by Marta Perry
This might be one of the coziest meals of his life, sitting side by side with Terry on the couch, plates on the coffee table, eating soup and buttered toast. Finally he leaned back, tired but with the relieved conviction that this relapse was over. Maybe the last one. Optimism buoyed him. He’d escaped again, and no one but Terry knew.
His gaze rested on her as she scooped up the last spoonful of soup. Her hair was ruffled, and any makeup she might have worn had long since vanished. The paramedic khaki pants and navy shirt looked as if they’d been slept in. She was the best thing he’d seen in a long time.
“Terry.”
She turned her head, smiling at him. “What?”
“Just—thanks.” It seemed a small return.
She shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Mom supplied the chicken soup.”
“Not just for the food. For everything. I seem to recall being pretty rude to you when you were trying to help me.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Would it surprise you to learn that patients are often rude to paramedics?”
“No. But I’m not just a patient.”
She was perched on the edge of the sofa, and he wanted her closer. He circled her wrist with his fingers, feeling her pulse accelerate at his touch.
“They do say doctors make the worst patients.” The words came out with a breathless quality.
“We do. All the more reason for me to apologize.” He leaned toward her, his native caution warring with the longing he felt to hold her close.
“Forget it.” Her voice had gone soft, and she turned more fully toward him. “Call it professional courtesy, or—”
The rest of the words were lost when his lips found hers. He shouldn’t. But she was here. He cared for her. Her arms slid around him, her lips soft against his, and a wave of tenderness swept through him. He wanted to hold her, to go on holding her, to feel her warmth and caring and know that it was for him.
She drew back finally, a smile trembling on her lips. “I thought we weren’t going to do that again.” The words were a bare whisper, for his ears only.
“I don’t think I promised that, did I?” He slid his arm around her, drawing her close so that her head rested on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, Terry. Glad you were the one in the break room when I walked in today.”
“Me, too.” Her head moved slightly against his shoulder. “I do think you shouldn’t worry so much about people knowing, though. They’d consider malaria a badge of honor after the work you did.”
“Maybe, but I can’t afford to take the risk. And I’m not sure I did anything that admirable.”
“Jake—”
He shook his head. He didn’t want her looking at him as if he’d done something heroic. “Just let it go. Please.”
Concern for him darkened her eyes. “What is it? Were you trying to make up for Meredith’s death by saving other people?”
The question hit him right in the gut. That was exactly what he’d been trying to do in Somalia. His mouth twisted.
“If it was, I failed. I turned into a patient myself instead of saving others. Maybe God was telling me that nothing I did was enough to make up for what I didn’t do for Meredith.”
“Jake, you can’t think that. You did good work there, and you’re doing good work now. You can’t blame yourself—”
“Yes. I can.” He shook his head, hating the pity he saw in her face. “Don’t. This is something you can’t make better. Nobody can.”
He’d made a mistake, letting Terry get so close, letting her pity him. His father had been right about him. He’d let emotions cloud his judgment again. He should have realized he didn’t have anything to offer Terry.
There wasn’t a future for their relationship, but he couldn’t push her away. Selfish, but he just couldn’t do it.
“Are you sure they’re going to like ham and scalloped potatoes?” Terry glanced across the church kitchen at her mother, who was putting the final touches to an immense tossed salad. Gelatin salads already chilled in the refrigerator.
“I asked Manuela, and she said that would be great.” Her mother smiled. “Let’s face it, Terry. We couldn’t have put together a meal of Mexican food they’d even recognize.”
“I guess you’re right.”
Inviting people from the migrant camps to the church for a home-cooked meal had been Mom’s idea, and she’d marshaled her troops like a general. Volunteers had worked through the afternoon, and even now were setting the tables in Fellowship Hall. The aroma of baked ham was nearly irresistible.
“I invited Jake.” Mom wedged the last salad into the refrigerator. “Do you think he’ll come?”
“I’m not sure,” she hedged. “He might not be able to get away from the hospital in time.”
In fact, she wasn’t sure of a lot about Jake right now, even though her lips curved into an automatic smile at the thought of him. She had it bad, all right. And she just didn’t know if he felt the same.
He’d regretted confiding so much in her the night he’d been sick. She was convinced of that. If she tried to bring up the subject, he’d tense, so she’d stopped trying.
Still, he seemed to want to spend time with her. They’d even gone out on what she supposed was their first official date—dinner out after closing the clinic down the previous night. He’d steered the conversation away from anything personal, but his good-night kiss certainly hadn’t been impersonal.
She turned to check the status of the scalloped potato casseroles, hoping Mom would think her cheeks were pink from the oven’s heat. She didn’t want to talk about Jake, because she couldn’t be sure there was anything in their relationship.
She probably shouldn’t have said what she had about his motives, and yet it seemed so clear to her. How many lives did he think he had to save to make up for failing Meredith? He’d never think he’d done enough. And as long as he couldn’t forgive himself, he couldn’t accept God’s forgiveness.
She closed the oven door. Maybe Brendan had an answer for that one. She didn’t.
