Sounds simple, only it isn’t. The nurse is a sexy, saint-like woman who not only gives her heart away, but her virginity too. She won’t cheat, no matter how hard her vengeful husband and his friend try to make her turn her back on the man she fell in love with and married.
Because of her undying devotion to her husband, he falls in love with her and is soon overcome by guilt for all he’s done in his desire for money and revenge. Will what he’s done be too much for her to take, or will the love she has for him be so strong that their marriage will survive?
Part One
Chapter 1
Kaye
Morning dew covered the rose bushes that grew along the sidewalk. With a skip in my step, I tried my best to break the melancholy mood that struck me most mornings as I went to work.
It always made me just a little bit sad to go to work.
Not because of the patients. I knew I was one of the rare people who didn’t mind working with people who needed hospice care. Most of the other nurses did it and did it well because it was their job, but there was always this air of resentment. Hopefully not about the patients, but about each other.
It’s never easy to know that every single one of your patients will die under your care. Terminal diseases would take them all, no matter how well you cared for them. It took a particular kind of person to withstand all that comes with facing death head on and helping others accept their fate.
For me, though, I found it fascinating to interact with people in their last days. Not only did I get a chance to help them and to ease their pain and suffering, but I got to hear the stories these people had in their heads. The times they’d lived through and all of the things they’d said and done—it was all there. With just a little bit of patience, these human beings had the most interesting things to say and insights to give from another time.
Theodore Black, however, had become my favorite patient, by far. It was sort of funny, but I could still remember how terrified I had been to meet him, since he was something of a local legend. He was the epitome of the local boy who had succeeded in spite of everything that was stacked against him.
He’d ended up being nothing but a teddy bear. An old, almost deaf teddy bear, to be sure, but one without a mean bone in his body. A sweet, gruff old man who had won my heart almost immediately.
So it wasn’t him. He wasn’t the reason I’d been sad to come to work. Or not the whole reason. I was sad that I was going to lose him, but I knew I’d be richer for having known him.
The reason I was sad was that, in all of the time I’d been going to see Theodore—as he had insisted I call him—I had never, not once, seen anyone with him who wasn’t a health care professional. No friends—not even any family.
This man was the richest person I knew, but that certainly hadn’t made him happy. And that was what really depressed me. It made me almost sick to my stomach when I thought about it.
No one should have to die alone, and if I were the only person who could be with him in the end, then I would be. Months ago, I’d made the request to be transferred full-time to Theodore, and I had never been given cause to regret it.
“Kaye?”
Theodore had been in a particularly sour mood when I first became his nurse, and it hadn’t taken me long to figure out he mostly wanted to be left alone. Upon entering his home, I often remained quiet and unobtrusive until he called for me. To find him calling for me as soon as I walked in was a novelty.
The cancer inside him was eating him alive, and he had become too weak to do most things for himself. He was once such a strong man, then cancer had turned him into an invalid who had to be diapered, spoon-fed baby food, and bathed by his caretakers. I blinked at the thought, trying to push back my tears.
The last thing a nurse should do was cry for their patients. Not in front of them, anyway. Though I knew when the inevitable happened, I would cry plenty. I had been doing this since I was twenty-two. Four years ago I started my career as a nurse for hospice care. During that time, I had seen far too many incredible people die.
Theodore was something else, though. I knew his death would be even worse than any of the others I’d nursed until they passed. But I wasn’t going to let that get in the way of giving him the best possible care. So I pasted a smile on my face and bustled into the room.
“Hello, Theodore! Are you hungry?” I didn’t really expect the answer to be ‘yes,’ though I was hoping it would be. In the year I’d been nursing him in his home, he’d never been a huge eater, but it had gotten to the point lately that he was eating almost nothing.
He looked at me, his dark eyes seeming to burn as they ran me over from head to toe. He was taking my measure, I knew, and I looked at him right back, wanting to seem like I was the sort of person he could trust.
“Kaye,” he repeated my name, and I fought the urge to bite my lip. He clearly wanted to know if he could count on me, and I didn’t want to show any sign of indecision.
“I’m here, Theodore,” I murmured, letting my voice become a soothing balm. “What is it? What can I do to help?”
For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to do it—that his old habits of secrecy would go with him to the grave. I knew who he was—a big-deal businessman who had made a fortune and who had had two different wives try to take that fortune from him. I knew that only because it was pretty much common knowledge in Portland, though, not because he had ever spoken such things to me himself.
He had never spoken much about his past. The things I did know mostly came second hand.
His eyes had once been blue, from the photos I’d seen around his opulent home. They’d turned to such a pale color in his old age. Those pale eyes drooped at the outer edges. His lips quivered with the energy it took just for him to speak. “I need you to do something for me.”
I kept my smile firmly in place. I didn’t let it widen, no matter how much I wanted to. He’d finally asked for a favor. Before now, he wouldn’t have let himself be vulnerable like that.
