by Joanne Rock
Vaughn, too. He hadn’t lost a patient since returning from Afghanistan and wanted to keep it that way.
What he hadn’t wanted was to advertise his emotional shortcomings to Abigail when he’d gone over to her studio the other night. He’d planned to end their day together on a high note by bringing her the raw materials from his ranch—and some dinner, too. Their kiss had played out so many times in his memory that he found himself wanting more even though everything in him warned that being with her was going to be complicated.
So he’d gone over there and tried to keep things light. Romantic, even.
It had been working, too. Conversation flowed easily through a meal she clearly enjoyed. He’d been relaxed and having a good time, too. Had sensed another kiss was imminent.
Then things took a downward turn when she asked about Ruby and his job. He hadn’t shared the PTSD diagnosis with many people—period. So he hadn’t developed an ease with talking about it, which must have come across in his surly response.
“Dr. Chambers, you’re just the man I wanted to see,” a deep male voice greeted him, hauling Vaughn out of his thoughts.
Troy “Hutch” Hutchinson was a maternal-fetal specialist and a good friend. The guy was not only a gifted doctor, but also a generous one, donating time to Doctors Without Borders for a long stint in Africa.
Vaughn shoved out of the rolling chair at the nurses’ station, clapping Hutch on the back. “Did you have time to look at the patient in 2C?”
He’d had a seventeen-year-old accident victim transferred from a rural hospital late in his shift. She hadn’t required surgery, but her condition was critical, especially because of an early stage pregnancy.
“I just checked on your car-accident victim and her baby looks good.” He laid a file folder on the nurses’ station counter and helped himself to an apple from a gift fruit bowl delivered to the unit earlier in the day. “You up for tennis one of these days?”
Vaughn hadn’t played in months, but he’d spoken to Hutch a few times about getting together to hit. The other man lived in Pine Valley, but he belonged to the Texas Cattleman’s Club, too, so using the courts there presented no problem. Which brought to mind another question he had for his friend.
“I’m free all the time. You’re the one with triplets.” Vaughn remembered how happy the guy was when his wife, Simone, gave birth to three healthy babies.
“Right. And my serve is going to be rusty after devoting months to baby-rocking.” He grinned between bites of apple. “Not that I’d trade the dad duty for anything. But if I don’t stay in shape, I’m not going to be able to keep up when they start walking.”
Vaughn wasn’t so sure about that. Hutch was a gifted athlete at every sport and a prized teammate at any sports-related hospital charity event. But he wasn’t going to argue. Vaughn needed to make an effort to reconnect with the world, as witnessed by his ineptitude making conversation with Abigail.
“Good point. Name the time and I’ll be there.” Pocketing his phone, Vaughn waved his colleague farther down the hall, away from beeping monitors and nurses buzzing in and out of the floor’s hub. “I have a quick question for you first, if you have a minute.”
“Sure thing.” Hutch walked with him, tossing his apple core in a basket on the way.
They stopped by the window overlooking the top floor of the parking garage. The lights were on since it was after 9:00 p.m. and one car drew his eye in the mostly empty lot.
Abigail’s compact vehicle was parked under one of the streetlamps. He recognized the vehicle from the magnet on one side, advertising her artwork. The knowledge that she was here, working late, sent a surge of longing through him. He wanted to see her.
Needed to see her.
“Hutch, I wasn’t sure who else to ask about this...” Vaughn had put in a call to Will Sanders, hoping to learn more about possible danger to Abigail from the man who impersonated him. “But I’ve struck up a friendship with a woman who was involved with Will Sanders’s imposter this winter.”
“Rich Lowell.” Hutch’s lip curled, his disdain obvious.
“That’s the name I heard, too. Is that confirmed?” Vaughn hadn’t gleaned much from Abigail the day he’d learned about her pregnancy, and he wanted to be sure she was safe. “Rich and Will used to be good friends.”
“So I hear.” Hutch leaned a shoulder against the window. He hadn’t grown up in Royal, yet these days, he had a far better grasp on what was happening in town than Vaughn did. “But the police warned the TCC board to take extra precautions with any files Will had access to in the past year, including member profiles and sensitive data. Rich had access to everything.”
“Do the police think he’s still in the area?” Vaughn’s gaze dropped to that solitary vehicle under the streetlamp again.
The nearest car was at least fifty yards away.
“They aren’t ruling anything out. The FBI did DNA testing on the ashes that Jason Phillips shipped back after the plane crash that supposedly belonged to Will, and they definitely don’t belong to Rich Lowell.”
So Rich was alive. And a wanted felon.
“The guy could be dangerous.” Vaughn’s gut churned at the thought of Abigail being vulnerable to a man like that. He swore softly.
“I’m sure police have warned her to be careful. They’ve spoken to everyone who was close to the imposter.” Hutch straightened from where he leaned against the window, his phone vibrating in his pocket. “And I hear Will is hiring a private detective to do some work on the case, too. Make sure nothing gets overlooked.”
