Someday Soon

by Debbie Macomber

  4

  Cain tossed his car keys in the air and caught them in his left hand. From the way he was acting, one would assume he was a love-starved teen. Hell, that was the way he felt. He paused then, struck by the realization of what he was letting happen. Wanted to happen.

  Linette Collins was dangerous.

  Not only to his sanity, but to his very life. Cain had seen it happen often enough to other men to know the danger signs. Yet here he was making the same choice, the same mistake.

  He was damn close to losing his own fool head. And all over a woman. Only Linette wasn’t an ordinary woman. She possessed special powers. She must in order to tie him up in knots a sailor couldn’t undo.

  Cain was good at what he did. Damn good. From the time he was in Special Forces, he’d heard that he was a natural. What that meant, he’d decided years later, was that he didn’t give a damn whether he lived or died. It all boiled down to one thing: He had nothing to lose.

  It was this that had given him an edge, the steadiest hand, the clearest head. Now that he’d met Linette, he understood what this advantage had cost him. Over the years, the price had been exacting and demanding.

  Roughly, he didn’t give a tinker’s damn about anyone or anything other than Deliverance Company and the all-encompassing, all-important mission.

  He’d held Linette and kissed her, thinking…hell, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. Clearly he hadn’t been, otherwise he would have known better, would have taken one look at her and run as fast as his legs would carry him in the opposite direction.

  A woman like Linette would muddle his mind, would mire his reflexes. A woman like this would be the death of him. Then he’d leave this world as lonely and as miserable as when he’d entered it. It wasn’t much of a legacy.

  What frightened Cain most was how desperately he needed her. Linette Collins, the gentle widow, had the power to cure his heart. She had the power to cure him of a lifetime of not giving a damn.

  Cain sat in his car and thumped his fist against the steering column. He had an idea. A crazy one in light of what he’d been thinking, but one that had presented itself and wouldn’t let go.

  Before he could change his mind, he climbed out of the car and hurried back into Linette’s apartment building. Instead of waiting for the elevator, which he considered too slow, he raced up the three flights of stairs, taking the steps two and three at a time.

  He was panting by the time he arrived outside her apartment. Drawing in several deep breaths, he waited until his heart had calmed before he rang her doorbell.

  Although he didn’t see it happen, he was certain Linette checked the peephole before unlatching the deadbolt lock.

  “Cain?”

  “Listen,” he said, struggling to sound nonchalant and relaxed, “I just had an idea. Why don’t you spend Christmas with me in Montana?”

  “Spend Christmas with you in Montana?” Linette repeated slowly.

  Cain was beginning to think this might not be such a brilliant idea after all. “You were telling me how difficult the holiday is for you. I’m offering you a solution.”

  “But…”

  Apparently she didn’t know what to think of his suggestion, because she blinked several times and stared at him with a dumbstruck expression.

  “I’ve got a ranch house there with plenty of bedrooms, so you don’t need to worry about sleeping arrangements. I’m not expecting anything more than your company for a few days.” He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Couldn’t believe he was tossing his heart out on a slab for her to either accept or reject.

  Perhaps he was trying to make up for all the Christmases he’d missed as a kid, with a father who guzzled every dime he’d ever earned. Somewhere in a hidden corner of Cain’s heart, a little boy was waiting for the Christmas tree and the home-cooked turkey with all the trimmings. He’d believed that child had long since matured to manhood, but apparently all it took was the warmth and gentleness of a beautiful widow to reawaken the long forgotten childhood fantasy.

  “Listen,” he said, feeling more foolish by the minute, “think about it, and when we meet tomorrow evening, you can let me know. It’s just an idea, and if you’d rather not come, then it isn’t a big deal.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Cain turned away, wishing now he’d taken more time to consider what he was doing before traipsing upstairs and taking the bull by the horns.

  “Cain.”

  He whirled back around.

  Linette had stepped into the hallway. She looked vulnerable and uncertain. “I’ll be happy to go.”

  He shouldn’t be this pleased, but he was. Ecstatic. Already he’d determined that Linette was dangerous. Yet here he was inviting her to his home, opening his heart and his life to her softness. He might as well pull the pin out of a hand grenade and drop it at his own feet. All he had to do now was wait for the explosion.

  “How soon can you leave?” he asked, burying his hands in his pockets in an effort to resist the urge to kiss her again.

