* * *
Sarah curled deeper into the waiting-room couch, trying to concentrate on the book in her hands. Darkness had settled long ago on the town of Pine Butte. Only a sliver of pale light from the street lamp crept into the room from a crack in the curtain.
Connor had been asleep for three hours and she was beginning to worry. Should she have trusted her judgment and just let him sleep, or should she have called the evacuation helicopter? She'd been so sure that his injury wasn't serious.
Shrugging off the afghan that covered her, she got up and walked to the bedroom. She saw with relief that at least he wasn't still in the same position, motionless as a dead man. He'd moved around a little, and as she watched him he flung his arm off the bed and muttered in his sleep.
Hurrying to his side, she squatted next to him and watched anxiously. As if he sensed her presence, he rolled over and slowly opened his eyes.
"Sarah," he murmured, and she felt an absurd rush of pleasure at the sound of her name on his lips.
"How do you feel?" She was amazed her voice sounded so ordinary.
"Hungry as hell, but otherwise okay." He pushed the covers back and sat up, closing his eyes briefly.
"Don't tell me your head doesn't hurt."
"Okay, I won't. But I'll survive. I think." He opened his eyes. "As long as I get something to eat."
The relief she felt was staggering. He was still pale, but his eyes were clear. "No problem. What's your pleasure?"
His eyes darkened as he stared at her, and for a moment even the air around them seemed to be holding its breath. Her heart began to pound again, only this time it wasn't with fear.
He reached out a hand and touched her face, his fingers sliding down her cheek to her throat. His touch was as gentle as the whisper of a spring breeze. Then he jerked his hand away and she jumped to her feet.
"I'll see what I have upstairs," she muttered.
She knew darn well what she had upstairs, she thought as she hurried toward her apartment. Leftover spaghetti and refuge from his touch, sanctuary from the look in his eyes. She had to regain her composure before she went downstairs. She couldn't let him see how he affected her.
By the time the spaghetti had been heated in the microwave and the salad had been tossed, her breathing had returned to normal and she'd repeated the twenty-five zillion reasons that she couldn't be attracted to Connor MacCormac. Satisfied that she and her libido understood each other, she started down the stairs with a tray clutched in her hands.
He sat on the edge of the bed in the shadows, looking dark and dangerous. When he saw her standing in the doorway, holding the tray, he switched on the light next to the bed.
She almost wished he'd left it off. The warm yellow light bathed the room in an intimate glow, softening the harshness of his features and spreading a pool of sunshine over the bed. Quickly she set the tray on the table next to the bed and stepped back.
"It's just leftover spaghetti," she said in a light voice, "but it's hot. Ring the buzzer when you're finished and I'll come get the tray."
"Sarah," he said as she turned to go.
Slowly she turned. "Was there something else you needed?"
"Yeah, you." He flashed her a grin and motioned her into the room. "To talk to," he said. "I wanted to ask you some questions."
"Okay." She perched on the edge of the chair and watched him eat the spaghetti. "Shoot."
"What time did you find me?" he asked abruptly.
She relaxed a fraction at the question. At least it wasn't something personal. "I'd already seen my last patient when I realized you weren't back yet. By the time I got my truck and got up the mountain, it must have been six-thirty or so." She wasn't sure she should mention her debate about calling her cousin. Maybe she'd been reading too much into that exchange in the clinic yesterday.
"Did you call anyone, tell anyone that I was missing and you were looking for me?" His tone of voice didn't change, but she saw the sudden tension in his body and the way his eyes narrowed just a fraction.
"I didn't see a soul before I left, so there wasn't anyone to tell." She flushed a little. "I knew where you'd gone because a couple of my patients had mentioned seeing you heading toward the mine road."
He pushed the empty plate away. "Yeah, I'll just bet I'm a hot topic of conversation around here." His voice sounded bitter.
"This is a small town, Connor. Nothing much ever happens here. Anything new or different is a topic of conversation," she said gently. "You're a novelty right now, but it'll wear off."
"I'll be long gone before that happens," he promised, standing up abruptly. "As soon as my business here is finished I'm leaving."
"What is your business, Connor?"
He stood over her, watching her intently. He sank back down onto the bed again, his eyes shuttered.
She couldn't read a thing in his face. "You didn't come back just for old time's sake."
"I sure as hell didn't." He watched her for a long time. She forced herself to meet his gaze. Finally he relaxed just a fraction. "I trust you," he said abruptly, "but I don't know why I should. You're a Wesley, but I don't think you'd betray me." He leaned forward just a little. "Would you, Sarah?"
"I would never betray a confidence." She tried to keep her voice even and impersonal. "No matter who it was from."
"But in the final analysis, you're on their side. Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
"In the final analysis I judge for myself. Just because someone shares the same last name as I do doesn't mean I automatically side with them." If only he knew about the battles she'd had with her uncle and cousin, she thought wearily. Some vestige of family loyalty prevented her from blurting them out. It really wasn't any of Connor's business.
He sank back onto the bed, obviously exhausted. "I have to tell someone," he muttered. "I can't trust anyone in this town except you."
"Tell me what, Connor?" Her chest tightened with dread. Somehow she knew she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear.
