by Warren, Pat
Alex moved closer. “You want us to call your doctor or go with you to the hospital for X rays?” He could see by her face that neither choice held much appeal.
“The hospital?” Ryan said in a small, trembling voice. He didn’t want his mother to go to the hospital. His father had gone there and never come back.
Ignoring her pain, Megan looked up at her son and found a smile. “I’m okay, Ryan. No hospital.” She turned to Grace. “If you’ll just help me up to my room, I’ll wrap it and it’ll be fine by morning.”
Grace sent Alex a doubtful look.
He noticed it and stepped closer. “Put your arm around my neck,” he ordered. When she did without protesting, he figured she had to be hurting badly to have traded her usual feistiness for this unexpected compliancy. He lifted her up into his arms and settled her against his chest.
“I can walk myself...with a little help,” Megan said without much confidence.
“I don’t think so.” Alex spoke to Grace over his shoulder as he started up the stairs. “Since she doesn’t want to go to the hospital, call her doctor and see if he’ll come out. I don’t think he’d want her to put her weight on this ankle until he’s checked her over.”
Megan struggled in his arms, trying to catch Grace’s eye. “No, don’t call. I don’t want to bother Dr. Lane with a house call. I’ll be fine by morning. I have too much to do to be laid up.” A house call would cost a fortune, she was certain. She’d known Dr. Lane all her life and knew he’d probably come out, but at what price? She hated having to keep her budget always in mind, but it was a fact of life.
“We’ll see. And hold still or you’ll have us both on the floor.” Alex continued up the stairs with Ryan just ahead of him, the boy still looking worried.
Annoyed as well as miserable, Megan glared at Alex’s implacable profile. “Hey, who put you in charge? This is my place, my—”
“Kitchen, my B and B. I know. I assure you it’ll be here when you feel better.”
Regardless of the indignity of being carried to her room and in spite of the incessant pain, her awareness of the man holding her so close was another unwelcome emotion, Megan noticed. His touch was firm, yet managed to be tender at the same time. She could smell no cologne on him, just the clean scent of soap and the powerful aroma of man. She didn’t need this right now, she thought as she wished with all her might that she’d watched where she was stepping.
Alex followed Ryan into Megan’s sitting room and walked through the arch into her bedroom, placing her gently on the bed. He saw her wince as he transferred her. He pulled her pillows from beneath the spread and propped them behind her, then watched her lean back and close her eyes. “Where’s your aspirin?”
“I know where it is,” Ryan announced, wanting to help. He disappeared into Megan’s bathroom and quickly came back with the aspirin bottle and a glass of water.
Alex shook two into his palm and held them out. Reluctantly, Megan downed them, although she doubted seriously if aspirin would dull this fierce aching. A sprain she could handle, but please, God, she prayed, let there be no broken bones. She couldn’t afford the time that would take to heal.
Ryan walked around the bed, then crawled on next to his mother, his face anxious. Megan reached out and took his hand. “It’s okay, Ryan. Just a minor spill.” He smiled, but the fear never left his eyes.
Grace came rushing in. “Dr. Lane said he was just finishing up an emergency patient and would be here in about half an hour.”
Megan scowled at Grace for listening to Alex instead of her, but took her friend’s hand in apology as Grace carefully placed her swollen ankle on a soft pillow.
“I’ll get an ice bag and be right back,” Grace told her.
Megan saw Alex settle in her rocker and felt like weeping.
Dr. Zachary Lane straightened from examining Megan’s foot. “You’re lucky, Megan. Your ankle’s swollen, but I can’t detect any broken bones. I suggest you take aspirin for the pain, alternate heat with cold compresses. When you’re resting, you can wrap it with this Ace bandage.” He reached into his black bag, having come prepared from the clinic after Grace’s call. “If you must get up, put on this air cast. It’s two plastic pieces held together with Velcro so you can remove it to bathe. It’ll help immobilize the foot and hasten healing. However, I strongly recommend that you stay off that foot for three or four days.” Noticing her scowl, he shook his head.
