Restorations (Book One Oregon In Love)

by Bonnie Blythe

  “We’re just acquaintances, really.”

  “Answer the question!”

  Her aunt shifted from foot to foot. “I, um, knew how much it would upset you, and while you’re still dealing with the death of your grandfather, I felt I should wait to tell you.”

  Sara regarded her aunt steadily while rubbing the sore spot on her posterior.

  “Do you blame me?” Hattie continued. “If poor Mr. Farris was well, you would’ve certainly given him a piece of your mind. When he went down like that I thought...”

  She gave her aunt a lowering look. “I have yet to fell a man with my words, Hattie. But you still haven’t answered me as to why that person is here!”

  “Were you injured, dear?”

  Sara yanked her hand back around and shoved it into the front pocket of her dress. “I’m waiting for an explanation.”

  “I need to ask you something,” Hattie said, blatantly ignoring her request. “I would feel better if Mr. Farris had someone to keep an eye on him this evening, and you know I need to go in tonight to work.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s nearly time for me to leave. Do me a favor and sit with Brian for the night.”

  Sara shook her head in baffled shock. What was the woman thinking? Her first impulse told her to refuse outright. But a part of her—a very small part—worried about Brian’s health. She also had to admit to a morbid desire to speak to him. She’d mentally rehearsed telling him off so many times, she knew the speech by heart. And here was her opportunity.

  Hattie’s voice pulled Sara back to the present. “I wouldn’t ask this of you unless I was really concerned, and I assure you, he’s quite ill. If he takes a turn for the worse, someone should be there to make sure he gets prompt medical attention.”

  The pleading expression on her face swayed her. Sara frowned, wishing she’d heeded her aunt’s advice and stayed away from the farmhouse. “Okay, I’ll stay,” she said, unable to keep her displeasure from her voice.

  “I know it’s asking an awful lot, what with your history with him and all.”

  Sara stifled a hysterical laugh. Her aunt didn’t know the half of it. “I’ll manage.”

  Hattie checked her watch again. “I’ll run to the store and pick up a few things for Mr. Farris and be back in a bit.”

  Sara slowly released a pent-up breath after her aunt bustled to the car and drove away. A doozy of a headache formed at the base of her skull, whether from the jarring fall or her predicament, she wasn’t sure. Before her thoughts and feelings became more complicated, she decided to concentrate on how to care for the patient. Patient was a good word. Keep it impersonal.

  Back inside Brian’s bedroom, Sara relaxed incrementally when she found him asleep. Heart pounding hard, she leaned over his form to make sure he was breathing. Then she went into the tiny bathroom and located a bottle of Tylenol in the medicine cabinet. Shaking out a few pills into her hand and filling a glass with water, she went back to the side of his bed.

  She looked down at him and tried to sort out her thoughts. Her angst drained away at the sight of his vulnerable state. With a trembling hand, she brushed back his sweat-soaked hair, noting the dark flush on his cheeks. His skin burned against her fingers.

  A suffocating feeling of discontent washed over her. The last two years seemed to melt away and all the old attraction mixed with anguish came rushing back. Oh, Brian, what are you doing here?

  Chastising herself for such thoughts, she briskly shook his shoulder until his eyes cracked open. “Sit up, Brian. You need to take some medicine and drink some water.”

  Miraculously, he obeyed, easing onto one elbow to take the glass of water. After swallowing the pills, he lay heavily back against the pillows. Sara flinched when a spasm of coughing gripped him. She reached out and awkwardly patted him on the back.

  Without warning, Brian grabbed her wrist in a hot grip. “Are you here to bathe the fevered brow, Sara?”

  She froze, surprised at his strength. The moment he relaxed his fingers, she snatched her hand away. Rubbing her wrist, she decided to wait until he was better before letting loose with her memorized lecture. Until then, she’d show him unmerited mercy.

