She stood in the middle of the room and admired the beautiful details. Then she went to the room in the back, remembering that Jack had reacted to it and the memories it had inspired. She was happy to know he had some good memories of his childhood.
She was surprised to find a well-dressed man with thinning hair and rimless glasses, probably in his forties, standing in the middle of the room. A Coleman lantern on the floor illuminated the retractable tape measure in his hand.
He turned to her with recognition in his eyes. “Miss Reed,” he said, putting the tape measure in his left hand and offering her his right.
She had a horrible feeling she knew who he was, too.
She put aside what Helen had told her about him and remembered the rules of courtesy her parents had taught her. People’s reputations always depended on your perspective. He was in the way of what her seniors wanted and needed, but that didn’t mean he was a bad person.
“Yes,” she said, shaking his hand. “Mr. Forman. How did you know who I was?”
“One should always know as much as possible about an adversary.”
“But I’m only one of a large committee.”
“You care a lot and are vocal. Everyone knows you’re involved.” He pointed the tape measure to the area behind him, his expression annoyingly happy. “My desk would be perfect right there. No windows to distract me. What do you think?”
He was taunting her. Maybe not a nice man, after all. “I think it’s good to be prepared for any eventuality,” she said. “That’s why I’m here, too. Thinking about where to put the pool table.”
“Can those old-timers bend over to shoot pool?”
She’d been willing to be civil, but now she was angry. “As well as you can sit in a room with no light.”
“You mean no window.”
“No. I mean no light. The wiring was fried in this room when this place was a restaurant. It hasn’t been replaced since. You’ll have to have wiring done if you want to put your office here.” She paused significantly. “If the city chooses you.”
“I pay taxes,” he said, as though that somehow made him holy.
“My seniors have already paid taxes. Years and years of taxes.”
He nodded. “I know. But the city could use the funds I’ll generate. Your seniors will cost the city more than they contribute.” At her sudden bristling, he added quickly, “I mean in a monetary way.”
She made herself calm down. “Well, money isn’t everything, even to a city.”
He gave her a condescending look. “It’s important to this city, Miss Reed. Revenue is down the length of the Oregon coast. This isn’t the time to do anything for the common good. But there’s little point in arguing. I’ll get out of your way so that you can look around freely. Once I occupy this space, you won’t be able to do that.” He grinned. “Unless, of course, you need a divorce lawyer. Pardon me.”
She stepped aside so he could leave the room, her body trembling with anger. It would have been so satisfying to trip him as he passed, but she let him go unscathed.
All right. It was good that she’d met him, she told herself, taking a deep, restorative breath. She was energized anew, reinvigorated, rededicated to doing everything possible to make the fund-raiser a success so that her seniors and not Ken Forman bought this building.
She marched out to the RAV4, righteous indignation fueling her steps. Ken Forman had a thing or two to learn about whom and what was important. Her cell phone rang while she dug in her purse for her keys. She pulled it out of an inside pocket. “Hello?”
“Sarah!” Jack’s voice was quiet but urgent. “Where are you?”
“I’m just leaving the Cooper Building. Why? What’s wrong?”
“Wait there,” he said, “and I’ll come and get you.”
That was odd. “I’ve got your mom’s car. What’s the matter?”
He hesitated a moment.
“Jack!” she demanded.
She heard him sigh. “Ben’s been shot,” he said finally, adding immediately, “he’s going to be okay, but...”
It felt as though someone had punched her in the face. She’d almost met him for lunch today, but she’d been too busy.
She had to clear her throat to ask, “Is he at Bay Memorial?”
“Yes,” Jack replied. “I can pick you up in five minutes.”
“No, I’m fine. I’ll meet you there.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“HE WAS DOING a simple traffic stop,” Sam Wagner, Ben’s friend on the force, had told Jack by phone. “When he called in the plate, the guy shot him in the arm. Turns out he was on the run from a bank heist in San Francisco. Ben’s going to be okay, but the bullet hit a muscle. He’s in surgery right now.”
Jack’s entire being on high alert, his first thought had been to call Sarah. He wished she’d let him come for her. She’d sounded shaken and he worried about her making it across town in the early afternoon traffic.
When someone honked at him because he failed to stop at a stop sign, he refocused on his own driving.
After all his jabs about the level of danger in policing Beggar’s Bay, his brother had been shot. Relax, he told himself. This isn’t Afghanistan. There won’t be snipers on the road. You just have to drive to the hospital. He’s going to be fine. Sam said he’s going to be fine. He’s in surgery, but he’s going to be fine. Jack couldn’t stop trying to convince himself.
Sarah stared at him when they met in the parking lot, her eyes huge and anxious. “Where was he shot?” she asked as they ran inside.
He repeated what Sam had told him.
Ben was in the recovery room when they arrived. A small crowd of blue uniforms was in the waiting area, along with Mario in his coveralls, on the phone with Rico.
It did a lot for Jack to see them laughing. They must know that Ben was well, but he still wanted to hear it from an authority.