“Anything.” I couldn’t think of a single thing he would ask for that I wouldn’t be willing to give him.
One hand pulled up from his side. A long, bone-thin finger pointed across the room. I followed the direction and saw he was gesturing to the landline telephone that sat on the dresser. “I need you to dial a number for me.”
My eyebrows wanted to rise, but I kept them schooled carefully. This was a big deal. He’d never asked me to make a phone call before, but I couldn’t act like it was strange or it could alienate him.
Though a knot had formed in my throat as emotion threatened to take me over, I managed a smooth tone. “Of course.”
Just treat it as routine.
When I went to the phone, I found it had a very long cord. I took it over to sit by his bed. It was one of those old models, with the curled cord that always ended up tangled. Picking it up, I half listened to the dial tone. I stayed silent, somehow sensing that, whatever happened, it was going to be a big deal. I was going to find out something about this man’s life and I didn’t want to do anything to derail it. I didn’t want him to change his mind about letting me help him this little bit he was finally allowing.
I waited. The silence stretched on, and I turned my gaze toward Theodore. He didn’t look back at me, apparently too fixated on his own wasted hands resting on his comforter, which was far thicker than most people would need with the heat of the summer lingering on into September. He was always cold though.
Gently, I dropped the phone back into the cradle, and he turned his eyes on me. “What are you doing? I need you to call someone.”
He had always been courteous to me, even when he was in massive pain from the cancer that was eating at him. The fact that he wasn’t now meant this was even more serious than I’d thought.
All in a rush, the digits of the phone number burst out of him. “Five, five, five, six, three, one, twenty-four hundred.”
It might actually have been one of the more courageous
things I had ever seen, watching this scared, sick old man trust me enough to share his life with me. It wasn’t something he’d done much of in his life. I knew that very well.
It was a good thing I had been paying attention. I was able to pick the phone up again and dial the numbers before I forgot them all. Breathless, I handed the phone to him, then tried to give him some space. I tried to act as if I wasn’t eavesdropping, though to be honest, I totally was.
Theodore didn’t ask me to leave, though, and that meant a lot to me too. It was all more trust than I thought I deserved, but I couldn’t help but be deeply honored by the whole thing.
I could hear the phone as he clasped it in his shaking hand. I heard it ring once, twice, a third time, and then the line abruptly went to voicemail. I heard a strong, confident, deeply masculine voice pick up, but there was a canned quality to it that let me know it was a recording.
I couldn’t hear the exact words, but I could tell from Theodore’s expression—too carefully neutral to be anything but artificial—that he was deeply hurt.
His hand shook as he placed the phone back into the cradle. “He never answers.” No one who wasn’t looking right into his eyes would be able to tell how much this had hurt him.
“Who?” I dared to ask. It was rude, and I was probably pushing the bonds of our friendship just a little bit too much. But there was no way I could keep that one word to myself. It was more than I had in me.
Maybe he’d been waiting for me to ask, though. He certainly showed no signs of hesitation in answering me. “My grandson. My only grandson.” His voice did a strange thing. It didn’t quite break—he was too strong for that—but it dipped down a little lower. Subtle. Not the sort of thing that I would have noticed if I hadn’t been paying strict attention.
My heart clenched in my chest and I had this sudden feeling like I’d been drenched with ice water. Not on the outside, though. On the inside, so that it froze me more surely and deeply. My heart broke for this poor, strong man, so alone and still so brave.
I started to dislike this grandson immediately. I didn’t know what had happened between them and I didn’t really care, honestly. Nothing could excuse this man, whoever he was, from ignoring his dying grandfather.
I had to do something to curtail the hurt the poor man was enduring. “Maybe he just wasn’t home.” I had to try to cheer the poor guy up, but also wanted to be fair to this grandson. I didn’t know the man, after all. I was tempted to judge him, but what did I know?
“That’s his cell phone. He never answers it.” Theodore let out a soft sigh, one I was sure I wasn’t supposed to hear. “Not for me, anyway.”
Just like that, the dislike was back. Or something like dislike, anyway. The situation must be pretty grim when a man could ignore his grandfather like this. I couldn’t even imagine doing such a thing.
“I’ve tried calling so many times,” he murmured, his voice even smaller than it had been before. There was a brief moment of silence between us, and when he spoke again, his voice was stronger.
“I’d like some water, Kaye, if you don’t mind,” he said, and I smiled a little, though my heart was breaking for the man. He was always so polite, even though he didn’t have to be. A bit cold and remote, but always a gentleman.
“Of course.” I kept my voice as cheerful as I could as I went off to get him his water.
Damn that grandson of his. The fool better wake up and smell the coffee.
He was Theodore’s only heir. Theodore might decide to leave it all to charities or something if his grandson didn’t eventually contact him.
Seeing as how the man never saw fit to make a visit to his dying grandfather, maybe the riches should go to charity. At least then the money would be appreciated.
David
When the phone rang, I didn’t have any idea who it could be at first.
