by Julie Miller
Definitely a man.
He’d suffered so much pain, yet he remained so strong. She’d been wrong to mourn the fractured beauty in his dark granite eyes. Wrong to wonder if his thin, firm lips would soften when he kissed a woman. Or whether they’d be as hard as the rest of his features, which were chiselled a bit too sharply into gaunt lines after his hospital stay.
Her pulse had raced. She couldn’t even remember breathing.
She’d admired and wondered—with the safe barrier of his blindness between them. His sightless eyes hid her shortcomings and made it easy to drop her guard. She could imagine herself any way she wanted. Pretty. Thin. Sexy.
He was the one who had knocked some sense into her. Reminded her of her professional duty.
I’m thinking of you as a woman.
Julia nearly laughed out loud at his pitiful misconception of reality.
It was absolutely time to leave. She’d packed up her bag and her schoolgirl fantasies and counted the minutes until Martha Taylor would relieve her of duty.
Because of all the men in this world she was destined to disappoint, she didn’t want Mac Taylor to be one of them.
With the bread in the toaster and a mug of hot coffee and cream in her hand, Julia leaned her hip against the counter and waited for Mac to make an appearance.
Just like last night’s dinner, she refused to wait on him. She was willing to cook, but he needed to make an effort toward his recovery. Deciding to clean himself up was a first step. Now she needed to get him to wake up at a decent hour and eat regular meals to rebuild his strength.
At least he’d finally taken an interest in something besides the chemicals sitting on his dresser. The coolly rational Mac of old had finally returned for a brief time last night. Like a dog with a new bone, he’d replayed and studied and silently considered just how Wade Osterman had broken into the house to finish off the leftovers from dinner.
The man had gotten a key from somewhere, Mac determined. The where was the mystery. Mac’s key ring was still in the top drawer of his dresser, and he’d given a spare set to his parents after his accident.
This morning, Julia had found things out of place in almost every drawer and cabinet. Maybe it was just the sloppy work of a man who didn’t know his way around a kitchen. Or maybe Mac had reason to be suspicious.
First, Detective Masterson had been snooping around. Now, Wade had gotten into a locked house.
A chill rippled down her spine. As she carried a plate of toast and jelly to the table, she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at the row of cabinets she’d set to rights that morning.
She was alone in a house with a blind man. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow she was being watched.
“Smells good.”
Julia jumped at the rasp of Mac’s voice, and the plate of toast clattered onto the table top. Her startled heart beat like a rabbit’s. She automatically clutched her hand above it before turning to see him standing in the archway.
“How? How did…?”
Mac’s spiky short hair glistened with the moisture from a recent shower. He’d dressed himself in a clean pair of jeans, white socks with his beat-up loafers, and a gray Mizzou Tigers sweatshirt that hugged his broad shoulders and draped loosely over his lean torso.
“I’m not the brain of the family for nothing. I can be taught.” He walked in, his arms out in front to act as feelers. A pair of sleek, black, wrap-around sunglasses masked his damaged eyes. “I’m learning to count steps. Plus, having a clear path through the rooms helps.”
Julia’s heart rate slowed with an infusion of pride and amusement. “Should I tell you the price sticker is still on the left lens?”
“Ruins the studly look, huh?”
No. Nothing could ruin the effect of intellectual sun god Mac Taylor smiling with that wry self-assurance of his again.
A moment later Julia remembered it wasn’t her place to wear a silly, indulgent expression, so she pushed back her sleeves and went to work. “I can fix them easily enough for you.” She pulled the blinds over the sink window to dim the light in the room, and took his glasses. She could tease right back as long as she knew it was all about a nurse-patient relationship. “Now. Are you also going to let me medicate and bandage those eyes like I’m supposed to?”
“One step at a time, Jules.” He knocked his thigh against one of the chairs at the table and stopped. “Where do you want me?”
She pulled a soft dish towel from a drawer and dried his glasses. “Right where you are. Pull out the chair. There’s a place setting there.”
