“Just scouting out the competition.”
“There is no competition. You’re not even in the running.” The rapid clip of her pulse called her a liar.
So did the skeptical look in Frank’s eyes. A lesser man would have been insulted. He apparently twisted the words to suit himself. “We’ll see,” he countered mildly.
Flustered, and determined not to let him see it, she moved to stand squarely in front of him and demanded, “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to turn this into something personal. I can’t continue working with you, if you insist on doing that. I’ll have to turn you over to Carolanne.”
“Hmm,” he muttered thoughtfully. “That raises an interesting point.”
“Which is?”
“If you’re no longer my therapist, then you’d be free to go out with me. Am I interpreting this correctly?”
Jenny felt as if she were falling off the top of a very tall building with no net below. The sensation was heady but terrifying. “No. Absolutely not. That is not what I was saying at all,” she sputtered with enough indignation to draw an unrepentant grin.
“You know what they say about ladies who protest too much.”
Jenny might have slapped that smug expression right off his face, if she hadn’t had just enough sense left to realize how he’d interpret that. “That’s no protest, buddy,” she said quietly. “That’s a fact. You and I are patient and therapist or we are nothing. Is that clear enough for you?”
He smiled happily, which was not the reaction she’d been going for at all. “Very clear,” he said cheerfully.
Why, if he was being so agreeable, did she have the feeling that she’d just lost a dangerous final round?
Chapter Eight
“I could really use some help from you in the kitchen,” Frank mentioned casually to Jenny at the end of his third outpatient therapy session. “If you’re not too busy, that is.”
Jenny’s instantly suspicious gaze shot to his. It was astonishing how deeply she distrusted his motives. Rightfully so, in this instance, he conceded ruefully.
“Meaning?” she said.
“I keep dropping those little microwave containers. Half the time my dinner ends up on the floor.”
He made it sound as pitiful as possible, as if he were very likely to starve to death without assistance. The time had come to take drastic measures if he was going to get Jenny to begin trusting him outside the safety of the therapy room. For the time being, he wasn’t going to worry about how trust might suffer when she discovered his sneaky, underhanded tactics.
“Couldn’t your mother or Karyn help you out?” she suggested, a definite note of desperation in her voice. “Maybe your brothers could take turns.”
Actually they had been doing exactly that, but Frank was not about to admit that to her. He didn’t need their company. He needed hers. He needed the incredible lightness that his soul experienced when he was surrounded by her tenderness and optimism. He needed to give back to her some of the strength she’d shared with him. Most of all he needed the hot, urgent stirring of his blood that just being in the same room with her brought.
“Ma’s been really good about bringing things over for dinner,” he admitted. “It’s getting them on the stove and then the table that’s the problem. I don’t want to tell her that, though. She’d just worry more than she already does. As for Karyn, she’s left town with Brad while he preps for the Indy 500. She’s a lousy cook anyway.”
“That still leaves five brothers.”
Fortunately Frank had anticipated all of her arguments and prepared. “Tim’s working nights and he has his law classes all day. Jared’s just started helping a neighbor paint his house. The others do what they can, but I want to be independent. I’m not used to having other people wait on me. If you could help me out a little, maybe fix up some gadgets so I could handle things better, I’d be able to make do on my own. A few more weeks and I should be past the worst of this, right?”
Suspicion darkened her eyes again. He could tell she was torn between that and the very real possibility that he hadn’t had a decent dinner in days. “I’ll come by tonight,” she said finally. “About six?”
“Whatever’s good for you. Consider it a treatment. Put it on my bill.”
She scowled at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“No, really. I want this to be strictly professional. I don’t want to take advantage of you. I know how you feel about me not stepping over that line.”
He sounded so noble, he couldn’t imagine her not believing him. Even so, there was a long silence while she obviously continued to weigh his apparent sincerity against her doubts. “You can share the dinner with me. That’ll be payment enough,” she said finally, though she was clearly unnerved by the prospect of sitting across from him at a dinner table. She was staring at the wall when she made the offer.
“That’d be great,” he said with a shade too much enthusiasm. He quickly banked it, when her gaze shot back to him. “I mean, if you have the time.”
“I do,” she said curtly. “Shall I pick up the groceries, or do you already have something you’d like me to fix?”
“Surprise me,” he said, his gaze locking on hers. He lowered his voice to a seductive pitch. “I really love surprises.”
“Frank,” she began, her voice filled with renewed doubts.
“Yes?”
She sighed. “Never mind. I’ll be there at six with the groceries.”
“Reach in my pocket and grab my wallet,” he suggested. “There should be enough in there for what you’ll need from the store.”
She looked every bit as panicky as if he’d blatantly suggested they make love in the linen closet down the hall. “This is my treat,” she said hurriedly, taking a quick, revealing step back.
“No. I insist. How can it be your treat, if dinner is supposed to be my way of paying you back for cooking it?” He fixed his most innocent gaze on her. “My wallet’s in the back pocket.” He helpfully turned his backside to her.
