Expecting a Scandal

by Joanne Rock

  The child widened her green eyes and peered up at her nurse. “Wow. So even when it rains, it will be like we can go outside.”

  The nurse, a tall, willowy blonde in bright purple scrubs, explained, “Zoe is disappointed it’s raining today. She likes it when we can go outdoors.”

  Abigail’s chest squeezed in empathy, and she wondered how much time Zoe spent in the children’s ward. Her admiration for Vaughn, and every other medical professional at Royal Memorial, notched higher. What a powerful gift to be able to improve someone’s health and their quality of life.

  “I’m going to hide surprises in the trees so you can spot something new each time you walk through.”

  Zoe lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Like fairies?”

  Abigail added one fairy to her to-do list.

  “Maybe. You’ll have to look very hard, though. Fairies are the best at hiding.” Abigail wondered if her own child would be as bright-eyed and curious about the world.

  Zoe did a happy dance that was sort of like running in place, until her nurse gently touched her head.

  “We’d better let the artist return to her work,” the nurse suggested, winking at Abigail over the girl’s head. “Come on, sweetie.”

  The two of them strode off down the hall. In the corridor beyond the lounge, Abigail could see another young patient in her bathrobe and slippers, ready for bed.

  Night had fallen without any sign of Vaughn since they’d parted ways this morning—him for the OR and a scheduled surgery, her for the children’s ward. She’d been hurt at the time, feeling shunned because of his retreat after their night together.

  Yet she’d known even then that her reaction wasn’t fair. She had put unrealistic expectations on him when he’d tried to make her aware that he had limitations when it came to connecting emotionally. She’d pushed for more, ready to move on from the disastrous night with her baby’s father. But that didn’t mean Vaughn had necessarily been ready for what had happened.

  “Miss Abigail, are you done for the night?” Brandon called over to her, setting aside the buffer he’d been using to smooth out a rough patch in a peg.

  The young man was twenty-four years old. The age her sister would never get to be. His revelation of his age—and the fact that his birthday had been just a few days ago—had been part of the reason Abigail couldn’t send him away when he’d offered help. There had been something bittersweet about playing big sister, teaching him something and sharing her craft. But she was glad she’d done it.

  “I am.” She nodded, knowing she needed to go home and sleep. Put her feet up and take care of her body for her baby. “You’ve been an incredible help today.”

  Another gift from Vaughn that he’d shared even though she hadn’t been particularly gracious. She promised herself to make it up to him. To do something nice to apologize. Over lunch today, she had finished her sketch of him—the one he’d caught her drawing that first day. She could make a present of that, maybe. They might not be lovers again, but perhaps they could salvage a friendship.

  It surprised her how much that idea left her feeling hollow inside.

  “Would you like me to come back tomorrow?” Brandon asked her as he straightened all the tools he’d been using, wrapping cords around the handles of small machines, brushing off the sawdust in his hand and tossing it in a waste can.

  “I’m sure you have work you should be doing with your brother.” She didn’t want to take him away from his other duties, and she didn’t feel right asking him to work more hours if he didn’t allow her to pay him.

  “I’ll split my time then. Half a day here, half a day there.” He laid a hand on the bark she’d carved. “I like working on something that will be in the hospital permanently.”

  How could she argue with that? She thought it was one of the coolest rewards of her job, too.

  “In that case, I will be grateful for whatever help you want to give.”

  “Can I carry anything out for you? Help you to your car?” Brandon used a rag to wipe off the last blade she’d used before wrapping it on the leather case where she kept them.

  “I’ll be fine.” She wanted to see if Vaughn was still in the hospital. Try to make amends for coming down on him this morning. “But thank you.”

  Brandon scratched a hand under his ball cap, looking uncomfortable. “Doc C told me to make sure you didn’t walk out to the parking lot alone.”

  Which made good sense. She was so tired she wasn’t thinking straight. But before she could offer an alternative—like having Security walk her out later—a familiar voice sounded from behind her.

  “That won’t be necessary, Brandon.” Vaughn stood on the other side of the caution tape, his green eyes locked on her. “I’ll make sure Abigail gets home safely.”

  Eight

  Eyes gritty from the worst day he’d had on the job since returning to Royal, Vaughn followed Abigail’s car into downtown, making sure she arrived home without incident. She’d tried to wave off his insistence to accompany her into the house the first time she used the new alarm system, but in the end, she’d conceded. He had the feeling she’d only agreed out of concern for the safety of her baby, and not out of any romantic notions about him.

  Which was fine. He didn’t deserve for a woman like her to think about him that way when he couldn’t even close his eyes to fall asleep while they shared a bed. But still, after the day he’d had, the knowledge that he’d hurt her added salt to the wounds he felt hours after he’d failed to save a gunshot victim.

  In light of all that had gone wrong today, maybe it had been a mistake to stop by Abigail’s work site to see her, let alone follow her home. But after hearing those heart monitors go flat on his nineteen-year-old patient, making sure Abigail was safe had become a priority that somehow carried him through the rest of a gut-shredding shift.