Hutch checked his message while Vaughn plotted the fastest path to the children’s ward. He had to check on Abigail. An artist living alone in a downtown bungalow didn’t have the resources that someone like Will did. She couldn’t hire her own investigator or a bodyguard.
“Thanks for the update.” Vaughn backed away, thinking the stairs were quickest. “And I’m not letting you off the hook for tennis.”
Hutch grinned as he pocketed his phone. “You think I’m beatable after a few months away from my game?”
“No one’s reign lasts forever.” He levered open the door to the stairwell and headed down a flight to the children’s ward, where Abigail must still be working.
He hadn’t wanted to push for more with her when his head was wrecked and she was expecting another man’s child. She had a lot on her plate, and so did he. But if she was in danger, all bets were off.
He would make damn sure he was there to keep her safe.
* * *
The tree needed more branches.
Abigail could appreciate that now that she saw the tree sculpture in its new home in the Royal Memorial Hospital children’s ward. Art took on a different appearance according to the surroundings—the light, the space, the colors nearby. And after paying a professional mover to relocate her half-finished piece this afternoon, she could see that she had more work left to do than she had imagined.
She didn’t mind the extra effort. This project meant so much to her that she wanted it to be perfect. Abigail liked the idea of a tree with deep roots and extensive branches that reached out to draw in visitors. A place of comfort and reflection.
What Abigail did mind was the added expense of paying a mover to transport more raw materials to the hospital. If she’d been thinking ahead, she could have saved herself some money by incorporating everything she needed into one trip. Considering how long that commission check needed to last her, it was essential to start making smarter decisions to spend wisely.
She took out a pen and paper from her purse to write notes about which pieces would fit the sculpture best to add new branches to the tree. Then, lowering herself to the work platform she’d installed around the base of the tree, she tucked a foot beneath her and started a list.
The lounge was quiet tonight, making it easy to concentrate. When th
e sculpture was finished, the lounge would extend to the area around her tree, but for now, the hospital building crew had roped off her job site. It didn’t stop interested people from hopping over to take a peek or offer a compliment, but it wasn’t as though she had to work with many people around her.
By tomorrow, there would be plastic sheeting hung up all around the sculpture so she could use her electric tools. For now, she scribbled.
She was so lost in thought, imagining a pattern of wood pieces grafted to the central trunk, that she never heard footsteps approach. She startled when a man’s voice intruded on her note-taking.
“It’s awfully late for you to be here.” Vaughn stood close to the platform, dressed in street clothes—khaki-colored pants and a white button-down with a necktie that could have been a postmodern painting. A few splashes of color on a black field.
Her heart warmed to see him in spite of all her stern warnings to keep her distance. The tone of his voice skimmed her senses like a caress, hitting all the right places and making her think about kissing him again. It wasn’t fair to feel so physically aware of him when she knew he might not be in a position for a relationship, battling his PTSD issues so hard. But she hadn’t even opened her mouth to speak and she was already tingling with sensual want.
“I had to move the tree trunk into place today so I can do more of the carving on site.” She shuffled aside her notebook and pen. “There comes a point in the process where it becomes risky to move the statue if I’ve already done a lot of detail work.”
“I could have helped you.” He stared up at the trunk and the preliminary branches—mostly raw, uncarved wood in bay laurel to match the trunk. “How did you get it all over here?” He lowered his voice for her ears alone. “You need to be careful while you’re pregnant.”
“I am. I hired a moving company.” She ran her hand up one side of the tree where she’d done a little craving today, notching out some thick bark for texture. Better to touch the tree than the man who tempted her. “And I would have hired your groundskeeper’s sons since they were so helpful with stacking the new wood, but I booked the movers the day I got the commission.”
“It looks great.” He pointed to a carved creature already hiding inside a hollow. “I really like the barn owl.”
She flushed with pleasure at the compliment. “Thank you. I hope to add quite a few birds.” Her birds were popular in the local antiques-and-crafts store, Priceless, where she sold a few of her works. “Although I’m not sure how many I will finish before the summer gala since I’ve realized I want the scale to be bigger.”
“It’s already huge.” Vaughn stepped up on the platform and stretched his arms around the trunk as far as they would go. Less than half way around. “Are you sure?”
“Definitely.” She flipped her notepad up to him so he could see what she’d drawn. “I started making a list of what I want to bring over here, but I ended up making a sketch of the revised branch scheme.”
“I like it.” He nodded, peering up from the sketch to the sculpture in progress. “But how will you notch in all those new branches?”
“That part will be time-consuming,” she admitted. “And since it involves technical craftsmanship as opposed to artistry that will show in the final product, it’s the kind of thing I could hire out if I knew someone skilled in carving.”
Like furniture making, grafting on the branches involved making seamless joints. Fitting pegs into perfectly cut slots.
“I’ll find someone who can help you.” He shifted to sit down beside her on the platform.
His knee brushed hers, the touch sending ripples of awareness along her skin far beyond the point of contact. She’d worn a T-shirt with the simple cotton A-line skirt, a good uniform for a job site since it was comfortable enough while still appearing professional. The lightweight cotton wasn’t much of a barrier for her leg next to his strong thigh. Her throat dried up and she took an extra moment to steel herself against the feel of him.
