If You Loved Me

by Vanessa Grant

  If You Loved Me

  by

  Vanessa Grant

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright 1999, 2012 by Muse Creations Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Cover by Angie-O Creations

  eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

  Thank You.

  Thanks to Ann, Lynn, and Dr. Bill

  for answering all those medical questions

  Prologue

  He left her alone in the car, ten miles outside town with darkness all around. She was seventeen years old and it was the first time in her life she'd ever been alone, no walls around her and not a building in sight.

  "There's a light up there," he said. "A house. I'll phone for help."

  After he'd gone, Emma sat in the car and shivered. She wished she had insisted on going with him, but he'd been so impatient.

  "You think your dad will kill you for being late?" he'd asked. "Mine's going to flip when he learns I've blown up the damned car."

  After he left, she realized how lonely it was out here. She fought off fantasies of all the things that could happen to a girl alone in a car.

  She wished she could turn on the lights, but Paul had warned her not to, muttering that he didn't need a dead battery on top of everything else. So she sat in the dark, feeling the way she had when she'd been lying alone in a hospital bed the night before surgery. When she heard a sound from outside, she rummaged in her purse for her glasses, and then put them on so she could see the shadows better.

  She was reciting a long soliloquy from Shakespeare when she saw car lights up ahead—maybe someone going to the dance she and Paul had left half an hour ago. Or maybe Paul, returning with help. Or—

  The headlights swung away into the trees as the car crossed to her side of the road, spreading a halo of light. Wheels crunched on the gravel road, then the driver's door opened.

  A man got out. A big man.

  Someone else got out the passenger side of the car and Emma rolled down the window a couple of inches.

  "Paul? Is that you?"

  "Stay in the car, Emma."

  It was Paul. She let out a sigh of relief.

  "In the trunk," said the stranger, his voice was deep and gravelly. "I'll get them."

  Emma pushed open the door and stumbled out onto the gravel shoulder. She couldn't see the man with Paul, just his shape standing in front of the headlights, all glare and shadows and broad shoulders.

  "Why don't you get into my car and stay warm?" the stranger said. "My heater's on."

  "I have to get home." She hugged herself as a breeze penetrated her thin dress. "I'm already late."

  "For Pete's sake, Emma!" Paul's long shadow swam out of the darkness. "What the hell do you expect me to do? The car's trashed. You'll get home when you get there."

  "I'll get tools," the stranger said.

  She followed his shadow with her eyes until it disappeared behind the other car. A trunk opened, then closed. Shadows shifted around the two cars. Emma hugged herself tighter and wondered why she hadn't had the sense to bring a jacket.

  The stranger lifted Paul's hood. From their conversation, she decided he knew about engines.

  "So that's that," Paul said in a truculent voice.

  She cleared her throat. "If I'm late, my dad's likely to call the police."

  "Emma, give it a rest!"

  "I could give you a ride," said the stranger.

  As she pushed her long hair behind one ear, the light from his headlights in her eyes.

  The stranger said, "I'll leave the tools and the work light with you, Paul, then drop your girlfriend off and come back. I'll pick up some oil while I'm gone."

  Emma was swallowed by sensation, as if she were already alone in a car with the stranger. Being alone with Paul had never felt intimate. Exciting, yes, because it was new having a boyfriend when she was seventeen and had only recently been permitted to date. But this, the thought of a car surrounding two people and shutting out the world, looking across the length of the front seat and finding him staring back at her...

  She didn't even know what he looked like, only his shape with the light behind, and his deep, take-charge voice.

  "Let's go," he said. "I'm taking you home."

  "Who are you?"

  Paul made an impatient sound. "For God's sake, Emma! You wanted to go!"

  "I'm Gray MacKenzie."

  So this was Paul's best friend, the one who had spent the summer prospecting up north in Canada. She pushed her glasses up on her nose.

  "I'm Emma Jennings."

  "I know."

  * * *

  It was quiet inside his Chevy. She studied Gray's broad jaw, frowning mouth, and wavy brushed-back hair that looked as dark as the forest outside. As he drove, his heavy brows cast shadows where his eyes should be. He didn't speak until they arrived at the junction with the highway.

  "Where do you live?"

  "Oak Street." She twisted strands of her hair around one uneasy finger. "Across from Connaught School. I—thanks for driving me home."

  He turned and looked at her. She stared back. From Paul, she knew Graham MacKenzie was in his second year at the community college, taking science courses for transfer to the University of Washington next year. She also knew he shared an apartment with a father who spent most of his time prospecting for gold up north.

  You had to be determined to do what Graham MacKenzie had done. He'd won scholarships to pay his way through two years at the local college, was heading for university next year with nothing behind him but brains and determination—because according to Paul, Graham MacKenzie's father was perpetually broke.

  When he broke their locked gazes and pulled his car out on the highway, she felt the shock of withdrawal.

