by Cowan, Debra
The supplies she’d had on hand were better than she would’ve gotten from a drugstore first aid kit. Since both she and her brother Wyatt were doctors, they kept the lake house stocked with bandages, sutures, antibiotics and syringes. Through the years, they’d needed those things plenty of times due to fishing or waterskiing accidents.
“What do you think?”
“You can wear a regular bandage now. What you need is food and lots of rest. And you can’t exert yourself.”
He levered himself up on his good hand.
Startled at his movement, Meredith reached for him. “What are you doing? Did you hear what I just said?”
“I’m sitting up.” He winced. Though he didn’t push her away, he didn’t accept her support, either. He got his feet on the floor and remained on the edge of the bed.
She pressed two fingers to his carotid artery, feeling for a rapid or thready pulse. It was fast, but not dangerously so. Not yet, anyway. “You used to be a paramedic. You should know better.”
“I’m a little rusty,” he said drily. “But I remember.”
“So go easy, all right?”
He nodded.
“Are you dizzy at all?” she asked quietly.
“I’m fine.”
She studied him. He was pale, but his eyes were lucid. “I’ll change your dressing. Be right back.”
A few moments later, she returned with fresh supplies. His head was bowed, but he straightened when she halted in front of him and placed the items on the nightstand.
“Doing okay?”
“Yeah,” he rasped.
She carefully removed the ABD bandage then began to clean the sutured wound with antiseptic.
Hissing in a breath, his body went rigid. Meredith’s attention locked on his broad chest, the hair there that grew a little darker than the sandy-blond on his head. As awareness tugged low in her belly, she forced her attention back to his shoulder.
He watched as she checked for inflammation, heat, additional swelling.
“Nice stitch job,” he said in a slightly rough voice.
“Thanks.”
“You still at Presley Medical Center?”
“Yes.”
“And still working with the senior citizens program?”
Her gaze met his, seeing the same memory there that flashed in her own mind. It was how they’d met. His grandmother was part of the city’s planning committee for seniors’ activities and so were Meredith and her mother. Millie Parrish had known Meredith all of two weeks when she and Meredith’s mother, Christine, set up Gage and Meredith on a date.
From their first meeting, there had been something special between them. They’d shaken hands and it was as if a current of energy traveled from her to him. Nothing like that had ever happened to her with any other man.
“Yes, still working with the older people.” Shoving away the memory, she reached for a fresh gauze pad.
He grazed a hand against her thigh. “I want to clean up.”
Aggravated at the way his touch burned through her jeans, she ignored the sensation and considered his freshly swabbed wound. “Your dressing can’t get wet. I’ll tape some plastic over it and you can take a bath.”
“Great.” He dragged a hand down his face.
As she took in the whisker stubble, the exhaustion on his face, she felt battered by the past and by the staggering reality of the present. “I’ll see what there is to cover your bandage, then I’ll run your water.”
He nodded as she left the room. Under the kitchen sink, she found her mom’s neat stash of plastic bags from a discount store. Meredith took one and retraced her steps to the bedroom, then walked past Gage into the restroom.
She turned on the tub’s faucet and adjusted the water temperature. When she turned, she found him in the doorway. Features strained, he braced himself against the jamb. His boxers dipped low on his hips.
This awareness she had of him irritated her. “When I said don’t exert yourself, I meant doing things like walking without support.”
“I’ve got all the speed of a snail. I’m okay.” He moved to her left, his good hand gripping the edge of the counter.
Meredith eased past him to get a clean towel, then hung it within easy reach of the tub. Turning back, she caught his dark woodsy scent and a faint hint of clean sweat. He smelled more than good. He smelled familiar, reassuring.
She wanted to bury her face in his neck and breathe him in, pretend the past eighteen months had never happened. But they had and both of them were changed because of it.
When the bath was more than half-full, she turned off the water and stepped aside. His good hand clamped on the edge of the counter and the flex of muscle up his forearm told her he was using a fair amount of strength to hold on.
Her gaze slid down his chest and to the waist of his boxers. Under her regard, the thin bands of muscle across his stomach clenched and his reaction had her looking away.
Okay. She was letting him affect her way too much. After a moment, her brain kicked in. Reaching around him, she scooped up the plastic bag. She double-folded it, then taped it snugly over the bandage so it was covered. “There you go.”
She gently smoothed the edges, her hand moving over the hard curve of his shoulder.
Abruptly, he drew back. “I’m good. I’ll yell if I need anything.”
That heat flashed in his eyes again, making her aware that she’d been practically petting him. She needed to get out of here, although she wouldn’t walk away from any other patient at this point. “You’re probably going to need help getting in.”
“I’ll be fine, Meredith.”
The steady, unreadable look on his face had her edging past him, careful not to touch as she stepped into the hall. “I won’t close the door completely. I’ll be right here. Call me if you need help getting in or out or…with anything else.”
“Yeah.”
She pulled the door toward her, leaving it ajar. “Toss out your underwear and I’ll wash them.”
“What am I supposed to wear?”
“There should be something around here that will fit.” Either of his own or her brother’s.
