Ethan glanced up at the house, then back at the street. He paced a little, trying to get himself under control. It was going to be a long weekend; he didn’t want to blow it by dumping his own paranoid fantasies on Asia before they even set out. Someone watching her house? Unlikely in the extreme. There had to be another explanation. A logical explanation. The high boil of Ethan’s outrage subsided to a low simmer of wariness. Whether the man in the white Impala was something to worry about would reveal itself over time, and it could remain his problem for now. After all, Asia wasn’t alone and vulnerable; he was there to look out for her. It might break every rule in the freaking book, but he was clear: Asia was his to protect.
I had hardly slept the night before the trip to West Virginia. I’d been restless, anticipating the answers to so many of my questions. And it wasn’t just my mind that was antsy, ready for the night to be over and the day to begin, the morning to be over and the afternoon to begin, two o’clock to be over and three o’clock to be here. My body was vibrating like a dynamo, humming with charged energy so tangible it was as if one touch could kick off a visible spark.
I knew nothing had really changed between Ethan and me. On paper, he was no longer listed as my doctor. I was no longer officially his patient. But I knew Ethan wouldn’t see that as a green light to change our relationship. Even if there wasn’t any regulation that insisted we had to wait a certain length of time before we fell into each other’s arms, Ethan struck me as the kind of man who would have his own set of rules demanding distance.
And yet . . . I just couldn’t help thinking about what it would be like to close that distance. To end up falling—me into his arms, him into mine. Naked. In a hotel room. All night long.
Like I said, I hadn’t slept that night.
Fortunately Ethan didn’t keep me waiting long, imagining more possibilities. He arrived just a little past 3:00 p.m. I forgave him his tardiness, though I’d been ready for fifteen minutes before he knocked on the door. I was too nervous to be judgmental.
His eyes widened a little, and he smiled when he saw me. “Hi. Sorry I’m late. Had a little trouble finding parking.”
“Well, thanks.” I missed a beat, dazzled by that smile, I guess. “What? Oh, yeah, I should have warned you. Come on in. I’ll just get my stuff.”
He took a few steps into the living room and stood awkwardly while I bustled around.
“You want a Coke or some water for the road?”
“No, thanks, I’ve got something in the car.” He walked over to the couch. JJ, who hated everybody, surprised me by standing for a nice stretch-and-pet from the new guy. “Hey, fella, what’s goin’ on?” Ethan scratched the cat between the ears. JJ purred.
My jaw dropped. “Well, how about that! He never does that for strangers. Meet Jesse James.”
“Oh, an outlaw, huh? I know the type.”
“Yeah, he’s a bad one, all right.” I tilted my head at the little mercenary, wondering.
Ethan looked up at me. “Ready?”
“Let’s go.” I took a look around, grabbed my stuff, and followed him out the door.
At the outer door at the foot of the stairs, he paused and turned with a little shrug. “I had to park up the street. Wait while I bring the car around?”
“That’s okay. I can walk.”
“No,” he said quickly, scanning the street. Then he forced a smile. “What kind of limo driver would I be if I didn’t pick you up at your door?”
“Lord, if my mama could see me now,” I drawled in response. “All right, then. Hurry back.”
I watched him move up the street with that long-legged wolf-lope of his, his head swiveling to take in both sides of the street as if something might be lurking between the vehicles on either side. If I hadn’t known him, I might have thought he was a cop or a soldier or one of those heroes in a crime novel with a bad past and one shot at redemption. He sure didn’t look like your everyday psychiatrist walking down the street.
Of course, I had my own reasons to be wary. I’d heard a squeal of tires on the street earlier and nearly jumped out of my skin. I still expected to see that white Impala around every corner, but a glance out my window had only shown me Ethan walking up my sidewalk. The street was free of thugs now, too, I noted. I relaxed another fraction.
When he drove up to the house in what had to be the oldest functional BMW I’d ever seen, I wasn’t sure whether my street impression of him had just been confirmed or destroyed forever. The boxy sedan was at least twenty years old and sported a faded yellow paint color I don’t think they even make anymore. Someone, and I was fervently hoping it was Ethan, had driven this car into the ground.
Ethan got out to put my single bag in the back seat and opened the passenger side door for me to get in. The worn leather upholstery seemed to fit me like my favorite pair of old shoes. The car’s interior was roomier than it looked from the outside. It was clean, and it smelled like Ethan.
“Boy, this one is a classic, huh?” I smiled as Ethan situated himself behind the wheel. “How long have you been driving it?”
Ethan’s lips edged upward, and he glanced at me for a second before he put her in gear. “This car was ten years old when I bought it fifteen years ago.”
“Wow.” I stared at him. “That’s what you call a long-term commitment.”
He laughed. “You could say so.”
“Bet she has a name, too, huh?”
He actually blushed. “I call her Baby. Couldn’t tell you how many miles I’ve put on her. The odometer turned over twice before it gave out. Suppose I’d have to have that fixed if I ever planned to sell her.”
“Yeah. Like that’s going to happen.”
We headed out of town on I-40, Baby purring smoothly under us, Ethan handling the early weekend traffic with patience and skill. Once we got away from the city’s craziness, I said what had been on my mind.
