Wow, not at all what her mother had taught her. Had she really changed so much?
Not liking how he was watching her then, as though he could read her thoughts, or worse, her feelings, she asked, “What was it, a tumor or something?” And regretted the cavalier way she’d asked as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
For all she knew, the man had something terminal. Just because he had all his hair and looked far more delicious than any man should look, didn’t mean that he wasn’t on meds. Or that he hadn’t opted out of invasive treatment.
“Is that what the drops are for? To try to shrink a tumor?”
Growing up as the only child of a doctor and a retired registered nurse, she knew too much for her own good. And not nearly enough.
“I don’t have a tumor.”
When a flood of relief made her weak, Cara took a step back. She and the doc...it wasn’t personal. Couldn’t be personal. She had no life left to offer anyone. But if she did...if they’d met in another universe...
“What happened?” Something compelled the words, anyway.
“An...accident. It resulted in pressure on the optic nerve. There’s only a small window of time that surgery to relieve the pressure will be successful, and unfortunately I was just outside that window.”
“So...you’re permanently blind, then.”
The news hit her like a blow. Crazy as that was. She’d thought he said temporarily blind.
“No!” Her head popped up at the vehemence she heard in his voice.
“I had the surgery. When the optic nerve dies you have no vision at all. Everything is blank. Black. Within minutes of surgery I regained some ability. I saw light. Or a light, cloudy mass.”
“So your sight will return to you.” Another surge of relief. What in the hell was the matter with her? She’d have thought she was PMSing except that she wasn’t due for another two weeks.
And had to figure that one out, too. It wasn’t like a single man was going to pack feminine supplies for his sabbatical. And since she’d arrived with nothing...
“That’s the hope.”
“The hope?” She needed this story to have a happy ending. Probably because she had no chance of one. And knew that her emotions were out of whack for the same reason.
Her head knew that life was done. But until her life was physically over, her heart was going to do what a heart did. And the emotional center in her brain was going to help it along. Which was why her mom had been so vitally alive and able to tend to her five minutes before her death.
She got it.
“It could be six months to a year before we know exactly how much sight will return. There’s a lot of pressure on the eye. The drops are to reduce the pressure.”
She nodded.
“And the eye patch?”
“As with any muscles you don’t use, the eye muscles can atrophy. I’m making certain they don’t.”
He stood there like some kind of god or king of the land. So completely sane. Strong. Good and kind. And injured, too. What kind of man exercised an eye for hours a day, every day?
Her emotional center reacted again.
She had no idea what to do about it. Or with it. All Cara had ever wanted in her life was to love and be loved. Living with who she’d become...a criminal, a killer...that was going to take some getting used to. She shook her head.
The doctor nodded. And she realized he’d seen her shake her head. As though she doubted the veracity of his words.
“It’s working,” he said now, a note of excitement in his voice. He came toward her, and when he kept walking back the way she’d come, she walked with him. “I’ve been certain that I’m starting to see dark shadows in the clouds. Big absences of the same amount of light. And today I’ve just proved it! I saw the branch. As a shadow only, mind you, but I saw it. I walked right up to it, looking with my right eye only, and knew when to stop so I didn’t hit my face.” He was grinning.
Cara couldn’t help but grin right along with him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“SHARE A GLASS of wine with me?” In celebration of the first major victory he’d had since clouds had replaced blackness right after surgery, Simon had taken steaks out for dinner, thawing them in hot water. Just as they were sitting down to eat, he thought of the bottles of wine on the top shelf of the pantry and suggested they open one.
“Okay.” Cara didn’t look all that happy.
Standing halfway between her and the pantry, he said, “We can forgo it if you like.” Her comfort meant far more than his celebration.
A cause for some consideration. A couple of weeks ago nothing had meant more than regaining his eyesight.
“I’d actually like a glass of wine. It’s just...” She shook her head.
“What?” He really wanted to know.
“Shawn’s ugly side came out with a lot less provocation when he drank.”
The entire world faded away—a feeling he’d only ever known during surgery—as Simon focused on her. She’d opened a door—reached out to him. One wrong move and he could lose her.
But a right one...
“I’ll have tea,” he said, looking her directly in the eye. Needing her to know that he was promising that he would never, ever raise a hand to her. Or anyone.
She had nothing to fear from him.
“No... Simon...it’s okay.” She seemed to stumble over his name. Hearing it on her lips caused him to stumble.
“I’d really like a glass of wine, actually. We need to celebrate your moment. That’s what...gets you to the next good moment. Honoring them...” She looked down, as though she’d said more than she wished she had.
While he was standing there wanting more.
“I’m fine, Simon, really. I know you aren’t going to hurt me. I won’t react that way again.”
