by Diana Palmer
“On time,” Lou muttered beside Drew in the comfortable Ford he drove. Her hands crushed her purse. “I’ll give him on time! I’ll be sitting in his parking spot at eight-thirty on the dot!”
“He does it on purpose,” he told her as he started the car. “I think he likes to make you spark at him.”
“He’s overjoyed that I’m leaving,” she muttered. “And so am I!”
He gave her a quick glance and hid his smile. “If you say so.”
She twisted her small purse in her lap, fuming, all the way back to her small house.
“I haven’t been good company, Drew,” she said as he walked her to the door. “I’m sorry.”
He patted her shoulder absently. “Nothing wrong with the company,” he said, correcting her. He smiled down at her. “But you really do rub Copper the wrong way, don’t you?” he added thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed that antagonism from a distance, but tonight is the first time I’ve seen it at close range. Is he always like that?”
She nodded. “Always, from the beginning. Well, not quite,” she confessed, remembering. “From last Christmas.”
“What happened last Christmas?”
She studied him warily.
“I won’t tell him,” he promised. “What happened?”
“He tried to kiss me under the mistletoe and I, well, I sort of ducked and pulled away.” She flushed. “He rattled me. He does, mostly. I get shaky when he comes too close. He’s so forceful, and so physical. Even when he wants to talk to me, he’s forever trying to grab me by the wrist or a sleeve. It’s as if he knows how much it disturbs me, so he does it on purpose, just to make me uncomfortable.”
He reached down and caught her wrist very gently, watching her face distort and feeling the instinctive, helpless jerk of her hand.
He let go at once. “Tell me about it, Lou.”
With a wan smile, she rubbed her wrist. “No. It’s history.”
“It isn’t, you know. Not if it makes you shaky to have people touch you…”
“Not everyone, just him,” she muttered absently.
His eyebrows lifted, but she didn’t seem to be aware of what she’d just confessed.
She sighed heavily. “I’m so tired,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I don’t usually get so tired from even the longest days.”
He touched her forehead professionally and frowned. “You’re a bit warm. How do you feel?”
“Achy. Listless.” She grimaced. “It’s probably that virus that’s going around. I usually get at least one every winter.”
“Go to bed and if you aren’t better tomorrow, don’t go in,” he advised. “Want me to prescribe something?”
She shook her head. “I’ll be okay. Nothing does any good for a virus, you know that.”
He chuckled. “Not even a sugarcoated pill?”
“I can do without a placebo. I’ll get some rest. Thanks for tonight. I enjoyed it.”
“So did I. I haven’t done much socializing since Eve died. It’s been five long years and I still miss her. I don’t think I’ll ever get over her enough to start a new relationship with anyone. I only wish we’d had a child. It might have made it easier.”
She was studying him, puzzled. “It’s said that many people marry within months of losing a mate,” she began.
“I don’t fit that pattern,” he said quietly. “I only loved once. I’d rather have my memories of those twelve years with Eve than a hundred years with someone else. I suppose that sounds old-fashioned.”
She shook her head. “It sounds beautiful,” she said softly. “Lucky Eve, to have been loved so much.”
He actually flushed. “It was mutual.”
“I’m sure it was, Drew. I’m glad to have a friend like you.”
“That works both ways.” He smiled ruefully. “I’d like to take you out occasionally, so that people will stop thinking of me as a mental case. The gossip is beginning to get bad.”
“I’d love to go out with you,” she replied. She smiled. “I’m not very worldly, you know. It was books and exams and medicine for eight long years, and then internship. I was an honor student. I never had much time for men.” Her eyes darkened. “I never wanted to have much time for them. My parents’ marriage soured me. I never knew it could be happy or that people could love each other enough to be faithful—” She stopped, embarrassed.
“I knew about your father,” he said. “Most of the hospital staff did. He liked young girls.”
“Dr. Coltrain told me,” she said miserably.
“He what?”
She drew in a long breath. “I overheard what he said to you on the telephone the other day. I’m leaving. My year is up after New Year’s, anyway,” she reminded him. “He told me what my father had done. No wonder he didn’t want me here. You shouldn’t have done it, Drew. You shouldn’t have forced him to take me on.”
“I know. But it’s too late, isn’t it? I thought I was helping, if that’s any excuse.” He searched her face. “Maybe I hoped it would help Copper, too. He was infatuated with Jane Parker. She’s a lovely, sweet woman, and she has a temper, but she was never a match for Copper. He’s the sort who’d cow a woman who couldn’t stand up to him.”
“Just like my father,” she said shortly.
“I’ve never mentioned it, but one of your wrists looks as if it’s suffered a break.”
She flushed scarlet and drew back. “I have to go in now. Thanks again, Drew.”
“If you can’t talk to me, you need to talk to someone,” he said. “Did you really think you could go through life without having the past affect the future?”
She smiled sweetly. “Drive carefully going home.”
He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll drop it.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
She watched him drive away, absently rubbing the wrist he’d mentioned. She wouldn’t think about it, she told herself. She’d go to bed and put it out of her mind.