“I usually sit at the head of the table.” He slid around the corner of the table. “I’m more out of the way here, aren’t I?”
“You don’t have to be out of the way. It’s your hou—”
“What’s this?”
Her black leather backpack hung from his fist. Too late, she realized she’d left it lying in the chair.
The frown that creased the raw skin around his eyes was more curiosity than confusion.
Julia felt like a traitor. “That’s my bag.”
“Judging by the weight of it, it’s all packed. Are you that eager to leave me?” His voice had dropped a notch in pitch, and any humor that had lightened his tone got lost in the wounded timbre of his damaged vocal cords.
Julia crossed the room and made a quick exchange of his glasses for her backpack. She hugged the bag to her chest, using it as a bulky shield to protect her from the ice that spread across his features.
“I only promised your mother twenty-four hours. I was just filling in until she could find a permanent replacement.”
“Permanent.” Mac flicked his sunglasses onto the table. If he could see, his eyes would be drilling holes through her. “You mean I have to break in somebody else? I felt comfortable with you.”
Comfortable?
She had to look away from the frozen granite. Comfy was the story of her life. Comfortable. Fun. One of the guys. She’d had way too much comfortable and not enough special along the way.
But that was hardly Mac’s problem. He had bigger issues to deal with than her iffy ability to deal with a man on a personal level. Desperately needing the awkward moment to end, she set her bag down and carried their plates to the stove.
Busier was always better. “I came home to see my parents, not to work.” It was a white lie that softened the feeling of letting him down. George and Barbara Dalton had been the destination, if not necessarily the reason, for her return to Kansas City. “Besides, you need someone trained in home health care. I’m a trauma nurse. Now if you chop off your finger or fall off the roof, I’m your woman. But this day-to-day stuff—you know—there’s just not enough excitement for me.”
She cut the omelette in two and dished it up, not realizing her joke had fallen on deaf ears until she heard the scrape of a chair leg behind her. She was too late to save the ladder-back chair from crashing to the floor. Too late to stop Mac from stalking out of the kitchen.
She followed, hot on his heels, dashing in front of him before he reached the dining room. “Where are you going?”
“Back to my room.” He halted in his tracks, knowing she blocked his path. But she stood her ground beneath the assault of his sightless glare.
“Mac, it’s not you.” She hastened to apologize. Tried to explain without really explaining anything. “I didn’t mean—”
The doorbell rang, giving her a chance to think, giving him a chance to push past her.
He banged his shoulder against the archway as he escaped too quickly. “I don’t want to see anybody.”
Julia’s temper flared at the abuse he endured in the name of self-pity. “Dammit, Mac, if you want to duke this out, then stay and fight. You can’t afford to make three steps of progress and then run away.”
“Run away?” He whirled around. He swayed at the fast movement. But Julia didn’t help him. She retreated a step as he lurched forward and braced his hands at either side of the arc
hway to steady himself. “Look who’s talking.”
“I am not running away.” The skewed lie choked in her throat. “I told you. I made a deal with our mothers. Twenty-four hours.”
The doorbell rang a second time, followed by a sharp knock and Wade’s voice. “Detective Taylor? Miss Dalton?”
Julia swallowed and took a deep breath. She didn’t want her stay with Mac to end with a shouting match. “That’s Wade with your mother now, I’ll bet.”
“Free of the ogre at last, huh? I want to talk to her and set her straight on her crazy ideas about taking care of me.” He knocked his shin against the coffee table as he set a course to avoid Julia.
She headed for the door herself when Wade knocked again. “She asked me to help because she loves you, Mac. She wants you to heal. I do, too. It’s just that I can’t stay.”
“I thought we were friends, Jules.”
He halted at the end of the couch, using his hand to steady himself there. His gravelly soft whisper cut short all her arguments.
Friends?