"I got an anonymous note," he said abruptly. "About a month ago. It said that my father's death wasn't a simple heart attack, that he'd been killed. It didn't say how or who had done it."
She drew in her breath sharply. "What? Who—"
"That's what I'd like to know. Only one person in this town knew where I was, and he's sworn it wasn't him." His lips twisted. "So when I have a convenient motorcycle accident on my way here, and when I'm bashed over the head with a rock two days later, I tend to believe that maybe there was some truth to that note."
Horror grew and spread deep inside her. "Are you saying that what happened on your motorcycle wasn't an accident?"
"A car ran me off the road. The fender caught me in the leg."
"I wondered why that cut was so clean." She realized with a shock she had no doubt he was telling the truth. "They didn't stop to help you?"
"I have no idea whether they stopped or not." She heard the cold steel in his voice and shivered. The driver of that car better hope Connor never caught up with him.
"What can I do to help?" The words were out almost before she'd stopped to think about them.
"Think carefully, Sarah, before you offer to help me. My father worked for your uncle at the mine. He died on the job. If it wasn't a heart attack, then your family probably had something to do with it. Are you sure you want to help me?"
"You can't know that for sure." Her objection was instinctive. Her uncle might be a hard-nosed businessman, but he wouldn't murder anyone.
"No, I can't." He watched her steadily. "But can you think of a better place to start?"
"There must have been people he didn't get along with, someone with a grudge against him."
"The whole town had a grudge against him. He was a foreigner, and the good citizens of Pine Butte don't like foreigners."
"We're not like that anymore."
The look he gave her said, Yeah, right. "It doesn't matter how liberal Pine Butte has become. Eighteen years a
go, if your name was MacCormac and you spoke with a brogue, you were different and therefore no good." When he saw her about to object, he slashed his hand through the air. "Believe me, Sarah, I know what I'm talking about."
She stared at her hands in her lap. She could feel his eyes on her face, willing her to look up at him. Finally she lifted her head. "I want to help you. What can I do?"
He closed his eyes for a moment and she felt him relax just a fraction. "I don't know." Opening his eyes, he looked at her. The flame began to burn again in his eyes as he watched her. "Right now it's enough to know you believe me."
"I believe you." God help her, when she looked into his clear, steady eyes, she did believe what he'd said about his father. And what was worse, she wanted to help him. I'm sorry Barbie, she whispered to herself. Barb had died twelve years ago, and she couldn't ever forget who had been responsible. But now there might be a murderer in her town. Regardless of how she felt about Connor, she would help him find the truth.
* * *
Chapter 6
«^»
I believe you.
They were only words, Connor told himself, but their impact staggered him.
He stood up to reach for Sarah and the pain stabbed at his head again. The world spun slowly around him, and he closed his eyes. As long as he didn't try to move, he could control the pain. He could ignore it, force his body to do what he demanded. Once he tried to move, though, the demons descended again.
He stood still for a moment, feeling his body sway slightly. In a flash Sarah stood next to him, her hands on his arm.
"Sit down!" The look she gave him was one of complete exasperation. "Honestly, you're as bad as a ten-year-old child."
He turned to her, trying to ignore the sweet torture of her hands on him. "I can't lie around doing nothing, Sarah. I can't let a little bump on the head make me into an invalid." He took her hands and gripped them, willing her to understand his urgency. "My only weapon was surprise. Now that's gone, but I still have no idea what happened to my father. I don't have the time to be hurt."
Her hands shifted in his and she looked at him, her eyes huge and luminous in the dim light. "If you don't give yourself at least a little time to heal, you're not going to be doing anything but lying in a hospital bed." The compassion in her eyes took the unsure out of her words.
"I'll be fine. I told you I know my own body."
"And I admit you were right. I've never heard of a concussion patient walking around the next day like you did. But you're not going to do anything more tonight. Sit back down, go back to sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough to fight the rest of the town single-handedly."
A smile transformed her face, and he tightened his hold on her. He wanted to draw her closer, to feel the warmth and fire in her. He wanted all that heat for his own.
"I need some fresh air," he muttered. A dose of cold water was more like it, he thought sourly. What was the matter with him, anyway? How could he even consider getting involved with a Wesley, and Barb Wesley's sister to boot?
"Why don't we go sit on the swing in the backyard?" she said, all solicitous concern. She sniffed delicately at the air. "Last time I checked, hospital disinfectant wasn't exactly a tonic for a headache."
"Sounds good." Anything was better than staying in this room, sitting on the bed with her.
She helped him to his feet and tucked one arm around his waist to help him walk. It was a completely impersonal gesture, but his muscles tightened in response. He glanced at her to see if she'd noticed, but she was looking down and her hair had fallen forward to cover her face. She's a nurse, he told himself, closing his eyes. She does this every day. He rested his hand on her shoulder, trying to make himself believe it was only because he needed the support, trying to ignore the feel of her warm, pliant skin beneath his hand. She was probably used to men making fools of themselves over her, too.
She opened the back door and a rush of sweet, cool air flowed over him. He took a deep breath, smelling the faint pine smell of the mountains on the slight breeze. Her arm tightened a fraction and he realized she was trying to direct him to a swing that sat in the corner of the yard.
