by Joan Hohl
“I put it in the garage this morning for inspection,” he explained. “It won’t be ready until later this afternoon. As a matter of fact you could drop me at the garage after we’ve had lunch, okay?”
“Yes, of course I’ll pick you up,” Helen agreed at once. “But what construction site are you stranded at, and why?” Helen’s puzzlement was obvious. “I mean—why are you at any construction site?”
“It’s one of Cullen’s babies.” Marsh laughed. “There was a snarl up here, and as always, he called and told me to come straighten it out.”
“And did you?” Helen asked dryly.
“Just about.” He spoke with equal dryness. He gave her directions to the site, which was located some distance outside the city, then said, “When you get here, park the car and come into the trailer office.” A hint of laughter touched his tone. “Just in case the un-snarler gets snarled.”
As Helen prepared to leave the office her glance was caught by the white card on her desk. After a moment’s hesitation she picked it up, slipped it back into its envelope, and stuffed it into the depths of her handbag.
Giving a mental shrug, she thought, I’ll decide about that later.
She found the site without difficulty, and after parking the car, she made her way carefully over the uneven and still frozen ground, pausing to read the large white sign posted on the wooden fence that completely surrounded the site. The sign informed her that the construction under way would result in a high-rise apartment complex, that it had been designed by the architectural firm of Wanner, Freehold, and Wanner, and was being erected by the Hannlon Building and Construction Firm, Cullen Hannlon, President.
A small smile curved Helen’s lips as she read the last, then her eyes perplexed, her gaze returned to the name Wanner.
“Learning anything?”
Helen jumped at the sound of the teasing voice close to her ear. Not bothering to answer his question, she murmured, “That name Wanner seems vaguely familiar.”
“I’m not surprised.” Marsh laughed softly. “You were introduced to it a few weeks ago.” At her confused stare he nudged. “Grant? Mary Ellen?”
“Oh!” Helen’s eyes cleared and she smiled, remembering. “Last names barely registered that night. I was relieved I could hold on to the first.”
“Grant’s the second Wanner,” he offered. “The firm was started by his father and uncle. Grant joined it as a very junior member when he got out of school. He’s really very good,” he added. “As a matter of fact he designed this building.”
While he was talking, Marsh led her to a small trailer some yards away and guided her up the steps and into what appeared to be a shambles. Watching her expression as her eyes circled the mess, Marsh laughed aloud.
“Don’t be deceived, love. I assure you the construction boss knows exactly where everything is and can lay his hand on whatever he wants at a moment’s notice.” Strolling into the trailer’s tiny kitchen area, he asked. “Would you like some coffee?”
Helen opened her mouth to say “Yes, please,” but nothing came out. Lips forming a large O her eyes went wide at the loud sound of gears grinding, tires screeching, and then the scream of a man. Before she could close her mouth, blink her eyes, Marsh was by her and lunging out the door, the last part of his growled “Son of a—” lost to her. In half an instant she was spinning around, running after him, stumbling over the torn-up, slippery earth.
Dodging ice-skimmed puddles of water, Helen tried to make sense of the blurred scene that met her eyes. Men were running from all directions toward a large piece of machinery lying drunkenly on its side. As she reached the fringes of the crowded men Helen could hear Marsh’s voice, sharp, clear, issuing orders tersely. One man detached himself from the group, ran toward another large machine.
From inside the circle of men Helen heard the agonized speech of a man, heard him groan, and her hand pushed against a rock-hard male arm.
“Let me through,” she ordered as sharply as Marsh had. “I’m a doctor.”
Moving aside respectfully, the man tapped the shoulder of the man in front of him, relaying Helen’s order. Moving through the men, Helen took in the situation. When the machine had toppled over, it had trapped the driver and crushed his leg against the ground, and now half in, half out, of the thing, the man lay in a crumpled heap in the driver’s seat. His lips were twisted in pain, his eyes were glazed, and his face was gray with shock.
