This constant talk of Evan sent a familiar pain through Marta’s stomach. “Yeah. Have you seen my bottle of antacids?”
“Nope. Don’t tell me you’re out again.”
“I’ve just misplaced them,” she said defensively. “That’s all. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“Out of curiosity, when are you going to talk to Evan?”
Marta avoided Ros’s gaze. “I don’t know.” She’d watched CNN nightly for the latest in the government’s investigation of St Margaret’s, eager to catch a glimpse of Evan during their reports. Unfortunately, she never did. Now that the inspectors had issued a press release, stating they’d found no evidence of fraud, CNN would move on to other stories and she could stop thinking about Evan Gallagher.
“Maybe you should call.”
If Ros only knew how many times she’d picked up the phone, then stopped herself. Until she was willing to accept Winston as a valued part of Evan’s family, she was wasting her time.
“He’s made his decision…” She remembered his challenge to her and his subsequent kiss. Her memory of those few seconds still had the power to wake her from a sound sleep with his name on her lips.
“You’re being stubborn again.”
“If he really loved me, he shouldn’t have any trouble choosing between Winston and me.”
“If you really loved him,” Ros countered, “you wouldn’t put him in the position of having to choose in the first place.”
She’d never thought of it in that way. Ignoring the painful jab of truth, she argued, “They’re both trying to manipulate me.”
“Where did you get this idea?”
“My mother told me how her father was always forcing her to do things she didn’t want to do. She had to attend the school he chose, not the one she wanted. She had to associate with the friends he’d deemed acceptable, not the ones she chose. He even selected the man he wanted her to marry. It’s no wonder she rebelled.” The idea of making peace with Winston Clay had always seemed like a betrayal of her mother’s memory.
“I’m not trying to undermine your mom, but have you stopped to consider how we, especially as teenagers, have a skewed image of the world? We see what we want to see.”
“If you’re implying—”
Ros held up her hands. “I’m not implying anything. I’m simply saying there are two sides to everything. Maybe your grandfather was a tyrant and ran his home like a prison. On the other hand, maybe he was over-protective and didn’t want to risk losing his only child. It’s not unheard of for someone to kidnap a child of a wealthy family and hold them for ransom. If my net worth came anywhere close to his, I’d place a lot of restrictions on my kids, too.”
“You’re watching too many movies,” Marta scoffed, although another seed of doubt had been planted.
“Hey, I’m just speculating. As I said, every coin has two sides. Just remember, pride and unforgiveness are mighty cold bedfellows. Ask Monica Taylor how happy she was before she let go of the past.”
Marta slumped into a chair. She was tired. Tired of her thoughts racing around like a hamster on an exercise wheel.
Ros wheeled herself close to Marta. “Now, be honest. How much do you miss him?”
“Terribly,” she admitted.
“I know you don’t believe in my little hobby, but you have to admit how all the characteristics you saw in him firsthand also surfaced in his handwriting. Honesty, loyalty, determination, confidence. I can’t believe you’re letting him slip through your fingers.”
She didn’t want to. She wanted to hang on tight. But the skeleton in her closet was terribly scary.
“And stop trying to punish your grandfather,” Ros declared.
It was an interesting concept… “Is that what I’m doing?” Marta wondered aloud.
“I think so.”
If refusing to see her grandfather was the punishment she was trying to inflict on him, then, if she continued to do so, she would lose out on something near and dear to her.
Ros shrugged. “Of course, if holding your grudge against your grandfather is more important than having Evan around, then I say hang onto it. Who needs a husband anyway?”
Marta closed her eyes and pictured Evan’s smiling face.
Judge him for yourself. Give him a second chance like you give everyone else.
Instantly, she knew what she had to do. She wanted…no, deserved…a future, and no one, especially Winston Clay, would take it from her.
She sat up straight. “Cancel all my appointments tomorrow.”
Ros raised one eyebrow. “Why?”
“I’m going out of town.”
Ros crossed her arms and smiled broadly. “The girl has finally come to her senses. Are you sure you’ll only need one day? Dallas isn’t in our back yard, you know.”
Marta smiled. “I’ll let you know.”
Marta strode into the lobby of the Clay Enterprises Building the next afternoon, wearing the expensive new hunter green sheath she’d just purchased. She’d thought that if she spent what seemed like a million dollars, she’d feel that way, too.
So far it wasn’t working. In fact, she was wondering if she’d lost all good sense by putting herself through this agony.
Her palms were sweaty and each step seemed as if she were trying to walk out of quicksand. She punched the ‘up’ elevator button and stepped inside.
The attendant, in her pristine, military-style uniform, asked, “What floor, please?”
Marta cleared her throat. “Ten.”