In his mid-sixties, Dr. Lane had been a general practitioner in the Twin Oaks area for over thirty years and had delivered Megan and both her sisters. He was well aware that she was a workaholic.
“I know that sounds like a prison sentence to you, but if you don’t follow my instructions, I guarantee it’ll take twice as long to heal and you might make it worse.”
Megan brushed her hair back with both hands. “Doctor, I appreciate your coming out on such short notice. I honestly didn’t think it was necessary—” she frowned at both Grace and Alex “—but I was outvoted.” She turned to her son who’d finally lost his worried look after hearing the doctor’s diagnosis. “Ryan, get my checkbook from the desk drawer.”
“No need,” Dr. Lane said, picking up his bag. “I’ll send you a bill.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Grace said. “I’ll walk you out. Ryan, come with me. I’ll get your dinner served before carrying up a tray for your mother.”
As soon as they left, Alex turned to her, rubbing both palms together. “All right, what do you want first, heat or cold?”
Feeling cross, the pain not easing, Megan squirmed, trying to get more comfortable without much success. “Grace will be back. Thanks for your help up the stairs.”
Her terse words were meant as a dismissal, Alex knew. But he wasn’t so easily dismissed this time. “Do you have a heating pad up here?” he asked, glancing toward a tall cupboard.
Megan heaved a huge sigh of resignation. Maybe if she let him get her the damn pad, he’d leave. “Cupboard, bottom shelf.” To keep her mind off her aching foot, she watched Alex open the cupboard and stoop down. The soft cotton of his shirt stretched across his muscular back as he searched around. She remembered how those muscles had felt beneath her roaming hands that day in the shower. Hard, strong, solid. Like the man himself was—unbending, insistent, stubborn.
Finally, he found the pad, then located the wall outlet and plugged it in. Stretching the cord, he settled the pad over her ankle before handing her the controls. “Maybe you should start off on low and work up to medium or high if it feels good.”
“It’s not going to feel good for several days.” Megan flipped the switch on low, feeling contrary and resentful that her own body had let her down.
Alex sat on the edge of the bed, sending her a tolerant look. “If you weren’t always in such an all-fired hurry, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Eyes fiery, she glared at him. “Thank you for your insight. I never would have guessed that without your help.” Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes.
“People confined to bed usually get surly. They also usually take it out on the ones trying to help them.”
Megan mentally counted to ten before responding. “I am not surly.”
“Uh-huh. Maybe if you got out of your clothes and put on a robe, you’d feel more relaxed. Where do you keep your robe?”
Megan’s eyes flew wide open. “None of your business, and I’m not undressing.” Certainly not with him in her room. Those big hands of his had already wandered over most of her body. At least she could keep his eyes at bay.
“It’s stupid to be modest when you’re bedridden.” He got up and rearranged her pillows. “Did you think I’d jump your bones while you’re relatively helpless? I may want you, honey, but I’d prefer you be completely healed first.”
Through a haze of pain from her ankle and her headache, she gazed at him. What had he said? her foggy mind wondered.
“You rest, and I’ll check on you later.”
“Just a little whi
le,” she mumbled. “An hour, maybe two.”
Right, Alex thought as he left the room, softly closing the door.
I may want you, honey, but I’d prefer you be completely healed first. Had she dreamed those words? Megan wondered as she closed her eyes and invited sleep.
Bending to load the dishes from their dinner into the dishwasher, Grace glanced up as Alex came in from emptying the trash, a chore he’d insisted on doing. Grabbing a towel, she decided it was time she and Mr. Shephard had a little talk. “I must tell you that you are without a doubt the most unusual guest we’ve had at Delaney’s since the place opened. I should know since I’ve been here almost from day one.”
He’d rather thought by the surprised look Grace had given him when he’d picked up Megan that she’d have something to say later. Because Ryan had eaten with the two of them at the kitchen table, the conversation had been lighthearted. Later was now, but he was ready for her. “Is that so?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Slowly, she dried her hands. “What exactly are you up to?”
