by JoAnn Ross
“Not that much.” Caine pushed the elevator button. “I simply told him that I wouldn’t let Social Services send him back to his mother.”
“Caine!” Nora stared up at him. “You had no right to tell him any such thing!”
“Why not?”
“Because you have no control over the situation.”
“Of course I do.”
The elevator reached the floor; the green metal doors opened. Caine stood aside and gestured for Nora to enter first.
“If Social Services drops the ball and lets his mother take him back home again,” Caine said as he followed her into the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor, “I’ll call a press conference and tell everyone in the state what she’s done. That should get the bureaucrats off their behinds.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
“Because the mother could turn around and sue you for libel, or slander.”
“Let her sue,” Caine said. “I’ll just hire the best attorney in the country and keep her tied up in court until the kid’s an adult and safely out of her control.”
He meant it, Nora realized, stunned by this man she’d thought she knew so well. “Why would you go out on a limb for a child you don’t even know?”
“Why would you?” he countered. “Obviously filing a suspected abuse form is not something a doctor does without weighing all the options.”
“He’s a child at risk. I had no choice.”
“Exactly.” Caine nodded, satisfied. The car reached their floor. “And believe it or not, for once in our lives, we’re in perfect agreement.” He followed her out of the elevator. “And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“Dylan probably would have looked a lot like Johnny Baker,” Caine said in a hushed, pained voice. “If he’d lived.”
“Dammit, Caine…”
Tears began to well in Nora’s eyes and she turned away. She felt his hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t you think it’s finally time we dealt with it, Nora?”
She could have wept with relief when the speaker above her head began to blare a code. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “I’m on duty.”
He dropped his hand to his side. “What time do you get off?”
“Three-thirty, but—”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“But, Caine…” The code continued to blare. “Oh, hell. Do whatever you want. You always have.” Welcoming the irritation that steamrolled over her earlier emotional turmoil, she took off running to the ambulance entrance.
Caine watched her talking to the paramedics as they pulled a gurney from the back of the red-and-white vehicle. She was no longer the young woman he’d seduced in front of a crackling fire on Midsummer Eve so many years ago. Nor was she the exhausted, surprisingly insecure, angry bride he’d alternately fought with, shared terrific sex with, and ultimately abandoned.
A late bloomer, Dr. Nora Anderson had definitely come into her own. That she was satisfied—even happy—with her life was obvious.
Not for the first time since returning to Tribulation, Caine wished he could learn her secret.
* * *
Nora was not surprised to find Caine waiting for her when she left the hospital that afternoon. Nor was she all that surprised that he’d ignored all the posted signs and parked in the staff parking lot.
“Eric was right,” she said as she approached the man who was leaning against the gleaming black car. “That Ferrari does look like the Batmobile.”
“I know.” Caine grinned. “It’s a ridiculously juvenile car for a grown man, but I couldn’t help myself. Think I’m going through male menopause, Doc?”
Her mind, so calm and deliberate earlier in the emergency room, sprang to fevered life at his cocky grin. Her body followed at an alarming pace.
“That would be a little difficult,” she said in a dry tone meant to conceal the havoc going on inside her, “since emotionally, you still haven’t gotten out of your teens.”
The smile in her eyes took the sting out of her words. “Ouch. You really know how to hurt a guy, don’t you? And here I thought we were becoming friends.”
“Fine. As your friend, I feel it’s my duty to point out that you’re parked in a reserved spot.”
“It was empty.”
“It belongs to the chief of staff.”
“If the guy worked a full day like he was supposed to, his spot wouldn’t have been vacant, so I couldn’t have taken it,” Caine argued. “So, what was your big emergency?”
“A sixteen-year-old girl was kicked in the abdomen by a horse.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“It’s touch and go. The surgeon repaired her lacerated liver and removed a ruptured kidney, but it’s still iffy.” Nora frowned. “Here’s a kid who could very well die and you know what she’s worried about?”
“That her parents are going to get rid of her horse?”
“Exactly. How did you know?”
Caine shrugged. “You’re the one who pointed out that I still haven’t outgrown my teenage stage. I guess I can identify with a sixteen-year-old kid.”
“I’m sorry about that. I was out of line. Especially after the way you jumped to Johnny Baker’s defense.” Nora managed a weak smile. “I suppose I could use the excuse that I’m exhausted, but I think the truth is that snapping at you is a leftover knee-jerk reaction.”
“Makes sense to me,” Caine said agreeably. “Since I’m suffering from a few old knee-jerk responses myself.”
“Really?”
“Really. Except in my case, the feelings are a bit different.”
Nora saw the devil in his eye and turned away to unlock her car door.
“Don’t you want to know what they are?”
“Not really,” she said with pretended indifference, struggling to turn a key in the lock.
“I think I’ll tell you anyway.” He plucked the keys from her hand, located the correct one and unlocked the door. “I can’t seem to resist the urge to taste you whenever those ridiculously kissable lips come within puckering distance.”
Before she could get into the car, he cupped her chin, lifted her frowning lips to his and gave her a long, deep kiss that left them both breathless.
