Ginny met his eyes. “How is it, Jim, that, after all the things we’ve been through together, you have such a low opinion of me?”
“You misunderstand.”
“Do I? You told me to stay out of your way.”
“I was protecting you and don’t change the subject. You should have confronted me.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do I have to scream at you for you to listen to me?”
“What you have to do is trust me to make the right decision, for both of us.”
Ginny felt her patience snap. She sprang to her feet. “Get out, Hal! Go and never come back!”
His eyes widened. “Hal?”
Part of Ginny’s brain processed the error. This wasn’t Hal. She knew that. But it didn’t matter. Jim was just as guilty.
“I am sick of men condescending to me. Fine! You don’t need me, I don’t need you!”
He stood up and came toward her, his eyes wide. “Ginny, I didn’t mean—”
She interrupted him. “Didn’t mean to insult me, again?” She put both of her hands on his chest and shoved, hard enough for him to take a step back.
“You think you know everything? That you’re always right? Well, I’ve got news for you, Dr. Mackenzie. No one is perfect.”
She shoved him again, and again he took a step back.
“Assuming you’re not dismissing me simply because I’m a woman, either you think my knowledge is irrelevant or my understanding is faulty. But only a fool ignores the lessons learned by others. Are you a fool, Dr. Mackenzie?”
She could see the shock on his face, but she wasn’t through.
“I have skills and experience and wisdom, hard fought, hard won. I know things you don’t. I can do things you can’t. You owe me respect and, from now on, if you want my help, you will have to ask for it.”
She put her hands out again, to shove him again, but this time he caught her in his arms and closed them around her, holding her, hugging her. He bent down and put his cheek on her head.
“Yes, Ginny. I know.”
“You know nothing!”
He held on as she struggled. “I know my grandfather sent you on this trip as his representative.”
Ginny stopped fighting. “He told you?”
“Yes.” Jim steered her over to the sofa, pulling her down beside him. “But he didn’t tell me what that means. Will you explain it to me?”
Ginny stared at him. He looked uncomfortable enough for her to believe it was costing him something to ask. She closed her eyes for a moment, then sucked in a deep breath and began.
“I am charged with keeping you out of trouble, with teaching you what it means to be a laird, and with staying out of your way as much as I can. And I’m not doing a very good job of it. My emotions keep interfering.” She saw his eyes flicker.
“But, emotions or no emotions, you need to realize that I could not stand by and let you be mauled by that wolf. Your ego is not that important, and I will always follow my conscience.”
He nodded. “I would expect nothing less.”
“Just so we understand one another.”
He sighed. “I have a feeling there’s a lot I don’t understand yet. Don’t give up on me, Ginny. Hit me if you have to, but don’t give up on me.”
She frowned. “I hope you mean that.”
“I do.”
“Well, then, today’s lesson is, when hunting a man, always take backup with you. If you hadn’t been so conceited, I could have shot the wolf before he bit you.”
His brow furrowed. “I just wanted to keep you safe.”
She threw her arms out. “What do I have to do to convince you I’m not helpless?”
She saw him squirm. “I know you’re not, but I don’t want you taking unnecessary risks.”
“And you’re the one who gets to decide what’s necessary?”
He hesitated. “Well, yes.”
“My brain, my knowledge, my experience don’t count.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Ginny’s head was beginning to ache. “You made it clear you consider me a liability, not an asset. Then, when we got here, you sat me down and told me I needed to let you do your job. Not our job. Yours.”
“It is my job. You were there when Grandfather assigned it to me.”
Ginny looked at the expression in his eyes and her heart sank. “Okay, Jim. You do your job, take Charlie to Halifax, and I’ll go home, and that will be the end of it.” She rose and started for the door.
He caught her before she’d gone two steps.
“Ginny! Ginny, darling, stop! Didn’t you just promise not to give up on me?” He drew her into his arms and held her. “Tell me what you want from me.”
Ginny found her throat closing. She wanted someone who could respect her, lean on her, ask her advice and consider taking it. She could feel the tears pricking her eyes.
The relationship had been hopeless from the start. He’d announced his intention to steal her away from her fiancé, as if she’d been some sort of object to be possessed; had made unilateral decisions about her recovery, even after she’d told him not to; had demonstrated his opinion of her today—unreliable, untrustworthy, of no use to him—and she’d had to kill that wolf because of it. He would never see her as anything other than trouble. She shook her head.
“You can’t give me what I want.”
His eyes clouded. “Maybe not today, but I’ve been told change is inevitable and that human beings are highly adaptable. I can change, Ginny, if I need to. Can you say the same?”
She shook her head again. “I’ve tried, Jim. I’ve tried to be normal. I can’t do it. If you don’t like me the way I am, there’s no hope.”
He frowned. “The leopard can’t change her spots, I know, but I’m not asking you to change your character, just help me to understand you.” He swallowed. “I want you to trust me, the way you do my grandfather.”
She pushed herself out of his arms. “Do you really think your grandfather got where he is by demanding others do whatever he says?”