Only it didn’t work that way. She woke up in the middle of the night in tears, frightened until she remembered where she was. She was safe. It was over. But she felt sick and her throat was dry. She got up and found a pitcher, filling it with ice and water. She took a glass along with her and went back to bed. Except for frequent trips to the bathroom, she finally slept soundly.
There was a loud, furious knock at the front door. It kept on and on, followed by an equally loud voice. What a blessing that she didn’t have close neighbors, she thought drowsily, or the police would be screaming up the driveway.
She tried to get up, but surprisingly, her feet wouldn’t support her. She was dizzy and weak and sick at her stomach. Her head throbbed. She lay back down with a soft groan.
A minute later, the front door opened and a furious redheaded man in a lab coat came in the bedroom door.
“So this is where you are,” he muttered, taking in her condition with a glance. “You couldn’t have called?”
She barely focused on him. “I was up most of the night…”
“With Drew?”
She couldn’t even manage a glare. “Being sick,” she corrected. “Have you got anything on you to calm my stomach? I can’t keep down anything to stop the nausea.”
“I’ll get something.”
He went back out, grateful that she kept a key under the welcome mat. He didn’t relish having to break down doors, although he had in the past to get to a patient.
He got his medical bag and went back into the bedroom. She was pale and she had a fever. He turned off the electronic thermometer and checked her lungs. Clear, thank God.
Her pulse was a little fast, but she seemed healthy enough. “A virus,” he pronounced.
“No!” she exclaimed with weak sarcasm.
“You’ll live.”
“Give me the medicine, please,” she asked, holding out a hand.
“Can you manage?”
“If you’ll get me to the bathroom, sure.”
He
helped her up, noticing the frailty of her body. She didn’t seem that thin in her clothing, but she was wearing silky pajamas that didn’t conceal the slender lines of her body. He supported her to the door, and watched the door close behind her.
Minutes later, she opened the door again and let him help her back into bed.
He watched her for a minute and then, with resolution, he picked up the telephone. He punched in a number. “This is Dr. Coltrain. Send an ambulance out to Dr. Blakely’s home, 23 Brazos Lane. That’s right. Yes. Thank you.”
She glared at him. “I will not…!”
“Hell, yes, you will,” he said shortly. “I’m not leaving you out here alone to dehydrate. At the rate you’re losing fluids, you’ll die in three days.”
“What do you care if I die?” she asked furiously.
He reached down to take her pulse again. This time, he caught the left wrist firmly, but she jerked it back. His blue eyes narrowed as he watched her color. Drew had been holding her right hand. At the table, it was her right hand he’d touched. But most of the time, Copper automatically reached for the left one…
He glanced down to where it lay on the coverlet and he noticed what Drew had; there was a definite break there, one which had been set but was visible.
She clenched her fist. “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”
“But you’ll go, if I have to carry you.”
She glared at him. It did no good at all. He went into the kitchen to turn off all the appliances except the refrigerator. On his way back, he paused to look around the living room. There were some very disturbing paintings on her walls, side by side with beautiful pastel drawings of flowers. He wondered who’d done them.
The ambulance arrived shortly. He watched the paramedics load her up and he laid the small bag she’d asked him to pack on the foot of the gurney.
“Thank you so much,” she said with her last lucid breath. The medicine was beginning to take effect, and it had a narcotic in it to make her sleep.
“My pleasure, Dr. Blakely,” he said. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were watchful and thoughtful. “Do you paint?” he asked suddenly.
Her dark eyes blinked. “How did you know?” she murmured as she drifted off.
She awoke hours later in a private room, with a nurse checking her vital signs. “You’re awake!” the nurse said with a smile. “Feeling any better?”
“A little.” She touched her stomach. “I think I’ve lost weight.”
“No wonder, with so much nausea. You’ll be all right now. We’ll take very good care of you. How about some soup and Jell-O and tea?”
“Coffee?” she asked hopefully.
The nurse chuckled. “Weak coffee, perhaps. We’ll see.” She charted her observations and went to see about supper.
It was modest fare, but delicious to a stomach that had hardly been able to hold anything. Imagine being sent to the hospital with a twenty-four-hour virus, Lou thought irritably, and wanted to find Dr. Coltrain and hit him.
Drew poked his head in the door while he was doing rounds. “I told you you felt feverish, didn’t I?” he teased, smiling. “Better?”
She nodded. “But I would have been just fine at home.”
“Not to hear your partner tell it. I expected to find your ribs sticking through your skin,” he told her, chuckling. “I’ll check on you later. Stay put.”
She groaned and lay back. Patients were stacking up and she knew that Brenda had probably had to deal with angry ones all day, since Dr. Coltrain would have been operating in the morning. Everyone would be sitting in the waiting room until long after dark, muttering angrily.
It was after nine before he made rounds. He looked worn, and she felt guilty even if it couldn’t be helped.
“I’m sorry,” she said irritably when he came to the bedside.
He cocked an eyebrow. “For what?” He reached down and took her wrist—the right one—noticing that she didn’t react while he felt her pulse.
“Leaving you to cope with my patients as well as your own,” she said. The feel of his long fingers was disturbing. She began to fidget.
