by JoAnn Ross
"That'll teach you to stick to the trail," Caine advised with a calm that belied the runaway pounding of his heart.
"I'm probably going to be in trouble, huh?"
"Your mom's real worried."
"Was she crying?" "A little. When she sees you safe and sound, she'll probably cry a lot more."
"And then she'll ground me."
"I'd say that's a distinct possibility," Caine agreed. "But my grandpappy taught me, when I was about your age, that it's best just to take your medicine and get it over with."
"Yeah. That's what Dad always says," Eric said glumly.
"Of course, my gram taught me something else about medicine," Caine said.
"What?"
"That it always goes down smoother if you follow it with a spoonful of honey. So how about, after you get ungrounded, you and I go to Seattle and take in a Mariners game?"
"Really?"
"Really."
They entered the lodge with a gust of rain and wind. Caine, carrying Eric, was flanked by Dana and Joe Bob Carroll. Bring up the rear was Hannon Olson. Which wasn't all that unbelievable, Nora decided. Tribulation's citizens were the type of people who always pulled together in times of trouble. And a missing child was enough to make even the most long-term adversaries put aside their personal differences.
"Oh, Eric!"
Tears of joy coursing down her face, Karin ran toward Caine and flung her arms around both of them. "I was so worried." Her hands trembled as they moved over her son's dirt-caked face. "Are you all right?"
"I think he's fine," Caine answered. "Nora can confirm that, for sure."
"So worried," Karin repeated shakily. "I'm so happy to see you." She combed her hands through his tousled hair, dislodging fir needles. "You're grounded for a week."
Heaving a deep sigh, Eric exchanged an I-told-you-so look with his uncle over the top of his mother's pale blond head.
Feeling better than he had in ages, Caine threw back his head and laughed.
10
Caine AND Nora drove back to Tribulation in weary, but comfortable silence.
"My car's at the Timberline," she remembered when he turned down the street toward her house.
"I'll bring it by tomorrow," he suggested. "You look beat. I thought you'd rather go straight home."
"I am tired." Nora glanced over his strong profile silhouetted in the slanting silver moonlight. "But I wasn't trudging around in the rain all night. You must be exhausted."
Caine pulled up in front of her grandmother's house and cut the engine. "Actually, I'm still a little wired."
They went up the front walk in silence, side by side, shoulders almost touching. The boards creaked underfoot as they climbed the five wooden steps to the porch. They stood there, facing one another in front of her door. "Would you like to come in?" Nora asked. "I can make tea. Or decaf."
A prudent man would go. A wise man would avoid a situation rife with dangerous possibilities. The problem was that Caine had never thought of himself as either a wise or prudent man.
"Decaf sounds great. But you're tired and—"
"It's instant."
His last excuse gone, Caine said, "Perfect."
He followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table, watching her fill the kettle with water.
The trestle table was piled high with books and papers. One particular stack of typed pages caught his attention.
"What's this?"
When she saw what he was holding in his hands, she flushed. "Oh, just an article I've been working on."
He scanned the opening paragraphs. "It's about treating children in emergency rooms?"
"Trauma centers," Nora corrected. "Emergency rooms are too geared to nonsuigical emergencies, like asthma, dehydration, stomach pumping, things like that. Which means they function just fine ninety-eight percent of the time.
"Until a trauma victim shows up. And things become even more complicated when the victim is a child."
"Like Dylan."
He lifted his gaze from the paper; his eyes met hers, asking her to finally share the most tragic experience of their lives with him.
Knowing what he needed and needing it, too, Nora didn't take her eyes away. "Yes," she said softly. "Like Dylan." She took a deep breath. "There's something I've been wanting to say." The teakettle began to whisde shrilly. Caine watched and waited as she poured the water over the dark crystals. She sat down across from him.
"When I stopped by to check on Maggie yesterday," she said quietly, "Devlin told me that you still blame yourself for Dylan's death."
When Caine's grandfather had divulged that particular piece of intimate information, Nora had been shocked.
"I think that's when I finally realized that it was time for me to stop blaming you. And for you to stop blaming yourself."
"Oh, hell, Nora, if Dylan hadn't been in the car—"
"You're being too hard on yourself." How strange that after all the years of blaming Caine for the death of their child, she now wanted so desperately to convince him of the contrary.
"I had a teammate in Detroit," Caine said slowly, painfully. "A shortstop. He dabbled in a lot of Eastern religions. When I knew him, he was into Zen.
"Used to drive us crazy, sitting stark-naked in front of his locker before every game, chanting his mantra. But I have to admit, he was the best player under pressure I've ever seen.
"One time, on a road trip, he told me something I've never forgotten."
"What's that?"
"He said that there is no such thing as coincidence, that life is only a response to Karma. That every word we utter, every breath we take, stirs the cosmos around us. That around every comer is a consequence, under every rock a repercussion."
Nora rose abruptly from the table and began to open a box of cookies. "I refuse to believe that Dylan's death was part of some enormous cosmic plan."
"But how do you know he's not right? What if it was a consequence of my ambition?" Caine asked. "How else can you explain that he died the day after I learned I was finally getting called up to the majors?"
