His hands flexed on her shoulders, learning the shape of the fine bones beneath her shirt, beneath her skin. Strength and fragility; the contrast aroused him. He cupped her face, tilted her mouth, stroked those cheekbones that shaped her beautiful eyes. His own eyes were closed, yet still he could see every nuance of her face as if the image had been burned into his brain.
When she didn’t kick him in the shin, stomp on his foot, or knee him in the—Dan shifted so he could prevent that option, just in case—but started to kiss him back, Dan forgot why he’d kissed her in the first place, and just kissed her.
His tongue stroked her lips, and she opened them for him on a sigh that sounded of his name and the night. She tasted of honey, lemon, and something else, dark and rich, as unidentifiable as the need that rolled between them. Was it lust or something more? What did it matter? It was.
In the back of his mind he knew he should not be kissing her—not here, not now, not for whatever reason he’d begun to in the first place. But as usual, he had no control where Grace was concerned. When she reached up and shoved her fingers through his hair, holding his mouth on hers, stroking his lips, tickling his tongue, tasting his teeth, control became a memory he could not quite remember.
He wanted her in his arms more than he’d ever wanted anything else, so he dropped his hands from her face and wrapped them around her body. Her fingers twined about his neck, and the front of her pressed to the front of him. Once upon a time he might have been embarrassed by the condition of his body. But once upon a time he had not known Grace.
She did not flinch; she did not shift away from the obvious proof that he was glad to see her, but she did stop kissing him. And while he wanted to pull her back, and kiss her some more, when she put her hands on his chest and said, “Stop,” he stopped.
When she said, “Let me go,” he let go.
When she looked at him with big, confused eyes, he stared back with confused eyes of his own.
“You can’t just kiss me every time I say something you don’t like.”
“I can’t? It worked for me.”
“I noticed.”
Dan blushed. He’d been wrong to say Grace could not embarrass him. Grace could make him feel anything she wanted him to feel. That truth, combined with the lack of control he exhibited around her began to irritate him, as much as the reason for her visit.
“It didn’t work for me,” she continued. “You might make me forget who I am, what I want, what’s important, for a moment. But when we stop kissing, the problem’s still there.”
“I seem to have forgotten tonight’s problem.”
“Let me refresh your memory. You’re taking money to find a cure for something that doesn’t need to be cured.”
“Refresh my memory some more—you got your medical degree where?”
Those lips he liked so much when they were pressed to his own thinned into an angry line once more, and the confusion in her doe-brown eyes fled. “Why don’t you use your own money for this nonsense?” she snapped.
“Nonsense? One man’s nonsense is another man’s dream. I would think you of all people would understand that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You think my medical research is nonsense, well your blankie-drop is nonsense to me.”
“You don’t know anything about it. Just like all the rest—you look at me and you think I’m a flake. What I believe can’t be anything but the ravings of a first-class space cadet. If it’s important to me, well then it must be nonsense!”
Uh-oh, she could go from kiss Dan to kick ass in a matter of seconds. Dan’s head spun at the change and he scrambled to keep up. “Now, Grace—”
“You don’t hear anything, Dan! You don’t listen. You’re just like all those stiffs at all the hospitals. When I try to tell them what I’m doing, they just nod and walk away. And when I come back the next time, they don’t remember I was there the first time at all. It’s as if I don’t exist.”
“You exist, Grace.”
“You know you’ve never once asked me what my project is about?”
He frowned. “Blankets for seriously ill children.”
“But why, Dan? Did you ever ask me why?”
He shrugged. “Why?”
“Meet me at St. Mary’s Hospital tomorrow at ten, and I’ll try to explain it in a language you can understand, doctor boy.”
She walked out without a backward glance, and when she slammed the door, one of the test tubes he’d been trying so hard to protect rolled off the table and shattered.
“Figures,” he muttered to the suddenly silent room.
Grace growled in time with the stomp of her feet. “Men, men, men, men.” From the driveway, to the front walk, up the porch steps, and into the house.
Olaf’s boat was parked in the driveway, but the house was dark. The murmur of voices upstairs somewhere drifted to her. Either the Jewels were talking or a television was on.
Since she didn’t want any of the Jewels getting out of bed at 3 A.M. to shut off their televisions—contraptions saved from the days before remote controls—then breaking a hip when they tripped on a slipper or a discarded headdress, she would shut off any wayward episodes of Jay Leno before she went to her own bed.
Grace climbed the first flight of stairs. Just being home calmed her. All the people who loved her, understood her, supported her, lived beneath this roof. As long as she was home, everything would be all right.
She’d been steamed all the way back here. Heck, she’d been steamed all the way to Dan’s, and the temperature, both within her and without, had not cooled off any while she was with him. It never did. The man touched her and she melted. Embarrassing but true.
What was that?
Whatever it was, it had to stop. She’d be the flake he thought she was if she continued to wrap herself around his excellent body every time he so much as brushed it against her. She had to at least pretend to be a professional—even though pretending had never been her strong suit. Grace was who she was. Take her or leave her. Unfortunately, lately, most people chose the latter option.