“That’s all right, Vaughn. I told the art committee that I could finish this project in the allotted time frame, and I will. It just means a few more late nights.” Possibly it meant seeing the handsome doctor a few more times, too.
What woman didn’t enjoy being around a man who made her heart beat faster? Even if he should be off-limits?
“I want to talk to you about that.” His voice was quiet again. Serious. “Have the police spoken to you about taking extra precautions now that they believe Rich Lowell is still alive?”
She hadn’t expected this line of conversation at all. And although she’d been warned to keep the details of the investigation quiet, she guessed Vaughn probably knew more about it than her, considering his TCC connections.
Following his lead, she kept her voice quiet as well, needing to keep the conversation confidential. There was one young couple in the waiting lounge nearby. The woman read a book while the husband snoozed on her shoulder.
“I got a call from a federal agent last week.” She hadn’t known what to make of it at the time. Because as much as she resented Will Sanders’s impersonator, she was unclear how much of a threat he posed to her and the rest of Royal. Yes, he was a horrible person, but she wasn’t sure if he was outright dangerous to her. “She told me the remains delivered for Will Sanders’s funeral did not match Rich’s DNA and that investigators had every reason to believe he was alive.”
“I heard.” Vaughn’s green eyes locked on hers, his expression grim. “Didn’t she tell you to be more careful? What if he tries to contact you?”
At the time of the phone call, Abigail had just read a letter from her mortgage company threatening to start foreclosure proceedings if she missed another month’s payment, so she may not have been as focused as she should have been.
Her life was so far from where she wanted it to be for her child. Guilt nipped. She touched her expanding belly, the smooth curve of new life more evident when she was seated.
“The agent told me not to reach out to him. And asked again if I had any idea of his whereabouts.” She shook her head, remembering all the times she’d been asked that same question. How sad for her child’s sake that the man she’d been involved with was on the run from the authorities, a completely inappropriate choice for a partner that would follow her forever. “I told her absolutely not and that I wouldn’t try to contact him again if I did.”
“But you’re carrying his child.” His hand went to her knee. A gesture of emphasis, perhaps.
Yet the warmth of his palm lying lightly on her thigh sent a shiver of pleasure through her.
“He doesn’t know that.”
Vaughn’s eyebrows lifted, his hand sliding away. “You never told him?”
Her skin still felt warm where his hand had been.
“He was hardly in town this spring.” She had felt guilty about her lack of communication at first. But once she’d discovered how deep his deception went, she was actually relieved. “Earlier this year, he was flying back and forth to Ireland. Then he was out of the country on business. Finally, I went to the main house once to try to speak to him.”
Overhead on the PA system, a doctor was paged, the announcement blaring into their corner of the hospital, which was otherwise so quiet.
“When was that?” Vaughn asked when the speaker went quiet again.
She thought back. “The first week of May, maybe?” So much had happened in the last few months. “It was probably a week before the plane crash. Maybe a little less.”
“And Rich wasn’t at the Ace in the Hole that day?”
“I have a hard time thinking of him as Rich.” She had never even met Richard Lowell, as himself—he was a man others in Royal knew well enough for his friendship with Will. “Don’t forget, I thought Rich was dead in a boating accident and that Will had moved on after losing his closest friend.” Her chest hurt remembering their conversat
ion about that. “He told me about that accident on the night—on Alannah’s birthday. When I was falling apart and feeling vulnerable. He made me feel like we were kindred souls, mourning people we loved.”
Bitterness gave the words a bad taste. The more that came to light about Rich Lowell’s deceptions, the more she realized how thoroughly she’d been played. He had taken advantage of her grief, maneuvering her right where he wanted her.
And she’d been too caught up in her own loss to notice.
“The bastard.”
Vaughn’s quiet assessment of the situation mirrored her own.
“My thought exactly. But on that day, when I went to the main house on the ranch to confront him, he was there.” She had been prepared to bargain for full custody. Offer to move out of town even, if that would help Will, since he’d never left his wife even though he’d told her that he and Megan were separated. Abigail had hoped he would want nothing to do with the baby. “I went in the back way, toward the office where I had done temp work. The desk and room where I used to work was empty, but I could hear arguing in Will’s—er, Rich’s—private office.”
“Do you think it was Rich’s voice?” Vaughn’s hand shifted to rest lightly between her shoulder blades.
She realized then how wrong her first impression of him had been. That he was an arrogant. Brash and blunt. Since that first meeting he demonstrated a tenderness and empathy for her that made her understand what made him a good doctor. His patients must feel well cared for.
“I know it was Rich because I peeked inside the office door. It was open a crack.” She’d been startled by what she saw. A very different side of the man who’d been her boss for two months. “Just as I reached the door, to see who he was arguing with, there was a thumping noise. Like a shove or a punch. And when I looked inside, Rich was fighting with Jason Phillips.”