No beating around the bush for this one, he thought, almost smiling. “Where’s Ryan?” he asked, noticing that the boy’s empty dinner plate and glass were still on the table though he was nowhere to be seen.
“I sent him up to shower. Let’s not change the subject.”
“All right, then. I’m up to nothing nefarious, I assure you.” The fact that he was in Twin Oaks under false pretenses, one his father had unwittingly initiated, wasn’t really sinister. And he was sincere about wanting to help both Megan and Ryan. But in order to do that, he needed to know more. “I’m here on business, just like I said. But as I mentioned before, I’m attracted to Megan. You’ve already warned me not to hurt her. I certainly don’t intend to. Satisfied?”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions, I’m told.”
He acknowledged her barb with a smile. “Touché. I don’t know why both of you are so suspicious of my motives.”
“Maybe we’ve both trusted before and been burned.” She saw his gaze slide to the ring finger of her left hand. “That’s right, no rings. Divorced. Twice. Megan only once, but it was enough.”
That jolted him. “Megan divorced Neal Delaney?”
Annoyed at her big mouth, Grace tried to backtrack. “Not exactly. She filed for divorce, but then he got sick and died soon after.”
Alex decided to store that little nugget of information away for the future. “I see. So every man’s a louse because you two married guys who apparently were.”
“No, that’s not it. I date quite a lot. Still looking for Mr. Right, fairly certain he’s out there somewhere. I tell the same thing to Megan all the time. Got to kiss a lot of frogs before Prince Charming shows his face. But—and this is a big but—you seem in a real hurry to impress Megan, and I’ve never trusted fast.”
Alex frowned, perplexed. “I don’t follow you.”
Grace crossed her feet and leaned against the counter. “You came to us exactly one week ago today. Here you are, cutting the grass, buying and serving watermelon, giving Ryan batting lessons, going to his games and even tucking Megan into her bed. So I can’t help wondering just what you’re after—an invitation into that same bed?”
“I’d be lying if I said I’d turn it down, but no, that isn’t why I’ve stayed.” Hoping he sounded more sincere than he felt, Alex searched for the right words. “My business deal hasn’t finalized, so in the meantime I’m simply trying to help out. Is that a concept so hard for you two to grasp?” Now or never, Alex decided. “By the way, I get the feeling Megan’s in financial trouble with this place. Am I right?”
Grace shifted her gaze, sure she’d already revealed too much. “That’s not for me to say. What if she is? What’s it to you?”
Alex knew he’d have to give some to get some. “Listen, I nearly died last year. I was in the hospital for weeks, then recovering at home for six months. Something like that changes a man, makes him realize life is awfully damn short. If I find I like somebody and I can help them out even in small ways, is that a crime?”
At that moment, Ryan, barefoot and wrapped in a blue towel, came racing down the stairs and into the kitchen. “Grace, I can’t find my favorite Tasmanian devil p.j.’s. Are they in the wash?”
Still looking at Alex, Grace answered, “In the dryer.”
For another long moment, Alex stared into Grace’s distrustful eyes, then he turned to the boy. “Come on, sport. I’ll help you find ’em.” He followed Ryan into the laundry room.
“Mom’s asleep. Are you going to check my homework or should I ask Grace?” Ryan wanted to know.
Alex found a clothes basket and emptied the contents of the dryer. “I’ll check it. If there are no mistakes, I’ll drive you to school in the morning in the Porsche.”
“All right! Wait’ll the guys see that!” Ryan found his pajamas, then hurried from the room. “Good night, Grace.”
Grace smiled at his retreating back. “See you later, alligator.”
“In a while, crocodile,” Ryan singsonged as he stomped up the stairs.
“Hey, sport,” Alex said, trailing after him, “let’s not wake your mother. She’s a little grumpy tonight.”
She’s not the only one, Grace thought as she closed the dishwasher. We’re all a little on edge.