Tomorrow she would show Dan what Project Hope was all about, and then it would be his turn, under Mrs. Cabilla’s dictum, to help her. They’d see if he had better luck with the powers that be than she had.
The continued murmur of voices drew Grace toward Em’s room. She’d planned to check on Em last, so she could stay and chat or work her aunt’s feet one more time if necessary. But a glance at Ruby’s, then Garnet’s, doors revealed no lights, flickering or otherwise. The narrow glow from their night-lights revealed aunt-shaped lumps in the beds.
So who was in Em’s room?
Grace crept down the hall. No shouts, no cries, no thumps—it could not be an intruder, could it?
Her heart beat out a cadence of fear. Should she call the police right away? No, best to get Olaf. He was better than any policeman, because he was right here, right now. But she had to pass by Em’s room to get to the stairs that led to Olaf’s attic abode. Slowly, she crept down the hall.
Just outside Em’s door, the voices became clear, and Grace stopped creeping and started to eavesdrop. She couldn’t help herself.
“Get out of my room, you big oaf.”
“O-laf, not oaf. Has your illness jumbled your mind, my Em?”
“I’m not ill, and I’m not your Em. What I am is tired. Go away.”
Grace frowned. It wasn’t like Em to be so impatient. And especially with Olaf. Em had always treated him like a great big, overly cuddly, slightly annoying dog.
“You have scared me unto dying, Em. When I came to my home and discovered you ill my own heart fell about my ankles. If you would marry me and be my love we could have so many happy nights. I would not be out clog-dancing with other women, and you would not be wearing too-small clothes for other men.”
Grace gaped as Em sighed. “I’ve told you before, Olaf, I’m too old for you. You need a woman who can give you a family. You’re
still a young man”
“We have a family. You are my heart. Your sisters I adore; Gracie is like my own. It does not take shared blood to make a family, it takes love. And I love you all.”
“Grace is not your own. You deserve a child, and for that you need a different woman than me. Even thirty years ago, I couldn’t have children.”
“I had a child. She is lost. I do not wish to travel that road again. I wish to travel the rest of my life with you.”
“You’re being silly.”
“No, you are. Love is a gift. You do not throw gifts to the ground and clog-dance all over them. You grab them with both your hands and hold them to your heart.”
“I’ve had five husbands.”
“And you are still here and they are all dead. What does that tell you?”
“I’m cursed?”
“No, you need a younger man for number six.”
Grace smiled. Olaf had a point.
“I did so hate burying one after another. You promise I won’t have to bury you?”
“Olaf promises.”
“Ha, lying to me already. How can you promise that?”
“Because you do not bury a descendant of Vikings.”
“Oh, really, what do you do with them?”
“I will tell you after.”
“After?” Em giggled, and sheets rustled.
Grace fled. Though she might be happy that her partner and her aunt had found happiness, she did not want to wait around and listen to “before.”
As she went back the way she’d come, she discovered Ruby and Garnet were not asleep after all. They stood smiling in the doorways to their rooms.
“Did sister and Olaf work things out?” Ruby whispered.
“Sounds like it.”
“Hounds in the thicket?” Garnet said in a stage whisper. “I thought we were waiting for Em to kiss and make it with Olaf.”
“They are!” Ruby snapped.
“Whose car?”
Grace took a step toward Garnet, meaning to explain at close range, but Ruby got there before her, shoved her sister back into her room and followed, shutting the door behind them. Frantic whispering followed before Grace heard, “Now if we can only get Grace to marry that nice young man, they can start having babies for us to play with.”
“Uh-oh,” Grace murmured. “Matchmakers at eleven o’clock.”
No wonder Dan had been asked to dinner. She’d have to put a stop to any hopes in that direction. Sure, she and Dan were like a match and gasoline in the physical attraction department, but the very thought of them getting married was ludicrous. Their personalities were like oil and water. They’d kill each other before a year was out. No two people could be more different.
Leaving her aunts to continue their whispering beyond the closed door, Grace continued to her room. Flicking on the light, her gaze fell upon the picture of two laughing people, which she kept upon her nightstand.
The man was dark, handsome, intense, while the woman was blond, beautiful, ethereal. Her parents had been oil and water, too. Different as night and day, yet their marriage had been the stuff of dreams—until Joseph Lighthorse died. The empty ache in her mother’s eyes had shown Grace she did not want to love a man so much that when you lost him you lost a part of yourself.
Just looking at the picture of her parents made Grace’s eyes water. As she often did when things bothered her, and tonight she had a plate full of bothersome things, Grace picked up her crocheting. While her mind and hands were occupied with a repetitive task, her subconscious often picked at a problem.
She’d always felt like an outsider with her parents, an intruder even, on their perfect love. That was why having the Jewels around worked so well for everyone. Her aunts had doted on her as the child they’d never had. Grace had not lacked for attention, or for love.
Her family had always been considered odd—outcasts even before the treaty troubles. The fey Irish quilt maker and the Ojibwe attorney made quite a pair. But what man wanted his wife’s three sisters living with him?
Though Grace’s father had denied living the Ojibwe way, he had been raised with the value of family. When he married his wife, he’d understood and accepted that her sisters would live with them, too. It also helped, when he worked day and night, for his wife to have her sisters to play with.