“We still set off sparks, Nora,” he murmured when they finally came up for air.
He brushed the pad of his ultrasensitized thumb against the flesh of her bottom lip. Caine’s heart was pounding with a rhythm he usually associated with spring-training wind sprints. He’d never met another woman who could make him suffer so, and relish the pain.
“You can’t deny it, babe.”
“It’s only sex. Nothing more.”
“You were always good for my ego.”
“And you always had sex on the brain.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes as he skimmed a slow, sensual glance over her. “I don’t remember you complaining.”
Once again the atmosphere between them had become intensely charged. “Dammit, Caine—”
“Besides,” he said, “I think we were wrong.”
“About what?”
“About the only thing we had going for us in those days, besides Dylan, was sex. Oh, I know that’s what we always used to say,” he said when she opened her mouth to argue. “But you’ve no idea how many women I’ve gone to bed with over the past nine years trying to forget you, Nora.”
“I don’t want to hear about all your other women.”
“That’s fine with me, since I don’t want to talk about them.” He ran his palm down her hair. “Your hair has always reminded me of corn silk.” Memories of it draped across his naked chest, after making love, made his already aroused body hard.
“I suppose you tell that to all your women.”
“I thought we’d agreed not to talk about other women.”
“Although what you do and who you do it with isn’t any of my business, as a doctor I have to point out that
casual sex is dangerous, Caine. Especially these days.”
“True enough. But you know, Nora, sex was never casual with you.” His fingers curled around the back of her neck, his warm dark blue eyes captured her wary ones.
“Don’t you think I know how uncomfortable this is for you?” he said in a low rough voice. “But it’s not exactly a picnic for me, either, babe. Because right now my life is really messed up, and I have this feeling that if you and I could at least try to put the past to rest, maybe I’ll be able to handle whatever the future brings.
“Besides—” he took hold of her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed her fingertips, one at a time “—we’re still emotionally linked, Nora, whether we want to be or not.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Why don’t you kiss me again and try telling me that?”
She might be reckless whenever Caine was around, but Nora wasn’t a complete idiot. “You’ve always been a good kisser, Caine. But then, practice makes perfect.”
“It helps,” he said easily. “Want to practice some more?”
“I just want to go home. I’ve had a long day.”
“Come out to the cabin and I’ll massage your feet. You used to like that.”
Too much, Nora agreed silently. During their ill-fated marriage she’d reluctantly come to like far too many things about this man.
“You may be right about putting the past behind us,” she agreed. “You’re also probably right about us leaving a lot of things unsaid and saying a lot of things we didn’t mean. But so help me God, if you so much as touch my feet, or any other part of my anatomy, Caine O’Halloran, I’ll walk away and never speak to you again.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Doc.”
She lifted her chin. “Take it or leave it.”
Caine rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, considering her ultimatum. Nora would come to him, he vowed. And not because of any past sexual memory and not because of any shared grief. She would come because of the same aching need he’d been suffering since that suspended, sensual moment in her examining room.
“You’re on,” he said. “I promise, on my word as a former Eagle Scout and New York Yankee, not to pounce on Dr. Nora Anderson O’Halloran.”
His words were carefully chosen to remind her that they’d once shared the same name. Along with the same apartment, and more important, the same warm double bed.
Caine watched the awareness rise in her eyes again; he was not all that surprised when it was just as quickly banked.
“I haven’t been Nora O’Halloran for nine years, Caine.” She glanced at his car. “You go ahead in the Batmobile. I’ll follow you out to the cabin.”
“You know,” Caine said casually, as if the thought had just occurred to him, “Dana dropped by the cabin with some Dungeness crab. Why don’t you stay for dinner? We’ll have them with rice pilaf. And a tomato-mozzarella salad with honey vinaigrette, topped off by a nice, unpretentious little bottle of Fumé Blanc.”
“Rice pilaf? And honey vinaigrette? Is this the same man who had trouble boiling a hot dog?”
“I bought a cookbook especially written for the kitchen-impaired this afternoon.” He didn’t add that he’d purchased it specifically in the hopes of persuading Nora to have an intimate dinner with him. “It’s got full-color photographs and everything. How about helping me to try it out?”
Nora thought about the frozen dinner waiting to be nuked in the microwave. “All right. Fresh crab sounds delicious. And I can’t pass up the opportunity to see you in an apron.”
“I’ll do my best not to disappoint.” He dug into his pocket, pulled out his keys and slid one brass key off the ring. “Here’s the front door key. I’ll just stop at the store for the wine, rice and tomatoes and be right behind you.”
“Just remember,” she warned as she took the key from his outstretched hand, “we’re only going to talk. You promised not to pounce.”
“Scout’s honor.” He lifted his fingers in the same pledge he’d given Johnny Baker earlier. “Although I refuse to be held responsible for any naughty ideas you might come up with once you get me alone.”
Refusing to dignify that remark with a response, Nora climbed into her car and slammed the door.
Unrepentant, Caine began whistling “My Girl” as he sauntered over to his own black beast parked two spaces away.
