by Becky Flade
“As efficient as you’ve proven, you didn’t have the locks changed?”
He worked his jaw. He ground his teeth. A vein pulsed in his temple. The silence was heavy.
“Yeah, you had the locks re-keyed already. It was the first thing you did after your vigil at the hospital. I can be monitored from home, thanks to Alexander Graham Bell. There is no need for us to cohabitate.”
“I’m not angling for sex, Doc. I told you, I set your stuff up in a spare room. You can drop that tone.”
“What tone? The pissed-off tone? Stop being a Neanderthal jerk, and I’ll stop being pissed off at you for it.”
“Neanderthal?” She knew he was angry, though he kept his voice even.
“You heard me. I’m not staying with you. And for your information, I’d be more agreeable if you were angling for sex. I’d still refuse, but I wouldn’t be as mad.”
“I gave my word.” He slowly enunciated his argument as though she were a child who didn’t understand. “I gave my word that I would take care of you.”
“And that means I’ve lost all free will?” She could feel the hysteria bubbling, recognized the rising tide of panic but was helpless to prevent it. “I won’t be locked up in that hospital. And I won’t be locked up in your house. Goddammit! There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“I promised—”
“I don’t care,” she interrupted, her voice shrill.
“I can’t lose you, too!” His shout echoed in the small enclosure. Dublin stuck his nose between the two seats and whimpered. Carter rubbed the dog between the ears. When he spoke next, he had regained control. “You don’t know what it did to me, finding you. For a second, I froze, locked in the nightmare of Justin’s death. But the terror of thinking I’d gotten there too late, that you were dead, made that night in Philly pale in comparison. I can’t risk losing you. I can’t. I don’t know that I’d come back from that.
“I need you to stay with me, Henley.”
She let the import of his words register. She’d thought his attentive yet distant behavior was a rejection shaded by guilt and kindness. It hadn’t occurred to her that his behavior was based on fear of losing her. He’d pulled back in an act of self-preservation. But when pushed, he’d opened himself up to rejection.
“You could’ve led with that explanation.” Her words broke an uncomfortable silence. “You could’ve told me why it was important and asked me to stay with you. I can’t be locked up in your house, secluded from the world against my will, any more than I could stand being in that hospital for much longer. I’ve been locked up before, you know that. The experience was traumatic.”
He looked at her, finally. And his eyes held such compassion that a lump of hot, salty tears wedged in her throat. She swallowed over it and regained her voice.
“I can’t go back to living that way, Carter.”
“I wouldn’t ask it of you.” He reached out, and she didn’t hesitate to weave her fingers with his. “I hope I’m not overstepping here, but you talk as though you’re still ill. Except for those first few minutes when you woke up in the hospital, you’ve appeared healthy to me, Doc.”
“I haven’t had a serious episode since I got to the Cove.”
“I’d like to submit for your consideration, Doctor Elliott, that emotionally and mentally you’re quite well. At least as healthy as the rest of us. And while you’re mulling that over, please stay with me for the time being. You need to be monitored, you’re still in danger, and I have a spare room you can use.”
“I had a lot of time to think this past week. Each time there’s been an incident I’ve been with you. While I may be the target, you’re the trigger. And I think it’s a question of when you become a target too, not if. Eventually he’ll want to remove what he perceives to be an obstacle to the fulfillment of whatever fantasy drives him. Or if you’re the object of obsession, I’m the one in the way.” She glanced at him. “I see you’ve figured this out as well. It stands to reason that if I’m staying with you, this nut could go off the deep end. We’d likely both be safer if we kept our distance.”
“Are ‘nut’ and ‘off the deep end’ clinical terms?”
“This is not a joke.”
“Understood. I’m not disagreeing with anything you’ve said. However, I don’t believe you’ll be safer by yourself. Right now, in your weakened state, you’re vulnerable. Whoever wants to hurt you could be waiting for such an opening. And there haven’t been any actions against me personally or my property—I don’t think he or she is ready to turn on me yet.” He tugged on her hand. “Please.”