  "You're not what I expected," she announced in a husky voice.

  "Has Paul been giving me bad press?"

  "No."

  When he laughed, she stole another look. Gray's shoulders made her feel crowded even though they weren't touching. She had only a hazy idea what prospecting might be like. Paul had talked as if it were a game, but hard muscles flexed in Gray's forearms as he turned the wheel to take a sharp corner.

  "Paul's jealous of you."

  He laughed as if he didn't believe her. "What time were you expected home?"

  "Ten o'clock."

  "Will you be in trouble?"

  When she grimaced, it turned into a laugh that he shared. He threw her another one of those quick glances, assessing her in fast snapshots. When he looked away, she realized her heart was pounding uncomfortably.

  "My dad's pretty strict. He worries."

  "Dr. Jennings?"


  "You know Dad?"

  "I went to him for a broken leg last year."

  He kept glancing at her and she wanted to take her glasses off, but was afraid he'd realize she wanted him to think she looked pretty.

  "We had a difference of opinion," said Gray.

  "Over your leg?"

  "Yeah."

  "How did you break it? Is it okay now?"

  "Just fine. Why does your father worry about you?"

  She shifted uncomfortably. "I'm trying for scholarships this year. He's strict about my getting home early."

  "What are you planning to study?"

  "Medicine. I'm going to be a doctor." She pushed her hair back again and shoved her glasses up. She felt fiercely self-conscious. "I don't usually tell people."

  If he stopped now they would be in the middle of nowhere. If he turned to her and pulled her close and pressed his mouth to hers, would his lips be cool the way they looked, or hot like the flush she felt on her cheeks?

  She pressed her palm against the side of her face and bit her lip hard. Thank heaven he couldn't know her thoughts. There was no way he could know she felt naked in the silence between them. She could feel the purr of his car engine in her veins. She stared at the trees whipping past outside, then closed her eyes and saw the breadth of his shoulders, felt the way his size made her feel restless and uncomfortable. She thought of the heated lovemaking in the pages of the romance novel beside her bed at home and her body flushed.

  Of course he wouldn't touch her. Why was she even thinking it?

  "Why don't you tell people you want to be a doctor?"

  "My father says I'm too weak."

  "Are you?"

  "No!"

  "I believe you."

  The unexpected gentleness of his voice startled her.

  "I was sick when I was younger." She didn't want him to think of her as sick, but couldn't seem to stop herself telling him. "I had this thing—my leg. I was on crutches for a long time. Then I had operations."

  "Does this thing have a name?"

  She smiled shyly toward him. "Legg-Calve-Perthes disease. I'm fine now."

  She'd been in and out of hospitals; twice to Seattle for surgery. All that was in the past. The only thing left was the slight limp if she let herself get tired, but her father watched her like a hawk.

  "I want to help children who can't walk properly." She clenched her hands together in her lap. "I'll take a science degree at the University of Washington. Then, if my dad won't help me go on to the University's School of Medicine, I'll find a way on my own."

  "If you want something enough, there's always a way."

  "I hope you're right."

  The miles slipped away as they talked, and she forgot to glance at her watch or think of the angry father waiting for her until they reached the outskirts of the city and lights flickered through the interior of the car.

  "I've been talking too much."

  "I asked the questions."

  They were almost at her house. In a minute she'd be inside and he would be gone. She might see him when she was with Paul, but that would be public. Tonight they were friends driving through the dark. She could tell him anything and he would listen. She studied his face, harsh in the glow from the dash lights. She felt as if she'd known him forever, deeply and in secret.

  "I want to know about you," she whispered.

  "You're almost home."

  She saw her corner, her house.

  "Don't pull in the driveway!"

  He made an impatient sound. "You want me to hide around the corner?"

  "You must think I'm juvenile."

  "I think you're afraid of your father."

  She liked the way he smiled and wondered if his smile would show in his eyes. What color were his eyes? She didn't even know what color his hair was. It could be anything from light brown to dead black and she wouldn't know. He was all shadows and silhouettes.

  She scrambled out of the car.

  He got out, too, and she opened her mouth to tell him not to, but couldn't get any words out. Somehow she was standing in front of him, staring up at him, her heart pounding with a fierce desire to kiss him.

  The feeling from inside the car was gone. This was no intimate friend. He was a stranger and her blood was heavy with pulsing suspense. His lips would be hard. His body...

  She jerked and stepped back with a gasp.

  "What about Paul?" he demanded harshly.

  Warm panic crawled along her veins. If her father looked out, she'd be in trouble, leaving with one boy and coming back late with Graham MacKenzie.

  Gray's gaze dropped to her throat. When his fingers touched her chin, her heart went crazy and his face turned even harsher.

  "Are you serious about Paul?"

  She shook her head mutely.

  "Then stop seeing him."