“I can handle it if you do,” he told her. “But he didn’t just hit you when he was jealous, did he?”
“It started out that way.” Her chin jutted but then dropped. Right along with her gaze.
Simon wanted to pick them back up for her, hold them up for her, but, of course, he couldn’t. He had to settle for, “What you’re dealing with...it’s way out of my area of expertise, but I know that there are things beyond your control...things that will take time...just know that you’re safe with me.”
She stared at him, as though she’d seen a ghost. Simon wanted to stay right in that stare, to be a part of her. He went for the wine, instead.
There was only so much he could do. It wasn’t like they were in a relationship. Or intended to be in one.
He was looking out for her. Almost as if she were only a patient. Glancing at her still-swollen cheek, he figured he was right on the mark.
He’d do what he could to help.
The rest would have to come from her.
Or not.
* * *
“YOU DON’T WEAR a wedding ring.”
Sitting in his chair in the living room, a glass and a half of wine under his belt, Simon hadn’t seen the statement coming.
Just like he hadn’t expected Cara to sit with him after dinner. It was the first night since she’d been there that she hadn’t immediately excused herself to her room.
They’d talked about northern Nevada. He’d been surprised at the number of questions she asked. She wanted to know everything.
And the reason he’d had answers to give her, from topography and wildlife to weather averages, was because he’d been the same way. Had read everything he could find on the internet before he’d purchased the place.
And...she was watching him. Still on her first glass of wine, but it was almost empty.
“I’m not married,” he told her. Her curiosity was natural. She was, for the moment, living wi
th him. Alone. If he had a wife...the wife might be a consideration.
He watched for her reaction. Wanting his married state to matter to her, more than just for curiosity’s sake. Even knowing that his wanting made no sense.
There was no room in his life for a woman. Not in the near future. Maybe not in the foreseeable future.
“I was,” he told her, as it suddenly occurred to him that Cara needed to know that he was not open for anything more than what they currently were to each other. “She wasn’t happy with my part in our relationship. It ended...bad.”
“Do you think you were a good husband?”
“I know I tried to be.”
“Not the same thing, is it?”
“Probably not.” But in his defense, he’d done everything he could possibly think of to be there for Emily—even when the love was gone.
“How long have you been divorced?”
Be careful what you wish for. The thought sprang unbidden to mind as Cara’s questioning nature, which he’d admired moments before, turned on him. He might want to reconsider the next time he thought about opening a bottle of wine. It seemed to loosen her tongue.
Funny how less than two hours before he’d been wanting access to her thoughts...
“A little less than a year.”
Funny how he still wanted access to them. But sensed that if he turned the questioning on her, the evening would end.
“Do you miss her?”
“No.”
“Not even a little bit?”
“No.” He supposed he should. If he’d ever really loved her at all...
“Was she a nurse?”
That question kind of amused him. Straight out of a novel or a porn movie—the whole doctor-nurse thing. He was surprised that she’d be one to stereotype. Everything else about her was so unique...
“She’s a high school guidance counselor.” Was. Past tense. Now she was in jail. Awaiting a trial that would start sometime after the first of the year. Even as late as summer, his lawyer thought, based on court-ordered psychological evaluations and medical reports. Simon was going to have to go back to testify. He’d made up his mind that he wasn’t going to court until he could see again. He had to give Emily that much—the chance at a lighter sentence.
“How long were you married?”
He sipped from his glass. Thought about the glass and a half still left in the bottle. If the questions continued, he might need it. “Two years.”
“Shawn and I have been married ten.”
His mind calmed. Not because he wanted to hear about her with the bastard. But because she’d offered him something of herself.
If answering her questions brought him answers, then bring on the questions.
“You were a child bride,” he said, trying to sound completely unaffected and yet casually interested. He had a lot of compassion to give. Just wasn’t all that versed in giving it to big people.
“Eighteen.” That piece of news brought a slew of unanswered questions. Starting with her parents. She’d said she had no one but Shawn. Had she been orphaned? In foster care? A runaway?
“How old were you when you got married?”
Simon almost grinned. Simple math at that point would tell her it was only three years ago. She wanted to know how old he was...
“Thirty-three.” Eight years older—thirty-six to her twenty-eight.
“You waited a long time.”
“Becoming a thoracic surgeon takes time and focus. I didn’t have enough left to be fair to any relationship.”
She sipped. Studied him. As though she found his answer overly interesting.
He wondered if she wasn’t a drinker at all. If the wine had gone to her head. Made sense, considering that when her husband drank she had to be on guard.
“Is that why the marriage failed so quickly? Because you spent too much time at work?”
Her gaze more piercing, Simon felt as though he was a little bit on trial. Had no idea why he would be. But said, “No. It failed because what I thought was love turned out not to be.”