A very large, very all-business nurse behind the desk in the surgical area told him the surgery went well and that Ben would be wheeled back within an hour. Her badge read Jeannette. She pointed to the loud group in the waiting room. “Could you see if you can keep them a little quieter?” She pointed a pen at the monitors all around her. “Blood pressure’s up all over the unit,” she said with a wry glance before turning back to her paperwork.
“...And not only did Ben get the guy,” Grady was telling Mario, now off the phone, “but the dude was running away, so he got him in the a—” Laughter drowned out the end of the story.
Jack walked into the room and made a lower-the-volume motion with his hands. “Nurse asked us to keep it down,” he said. He grinned at Sam. “Good story, though. I’m sure Ben will be telling it a lot.”
As conversation continued at a lower decibel, Jack crossed to Sarah, who stood in the middle of the room with Sam. “Surgery went well,” he told her. Sam had put an arm around her. Jack presumed he meant it only in comfort, but it still annoyed him. Sam was older but had the moves and a certain style women responded to.
“Thank God.” Sarah sagged visibly. Jack took her arm and led her toward a very basic sofa.
“Want something to eat?” Jack asked. “Some coffee?”
She leaned back. “I don’t think I could eat anything, but coffee sounds good.”
“I’ll get it,” Sam volunteered. “You, too, Jack?”
“Please.”
And so they drank coffee, and someone produced a bag of cookies, which was passed around while they waited.
Finally the all-business nurse stuck her head into the room and spotted Jack. “Your brother’s back in his room,” she said. “You and the girlfriend can go in, but the rest of you—” she delivered the last four words in a louder tone as everyone moved to follow “—have to wait here. He’s groggy and probably won’t make
sense for an hour or more, so you might want to come back, just two or three at a time.”
Sam spoke for Ben’s friends on the force. “Give him our best, will you? I’ll wait in the hall for you to come out and tell me how he is. The guys who couldn’t come are going to want to know when I get back.”
The parade of Ben’s friends headed down the hall toward the exit, except for Sam, who stood near the door as Jack went inside. It was unsettling to see Ben hooked up to tubes and monitors with a stillness about him that was completely unfamiliar.
Sarah leaned over the side of the bed and said his name quietly. “Hi, Ben. It’s Sarah and Jack.”
“Hey,” Ben replied, his voice barely a whisper. “Hi, Sarah.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like...I’ve been shot.”
Sarah winced and put her hand over his, being careful of the tubing connecting his hand to a drip. “I know,” she said. “But you’re going to be fine.” She looked at the monitors with a critical eye. Satisfied with what they indicated, she returned her attention to Ben. “You’re going to be here overnight,” she said. “Maybe tomorrow, too. Is there anything we can get you?”
“I want...Jack.”
Jack moved closer. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m right here.”
Ben swallowed slowly and spoke with obvious difficulty. “So much...for animal control and...fairgrounds parking.”
All right. The real Ben was in there, Jack knew. “True. I understand you were very heroic and brought down the perp with a shot in the butt. But good job not doing anything to upset Mom and Dad.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Hopefully you’ll be home by the time they get home. But you’d better be on your way to perfect health or there will be hell to pay.”
Ben smiled and coughed.
“Sam’s waiting before going back to the station. He wants to tell everybody how you are.”
“I hurt and...I’m tired. But fine.”
Jack went out into the hall to report to Sam.
“Call us if he needs anything,” Sam said.
Just as Sam walked off, Sarah appeared beside Jack. “He’s drifting off. We should get some lunch, go home and come back tonight. I’m going to call my boss and get a few days off, then we should lay in some groceries.”
“Ah...why?”
She spread both arms in a confused gesture. Something new for her. “I’m not sure. I always go grocery shopping when I’m upset. It makes me feel like whatever else happens, I can eat. And your parents are on their way. We should be prepared. Does that make sense?” She looked at him hopefully.
He didn’t want to say that it didn’t. “Getting ready for my parents does, but I don’t know about your need to grocery shop. Although I do like knowing that whatever else happens, we can eat. I’m sure Ben would concur.” He rubbed her shoulder gently. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice thin. “I’d just like to smash the guy who hurt Ben.”
“I’d help you. But Ben kind of did a job on him, and the law’s got him now. They don’t need us. Come on.”
* * *
THEY SAT QUIETLY over lunch at Betty’s. Sarah played with a fruit salad while Jack ate half a burger and a few fries.
“You can leave Mom’s car here,” he said, “and we can stop back for it later.”
She nodded. He caught a glimpse of her face as they separated to get into opposite sides of the SUV, and realized she wasn’t as calm and together as she pretended.
He put the key in the ignition, but didn’t turn it, stopping instead to look her way. Her gestures were quick and catlike as she pulled her seat belt across her body and snapped it into place, carefully avoiding his eyes. “What’s troubling you,” he asked, “besides Ben?”
“Nothing. Just Ben.”
