“I know. But it’s my job to try,” Joss ground out. She pushed her chair back and stood up. It had been much easier to be philosophical about losing a patient when she hadn’t actually lost one in a couple of years. Now the stark pain of it was simply too raw to bear. “I need to go.”
“Why? Stay here, I’ll throw together something for us to eat.”
Joss lifted her hand to Sarah’s cheek, touched it softly. “Sarah, don’t. Please.”
“Don’t what?”
“You were right,” Joss said thickly, dropping her hand and stepping back. “I don’t want to be like my father. And I don’t want you to be like my mother.” The words were strangled in her throat, but she pushed them out anyway. “I don’t want you to take care of me.”
Chapter Fifteen
With relief, Sarah watched the last of her students leave the classroom before slumping down at her desk. She hadn’t given much of herself to them today, her thoughts dominated by Joss. She’d texted her that morning to ask if she was okay and gotten back only a terse response of “yes, thanks.”
It dumbfounded her—no, frustrated her beyond measure—the way Joss had at first accepted and then quickly rebuffed her support yesterday. What she’d done for Joss—holding her, listening to her, comforting her—wasn’t anything she hadn’t done for others she cared about. Why couldn’t Joss accept such a simple act of humanity? Why did she have to make letting Sarah in so hard?
Easy, she thought. She’s got me mixed up with her mother giving everything she had to her father. She’s got herself convinced that she can’t or shouldn’t need anyone else, that it would be unfair to that person. Well, Joss was misguided—because Sarah was not Madeline McNab. She was not about to sacrifice everything for Joss, would never give up her own dreams, her own career, so completely for someone else. She hadn’t given up her dreams for her father and she wouldn’t for a lover. But what she could do was be an equal partner to someone someday, and that was the part that Joss was being so ridiculous about. She knows nothing about equal partnerships, about give and take, because she never learned it at home, Sarah decided. Home hadn’t taught Sarah many loving lessons either, but she’d learned enough through her friendship with Lauren and her two failed relationships.
Sarah retrieved her phone from her bag and texted Joss: “We should talk. Can we meet?”
“See you tomorrow night at the Christmas gala. Talk then,” came the reply.
Sarah sighed and jammed the phone back into her bag. Joss McNab, you are way more high maintenance than you could possibly imagine! The thought amused Sarah, only because she knew how appalling Joss would find her observation.
* * *
Joss downed a bracing glass of champagne as the string quartet played a slow waltz. She felt in need of a little shoring up tonight, and so did Sarah, judging by the enthusiasm with which she too was consuming her first glass of bubbly. With luck, the wine would also cool Joss’s libido, which had been in a state of Code Red since she’d picked up Sarah. That dress was giving her all kinds of heart palpitations. And not only the dress. Sarah had all the right accessories to accentuate her sexiness too—black stilettos, long sapphire earrings and a matching necklace so delicate that it made Joss want to twine it lightly between her fingers. It took great effort to force the thoughts from her mind. They hadn’t kissed since Chicago, hadn’t touched intimately since then either, if you didn’t count her tearful collapse into Sarah’s arms two days ago. That she didn’t want to think about either.
Nancy sidled up to her and Sarah. “Have you ladies bid on anything for the silent auction yet?”
The silent auction was a treasure trove of pricey items: a year’s rental on a Mercedes, a nine-hundred-dollar bottle of scotch, a private box for a Titans game, seasons tickets to the symphony, gift certificates for spas and restaurants and clothing stores. To be polite, Joss had bid on a diamond bracelet, which she would give to Sarah if she were lucky enough to win it. Although Sarah probably wouldn’t accept it, meaning her mother was next on her recipient list.
“I think Joss should bid on the trip to Disney World,” Sarah teased.
“Yes, because spending the day with a bunch of screaming kids is right up my alley.” Joss grimaced. Quiet, well-behaved kids were one thing. But overstimulated, oversugared, overexhausted little brats were quite another.
“Actually,” Sarah supplied, “Disney would be the perfect place to take Roxi if she gets a new heart. Don’t y’all think so?”
“Ooh, I bet she’d love that,” Nancy enthused.
“All right, all right. I’ll bid on it,” Joss said. Nancy and Jayme could take Roxi if her bid was successful or Sarah by herself could take Roxi. She’d even drive them to the airport.
Nancy nodded toward her partner, chatting animatedly in the distance with a couple of hospital foundation members. “My lovely wife has ordered me to win the trip for two to Sanibel Island. Now that I could handle, especially the week before Christmas.” Nancy heaved a cinematic sigh. “A private cottage on the beach for a week. PiÑa coladas at sunset, mimosas for breakfast. Does it get any better than that?”
“Your vacation plan sounds like an alcoholic’s dream,” Joss teased.