  She gestured weakly as if she weren’t sure how to answer him. “Tomorrow, but I’ll need to make the arrangements with Bonnie, and I need be back before the twenty-eighth.”

  “No problem.”

  She grinned then, and Cain swore he’d never seen anyone with a more beautiful smile.

  “You’ll call me in the morning?”

  He nodded, and took two giant steps backward.

  “Good night, Cain.”

  “Night.” It wasn’t until he was in his car that he realized he was whistling. He stopped abruptly, wondering what madness had overtaken him. It didn’t matter if this craziness had a name, Cain decided. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been this happy.

  Francine dressed carefully for her second encounter with Tim Mallory. Not that she had a vast wardrobe to choose from. Her closet contained mostly white uniforms of tops and slacks that afforded her freedom of movement. For the occasional interview and business meeting, she kept a couple of tailored suits on hand, but nothing spectacular.

  She wore her hair the way she always did, pulled tightly away from her face in a long French braid that stretched halfway down the middle of her back. She didn’t bother with makeup. Never had, even as a teenager. Nature hadn’t given her an attractive face, and with nothing to enhance, she figured why go to all the bother.

  She parked her car in the driveway and hopped out, taking her gym bag with her. She was eager to get started on this case. She’d always thrived on challenge, and something told her she was going to enjoy working with this particular patient.

  Generally she would have preferred starting Monday morning, but the longer they waited before beginning the exercises, the greater the chance Tim Mallory’s muscles would atrophy. She’d know soon enough how much his leg muscles had already degenerated.

  Tim Mallory might think he was some he-man soldier, but she’d demand every ounce of grit the mercenary ever believed he possessed.

  When she arrived at the house, Greg, his personal assistant, opened the door for her. “It’s Sunday,” he said, looking surprised to see her.

  “I know. How’s the patient?”

  The beefy young man shrugged. “About the same. Cantankerous, angry, and in a generally bad mood.”

  “Be prepared, then,” she said, casting the assistant a sympathetic glance. “Because it’s about to get worse. Much worse.”

  “You’re kidding, I hope.”

  “I wish I was. Come and get me in an hour, and bring ice bags and two aspirin.”

  “For Mr. Mallory?”

  “No,” she said with a chuckle. “For me. Mallory and I’ve only met once, but I can tell this guy’s going to give me a migraine.”

  Greg laughed.

  Francine didn’t wait for him to show her the way, she already knew the mercenary was holed up in the back bedroom. Probably with the lights off, buried under blankets because the lack of circulation in the lower half of his body left him chilled inside
and out.

  She found him just where she’d suspected she would.

  “Hello again,” she said brightly, flipping on the light switch and moving into the bedroom with the determination of a Mac truck.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Tim demanded. He sat up in the bed and grabbed the clock off the bedstand. “It’s barely nine.”

  “I prefer to start early. Beginning Monday morning, I’ll be here at six. We’ll have your first workout before breakfast.”

  “Wanna bet, sweetheart?” His dark gaze hardened, daring her to defy him. She noted his eyes were dull with pain and rimmed with fatigue. Her best guess was that he wasn’t sleeping much and had the appetite of a bird. That too was about to change.

  Francine flattened her hand against her hip. She didn’t like being referred to as “sweetheart,” especially in that tone of voice, but mentioning it was certain to guarantee he would continue.

  “Do I wanna bet? Sure, I’d be willing to place a wager on that.”

  Mallory eyes flared, as though he’d welcome the opportunity to send her packing. “Any time, any place.”

  “Great,” she said gleefully. “We’ll make it easy. You get out of that bed and walk me to the door, and I’m out of here. Until that happens, big boy, I’m going to be your shadow. I promise you, you’ll never work harder than in the next several months.”

  His blunt features flushed with anger. “I can’t walk,” he said between gritted teeth. “And you damn well know it.”

  “Not now you can’t, but you will in time.”

  “Can you guarantee that?”

  “No,” she returned evenly, unwilling to pull any punches. “But you’re going to have to give it your best shot, and I’m here to help you.” Rolling up her sleeves, she smiled at him. “Let’s get started.”

  “I don’t feel like it.” The anger in his eyes intensified as he glared at her.

  “I don’t suppose you do. No one does, and I’m not going to lie to you, Mr. Mallory. There’s going to be pain, plenty of it. For a time, you’ll hate me.” She rolled the empty wheelchair away from his bedside.

  “I already do.”

  She grinned and promised, “But not nearly as much as you will.”