“Tell me about Mrs. Mickens.”
“She’s one of a kind.” He smiled with true affection. “One minute you think she’s just the stereotypical Appalachian granny rocking on her front porch, the next minute she’s confiding her favorite author is Dashiell Hammett and talking about a collection of paperback murder mysteries that would fetch a small fortune on eBay.”
I was delighted. “Likes her detectives hard-boiled, huh?”
“Ida stayed with my friend Dan while she was my patient. He couldn’t keep her in books.” He grinned. “And the Tommy guns were always blasting on her TV.”
“Who knows? Maybe she has a still out back and reads the books for pointers.”
“Good thing she likes me then. Don’t mess things up.”
I raised my hands to show I had no ulterior motives. “You’re the boss, boss.”
He shook his head, still smiling. “She’s unusual in so many ways. I only wish I’d been able to help her.”
My chest warmed in sympathy. “I’m sure she felt you did.”
He glanced in my direction, a world of emotions on his face. What he said next reflected little of it.
“Anyway, I’m hoping maybe the two of you . . . you know, the opportunity for you to compare notes may yield something of help to both of you.”
“Yeah, me too.”
He switched conversational gears abruptly. “So, tell me about your background, Asia. Are you a Tennessee girl, born and bred?”
I gave him a sidelong glance, eyebrows raised. “You don’t think I came by this accent by anything other than natural means, do you?”
“I like your accent. It’s sort of . . . I don’t know . . . slow-cooked and sweet.”
I sputtered, laughing at the image. “You make it sound like barbecue sauce.”
“I was thinking more like apple butter. It’s best when it’s got a little tang to it.” He laughed too, his eyes bright with more than amusement.
“Hmm.” Was he flirting, or was that just wishful thinking on my part? “But, yes, I grew up not too far from Cookeville. Working-class parents, just
off the farm, thought I’d hung the moon, especially since I was their only baby. Grew up in the country with lots of relatives around. Liked school, so Mom and Dad sent me to college. I might even have made it through, too, if it hadn’t been for Ronnie.”
“Your husband.”
“Yeah. He came along right about the time my mom died. I sort of lost focus there.” I sighed. “Guess you could say he took advantage.”
“Have you heard from him since the divorce?”
I looked up, surprised. Ethan’s eyes were fixed on the road.
I shook my head. “We didn’t have much of a marriage to start with. The fire took what was left of it. We’d never have been together at all if it hadn’t been for Benjamin.”
“He was your oldest?”
My smile quavered. “Yeah. He was seven. An old soul.”
“You never told me about your children, Asia.”
I couldn’t find the words to speak. Hot tears pooled in my eyes, poised to fall, but I refused to let them. I took a deep breath and waited out the pain.
“It can be really hard to talk about the people you’ve lost, but it gets easier the more you try.” Ethan’s voice was soft, deep, matter-of-fact. “When you’re ready, I’d like to hear about your kids.”
The tears did fall then, and I was in serious danger of letting everything go. That wasn’t how I had planned for this trip to proceed at all. I clamped down hard on the emotion that was expanding like a black hole in my chest.
Ethan put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, then went back to his driving.
After a while he steered the conversation onward. “What were you studying in school?”
I gave up a shaky grin. “Psychology.”
He grinned back. “Really. Why?”
“I was always the one people came to with their problems. Figured I should look into making a living at it.”
He laughed. “So it was either psychologist or talk show host as a career choice, huh? I hate to tell you, but Oprah gets paid better.”
“Oprah gets paid better than God.”
“Have you ever thought about going back to school, picking up psychology again?”
“People stopped coming to me with their problems a long time ago.” I stared at the hands in my lap. “Even if they hadn’t, I don’t feel like I have the answers anymore.”
“None of us have the answers, Asia. That shouldn’t keep you from trying.”
I let a moment go by before I confessed an old dream, nearly forgotten. “Maybe someday.”
“You should.” His glance this time was sharp, full of intent. “All those smarts need an outlet.”
My face reddened under the compliment. I wanted to make some kind of smartass response, but found I couldn’t. In the end, I just looked back at him and murmured, “Thanks.”
There was another little stretch of silence before I recovered enough to pick up my end of the conversation. “So, what about you? Why did you choose to become a psychiatrist?”
He smiled, but it seemed tinged with irony. “The standard answer is because I wanted to help people.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And the real answer?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure anymore. Helping’s still part of it, but I have to admit curiosity is a big part of it, too. I like to figure out what makes people tick.”
I didn’t think he saw his patients as just a puzzle to be solved. He was selling himself way too short.
“For what it’s worth, it’s the caring part of you that comes across to your patients,” I told him. “You don’t have to worry that you’re losing that.”
He looked at me, quick emotion sweeping like a cloud across his face. “Thanks.” The single word was barely audible above the sound of the car engine.
I smiled and turned my head to look out the window at the rolling hills of central Tennessee. Awash in the golden light of the westering sun, the green fields and red-orange and yellow woods slid past in a constant stream of healing color. They caught the soul, as well as the eye.