Without a thought to the sheer nylon that gave no protection whatever to her knees, Helen dropped to the ground beside him, her fingers going to his wrist. Not liking what she felt, she ordered softly, “Marsh, you have got to move this monster off of him.” Not for a minute doubting his ability to do so.
“We will,” Marsh said just as softly. “An ambulance has been called. I’ve sent for blankets and—” A man walked up beside him, handed him a white box with a red cross on it. “And here’s the first-aid box. There’s a syringe of morphine inside.”
Without questioning or even looking up, Helen held out her hand. A saturated piece of cotton was placed in her fingers, and after swabbing the man’s arm, Helen administered the injection. Working quickly, carefully, her hands firm, yet gentle, she covered as much of the man’s body as she could with the blankets Marsh handed her. While she worked, Helen was aware of the machine being backed into position beside the disabled one, of chains being fixed into place. When Marsh grasped her elbow, she stood up and stepped back.
In a strained hush everyone watched as, motor growling, chains rattling over winches, the shuddering machine was set aright. Whispering, “Oh, God,” Helen watched the injured man’s leg dangle crookedly over the side of the machine. Then with a barked, “Don’t touch him,” she stopped the men’s move toward him. Marsh beside her, she walked up to that leg.
“Is there a scissors in that box?”
“Yes.”
Seconds later Helen was snipping away, quickly, but cautiously, at the blood-soaked material. Her eyes closed briefly when the leg was exposed. The leg was mangled, literally crushed, and with the weight of inadequacy pushing on her mind, she didn’t know where to begin. She drew a deep breath; then gave a silent, thankful prayer of relief on hearing the scream of the ambulance siren.
The construction crew guiding the driver, the ambulance was backed as closely as possible to the injured man and two paramedics jumped out and went into action. Working with them, Helen helped cushion and immobilize the leg with an inflatable plastic casing, then the man was moved carefully onto the litter. Strangely Helen knew one of the paramedics, as she had delivered his first and only child, and after sliding the litter into the large vehicle, he slapped the door shut, smiled, winked, and murmured, “Good work, Doc.”
Feeling the praise unearned, Helen nevertheless returned his smile with a soft “Thank you.”
As the paramedics climbed back into the ambulance, a hard arm slid around her back.
“I’d like to follow along to the hospital, if you don’t mind. There’ll be questions to answer, forms to fill out. And I’ll have to call Cullen, give him a report on the man’s condition.”
“Yes, of course. But you do realize it may be some time before any definite word is given out,” Breathlessly she moved beside him as, striding along, he half dragged, half carried, her over the rough ground toward her car.
“I know.” He gave her a small smile. “But it’s got to be done and I’ve got to do it. The man has no family here.”
The drive was a short one, as they took the man to a local hospital. For the following forty-five minutes Helen stood with Marsh as he filled out form after form, answered questions. Helen was asked questions also, but at last it was all finished and the desk nurse said, “If you’d like to wait in the lounge, Doctor, Mr. Kirk, the doctor will have some information for you as soon as possible.”
About to walk away, Marsh turned back to the nurse.
“If we’re wanted, we’ll be in the coffee shop.” He paused, then asked
, “There is a coffee shop?”
The nurse smiled, nodded, and gave them directions.
“Not exactly what I had in mind when I promised you lunch.” Marsh smiled ruefully twenty-five minutes later when the waitress walked away after serving them their food.
“But I love chicken noodle soup.” Helen smiled, indicating the steaming bowl in front of her. And with a wave of her hand, over her sandwich, added, “And I’ve been a cheeseburger freak since I was a kid.” She sipped at the cup cradled in her hands. ‘The coffee is hot and really very good. It’s an excellent lunch, Marsh.” Her eyes teased him. “And you can’t beat the prices.”
“You’re a cheap date.” Marsh’s warmly glowing eyes teased back. “Remind me to invite you out to lunch again sometime.”
It was after four thirty when they returned to the waiting lounge, and after only a few tense moments Helen suddenly remembered something. Standing up, she held out her hand to Marsh, palm up.
