by Judi Lind
“I’ll go for the towels,” Elisa said, quickly saving the situation. “How many do you need?”
“Three or four. And take her with you before she faints.”
“No!” Heather suddenly broke out of her stupor. “No, I want to stay here. At least until we know if Brian’s going to be all right.”
Ah, Brian McPherson, Heather and Elisa’s next-door neighbor. No wonder he looked so familiar.
Nodding slightly, he placed his free hand on Heather’s shoulder. It was surprising to him that she should be this upset over a neighbor. In fact, as self-centered as she appeared, he couldn’t believe she had this much compassion for anyone other than herself. Still, crisis situations often brought out the best in people, and he was pleased to find that he’d been at least partially wrong about her.
Although his thoughts were still locked on the need to stitch up McPherson, he forced himself to speak slowly and gently. “Mr. McPherson’s wound looks much worse than it is, Heather. He’s going to be fine. Why don’t you go with Elisa to fetch those towels, so we can get him patched up?”
“You promise he’ll be okay?” Her normally grating, attention-grabbing voice was muted and tremulous.
“I promise,” he intoned solemnly.
Though still hesitant, she nevertheless allowed Elisa to wrap an arm around her shoulder and lead her from the room.
While waiting for the water to boil so that he could properly cleanse the wound, Storm extracted a minute fragment of glass that was lightly embedded an inch away from the deep cut. “Nasty cut, Brian, but fortunately not serious. I’ll have to probe the wound for more glass fragments before I sew you up.”
“Thought I’d got most of them.”
Storm held up the tiny sliver. “Might be more. So how did you manage to cut yourself so deeply?”
Brian cleared his throat. “I, uh, broke a window. Say, Doc, could I have a glass of water?”
“Sure.” Storm prowled through the cupboards for a glass and found a gallon jug of purified water in the fridge. He handed the glass to McPherson, who clutched it with both hands, as if too weak to hold it securely.
Elisa dashed back into the kitchen, panting heavily, her arms burdened with a stack of clean white towels. Storm hooked his foot around a chair leg. “Thanks. Here, sit down. I don’t want you to faint from exertion.”
Her lips tightened, but she took the seat. “I hardly think going up and down a single flight of stairs would compare with dancing the lead in a full-scale performance of Giselle.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so. But then, you didn’t dance the lead a few weeks after surgery, did you? And you damn sure didn’t dance on that barely healed ankle.”
“How did you know—”
“Give me a little credit, huh?” He gave her right foot a sharp glance as he went to the stove and poured some of the steaming water into a stainless-steel bowl. “A thirdgrader could see that ankle was recently operated on.”
Elisa opened her mouth to retort, but apparently decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
After adding enough of the distilled water from the refrigerator to lower the hot water to a comfortable temperature, Storm came back to the table. He dipped the corner of a clean towel into the water and started wiping the dried blood from McPherson’s arm.
Betty rushed in with a couple of blankets. With Elisa’s help, they swaddled Brian in a blanket cocoon, while Storm finished cleaning his arm.
“Do you need me anymore, Dr. Delaney?” Betty asked timidly. “I’d like to go see about that other girl. She doesn’t look very well.”
“That would be great, Betty. I appreciate all your help.”
She giggled like a schoolgirl at the small compliment, then tittered again and fled the room, freeing Storm to return his attention to his patient. “Feeling any better, Brian?”
“A little. Is this gonna hurt?”
Storm smiled. Adults were consistently more skittish than kids about medical procedures. “Ever had stitches before?”
Brian shook his head. “Not that I can recall. Am I gonna have to be awake?”
Storm’s smile widened to a grin. He cocked his head and winked at Elisa, who was struggling to contain a laugh. “Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing. And if you don’t want to look, why don’t you turn around and talk to Elisa?”
McPherson was having none of that. “So what kind of needle do you use? Like a sewing needle?”
“Sort of. Maybe I’d better explain the procedure. While my instruments are sterilizing in that boiling water, I’m going to give you an anesthetic. An injection of lidocaine.”
