"Under the futon," she gasped.
"Okay, I'm going to wet this towel and wrap it around your hand now, and I want you to hold your arm up above your head and press on the place right under your thumb with your other hand. Can you do that? I'm going to pick you up, and we're going to find your purse and go to the emergency room, but you've got to help me. You can do that. You can be a big girl. I know you can, Andee. Come on, baby. Try hard."
She felt him reach just beyond her and knew he must be soaking the towel from the way the water flow was diverted over her hand. She could imagine the bright red blood flowing out of her body and her stomach heaved.
He pushed her head down with his forearm and bent low over her, whispering. "Breathe, Andee. Breathe with me, baby. Slowly. Slowly. In. Now out. Match me, sweetie. You'll feel better in just a minute. I promise. Just breathe deep and slow with me."
He shut off the flow of water and wrapped the soft, wet towel around her injury, pulling her arm up above her head and scooping her up in the same movement, while he murmured soft words of reassurance to her, over and over.
When he crossed the room and deposited her on the couch, he reminded her to keep her arm up and her fingers clasping the loose end of the towel to keep it from unwrapping around her hand. She heard him drop to the floor and feel beneath the futon until he found her purse, then he picked her up again and made it to her door in three long strides.
Seconds later, he had deposited her on the passenger side of his car and tilted the seat, drawing her arm across her body so that it was supported, while her hand rested against the leather upholstery next to her head. He climbed in next to her, started the engine, and turned a blast of cool air on her from the car's air conditioning before he backed out of the parking slot and headed for the nearest hospital's emergency room. The entire time, he kept up a soft, deep rumble of reassurance and praise for her efforts.
"I don't like blood," she whimpered.
"I know, sweetie, but it's almost stopped. Just keep your arm up and hold the towel firmly."
"Are you always right?" she demanded.
"Basically, yes. And I am about this. You'll be fine."
"I know. I'm a big baby. But I meant was are you always right about English."
He laughed and reached out to pat her leg.
"Yes, that, too. At least almost always, unless I'm under extreme duress. So don't make me go there. Just be a good girl and let the doctor take care of you when we get to the hospital. No fussing, now. Okay? Can you be my big girl?"
"No," she whined. "Cause I don't like shots, either, and they'll stick me. Won't they?"
"It's a possibility. But it will only last a second and then it will be all over."
"Make them do it in my arm. Promise me."
"Oh, baby. I'll do my best. But when it comes right down to it, we're going to do whatever the doctor says is best. Understand me?"
"No!" she squealed. "Promise me. I won't let them give me a shot unless it's in my arm."
"Stop that, right this minute, Andee Carlisle." His voice went from a caress to a masterful threat in a split second. "If you behave like a whiny brat in that hospital, that's exactly how I'll treat you. And I promise it will be something you will never forget. Now, keep your hand up and think about the double dip chocolate almond ice cream cone I'm going to get you when this is all over."
She allowed herself one more pitiful sob before he swung into the emergency room parking lot. He had her bundled out of the car and into his arms in moments and was striding toward the door, her head cradled against his wide chest. She tried hard to concentrate on the scent of rain, but her heart was pounding the way it did when she was six years old and a fall from her bicycle required a similar trip to the emergency room on a Saturday afternoon. Only that time it was her knee that was bleeding, and she could see the stream of scarlet down her leg.
Her father had driven them there, but it was her mother who had gone into the treatment room with her when her name was finely called. Her mother had done her best to soothe her while the doctor had prodded and probed and injected the area around her knee repeatedly before leaving her to sob on the examination table, calling for her daddy, who never came. When the numbness finely took effect and the stitching was done, with bandages applied, she had thought the worst of her ordeal was over, but then the doctor had begun to ask questions about her latest booster. Whatever her mother had answered had apparently not satisfied him, because he had nodded to the nurse, who handed him a syringe. She'd been flipped her onto her tummy, the doctor ordering her mother to keep her still, while he tugged down her shorts and panties, rubbed something cold into the skin of her hip and jabbed her with a needle twice as painful as any he had stuck in her bleeding knee. She remembered screaming and saying the worst word she could think of, which happened to be 'crap', before the doctor had dabbed the injection site with something cold again, applied a Band-Aid and skimmed her panties and shorts back up. Her memory of the event ended there. She wished the whole miserable afternoon had been erased from her memory banks, but it kept replaying in her mind while Mr. Benjamin hugged her to his chest and somehow managed to talk to the receptionist, search her purse and present the required cards to the bored-sounding woman.
All too soon, they called her name and then he was carrying her somewhere while voices rose and fell around her, sirens screamed in the distance, instruments clanked, a man cursed loudly, and a baby shrieked. She clung to him, truly terrified for the first time in her darkness.
"Don't leave me," she whispered into his chest. "Whatever they try to make you do, don't leave me."
"Shush, little one. It's going to be all right. I won't leave you. I promise."
An hour later, he handed her an ice cream cone. In the interim, he had cajoled, promised and, finally, threatened. And some faceless doctor with a harried voice had unwrapped her hand, turned it this way and that, poked it and prodded in it, as before, with something cold and metallic, while she hissed an uglier word than she had used on her previous visit. When he finally pronounced it 'clean', however, he did close it with some kind of miraculous glue rather than stitches.