“Give me your car keys.”
Without question Marsh stood up, plunged his hand into his pocket, then, glancing up, curiously asked, “What for?”
“I’m going to go for your car,” she answered simply. ‘I’ll ask the desk nurse to call a cab for me and go get your car.”
“Helen, that’s not necessary,” Marsh said softly.
“I know,” Her eyes were teasing again. “But I hate hanging around hospital waiting rooms. Now give me the keys and the address of the garage and I’ll be back before you can even miss me.”
“I seriously doubt that,” he drawled, dropping the keys into her hand.
It was after six when they finally left the hospital, relief on hearing the man would not lose his leg rendering a spring to their step. Marsh walked Helen to her car, unlocked and opened the door for her before asking, “Can you be ready by eight?”
“Ready for what?”
“For dinner.” Marsh grinned. “Maybe a bowl of soup and a cheeseburger would hold you for hours but I have a suspicion that in another hour or so I’m going to be looking forward to a steak. So can you be ready?”
“I’m really very tired, Marsh, and—”
“Nothing fancy,” Marsh promised. “And I plan to take you home as soon as we’ve finished dinner.”
Helen was vaguely unsettled by his words, but with a sigh she agreed.
There was nothing fancy about the restaurant Marsh took her to. But it was clean and quiet and the food was delicious and the wine was good.
Later, standing in the hallway in front of her open apartment door, Marsh cupped her face in his hands, kissed her softly.
“You were pretty wonderful today, Helen,” he murmured. “Someday, very soon, you and I are going to have a long, serious discussion. But right now you look too tired to think properly, let alone talk.” He kissed her again then dropped his hands. “Go inside, go to bed. I’ll call you late in the morning.”
Lying in bed, Helen closed her eyes, as if by doing so, she could close out the certainty painfully searing her mind. He was ready to make his move, play his high card, and she knew it. And the knowing hurt, more than she had ever dreamed it would.
* * *
Chapter 9
By midmorning Sunday Helen had come to terms with her emotions. Although, when embarking on this charade, she had not fully considered the possibly painful ramifications to herself, she could not throw in her hand now. No, pride demanded she play the hand to the last card, then pick up what emotional chips were left and go home.
When Marsh called, Helen was able to talk to him calmly, but she wasn’t yet ready to see him. In an easy tone she could hardly believe she’d achieved, she told him she didn’t want to go out that afternoon, as she had a hundred personal things she had to catch up on,
“A full hundred?” he mocked. “Are you trying to put off the inevitable, love?”
Helen felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Marsh hadn’t called her “love” in that tone for weeks. She was right. He was ready for the big play.
Her eyes closed against the renewed pain. She should have felt relieved, thankful that it would be over soon. She didn’t. She felt sick, and suddenly very tired.
“Helen?”
She’d been quiet very long. Too long.
“Yes, Marsh.”
“Are you all right?” The concern in his voice, which he made no effort to hide, deepened her pain. “I mean, are you feeling all right?”
“Yes, of course.” Helen forced a light laugh. “I’m sorry, Marsh, I’m afraid I’m still a little sleep-vacant” Helen winced at the lie. “I haven’t been up very long and I don’t have the mental process together yet.”
“I can’t wait to hear what you’ll have to say when you get it together.” He laughed, then chided, “Do you think you will have your hundred personal chores finished by dinnertime? I’ll make reservations somewhere.”
Again she hesitated, but only briefly this time.
“All right, Marsh, but I want to have an early night. I’m scheduled for O.K. early tomorrow morning.” At least that was the truth.
“Something serious?”
“Yes.” She would say no more.
“Okay, love, you’re the boss. I’ll pick you up at six thirty and you can be back home and tucked in for the night by ten.”
Alone, Helen added silently.