Acquaintances, perhaps. Neighbors, for sure. A naive damsel in distress and her stalwart rescuer—who’d gone their separate ways after that one terrible, frightening night.
“I owed you a favor, Mac.” Now that she was about to leave, she could at least tell him that. She turned to look him in the eye, as if facing him would somehow allow him to see how fifteen years of gratitude and shame had left her with feelings impossible to explain or fulfill. “I needed to repay a debt. But your brother Cole’s my buddy. You and I barely know each other.”
“What favor?” he demanded.
Had she really expected him to remember the incident that had forever shaped her life?
But that much she would not give. She left his question unanswered and turned back to slip off the chain lock and open the door to Wade.
“Good morning, ma’am. Everything all right?”
She glanced beyond him to welcome Martha, but stopped short. The only person on the front step was Wade himself. She didn’t recognize the sporty black Mercedes-Benz in the driveway. Burying a flare of panic, she delivered her good morning to Wade. “We were just having a difference of opinion.”
“I see.” The glazed expression in his red-rimmed eyes told her that if he did truly understand, he was too tired to care.
Julia took a moment of compassion for the big man. “There’s some breakfast on the stove if you’re hungry. Why don’t you go on in and help yourself.”
Wade’s weary expression perked up immediately. “Sounds great.”
Mac made his presence known by coming up beside Julia. “What’s going on, Osterman?”
The uniformed officer straightened to something resembling attention. “You have a visitor, sir. A Mrs. Melanie Ringlein.”
“Jeff’s wife?”
“Mac? Is that you?”
A petite woman skirted around Wade. Dressed in black leather pants and a matching jacket, she walked straight to Mac. Her dark brown hair hung in perfect glory past her shoulders, and framed her tear-stained face. Both Julia and Wade took a step back as she threw her arms around Mac’s neck and hugged him tight. “Oh, Mac. I need your help.”
She stretched up on tiptoe, pressing every inch of her trim figure into Mac’s long body. “You may be the only one who can.”
Chapter Five
“Oh, Mac. I just don’t know who to turn to.”
A despair that bordered on panic seemed to color Melanie Ringlein’s tears.
Mac’s hands hovered in the air about her shoulders. And if the stunned look on his face was any indication, he didn’t know whether to hug her or push her away. Julia watched as he reached a logical compromise. He wrapped one arm around Melanie’s back and turned her toward the sofa. “Have a seat, and tell me what’s wrong.”
She answered with a cry that covered three syllables and several pitches. She turned her face into Mac’s chest and sobbed again. “Jeff never meant to hurt you. He always thought of you as a friend. I do, too. This is all such a terrible mistake. He didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”
“I believe the explosion at the lab was an accident.” Mac stretched out his left hand and located the sofa. “I don’t blame Jeff for my injuries.”
“Then you’ll help me?” She threw her arms around his shoulders and hung on to his neck. “Oh, Mac, I knew I could count on you.”
He guided her down to a cushion and sat beside her. “Don’t be so sure. I’m not up to full strength yet. And you still haven’t told me what the problem is.” Patting her back, he rocked her back and forth. But Melanie only leaned into him and wept, babbling on about being left alone and being unable to cope.
The dark-haired beauty was petite and delicate and utterly feminine. A striking foil to Mac’s golden coloring and masculine dimensions.
Julia crossed her arms in front of her and turned away, squashing a rise of futile jealousy. The woman was in mourning, after all. She wouldn’t be the first to turn to rock-steady Mac Taylor for solace or advice.
Hadn’t she done the same fifteen years ago?
“Melanie.” Mac’s clipped voice betrayed his scientist’s need for understanding. “You have to tell me what’s going on. Has something happened?”
“Yes.”
While Melanie sniffled, Mac patted his pockets, searching for a handkerchief. But he’d done well to get himself dressed that morning. Packing such an accessory hadn’t occurred to him.
His lips pressed into a thin line, and the scars beside his eyes furrowed, revealing his mounting frustration at finding a solution. With a muttered curse he stuck out his hand, poking the air, reaching out for…her.