Jim blinked. “He’s always telling me what to do.”
“He’s trying to teach you, but it’s proving difficult.”
“That’s not fair! I’ve done everything asked of me since I got here.”
Ginny looked at him for a long moment, seeing an angry child behind the sophisticated mask of a man. “Part of the problem is you never had to fight with a sibling so you never learned to compromise. All you know how to do is state your case. Anyone who disagrees is labeled a fool and dismissed.”
Jim’s brow, already heavily furrowed, drew tighter. “Is that what you think of me?”
“It’s what I’ve seen. What’s more, Fergus said—”
Jim exploded. “Oh! You’ll listen to Fergus will you?”
“Yes! He said you need to share with the woman you intend to marry whatever it was that got you into serious trouble in medical school. You have not done so and I have to conclude that means you don’t want me as your wife.”
His face paled. “Is this a test?”
Ginny shook her head. “No. I’m just pointing out that marriage is a two-way street. Communication—and trust—have to flow both directions.”
He stared at her, eyes wide, breathing hard. “All of this because I wanted to keep you out of danger!”
“All of this because you didn’t want to think I might be right.”
He blinked, then took a breath, several, in fact, then nodded. “Okay. You were right and I was wrong. Does that satisfy you?”
“It’s not a contest, Jim. I’m trying to help you.”
She watched him struggle, then nod.
“All right. Let's compromise. I’ll let you help me, if you’ll return the courtesy."
Ginny studied his face. He was a good man. She hadn’t made that up. They ought to be able to work together. They just needed to find a way to communicate without hurting each other. She sighed, then nodded. “Deal.”
* * *
Saturday Night
Beverwyck Homestead
Jim swallowed his heart, still sweating. He should have seen this coming. She’d been trying to climb back from the damage inflicted last October, and he’d been encouraging her to trust herself. He should have recognized her need to prove herself to him, to be trusted by him.
“All right,” he said. “You first. Tell me the truth. What do you need most, right now, tonight?”
“Sleep.”
He nodded, then led her over to the couch. He located the prescription bottle and a glass of water. “Here. Take these.” He had added a mild pain killer to her sleeping pill and watched to make sure the capsules went down the right way.
He turned the lights out in the room, all but one dim bulb in the corner, then turned her around, brushed her hair over her shoulder, and started very gently rubbing her neck and shoulders.
“No.” She started to pull away.
“You promised to let me help.”
She relaxed as the knots warmed and loosened under his hands. Jim concentrated on making sure he didn’t hurt her, using his expertise to coax the muscles into alignment. It wasn’t long before she was drooping.
He gathered her into his arms, her head on his shoulder. With her so close, he could smell her skin and feel her breath on his cheek. She fit in his arms, as if she’d been made for them, and he wanted her in a way he had never wanted a woman before. Sarah had been fun, and there had been other women in his life, but none that made him ache the way this one did.
Her eyes were closed and her breathing slowing when she seemed to remember something. She roused enough to ask, “How’s your arm?”
He had almost forgotten his own injuries in his distress over hers. He brushed the top of her ear with his lips, his voice low.
“Hurts like hell.”
He watched the corner of her mouth curve up and heard her murmur something that sounded like, “Serves you right.”
He held her until he was sure she was asleep, then transferred her to the bed, covering her with the duvet.
Jim stood for a moment, looking down at her. He had no problem with strong, intelligent women in general. There were a lot of them in medicine. It was just this one.
He did respect her, for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that his grandfather relied on her. But he needed to protect her, to take care of her. He needed it as much as he needed to breathe. Tomorrow he would have to try again to explain how critical her safety was to his sanity and hope she understood.
He turned out the lamp and let himself out into the hall, making his way back to his own room. He swallowed his antibiotic and one of the narcotic pain killers, then slid into bed. Ginny wasn’t the only one who needed a good night’s sleep. With any luck, they would be back on the road tomorrow and this time he needed to stay awake.
* * *
Chapter 31
Sunday Morning
Beverwyck Homestead
Jim woke before most of the Homestead was up. He got dressed, then went down to check on Charlie, who was out of traction and in a cast, but still in bed. It was Sunday morning and they were two days behind schedule. Jim tracked down Dr. Warner.
“Is Charlie well enough to travel?”
Dr. Warner’s eyebrows rose. “If necessary, yes.” They would have to consult Gordon, but he wasn’t available yet.
Jim decided he had time to run into town to do a few errands. He grabbed the keys and headed out, his mind on the night before.
She’d called him ‘Hal’.
The Laird had put Ginny in counseling after the incident and resisted any attempt on Jim’s part to find out what happened in those sessions. Ginny, too, had declined to talk about her relationship with Hal, but yesterday he’d gotten a glimpse of it. A condescending, overbearing, chauvinist.
If she could confuse the two of them, even in the heat of battle, he hadn’t been treating her right. She needed a demonstration of his faith in her, his respect for her. And it would cost him, because—whatever he came up with—there was no way he could protect her from the consequences.