The woman pressed the button and the elevator whizzed upwards, leaving Marta’s stomach in her black pumps. In a twinkling of an eye, she reached her destination and the doors slid apart. “Your floor, miss,” she said.
Marta drew a deep breath, gave her a tremulous smile and stepped into the hallway. Everything was the same, yet different. The decor was more modern, the color scheme more current, but she still remembered the basic floor plan.
Winston Clay’s gold name-plate hadn’t changed, but she had. She wasn’t a meek teenager any more. She was a person who’d made her way in the world through her own blood, sweat and tears.
Wiping her palms on her dress, she squared her shoulders and opened the door.
The desk stood in the same spot, although Ms Lancaster wasn’t the woman sitting at it. This secretary was in her mid-fifties and looked as if she ate choke-cherries for lunch. She peered at a computer screen and typed at a speed Ros would have envied.
“I’d like to see Mr Clay,” Marta announced.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked.
“No.”
“He’s in conference right now and can’t be disturbed.”
The perfect test had fallen in her lap. “Tell him that Marta Wyman is here.”
“I’m afraid it’s impossible. He’s in the middle of international negotiations.”
Resolve welled up inside her. She leaned both hands on the desk and leaned close to the secretary. “Either you tell him or I’ll walk in there myself.”
“This is highly irregular.”
Marta smiled, ready to do battle. She’d come this far and no one would turn her from her course. “I’m a nurse,” she mentioned offhandedly. “If regularity is a problem, I suggest you add more fiber to your diet.”
The woman gasped. Frowning, she jumped to her feet and scrambled toward the set of double doors behind her desk. Peering at Marta over her shoulder and giving her another glare for good measure, she opened the right-hand door just enough to slip through.
Too nervous to sit in the plush chairs, Marta paced the floor and studied the magazines on the coffee-table. News, sports and business periodicals lay in an artful array, all current issues and all without a single crease of the pages. Quite a difference from the dog-eared copies in her waiting room.
Suddenly both doors swung wide and banged against the wall. Marta turned, and her heart seemed to stop.
The man she remembered, the tall man with the
graying hair, harsh expression and cold eyes, stood framed in the opening. She swallowed hard as the urge to flee came over her. Her feet, however, wouldn’t move, and she remained glued to the floor.
Winston Clay’s serious demeanor slowly softened as he searched her face. In another instant a full smile spread from ear to ear and he took one step forward.
“Marta!” he cried, his joy unmistakable. “You came!”
His secretary interrupted. “Mr Clay. What shall I do about your conference call?”
“Explain to the gentlemen that we’ll finish our discussion later.”
“They’ll want to know the reason for the delay.”
Winston’s gaze never left Marta’s. “Nothing is more important than family, Mrs Erickson. Tell them I’ve found my lost sheep. My granddaughter has come home.”
One word, “granddaughter”, broke through the brick walls surrounding Marta’s heart, and the fear in her heart crumbled into dust. Tears welled in her eyes and, without warning, they streamed down her face faster than she could brush them away.
As he opened his arms to welcome her, she didn’t hesitate. She walked, then ran into the comfort of his embrace. She truly had come home.
Evan strode into Winston’s mansion through the entrance designated for deliveries. It led toward the kitchen where he usually found his mother, and today wasn’t an exception.
He kissed her cheek. “Hi, Mom. What’s cooking?”
“Your favorite. Caesar salad, beef tips with rice, steamed vegetables and double chocolate cake for dessert.”
“What’s the occasion?”
Ruth stirred the contents of a pan on the stove. “Why do you ask?”
“Sounds sort of fancy for a middle-of-the-week meal.”
She shrugged. “I cook what Winston requests. I imagine he wants to celebrate how well things turned out at the hospital.”
“Could be.” He grabbed a cheese-stuffed celery stick and chomped down. “Where is he?”
“In his den.”
“OK.” He headed through the saloon doors toward Winston’s office, wishing the evening was ending rather than just beginning. The older man was trying to cheer him up by inviting him to dinner, but he wasn’t in the mood for idle chit-chat even if it took place over a wonderful meal.
Losing Jill to her ex-husband had hurt, but losing Marta was far worse. Although the investigation at St Margaret’s had occupied a great deal of his time, he’d dreamt of Marta calling. He’d asked for his phone messages so often in the hope of finding one from her that he’d offended his extremely efficient secretary.
Marta was in his thoughts constantly and it was driving him to distraction. He would walk through the hospital and hear her voice, see the same-colored hair or smell her familiar scent, but she wouldn’t be there.
Right now was a prime example. He could swear Marta’s perfume lingered on the air. He really must be losing his grip. Something had to be done and, by heaven, he was going to take matters into his own hands.