Startled by the demanding request for her assistance, when she’d thought he’d forgotten her presence, it took a moment for Julia to react. If he’d been sighted, he could have seen the questioning look on her face. That silent question that asked how he could hold a beautiful woman in his arms and still know she existed.
But more deeply ingrained instincts overrode that perennial self-doubt. He needed her help. And as long as he was her responsibility, she couldn’t deny him. She picked up the box of tissues from the desk and brought it over. She set the box in his lap and pressed a couple of tissues into his hand.
In the instant their hands touched, he turned his fingers and squeezed hers. His grip on her tightened as his shoulders lifted with a deep breath. Julia held her own, feeling the tension radiating from his body into hers, like a bolt of lightning dissolving into a handful of charged atoms as it hit a lightning rod and grounded itself. His grip slackened as the tension eased from his shoulders.
But he didn’t release her. He tilted his face toward hers, as if he could study her reaction to his simple touch. As if he, too, had somehow felt the same electric current that rooted her to the spot.
Melanie seemed to sense that his focus had shifted from her, however briefly. Her chin quivered as she pulled back, struggling to contain the emotions that overwhelmed her. “Mac?”
He turned his head back to that quavering voice. “I forgot to make introductions. Melanie Ringlein, this is Julia Dalton. She’s a…”
What? An old friend? A roommate? His verbal sparring partner?
Mac released her hand. A resigned mask settled across his features. “She’s my nurse.”
Julia curled her fingers into her palm and clutched it to her stomach, withering beneath his final choice for defining their relationship.
What had she expected, anyway? She hardly qualified for anything beyond her temporary job description. That brief, charged need they had shared was nothing more than a patient’s panicked quest for assistance. And like the good nurse she was, she had delivered. Anything more personal had simply been the wishful thinking of that traitorous Pandora’s box hidden deep within her heart.
Moving past the disappointment, she extended her hand to Melanie. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances.”
&nbs
p; Melanie took her hand in a light grip, lifting her puffy red eyes to Julia. “Did you know Jeff?”
Julia shrugged an apology. “No.”
“Oh.” Melanie frowned. She snatched the tissues from Mac’s hand and dabbed at her eyes, reclaiming his full attention and dismissing Julia from the conversation. “They’ve tied up all of Jeff’s money.”
“Who has?”
Resigning herself to her subservient position, Julia busied herself straightening items on the desktop that she’d straightened the day before. She watched her patient from a distance and eavesdropped on his conversation, while the lingering aftershocks of his needy touch ran their course out through the tips of her fingers and toes.
“Internal Affairs.” Julia began to imagine a pattern in the other woman’s tears. A soft sob or catch of breath punctuated each tidbit of information. “They say I can’t use Jeff’s bank accounts as long as he’s under investigation. But I have bills to pay.”
Instead of reacting to the helplessness that was so evident in Melanie’s pouty mouth and the sad tracks of mascara that had run down onto her cheeks, Mac responded like the investigator he was. “If they’re examining his accounts, they must suspect he was taking a payoff of some kind. He was destroying evidence when I found him.”
“He wouldn’t do anything wrong,” Melanie insisted. “Not on purpose. Jeff wasn’t like that. He was working extra hours to buy me nice things, that’s all. He always took care of me.” Melanie’s breath stuttered and caught on a silent sob. “Who’s going to take care of me now?”
When the tears flowed in earnest again, Julia wondered if Mrs. Ringlein had ever considered working a job herself to pay the bills.
As soon as the uncharitable thought registered, Julia regretted it. She’d been supporting herself since college graduation, but then she’d never had any other choice. Melanie had found a good man to love, a man who supported her. And now she had suffered a devastating loss. She’d read of cases, involving older women mostly, in which a widow who’d been supported throughout her marriage faced a double loss when her spouse died. She lost not only the man she loved, but her way of life.