“Oh, shush, you. I’ll drink plenty if I get a whole week of not being on call and having no surgeries.”
“Hear, hear. I wonder what that would be like?”
Nancy gave Joss a playful shove. “Don’t even pretend you want a vacation. You couldn’t pull yourself away from here for all the tea in China. I, on the other hand, would have no problem saying sayonara to the place for a week.”
Madeline rushed toward them like a house on fire, and Joss drained the rest of her second drink. Oh, great. “And here comes Mama.”
“My cue to go rescue my wife,” Nancy said. “Not that I don’t love your mother, but she looks like she’s on a mission.”
“You can say that again,” Joss said under her breath as Nancy scurried away.
“Darling!” Madeline planted a smeary kiss on Joss’s cheek and produced a canyon deep smile that nearly cracked all her layers of makeup. “You look very handsome in your tux. And you.” She took Sarah’s hands in hers and enveloped her in a scrutinizing gaze that would have surpassed that of a beauty pageant judge. “You, my dear, are even more gorgeous in person than I’ve been led to believe by your stepmother. I’ll have to scold Linda later for not extolling your virtues enough.” She winked to show she was kidding. “And let me just say—”
“Mama, you could try letting Sarah get a word in edgewise.”
“Oh, Joss dear, don’t be rude.”
Joss rolled her eyes discreetly. Fortunately, Sarah seemed not to notice Madeline’s smothering behavior.
“As I was about to say, Sarah dear, I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you. Linda has been telling me how wonderful you are, and of course, I’m well aware of your talent as an artist. Your work is absolutely marvelous.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Mc—”
“Oh, honey, I insist you call me Madeline.” Finally, she let go of Sarah’s hands. “And I hope my daughter has been treating you well.”
“Your daughter,” Sarah said with a brilliant smile, “has been incredibly generous and the perfect gentlewoman.”
Or not, Joss thought, recalling the make-out session in Chicago that had nearly ended in the two of them getting very naked. And very sweaty.
“Well, will wonders never cease,” Madeline muttered, then laughed. “You two look so beautiful together. Perfect, as a matter of fact.” She took each of their hands and squeezed tightly. “I’m so proud, Joss. So proud.”
Joss’s eye rolling was less discreet this time. “Mama, really, there’s no need—”
“Oh yes, there is. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”
Joss’s heart thumped in annoyance. Waited for what? For your daughter to hire herself an escort?
Madeline retrieved a thick linen hankie from her clutch purse and dabbed at her eye, further embarrassing Joss with her Southern theatrics. “Let your mother fantasize for a moment about you finding such a lovely woman, would you, darling?”
“I think I need another drink,” Joss mumbled to herself. She was in no mood for further histrionics from her mother, which, while embarrassing, were also a reminder that she was a disappointment to her mother in some important ways. “How was Knoxville?”
“Fine, dear. Cousin Anabelle says hello. Oh, and Sarah,” Madeline said pointedly, stepping closer to Sarah if that were possible.
So much for the change in subject, Joss thought. Her mother was a missile locked onto its target.
“I’d love to get to know you better later. Without my daughter present,” she added in a stage whisper. “Lunch perhaps? Right now, however, I need to make some bids on the silent auction before it closes. Adios, children.”
“Sorry about that,” Joss said to Sarah. “She’s not normally that irritating.”
“She’s lovely. And I can tell she loves you very much.”
“Yes, well, that she does, but she’s over the top tonight.”
“Oh shit.”
“What?” Joss quickly scanned the room.
“It’s my father, and he’s headed this way.”
Chapter Sixteen
Peter Young was a master at making an entrance. His short red hair, flashing blue eyes and a trim body that shaved ten years off his age were usually enough to attract an audience, especially of the female variety. And then there was the efficient, slightly urgent way he moved that naturally generated a path, as though he were an icebreaker charging through a frozen lake. Sarah’s father was magnetic, a man people immediately wanted to impress, and she sometimes still found herself under his spell. And she hated it. She’d wanted to grow up and leave Daddy years ago, but yearning for his approval and needing his money kept drawing her back too many times.
She wasn’t proud of those times, but it was going to be different now, she vowed. She didn’t have his approval and probably never would, but at least she no longer needed his money. She was making and would continue to make her own way through life now.
“Hello, Daddy,” she said calmly, accepting a brisk peck on the cheek.
“Sarah, a pleasure.”
So formal, so devoid of emotion, Sarah thought with frustration. So typical. “Where’s Linda?”
“Oh, she’ll be along. Probably got hold of somebody’s ear. Good evening,” he said to Joss, extending his hand. “Excuse my daughter’s poor manners. I’m her father, Peter Young.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Young. And I would have pegged you as Sarah’s father from a hundred yards away.”