Grace finished the granny square, clipped the yarn and tied off the block. Shaking her head at the bitter cast to her memories, she tossed the block back into the bag next to her bed.
She’d had a happy childhood. Her parents had loved each other. Her mother had not complained about her father’s career. She had understood what drove her husband, even if his daughter hadn’t. Diamond Lighthorse may have become a hermit after losing the man she’d adored more than anything else, but while he’d been her husband, whatever he’d done had been fine with her—even working himself to death.
Grace wished she could say the same for herself.
Chapter Eleven
Dan arrived at the hospital promptly at ten, and Grace was nowhere to be found. Of course she’d only told him to be there; she hadn’t told him exactly where.
So he stood around in the lobby feeling big and conspicuous and foolish, until he thought to ask at the desk for Grace Lighthorse. His real-world skills definitely needed brushing up.
“Certainly, she’s here.” The elderly clerk beamed. “Comes every week at least once, sometimes two or three times, and goes to the pediatric floor. Lovely girl—kind and giving. You know her?”
Dan nodded. “And the pediatric floor is . . .?”
“Third floor. Elevator’s down the hall on the right. Tell her I said hello.”
Dan started down the hall. Everyone loved Grace, everywhere, it seemed. She must be the social butterfly of the century. So why was she having so much trouble getting Project Hope into hospitals?
Dan stepped onto the elevator and punched “3.” Obviously everyone else thought the idea for Project Hope as silly as he did. So how was he going to live up to his part of the bargain they’d made with Mrs. Cabilla? Grace was living up to hers.
Bing! The elevator opened and Dan stepped out. Typical hospital floor: nurses’ station, patient rooms, lounge. The only thing out of place was the laughter coming from one of the rooms on the other side of the hall.
Drawn despite himself, Dan walked toward the musical sound of a child’s laughter and found Grace.
She knelt at the foot of the child’s bed, her full, multicolored skirt swirled in a pool around her legs. The tip of one socked toe peeked out from beneath the hem, her shoes, no doubt, tossed into the far corner the moment she’d walked in the door.
A sock puppet covered each hand, and she ducked her head beneath the edge of the bed, waving those hands up high so the little girl, Becky Bouchamp, according to the door, could see the show.
“And poof, the genie disappeared,” said the right hand, which looked like some kind of malformed dog.
“And everything was happy again,” said the left hand, which looked not quite as good.
Becky giggled, drawing Dan’s attention from the vision on the floor to the angel in the bed. Though her skin seemed unnaturally pale, her face was lit with joy. Huge, dark eyes sparkled in a tiny face, surrounded by very, very short brown hair. She looked like a pixie child in the midst of that big, white bed. In her hands she clutched the brightly colored cloth Grace had been sewing the morning Dan jogged to her house.
“Sometimes I’m still scared,” said the right hand.
“Me, too,” said the left hand.
“But at least we have each other.” They hugged. “And even when we’re all alone, we always have something to hold on to.”
The right hand held up a square of peach flannel and scrunched the material in its fist—or rather, to its chest. Left hand did the same with a slice of green corduroy.
“Magic blankets!”
The two hands clasped in another hug, pressing the mini blankets between them. The l
ittle girl clapped and Grace sat up, putting her chin on the edge of the bed and grinning. Becky waved and laughed—a great, big belly laugh that seemed to overtake her entire body with glee.
Dan had very little experience with children. He saw them on the streets sometimes, and if they were well behaved they seemed pleasant enough. But this one was as cute as a kitten. That laugh kind of wrapped around a person’s heart and squeezed. He wanted to hear her laugh again, so he held very still.
“So I’ll come back and see you at the end of the week?” Grace stood. “By then I bet you’ll feel a whole lot better.”
The animation drained from the child’s face like water from a sieve. “The doctors hurt me. But I don’t get any better. Mommy cries. Daddy, too, when no one’s looking.”
Dan’s heart squeezed with sadness this time, and he swallowed a sudden lump in his own throat. Another reason he’d decided to be a doctor without patients. Sometimes things went well and everything was okay and then other times . . .
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Grace sat on the bed. “But now that you have the magic blanket, you’ll never be alone.”
Magic blanket? Dan frowned. He might not be a doctor with patients, but he knew better than that. Having the puppets believe in magic was one thing, encouraging such a belief in a sick child was another. Before Dan could say anything, Becky spoke, and the hope in her voice made him stay right where he was, with his mouth shut.
“I can sleep with it?”
“Sure.”
“I don’t sleep good here. It’s too dark, and it’s never really quiet.”
“I know. That’s rough. But sleep will help you feel better.”
“Can I take my blanket when I go for tests?”
“If the nurses say it’s all right, and I bet for most tests it will be.”
Becky brightened even further. Grace leaned over and kissed the little girl on the forehead. As she straightened, Becky threw her arms around Grace’s neck and held on tight.
Grace gathered the child onto her lap. For a long while they rocked—Grace, the little girl, and her new blanket. The scene was so peaceful; Dan didn’t want it to end. But of course it did.
When You Wish (Contemporary Romance) Page 12