  Keeping her gaze lowered, Sara tried to think of what to do next. His words gave her an idea. She went back into the bathroom and found clean washcloths. After soaking one in cool water and wringing it out, she sat down by his side and attempted to lay it on his forehead. The washcloth slipped from her nerveless fingers and landed in his face. Mumbling a mortified apology, she plucked it off and carefully placed it on his forehead.

  Her face flaming when she caught him looking at her. His eyes glittered feverishly in the low light of the room, but he appeared to be otherwise cognizant.

  “What are you doing here?” she blurted.

  Brian watched her with an unblinking stare. “I live here.”

  “You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

  “I’m sick, remember?” He yawned. “But now my worries are over.”

  Sara narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “I prayed for help and now you’re here.”

  A stinging remark rose to her lips. She stifled it despite the fact that Brian and prayer did not belong in the same sentence. “Well, since I’m here, I’ll do what I can to help you recover.”

  Brian smiled drowsily. “So you do still care for me.”

  Ouch. Sara decided the jabbing pain in her chest must be due to a touch of indigestion. She firmed her lips. “Actually, the sooner you improve, the sooner you move out.”

  Another spasm of coughing took hold of him, but she ignored his pitiful appeal.

  He heaved a great sigh and closed his eyes. Sara watched him warily, sure any moment he’d open his eyes and make a teasing comment. But he remained still, apparently back to sleep from exhaustion.

  When sure he rested peacefully, Sara stood up and paced around the room. Now that the shock had worn off, she questioned how she'd landed in this mess. She wrapped her arms around her waist, wondering what could possibly be taking Hattie so long. Sara jumped at the sound of a creak before realizing it came from the wood floor she walked on. She cast her gaze toward the bed. Even in repose, Brian’s personality seemed to reach out to her, seeking a weakness to exploit.

  Or was it just her imagination? He was only a man after all, and right now, weak as a kitten. What could Brian Farris do to her? Nothing, she determined grimly. Nothing at all.

  A few minutes later, her aunt arrived and emptied a sack of canned soups, frozen juice, and other over-the-counter medicinal items onto the kitchen table. “I didn’t know what he’d have on hand.”

  “Thanks, Hattie,” Sara said, glad she was no longer alone with her disturbing thoughts.

  Smiling in her comforting way, her aunt went into the bedroom. Sara followed, feeling ill at ease about strolling around in Brian’s living quarters. “I gave him some Tylenol to bring down the fever.”

  “Good, good. Sounds like you have everything under control then.”

  She smiled wryly. “That’s an understatement, and you know it.”

  Hattie took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him sooner. I really was trying to figure out the best way.”

  Sara shrugged, her gaze darting toward the bed. “But why is he here? Why in Grandpa’s cottage in this town?”

  Hattie tucked a strand of hair back into place. “About all I know is that Eli ran into Brian, who showed up here looking for work. Brian is a construction contractor, you may remember. Anyway, Eli had several projects around the house and so he hired him. Apparently, Mr. Farris had no place to stay so Eli rented out the cottage to him as well.” She smiled. “He and your grandfather became very good friends, you know.”

  And you did, too. Sara passed her hand wearily in front of her eyes, ignoring the feeling of betrayal rippling through her at the thought. “Well, he’s here and now I’m here. My goal is to get him better so he can get out as soon as po
ssible. Whatever he had planned with my grandfather is nothing to me. And if Brian causes any fuss, I’ll have him legally evicted.”

  Hattie clucked her tongue. “Just listen to yourself. You’re still shocked. You don’t know what you’re saying.” She gently pushed Sara down into the chair next to the bed. “Get as much rest as you can, and call me if you need anything.”

  Sara offered a wan smile. “Thanks, Aunt Hattie.”

  After bussing her on the cheek, Hattie went out the door. When Sara heard her drive away, she looked at her patient with all the reluctance of coming face to face with a lethal snake.

  After a moment, she decided she might as well get comfortable. Seeing several blankets shoved down at the end of the bed, Sara gently pulled one off and draped it loosely over herself. Settling onto a hard wooden chair, she noticed the subtle hint of Brian’s cologne on the fabric. It was the same he wore when...