If he had to hogtie her and bring her to Dallas, he would, because he couldn’t live like this any more. He would go to New Hope in the morning and nothing would sway him from his course. His decision was final. He absolutely, positively would persuade Marta to face the past because she wouldn’t have to do it alone. He would walk beside her every step of the way.
Winston met him outside of his den. “Evan! So good of you to come on such short notice.”
Evan forced a note of enthusiasm. “Dinner smells wonderful.”
“Ruth has outdone herself tonight.” Winston waved toward his office. “Go on in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back. Forgot my glasses.”
Evan pointed. “They’re in your pocket.”
Winston patted his shirtfront. “So they are. Well, then, I must have forgotten something else. Your mother will figure it out. Now, go on in and relax.” Before Evan could argue, Winston disappeared through the saloon doors.
Evan shook his head. It wasn’t like the man who negotiated million-dollar deals to be so…unsettled. Perhaps he’d explain while they ate.
He opened the door and once again swore that Marta had been in the room. “Get real,” he muttered under his breath.
As if his mere thought had conjured up her image, she appeared before him. “Hi, Evan,” she said softly.
“Marta?” He blinked, wondering if his last cup of coffee had been spiked and he was hallucinating.
She nodded. “Yes. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Are you really here?”
She smiled. “I think so. My arms are black and blue from pinching myself, so this isn’t a dream.”
If it was, he didn’t want to wake up. “Does Winston know you’re here? Of course he does,” he thought aloud.
Marta giggled. “Actually, he planned this. I went to his office this afternoon and we talked.”
“You did? How was your first meeting?”
“Stressful,” she admitted, “but it turned out like I’d wanted it to thirteen years ago.”
“I’m glad. Did he explain things?”
“A little. We talked more about the present. And the future.”
“And what kind of future did you two work out?”
“We’ll see quite a bit of each other.” She clenched her hands together. “He’ll fly to New Hope for business and I’ll drive to Dallas for fun. Unless…” Her voice faded.
Evan was curious. “Unless what?”
“Unless I’m living here.”
“Do you want to live in the city?” he asked cautiously.
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On who I’m going to live with. You see, someone once asked me if I’d ever leave New Hope.”
He remembered the conversation vividly. “You said you would if the right person came along.”
“Yes. I found him. I’m just waiting for him to ask.”
Evan strode forward and took her hands. They were like blocks of ice. “Will you move in with me? Be my wife, my friend, my partner?”
She smiled. “Until we’re old enough to gum our food and hold wheelchair races with Ros.”
Her quote of his words made him laugh, and he hugged her. “I can’t believe this is happening. I never thought you’d change your mind. I was prepared to drive to New Hope tomorrow and drag you here by your hair.” He held her at arm’s length. “What did change your mind?”
“I love you. Fate robbed me of a lot of things. I didn’t want it to steal you, too.”
He tipped up her chin to stare directly into her eyes. “And I love you. We’re going to have a great life together,” he vowed.
“I know we will, but we also have a lot of issues to work out. I can’t leave New Hope until I’ve found a replacement. Then I’ll need to find a job—”
“We have plenty of time to sort out the details,” he said, swinging her in a circle. “What do you say we fly this coop and find someplace perfect for just the two of us?”
“We can’t.” She sounded horrified. “Your mother and my grandfather have organized a candlelight dinner on the patio. We can’t leave when they’ve worked so hard to arrange this for us.”
“They won’t mind.”
“I will,” she said firmly. “I haven’t had the grand tour yet but, as big as this place is, after dinner we could disappear and no one would find us.”
Evan grinned. “That, my love, is a devious idea and one I heartily endorse. Let’s eat.”
“Evan,” she scolded lightly, “they haven’t called us, so the food isn’t ready. You’ll have to be patient and think of something to do in the meantime.”
“I already have the perfect activity in mind.”
Bending his head, he kissed her.
Ruth stirred the gravy once more. “Do you think we should serve dinner now? The beef is almost as tough as shoe leather.”
Winston stood on the other side of the saloon doors and cocked his head in the direction of his offic
e. The laughter he heard had banished the heaviness he’d carried in his heart for nearly thirty years.
“Ah, Ruth. They’re young and need time alone.”
“But my entrée will be ruined,” she wailed.
“Then we’ll order pizza. They’re too besotted with each other to notice the difference.”
Ruth tiptoed to the door and listened. “It’s gotten awfully quiet.”
A smile of satisfaction spread across his face. “That, my dear woman, is the sound of love.”
ISBN: 978-1-4603-5653-1
A NURSE’S FORGIVENESS
First North American Publication 2001
Copyright © 2001 by Jessica Matthews
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