Mom folded a tea towel neatly on the rack. “Speaking of Manuela, Brendan told me he tried to speak to Matthew Dixon, but ended up talking to Andy instead. Andy promised to do what he could to see that the Ortiz family stays through the apple harvest, at least.”
“I wish he’d hurry up with it. School started yesterday, but none of the migrant children from the Dixon camp went. I know Manuela is wild to go.”
If the Ortiz family left in another week, they might never see Manuela again. The family would follow the harvest, and who knew what would happen to them then? Her heart hurt at the thought of never seeing Manuela again.
“I know.” Mom’s smooth brow wrinkled. “Your father and I have been talking about it. If there’s no other way to help them, we’d like to offer to have Manuela stay with us and go to school. I don’t know how her family would react, or what the legalities would be, but we’d like to try.”
“You’d be willing to do that?” Silly question, really. Mom was noted for taking in strays. Dad grumbled sometimes, but he was secretly proud of her open heart.
“Of course.” Her mother smiled. “We’re used to having those bedrooms filled. In fact, we might be getting a full house for a while. I had a letter yesterday from your cousin Fiona. She’d like to come to see us.”
“Fiona?” For a moment she was too stunned to say more. “But—Dad hasn’t had any contact with her father in thirty years.”
The breach between her husband and his younger brother was a grief to Mom, Terry knew. She’d struggled to maintain some contact, even though Michael Flanagan had settled in California years ago. Terry knew her cousins existed, but she’d never even met them.
“All the more reason why we should welcome Michael’s daughter to our home,” her mother said tartly. “It’s time to put this foolishness behind us.”
“Does Dad think so?”
“Not yet. But I’m working on him.” She glanced through the pass-through window to F
ellowship Hall. “Look, Jake did come.”
Everything else slid to the back of Terry’s mind as she saw Jake’s tall figure sauntering toward them, pausing to greet the workers who’d finished setting the tables and now sat in a circle, chatting.
He reached them, his smile deepening as he looked at Terry. “Hi, Terry. Siobhan. What’s for supper?”
“Can’t you smell it? Baked ham.”
“And you’re just in time,” her mother said. She glanced at the clock over the range. “Goodness, look at the clock. The food’s about ready. They should be here by now. Brendan sent the bus for them ages ago.”
Jake frowned. “You know, it would be like the crew chief to keep them working late tonight, just out of spite. I think I’ll call Andy Dixon and see if he knows what’s going on.” He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open.
It felt good to know Jake was on her side in this, at least. She studied him as he talked, liking the strength in his face, the determination in his jaw. Funny, he no longer seemed to have that superior look she’d told herself she disliked so much. Or maybe he hadn’t changed, but her way of looking at him had.
He hung up after several minutes, shaking his head. “That’s exactly what happened. Andy intervened, and they’re getting on the bus now.”
“Thank goodness you thought of calling.” Siobhan beamed at him. “Otherwise we’d have been sitting here letting the food dry out.” She clapped her hands to get the attention of her helpers. “They’re on their way, ladies. Let’s get the ham sliced and the biscuits baked.”
In a moment the kitchen was a hive of activity, and Terry was swept into it, relegated to putting salads out on the long serving table. By the time she had a chance to look up, their guests were filing into Fellowship Hall, a little quiet and uncomfortable at first, but relaxing when they saw familiar faces from the clinic.
In the bustle of serving, she lost track of Jake, but when things calmed down, she scanned the room, finding him in the corner, deep in conversation with Andy. They certainly owed Andy a vote of thanks for intervening in the crew chief’s troublemaking. Now, if he’d done as he promised and talked to his father about having the Ortiz family stay, they’d really owe him.
She pulled off the apron her mother had insisted she wear over her khaki slacks and crossed the room to them. Andy’s pleasant face broke into a smile when he saw her.
“Well, do I get an extra slice of pie for my efforts?”
“As much as you can eat. We can’t thank you enough.”
He shrugged. “I’m just glad Jake called. I’m afraid it was a case of the crew chief trying to enforce his authority at your expense.”
“It worked out,” Jake said. “That’s the important thing.”
“What about our other problem?” It certainly couldn’t hurt to prod Andy a little. “Have you talked to your father about letting the Ortiz family stay through the apple harvest?”
Andy’s smile disappeared, and she knew what he was going to say before the words were out. “I’m sorry, Terry. I tried, but Dad has been impossible lately. As soon as I got the words out, he started ranting about do-gooders trying to interfere with how he runs his own farm.”
“But didn’t you explain that we’re only trying to help Manuela have a chance at some stable schooling?” She tried to ignore the frown Jake was directing at her, the one that told her not to make waves.
“Honestly, Terry, it wouldn’t have done any good to keep pushing him then. I’ll try to bring it up again, I promise.”
“Thank you,” Jake said quickly. “That’s all we can ask.”
Well, that might be all Jake wanted to ask, but it wasn’t enough for her. She’d give Andy another day or two to come through for them, but if that didn’t work, she’d see Matthew Dixon herself, no matter how much Jake disapproved.
Chapter Eleven
Jake didn’t like to admit what it said about his feelings that he was lingering near the emergency room admissions desk just because he knew Terry’s unit was coming in with a nursing home transfer. The admissions clerk would handle sending the patient to the lab for tests. There was no reason for the Director of Emergency Services to be here, except that he wanted to see Terry’s bright smile.