That wasn’t the reason I kept staring out the window, my face averted, as afternoon dropped into evening. Sometime during our conversation, my heart had begun to ache for Ethan Roberts. I had begun to want something from him I couldn’t describe, something so much more than a just a look or a touch or even the stirring of affection I could sense in him already. Even more, I yearned to fill a need in him so deep I doubted he would ever express it.
I couldn’t understand this sudden longing; I couldn’t explain it, either, but I knew my eyes showed it. And I couldn’t let him see. Not yet. So I watched as the sun went down and held my breath.
Ethan slid into the vinyl-covered booth with a ragged sigh and shifted so he could lever his right leg up onto the bench beside him. He gave the perky young thing who came to take his order his best smile to distract her from his sprawl.
“Jack and water. Please. I can really use it tonight.”
She pursed her lips at him. “Ooh, poor baby. I’ll be right back.”
He reached into his pocket for the bottle of pills, popped the top and shook one out into his palm. Four left and he hoped to God they’d be enough to get him through the weekend. He hadn’t calculated the effects of five hours of driving to their stop for the night in Bristol, his first long trip since the last surgery. It hadn’t even occurred to him to think the leg might be a problem. Until now.
“Thought I might find you here.” Asia slipped into the booth across from him. She nodded at the pill bottle in his hand. “Headache?”
His hand went to his thigh, almost against his will. “Old war wound.”
The waitress arrived with his drink, set it down and looked at Asia. “What can I get you?”
“Vodka tonic, thanks.”
Ethan threw the pill back in his throat and swallowed it with a slug of the whiskey and water. The pain in his leg screamed defiance at him. Just a few more minutes.
Asia watched him, his pain reflected in her brown eyes. “All that driving aggravated it, huh? Leg injury?”
He nodded, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
She stood up and moved to his side of the booth. “Move,” she ordered.
“What?”
“Sit up a minute.” She waved a hand at the leg he had stretched across the bench.
He scowled. “What’s wrong—the view not so good from your side?” He swung the leg down with a grunt and watched as she sat down beside him. What the hell was she up to?
“The view’s fine.” She patted her thighs. “Leg.”
He looked at her, heart thumping in his chest. Boundaries, his mind screamed at him. Boundaries! “I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”
She raised an eyebrow at him, a gesture he was really beginning to like. “Would you rather do this in your room? Or mine? I admit you’d get a better massage, but as far as being appropriate . . .”
“Okay, I get the point.” He swallowed. “It’s just that I’m not sure a massage in any venue is appropriate.”
She tilted her head, a corner of her mouth quirking upwards. “Come on, Ethan. I can tell that son of a bitch hurts. I can help.”
The temptation was too much. And she was right—it had nothing to do with being close to her, having her hands on him. Well, it did. But it was mostly about the fact that his leg hurt so damn much and a massage would feel so damn good right about now.
He hoisted his leg onto her lap—there was just enough room behind the table and it was just dark enough in the bar to get away with it—and tried to stay calm when she started in kneading the aching muscles of his thigh. Maintaining that pretense was a losing battle. Her touch—gentle at first, then much firmer as she tested his tolerance—was like healing fire. A groan, as soft as a sigh, escaped his lips as she followed his quadriceps from the knee to the top of his thigh and back again.
“Can you tell me what happened?” She began to work the outside of his thigh. The flesh there was scored with scars—he tensed even t
hough he knew she couldn’t feel them through the jeans he wore—but she didn’t hurt him. He relaxed again.
“I was injured in the accident that killed my wife.” He found the words cost him more than he would have thought. “Smashed up the femur and the right knee pretty badly.” He didn’t mention the right elbow or the ribs or the internal injuries. It had been only because the impact flipped the car that he’d survived at all. Elizabeth had been on the bottom of the pile of crushed metal when the rescue squad cut them out; he’d been somewhere in the middle of a pincer of steel.
Her hands stopped moving. “God, I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.” When she started up again, her hands dug into the muscles near his hip, and he pulled in a sharp breath against the pain. She looked up in alarm. “Am I hurting you?”
“Yes, but don’t stop.” His breath caught in his throat until he forced himself to breathe. His overtaxed muscles burned as she worked them, freeing them from the tension and toxic stiffness of hours of driving. He closed his eyes and endured, until the pain in his muscles subsided into the warmth of healing and the deeper ache in his bones that was always with him was tolerable.
“You still with me?” Asia’s voice seemed to come from a long way off.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. God, she was beautiful. The urge to reach over and pull her to him, to slip his tongue past those full lips into her mouth and taste her, was overwhelming.
He found his voice. “You have great hands. That felt incredible. Thank you.”
She smiled. “You looked like you needed it.”
He made an effort to sit up and lowered his leg to the floor. “I should have thought . . . I’ll take more breaks on the way back home.”
She studied him. “Let me guess. You were probably pretty active before the accident—you’re not used to this.”
Anger—raw and unexpected—flared in his chest. “To what? Playing the invalid? No—should I be?”
She seemed momentarily flustered, and he instantly regretted his burst of temper. Even as he watched, her jaw tightened and her embarrassment was hidden behind a shield of cool reserve.
Unchained Memory (The Interstellar Rescue Series Book 1) Page 12