* * *
Sunday Morning
Albany, NY
The dry cleaning attendant pulled the leather jacket off the rack, then opened a drawer and fished out a paper envelope.
“Thought you might want this. We found it in the lining. The holes needs patching and we can do it, but you’ll have to leave the jacket here for a week.”
Jim opened the envelope and found a .45 slug, which explained why Charlie hadn’t been able to find the one from the hijacker’s gun. “Thanks! I’ll think about it.”
He opened the car door, and leaned in to hang the jacket on the hook. In this manner he had his back to the shop when it exploded.
The earth shook under him and he lost his balance. When he got to his feet, he looked over, and found the building in flames.
Jim stared at the wreckage, shocked and unsure what had just happened. He closed the door on the SUV, realizing it had deflected part of the blast. The dings in the metal made him wonder if he’d been hit and he explored the backs of his legs. Blood there was, but nothing spurting, and all nerves intact, as near as he could tell. It was hard to examine his own backside.
Jim’s brain suddenly kicked into high gear. There had been an explosion. He’d been caught in it. There might be other casualties.
There were workers from the dry cleaners out front, staring up at the structure in dismay. He approached them, asking if everyone had gotten out safely and getting blank stares. Jim looked them over quickly. None seemed in imminent danger. They would have to be properly triaged, of course. Where were the first responders?
“Has anyone called 9-1-1?”
“They’re on their way.”
“What happened?”
The worker who had spoken shook his head. Jim asked more questions, but that was all he got. They were clearly in shock. He tried to get them to move back and to wrap up against the cold, but all the warm clothing, their own and everyone else’s, was inside the shop. No one had been cold inside so no one was wearing anything warm. The irony was that the shop was putting off so much heat no one was cold.
Jim turned and looked at the structure, watching the flames consume the roof. He knew such places used lots of chemicals. Perhaps one of them had gotten loose and ignited. He glanced around at the employees, wondering if any of them would know, and discovered there were more people in the parking lot than there had been. They were not looking at the fire, wandering instead away from the area, headed for the street.
Jim moved to intercept the first of the wanderers. She had burns down one side of her body, on her arm, her neck and ear, and her hair on that side had been burned off. He looked her over quickly.
“Where did you come from?”
She looked at him, then pointed toward a field behind the shop. Jim sat the woman down, telling her the ambulance was on its way, then headed for the field.
At first glance it looked as if the snow was on fire, but closer examination showed it was actually flaming debris. There were also bodies. Jim looked up and saw the problem.
An elevated mass transit station stood behind the shop. There had been a train in the station. It hung from the platform, cars sliding toward the earth, in flames, or blackened by fires now burning out.
“Dear God!” he whispered.
Jim hurried to the SUV, threw open the back and dug out his medical kit. He tossed his sling onto the seat, pulled on gloves, grabbed dressing supplies and his stethoscope, and headed back into the chaos. He could not help much. He didn’t have any airways, for instance, or drugs, and only one tourniquet.
There were burns, penetrating trauma caused by flying shrapnel, impact injuries from falling or being thrown against hard surfaces, and breathing problems associated with inhaling heated gas.
Jim went from victim to victim, trying to identify anything he could do something about. He tore clothing from the victims to m
ake bandages and shanghaied a number of the less wounded to help control bleeding or hold jaws in place so the victim could breathe.
By this time the police, fire department, and ambulances had begun to arrive. Jim kept working. He was kneeling beside a woman, watching the life leave her eyes, unable to do more than hold her hand as she died, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Excuse me. I noticed the stethoscope. Are you a doctor?”
Jim nodded.
“May I speak with you, please?”
Jim nodded again, put the dead woman’s hand down, and climbed to his feet. He followed the official across the field.
“This way, please.” The man looked back at him to make sure he was following. “We’ve set up a command center over here.” He indicated a large square police truck. As they reached the area, a door swung open and an older man got out. He caught site of Jim and frowned. “Is this the man?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How much of that blood is yours?”
Jim blinked, unsure of the question. “What?”
The older man walked toward him, then around behind, then back to stand in front of him. “You’re covered in blood. How much of it is yours?”
Jim glanced down and realized he was right. His jeans were soaked through and the oversized white camo parka had large patches of red on the sleeves and front.
“I think the backs of my legs may have been hit. I was bleeding when I picked myself up off the ground.”
“You were caught in the blast?”
Jim nodded.
The older man seemed to come to some rapid decisions. “George, take him around back, process him and his clothes. Check him for injuries. Take his statement.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jim found himself hustled into a popup tent that had been set up in the parking lot. It had a sink, space heaters, tables and chairs, and racks filled with supplies. He was quickly stripped and his outer clothes, including his shoes, placed in plastic bags. They also helped him wash his face and hair, which had suffered splashes of human tissue and body fluids.
When he was reasonably clean, but before he was allowed to get dressed, he found himself face to face with a physician who proceeded to look him over.
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