Hasty Wedding

by Debbie Macomber

  “You talked to Dr. Brown? When?”

  “Earlier. I let the library know you wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week while I was at it.” Each response he gave her was like a gift, Clare realized. She didn’t understand why he was doing this, or why he appeared so angry. She hadn’t asked him to come, didn’t want his sympathy, nor was she interested in his pampering.

  “You think I’m pregnant, don’t you?” she asked after a few minutes. It all added up in her mind now. “If s…only been four days. I doubt I’d have this kind of reaction so quickly, so you can stop worrying.”

  Reed ignored her and continued driving until they reached the physician’s residence.

  He left her in the car while he went to the front door and rang the doorbell. Dr. Harvey Brown answered himself. Clare watched as the two men shook hands. Apparently they were acquainted with each other.

  Reed returned to the car a moment later and carried Clare into the house, taking her through the entrance and down a picture-lined hallway to what she assumed was the doctor’s den. Reed gently placed her in a black leather chair beside the desk.

  “Hello, Clare,” Dr. Brown greeted, his eyeglasses perched on the end of his nose as he gazed down on her. “I understand you haven’t been feeling well.” Before she could answer him one way or the other, he stuck a thermometer under her tongue.

  Reed stood in one corner of the room, with his arms crossed. The physician removed his stethoscope from his small black bag. Next he opened Clare’s robe and gown enough to press the cold metal over her heart. He waited a few moments, and then, seemingly satisfied, he removed the instrument from his ears.

  “I understand you’re the one who shut up Jack Kingston,” he said, glancing briefly to Reed.

  Reed nodded. “We had a difference of opinion.”

  Dr. Brown grinned. “It’s about time someone put that boy in his place.”

  Reed didn’t respond, but Clare thought she detected a slight smile. She continued to watch the play between the two men. Meanwhile Dr. Brown continued his examination, then asked Clare a list of questions having to do with her symptoms.

  “Does she need to be hospitalized?” Reed asked, after several moments.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Clare flared. She had the flu, but she wasn’t that sick.

  “That depends on what kind of home care she’ll be getting.”

  “Would you both stop it,” she said, straightening in the high-backed leather chair. “If you want to give me your diagnosis, Doc, do so, but I’m not a child and I’d appreciate your talking to me.”

  Clare noted how Reed’s gaze connected with that of the physician. They both seemed to find her small outburst cause for amusement.

  “First of all,” Dr. Brown said, turning to Clare, “I want to know why you didn’t come into my office earlier?”

  “I couldn’t,” she told him a bit defensively. “I was too sick.”

  “Did you talk to my nurse?”

  “No,” she admitted reluctantly.

  “Next time, young lady, you call in and talk to Doris, understand?”

  To her mother she was a young lady, to Dr. Brown she was a young lady. Why did everyone insist upon treating her like a child when she was a woman? Even Reed seemed to think she needed a keeper.

  “I’m mainly concerned about her keeping down fluids. She’s…you’re nearly dehydrated now. If that happens I won’t have any choice but to admit you.”

  “I’ll make an effort to drink more,” Clare assured him. She hadn’t realized she was so sick. She knew she was ill, of course, just not how ill.

  “I don’t imagine this bug will hold on longer than a couple more days. It’ll take another week or more for you to regain your strength.” Although he was talking to her, Dr. Brown was looking at Reed, which infuriated her even more when he’d completely excluded her from the conversation.

  “I’ll be a picture of health in another week or so,” she announced tartly.

  “I don’t like the idea of her being alone.”

  “She won’t be,” Reed said without looking at Clare. “I’m taking her home with me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Clare was silent during the forty-minute drive to Reed’s cabin, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to argue with him. His mind was set and she’d bumped against that stubborn pride of his enough to know it’d be useless to try to reason with him.

  Throughout the endless trip, Clare felt Reed’s gaze upon her, but she paid no heed. Understanding this man was beyond her. She didn’t know what to think anymore, and feeling as rotten and weak as she did, she wasn’t in any shape to accurately interpret his actions.