"Coincidence, dammit!" Her hands were trembling as she overturned the box, scattering cookies all over the table. "I was just as ambitious as you, Caine. We were both obsessed by our own goals.
"But that doesn't mean that we didn't love our son. And it certainly doesn't mean that either of us caused his death. It was an accident. A stupid, tragic, senseless accident."
The words were meant to comfort Caine. What Nora hadn't expected was, that for the first time in nine years, she could truly believe them.
"You sound awfully sure of that."
Nora drew in a long, shuddering breath. 'Tve seen too many children die since that day. I've had a great deal of time to think about how that could happen and why."
"Which brings us back to this paper."
"Yes." She took another breath, clearing her mind. "There are so many things people need to know about the treatment of children who've suffered accidents. So many ways they're different from adults."
"Such as?"
"Well, a child's head is much larger, in relation to the rest of his body, than an adult's. Which makes him more vulnerable to head injuries.
"And then there's his spleen. When an injured adult comes into the emergency room with a bleeding spleen, it's standard procedure to remove it. An adult will never miss it. But to a child, the spleen is vital to the immune system.
"If you take it out, the patient will seem to recover. Until he catches a cold or the flu, and since his body can't handle the infection, he dies from what should have been a simple case of the sniffles."
She frowned, remembering the first time she'd encountered such a case. A light case of flu that should have been cured with chicken soup, fluids and a few days spent in bed watching cartoons had killed a six-year-old former accident victim.
"And bones," she said. "Children's bones have a remarkable ability to heal themselves, but the problem is that broken bones grow f
aster than unbroken ones, so if you set a child's leg the same way you do an adult's, the broken leg will grow longer than the other.
"So many things," she murmured, glancing down at the papers he was still holding.
"Sounds like too many for a mere paper," Caine observed. "Perhaps you ought to write a book."
"And while I'm at it, I might as well shoot for the moon and establish a pediatric trauma center in my spare time," she said. "All I'd have to do is give up sleep."
Having watched her grueling schedule, Caine knew she was right. "Too bad. It sounds like a book that needs to be written."
Nora nodded an agreement.
When the grandfather clock in the foyer struck the hour, Caine glanced down at his watch in surprise. "It'll be daylight soon. You're going to be beat."
"It's my monthly Saturday off," Nora reminded him. "I can sleep all day."
Caine found the idea of spending a rainy Saturday in bed with this woman infinitely appealing.
"Well, I'd better get going and let you get some rest." Even as he pushed himself away from the table, Caine wished she would ask him to stay.
A very strong part of Nora did not want Caine to leave. Telling herself that it was for the best, she stood, as well.
"Thanks again," she said, walking him to the door. "For everything."
"Thank you," he replied. 'Tor the coffee, and the cookies and, well, everything."
Knowing Nora no longer blamed him for Dylan's death had taken a very heavy load from Caine's shoulders. If she could forgive him, perhaps he could learn to forgive himself.
They stood in the foyer, inches apart, looking at each other. Caine brushed his knuckles down her cheek. It felt too damn good for comfort.
"Sleep tight." Caine watched the desire rise in her remarkable eyes and knew he should go. Now, before it was too late.
"You, too. Give Maggie my love."
"I'll do that. See you on Monday. So you can take out my stitches," he said, reminding her of his new appointment date.
Because he wanted to kiss her, wanted to drag her upstairs to the bedroom and discover exactly how much of her elusive scent remained on her warm skin, Caine turned and trotted down the steps to the car parked at the curb.
Nora opened her mouth to call him back, then closed it. But she did remain standing in the open doorway until the Ferrari's taillights had disappeared around the comer.
Later that day, Caine flew a pair of tourists from California to Orcas Island. Since the honeymooning couple was clearly besotted with one smother, he doubted they fully appreciated the magnificent scenery.
Sunday he spent up to his elbows in soapsuds. Imbued with a new sense of purpose, he scrubbed the cabin floor, scoured the countertops and evicted the spiders that had taken up residence in the high ceiling comers. While washing the front window, he watched a robin weave a scarlet ribbon into the nest the robin was energetically building in a nearby tree and felt a strange sort of kinship with the red-breasted bird.
On Monday morning, the cabin was clean enough for his mother to visit. After a trip to the dump, where the circling sea gulls seemed delighted with his nearly three weeks' collection of trash, Caine returned home, sat down at the kitchen table with a pot of coffee and a legal pad and began making telephone calls to friends and sports contacts around the country.
By the time he left for his appointment with Nora, Caine felt, for the first time in a very long while, that he finally had his life back on track.
Spring light latticed the landscape with shifting shades of green: the goldish green of early willows bent along the streams, the reddish green of maple leaves unfolding from their burst buds, the delicate green of bracken fern uncurling slender fronds, and always, the deep blue-green of water.
Caine had long ago decided that there were probably more shades of green on Washington's Olympic Peninsula than his Irish ancestors could have counted in Eire. During his years away from the peninsula, he'd grown increasingly homesick for such sights.
But as he drove to the clinic, the willows, the maple leaves, the ferns and the water all went unnoticed. Because the only thing he could see was Nora's exquisite face.
