by Carol Grace
Finally he looked up. “You are the husband?”
“No,” Josh said. “Not yet,” he added.
The doctor nodded. “She has a concussion and three broken ribs,” he said in lightly accented English.
Josh nodded automatically. “Go on,” he said. “What else?”
The doctor smiled faintly. “That’s all. That’s enough. She must have complete rest until those ribs heal. You’ll see to that?”
“I’ll see to it,” Josh answered emphatically.
“As for the concussion, she’s drifting in and out of consciousness. She needs to be awakened every hour to see if her pupils are equal and if they react to light. We can keep her here for the night, or you can do it at home.”
“I’ll do it at home,” he said.
“No activities that require concentration or vigorous movement,” the doctor cautioned.
They brought her out in a wheelchair with a white bandage over her eye, then gave Josh a bag with her clothes and jewelry in it. She was wearing a hospital gown and his jacket over her shoulders. Her eyelids were heavy. Her lips formed his name when she saw him, but no sound came out. He clenched his hands into fists and felt tears gather in the back of his eyes.
She was so beautiful and so helpless. He’d never seen her like that before. She was the sturdy farm girl, unfazed by wind or rain. The one who led the way on the trail in her baggy pants and hiking boots. The one who had barged her way into his office and gotten a loan in spite of the rules. And now she was sitting in a wheelchair with three broken ribs and a concussion.
In front of the hospital he lifted her very gently out of the wheelchair and into his car. She drew a sharp breath, and he murmured in her ear, “Sorry, I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. “A little.”
The few miles to his apartment seemed to take an eternity. He carried her into the lobby, onto the elevator and up to the penthouse. Without her heavy skirts and shawl she was as fragile as a butterfly.
Her head fell back against his arm. She was asleep again. Her eyelashes were dark smudges against her pale skin. Kneeling on the bed, he pulled back the blanket and eased her between the sheets. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek above the cut. Even the antiseptic couldn’t overpower the fresh smell of her rain-washed hair.
He put his hand on her forehead. A rush of tenderness filled him. He had to wake her every hour. Had it been an hour? No, it had only been a few minutes. He set the timer on his watch to beep every hour, then he watched her sleep.
When he woke her, she didn’t want to open her eyes, but he cradled her head in his hands until she did. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so much he had to tell her, but she went back to sleep as soon as he checked her eyes.
He made himself instant coffee and drank it as he sat in the chair at the bedroom window and watched her sleep. He dozed, his legs stretched out in front of him until his watch woke him over and over throughout the night. Each time her pupils were equal and responded to the light.
In the morning the sun rose over Teregape and streamed in his window. She opened her eyes before he told her to and stared at him in disbelief for a full minute. He got out of his chair and raked his fingers through his hair.
“Josh,” she croaked. “What happened?” She touched the bandage around her head gingerly with the tips of her fingers. Her hair, a mass of dark curls, was spread out against the pillow. She’d never looked so beautiful.
He sat on the edge of the bed and traced a gentle finger around the bump on her head. “You had an accident. You broke a few ribs and hurt your head.”
She groaned and looked around the room at the pale walls and the dark furniture. “Where am I?”
“My apartment. I couldn’t take you home. Your ribs wouldn’t stand the trip.”
Her eyes strayed to the window, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “I should have known. The bedroom with the spectacular view.”
He grinned. “That’s right.” A giant weight was lifted from his shoulders. She remembered. She was going to be all right.
She ran her hand over the smooth percale sheets and the thick plaid comforter. “This is your bed, isn’t it?” She spoke slowly, her brain still befuddled. “Where did you sleep?”
He pointed to the chair. “Right here.”
She frowned. “How did I get here? What happened to the truck?”
The image of the truck smashed into the tree flashed in front of Josh’s mind. “Don’t worry about the truck. I brought you here in my car. When you didn’t show up, I got worried about you.”
She closed her eyes, and it all came back to her—the letter, the road, the rain... Sorrow, mingled with pain engulfed her body. How could he tell her not to worry after they sent her that letter. “I have to worry about it,” she said. “So tell me what happened.”
“You smashed the truck into a tree on your way down a hill. It wasn’t the best day to be out driving around on steep, slick roads,” he reprimanded her gently. He could afford to be gentle today. Yesterday he had been a maniac, afraid she was dead or seriously injured. Today she was safe in his bed with only three broken ribs and destined to remain there for some time whether she liked it or not. And from the look on her face she didn’t like it.
Catherine saw the unperturbed expression on Josh’s face, and she summoned her strength to pull herself up and glare at him. “What did you expect me to do after I got the letter? Let you come and get it? Let the whole village watch while the bank took it away?”
“What are you talking about?” be asked.
“Where are my clothes? The letter’s in my pocket. Don’t tell me it’s not from your bank.”
He found the bag the hospital had given him and opened it. In her jacket pocket was the letter. She watched his face while he read it.
“It’s a form letter,” he explained.
“I know it’s a form letter and I know what it means. I promised you I’d bring the truck back if we had to miss a payment.”