He leaned closer, to look into her eyes, and his hand remained curled around her wrist. He felt her pulse jump as his face neared hers and suddenly a new thought leaped into his shocked mind and refused to be banished.
She averted her gaze. “I’m all right,” she said. She sounded breathless. Her pulse had gone wild under his searching fingers.
He stood up, letting go of her wrist. But he noticed the quick rise and fall of her chest with new interest. What an odd reaction for a woman who felt such antagonism toward him.
He picked up her chart, still frowning, and read what was written there. “You’ve improved. If you’re doing this well in the morning, you can go home. Not to work,” he added firmly. “Drew’s going to come in and help me deal with the backlog in the morning while he has some free time.”
“That’s very kind of him.”
“He’s a kind man.”
“Yes. He is.”
He chuckled softly. “You don’t like me, do you?” he asked through pursed lips. “I’ve never given you any reason to. I’ve been alternately hostile and sarcastic since the day you came here.”
“Your normal self, Doctor,” she replied.
His lips tugged up. “Not really. You don’t know me.”
“Lucky me.”
His blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. She’d reacted to him from the first as if he’d been contagious. Every approach he’d made had been met with instant withdrawal. He wondered why he’d never questioned her reactions. It wasn’t revulsion. Oh, no. It was something much more disturbing on her part. She was vulnerable, and he’d only just realized it, when it was too late. She would leave before he had the opportunity to explore his own feelings.
He stuck his hands into his pockets and his eyes searched her pale, worn face. She wasn’t wearing a trace of makeup. Her eyes held lingering traces of fever and her hair was dull, lackluster, disheveled by sleep. But even in that condition, she had a strange beauty.
“I know how I look, thanks,” she muttered as she saw how he was looking at her. “You don’t need to rub it in.”
“Was I?” He studied her hostile eyes.
She dropped her gaze to her slender hands on the sheets. “You always do.” Her eyes closed. “I don’t need you to point out my lack of good looks, Doctor. My father never missed an opportunity to tell me what I was missing.”
Her father. His expression hardened as the memories poured out. But even as they nagged at his mind, he began to remember bits and pieces of gossip he’d heard about the way Dr. Fielding Blakely treated his poor wife. He’d dismissed it at the time, but now he realized that Mrs. Blakely had to be aware of her husband’s affairs. Had she not minded? Or was she afraid to mind…
He had more questions about Lou’s family life than he had answers, and he was curious. Her reticence with him, her broken wrist, her lack of self-esteem—they began to add up.
His eyes narrowed. “Did your mother know that your father was unfaithful to her?” he asked.
She stared at him as if she didn’t believe what she’d heard. “What?”
“You heard me. Did she know?”
She drew the sheet closer to her collarbone. “Yes.” She bit off the word.
“Why didn’t she leave him?”
She laughed bitterly. “You can’t imagine.”
“Maybe I can.” He moved closer to the bed. “Maybe I can imagine a lot of things that never occurred to me before. I’ve looked at you for almost a year and I’ve never seen you until now.”
She fidgeted under the cover. “Don’t strain your imagination, Doctor,” she said icily. “I haven’t asked for your attention. I don’t want it.”
“Mine, or any other man’s, right?” he asked gently.
She felt like an insect on a pin. “Will you stop?” she groaned. “I’m sick. I don’t want to be interrogated.�
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“Is that what I’m doing? I thought I was showing a belated interest in my partner,” he said lazily.
“I won’t be your partner after Christmas.”
“Why?”
“I’ve resigned. Have you forgotten? I even wrote it down and gave it to you.”
“Oh. That. I tore it up.”
Her eyes popped. “You what?”
“Tore it up,” he said with a shrug. “I can’t do without you. You have too many patients who won’t come back if they have to see me.”
“You had a fine practice…”
“Too fine. I never slept or took vacations. You’ve eased the load. You’ve made yourself indispensable. You have to stay.”
“I do not.” She shot her reply back instantly. “I hate you!”
He studied her, nodding slowly. “That’s healthy. Much healthier than withdrawing like a frightened clam into a shell every time I come too close.”
She all but gasped at such a blunt statement. “I do not…!”
“You do.” He looked pointedly at her left wrist. “You’ve kept secrets. I’m going to worry you to death until you tell me every last one of them, beginning with why you can’t bear to have anyone hold you by the wrist.”
She couldn’t get her breath. She felt her cheeks becoming hot as he stared down at her intently. “I’m not telling you any secrets,” she assured him.
“Why not?” he replied. “I don’t ever tell what I know.”
She knew that. If a patient told him anything in confidence, he wouldn’t share it.
She rubbed the wrist absently, wincing as she remembered how it had felt when it was broken, and how.
Coltrain, watching her, wondered how he could ever have thought her cold. She had a temper that was easily the equal of his own, and she never backed away from a fight. She’d avoided his touch, but he realized now that it was the past that made her afraid, not the present.
“You’re mysterious, Lou,” he said quietly. “You hold things in, keep things back. I’ve worked with you for a year, but I know nothing about you.”
“That was your choice,” she reminded him coolly. “You’ve treated me like a leper in your life.”