“In my cut?” Brian sat bolt upright.
“No, but close to it. Hasn’t your dentist ever given you a shot of novocaine?”
“Yeah, but that hurts like hell,” Brian grumbled.
No wonder he’d chosen psychiatry, Storm thought. Drawing on his scant training in bedside manners, he patiently explained the full procedure of swabbing the injured area with Betadine and applying a topical anesthetic before administering the injection. After Storm’s reassurance that he wouldn’t feel anything except a slight needle prick, McPherson finally relaxed enough to let him continue.
Crossing to the stove, Storm dumped the instruments he would be using into the boiling water, just as the swinging door opened wide and Miriam bustled into the room carrying a flat tray of neatly rolled strips if cloth.
“Sorry I took so long. I couldn’t find our first aid kit with all the sterile bandages—that danged Hank probably took it out on the fishing boat. Anyhow, I had a brand-new sheet still wrapped in plastic, so I cut that into strips for you, Storm. Hope that’s okay.”
While he would have preferred to use sterile gauze, he’d have to make do with the sheeting. “That’s fine, Miriam, why don’t you set it on the table?”
She carried it over and smiled at McPherson. “We’ll have you patched up in a flash. Storm, do you need me to help?”
He glanced at Elisa, who didn’t appear the slightest bit squeamish as she continued to dab blood off McPherson’s arm. “I think we can manage without you.”
“Oh, good. The wind is picking up again, so I want to catch the weather update. Hank’s in the basement trying to nail some plywood over one of the windows he must have missed. Then he has to clean up the broken glass that flew all over the floor.”
“I’ll give him a hand when I finish up here,” Storm said as he plucked a glass shard from the wound with a pair of tweezers.
Miriam waved aside his offer. “Shouldn’t take him much longer. Mark Bowman and that lawyer fella are helping. I’ll let you all know as soon as I get the hurricane update,” she said, turning to include Elisa and Brian McPherson.
“Thanks, Miriam.” Storm looked up and smiled, as he and Elisa responded in unison. Like a pair of bookends, he thought, then tempered the romantic idea. Yeah, like a pair of broken bookends.
As the heavy door whooshed closed behind her, he retrieved his instruments from the boiling water and laid them out on a soft, clean towel. While he waited for them to cool enough to handle, he listened to Elisa chatting animatedly with McPherson in an obvious attempt to distract him.
“How did this happen?” she asked, unwittingly repeating Storm’s earlier query.
“Glass,” he muttered.
“Oh, goodness, did you wreck your truck on the way over here?”
He shot her a scornful glance. “No, I didn’t wreck my truck. I cut my damn arm on a window at my cabin, and when it wouldn’t stop bleeding, I remembered your pal was a doctor and drove over here to have him fix it.”
He clamped his lips shut and stared at the wall behind the stove, giving rapt attention to the clock, which was shaped like a black cat and waved its plastic tail in time with the second hand.
Storm paused in his stitching to scan McPherson’s face. Why was he so short with Elisa? Yesterday, he’d given the appearance of being a hale and hearty good-neighbor type.
Yesterday, i
n fact, McPherson had seemed so macho he was almost unbearable. The way he’d slammed his hamsize fists on his hips and declared his scorn for the oncoming tempest. Today, even though he was dressed in black from head to toe, like an oversize cat burglar, Brian’s mood was darker than his clothing.
Giving him the benefit of the doubt, Storm decided the man was just embarrassed because he’d whined so much. And in front of the women, no less.
He snipped the last thread and applied a gel antiseptic. “That must have been some ride. It’s a wonder you could hold on to the wheel with only one good arm.”
McPherson straightened in his chair, his chest slightly puffed. “I spent some time driving on the stock-car circuit. Guess I’m as good a driver as any.”
“Still, the roads must be a mess. They were half-filled with debris when I went to secure my place last evening.”
“Like I said, Doc, I’m a good driver.”
Storm said nothing as he secured the last bandage. Something about McPherson’s story didn’t ring true. He couldn’t put his finger on it at the moment, but he knew it would come later.