  Ahead of him, Abigail’s brake lights brightened. She parked in front of the bungalow as he pulled in the driveway behind her. He would simply walk her to the door, follow the instructions from the security company and make sure she knew how to arm the new system again before he left.

  One step at a time. He would find a way to get through this day.

  Preferably before the flashbacks started bombarding him, reminding him of other gunshots. Other victims. Other young men he had been powerless to heal.

  He closed and locked the door behind him before moving toward Abigail’s car to help her from the vehicle.

  “Thank you.” Stepping from the car, she smiled up at him as she took his hand. “You really didn’t have to do this. Brandon talked me through how to use the new alarm today.”

  Vaughn couldn’t articulate how much he needed to see with his own eyes that she was safe for the night, so he didn’t try. “Brandon and his brother installed the same system at my house last year,” he explained, walking her past the phlox, daisies and Texas bluebells she had planted on either side of the walkway.

  Her skirt had blooms all over it, too, embroidered sunflowers on a blue background. The hem brushed the encroaching leaves of her runaway garden. She was a vibrant woman in every way, her lush curves making him ache to touch her. Hold her. As she reached the new security panel blinking dimly beside the front door, she turned to him. Waited while he checked his phone for the temporary code she was supposed to reset within forty-eight hours.

  With a soft beep, the alarm was disarmed, allowing her to open the door.

  “But explaining the alarm system was only a small way he helped me today. He has a gift for woodworking.” She raked a hand through her dark hair, sifting curls behind one shoulder as she set her handbag on a table near the door and flicked on light switches that illuminated the kitchen and living area. She drew a deep breath, and her voice took on a different tone when she continued. “He is certainly very sharp and mature for someone who just turned twenty-four.”
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br />   If Vaughn had forgotten her sister’s age, he would have known it by the way Abigail carefully enunciated the number. She would have been twenty-four, she’d told him.

  And by the way her eyes clouded over with still-fresh grief.

  He didn’t have much comfort to offer tonight, but he reached to pull her against him. Hell, maybe he did it for his own sake as much as hers. Because having her cheek rest on his chest, the scent of her hair in his nose, managed to steady him as they stood in the soft spotlight from a modern chandelier. He felt a breath shudder from her and guessed she felt the same thing as him.

  A momentary ease. Shared strength. Connection.

  And yes, undeniable attraction. Desire for her roared through him.

  “I’m sorry about this morning,” she told him, pulling back to peer up at him.

  He frowned, not following. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  She slid out of his arms and into the kitchen, pulling two bottles of water out of the small refrigerator and setting them on the breakfast bar.

  “I was stressed about the police interview and the possibility of future talks with the FBI.” She waved him toward one of the bar stools and then sat down in the other one at the counter. The bright red chair covers and chrome legs looked like the furnishings in a fifties’ diner. “I snapped at you about buying the security system because you didn’t want me at your place overnight.” She sipped from her bottle, then pressed the cold plastic side of it to her forehead. “That was uncalled for.”

  He slid into the seat beside her, telling himself he’d only stay for another minute. Just long enough to clear up whatever it was she was feeling badly about since she hadn’t done a damn thing wrong.

  “I have a hard time sleeping at night,” he admitted. Haltingly. Because he definitely didn’t want to linger on the subject. “If you were getting the vibe that I was retreating, it was because I didn’t want to fall asleep next to you and potentially...” Shout and freak her out? Lash out physically while he fought phantom combatants? “Wake you. If I had bad dreams.”

  Better that he sounded like a five-year-old battling a bogeymen than admit the truth. That his nightmares were flat-out terrifying for him and for anyone unfortunate enough to witness the event. Tonight, after losing a patient, he knew his brain would replay the worst of the worst.

  He tipped some water to his dry lips, thinking he should forget about smoothing things over and just get out of her house now. Settle in for a rough night at home with his dog.

  “Isn’t that something Ruby helps with?” Her dark eyes were compassionate, but—thankfully—held no trace of pity.

  Of course, she didn’t know how bad it could get.

  “Definitely. But I wasn’t ready to trust the system with you there.” He kept his explanation light on details and hoped it sufficed. Jittery from keeping his emotions in check all day, he speared to his feet, ready to leave. “I’d better let you get some sleep.”

  “Oh.” She stood, too, setting down her water bottle. “I have something for you first.”

  Slipping past him, she disappeared into the shadows of her studio, where she hadn’t turned on any lights. She returned with a thin leather portfolio and passed it to him.

  “For me?” he asked, not sure what she’d be giving to him.

  “It’s just a little something. A gift to make up for the way things unfolded this morning.”

  “You didn’t have to—” he began. Then, he saw the present.

  His completed portrait rested inside. The same charcoal drawing he’d glimpsed in her papers that first day he’d come to her house.

  The strokes of her pencil were sure and strong, the outline of his face captured indelibly. His hair. His shoulders.

  Yet there was something else captured in the drawing. Something beyond his likeness. He saw a weariness in his face. A haunted look in the eyes. Was that how she saw him?

  Or was that the reality of how he looked now? A changed man. Inexpressibly older than when he’d left Royal to be a brigade surgeon in Afghanistan.

