by Irene Hannon
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
She shook her head, playing with her keys instead of looking at Christopher. “That’s not necessary.”
“Always let a gentleman be a gentleman, Marci.” This from Henry, who seemed to be enjoying the little drama playing out at his bedside.
“I’m used to taking care of myself.”
“Good manners trump independence,” Christopher chimed in.
She turned to him. “Who says?”
He stuck one hand in the pocket of his slacks and gave her a half smile. “Letitia Baldridge.”
Marci narrowed her eyes. Who was Letitia Baldridge? Some etiquette guru, maybe?
“He’s right, Marci,” Henry chimed in.
She was outvoted, and she knew it. Making an issue of it would only raise suspicions.
“Okay. Fine.” Settling the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder, she edged past him toward the door. “’Bye, Henry.”
“See you later, Marci.”
She waited in the hall as the two men had a brief exchange in voices too low to decipher. When Christopher joined her he was smiling.
“He’s in good spirits tonight.” Then his smile faded. “I hope it lasts once his daughter arrives. Where are you parked?”
“Not far from the E.R. entrance.”
He fell into step beside her, and as they exited the building into the deepening twilight, she surveyed the dark clouds overhead. “Looks like we’re in for a storm.”
“Yeah. I hope I make it home before it hits.”
Her step faltered. “Did you ride your bike to work today?”
“Yes.” He gestured toward the sky. “This is one of the downsides. Weather on an island can be changeable. But it won’t be the first time I’ve battled the elements on my bike. Is that your car?” He nodded to a late-model compact in the mostly deserted lot.
“Yeah. Look, I can’t let you ride your bike all the way home in threatening weather. Besides, it’s getting dark. And you’ve had a long day.”
“You’ve had a long day, too. And ’Sconset isn’t exactly on your route home.”
“At this point, adding another twenty or thirty minutes to my day isn’t going to make a whole lot of difference.”
He flashed her a brief grin and turned his hands up in capitulation. “You don’t have to strong-arm me. I can drive in tomorrow and pick up my bike before I go to the office. Give me a minute to stow it inside.”
As she watched him stride toward the back of the building, Marci leaned against the car and scanned the sky once more. Had it remained clear, she would have let Christopher bike home.
But she didn’t mind the extra trip to ’Sconset.
Or the extra time with Christopher.
Even if that was a very dangerous sign.
“We may beat the storm after all.” Christopher turned to study Marci as she focused on the road ahead in the dwindling light. She’d said little for the past two miles, and his attempts to draw her out had produced brief replies. He was picking up some tension that he sensed was unrelated to her stressful day.
“Maybe.”
“Are you tired?”
She shot him a quick glance. “Why?”
“You’re not very talkative.”
Twin furrows appeared on her brow. “Sorry. I’ve been thinking about Henry. He’s lucky to have someone like you who cares so much about him.”
“He’s a great guy. I liked him the minute we met. You must feel the same way, or you wouldn’t be hanging around his place every day.”
“I never knew my grandparents. He already sort of feels like one.”
“Did they die when you were young?”
“My mom’s father died before I was born, and her mother died when I was two. I have no memory of my father’s parents. And no good ones of my father.”
At the underlying bitterness in her final, tacked-on comment, he frowned. “Is your father still living?”
“I don’t know. He deserted our family when I was eleven.”
He took a deep breath and gentled his voice. “I’m sorry, Marci.”
She gave a stiff shrug. “Don’t be. He drank too much and had a mean streak a mile wide. No one missed him. It was hard on my mom financially, though. She got a second job to make ends meet—until she was killed two years later in a hit-and-run accident. J.C. ended up raising us while he was practically a kid himself. He did his best, but we lived a bare-bones life in a rough neighborhood for a lot of years.”
Christopher stared at her profile, noting the firm set of her chin. With all those tough breaks, it was no wonder she’d developed a thick skin. “Is your background the reason you went into social work?”
“Yeah. I know what it’s like to live in that kind of environment. Trite as it may sound, I’m hoping I can make a difference in someone’s life.”
“You mentioned us earlier. Do you have other siblings besides J.C.?”
“A brother. Two years older than me.” She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel. “So, tell me about you, Christopher. Are your parents living? And any siblings besides the brother you mentioned?”
The subject of her background was closed for the night, he realized. But that was okay. He’d learned more than he’d expected.
“Yes. They live in Boston. My brother and his wife and two kids live there, too.”
“Is that where you lived before you came here?”
“Yes.”
“Henry said you’ve been on the island two years. What brought you here?”
That was not a subject he wanted to discuss tonight.
Cracking his window, he took a breath of fresh air and chose his words with care. “We always vacationed here for three weeks in the summer when I was a kid. It’s a very special place.”
“But didn’t you already have an established practice in Boston?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going back at some point?”
“I’m not sure.” Time to change the subject again. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
She gave him a bemused look. “In other words, butt out?”
He sighed. “It’s a long story, Marci. We’ve had enough drama for one day.”