CHAPTER 8
Caine’s chalet-style cabin was situated in a remote forest clearing, on the bank of a stream in a grove of silver-trunked aspen, nestled up against the slope of the Olympic Mountains. Behind the cabin was a small, unnamed glacial lake.
Much more than a typical rustic structure, the chalet had a soaring cathedral ceiling and an open balustrade leading to the upstairs loft. Adding to the sense of spaciousness was a panoramic wall of glass that thrust outward toward the forest like the prow of an ancient sailing ship.
From the outside, surrounded by a dazzling carpet of the same yellow, blue and white wildflowers Caine had brought to the cemetery, the cabin appeared warm and welcoming.
The inside, however, looked as if a hurricane had swept through it. Clothes were strewn over every available piece of furniture, and although he’d been home nearly two weeks, other clothing remained in open suitcases on the floor. The rest of the plank flooring was littered with newspapers—all opened to the sports pages.
Empty beer cans littered the tops of the tables along with glasses that had etched white rings into the pine. Nora was surprised and disappointed to see an oversize plastic ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Cobwebs hung in the ceiling corners; dust covered everything.
She went into the kitchen, where she found more empty beer cans and a distressing number of bourbon bottles. The only time she’d ever seen Caine drink hard liquor was after the accident that had taken their son’s life. His drinking, which had begun the night Dylan died, had escalated daily, culminating in that horrid, drunken scene at the cemetery.
A pizza box was open on the counter, the two remaining pieces of pepperoni pizza cold and forgotten. In the refrigerator were three additional six-packs of beer, the crab her brother had given Caine, a taco wrapped in bright yellow waxed paper, a handful of individual plastic hot-sauce containers and a bowl of guacamole that looked like an organic-chemistry lab experiment gone awry.
This was a mistake, Nora thought. The one thing she’d always admired about Caine O’Halloran was his absolute, unwavering self-confidence. To think of him, hiding away out here, drinking too much, destroying his lungs, and clogging his arteries with fat and cholesterol as he ate his solitary meals from TV trays, was surprisingly painful.
She had just decided to leave when the unmistakable whine of the Ferrari’s engine cut through the mountain silence. A moment later, she heard the car door slam and Caine burst into the cabin, his arms filled with brown paper bags.
“Sorry it took longer than I’d planned,” he greeted with a cheerfulness that was at distinct odds with the bleakness of their surroundings. “But I figured I might as well pick up a few basics while I was at it.”
“That’s a good idea. Since you don’t have enough food around here to feed a starving gerbil.”
“Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard has gotten a bit bare.”
“Unfortunately, you can’t say the same thing about the bar,” she countered. “It seems to be more than adequately stocked. And when did you start smoking?”
“A few weeks ago. And for the record, I don’t know why the hell people do it. The stuff tastes like shit.”
“Not to mention the little fact that cigarettes cause heart disease, lung cancer, emphysema—”
“And may result in fetal injury, premature birth and low birth weight,” he cut in. He tried to make room on the cluttered counter for the grocery bags, then, giving up, put them on the floor instead. “I read all the labels, Doc.”
“But you smoked them anyway.”
“I’m probably the only guy my age who never tried smoking when he was
a kid. I thought I might enjoy it. I didn’t. So I quit. Okay?”
“Too bad you didn’t quit the booze while you were at it,” she retorted. “I should take you into the hospital morgue and show you what an alcoholic’s liver looks like.”
A stony expression came over his face. “I’m not an alcoholic. And I damn well don’t need a show-and-tell lecture from you, Dr. Anderson.”
“You need something. Because in case you haven’t noticed, Caine, this place looks like a pigsty.” She wrinkled her nose. “And it smells like a saloon!”
“I happen to like saloons.” Caine knew he’d been spending far too much time in them lately, but he’d throw himself off the top of nearby Mount Olympus before admitting that to Nora.
They were standing toe-to-toe. “Well, I don’t.”
“If you don’t like the way the place smells, why don’t you open a damn window?”
“I’d rather leave!”
“Fine. Go ahead and leave. I’m used to eating alone.”
“No wonder, the way you’ve been acting. And a woman had better be current on her vaccinations before she risks walking in the front door, because this place is a toxic-waste dump. I’m surprised the county health inspector hasn’t condemned it.”
Caine raked his hand through his hair. “Christ, I’d forgotten what a shrew you could be.”
“Shrew?” Her voice rose. “You invited me all the way out here to call me a shrew?” Nora was trembling with a temper only this man had ever been able to ignite. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re still absolutely gorgeous when you’re furious.”
She would not let him get away with this again. “You really need to work on your pickup lines, O’Halloran. Because that one went out with ‘What’s your sign?’”
“I do okay,” he growled. “Besides, if I were in the market to pick up a woman, I sure as hell wouldn’t waste my time with some flat-chested, acid-tongued nag.”
A lesser woman would have been intimidated by his glare, but Nora threw up her chin and met his blistering look with a furious one of her own.
“Then we’re even. Because the last thing I want in my life is some out-of-control, self-pitying over-the-hill jock with a Peter Pan complex!”