After a moment, he said, “Here.”
Looking down, she saw his boxers in the V of the open doorway. Long seconds later, the slosh of water and a groan told her he’d settled into the tub. She picked up his underwear, examining the blood-stiffened waistband.
She leaned back against the wall, listening. Waiting. Reviewing her treatment of his injury. He’d be gone soon and she’d probably never see him again. The thought hurt her heart.
A splash sounded then a heavy thud against the tub.
Before she could ask, he offered, “Dropped the soap.”
“Oh.” Hit with a sudden image of the two of them in that tub, naked, she exhaled a shaky breath. The memories slipped in. The veins cording his neck, the tapering of his wide shoulders to lean hips, the way his hair clung to the wet sinew and muscle of his chest. She could almost feel his slick warm flesh beneath her hands.
She swallowed hard, grateful when he rasped, “What about Aaron?”
Glad to have her thoughts occupied by Gage’s best friend rather than his naked body, Meredith turned her head toward the open doorway. “He’s been working some of his off days with the Oklahoma City fire investigator’s office. He wanted to work at Presley, but Terra and Collier can’t hire anyone else so he decided to go to Oklahoma City.”
Terra Spencer, one of Meredith’s best friends, and Collier McClain were the two fire investigators allowed by Presley’s budget.
“Aaron wants to be a fire cop? He never had any interest in that before.”
“That was before you—what happened to you.”
“What do you mean?”
She heard the frown in his voice. He and Aaron had grown up together, attended the fire academy and fought blazes in the same station house for years. “He’s never quite believed the story we were told.”
“Do you
think he suspects?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t see how.” She eased back against the wall. “Maybe I’m naive, but I sure never would have guessed the truth. In my job, when people die, they really die.”
There was a long moment of silence. “Have you talked to my grandparents?”
“I saw them last week. At the cemetery.”
He cursed. It was weak, but she heard it and she knew why. It had been the anniversary of his death.
“I helped your grandmother make the funeral arrangements.” She paused, working to still the quiver in her voice. “Your grandfather and I scattered your ashes—well, someone’s ashes—off the dock out back.”
Talking about it brought back the heartbreaking pain on Owen’s and Millie’s faces, the devastation and denial Meredith had felt upon hearing the news of his death.
“Meredith, I had no choice. The situation was out of my control.”
She believed him, but she couldn’t keep the anger from her voice. “It’s a little hard to take in, Gage.”
“I know.”
The ache beneath his words reminded her that things hadn’t gone the way he wanted, either. “I don’t want you passing out.”
“I’m okay.” He sounded drowsy.
She had to keep him talking. “So whose ashes were those?”
“The Marshals Service said it was a body donated to one of the state’s medical schools. They had my DNA, dental records, everything they needed to make my death believable.”
She was glad Gage was alive. Relieved and grateful, but she wanted to know if it had been as difficult for him to pretend to be dead as it had been for his grandparents to deal with the loss of their only grandchild. For Meredith to deal with the fact that the only man she’d ever loved was gone.
She tried to tamp down her resentment, thought about the man and woman who’d raised Gage after his teenage junkie mother died in a meth house. “Do you want me to tell Owen and Millie anything?”
“You can’t,” he said quickly. “I won’t put them at risk. I never meant to put you at risk. Hell, you were the last thing I needed.”
Which was why she’d finally walked away. The old wound cracked open and bitterness welled up. “That sounds familiar.”
“No, Meredith. That isn’t what I meant.”
“It’s okay.” There was hurt on both sides. Hadn’t she told him she wanted him out of her life? She’d gotten that, all right. Completely. “How’re you doing?”
“Fine.”
Was his voice uneven, his strength fading? “You should get out of the tub.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you need help?”
He gave a hoarse laugh. “That wouldn’t be a good idea for either of us.”
He was right. Even so, she stood poised to go in at the first hint he needed help. The slosh of water told her he’d managed to stand on his own. “Gage?”
“I’m all right.”
He didn’t sound all right, but Meredith stayed where she was.
On a groan, he asked, “That swing still on the back porch?”
Her gaze cut to the door. Making conversation was probably his way of dealing with the pain or struggling to stay alert, but why did he have to ask about the swing? They’d all but had sex in it. Talked, laughed. Gotten engaged. It was an effort to keep her voice steady. “Yes, it’s still there.”
No answer.
“Gage?”
“Just need…a sec.” He sounded winded.
“Are you dizzy?”
No answer.
Meredith straightened, concerned. “Gage!”
“M’okay.”
The slurred words had her dropping his boxers and pushing open the bathroom door. The toilet lid was closed and he sat there with his good shoulder braced against the wall to his left. His lower half was barely covered by the white towel she’d left.
He’d done too much, too soon. Glad to see the plastic had protected the bandage, she moved in front of him. “I let you stay in there too long.”
“Just…wait.”
His waxy skin had her pressing a hand to his forehead to find it slightly clammy. She checked his pulse and though rapid, it was strong. “Do you feel faint?”