“Fine, but it’s only until my follow-up appointment next week. If the doctor gives me two thumbs up, I’m back in my apartment with my new locks, living my life.” He nodded his agreement, but she sensed his reticence. “Okay, roomie, there’s something important I need to know: How’s your tub?”
• • •
Henley squeezed the excess water from her hair and wrapped the luxurious towel around her head. Carter had a great bathroom. The tub alone was worthy of sonnets. Designed to be deep enough and long enough for a tall, broad-shouldered man to lie comfortably submerged from chin to toe, it had provided Henley the unique experience of having her breasts and knees under water simultaneously. She loved it more than she had the cabin’s Jacuzzi.
If she hadn’t already met them, she’d have known Carter had sisters once she opened the overnight bag. He had thought of everything. She pulled a favored tee shirt and shorts from the bag. He wanted her to be comfortable. He wanted her to be safe. And he thought she was well. Henley thought he may be right. She’d never forget the moments that had formed the woman she was, but she wasn’t the sum total of those events, either. She deserved the opportunity to find out if what she felt for him was love. The scent of hot food made her stomach leap in hunger. Riding on hope, Henley pressed a hand to her abdomen and hurried from the bedroom, her still-damp hair hanging down her back.
She heard his voice and followed the sound to the kitchen, pausing in the doorway. Carter sang along with the radio, shuffling along in a careless little dance step as he moved from stirring whatever sizzled in the deep pan on the stove to cutting vegetables on the counter. Dublin scooted around his feet in a canine impersonation of a dance step. The mutt probably hoped for fallen scraps. She knew she should call attention to the fact that Carter was performing for a human audience as well, but she couldn’t do it. She leaned against the doorframe and admired the view. His jeans were threadbare and slung low on his slender hips. When he moved, the tee shirt he wore crept up his torso, exposing the waistband of boxers and a narrow strip of skin. She wondered what that flesh felt like, how it would taste. The shirt stretched across his shoulders, and the short sleeves hugged his arms. She could see the play of his well-defined muscles shift as he alternately danced and cooked.
Carter spun in a graceful arc and froze when he saw her. He held a spoon aloft. An image of him using the spoon in lieu of a microphone made her smile as she padded into the room. “Dinner and a show? You should have mentioned the perks when you offered to let me stay with you.”
“I could arrest you for being a peeping Tanya, you know.” He turned away from her to lower the volume on the radio. Was the gesture intended to hide his embarrassment? And did he realize he’d just afforded her an excellent view of his backside? When he faced her again, she was sure she was as red-faced as he.
“Those charges won’t stick.” She inclined her chin. “What’s cooking?”
“Stir-fry. Chicken breast, fresh sweet peppers, carrot shavings, onions, and tomatoes fried in olive oil over brown rice with fresh spinach.” Her stomach growled, and he chuckled. “And not a moment too soon, but it’s not ready yet. If you need to nibble, I’ve got cooper cheese in the fridge.”
“Cooper cheese?”
“You’re kidding?” She shook her head. “It’s a good, extra sharp cheese and a Philadelphia staple.”
“Like scrapple?”
/> “You’ve heard of scrapple but not Cooper cheese?” He waved his spoon at her. “That’s a damn crime. I should put you in bracelets for that.”
Henley rolled her eyes at him, and he laughed. He pointed the spoon at the icebox where she discovered he’d also stocked her favorite yogurt. She wasn’t surprised. She grabbed the package of cheese and pulled off a slice. The cheese was soft, smooth, and sharp. “Mmm. Oh. This is delicious.”
“Told you.”
“Would you like some?” He nodded and continued chopping peppers. Henley rolled a second slice and held it up, and he nipped it from her fingers, making her laugh as she jerked her hand back. “You almost got me.”
He winked and suggested she pour them both a cold drink.