  Perhaps he felt responsible for her. Despite his best efforts to rush into their divorce, they remained legally married. Her guess was that he considered it his duty to nurse her back to health. Whatever his reason, Chare was past caring. He’d made his intentions clear enough. He wanted out of her life, out of their marriage, and had done his level best to be sure she understood.

  Now this. Clare was more confused than ever.

  When Reed pulled into his yard, he parked his car close to the house. Before she could do more than open the car door, he was there, lifting her in his arms as if she weighed no more than a child.

  “I can walk,” she protested.

  He ignored her objection, as she knew he would, and carried her into his home. He paused in the entryway, seemingly undecided as to exactly where he should take her. After a moment, he headed into the living room and gently deposited her onto the thick cushions of the sofa.

  Clare lay back and closed her eyes. Although she’d slept a good portion of the day, the jaunt into town to see Dr. Brown and the drive to Reed’s home had exhausted her.

  Before retrieving her suitcase, Reed brought her a thick blanket and a pillow. When he’d finished covering her, he stepped back. Her eyes remained closed, but Clare profoundly felt his presence standing over her, watching her. With anyone else she would have felt edgy and uncomfortable, but oddly, with Reed, it felt as if she were nestled in his arms.

  Clare had learned more than one painful lesson trying to decipher Reed’s actions. She dared not trust her feelings. He didn’t want her. Didn’t need her. Didn’t love her.

  With her heart crushed under the weight of her pain, Clare kept her eyes closed, not believing for a moment that she would sleep. Almost immediately she could feel herself drifting toward the beckoning arms of slumber. She resisted as long as she could, which was a pitifully short time, then surrendered.

  She stirred later, not knowing how long she’d slept. The sun was low in the sky and the wind whispered through the trees in an enchanted chorus.

  Her gaze found Reed in the kitchen, standing before the stove, stirring a large pot. He must have sensed she was awake, because he turned and glanced at her.

  For a moment their eyes met. Clare looked away first, fearing her unguarded glance would reveal her love. She was with him under protest and only because he felt some ridiculous responsibility to take care of her.

  “How long have I been asleep?” she asked, struggling with the weight of the blanket to sit upright.

  “An hour or so.”

  It had felt like a few minutes. She should have realized it was longer, since the sun was setting. Bronze rays of light slanted toward the earth, bouncing back.

  “I’m making you soup.”

  The thought of food terrorized her stomach. “Don’t. I’m not the least bit hungry.”

  It was as though she’d told him how excited she was at the prospect of dinner. He set a large bowl of the steaming soup at the table, along with a cup of tea and a glass of water and then came for her.

  “I…I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it down,” she confessed weakly.

  “You can try.” Tucking his arm around her shoulders, he helped her upright. At least he wasn’t carting her to the table as if she were an ungainly sack of potatoes, granting her one small shred of dignity.
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  The soup was thick with vegetables, homemade and delicious. Clare was surprised by how good it tasted. After three days of being so violently ill, her appetite was practically nil, but she did manage five or six spoonfuls. When she finished, she placed her hands in her lap.

  “Would you like a bath?” Reed asked. He stood beside her and brushed a thick strand of hair away from her face. His fingers were as light and gentle as his voice.

  For the first time since he entered her home, he wasn’t bullying and browbeating her. A part of Clare wanted to resist him at every turn, prove he wasn’t the only one with an abundance of pride. He might insist upon nursing her, but by heaven she wouldn’t be a willing patient.

  “A bath?” she repeated slowly. Her strength to fight him vanished completely. I’m a mess, aren’t I? My hair…”

  His eyes delved into hers. “No, Clare, you aren’t.”

  It would take a better liar than Reed to convince her otherwise. As though reading her thoughts, he stood, cupped her face in his hands and gazed down on her.

  “I was just thinking,” he said, and his voice sounded strangely unlike his own, “that I’ve never seen a woman I’ve wanted more.”