Through it all, she had been allowed to sit on Mr. Benjamin's lap, her hand resting on what she assumed was a sterile towel spread out on the examination table. She cared not a bit if anyone in the room wondered why a grown woman could not manage to sit or stand or lie down on her own. But Mr. Benjamin made sure he kept her in his secure embrace by telling them she was dealing with a very serious eye infection and he could not possibly allow anything that would upset her, such as having to face an examination and treatment that she could not see, by herself.
She had breathed a sigh of relief when the bandage was in place and had even begun to ease up out of Mr. Benjamin's lap, suggesting that she could walk on her own with his help, when her worst fears were realized.
"When was your last booster, Miss Carlisle?" a feminine voice she identified as the nurse asked. Her heart had picked up speed again.
"April," she said.
"Yes, but what year?"
"Year? Why this—"
"Andee!" He growled and his hand was suddenly firm against her bottom as she struggled to stand between his legs. The insistent pressure reminded her of his threat.
"It was—I don't remember exactly."
"Try again. I bet you can," he ordered.
"Oh, all right. It was in 1994," she said with a stamp of her foot and a distinct grump in her voice.
Knowing what was now inevitable, she shoved the short sleeve of her T-shirt up and presented her left arm, biting her lip.
"Not there, I'm afraid," the nurse said. "Take two steps to your right, please, and lean over the exam table. This will just take a second. You don't want to run the risk of infection with the other problems you're facing."
"Of course she doesn't. Just give her a minute. She'll be fine. Won't you, Andee?" Nick's deep voice encouraged.
She wanted to tell him what he could
do with fine. "You promised," she hissed.
"I promised not to leave you, and I won't. But don't forget my other promise."
She stood her ground, torn between her determination to avoid the stick she dreaded so badly and her uncertainty about just how far Mr. Benjamin would go to gain her compliance. He settled the matter for her before she could make a decision.
In one swift movement, he turned her slightly and upended her over his left knee, clamping his right leg over her calves when she tried to kick her way upright again.
She felt him shove down her shorts until the waist band bisected her bottom. Then, to her horror, his warm fingers were dragging her panties down as well. When she tried to rear up and twist out of his grasp, he simply pushed her head down toward the floor, leaned over her back and grabbed her free right hand and twisted it up into the small of her back.
The cold swab and hot prick were over before she could think of a word bad enough to describe his treachery. Then he was adjusting her clothes and gathering her back into his arms, where he rocked her gently and pressed little kisses to the side of her face.
"All over, baby. No more sticks. Let's get you home now."
"I can walk," she said with a sniff and a swipe at her nose. "And I want ice cream."
"You shall have it," he said.
And she did.
Chapter Nine
"I want you to rest now," he told her when they were inside her apartment. "Just a short nap and then we've got to get to work again." He steered her toward the futon and she collapsed onto it, realizing suddenly that she was, indeed, exhausted.
"You'll stay?" she asked, not quite able to keep the plea out of her voice, although she was still furious over what she considered his collusion with the enemy.
"Of course. I need to clean up your sink. And I brought along one of John MacDonald's Travis McGee mysteries, so I'll be well taken care of while you sleep. I'll text Leila and tell her I'll be in charge of getting your supper tonight and doing your drops. Oh, and before you settle in, you'd better change the gauze. They must feel pretty damp at this point."
He supplied her with the necessary fresh dressing and insisted she complete the chore in the pure darkness of her bathroom.
"You'd make a terrific nanny," she muttered. "Such a stickler."
"I'll keep that in mind if I ever decide to give up my day job. At least now I can truthfully attest to having had at least one naughty little brat in my charge."
The glare she aimed in his direction was obscured by the patches, but it made her feel better, anyway.
With the half-dried, tear-stiffened pads exchanged and her face bathed in cool water, she was, indeed, feeling a little better when she emerged and headed back for her nap place.
"Here, I heated some water and I've got a little chamomile tea in this mug. It will help you relax. Just sip it slowly. It's very warm."
"I hate tea."
"You'll adjust. Drink."
"Where'd you get it? I don't keep tea of any kind."
"I was a Boy Scout." He grunted with amusement when she tilted her head at him. "Always prepared. That's me. Now settle down. I'll be right here as soon as I finish up in the kitchen."
Andee snatched her pillow and collapsed in the couch corner, fully prepared to sulk. Her palm stung dreadfully, her head still throbbed, and her bottom ached. She wanted to throw the warm mug he was pressing into her hands back at him, but she had learned one hard lesson about temper tantrums already and was not quite prepared for another. So, instead, she took the tea and sipped at it tentatively.
"Good girl. Now drink it all and then let it work. You'll wake up feeling much better, I promise."
She sniffed and buried her nose in the mug again while he moved off toward the kitchen. She could hear him there; hear the tinkle of broken glass collected and stored in a container that rattled like a paper bag, the spray of water, the swish of a broom, and the low, tuneful hum of some melody she couldn't quite put a name to. Warmth moved through her body and she wanted to drift on it, but she wasn't about to let go. It would look way too much like cooperation.