To his relief, she accepted his explanation as she drove down the quiet streets of ’Sconset and turned onto the byway Henry called home. Perhaps because she, too, had secrets she didn’t want to share?
Pulling up in front of his cottage, she set the brake. “I want to run around the back and get my garden gloves before it rains. I dropped them in the midst of all the excitement.”
“I’ll go with you. If the birdbath is on the lawn, I can roll it aside. Henry won’t be happy if he finds a dead spot in his grass.”
He followed her around back, passing under the fragrant-smelling roses on the arbor. Marci picked up her gloves, then walked over to where Christopher was surveying the bowl of the birdbath.
“I can’t believe he tried to lift this himself.” Christopher shook his head. “I’ve warned him over and over not to take any chances. But he still thinks of himself as thirty.”
“That’s probably what keeps him young.”
“True. But prudence has to come into play, too.”
Dropping to a crouch, he grasped the edge of the bowl and heaved it upright. Somewhere along the way, he’d turned up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and Marci found herself admiring the way the muscles in his forearms bunched as he lifted the bowl until it was balanced on edge like a wheel. She watched as he rolled it to the open area that had once housed the gazebo. After lowering it to the ground, he returned to her side.
“You never answered my question.”
She tried to focus, but she was still thinking about those muscular arms. For someone in a mostly sedentary occupation, he was in great shape. “Which one?”
“About your plans for tomorrow.”
“Oh. Right. I’ll, uh, probably go to see Henry in the morning, then come out here and work for a while. I�
��ll stop by and visit him again on my way home.”
“What happened to your beach time?”
She wrinkled her nose. “A little bit goes a long way. I don’t think I have the constitution for sitting around doing nothing.”
“Henry told me you put yourself through school working as a waitress.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve had much down time in your life.”
It was too dim to read his expression, but she had no trouble interpreting his empathetic tone. No one except J.C. had ever cared how hard she’d worked to reach her goals.
Folding her arms across her chest, she hid her emotional reaction by turning the tables. “According to Henry, you don’t, either.”
A gust of wind whipped past, blowing her hair in her eyes, and Marci reached up to brush it aside. One of the gloves slipped from her fingers, and she bent to retrieve it.
So did Christopher.
Their hands brushed, and her gaze flew to his as a distant flash of lightning illuminated the sky. Staring into those intense blue eyes mere inches away, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
All she could do was feel.
And the power of her feelings scared her.
Never in all of her thirty-one years had she experienced an attraction like this. Not even with the man who’d broken her heart.
There was no question in her mind that Christopher felt the pull as strongly as she did. She could feel it in the sudden tension in the air. And if she had had any doubts, they vanished when he lifted a hand and gently brushed her wind-tossed hair back from her face, his fingertips leaving a trail of warmth in their wake as he leaned toward her.
Marci didn’t know what might have happened next, because all at once the heavens opened up.
As the sudden deluge jolted her to her senses, she dropped the other glove, sprang to her feet and stumbled back a few steps. “I’ll see you around.”
Then she took off at a run for her car.
Five minutes and several miles later, her pulse finally began to return to normal. But that didn’t change the facts.
Christopher had almost kissed her.
Marci wanted to believe she’d have found the strength to back away. To be smart. To set a clear limit on a relationship that had no future.
But as the rain hammered against the car, she knew that if not for the sudden shower, she might have tossed logic aside and given in to the yearning in her heart.
Though she wasn’t much of a believer, she decided to consider the shower a warning from God. A divine caution sign.
Because no matter how appealing she found Christopher Morgan, he deserved better than the likes of her.
Chapter Seven
“Well, look who’s here again! Rather see me than eat lunch, I guess.”
At Henry’s perky greeting, Christopher grinned. The older man’s color had improved since early that morning, and his eyes were brighter.
Fitting his stethoscope into his ears, he gestured toward the large bouquet of flowers on the nightstand. “Nice.”
“Marci brought them.”
Why was he not surprised? “When did she visit?”
“Came about fifteen minutes ago. She just ran out to refill my water pitcher.”
Which meant she was still here.
Not good. After that charged moment in Henry’s backyard, he’d hoped to avoid her today. And in light of her quick exit last night, he suspected the feeling was mutual. They needed to give the interest flaring to life between them a chance to dissipate before another encounter. Maybe he could escape before…
“Okay, Henry, you’re all…”
Too late.
As Marci’s unfinished sentence hung in the air, Christopher removed the stethoscope from his ears and forced himself to turn toward the door.
She was hovering on the threshold as if debating whether to bolt. Her gaze met his for a fraction of a second before it darted to Henry.
“Come on in, Marci. You can set that next to the flowers you brought.”
She shot Christopher another quick glance and edged around the far side of the bed to deposit the pitcher.
Henry looked back and forth between the two of them. “Something going on here I don’t know about?”
Christopher forced his lips into the semblance of a smile. “Of course not. Are you heading out to work on the garden today?” He strove for a casual tone as he directed the question to Marci.