  "Are you saying I'm not good enough for—"

  The husky whisper of her voice broke when his thumb brushed the underside of her chin. "Don't be stupid, Emma. You know damned well I want you."

  "Graham?"

  "It's Gray. Not Graham." He released her and turned away. She saw him put one hand on the hood of his car, then her glasses slipped down her nose and she couldn't seem to move to push them up.

  "Gray... will I see you?" Her own voice sounded frail on the night air.

  "Paul's my best friend."

  From the house, her father called out, "Emma! Get inside right now!"

  Graham MacKenzie wanted her, and he meant more than dancing and Friday theater dates. He meant touching, things she'd never let any other boy do. She was still standing there when his car turned the corner, leaving behind the echo of his engine revving too high.

  If she was going to be a doctor she had to remember every minute that she had a purpose, that he wasn't the kind of boy a girl let near if she wanted to keep control of her own life. She'd be crazy to let herself become involved with Graham MacKenzie.

  Crazy or not, she broke up with Paul the next weekend.

  Chapter 1

  Twenty years later...

  Emma was in the examining room with Jenny Davidson when her beeper went off. Jenny was seven months old, gurgling as Emma probed her left leg.

  "Good girl," said Emma, lifting Jenny upright. To Jenny's mother, she said, "Her left leg is almost as strong as the right. The bone has healed, and the muscles are gaining strength rapidly." She smiled and received a tremulous grin in return. "Keep taking her to physical therapy. I'll see her again when she starts walking."

  "Walking?" Jenny's mom was breathless.

  "Within six months. It's okay, Jenny's doing great."

  When Emma left Jenny and her mother, she slipped into her office and called the number displayed on her pager. Her eyes searched the surface of her desk for a pink message slip telling her Chris had called, but there was no message.

  Chris was supposed to call today. August twelfth at the latest, he'd promised.

  "Dr. Garrett," she announced when the hospital answered her call.

  "Dr. Kent wants to know if you can attend in the E.R."

  * * *

  Dr. Alexander Kent met Emma as she left the elevator.

  "Nine-year-old boy," he said, "Timmy Jones. Skateboarding on Heather Street, shot out from the stop sign. The guy who hit him never saw him coming. Left ankle and foot. I've got pictures. They're prepping O.R. Two for you."

  "Parents?"

  "His dad's on the way over. They found him at work. Timmy's diabetic, but his blood sugar's not significant. I just ran it."

  Timmy was conscious, big brown eyes in a white face. She touched his shoulder, felt the tension. "Hi, Timmy. I'm Dr. Garrett."

  "My leg hurts."

  "I'm going to fix that for you." She placed her hand on Timmy's shoulder and asked Alex, "Has he had anything for pain?"

  "Demerol, forty-five milligrams, five minutes ago."

  She squeezed the boy's shoulder. "Timmy, I'm just going to look at the pictures of your leg. The
n I'll see about fixing it."

  She stepped over to the illuminated panel to study the X ray. The picture showed the tibia and fibula shattered in conjunction with the tarsal bone. It would be a long reconstruction.

  Beside her, Alex announced, "Timmy's father's here."

  "I'll see him with you. We'd better forget our dinner date."

  It took two hours and three titanium screws to do the reconstruction on Timmy Jones. When she came out of the operating room, she found Timmy's mother and father in the waiting room. She assured them Timmy would probably regain full use of his ankle, but it would be some time before he could play hockey.

  Seven-thirty.

  She called her office and used her code to retrieve two messages her secretary had left before she went home for the day. Her one o'clock for the next day had canceled, and a pediatrician from Farley Bay wanted to consult on a ballerina with scoliosis.

  She called the house.

  No messages. Of course, it was nowhere near dark. In mid-August, it was light here in Seattle until almost nine. Night would fall even later up north in Prince Rupert where Chris was.

  She went into the physicians' lounge and found Alex studying a medical journal, his feet up on a coffee table.

  "Timmy okay?"

  "Three screws," she said. "It was a mess, but it should heal well."

  "Ready for dinner?"

  "Chris hasn't called yet." Two boys kayaking north through British Columbia's Inside Passage. Both Chris and Jordy were experienced with kayaks and the wilderness, but what if something had happened to them? "I think I'd better go home."

  Alex folded his journal. "Don't they have a cell phone? You could call."

  "Cell phones are useless where they are. Too many mountains."

  "Right, then. We'll go to your place, order pizza and wait for Chris to call."

  "I'll cook us something."

  Chris must be in Prince Rupert by now, busy organizing a place to stay for the night. Or maybe they'd pitched their tent at a campsite where there was no phone.

  Outside, the sun lay low in the sky, nestled between two towers in the financial district. Emma pulled her keys out of her purse. As they parted, heading for separate cars, Alex said, "I'm sure Chris is fine."