Jenny complied with the enthusiasm of someone told they could have a million bucks as long as they didn’t mind a few electrical shocks during the snatching of it. Only a seasoned pickpocket had the knack for removing a man’s wallet without intimate contact. But for all her gifted hand gestures in therapy, Jenny was no pickpocket, and the photo-crammed wallet was a snug fit.
His breath caught in his throat as her hand slid nervously into his back pocket. Clumsiness turned the move into a lingering caress. Heat roared through him. Every nerve in his body throbbed in awareness. Even after Jenny had the wallet and was extracting a twenty-dollar bill, Frank trembled. If she was equally shaken, she hid it well, leaving him to wonder just who’d been the victor in this devious war of nerves.
Only when she glanced up and he saw the riot of emotions in her eyes did he declare the victory for himself. She shoved the wallet back in his pocket with so much force, he was surprised the denim didn’t rip.
“I’ll see you at six,” she said and raced from the room.
Laughing, Frank went down the hall in search of Pam. Aware of the monotony of a long hospital stay, he’d been dropping by after his therapy sessions. He found her in her room with the TV on, but her face was turned toward the wall.
“Hey, beautiful, how are you?”
Instead of greeting him with her usual courageous, perky smile, the teenager kept her face averted. Then Frank noticed that the bandages on her head were gone. He swallowed hard against the tears that seemed to clog his throat at the sight of the red, scarred skin stretched taut over her cheekbone.
Drawing in a deep breath, he went around the bed and pulled up a chair. “Where’s my smile?” he demanded, looking straight at her. “I thought you’d be glad to see me.”
She tried to turn away again, but he touched her shoulder. “Don’t,” he said.
A tear slid down the unmarred side of her face. “But it’s so awful,”
she whispered, pulling a pillow over her head. Her voice was muffled, but he could make out the rest of her heartbroken words. “I didn’t know it was going to be like this. I’d seen the other patients, but I thought I’d be different.”
Frank moved to the side of the bed, tugged the pillow gently away and forced her to face him. Then he opened his arms. With a sob, Pam launched herself at him and clung. “I’m never going to have any friends. Never. And I can’t blame them. Who’d want to look at this?”
“I would,” he said, his heart aching. “You know why? Because nothing that’s important about you has changed. Inside, you’re the same wonderful, funny, feisty girl you always were. You know what Jenny told me once?”
“What?”
“She said that how we react to our own flaws will determine how others react to them, too. If you’re very brave, if you concentrate on how beautiful you are inside, then that’s what your friends will see, too.”
She sniffed and looked up at him hopefully. “Do you really think so?”
“I know so,” he said, praying it would be so for her, praying that she’d chosen friends who wouldn’t cruelly abandon her.
“My dad can’t even stand to look at me.”
“Oh, baby, I’m sure that’s not true.”
“It is. He was here when Doc Wilding took off the bandages. He walked out and he hasn’t been back. That was hours ago.”
Frank wanted to curse the man’s insensitivity, even though he could understand what a shock it must have been to see his once-gorgeous, vivacious teenager so cruelly scarred.
“I think maybe he’s just hurting inside because of what happened to you,” he said finally. “He’s probably feeling a whole lot of guilt that he didn’t do something to prevent it from happening.”
“But the fire wasn’t his fault,” she replied adamantly. “He wasn’t even home when it happened. He was away on a business trip.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. He’s probably telling himself if he’d been there, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“He always told Mom not to smoke in bed. He told her,” she said, her voice thick with sobs. She stared helplessly into Frank’s eyes, touching his soul. “Oh, God, why did she have to do it anyway? Why didn’t she listen?” And then in a low, sad cry, “Why did she have to die? I tried to get to her, but I couldn’t, I just couldn’t.”
Frank felt as though every breath was being squeezed out of him as Pam revealed what had happened at home the night she’d suffered these terrible, disfiguring burns. He’d never known, never realized what torment this poor child was dealing with. It made his own injuries seem insignificant. For the first time since the accident, he realized how truly fortunate he had been. Pam had the additional burden of grief and guilt weighing on her, when recovery alone would have been challenge enough.
He stayed with Pam for what seemed like hours, rocking her in his arms, wishing he had the words or the certainty to swear to her that things would be okay. Finally he noticed a man only slightly older than himself standing in the hallway, his face haggard, his eyes red-rimmed. He motioned to him.
“Pam, honey,” he said gently. “You’ve got company.”
Pam slowly faced the door. “Daddy.” Her voice quivered with hope and fear. This time her father didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. He moved to the other side of the bed and sat on the edge. Pam eased away from Frank and held out her hand. Frank held his breath until finally the other man grasped Pam’s hand and pressed his lips to the scarred flesh. “I’m sorry I ran out before, baby.”
“Oh, Daddy,” she whispered.
Frank left them together, praying harder than he ever had in his life that they would be okay, that together they could handle the grief and anger and pain ahead.