The grass was dry and brown, seared by the summer heat. But the flowers and vegetables that surrounded it were all lush and verdant, showing someone's loving care. The swing blended into its surroundings, a sturdy glider made of weathered cedar.
As soon as they reached it, she slid her arm away from him and waited for him to sit down. In spite of himself, he allowed his fingers to trail down her arm before he let her go. After he'd settled himself, she squeezed herself into the farthest corner of the swing away from him.
For a while the only sound was the slight creak of the swing, moving slowly back and forth. Gradually he relaxed and heard the crickets chirping in the garden and the soft, muted sounds of creatures flying overhead in the darkness.
"It's peaceful out here." He heard the surprise and wonder in his voice.
"You must be used to living in a city."
It wasn't a question or even a request for information. She leaned back against the swing and stared at the moon and stars. She'd said it as if she knew.
"Why do you say that?" He couldn't keep the suspicion out of his voice, and she looked over at him, surprised.
"Only people who are used to noise and traffic notice the quiet in the country. Don't get so defensive. It was just an observation."
After a long time he answered. "Yeah, I've been living in a city. I'd forgotten how many stars there are in the sky out here." His voice was low, the words almost grudging. He was reluctant to part with even that small piece of information.
Her hand relaxed its grip on the arm of the swing and she leaned farther back, a dreamy smile on her face. "I love to come out here and look at the sky at night. I like knowing everyone else in the world is looking at the same sky, seeing the same stars. No matter where you go, you can always look at the sky and see something familiar."
"Where do you go, Sarah, to look up at the night sky?" he asked softly. He laid his arm on the back of the swing and allowed his fingers to touch the silk of her hair. In the moonlight its fiery color was as dark as a pool of water, drawing him under.
She stared at the sky for a long time before she answered. "Nowhere but Pine Butte." She didn't move, but her tension disturbed the night. She finally turned to look at him and he felt her hair flowing over his hand. "But I can imagine."
Was it his imagination or were those words whispered with a soul-wrenching longing? He needed to know. "Sarah? What do you mean?"
Her withdrawal was almost a tangible thing. She wrapped herself in her own thoughts and seemed to move away from him. Shrugging a little too casually, she said, "It was just an idle remark. You are going to stay here tonight, aren't you?" The abrupt change of subject was a pointed reminder that she, too, had places she didn't want probed.
"I guess I am, as long as you'll have me."
"I told you to stay as long as you want." She watched him for a moment, and he felt the tension ease just a bit. "In fact, it might be smart for you to stay here indefinitely. If someone is trying to … hurt you, it might be better if you weren't alone."
"That's exactly the reason I wouldn't stay here. I don't want you getting in the way of someone with a grudge against me."
"Nobody in this town would hurt me." She sat up straighter. "Nobody is that stupid. I'm the only medical person around here."
"Get real, Sarah. That wouldn't stop someone who thinks he's going to be charged with murder."
She turned to him again, sliding closer. "Maybe your father wasn't murdered. Have you thought about that? Maybe he really did have a simple heart attack at work. This could just be someone's idea of a sick joke." The urgency in her voice made him realize how scared she was.
"That's possible. But I can't just let it be. I have to know." His voice softened and in spite of himself he took her hand. "Can't you understand that?"
She let her hand lie in his
for a moment, then gently withdrew it. "Yes, I suppose I do."
From the tone of her voice and the shuttered look on her face he realized she was thinking about her sister. "There are some things that you just can't leave alone, Sarah. If you do, they fester in your soul like a cancer, eating away at you. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try to find the truth about my father."
"Are you trying to tell me I have to do the same with Barb?" she demanded. "Are you saying that my sister would have died in pain, still not telling the truth about her baby?"
"I'm not calling Barb a liar," he said gently. "Like I said yesterday, I'm sure she had a good reason for saying what she did. But the truth is, I wasn't the father of her baby." His lips compressed as he remembered exactly how much he had wished it could have been true, that summer twelve years ago.
She jumped up from the swing and stared at the distant mountain for a moment. Swinging around to face him, she drew herself up straight. "Why would she have lied?" she whispered. He heard the anguish in her voice, the doubts she wanted to deny with every fiber of her being.
"I don't know." His voice was almost a whisper, too, in the quiet of the night. "Obviously I didn't know Barb as well as I thought I did." He felt his mouth twist in a bitter grimace. Sarah wasn't the only one who'd lost her innocence with Barb's pregnancy.
"She was my only sister, and I loved her. I can't believe she would lie to me with her dying breath." She stared at him, pain and grief filling her eyes.
He stood up, too, and stared down at her. In the moonlight she looked as fragile and ethereal as a beam of starlight. The pale silver light couldn't show the steel that ran through her or the strength that was such an essential part of her.
"I know, Sarah. Believe me, I don't want that to be your last memory of your sister. But I can't change what happened twelve years ago, either. Whatever you think, though, remember this. I loved your sister. I would never have done anything to hurt her."
She looked at him, her eyes enormous and glistening. "I want to believe that, Connor. But I just can't."
AN INNOCENT MAN Page 8