Chapter Six
“Think that lady would mind if I used her washroom before I head back home?” Brian McPherson picked up a black windbreaker that had fallen unnoticed to the floor.
Storm broke off the end of the needle and tossed the used syringe into the trash. Going to the stove, he plunged his hands into the remaining bit of sterilized water before he responded. “I don’t imagine she would. But I can’t believe you intend to try and cross this island again. Especially in your condition.”
“Hey, Doc, you telling me you botched the surgery? I’d hate to have to sue you for bad needlework.” For the first time, a hint of Brian’s jocular personality emerged in his wide grin. Although, to Elisa’s eyes, the gesture seemed forced.
Storm wiped his hands on a dishtowel and crossed the large kitchen, coming to a halt in front of McPherson. “A reasonable man would stay right here. You run into trouble out there, you could break open your stitches and reinjure yourself. Next time, you might not be so lucky.”
McPherson gingerly slipped on the windbreaker. “I’m always lucky.” He pointed to his injured arm. “You being stuck on this island when I needed some patching up is proof enough. And I thank you. Truly appreciate it, Doc. But I’m going to be fine—you said so.” With the tip of an imaginary hat, he left the kitchen, treading as silently on the linoleum as a sassy, overfed house cat.
When she and Storm were once more alone, he raised a thoughtful eyebrow. “Interesting man. Known him long?”
She tossed her head. “Just since we arrived. Heather’s known him a lot longer. They became friends the first time she vacationed here.”
“What’s he do for a living?”
Elisa shrugged. “I think he’s retired. He might have been an accountant. Heather says he’s sharp with money.”
Storm cocked his head. “Odd sort, isn’t he? I mean, I’ve been on the island for two years and I’ve never run across him. That’s strange, in a small community like this. He must live like a hermit.”
“A lot of people hide out, Doc, you ought to know that,” she murmured thoughtfully.
Ignoring her barb, he asked, “Do you like him?”
Elisa shrugged. “Heather really does. Like I said, she’s known him for quite a while.”
“Did she also know Carey Howard from before?”
Knowing that he was referring to Heather’s obvious flirtation the night before, she bristled to her friend’s defense. “Men like Heather—they always have. It’s not her fault they’re always coming on to her.”
Storm’s quick laugh was devoid of humor. “Looks to me like Heather likes men just as well.”
“Is that a problem for you?”
He ran his fingers through his always ruffled hair and shrugged. “Might be a problem for you.”
Stunned breathless by the implication of his words, she blurted, “No problem for me. None at all. But if you want to try your luck with Heather, you’ll just have to take a number and wait in line.”
Her response was more biting than she’d intended, but his remark couldn’t be misconstrued. The only way Heather’s seductive way with men would be a problem for Elisa was if Storm was the seducee. After last night, he had to know that.
Elisa’s felt her face flame with humiliation and pure, unadulterated rage. Last night he’d started to kiss her, but this morning he’d lost no time pointing out that his real attraction was to Heather.
She forced herself to gaze directly into Storm’s duplicitous green eyes, while her ferocious scowl flashed an unspoken warning. She’d almost made a fool of herself last night. It wouldn’t happen again.
Turning on her heels, she started to stalk away, but he grabbed her arm and spun her back around. “You think I want Heather? Is that what you think?”
“That’s what you implied.”
“No. That’s what you assumed. And you know what they say about people who make assumptions, don’t you, Princess?”
Elisa couldn’t help but recall the little ditty she’d learned in seventh-grade English: To assume is to make an ass out of u and me. Filled with embarrassed fury at how easily he’d beguiled her, then toyed with her until he was tired of the game, she lifted her chin defiantly. “I hardly think I’m the one making an ass out of herself, Dr. Delaney. A more appropriate maxim might be ’Physician, heal thyself.’“
She jerked her arm away just as Miriam pushed open the door.
Seemingly oblivious to the dense, thunderous atmosphere of the room, she calmly started pulling sandwich fixings out of the refrigerator. “May as well eat everything before it spoils.”
His voice still tight and raspy, Storm asked, “Did you hear the update yet?”