He was greatly subdued when Jenny finally arrived at his house just after six. He led her into the kitchen, pointed out where things were, then sat at the table to watch as she immediately set to work. Her motions were efficient, yet he found them subtly provocative. Her quiet calm was soothing. There was comfort in her presence tonight, a comfort almost more important than the fierce longing that usually tormented him the instant she was near.
When the dinner was bubbling on the stove, she poured them each a glass of iced tea and sat down across from him. The look she directed at him was inquisitive.
“You’ve been awfully quiet ever since I got here. What’s going on?”
“I saw Pam today after I left you.”
She nodded, her own expression suddenly tired. “I heard you’d been visiting her regularly. She had a pretty rough time of it today. She said your visit helped.”
Still troubled by the teen’s anguish, he asked, “Will it get any better for her?”
“Not anytime soon. She has a lot of plastic surgery ahead.”
Frank sighed wearily. “That poor kid. She could probably use some counseling as well. I had no idea how much she’s been struggling to cope with.”
“She’s already seen the psychologist a few times. She’ll make it. She’s a fighter. She’ll get past the shock of the scars and be ready to move on to the next step.”
“That’s what I told her. I found myself quoting you.”
She grinned. “I’m glad something I said made an impression.”
“Everything you said made an impression. I didn’t always want to hear it.”
“That’s pretty much par for the course with burn patients.”
He shook his head as he envisioned contending with emotional crises like Pam’s day in and day out. “Jenny, why do you do this? How can you take it day after day? I know we talked about this before, but I’m just beginning to realize the toll it must take.”
“It’s what I do, the same way you’re an artist. Can you imagine being anything else?”
“I suppose not, though I have been other things from time to time to help pay the bills.”
“You’ve held other jobs,” she corrected. “But only one career really means anything, right? I think maybe what I went through with my own surgery makes me even better able to deal with the fears patients have. I truly understand how scared they are, how damaged they feel.”
The reminder of her cancer surgery surprised him. It was the first time she’d mentioned it since the day she first told him about it. He wanted to keep her talking, sensing that there were more things she needed to say, but probably never had. “Who’s been there for you when you needed a shoulder to cry on?”
She dumped a spoonful of sugar into her iced tea and stirred it for so long he thought she might not respond. Finally she said with studied nonchalance, “Family, friends. Otis was with me when I went into the operating room. Usually the orderly just wheels you into pre-op, but he stayed right by my side until they put me under. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”
Frank didn’t even try to hide his dismay. “Your parents weren’t here?”
She shook her head. “Actually I didn’t tell them until after it was over. There wasn’t any point in worrying them. There wasn’t a thing they could do until I knew what I was up against.”
Frank regarded her incredulously. “They could have been here for you. That’s what families do. They share the bad times and make them a little easier.”
She gave him a faint smile. “That’s what your family does.”
There was just a hint of envy in her voice. Frank wanted to say right then and there that it could become her family, too. The thought slammed into his consciousness like a car going sixty. In an instant of absolute clarity, he knew that was what he wanted more than anything else. He wanted to marry Jenny Michaels and teach her all about love and laughter and family, as she had taught him about fighting back and recovering. Although his physical wounds were not yet healed, thanks to her his emotional wounds were very nearly a thing of the past. He knew that no matter whether he carved again or not, he would be just fine as long as she was with him to make his blood race and his spirits soar. He could cope with whatever th
e future brought.
He also knew that she would run if he suggested it, if he dared to hint at what he was thinking. He couldn’t imagine why she was so terrified of him. He’d never before encountered a woman so skittish. Megan had found being with him and his family totally comfortable. And his one or two other reasonably serious involvements had been with women who’d been quick to accept the idea of a relationship.
Not that he was such a prize, he amended quickly. But most women found him uncomplicated and nonthreatening. He tended to say what was on his mind. The directness and lack of pretense appealed to women who’d encountered too little of either. Jenny was clearly the exception. She regarded him every bit as warily as she might a snake…or a notorious Don Juan. Who had created this distrust in her? Was he the specific target or was it all men? He had to understand her before he could expect to make any progress.
Jenny had moved back to the counter to roll out the biscuit dough she’d prepared earlier.
“Any special man in your life?” he inquired lightly, reopening a topic she’d successfully evaded in the past.
The rolling pin hit the dough with a thud. “I thought we’d discussed this.”
“We did. Your answer wasn’t very illuminating.”
“Why do you want to know?” she said as the pin hit the dough again, sending a puff of flour into the air like late-afternoon fog rising on San Francisco Bay. Her gaze was carefully averted. Biscuit dough had apparently never been so fascinating.
“Curiosity,” he admitted candidly.
“Prying is more like it.”
“Let’s try this from a different direction,” he said. “How do you spend your spare time? You can’t possibly read medical journals every night.”
“Actually I could, but I don’t.”
“When you’re not reading them, what do you do?”
He caught the subtle hesitation before she said, “I go to movies.”
“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. I like movies.” He listed several. She hadn’t seen any of them. “What was the last movie you saw?”
She frowned, then finally named one.
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