As was usual on Mondays, a continuous stream of patients filed into Nora's clinic. Fortunately Kirsdn, her nurse, had returned from maternity leave and things were running a great deal more smoothly.
Nora finished wrapping Eva Nelson's sprained ankle. The teenager had stumbled while backpacking. Warning Eva to keep any stress off the ankle until the sprain was healed, to keep the leg elevated as much as possible, and to take aspirin as needed, Nora walked her to the reception area. That's when she saw Caine, sprawled in her grandmother's Queen Anne chair as if he belonged there. With his long legs stretched out in front of him, he seemed to take up half the narrow foyer.
"Good afternoon, Mr. O'Halloran," she greeted him formally.
"Afternoon, Doc."
"I can see you now."
It did not escape Nora's notice that her very efficient nurse, who was watching Caine surreptitiously as she filled out an insurance receipt for the injured teenager, made an uncharacteristic mistake, voided the form with a murmured apology to the patient and had to begin again.
"You've no idea how much I appreciate your making time for me in your busy schedule," he drawled, rising to follow her back into the room in his easy, loose-hipped athlete's gait.
"Get up on the table—"
"I know the drill, Nora." He grinned. "Want me to take off my clothes again?"
"That isn't necessary." She turned and reached into the cabinet for surgical scissors and gloves.
Her sharp tone pleased him. Caine had noticed long ago that very few things got under Nora's skin. He decided the fact that he was one of them was definitely an encouraging sign.
When Nora turned around he was standing behind her, closer than she'd thought.
"Did you have a nice weekend?" he asked.
"Lovely," she replied. "And you?"
"Actually I did. I flew another one of Maggie's charters to the islands. It felt funny being paid to do something I'd do for free. Funny, but nice."
"You always said you'd play ball for free."
"Got me there," Caine said agreeably. Not quite ready to fill her in on what else he'd been doing, he pulled himself up onto the table, dangled his legs and said, "Snip away, Doc. I'm ready."
"I received a call from the hospice coordinator today about Maggie," she said conversationally as she clipped the first stitch with deft hands.
"I know." Caine felt a slight tug against his scalp. "We made a deal."
"What kind of deal?" Clip. Another stitch gone.
"In return for her entering the hospice program, I promised to quit drinking too much, stop speeding, and turn celibate."
"I can't imagine Maggie holding you to that last one." Clip. Clip. Snip. Snip.
"You're right." There was a sudden charge in the air as his gaze met hers. "She pointed out, in her inimitably direct way, that it wasn't right, my courting one woman while I was technically married to another. So I promised to stay away from you until my divorce is final. Which makes celibacy a given."
His stormy eyes lowered slowly, purposefully to her lips, the look as physical as a kiss, and lingered there for a long, heartfelt moment. "Since you're the only woman I want."
Her lovely face was a contradiction of emotions. Caine saw anxiety, fear, irritation, and most encouraging of all, need. "Back off, Caine."
"I told you, that's exactly what I'm going to do," he agreed with an easy smile. 'Tor now."
He wanted to draw her into his arms and resisted the urge. "Haven't you noticed that I've been in your office
for at least ten minutes without giving in to the impulse to kiss you?"
"Dammit, Caine—"
"May I ask a question?"
She peeled off the thin gloves. "I suppose that depends on the question."
"Are we done?"
"Taking out the stitches? Yes."
>
"Then the professional part of this visit is over?"
"Yes." Her voice wasn't quite as strong as before.
"Good."
With a silent apology to his grandmother, Caine slid off the table, put his arms around Nora, lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her with all the pent-up passion he'd been feeling.
"We can't keep doing this," she complained weakly when the long, hot kiss finally ended.
His lips plucked enticingly at hers. "Give me one good reason to stop."
"How about your wife?'
"Bull's-eye." Sighing, Caine reluctantly released her. "I hate it when you insist on acting like a grown-up."
"One of us has to." Her cheeks were still flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes were laced with desire. "Perhaps it'd be better if we just stayed away from one another."
"In this town?" Caine knew that no matter where they were living, things had gone too far to back away now.
"You have a point," Nora conceded reluctantly. "I suppose I'll be seeing you next Friday night."
Midsummer's Eve was an annual festival dating back to the days of Swedish pagan worship, a celebration of the summer solstice. Years ago someone had gotten the idea to add a contest of lumbering skills to the festivities, which resulted in loggers coming from all over the country to try to win the purse that had grown larger each year. Neither Caine nor Nora had attended since the night Dylan had been conceived.
"I suppose. If I'm in town."
"Oh. Are you taking another charter for Maggie?" she asked with more casualness than she was feeling.
"No." He'd been trying to think of a way to break the news. "I got a call from the Tigers."
"Oh? I hadn't realized you'd recovered well enough to pitch again."
Caine watched her shutting up, like a wildflower closing its petals prior to a storm. "I haven't. They're about to fire their pitching coach and I'm on the short list to be his replacement."
"I see." She did, all too well. "Does that mean you've given up the idea of playing again?"
"For the time being." He flexed his fingers. "Hell, there's no point in trying to fool myself any longer, Nora. I've still got the moves, but I've lost the feeling necessary for absolute control."
