Her Mr. Right?

by Karen Rose Smith

  After changing into workout clothes in the garage, she tied her running shoes and tried not to think. More importantly she tried not to feel. She knew there were tears on her cheeks and hoped the wind would dry them.

  Wheeling her bike out of the side door, she bumped it over the grass until she had it on the gravel alley. Then she hopped on and took off as if she were in the most important race of her life. She didn’t even think about where she was headed. She just rode, down neighborhood treelined streets, pedaling hard up the hills, letting the wind and speed take her as far as it would. She barely noticed when she veered off the side streets onto the secondary road.

  When she came to an intersection, she turned right, aware cars were passing her and that her bike lane was very narrow. But the cars zooming by didn’t distract her because she was so intent on not feeling, not thinking, not caring. Through all the “nots,” however, she couldn’t blank out the image of Neil’s face. She couldn’t forget how the gold flecks in his eyes were more prominent after he kissed her or how his hair dipped over his brow when they tussled in bed. Most of all, she couldn’t eliminate from the tapes playing in her head the sound of his gentle voice saying, I don’t believe you’re guilty. He’d been sure of her honesty. Yet he still wanted to use her? And if he’d use her in this…

  Had she ever really been his lover? Or had she been just a plaything? Tim hadn’t cared enough about family. She’d thought Neil was different. He’d interacted with her dad and her nephew so well. Had that all been an act, too?

  “What is real?” she shouted to the trees and the sky and anyone who cared to hear.

  As she looked up to heaven, praying for an answer, she missed seeing the pothole until it was right in front of her. Maybe on a normal day, she could have navigated it. But today—

  She hit the edge of the pothole, skidded on the loose chunks of asphalt, banged into the weather-worn crater and tumbled onto the lower shoulder of the road, hitting her head hard on the edge of the concrete.

  Chapter Eleven

  Isobel regained consciousness in the ambulance and panicked when she saw the IV, felt the oxygen at her nose, and realized she couldn’t move. Her neck was held into place by a brace and she was lying on a body board.

  Paramedic Mike O’Rourke, Simone’s fiancé, patted her arm. “It’s okay, Isobel. We’re going to take care of you. We have you strapped down pretty tight just to make sure nothing moves until we can get some tests at the hospital.”

  Her face felt raw and burned like crazy. Her head hurt, too. A lot. And her ankle ached more than she wanted to think about. “I…I hit a pothole, didn’t I?”

  “That’s what a witness at the scene said. He pulled over and called 911 on his cell phone.” Mike pumped up the blood-pressure cuff on her arm. “What were you trying to do? Win the Tour de France?”

  The memory of her disastrous meeting with Neil came rushing back. Tears swam in her eyes.

  “Hey now,” Mike said as he grabbed a tissue and dabbed at a tear on her cheek. “I told you, you’re going to be fine.”

  The other attendant adjusted the IV line. “ETA two minutes.”

  Isobel had to admit she didn’t like being on the receiving end of care at Walnut River General. She had no control and she hated that.

  A few minutes later, Simone was by her side when the gurney was wheeled into the emergency room. She looked worried. “What did you do?”

  “I rode my bike too fast,” Isobel said, trying to joke.

  “Do you want me to call your family?”

  “Can you call Debbie? But tell her not to call Dad until I have whatever tests the doc is planning. I don’t want Dad to worry. I don’t even have my insurance card. It’s in my purse in the garage. Debbie might have to tell him what happened if she picks that up.”

  “All right, Isobel,” Simone soothed, looking worried.

  “Stop trying to plan everything. Let’s just get you taken care of.”

  Mike wheeled her gurney into an E.R. cubicle and there the examination and questions began.

  Three hours later, Isobel felt as if she’d been poked and prodded and examined and tested to the limit. Her father, Debbie and Chad stood around the gurney in the emergency-room cubicle looking at her with concern and worry. “I’m fine,” she told them again. “I just have to wait for the doctor’s final orders, then I can go home.”

  “You have a concussion,” Chad reminded her.