“Sarah...”
Apparently the sound of her name tripped her safety valve. “Well, that’s a stupid question, isn’t it?” she demanded with sudden, surprising vehemence. Then realizing she’d made an out-of-proportion response, she sat back with a sigh. “Well, it is,” she insisted more quietly.
“You’re right. Apart from my brother having been shot, your apartment burning down with all your stuff in it, and now having to take a few days off to help us when you’re trying to put together a fund-raiser, what’s troubling you?”
“I’m happy to help you,” she said in a tone that belied the words. Then her face crumpled and she burst into tears. The cab of his truck filled with her sobs.
He wished himself anywhere but there. He never knew what to say when women wept—or when anyone wept, really. During his deployments, other soldiers often wept openly. He knew it was therapeutic. He guessed he didn’t have that gift. He remembered clearly when they’d dragged him and his sisters away from their mother, and then when they had taken his sisters away from the Palmers to send them to their fathers, inside, he’d wanted to die, but he’d never wanted to cry.
This was different, of course. No one had died, or committed murder, or been torn away from loved ones. Sarah was probably just on overload. Or maybe she still had feelings for Ben she’d been unaware of until she’d seen him in the hospital bed.
“You can tell me,” he prodded gently.
She struggled to get control, but every time she was quiet for a minute, a sob erupted again and she was unable to communicate.
“Would you rather go home?” he asked. He wanted to take her hand or put an arm around her, but she seemed unreachable in her meltdown.
She shook her head and gestured forward while she continued to cry. “Groceries,” she choked out.
“Okay.” He drove to the market while she took in deep breaths, cried a little more, dabbed at her eyes, sniffed. He pulled into a parking spot near a cart return and turned off the engine.
“Wait here,” he said, going to the back of his truck and the toolbox, in which he kept everything necessary for truck maintenance and the occasional odd job. That included a flask of brandy and paper cups. He climbed back into the cab and poured a small amount of brandy into a cup.
“Here.” He handed it to her. “Have a couple of sips.”
Taking it from him, she sighed while giving him a self-deprecating look. “I hate this. This is what the hero always offers the hysterical heroine.” She sniffed suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Brandy. Not particularly expensive, but good and sturdy. Take a sip, then tell me what’s wrong.”
She opened her mouth to reply and when her mouth began to tremble, she took a quick sip instead. Then another one. She put a hand to her chest and patted, as though that would help the brandy go down.
“Sturdy is right,” she said, her voice raspy. “I don’t understand why people like that stuff.”
Taking the empty cup from her, he put it in a plastic trash bag he kept behind his seat. “You will in a minute, when the fire in your throat becomes just a nice warmth in your stomach.”
She picked her purse up off the floor, put it in her lap and began rummaging through it. She turned to him, her expression grim. “I started a shopping list,” she said, zipping her purse closed and resting both forearms on it. “But it’s still on the kitchen table.”
“Not a problem. Whatever we forget, I can come back for.”
Her hand went to her stomach. She sniffed and sighed and seemed to relax. He guessed the brandy was doing its work.
* * *
A COMFORTABLE WARMTH spread through her chest and stomach. Still scarily close to tears, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the warmth, let it restore some sense of control over the situation. She wasn’t sure what had come over her, so she had no idea how to answer his question about what was wrong. Unless it was that she had never in her life felt this overwhelmed. She’d known grief, but that was di
fferent. This was—oh, God. Love? Not infatuation, not just sexual attraction, but serious, always-and-forever love?
And why now? Why in the middle of a crisis within a crisis?
Because—and she remembered the moment exactly—her heart had recognized his heart. It had slammed against her ribs as though reaching for Jack’s. When she’d seen Ben in the hospital bed and touched his hand, she knew he’d always be a light in her life, a great friend, but not the man to share the rest of it with. He was practical, in charge, heading in a well-thought-out direction, and she was none of those things.
Then Jack had bent over him and spoken quietly, adjusted his blanket, laughed at his teasing about catching strays and directing parking, and she’d felt her heart swell in her chest.
Where did Jack find that kind of love to give when he’d been without it for the first eight years of his life? How could he love, when his mother hadn’t loved him and, worse, was a murderer?
Another feeling that contributed to her sense of being overwhelmed was terror. Because loving someone meant having to at least try to meet their needs. And he wanted and needed children and she didn’t.
She looked up into his face to see that he’d been watching her, trying to divine her thoughts. She saw turbulence in his eyes—and something just a little sad.
“Did you look at Ben in that hospital bed,” he asked quietly, “and realize that you almost lost him? That you still love him?”
Interesting, she thought absently, how completely we misinterpret each other.
“No,” she said simply.
He blinked. “Then what?”
She linked her fingers together and reached forward to stretch her arms. That failed to reduce the tension in her neck, but she was beginning to feel steadier.
“I saw you adjust Ben’s blankets in his hospital room and suddenly realized how much I love you.”
In My Dreams Page 13