  Quickly averting her mind from the following thought, Sara squirmed in the chair. She closed her eyes, then realized she wasn’t sleepy. She checked her watch. Barely eight. Too early for sleep. Sara clambered out of the chair, fighting a sensation of claustrophobia.

  She prowled around the room for something to get her mind off the current situation and, for the first time, really perceived her surroundings.

  The cottage appeared fairly tidy for a bachelor. At least she assumed Brian was unmarried. He wore no ring and so far no concerned female materialized except herself. Not concerned, just dutiful.

  Outside the bedroom door was the combined kitchen-living area. The bathroom made up the third room of the cottage. On the table in the kitchen she saw a laptop next to a stack of paperwork.

  Sara resisted the urge to start snooping. The less she became involved in this unlucky situation, the better. In the bedroom, however, she took in every detail. A bookshelf across the room housed a small TV, piled high with building magazines. A loaded tool belt hung from the back of another chair. As her gaze came full circle around the room, she saw a small picture frame on the nightstand near the bed next to the chair. Sara picked up the frame.

  The photo showed Brian with a beautiful young woman by his side. He appeared to be much younger and stood next to an upright surfboard. He had his arm slung around the girl’s shoulders. The girl had waist long blonde hair and wore a halter top with shorts. For some reason she seemed vaguely familiar.

  Probably one of his many girlfriends, Sara thought, biting her lip. Just another one of the many he dated on the sly when we were together. Of course, she didn’t find out about that side of him until much later. The couple stood hip to hip in front of the ocean, probably someplace in Southern California.

  Sara replaced the frame with a click. From the bookcase, she picked up one of the building magazines. Plunking back in the chair, she read a thoroughly boring article comparing different brands of saw blades.

  ***

  Sara forced her eyes open at the sound of a low groan. The magazine slid to the floor when she sat up. She went to Brian’s side, finding him asleep, but restless. His bed looked like a site of a wrestling match and the sheets felt damp. Worry replaced her latent anger.

  Not sure what to do, she gently straightened his blankets, praying he wouldn’t succumb to whatever ailed him. She pulled the chair closer to the bed and took his hand. His skin felt almost too hot to touch. Sara patted his hand and in a low voice, spoke nonsense until he stilled. When his breathing became deep and even, she watched the rise and fall of his chest until her eyes grew heavy.

  The sound of violent coughing jarred her awake. Sara glanced at the clock. Two hours had passed since the first time he awakened her. It felt like two minutes. Disentangling from the blanket, and leaning on the side of the bed for support, Sara blearily checked on her patient. When Brian’s coughing subsided, she felt his forehead with the back of her hand and noted it was still hot.

  “You should really use your lips for that. They’re more sensitive to temperature.”

  Now fully awake, Sara frowned as she pulled her hand away. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your lips can sense a fever better than your hand,” he said in a froggy voice.

  “I think you’re delirious.” From the pitcher on the nightstand, she poured a glass of water, spilling a little, and coaxed him to sit up and take a sip.

  After he took a deep drink, she helped him settle back against the pillows. Sara could sense him surveying her through half-closed lids. She did her best to ignore his scrutiny while she straightened his blankets. Stifling a yawn, she checked the bedside clock. Eleven-thirty. Wincing at the pain of her cramped muscles, she resumed her seat and closed her eyes.

  “Sara?”

  She suppressed a groan and sank lower in the chair. “You really should rest.”

  Several minutes of silence passed. Assuming he’d drifted off to sleep, she closed her eyes.

  “I dreamed about the first time I saw you.”

  Sara flinched at the sound of his voice.

  “It was in that poetry class we had together at the university. I remember thinking how appropriate it was that you quoted Robbie Burns.” He paused as if still reminiscing. “With your coal black hair, silvery eyes, and cheeks like damask roses, you looked so much like a Highland beauty I was surprised to hear you speak without a Scottish burr in your voice.”

  “Do you even know what damask means?”

  “Sure. I was in a poetry class, remember? I learned all kinds of flowery talk.”