  “Only a slight one.”

  “Thank goodness you were wearing your helmet,” her father mumbled, “or you could have cracked your skull wide open. I don’t know how you’re going to climb the stairs with that ankle all wrapped up like that.”

  “That’s why it’s wrapped, Dad, so I can put some weight on it.”

  Debbie muttered, “You should have let me call Neil.”

  “No!” Isobel said with a firmness that told her sister not to bring it up again.

  Chad turned away from the bed, stepped toward the door to look out into the hall and check his watch. Isobel knew he was probably concerned about his brother and sister. A neighbor had come over to stay with them.

  To her relief, the doctor hurried into the small room, studying her chart. He was tall and thin, probably in his late forties. Dr. Ruskin was fairly new on the staff, so Isobel hadn’t had many dealings with him. But she knew Simone liked him.

  “You’re going to hurt tomorrow,” he said, shaking his head. “Put ice on your ankle as needed for the next twenty-four hours. After that, warm baths will help. I have a prescription here for anti-inflammatory medication. I’d rather you not take anything for pain for twenty-four hours. You’ve had a concussion and I don’t want medication masking that. You’ll need someone with you for the next day or so. Through the night, I want someone to awaken you every three to four hours to make sure you’re alert, conscious and have all your faculties.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Isobel wanted to know. “I just have a headache.”

  “It’s necessary, Miss Suarez, and I can’t let you go until I know someone’s going to do that for you.”

  “I’ll stay with her tonight and check on her every few hours,” a deep male voice said from the doorway.

  To Isobel’s surprise and dismay, Neil stood there in jeans and a black T-shirt. His hair was wet as if he’d just taken a shower.

  “What are you doing here?” Isobel asked with as much heat as she could muster. He was the last person she wanted to see. She didn’t know when she’d felt quite this bad and she was sure she looked worse than she felt. She had scrapes on her cheek and probably a bruise was beginning to show. The doctor had put a dressing on it and she was supposed to change it in the morning. Her hair still had gravel in it from her brush with the side of the road and the scrapes down one arm had also been bandaged. Her ankle, which had twisted on the pedal when she’d fallen, was throbbing almost as much as her head. On top of all of that, she was wearing a very flimsy hospital gown that had seen way too many washings.

  Isobel turned accusing eyes on Debbie.

  “Don’t look at me,” her sister said, holding up her hands in surrender.

  “I called him,” Chad admitted, stepping up to the side of the bed. “I thought he’d want to know.”

  She could have groaned. She hadn’t told anyone what had happened between her and Neil. She’d just insisted that she didn’t want Debbie or her dad to call him. But Chad, who thought he knew best—

  Neil came over to stand beside Chad and clapped the boy on the shoulder. “He was right to call me, Isobel. Your dad can’t drive and you know he has trouble with the stairs. He also needs his sleep. I can run up and down and stay awake all night. I’ll only stay as long as necessary, tonight and tomorrow, then you can kick me out.”

  Both her father and Debbie were looking from Neil to her and back again as if trying to figure out what was going on. She couldn’t explain it now. She wasn’t about to explain it now. Maybe not ever. Just why Neil was doing this, she
didn’t know.

  But then he murmured in a low voice near her ear, “I feel responsible for what’s happened. And you know your dad’s not up to par yet. You don’t need to burden him with your care right now.”

  “What happened is my own fault,” she whispered back. “I ran into a pothole.”

  “Right. Would you have done that if you weren’t so upset?”

  Taking a glance over Neil’s shoulder, she saw her sister and dad were trying to overhear. All of a sudden she felt such fatigue she couldn’t fight them all anymore.

  “All right,” she said loud enough for the doctor to hear.

  Neil straightened. “Is there anything else I should know before I take her home?”

  “The nurse will give you a list of instructions when she brings the wheelchair.”

  “Wheelchair?” Isobel and Neil exclaimed at the same time.

  The doctor gave Isobel a sly smile. “You work here, Miss Suarez. You know it’s standard procedure, even for you.”