  “Vaughn?” Abigail gently covered her hand with his.

  But he still couldn’t speak. How could a beautiful young woman—a soon-to-be mother with a wealth of responsibilities on her shoulders—want to go anywhere near him?

  Yet there she stood. With unmistakable longing in her eyes.

  Tonight, he didn’t stand a chance in hell of walking away.

  * * *

  Abigail wasn’t sure how the image touched a nerve. But she could see that it had.

  Vaughn was different tonight even before she’d shared the drawing with him. Remote. Polite but withdrawn.

  Showing him the sketch had allowed her to glimpse behind that aloof mask, however. To darker emotions she knew he wanted to keep hidden. The moment happened so fast, she wondered if she’d seen it at all.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked again. “I know art is highly subjective. And I only did a quick likeness, so I understand if it’s not—”

  “It’s perfect. I mean—” He set aside the folder with the picture aside, laying it on the breakfast bar. “It is special to me because you made it.”

  She didn’t want to push the issue. Her ego as an artist wasn’t bruised since she knew the value of her work. But it was difficult not to ask a follow-up question when she simply wanted to understand this man better. Know what made him tick.

  And yes, what made him pull away so hard.

  “I’m glad you like it,” she said finally, even though it came out too brightly. “And I didn’t mean to keep you when you’ve had a long day.”

  He stared at her with an inscrutable look in his eyes. His whole body shifted, restlessly, even though his feet didn’t move toward the door.

  “I lost a patient this afternoon, Abby.”

  The words dropped into the room like a stone in a lake. Sinking. Sending ripples through the air that she could feel long after the sound faded.

  If the mere idea of it made her ache with empathy, she couldn’t imagine how he endured the pain of it.

  “I’m so sorry.” She clutched his hand, needing him to feel her presence. Her caring. For whatever that was worth. “It never occurred to me. I knew something was off—”

  “I don’t like to share it.” He shook his head like he could deny her that empathy. “It’s not your burden to bear. I picked this path. The good and the...”

  He didn’t finish the sentence. His eyes closed slowly.

  “You chose a career that’s a noble calling. A selfless one.” She couldn’t imagine doing his job. Choosing to wade into critical situations armed with education and experience, but knowing that wasn’t always enough. “Most people couldn’t carry the weight of life or death on their shoulders, but we’re grateful to those who try.”

  She stepped closer to him, spanning his shoulders with her hands. Lightly squeezing her certainty into him as she flexed her fingers.

  “The kid has been in the OR before.” Vaughn’s voice rasped drily. “One of my first major surgeries after I returned to Royal. He’d been shot then, too.”

  Abigail pressed her cheek against his chest as they stood together.

  “You gave him a second chance then. He was fortunate that time.”

  “Afterward, he joked about it. Said he was getting out of his town while his luck held out. Moving somewhere else. Starting over.” Vaughn’s chin rested on her head, some small tension seeping away enough for him to relax into her. “He seemed like a decent kid.”

  “I’m sorry.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. Breathing him in.

  For a long moment, they stood together in her quiet kitchen with only the sound of Vaughn’s heartbeat in her ear. Behind her, the clock ticked. Her refrigerator hummed.

  Slowly, she edged away enough to glance up at him again. Their gazes locked
. And something shifted between them. A tangible flicker of heat licked over her as the look in Vaughn’s eyes changed.

  She tried to ignore it since she was offering compassion, not indulging in the chemistry between them.

  “Abby.” He breathed her name like it was something precious. Something necessary. He focused on her as if he was seeing her for the first time all evening, his eyes turning a shade darker.

  His hands gripped her hips. Fingers flexing.

  She might have been able to deny her own need, but not his. Not tonight.

  She slid her hands to the soft cotton that strained against his torso and let herself feel the tense heat of him. The strength.

  He kissed her and she felt the sudden tide of physical desire roll over her like a rogue wave. It all but took out her knees, sending her swaying into Vaughn’s arms so he could steady her. Hold her. Answer the plea for more with a demand of his own.

  His tongue stroked hers, seeking, urging. She wrapped both arms around his neck, sealing her body to his, wanting the feel of his solid warmth against her.

  Her sensitive, aching breasts molded to all that male strength and heat, sending a shiver through her. He lifted her, settling her on the kitchen table so he could step between her legs. A soft moan escaped her lips, a needy sound he sipped from her mouth with another kiss as he placed one hand on the small of her back to draw her hips closer to his.

  His free hand traced the column of her throat, sending more sensations racing up her spine. Her skin tightened, tingling, wanting his touch all over her. When his fingers dipped lower, beneath the neckline of her scoop-neck T-shirt, he slipped a hand beneath one lace cup of her bra, palming her breast. Plucking one taught nipple between his thumb and forefinger in a way that sent liquid heat flooding through her.

  Desire sharpened. Pushing her higher.

  Her world was spinning and she felt dizzy with want. He stripped off her shirt and it wasn’t enough. She rolled her shoulders, shrugging off the straps of confining lace on her bra. Anything to be naked sooner. Faster.