“No, but not steady, either.” He straightened and immediately clutched her hip with his good hand.
Meredith’s heart skipped a beat.
“Sorry.”
“No problem.”
His hold gentled, but he didn’t let go. It didn’t matter that he touched her strictly for support or that he wasn’t even looking at her. Despite her determination not to let him affect her, sensation shot straight to all her nerve endings.
She breathed in his fresh-soap scent, uneasily aware of the weight of his hand on her, the heat of his palm. An ache lodged in her throat and she couldn’t stop her gaze from dragging over him. His stomach was taut with muscle and sinew. Powerful thighs, one almost completely exposed by the parted towel, were dusted with hair a shade lighter than his golden skin.
He wasn’t pretty-boy handsome, but there was an unadorned maleness about him that drew the eye. The combination of his solid, planed features and his meltingly blue eyes, kind eyes, made for a compelling face. Before she even knew what she was doing, she grazed the tips of her fingers against his temple.
Gage’s hand curled into Meredith’s flesh. For a long moment, he sat there and let her warmth seep into him, her light apricot scent. He barely had the energy to stand, but he felt a stirring in his body. Pain throbbed in his shoulder and after a few seconds, he was able to focus his mind there, and only there.
“Gage?”
He stared up into her gorgeous blue eyes. “I’m ready.”
She looked doubtful, but stepped back so he could stand. Flattening his palm on the wall, he levered himself up. Weakness washed through him and he stilled. He wanted to get back in bed and he wanted Meredith with him. He wanted to stay here with her, but he’d put her in enough danger.
Dipping her knees, she braced her shoulder under his good one and slid a slender arm around his waist.
He draped his arm around her and they started slowly toward the door. “Thanks,” he said.
They had taken only two steps when the towel slipped. Despite making a grab for it with the hand on his injured side—which hurt like hell—Gage was too late. The towel fell.
“No way,” he gritted out.
Meredith’s breath left her in a rush. “Oh.”
Damn. She’d seen him bare-assed naked plenty of times and she probably only had her eyes on him this time for less than a second, but Gage felt his body tighten.
Flushing a deep rose, she quickly scooped up the towel, then pulled it around his waist, holding the edges together.
Her reaction was calm, but the feel of her cool fingers against his flesh had Gage anything but. He went hot, muscles clenching. Hell!
She was acting as if nothing had happened and despite his body’s reaction, he didn’t have the energy to act any differently.
As they shuffled out of the restroom and back to his bed, her hand stayed at his hip, keeping the towel secure. She eased him down onto the edge of the mattress then straightened, still pink-cheeked.
Turning away, she went to the closet and knelt in front of a neat mound of clothes on the floor then returned with a pair of blue-and-white-striped boxers and black sweats. His boxers and her brother’s sweats.
Her gaze didn’t quite meet his as she handed him the garments. “Do you need help with these?”
“No, I can do it.” Maybe. Maybe not. But it was better for both of them if she didn’t touch him.
Glancing again at the items in front of the closet, he realized with a sinking feeling what he was seeing. She was getting rid of his stuff. This was why Meredith had come to the lake house in the dead of winter.
She was putting him in the past, moving on. He told himself not to ask, but he did. “Are you seeing someone?”
Startled, her gaze swerved to his
and for an instant, he saw loss and regret on her face. He thought she wouldn’t answer. It was none of his business, but he had to know.
She glanced away. “Not exclusively.”
The idea of some other man putting his hands on her had a red mist hazing Gage’s vision.
He had no right to want anything from her, not after what he’d done. Over and over, he’d put his job ahead of her, of them. She’d tried talking to him about it, pleading with him to step back just a little from work, especially from Operation Smoke Screen, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t.
When she’d broken their engagement, she had said his job had taken over his life. Neither of them could have guessed that it literally would.
Now, he didn’t even have the job he’d chosen over her. He had a life that wasn’t his own, no family, no nothing.
The past year had brought home to him in brutal terms what a mistake he’d made with Meredith. For six months after she’d walked away, he’d let himself be swallowed up by this case, had refused to admit he was to blame for their split, but since then, he’d had plenty of time to think about it. To admit it.
Her gaze held his, her blue eyes now remote. He wanted to pull her into his lap and kiss her until she went soft for him, but she’d lay him out flat if he tried it.
He might never touch her again, see her again and the thought snarled in his gut like a hook. He couldn’t change the hurt he’d caused, but he could do one thing.
She began to untape the plastic over his bandage. Half expecting her to pull away, he took her closest hand.
She stiffened as she stared down at him, but didn’t move.
One of the hardest things he’d ever done was look straight at her. “I hate that I hurt you.”
Her eyes widened, turned wary. “Gage—”
“Let me.” He squeezed her hand. When she remained silent, he continued, “I know it’s a cliché, but if I could go back, I’d do things differently. For the rest of my life, I will regret pushing you away.”
Her eyes darkened and for a heartbeat, he hoped she might say she forgave him.
Then her face went carefully blank and she slid her hand from his, crumpling the plastic bag she’d removed and turning to go. “Put it in the past. I have.”