“Daddy,” Sarah interrupted. “This is Dr. Joss McNab.” She would not, she decided, offer any further explanation.
“Ah, yes, of the esteemed McNab medical dynasty, how wonderful.” His eyes had come alive at the McNab name, and Sarah guessed he was calculating how he might impress someone as important as Joss. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
He glanced sidelong at Sarah, and she didn’t miss the flicker of surprise in his eyes as he took in the close proximity with which she and Joss stood together, the way they leaned slightly into one another the way couples do when they’re presenting a united front. He smiled and shook his head a little, making it clear he didn’t think she’d had it in her to bag someone like Joss—someone with more money and social credentials than he had. It was a stretch to call the look on his face prideful or boastful, but he’d never looked at Sarah like that—like she’d accomplished something good—because of one of her paintings or because of her graduations and degrees. Bile collected in her throat, and she wanted to get the hell away from him as fast as she could.
“Likewise,” Joss muttered, and Sarah could tell something had gone cold in her too, that her politeness took effort.
“Well, well, this is good news.” Her father turned to her, and Sarah froze at the chill in his eyes. “Guess this means the Bank of Dad is officially closed, hmm?” His smile was granite hard, like it’d been chiseled there. He was mocking her. “Well done, my angel. Well done.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Now if only you can get her to sell your paintings for you too, you’ll be all set.”
“Daddy, please.” She was past the age where the pompous jerk could make her cry, thank God. But if she could have turned on her heel and stalked away without making a scene, she would have. Slapping him would be a better idea, but that too wasn’t an option.
Joss stiffened beside her. “Mr. Young, your daughter is an absolute delight, and I’m honored to have her in my life. You’ve raised a good woman. And a very talented one. You must be very proud.”
Her father looked momentarily chastened, which made Sarah far happier than it should have. She should have stopped giving a shit what he thought years ago.
“W-well,” he muttered before lifting his square chin and aiming it defiantly at Joss. “I do hope you’re going to make an honest woman of her.”
“Honest woman?” Madeline swept in. She laughed like he’d said the funniest thing she’d heard all day. “Oh, Peter, you make it sound like we’re in the 1950s. But if you’re in the mood to spring for a wedding, I vote for a reception for at least five hundred with a complimentary bar and no less than a small orchestra. Of course, you’d need to fly in fresh lobster from Maine. Oh and champagne from France. Caviar from Russia too.” She clapped her hands together in delight.
Sarah nearly giggled at her father’s crimson face. “Daddy, you might want to take one of your blood pressure pills,” she whispered, not bothering to disguise the jubilation in her voice.
“Wedding?” Linda strolled up to her husband, setting a placating hand on his arm. “Somebody getting married? Do tell!”
“I’m not exactly sure yet,” Peter answered dryly. “Our Sarah perhaps.”
�
�Oh God,” Sarah whispered, louder than she intended. This was getting out of control. Was it too much to ask for a tornado to swoop down and scatter them all into the next county?
“Nobody’s getting married,” Joss answered smoothly. She swung her gaze to her mother. “Unless, Mama, there’s something you’d like to tell me?”
Madeline laughed. “Oh Joss, you’re such a card, bless your heart.” She turned to Linda and struck up a conversation with her just as Nancy and Jayme arrived with perfect timing. Sarah nearly swooned with relief.
Joss’s friends pressed fresh drinks into their hands and led them to one of the round tables for eight, where guests were beginning to collect.
“Thank you for that,” Sarah said to them. “Your timing was perfect. One more minute in Daddy’s presence and I would have been arrested for assault. He can be such a horse’s ass.”
“I’m used to in-laws from hell,” Nancy supplied, then closed her mouth abruptly as Jayme cuffed her on the shoulder. “Sorry, honey, just trying to make Sarah feel better.”
Sarah flashed an apologetic glance at Joss, who merely shrugged and gave her a what-can-you-do smile. If ever she decided to get married one day, her father was definitely not going to be on the guest list. Madeline’s jab about him paying for an elaborate wedding had had the intended effect, however. One about as pleasant as a root canal, Sarah hoped.
The microphone at the front of the room squealed. The emcee, an elderly woman in an elegant pantsuit, asked for everyone’s attention so that she could announce the auction winners. It was a long and mostly boring list interspersed with polite applause. Sarah paid little attention until Nancy and Jayme whispered with excitement that the Sanibel Island winner was next up.
Joss held up a hand to display crossed fingers. “I hope you guys get it.”
“And the winner of the Sanibel Island retreat for a week is…” The announcer tried to draw out the suspense, which earned a sigh from Nancy loud enough to be heard across the room. “Dr. Joss McNab!”
By Mutual Consent Page 12