  Clare turned her face from his, battling tears. Leave it to Reed to say something sweet and romantic when she looked her absolute worst. Emotions churned inside her and, sniffling, she rubbed the back of her hand under her nose.

  “I’ll see to your bath,” he said, leaving her.

  Taking time to collect herself, Clare gathered the blanket around her and moved down the hallway to find Reed sitting on the edge of the tub, adjusting the water temperature.

  “I can get my things,” she offered, “if you tell me where you put my suitcase.”

  “It’s in the first bedroom on the right,” Reed instructed, then stood to help her.

  “I can do it,” she assured him with a weak smile. “Don’t look so worried.”

  He hesitated a moment, then nodded.

  Clare traipsed down the hall, following Reed’s instructions. Pausing in the doorway of the bedroom, she realized this wasn’t the guest room, as she suspected it would be, but Reed’s own. His presence was stamped in every detail, from the dark four-poster bed to the braided rug that covered the floor.

  “I’ll be sleeping in the guest bed,” he explained, scooting past her. He lifted her suitcase onto the mattress and opened it for her, removing a fresh gown.

  Clare didn’t understand. It made no sense to her that he would give up his own bed. As if reading her thoughts, he explained. “It’s more comfortable in here and closer to the bathroom.”

  “I know but…” Before she could finish, he left the room as if he were as bereft to explain why he’d opted to give her his own bed as she was to understand why.

  Sighing, Clare wandered back to the bathroom. Reed was there, sorting through a cupboard. He removed an armful of fresh towels.

  “Thank you,” she said, and waited for him to leave. It soon became apparent he had no intention of doing so.

  “Trust me, I can bathe myself,” she informed him primly.

  His returning smile was roguish. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Of course, I’m sure.”

  “You aren’t going to show me anything I haven’t seen before,” he took delight in reminding her.

  Clare felt the color seep into her cheeks. This seemed to amuse him, and, chuckling, he took her by the shoulders, kissed her softly on her cheek and left. The door remained open, but only a crack so he’d be sure to hear her if she were to call for him.

  Clare undressed slowly, leaving her clothes in a heap on the floor. The steaming hot water felt heavenly. Sighing, she sank down as far as she could, closed her eyes and leaned back in the tub. Clare didn’t know how long she soaked.

  “Need me to wash your back?” Reed asked from the other side of the door.

  “I most certainly do not.”

  He chuckled, and she heard him walk away, leaving her to her pleasure. Sinking low in the tub, Clare rested her head against the porcelain base. Slowly a smile came to her.

  Reed stood at the end of the bed, watching Clare, who was fresh from her bath. He knew he should leave her to rest, but found himself unable to walk away. She was small and incredibly fragile. And so beautiful she took his breath away.

  He invented reasons to touch her, to stay with her, to make himself useful so he’d have an excuse for being there. She’d washed her hair and sat amidst a pile of pillows with a thick towel piled on top of her head.

  “I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed a bath more,” she said as she unwound the towel and set it aside.

  She must have enjoyed it. Reed swore she’d been in the bathroom a solid hour. Every time he’d gone to check on her, she’d shooed him away, insisting she was fine.

  Her hair was all tangled, and after attempting to free the strands with her fingers, she reached for her brush, tugging it through the length. He paused, wanting to offer to comb it for her, but hesitated, knowing she’d have trouble surrendering even the smallest task to him.

  “I can do this,” she assured him, but it became clear to him after the first few strokes of the brush that the effort exhausted her.

  “Let me,” he volunteered readily, glad for the excuse to linger. He knelt on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped with his weight.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Clare handed him the brush and then twisted so that her back was to him. Her hair was thick and tangled, and he painstakingly worked the brush through the matted strands, being careful not to hurt her unnecessarily.

  His hand was steady and sure, but his thoughts were in chaos, tormenting him. It didn’t take him long to realize that volunteering for this small intimacy had been a mistake. His gut knotted as desire flooded his veins. Clare was sick; it was lucky she hadn’t ended up in the hospital. He cursed himself for his weakness and continued brushing, hoping she wouldn’t guess his thoughts.