  Debbie slipped over to Isobel’s side. “I brought you a clean pair of sweats. I’ll help you get dressed.”

  “We’ll be in the waiting room,” Neil said as he and her dad stepped into the hall.

  Though the doctor followed them out, Chad lingered behind. “Did you and Neil have a fight or something?”

  “Or something,” Isobel mumbled. Then seeing Chad’s glum expression, Isobel gave him a small smile. “It’s okay. I know you did what you thought was best. Dad won’t worry about me so much if Neil’s there.”

  She could handle this, she told herself. She could. She’d just pretend Neil was a stranger checking on her now and then. In many respects, he was.

  “Maybe you and Neil can work out whatever’s wrong while he’s there,” Chad suggested.

  Chad was too young to realize what a rare commodity trust was. She felt so betrayed by Neil she could never trust him again—not trust him to put her first, not trust him to feel what she did for him, not trust him to stay rather than go. She and Neil wouldn’t be working on any differences. Not tonight.

  Not ever.

  Awkward didn’t begin to cover the way Isobel felt as Neil hovered over her after her dad opened the door.

  Taking Isobel’s elbow, he helped her up the step into the house. Although his touch wasn’t meant to be personal, even almost clinical, it was personal. She could remember every way and every time he’d touched her.

  “They should have given you a cane,” he remarked gruffly.

  As she hobbled to the foot of the stairs, just wanting to make it to her own room and shut the door, she said over her shoulder, “I’m fine. Really.”

  Her father announced loudly, “I’m going to watch the History Channel for a while. If you need me, you holler.”

  She turned toward her dad, trying to ignore Neil’s tall presence beside her. “Thanks for coming to the hospital.”

  “You know I’d do anything for you, Iz,” her father returned.

  Her eyes misted over and she grabbed onto the banister to lever herself up to the first step.

  “If you think I’m going to stand here and watch you try to hobble up each one of those stairs, you’re mistaken.”

  The next thing she knew, Neil had swept her into his arms and was carrying her up the staircase. She was too surprised to protest. Even if she had protested, by the look on Neil’s face, she knew it wouldn’t have done any good.

  At the top of the stairs he asked curtly, “Which way?”

  She pointed toward the door to her room.

  Carrying her inside, he gently set her down on the bed. Only the glow of the hall lamp shone into the room and she couldn’t see his expression. Before he slipped his arms away from her, she thought she felt him hesitate. But then he was standing beside the bed, turning on the lamp, looking down at her as if he were mad at the world.

  “This wasn’t your fault, Neil, and I’m not your responsibility. So why don’t you just go back to the Inn?”

  “Your dad’s worried sick about you. He’d be climbing up and down these stairs, not getting any sleep, checking on you every hour. Is that what you want?”

  “Of course that’s not what I want!”

  “Then stop fighting me. At least on this. You didn’t have any supper tonight. What can I get you?”

  “I really just want to wash up and go to bed.”

  “You need to take your anti-inflammatory pill first and it has to be taken with food. So what’s it going to be?”

  If she weren’t hurting so much, if she weren’t so exhausted, she might laugh. Somebody taking care of her was indeed a novelty. She was the caretaker and she didn’t like this reversed role.

  Surrendering, she suggested, “A piece of toast and a glass of apple juice.”

  “Coming right up.” Soberly he left her room.

  As soon as Neil closed the door behind him, Isobel moved. When she did, her head pounded, but she ignored it. After she grabbed her nightgown and robe from her closet, she hurried out into the hall to the bathroom. She did as best as she could in the amount of time she had, washing away any remaining grime with her washcloth, using her honeysuckle soap to do it. A few minutes later, she was crossing the hall to her room again, holding on to the door frame for support when Neil came up behind her.

  “Are you feeling light-headed?”

  He carried her toast on a dish with a vial of pills, the juice in his other hand.

  “A little. I have an awful headache. I’ll be fine once I can close my eyes and turn out the lights.”