I should have. My grandfather had always been a stubborn man, and it had been him trying to reach me for years—years of him calling at least every month. Over the past year, it had been more like once a week, if not twice.
Not once had I answered. It had been twelve years since the last time I’d laid eyes on my grandfather or even heard his voice. Twelve years that I’d been utterly unable to make myself face the one and only member of my family who was still alive.
When my mother had taken off on us when I was only five, life had truly sucked. It had been okay, though, eventually. I’d been able to get through it because I still had my father, and the two of us had gotten through just fine.
Maybe my mother leaving hadn’t left me entirely without scars. I didn’t trust women from that day, and though I’d had lovers and even relationships, none of them had lasted. At the age of thirty, I had no desire to marry. Why bother when whoever I married would just leave me anyway?
Everyone left me eventually, anyway.
I’d been seventeen when my father had been in the car accident that had taken him from me. It was a drunk driver. The guy had plowed into my father going at least forty miles above the speed limit. They said my dad hadn’t suffered at all and that his death would have been instant.
Then it was just me and I thought it was probably better that way. My father had started a tech company, and I had taken it over after his death. I couldn’t do much with it at first, but once I’d made it through college, that was a different story.
I didn’t need anyone. Why count on someone and then have them leave you? There was no point. I had friends, of course, but no one who I was super close to, and I liked it that way.
I would never give anyone that sort of power over me.
Never.
So that’s why I let the call from my grandfather go to voicemail each and every single time. The last time that I had seen him was at my father’s funeral, twelve years ago. It had hurt to watch him. He was basically an older version of my dad, right down to the tone of his voice and the subtle hint of humor in his dark blue eyes.
After all this time, I had no idea why he would be calling me. I kept expecting him to give up and I thought that might be best for everyone involved. He needed to not expect anything from me.
Or, maybe more to the point, I needed to not expect anything more from him. One thing I’d learned about people is that, whether they wanted to or not, they left you.
So I watched as his number flashed on my call display screen. ‘Grandpa,’ it said, as though I didn’t already know that. As though I hadn’t memorized every digit of that phone number.
And, like always, it was nothing but a reminder of what I was missing.
I’d built a life by myself. Grandpa had made himself rich with lumber, but Dad had never been happy with accepting the family fortune without doing anything to earn it. Neither had I.
Black Technology had been our answer to that, and what my dad had started, I had continued on in a way that had honestly surprised even me. The men of my family, it turned out, had a knack for business—for making money.
As I watched my phone’s lit screen, my fingers itched. What would happen if I did pick it up? By now, my grandpa must not expect that. Would it shock him to hear my voice?
That was almost a good enough reason for me to do it. Almost. There was an impish side of me that would enjoy surprising the man, but at the same time, what would happen if I did?
It was too easy to imagine. My grandpa would doubtless be shocked. There could be no way, after twelve years, that he would expect me to do it. I’d get maybe as much as ten seconds of shocked silence.
And then what?
Well, then the questions would start. The recriminations. The reminders that the old man was all I had left and that we had to stick together. My grandfather had never been the type of man to hold back when he had something to say.
The hell of it was, I would deserve it. I was the one who had cut off contact. My reasons for doing it, I thought, were sound enough. But even I knew that I could have said something—given some sort of explanation to the old man who
was my only family.
He had kept in contact as much as I had let him. There had always been a card at Christmas and another at my birthday. Every year I expected him to give up, but I guess the Black men had always had a bit of a stubborn streak.
It would be nice to hear his voice.
My phone stopped buzzing, and I let out a soft sigh—a breath I hadn’t even been aware I was holding. I’d missed the chance. It was too late. Maybe this was even the last time grandpa would try to call. There had to be a last time, right? Sooner or later, he would give up.
Or …
No. The old man was immortal, like the mountains themselves. I wouldn’t think about him dying. But surely enough was enough. I’d been pushing him away for so long, and even someone as stubborn as he was had to give up at some point.
For just a moment, I had the almost overwhelming urge to call him back. To tell him …what? That I was sorry, maybe. Sorry for protecting myself. Sorry that the months kept on going by, and that each and every time he called I told myself I’d answer the next one.
Next time, maybe. If there was a next time. Lately, the urge to take the call had been getting stronger and stronger, and it nagged at me more too.
Once, it had been easy for me to glance at my screen and then go right back to work. There had been so much to do, after all. Now, the company almost ran itself, and with my thirtieth birthday coming up in a few days, I was starting to have the sense that I should accept the gestures the man kept extending to me.
My birthday.
Of course. That was it. On my thirtieth birthday, my grandfather would call again. I knew he would. He always did. On that day, I would take the call, and I would accept anything he wanted to say to me. That was only three days away, and it would give me some time to prepare myself for whatever happened.
Hell, what did I know? There was a decent chance he just wanted to tell me off for ignoring him for so long. So be it. It was sort of ridiculous that I was hiding from him, or that I had done so for so long.
Her Dark Melody Page 33