  Clare’s head moved in the direction of the brush as though her neck were boneless. When he heard her soft sigh, Reed knew she was enjoying this small intimate exchange as much as he was himself.

  Every cell in Reed’s body had stirred to life. He’d scooted further up on the bed than he intended, and Clare’s back was pressed full against his chest. When he’d packed her suitcase, he’d purposely chosen a flannel nightgown, wanting to keep temptation at bay. He realized too late that even the sexless gown couldn’t conceal her exquisite shape. His hand tightened around the brush as he struggled with himself. Reed had never thought of himself as a weak man. Not until he’d married Clare, that was.

  The ache to touch her, to taste her, grew so intense Reed’s hand stilled. “I think that should do it,” he said. He pulled away from her, although he’d never wanted to make love to her more as he did right then. The ache in him was physical, but he couldn’t take advantage of her now when she was ill, despite the fact they were man and wife and she was sleeping in his bed.

  “Thank…you.” Clare’s voice was small as she scooted down in the warm blankets. “I…feel better than I have in days.”

  Grumbling to himself, Reed left the room. She might feel better, but he certainly didn’t.

  Clare woke the following morning feeling greatly improved. After being so wretchedly sick, all her body needed now was time to recover. She realized she was hungry, and wondered if Reed was up and about. If not, she’d fix herself something to eat and him, too.

  Her suitcase revealed a pair of jeans and a sweater, which she slipped on, grateful to be out of the flannel gowns that had made up her wardrobe the past several days.

  The act of dressing weakened her, and, discouraged, she sat on the edge of the bed and regrouped before heading for the kitchen.

  Reed was there, in front of the stove, cooking eggs. He smiled warmly when he saw her.

  “Morning,” she said a bit shyly.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  Clare nodded, almost embarrass
ed by how soundly she had slept. She didn’t know where Reed had spent the night and felt mildly guilty that she had put him out of his own bed. And disappointed that he’d opted to sleep elsewhere instead of with her.

  “You look like you might be feeling a little better,” he said as he cracked an egg into a pan of simmering water.

  “I feel almost human.”

  “Good. I’ve made you some tea and there’s eggs and toast. Fruit, too, if you’d like some.”

  His thoughtfulness brought a curious ache to her heart. That he would so painstakingly care for her physically and think nothing of devastating her emotionally baffled Clare. He seemed to genuinely care for her, although it was difficult for her to judge the depth of his feelings. Every time she dared to hope, to believe he might want to keep their marriage intact, she’d been bitterly disappointed.

  Clare was through second-guessing Reed. She’d take it one day at a time and wait him out, she decided.

  “Sit down and I’ll bring you breakfast,” he told her.

  Clare sat at the table and he carried over a plate with poached eggs on dry toast. The meal was heavenly. Sitting across from her with his own plate, Reed seemed to enjoy watching her eat.

  “Will you be all right by yourself for an hour or so?” he asked when she’d finished.

  “Of course.”

  “I need to run a couple of errands,” he explained, carrying her dishes to the sink. “Do you need anything from town?”

  She answered him with a small shake of her head.

  It occurred to Clare that she should ask him to take her with him. It was apparent the worst of her malady had passed. She had no right to infringe on his hospitality longer than necessary, but he said nothing, and Clare didn’t offer.

  If he wanted her there with him, then she was content to stay. No matter what it cost her later. There would be a price, Clare realized, but one she would willingly pay.

  Reed left shortly afterward, after setting her up on the sofa in the living room. She sat for a time, content to read and enjoy the morning.

  The sun came out, bathing the scenery in a golden glow. After having been cooped up inside for several days, Clare felt the need to breathe in the fresh scent of the morning. Although it was warm, she reached for Reed’s light jacket and moved onto the front porch. She stood there for several moments, her arm wrapped around the post for support, surveying Reed’s world. It was peaceful, still.