“You should have known this was a mistake. This is a final notice.” He pointed to the words on the top of the letter. “Somebody pushed the wrong key on the computer. You were supposed to get the first letter because you missed one payment. The letter that asks you nicely if there’s a problem to let us know so we can reschedule your payments. Why didn’t you let me know?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “I couldn’t. The mailman got his truck stuck in the mud until yesterday.” She blinked back her tears impatiently and lay there for a long time, gripping the edge of the comforter in her fingers and staring out the window, avoiding his gaze and feeling stupid.
“Is that why you were on the road yesterday, without the women or the produce, because you thought we were going to repossess the truck?” he asked incredulously.
She nodded and a tear slid down her cheek. “And now I’ve smashed it.”
“Don’t worry. You have insurance on it. I’ll send somebody to tow it back to town.”
“I should have known better.” She twisted her fingers together, wishing she didn’t have to meet his gaze. She stared out the window without noticing the morning sun shining on the mountain. “It was still raining in the valley when I left. The vegetables were rotting in the fields. There was nothing we could do. And then the letter came. I took off without thinking.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “You’re alive and in one piece. Well, almost one piece. That’s all that counts.”
“What about the payments. We missed a payment. If it doesn’t quit raining, we’ll miss another one and then...”
“And then we’ll sit down and talk about it. Change the schedule, alter the interest rate. We don’t want to take the truck back. We want to see you succeed.”
She met his gaze at last, pressed her lips together and nodded gratefully. The look in his eyes told her more than his words how worried he’d been and how relieved
he was that she was all right.
“I probably ought to be getting home now.” She pulled herself up on her elbows. “Everyone will be worried about me.
He shook his head. “I’ll send word back to the village with some of the women in the marketplace. They can come by to see you in a few days.”
“A few days?” She looked around the room, really seeing it for the first time, the huge window with the spectacular view.
“You’re not going anywhere until those ribs heal. And after that I thought I might talk you into staying around.”
“Here in the city?”
“It was just an idea.”
“How would you feel if I asked you to stay around with me on the farm?”
“Is that a proposal?” he asked with a gleam in his eye.
She looked up. His mouth quirked up at the corners, but his eyes turned serious. “No,” she said. “Was yours?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn’t say a word. She put her hand on his arm. “You don’t mean that. You were scared when you thought I was dead. But I’m alive, and pretty soon I’ll be well and we’ll go our separate ways. You rescued me and I’m grateful, but—”
“But not that grateful.”
“Yes... no. People can’t get married because they’re grateful. They have to be in love.” The more she said, the deeper the hole she dug for herself. Now he’d ask her if she loved him and she’d have to say yes if she were honest. It wouldn’t do any good to lie. She’d been lying to herself too long. She lied to Jacinda, but Jacinda saw through her. All the women did. Josh must see it, too, her love for him shining in her eyes and hear it in her voice.
She closed her eyes and lay back on the pillow, exhausted by trying to keep her secret. Even with her eyes closed she felt his gaze on her, asking the unspoken question. She pressed her lips together to keep from blurting the answer. And then she drifted off into blissful unconsciousness.
She woke up hungry and thirsty. He brought soup and tea and watched her eat. “Where did you get this?” she asked, squinting up at him. “And where are you going?”
He straightened his tie. “I’m going to the bank for an hour. Just to check in and pick up my mail. Here’s the phone. If you need me, here’s the number.”
She slept all afternoon, and when she woke up it was evening. From the bed she could see the lights of the city below. Josh was standing at the window, his body outlined against the glass, so tall, so strong and so wrong for her. How could fate be so cruel as to send her a man she couldn’t have? Even if she canceled her five-year plan, what good would that do? How could he possibly imagine that she could live in the middle of a city, this city or any city?
Sensing she was awake, he crossed the room quietly. As he approached, she saw he was wearing a soft denim shirt and faded jeans. She wanted to feel his shirt against her face, and touch the jeans with her fingertips, feeling the hard muscles of his thighs. She hungered for his touch.
“Hungry?” he asked, as if he’d read her mind.
She smiled and held out her hand to him. He knelt there on the floor, and even in the dim light she could see the warmth in his eyes, the love and the care.
“Dinnertime,” he said, and went to the kitchen. When he came back, he had baked beans and brown bread on a plate.
“These are your emergency rations,” she protested, remembering from her earlier visit.
“This is an emergency,” he said. “And I don’t need to save them anymore. I’m going home at the end of next month. I got my promotion.”
She swallowed a mouthful of beans despite the lump in her throat. “That’s wonderful,” she said. She was proud of her quick response, but not as proud of the way her hands shook or the sudden pounding in her head. Just when she was getting better, she felt worse. Much worse. She set her dish down and pressed her hand against her heart. Bones break, but not hearts. It was just a saying, but it was a lie.
“What is it?” he asked, easing himself onto the bed. He pressed his hand against her chest. “Do your ribs hurt?”
She nodded. “I think so.” She took her hand away, but his stayed, his fingers below her breasts, sending vibrations through her body.