  Definitely delirious. Sara was thankful for the dimness of the room. Her so-called damask cheeks were in full bloom now. She held her breath, wondering if he would say more. When she heard a faint snore, she went limp with relief. Sara had no desire to hear the ravings of an ill man. At the same time, she found it hard to ignore the treacherous little glow spreading within her.

  Silvery eyes indeed.

  Sara thought back to that day in her poetry class. She’d recited the Robert Burns poem Ye Flowery Banks in front of a group of bored students. She whispered the last stanza from memory.

  Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose

  Frae aff its thorny tree,

  And my fause luver staw my rose,

  But left the thorn wi’ me.

  She glanced at Brian’s sleeping form and had a sudden urge to kick him. In the class, he'd sat with several male friends who let it be known they only signed up to ogle the girls. Sara recalled being in the emotional throes of the poem when she noticed one of the students give her a slow wink. Brian. She’d stumbled over the rest of the words as a result, longing for something to throw at his smug expression.

  Besides being embarrassed, Sara had no patience with students who didn’t take their studies seriously. She was there on scholarship and needed to make every grade count. Besides, she knew Brian wasn’t interested in her as a person. He undoubtedly saw her as another female to toy with.

  When he started waiting for her after class to walk with her, Sara maintained a chilly demeanor, hoping he would go pick on some more willing victim—the buxom cheerleader type she suspected he preferred. Soon, however, his charm melted her disdain. A girl could sustain only so much onslaught.

  She came to believe he was interested in her. That’s what hurt so much. Brian made her care for him, and she resented him for it.

  Hot tears pricked her eyelids. Sara angrily blinked them away. She’d cried enough over this man. He didn’t deserve her tears.

  Looking around for something to take her mind off the past, Sara saw a shine of light on the dark TV screen. She turned it on and set the volume low. With six channels to choose from, she finally settled on an old rerun of Perry Mason, preferring pretend drama over the real thing.

  Chapter Three

  Sara slowly awakened, becoming cognizant of sunlight streaming through the windows. She bit back a cry of pain when she tried to sit up. Her back and leg muscles were in knots after her vigil in the chair. Glancing over at Brian’s bed, Sara saw only a tangl
e of blankets. She jerked to her feet, ignoring the burst of pain. “Brian?”

  The patient poked his head through the bedroom door. “I wondered when you’d wake up.” He smiled disarmingly.

  Sara stared at him, unable to believe anyone could look so disgustingly healthy after such an obvious illness. Although he appeared scruffy from his ordeal, his green eyes glowed clear and his face held good color.

  “My fever broke sometime in the night. I’m starved and just about to eat. Want anything?”

  Sara shook her head and watched dumbly as he went back to the stove. She considered ordering him back to bed, knowing he shouldn’t be up and about, but decided against it. Brian Farris long ago proved he did things his way, regardless of whom he hurt in the process.

  Retreating to the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face, hoping it would help clear her mind. Why should she be surprised Brian saw nothing odd about her presence in his bedroom? Maybe he considered waking up alone the more peculiar circumstance.

  Sara squeezed her eyes shut against the pain clenching her heart. Leaning her forehead against the medicine cabinet mirror over the sink, she took a deep breath. Don’t think about it. Remembering his manipulation and infidelity served no purpose whatsoever.

  When the worst of the angst passed, Sara brushed her hair with a comb from her purse. The cold water lent some color to her otherwise pale skin, but as she regarded herself in the mirror, she swallowed a lump in her throat. What on earth would she say to him? How should she act? Was this whole episode a kind of surreal dream?

  Sara made her way into the living area, attempting to smooth the wrinkles out of her pink rayon dress. To make sure there would be no repeat of this awkward situation, she needed to be certain Brian recovered completely. He must rest.

  She found him stirring something in a saucepan on the stove, wearing only a blue T-shirt and shorts. Her memory of him was obviously altered by time and anger. She forgot how his sheer physical presence alone affected her. Her gaze traveled along the length of his well-muscled frame. Willing her gaze to the ceiling, Sara noisily cleared her throat.