  Once she’d settled in bed again without his help, this time under the sheet, he watched her eat and take her pills.

  He ran his hand gently over the gauze on the side of her face. “Does this hurt?”

  If she told him it didn’t, he’d know she was lying. “I think it’s going to look worse than it feels,” she joked. Then she added, “I hope I have some gauze patches in the linen closet. I need to change this in the morning.”

  “I’ll check before I go downstairs. I’m only going down to keep your dad company for a few minutes, though. I’ll be sleeping in the spare bedroom. I’ll set my alarm and check on you every few hours. If you need anything—anything, Isobel—you call me. In fact, do you have your cell phone?”

  “It’s in my purse.” She pointed to the other side of the bed.

  Neil didn’t ask her permission but rather went around the bed, fished in her hobo bag, and found it. Opening it, he said,

  “I’m going to put my cell number on your speed dial. I’m sure I’ll hear you if you call me, but if I don’t, use this.” Coming around the bed again, he set it on the edge of her nightstand.

  He was looking at her as if he wanted…wanted to…kiss her? No, couldn’t be, and she certainly didn’t want to kiss him. So she concentrated on the pounding in her head, the soreness on her cheek, the thump of her ankle.

  Pulling the sheet up to her chin, she said, “Good night, Neil.”

  She didn’t thank him because she couldn’t. She didn’t want him here. Just looking at him made her hurt even more. Her heart felt as if it had a hole in it and that was worse than any bicycle fall, any concussion, any physical injury.

  As if he understood that, he nodded. “I’ll check on you in a little while.”

  When Neil left the room, she let the dressing on her cheek catch her tears. Then she turned onto the side of her face that didn’t hurt, eager to escape her life for sleep.

  Neil lay on the spare-room bed in John Suarez’s house, staring at the ceiling. There was an almost-full moon tonight and the shadows played around the room. He concentrated on their lines and edges, trying to stop his mind from clicking through recriminations that were too many to count.

  Isobel’s accident was his fault. Everything about this messed-up situation was his fault. The best thing he could do for Isobel was stay away from her. She’d never forgive him for putting rules and regulations before her. For the first time in his life, he was questioning t
he way he lived it.

  The alarm on his watch beeped. Immediately he swung his legs over the side of the bed, willed his thoughts and reactions into neutral and headed for Isobel’s room. There he stood at her bed, watching her sleep in the moonlight. She was curled up on her side, facing away from him, her hand tucked under her uninjured cheek. As John had said repeatedly, thank goodness she’d been wearing a helmet.

  Isobel’s curly hair was a mussed tangle. It lay on her pillow and he longed to stroke his fingers through it, catch them in the curls and feel their silkiness once more. She’d only used the sheet to cover herself. He could see the outline of her beautiful body underneath it and his gut tightened. How could he even be thinking—

  As if she sensed him watching her, she uncurled her legs and turned over onto her back. “Neil?” Her voice was soft and feathery, filled with drowsiness. The fact that she recognized him was a good sign.

  He hunkered down by the side of the bed. He could ask the usual questions—what’s your name, where do you live, who’s the President of the United States—but he opted for, “How do you feel?”

  “Like a truck ran over me. A very big truck.”

  “Do you know where you are?”

  “In my old room in my dad’s house.”

  He hated to bring it up, but a reality check was a reality check. “Do you know what happened to you?”

  She hesitated a moment, gazing straight into his eyes. He could almost hear her thinking, Neil Kane happened to me. However, she answered, “I was riding my bike on the highway and hit a pothole in the bike lane.”

  She’d given him details so he’d know she remembered all of it. She was alert, even while sleepy, and he was relieved.

  “Are you dizzy?”

  She shook her head and winced. “No, but I feel a whole lot better if I don’t move my head. Was Dad all right when he went to bed?”

  Even in her condition, hurting all over, she worried about the people she cared about. He was no longer in that circle. And the idea that he wasn’t gave him a feeling of loss he’d never experienced before. “I reassured him that you just need a few days and you’ll be feeling a lot better.”