He’d never put it in words before. He’d suspected. More so, lately. But as he said the words, he knew them to be true. “I wasn’t in love with her.”
He’d admired the hell out of her. But, in a very different way, he’d fallen for her six-year-old daughter. He’d needed to be there every minute for her. To do everything in his power to help her survive. And then thrive.
In the end, he’d failed Opus, too. A failure that had sent Emily over the edge.
“I’m sure you thought you were, at first,” Cara said, looking at the last sip of wine she was swirling in her glass.
He picked up the bottle on the table next to him. “You want a little more?”
She held out her glass but gave him a look that let him know she was waiting for an answer.
And he knew...she was seeking knowledge. Because she needed it. Not about him. But about life. About relationships.
“I did think I was, at first,” he said, meeting her gaze head-on. Talk to me. I want to help. I’ll do anything I can. I promise.
Words he’d said aloud. To a little girl who, in the end, he hadn’t been able to save.
Cara wasn’t a child. He didn’t love her like a daughter. And yet...his need to be there for her seemed eerily familiar to him.
“I was so in love with Shawn I’d have believed the moon was made out of cheese if he’d told me it was.”
The way she said it, the almost haunted look on her face, made him wonder if there were things the man had told her that she regretted believing.
He wanted, in the worst way, to ask if she loved her husband still. He might not be all read up on domestic violence, but he knew enough to know that abused spouses often went back to their abusers. That the pattern of need and love and abuse was made so much worse by the emotional hold the abuser often had on those he hurt.
He wanted to ask. But didn’t dare.
“It took me a while to figure out that what I felt for Emily wasn’t love,” he said.
“Maybe it was.” With her legs curled up beneath her on the couch, Cara looked like she belonged there.
He pictured her like that on his sofa at home, sometime in the future. And knew it was the wine playing with his brain.
No more wine with her.
Just this night. This bottle.
“Maybe in the beginning you really did love each other.”
He couldn’t lie to her. Not for answers. Not for any reason. Simon said nothing. Just left her statement lying between them.
She sipped her wine. Was quiet for so long he thought their night of conversation was through.
Regretted that it had ended so quickly. And knew that it was right that it should.
“I don’t know when I quit loving Shawn.”
Thank God! He couldn’t remember being happier hearing any other news. Took a sip of wine. Held his glass in both hands while he watched her.
When he feared she really would end the evening, he said, “Maybe it was the first time he left a bruise on your face.”
Great bedside manner, Doc. Couldn’t you have put that more delicately?
It was just that every time he thought of the man, which was pretty much every time he saw those scars and swollen features, he grew angrier.
Not in a go-kill-someone way—though he wasn’t averse to trying if the man dared show his face anywhere near Cara ever again—but because he needed to make it better for her.
Because he knew he couldn’t. It wasn’t within his power.
Like when he’d had a patient he just hadn’t been able to save.
Like Opus...
Cara was shaking her head. “It wasn’t then,” she said. She sounded so calm, so
sure, he believed her.
“When, then?”
With a brief shake of her head, like she was startled, she blinked and looked at him.
Damn. Had he lost her?
“I’m not sure,” she said. And he wondered if maybe it wasn’t the question that had startled her, but that she didn’t know the answer.
Maybe she needed to know.
Maybe he needed to help her figure it out.
It would be a hell of a lot easier if he knew how. Of course, sometimes even when you knew, it still wasn’t enough.
“I... He used to be... I felt so...loved by him, you know?” She was looking at him, but he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer.
“I felt...secure. Like...no matter what...I could count on him and he could count on me.”
He nodded. Pretty much figured that was what marriage was about. Until it wasn’t. And then what?
“But then... Shawn was possessive. I used to love that about him. Loved that he cared where I was at all times. That he needed to know when I was home safely. That he loved me that much. That I was that important to him...”
Earlier questions about her childhood returned. Where were the parents who should have given her that sense of being important?
Not that it was any of his business...
He sipped. Waited, in case she had more to say.
“Then he got weird about it. Like, if he thought a guy looked at me in too personal a way, if I spoke to the guy, he’d think that I wanted him or something. But not all the time.” She shook her head.
More time passed. She sipped again, but the wine in her glass wasn’t going down much.
He wondered if she should get some rest. Didn’t want her to go. Thought maybe he was overstepping, wanting to know more.
Wasn’t inclined to suggest that she call it a night.
He wondered about making a run into town. Picking up some things for her. He didn’t want to leave her at the cabin alone, but if he taught her how to use the .22...
“I don’t know when it happened...” She was speaking slowly. “I think I know why, though.”
Not because the man had hit her? He had to know, too. “Why?”
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