He pulled a chart from the rack and scanned it. Busywork, the rational side of his mind mocked him. You’re trying to look busy so no one will know you’re waiting here for Terry, like a high-school kid lingering near his sweetheart’s locker.
Not a sweetheart, he assured himself. He didn’t have a sophomoric crush on Terry. He enjoyed her company. That didn’t have to mean anything serious for either of them.
For the first time in a long while, he had a sense of cautious optimism about the future. The thought startled him. He felt as if he were taking the first steps toward a normal life, and he couldn’t deny that Terry had something to do with that.
Terry, and the mix of attraction, affection and caring he felt at just the sight of her as she and her partner moved a patient on a gurney toward the glass doors. Terry leaned over the gurney as she pushed, her face lit with that warm, caring smile, assuring her patient that everything was all right.
Even though he was prepared for it, the rush of pure pleasure he felt as she came toward him startled him with its strength. He tried to put on his usual professional demeanor as they neared.
“Good morning. Do you have a patient for us?” He’d like to believe Terry’s smile was a bit warmer when it was aimed at him.
“Good morning, Dr. Landsdowne.” Her tone was perfectly sedate, as if he hadn’t kissed her good night at her door the previous night when he’d driven her home after the supper at church. “Mr. Atkins is just scheduled for some routine blood work, that’s all.”
“I’ll check him in,” Terry’s partner offered. “No problem.” He shoved the gurney over to the admissions clerk.
Just how much did Terry’s partner know about them? He shoved that thought to the back of his mind. There wasn’t really anything to know, was there?
“I hope your mother is taking it easy today, after everything she did yesterday to put on that dinner. Will you be having leftover ham for the rest of the week?”
“Mom doesn’t know the meaning of taking it easy. And you don’t have to worry about the food—she packaged up all the leftovers and took them out to the migrant camp.”
“It was a big success—” The buzz of his beeper cut off his words. He checked it and frowned. “Dr. Getz. Excuse me.”
He moved quickly to the phone on the desk and dialed the chief of staff’s extension. The clerk was at the far end of the counter, dealing with the patient’s paperwork. No one but Terry was close enough to hear. Maybe his optimism about the way things were going was misplaced. Why did the chief want him?
“Landsdowne, I’m glad I caught you.” At least Getz didn’t sound as if he’d called with a complaint. “Your father is here to see you. You can use my office to talk. Just come right up.” He clicked off, leaving Jake staring at the phone.
Jake fumbled the receiver back on the phone, turning toward Terry without even thinking about the instant need to confide in her. “He says my father is here to see me.”
Her gaze rested on his face. “Do you want to see him?”
“No!” The response was automatic. “Why would I? He’s the one who cut me off.” He reached for the phone. “I’ll tell Getz to say I’m not available.”
She stopped the movement of his hand with hers. “Don’t, Jake. You don’t want to put Dr. Getz in the middle of your quarrel with your father.”
“It’s not a quarrel.” But she had a point. He shouldn’t involve the chief of staff in a personal matter. It seemed his father had already done that.
“Still—”
“I know.” He clasped her hand, grateful that she was here. “You’re right. I’ll have to speak to my father myself and make it clear there’s nothing else to say.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Are you sure? I mean, he wouldn
’t be here if he didn’t want to talk to you. His coming here must mean his attitude toward you has changed.”
“You don’t know my father. Once he’s made up his mind, nothing changes it.”
“He said things in anger. Everyone does that.” She leaned toward him, intent in her desire to make things better. That was Terry, always trying to make things better.
“You’re seeing the world through your family’s rose-colored glasses.” He thought perhaps a bit enviously of Joe Flanagan’s obvious pride in his children, of Siobhan’s overflowing love. “My family isn’t like yours.”
“Maybe so, but you still have to see him. You know that.” Her hand clasped his persuasively. “If you don’t hear him out, someday you’ll regret it. Maybe not now, but someday. You don’t want that hanging on your conscience.”
“Your conscience is tenderer than mine.” He smiled wryly. “But you’re probably right. I have to see him. And he can’t say anything that will matter to me any longer, in any event.”
He hoped. Still, he didn’t really have a choice, did he? Terry was right. He had to do this.
“Ready to head back?” Jeff paused at the corner of the desk, lifting his eyebrows at her. His expression suggested that he knew exactly why she lingered there and was trying to imply that he didn’t.
She glanced at her watch. “As long as we don’t have any calls, why don’t we just wait for Mr. Atkins to be ready to go back?”
“Sure, save us a trip. Want to get some lunch?”
“I’m not hungry right now. You go ahead.” Did he buy that? Well, it didn’t matter. Jeff might suspect, but he wouldn’t gossip.
He nodded and ambled down the pale green corridor toward the hospital cafeteria.
She shouldn’t hang around here, waiting for Jake to come back. That implied that she thought he should tell her what was going on with his father.
She bent over the counter, concentrating on filling out the run sheet. Routine, nothing but routine. It didn’t keep her from thinking about Jake.