The restaurant was a new one for Helen. Spanish in decor, with a lot of black wrought iron complemented by dark red tablecloths and carpet. The menu was a disappointment, being entirely American. The closest Helen got to Spain was the bottle of imported sangria, compliments of the house, that was included with every—expensive—meal.
After dinner Helen played with the stem of her tiny cordial glass, staring at the Tia Maria inside.
“Are you going to admire it or drink it?” Marsh teased.
Startled out of her reverie, Helen glanced up, saw his own Drambuie was gone. A red-jacketed waiter stopped at their table, refilled the coffee cups. When he walked away again, Marsh pinned her with curious eyes.
“Something bothering you, Helen?”
“No.” Her fingertip circled the rim of the small glass. You are certainly not playing this very intelligently, she told herself bleakly. Perhaps it’s time to throw a card that will put him off balance, just a little. “I was just wondering if you’d care to escort me to a party Saturday night.”
“Of course,” he replied promptly. “Did you doubt that I would?”
“I wasn’t sure.” Helen shrugged. “I’m afraid it won’t be a very lively affair, but I don’t want to miss it”
“What sort of party is it?”
“Retirement.” Helen sipped her drink, smiled gently. “My chief in OB. He’s a nice man and a brilliant surgeon. I’m going to miss him and I would like to go.”
“So we’ll go,” Marsh said easily, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But now something bothers me.”
“What?” Helen answered warily.
“Why you even hesitated about mentioning it. Did you really think I wouldn’t want to go with you?” He paused and his tone grew an edge. “Or were you hating the idea that you’d finally have to introduce me to some of your friends?”
“Marsh!” Helen’s shocked tone hid the curl of unease she felt.
“Don’t play the innocent with me, love.” He rapped softly. “You didn’t really think I’d bought those lame excuses, did you? I knew all along why you were dodging that particular issue. Part of it, the biggest part, was this damned hang-up you have about our age difference,” He leaned back lazily in his chair; his eyes refuted that laziness. Very softly he warned, “I’m not exactly stupid, you know.”
A chill of apprehension trickled down Helen’s spine. She was sure he was giving her a definite warning about something—but what? For a brief, panicky second Helen felt sure he knew she was playing him at his own game. Then common sense took over. She had made her position clear from the beginning, had told him bluntly she wanted no involvement
of any kind. There was no reason whatever for him to be suspicious. Once again his pride had been touched and he didn’t like it. And so the warning; it was as simple as that.
When Marsh didn’t pursue the subject, Helen convinced herself her diagnosis was correct.
During the week Helen changed her mind about what to wear for the party at least four times. At one point she even convinced herself she needed something new. Never had she been so nervous about going out somewhere. After long mental arguments she finally scrapped the idea of a new gown. She had a new gown. She’d bought it for the holidays and never worn it. And though the calendar said it was just about spring, the temperature said it was still very much winter.
On Saturday night, standing fully dressed in front of her mirror, Helen still wasn’t sure of her dress. There was very little of it, at least the top part of it, and Helen wondered for the tenth time if it was right for her. Its cut was deceptively simple, with a rather deep V neckline and straight, clingy skirt slit up the right side to the knee. The sleeves were of free-flowing chiffon, almost the same as no covering at all. About the only thing that did please Helen was the shimmery midnight-blue color. Marsh’s gift chains were the only jewelry she wore. She had coiled her hair back, telling herself the severe style offset the gown’s more daring effect.
“Very elegant.”
They were Marsh’s first words when she opened the door to him and they echoed her thought about his appearance. In black tux and white ruffled shirt, the only word to describe him was devastating.
The party was being held in the ballroom of one of the city’s largest hotels. Helen had not been in the room five minutes before she saw her own opinion of Marsh’s looks reflected in the eyes of a dozen women. The sudden mixture of feelings those devouring female eyes sent searing through her made her want to run for the nearest exit. Pride, jealousy, and, Lord help her, possessiveness raged through her like a raging bull gone mad. It made her feel a little sick. It made her feel a little angry. But, worst of all, it made her feel foolish, and that she could not bear.