“Yes. That’s my next stop. And I’m running way behind.” She picked up her purse. “I’ll come by on my way home, Henry. And you have my cell number if you want to call for any reason. I’ll keep the phone in my pocket.”
“I’ll be fine. This is a first-class operation. Thanks again for the flowers.”
Marci gave him a brief grin. “Actually, you can thank my sister-in-law. I raided her garden and—”
“I’m looking for Henry Calhoun’s room. Would someone please direct me?”
As the imperious voice echoed down the hall outside Henry’s room, the older man closed his eyes and gave a slight groan. “Let the games begin.”
Marci shot Christopher a questioning look, and he mouthed the answer.
His daughter.
She rolled her eyes.
Five seconds later, Patricia Lawrence made her entrance. She hadn’t changed much in the past year, Christopher noted, giving her a quick sweep. Same short hairstyle. Same flawless makeup. Same chic, designer clothes that couldn’t hide the extra twenty pounds on her fifty-year-old frame. She did look a bit younger than he remembered. Botox, no doubt.
Patricia’s eyes narrowed when she saw Marci, though she ignored the younger woman.
“Is he sleeping?” She scrutinized her father as she asked the question.
Henry opened his eyes. “No, Patricia, he isn’t sleeping.”
Her lips thinned. “Hello, Dad. Dr. Morgan.” She acknowledged him with a nod, then raised an eyebrow at Marci. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“This is Marci Clay,” Henry told her. “Marci, my daughter, Patricia Lawrence.”
Marci moved toward the end of the bed and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
The woman took Marci’s hand. Briefly. Said nothing. Then she turned back to him.
“I’d like to hear about his condition, Doctor.” She shot Marci a pointed look. “Is there somewhere private we could speak?”
A flush suffused Marci’s face, but before she could respond, Henry chimed in.
“You can speak right here. I have a right to hear whatever is said. And if it wasn’t for Marci, I might still be lying in the yard with that birdbath on top of me. Plus, she spent most of yesterday keeping a vigil in the E.R. She can hear anything Christopher has to say.”
Bright spots of color appeared on Patricia’s cheeks. “Fine. Doctor?”
As Christopher briefed her on her father’s condition, he kept tabs on Marci in his peripheral vision. She’d backed as close to the wall as she could get in the confined space and was fidgeting with her purse. He found himself struggling to maintain a cool, professional tone when what he really wanted to do was tell Patricia off for making Marci feel uncomfortable. And unwelcome.
“So, when will he be released?” Patricia asked as he finished.
“If he continues to do well, in four or five days.”
“How much help will he need after that?”
“Quite a bit for the first week to ten days.”
“Well, we’ll have to arrange for assisted living.” She tucked her Coach purse under her arm. “I certainly can’t stay that long. I have commitments in Boston. I’m chairing a fundraiser for the zoo a week from tomorrow, and the preceding few days will be crazy.”
“I’m not going into assisted living, Patricia.”
At Henry’s pronouncement, her lips turned down in disapproval. “Don’t be stubborn, Dad. This is the best solution.”
“For you, maybe.”
She glared
at him. “You make it sound as if I’m selfish.”
“If the shoe fits…”
“Well.” She sniffed. “That’s a fine thing to say after I came all the way down here from Boston. Do you realize I had to be at the airport at seven this morning? And I cancelled out of a dinner party tonight that’s very important to Jonathan’s career so I could be with you. Plus, I had to rearrange my entire schedule for Monday to accommodate this trip. My hairdresser was not pleased. How in the world can you call that selfish?”
Henry closed his eyes, suddenly looking weary. “I rest my case.”
“Dad, we’re not through discussing this.”
“Yes, we are. For today.” Christopher moved to the foot of the bed, took the woman’s arm in a firm grip and guided her into the hall. “Your father isn’t up to a debate. We can work out the details of his recuperation over the next few days. How long are you staying?”
“I planned to leave Monday night.”
“We’ll have things figured out by then. For now, your father needs rest. Short visits are best.”
“What about her?” The woman waved a manicured hand toward the room.
“Marci will be leaving in a moment, too.”
She adjusted her jacket and smoothed her hair. “Very well. I came straight here from the airport, and I need to freshen up, anyway. You can reach me at The Wauwinet.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, she walked briskly down the hall, her heels tapping a staccato rhythm.
“Wow.”
At the soft comment behind him, Christopher turned.
“You weren’t kidding about her, were you?” Marci fingered the strap of her shoulder purse, faint furrows creasing her brow.
“At the risk of sounding unchristian, she’s a piece of work.”
“How in the world did Henry end up a with a daughter like her?”
“To hear Henry tell it, Patricia was always a social climber. He thinks it was because she saw a lot of wealth in ’Sconset among the summer people, and it made her dissatisfied with their simple lifestyle.” He propped his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “According to him, she set her sights on marrying into money. And she succeeded. She landed some rich guy who vacationed in ’Sconset every year with his family when he was growing up. I think she’s been a great disappointment to Henry.”