“I’d love a glass of wine,” she commented, eating another piece of cheese. She caught the look on his face and cut off whatever he was about to say. “I know, I know. I’m not allowed. But it sounds good.”
“I have grape juice. We can drink that from fancy glasses,” he suggested. His tone was playful. And, again, his actions thoughtful—there was no reason for him to abstain from an adult beverage, but she knew he’d shrug off the suggestion that he have a drink without her. Henley rooted through his cabinets, pulling out stemware, plates, and flatware. She leaned past him and turned up the music. She dressed the table while he added vegetables and oil to the pan. Carter handed her a slice of red pepper; she shared the cheese. And she realized she’d never been quite this at ease with another human being.
His voice halted her when she tried to give Dublin a piece of cheese.
“No!” He looked horrified, and she found the expression comical. “He loves cheese, but he’s lactose intolerant. One slice, and he becomes noxious. Either he’ll have to sleep outdoors or we will. Here.” He passed her a small piece of chicken from the pan after blowing on it. She took the chunk and offered it to the dog. Dublin scooped it up and spent several minutes licking her palm.
“That’s a good boy. Yes, you are.”
“Thank you.”
Henley glanced up. “Funny. You’re a funny guy.” She stood and took the bowl of rice mixed with spinach from him. She followed him to the table and slid the bowl onto a handgun-shaped trivet. He placed the sizzling stir-fry on its handcuff-shaped mate. “Funny, smart, attractive, you cook, can sing and dance.” He tried to bump her with his hip, but she quickly stepped out of his reach. “How is it there isn’t a string of available women, clocks ticking, lined up outside your door?”
He didn’t immediately answer. Instead he sat. Following his cue, she took the chair across from him and filled her plate. She hummed her approval upon tasting the first bite. When she paused to take a sip of the cold juice, he locked eyes with her.
“I’ll admit that there have been women. I enjoyed dating. All the tradition, the drama, the trappings, and the fuss that dating entails. But I don’t play games. And I was careful to not be careless with others’ emotions. Fun or not, dating is a search for a mate to make a commitment. I believe in that commitment.” He stared at her. “I hadn’t found the one. Then Justin died, and after . . . Well, since then, I’ve been focused on making myself whole. That didn’t include dating.”
She pushed the mouthful of food down her dry throat. She couldn’t explain why his words felt more meaningful than she knew them to be. But they did. They ate with only music breaking the silence. The woman singing had a powerful voice, and courtesy of Henley’s childhood exposure to classical arrangements, she recognized the talent and training of the artist accompanying her on the piano.
“Do you know who that is?”
“On the radio?”
She nodded.
“That’s Alicia Keys.”
“I like this song. Do you know who’s on the piano?”
“Alicia Keys.”
“Oh.” He laughed, and she felt her cheeks warm. “She’s good.”
“How’s the food?”
“It’s delicious.”
“I like eating too much not to figure out how to feed myself. But other than grilling, there’s not a lot I’m good at, except stir-fry.” He spooned seconds onto his plate, motioning to her nearly empty plate. She shook her head. “Next time we’re in Philly, I’m going to make sure you fully experience the food. I’m talking cheesesteaks from Steve’s Prince of Steaks, Stock’s pound cake, soft pretzels off a random street corner, one of Tony Luke’s pulled-pork sandwiches, and cannoli from Isgro Pasticceria.”
“Seducing me with food?”
“I am if it’s working.” The music changed. Carter laid down his fork and grabbed her hand as he stood, leading her around the table. She was confused, but didn’t protest. When she stood before him, he placed his other hand on her hip and pulled her in close. “This is Otis Redding’s seminal hit ‘Try a Little Tenderness.’ It’s one of my favorite songs.”
“I know this song. It was in the movie Pretty in Pink; the dorky boy performed it for Molly Ringwald.” Carter shuffled his feet, and her free hand jumped to his shoulder to steady her body as she moved with him. His hips brushed hers. Her breasts skated across his chest. She tried to ignore the arousal those sensations caused as she tried to ignore the emotions that flowed through their linked palms.