“I want you to come with me,” he said.
“Where, to Boston?” she asked, dumbfounded.
“It doesn’t have to be right in Boston. People do live outside of town and commute.”
“Have you ever lived in a suburb?” she asked.
“No, but I thought it might be a good compromise,” he said, outlining the opening of her hospital gown with his finger.
Trying to think rationally, she pulled the gown to her chin and tied the strings together. “How could I use everything I know, everything I’ve learned—grafting mutations, crop rotations—in a suburb? Besides I’m not ready to go back to the States. I can’t stand to see how my parents live or what’s been done to our land. Not yet.”
“I’ll wait.”
She sighed. He had that determined look in his eyes, his chin set at a stubborn angle. She remembered how he got what he wanted. By patiently waiting. He said no more about going home or getting married or living in the suburbs. She finished her beans and bread, and he carried her out to the balcony, put her in a lounge chair and spread a blanket over her.
They listened to Andean folk music on his stereo, the reedy flutes and the stringed gourds reminding her of the outdoor restaurant. She’d never be able to hear this music without thinking of him.
What would life on the farm be like if she couldn’t share with him the progress of her potatoes? How would she get along without him coming by the stall when she least expected him, sending her pulse racing and the color flooding into her cheeks?
Tears filled her eyes and blurred the lights of the city below. Fortunately he was standing at the railing of the balcony, looking out, and couldn’t see that she was crying. If he did, he might think she was sad about his leaving, when she was really just sad about being stuck here in town with a bump on her head. That was all it was. Really.
When he carried her back to bed, she fell asleep and dreamed of living in the suburbs with a husband who came home at night with a newspaper under his arm and talked about banking. It wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare. Josh went to work in the morning after fixing her a piece of toast and putting the telephone next to her bed.
She tugged at the drawstrings of her gown. “I want to get out of this.”
“Your clothes are in the plastic bag. But I don’t think you want to wear them. Besides, you should stay right where you are.”
She looked at the sliding doors of his closet. “Do you have an old shirt I can wear?”
“Help yourself,” he said, and kissed her softly on the lips.
She put her arms around his neck. A pain hit her in the chest, but she ignored it. He deepened the kiss and she drank in the taste of him, memorizing the lines and angles of his face for the future. Then she sank back on the pillow, her mouth curving up in a smile.
“I’ll be back for lunch,” he promised.
“You come home for lunch?” she asked, surprised.
“Now I do.”
After he left, she took a shower and washed her hair, very slowly and very carefully. Afterward she put on a shirt from his closet that hung down almost to her knees. It wasn’t an old shirt. He didn’t have any old shirts, it seemed, but she borrowed it, anyway. Exhausted from her activities, she went back to bed and fell asleep again.
She woke up when she heard the door open, then footsteps and hushed whispers. She sat up in bed. The door to the bedroom opened, and Jacinda’s face appeared, followed by Doña Blanca, Margarita and the others. Josh stood behind than, looking pleased.
“How did you get here?” she asked, flinging back the blankets and swinging her legs to the floor.
They crowded forward, throwing themselves at her to exclaim over the bump on her head and the bruise on her cheek. Josh was looking at
her as if he were afraid she’d break. She gave him a reassuring smile. They explained that they’d come to town with Tomás in his truck. They had come as soon as they could. They’d been frantic until they’d gotten Señor Bentley’s message. Now they were relieved to see her for themselves. The rain had stopped and they had brought her some food. She must be starving. She looked so thin. They held up sacks of cheese, eggs, peppers, lettuce, potatoes and bread.
Before they left they went out onto Josh’s balcony and leaned over the railing, calling to the people below. Then they looked into his giant refrigerator and turned the stove on and off to see how it worked. And as suddenly as they had come, they hurried to the door, anxious to get back to the market. Josh offered to drive them.
He stood in the doorway as they filed out. “Sorry about the lunch,” he said with a rueful smile. “They appeared at the bank just as I was leaving. I didn’t have time to get anything for you.”
“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “There’s enough here to feed an army.”
His gaze drifted down the shirt she was wearing to her bare legs, and he nodded. “I’ll be home as early as I can.”
Her heart thumped against her chest. Home. It had such a nice ring to it.
It took her an hour and a half, resting often, to make a cheese soufflé and a salad for dinner. When Josh came in the door, he was carrying a newspaper under his arm just as in her dream. She gulped. Maybe dreams did come true. No, she reminded herself firmly, it wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare. He paused in the doorway to look at her, and she raised the spoon to give the salad a final toss. He came up behind her and enclosed her waist with his arms.
“Didn’t I tell you you’re not supposed to do anything that requires concentration or vigorous movement?” he warned. He kissed the top of her head and she closed her eyes.
“Cooking doesn’t require any concentration. And I’ve been moving very slowly. It’s taken me ages to make this simple dinner.”
His hands moved up to cup her breasts under the cotton fabric of the shirt she was wearing. “I could get used to this,” he said, nuzzling her neck with his lips.