Miriam swung around. “Oh, kids, I’m sorry! I forgot to tell you two. Jake’s still hovering out in the Bermuda Triangle. Maybe whatever’s out there will pick him up and toss him into outer space.”
Not wanting to face Storm again—ever—Elisa marched over to Miriam. “What can I do to help?”
“Not a thing, sweetie. But listen…”
“Hmm?”
“When you folks came in yesterday, you were all drenched from the storm. And you were carrying some pink thing. It was all soggy.”
“My robe! I forgot all about it.”
“Well, I went to hang it up in the laundry room, so’s it could dry faster, and when I shook it out, an envelope fell on the floor. Did you lose something?”
Elisa’s hands flew to her face. She’d forgotten Jay’s letter. That must be why David Welton had come down from New York! Something to do with that letter.
Despite the painful memories Jay’s final words were sure to evoke, she made a mental vow to read it as soon as she reached the privacy of her room. Forcing a smile, she reached for the envelope. “Yes, I did have a letter wrapped up in my bathrobe. I must be losing my mind.”
Storm muttered from behind her, “I think you already have.”
She whirled around and pointed a finger at him. “And I thought we had finished our conversation.”
“Sweetheart, we haven’t even started it.”
Miriam watched the exchange with wide eyes. “Hey, kids, this is no time to be at each other’s throats.” She stepped between them and looped a fleshy arm through theirs. “It’s all this waiting. Gets on everybody’s nerves. Waiting to see if you’re going to live through a hurricane is enough to drive a senior citizen to listen to rap music.”
Elisa giggled and caught the half smile on Storm’s face before she quickly averted her eyes. Miriam’s attempt at humor had worked. And she was right; Elisa’s nerves were frayed. But Storm was dead wrong if he thought she was going to make the same mistake twice.
Patting Miriam’s arm, she said, “I agree. We’ve all got to watch our tempers. So, to get a grip on mine, I think I’ll go take a quick nap before lunch.”
Miriam stopped her just as she reached the
door. “You forgot that envelope, honey. I laid it on the top of the refrigerator. Under that glass bowl.”
Elisa stood on tiptoe and stretched until her fingertips dusted the top edge of the refrigerator, but she couldn’t reach the bowl without using a chair. That should give Storm a laugh, she thought, just as he reached over her shoulder and slid the padded envelope out from under the cutglass bowl. Wordlessly, he handed it over.
“Thanks,” she muttered, feeling Miriam’s blue eyes intently watching their every move.
“No problem,” he replied tersely.
Backing away from his stifling closeness, she held Jay’s letter protectively close to her chest, a bulletproof vest against Storm’s disconcerting ability to confuse her. Taking advantage of Miriam’s presence, she turned to flee to her room. She’d almost made it to the door when his voice stopped her.
“Can we make an appointment to continue our discussion?”
Turning slowly, she drew a deep breath as the blood coursed hotly through her veins. He was right in front of her. Only inches away. Too close. Despite her hurt, Elisa knew she was still vulnerable to the compelling male pheromones that leaped like fleas from his skin to nibble on hers.
“I—I don’t want to talk anymore.”
“But I still have plenty to say,” he countered.
“I don’t want to hear it.” She listened to the words as they escaped her lips, knowing they were false. She wanted to listen to his every word. Wanted him to convince her that she was wrong about his interest in Heather. But she’d been so deceived by the events of the past few weeks, even deceived by her own traitorous memory, that she couldn’t stand another betrayal. She simply couldn’t take any more chances.
EN ROUTE TO HER ROOM, Elisa stopped outside the arched opening to the hotel sitting room. David Welton was alone there, standing pensively by the bookcase, scanning the diverse titles. He was wearing white jeans, and a thin white sweater with navy blue stripes above the cuffs, and he was resplendent in the expensive resort wear. But like the male models of designer clothing in upscale magazines, David struck her as one-dimensional. Oh, he presented a dashing facade, but his charm was only skin-deep, never revealing a glimpse of the personality beneath the showy exterior.