“Yeah? Well, did you know there’s a municipal ordinance dictating that if you’re in the presence of a beautiful woman while this song is playing, you must dance with her?” He spun her out in a graceful arc. Her hair flowed around her body. He pulled her back into his embrace.
“There wasn’t anyone before you, Doc. Not like this.” They danced through one song and into another. She was lost in his eyes. Her heart beat a wild tattoo against her ribs and heat unfurled in the pit of her stomach. Anticipation caught her breath, and she felt his arousal against her stomach. Dublin jumped up, a paw on both their hips, his tongue lolling. “C-blocked by man’s best friend.” Carter laid a soft kiss on her lips. “Get down, stupid.”
While he led the dog outside, she cleared the table. He returned and, working in a harmony that suggested they’d done so countless times, they cleaned up as the setting sun cast shadows around the room. Henley felt exhaustion pulling at her as she dried the last dish he handed her.
Carter gave her a look. “You’re due for medicine, right?”
“I don’t want it.” She placed the plate in the cabinet and shut the door.
“Didn’t ask you that, but clearly the answer to the question I did ask is yes.” With his hand on the small of her back, he moved them into the living room. A soft bark at the back door begged entrance. “Get comfortable. Feet on the sofa, wrap up in a blanket, whatever works for you. I’ll be right back.”
The old, comfortable cushions hugged her as she curled her body into the corner of the couch. She pulled down the afghan that had been folded across the back of the couch and draped it over her bare legs. Dublin trotted into the room, and she patted her hip in invitation. He hopped onto the sofa and snuggled down beside her. Content, she ran her hands over his fur, enjoying the vibration of the humming noise he made in his chest.
She looked up when she heard Carter’s approaching footsteps. In her peripheral vision she noticed the previously down-turned picture frame had been righted and was now perched in a place of honor amongst the rest of the photos. A smile slowly grew, and tears pooled in her eyes.
“I’ve got Oreo cookies, milk for two, and your meds. What’s wrong?” He stopped short, the tray in his hands rattling at the abrupt halt in movement.
“Nothing. The picture is face up." Carter turned toward the shelf. “I’d say that’s very right.”
His grin was goofy and self-effacing. He put the tray down on the coffee table, placed the pills in her hand, and then squeezed onto the sofa with her and the dog. “You’re right now and then—the good memories came first.” He handed her one of the cups. “Take your medicine.”
She did as he asked, and he handed her a cookie.
“Sticking with your food strategy
, I see.”
“The first time you came here, you brought me cookies. I owed you. And I think you can tell a lot about a person based on how they eat their Oreos. Wanted to see how you approached it.” With a playful waggle of his brows, he grabbed one, dunked it, and popped the entire sandwich in his mouth.
“I want to be with you.” She hadn’t planned the declaration. The words fell from her lips.
“Henley, baby, I can’t begin to explain how much I want to be with you. I ache.” He took her hand, guided it to his chest, and left her palm resting against his heart. Heat radiated through the soft fabric. She could feel his heart beating. “But you only got out of the hospital today. I can see how tired you are.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It’s a not right now. I want you. I need you. But you’re still healing. I want you to be there with me, clear in heart, body, and mind. I don’t want either of us to have any regrets.” She couldn’t deny her exhaustion, and the medicine would only fuzz her mind more. He leaned in and fit his lips to hers. Her eyes drifted closed. She felt her head swim in a dizzy circle. When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes and sighed.
“Yeah, we’re going to wait. Though it may kill me.”
Chapter Eighteen
Henley admired the two men walking across the field. She smiled. Tala loosed a war cry and streaked passed them, Dublin barking at her side, the pup, Dixon, falling over his own feet in an attempt to keep up with them. She sighed when Carter bent, scooped the little dog into his arms, and chased after the little girl. Aidan was quick on his heels. Their screams and their laughter drifted back to the deck where Henley reclined in the sun. She turned her head when she heard the door slide open.