The grandfather clock in the foyer struck nine times, its chimes echoing through the silent house. Long shadows engulfed the rooms from the small lamp left burning in the lounge for any guests still out and the stove light that stayed on all night in the kitchen. Upstairs in the third-floor bedroom, Megan slept fitfully as Alex sat in a bentwood rocker alongside the bed, quietly watching her. On his way to his own room, he’d detoured and brought up a glass of cold orange juice and two more aspirin. But finding her still asleep, he hadn’t had the heart to waken her.
She’d changed into a long cotton nightgown, probably with Grace’s help. Restlessly, she’d pushed off the sheet and light blanket. Her face was flushed, her thick, dark hair spread out on the pillow as she lay on her side, one hand curled next to her cheek. From time to time, her breathing became a bit labored, then she’d cough and settle down again. Occasionally, she shifted and groaned in her sleep as the pain from her ankle made itself known.
He’d been sitting guard for half an hour, just watching her.
So she’d filed for divorce. Interesting. Why? he wondered. Was it because of Neal’s erratic job history that Emily at the Cornerstone had mentioned? Or the fact that he didn’t seem to take much interest in his son, as Ryan had revealed when he’d said that Neal never went to his games? Or was it because he’d wanted to live beyond their means with the big sailboat and the flashy car, which didn’t seem Megan’s style at all?
He’d fleetingly wondered how a woman who’d lost her husband less than a year ago could have kissed him so passionately, and now he had his answer. The glue that had held their marriage together had apparently vanished. So they’d been separated when Neal got sick. Had she stood by him during his illness anyway, perhaps praying that he’d get that all-important transplant? From what little he knew of Megan, he was certain she had, if for no other reason than because Neal was Ryan’s father.
How long had Neal been ill? Had she perhaps even nursed him for a while until he’d had to go into the hospital? But she hadn’t let him into her room, putting him in Ryan’s room instead. Had his illness drained every cent they had and exhausted her besides? Could they have run up a quarter of a million dollars worth of medical bills? Not impossible, Alex supposed, depending on the length and severity of the illness.
Megan moaned in her sleep, thrashed about a bit, then calmed again. Loyalty, he’d wager, was a big part of her makeup. She would do the right thing, disregarding her own needs. While commendable, look where it had gotten her.
Maybe when she felt better, he could get her to talk about her past. Carefully. Because one confidence demanded another, and he wasn’t especially anxious to talk about his.
>
Rising, he stepped to the bed and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. As he did, her eyes slowly opened. She blinked as if disoriented, then he watched her gaze fly to the clock. Next, she glanced out the window, apparently checking to see if it was night or day.
Nine at night! That couldn’t be right, Megan thought, alarmed. Her clock must be wrong. She’d fallen asleep after Dr. Lane had left, around five. She’d only wanted to get rid of her headache.
“Four hours? No, I couldn’t have napped for four hours.” She threw back the covers and made an effort to sit up even though a spasm of pain shot up her entire right leg. “Ryan! Where’s Ryan?”
“He’s fine. Been in here twice to see you, but you slept on.” He reached over to the nightstand for the aspirin and glass of juice. “Here. Take these.”
Her mind fuzzy, Megan scowled. “What are those?”
“Simple aspirin, like the ones you’ve already had. You can read the imprint on each tablet.” He shook his head, looking disappointed. “You really are a suspicious one.”
It was easier to take the pills than to argue. Afterward, though she longed to lie back down, she ran a hand through her damp hair and swung her good left leg over the side of the bed. The headache, thank goodness, was gone, but her right ankle throbbed like the devil. Still, she had to see to her son.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I have to help Ryan with his homework, make sure he takes his shower and...did he eat?”
“Let’s see. Yes, he ate. Two bowls of Grace’s spaghetti, salad and bread. Not the crusts. A glass of milk, two cookies. He did his homework—two pages of math—and I checked it. He’s had his shower and he’s in his favorite pajamas sound asleep for well over an hour. Anything else?”
Megan blinked. “You did all that?”
“Grace and I together. We’ve bonded. You’ll be pleased to know we’re great chums.” Which wasn’t exactly the truth, since Grace still regarded him darkly through suspicious eyes. But he was making progress.