"I'm going to take your garbage out, along with the broken glass. Point me in the direction of the bin," he said from the area near her front door.
"Go around the corner of the building. You'll see it at the end of the pavement. It's too big and blue to miss," she said wearily, fighting to stay alert as she finished the last sip of tea.
By the time he returned, her head was nodding drowsily and the mug was upright in her lap only because it had sunk into the bunchy pillow she cradled there. He smiled down at her, retrieved the piece of crockery, and lifted her legs enough to shift her around and settle her on her side before snugging a light throw over her relaxing body. Andee made one soft little sound of contentment and pulled the pillow in tight to her chest as she gave herself over to rest.
An hour later, Nick shut off his Kindle, having seen MacDonald's hero through another recovery adventure, and considered whether it was time to wake Andee and get on with their work.
Leila had been properly concerned when he used Andee's phone to alert her to the accident and the resulting change in plans for her friend's care, but he had thought he also detected a certain relief that her services would not be required for the evening. He could not blame her. Being on call for nursing duty and assorted tasks to help Andee get through each day could become tiresome after a while. He only hoped her job would be completely unnecessary after another week. If not, he couldn't imagine how Andee would get by until she gained the skills necessary to cope on her own. He refused to consider what role he might be able or willing to play in that adjustment. One thing at a time, he reminded himself, watching her sleep so peacefully. After all, she was a client. Just a client.
With that reminder ringing in his head, he took the opportunity to glance through her list of incoming calls and clear his number from her phone once more. No sense in letting a nosy friend of Andee's find his contact information there. He had never liked the idea that a record of his personal communication could be so readily available.
Standing and stretching, he glanced around the room and spied her purse where he had tossed it on a small table as they came through the door from the hospital. Best to stick it back under the futon, he thought, so she could find it when she needed it.
As he thrust it beneath the edge of the furniture, the bag brushed against another object stored there and spun it out into his line of vision. There was something familiar about the book that the purse had dislodged from its hiding place. Glancing at Andee and reassuring himself she still slept peacefully, Nick knelt and reached for the reading material she apparently kept stashed in a place where she could reach it easily but it would be out of sight of visitors.
It was a dog-eared paperback copy of one of Tracy Topping's spanking novels. Curious, he knelt a little lower and peered beneath the futon, reaching for three other slim volumes that proved to be by the same author, with whom he was familiar.
The books, he was aware from their condition and because he knew the market, were several years old. Flipping one open, he spied the name of a local used bookstore stamped on the cover page, explaining how Andee had obtained a book that had gone out of print while she was a teenager.
He pushed the volumes back in place quietly and returned to the only chair in the room, set at right angles to the place where his fascinating little client slept on. From the furniture's cozy depths, he considered the implications of his discovery.
He was not altogether surprised, he realized. Skilled at picking up signals from women who lived with burdens he was adept at lifting, as well as itches he was willing to scratch, he had pegged Andee as one in need of discipline. She was stumbling and uncertain in her search to find it, however. He had, in fact, believed her to be unaware of precisely what she was looking for. In light of her carefully stashed reading material, that assumption might need to be revisited, he thought as he watched her sleep. Still, he was
fairly sure his was the only hand that had made meaningful contact with her backside. The questions appeared to be, then, was she ready to move on, and was he the one to take her on the journey?
While he was still considering, she stirred and then stretched a little.
"Mr. Benjamin?" she whispered, pushing herself up on one arm and turning her head slowly in search of some sound or smell that would give her a clue as to his presence.
"I'm here, Andee. Get yourself together now and let's get started," he said pleasantly.
"My hand hurts," she said.
"Yes, I imagine it does. Probably will for a couple of days, but at least you didn't have stitches."
"No, just that horrible shot you made them give me."
"That's enough about that little episode, I think. You know very well I had nothing to do with the decision. It was medically necessary, and you were very naughty to fight it." He watched her carefully and saw her swallow at the word describing her behavior. "Up, now. We don't have any more time to waste."
She eased to her feet and followed the sound of his footsteps into the kitchen, taking her usual seat.
"I got in touch with Leila and told her she had the night off," he said. "It's a little after four now. We'll work until six or so, and then I'll get us some supper. We should be able to finish up by nine, if you work hard."
"You are such a slave driver."
"And you are such a whiner. Now that we've settled our roles in life, let's talk about Hamlet."
"But I'm hungry."
"Good. Have an apple. I'll even spread it with peanut butter for you. Trust me, you'll love it," he said when she grimaced and recoiled as he pushed the piece he had hastily prepared into her hand.
"I have bread and jelly. That's what you do with peanut butter."
"Apple is what you do if you want to eat healthy. And next time, buy a brand with less sugar in it."
Before she could protest, he began reading, but he noticed from the corner of his eye that she went from tentatively licking to eagerly consuming the apple and its swirl of Jiffy. He could do a lot with her, he thought, given time. Then he stumbled over a simple four-letter word at the very idea.
Reading Her Heart Page 9