  By the end of the first hour of gently working the stiff muscles of Mallory’s legs, rubbing them down to encourage the circulation, Francine was invigorated. As she worked, she explained what she was doing and why. She wanted to reassure him there was a payoff for the pain she inflicted on him. From Mallory’s tense silence it was unlikely her patient had received the message.

  Francine had enough experience to know this procedure wasn’t painless, but after the first few protests, Tim lay on his back, his eyes closed, his expression cast in stone.

  “How much longer?” he asked after the first hour. His face glistened with sweat, and his chest heaved as he struggled against revealing his discomfort.

  “I’m almost finished,” she said, working the calf of his injured leg. She elevated it slightly, and as he rolled his head to one side, she saw that he’d gritted his teeth. There was no joy in witnessing pain. It was never easy to see another suffer, no matter how cantankerous the patient. More often than not, her lecture on the benefits of the exercise were for her own ears. She needed to be reminded of the eventual outcome for all this agony.

  By the end of the session, what little energy Tim Mallory possessed had vanished. Greg arrived, and Francine asked that he help Mallory out of his clothes and into his swimming suit.

  Her patient lifted his head off the sweat-drenched pillow. “I thought you said we were through.”

  “We are. But now that I’ve got the circulation going in that leg, I want to put it to use.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “I know.” She’d wager he was a lot more than tired, but she couldn’t allow her sympathy to show.

  “Not today.”

  “Greg,” she said, “have him to the swimming pool in fifteen minutes.”

  The young man grinned and nodded. “I’ll see that he’s there.”

  “Good.” With that she reached for her gym bag and left the room. She heard Tim protest the minute she was out of the room, but he didn’t stand a chance of winning this argument, and he knew it. The mercenary might not willingly own up to it, but he had few options. Eventually acceptance would come, but from what she knew of Mallory’s personality, he’d hold out as long as he could.

  One thing was certain, he didn’t have much energy left to put up much of a fight. At least for now.

  Linette’s first impression of the ranch house was that it looked like something out of a television western. Bonanza revisited. The two-story log structure, nestled against the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains, looked as inviting as a port in a storm. An apt description in light of the fat snowflakes lazily drifting down from a thunder blue sky.

  “It’s beautiful,” she told Cain.

  “I called ahead and had the kitchen stocked, so there’ll be plenty of chow. John Stamp’s my foreman, and his wife, Patty, promised to check everything over and have the house ready when we arrived.” Cain glanced her way. “Are you tired?”

  “Not in the least.” They’d spent the majority of the day hopping from one airport to another, and when they’d finally landed, they’d had to drive nearly three hours.

  Cain had phoned Linette bright and early that morning and asked if she could make a ten o’clock flight. After a moment of panic, she’d assured him in a calm voice that it wouldn’t be a problem, and thanks to Bonnie, it hadn’t been.

  “I’m more hungry than anything,” Cain said.

  Gourmet cooking was one of Linette’s favorite things. She hadn’t been doing much of that lately, not when she was cooking for one. Now she looked forward to impressing Cain with the smooth way she handled herself around a kitchen.

  Cain pulled the Bronco into the detached garage and helped her out of the passenger’s side before hauling their luggage out of the back end.

  The lights from inside the house glowed brightly like beacons of welcome. Linette reached for her cosmetic bag and followed Cain through a thin layer of freshly fallen snow to the house. Several inches had already been shoveled off the pathway.

  The door was unlocked, and Linette sighed inwardly at the rush of warm air that greeted her. When Cain had mentioned the ranch house, she hadn’t a clue it would be this beautiful or this inviting. From the entryway, she saw a fire flickering gently in the massive stone fireplace. A stairway rounded up one side to a hallway, leading, she suspected, to a series of bedrooms.

  Cain removed his coat and hung it in the closet before helping her out of hers.

  “If you take care of the luggage, I’ll see what I can do about rustling us up some dinner.” Eager to explore his beautiful house, she didn’t wait for his response.

  While Cain carried their suitcases up the stairs, Linette wandered into the kitchen. She stood, awestruck, just inside the door. This wasn’t an ordinary kitchen, but a chef’s dream. Sparkling copper kettles hung from above a large gourmet island. The appliances looked new, and a quick investigation revealed a walk-in cooler and a six-burner gas stove.

  It didn’t take Linette long to realize nothing was required of her. Dinner was already prepared and waiting for their arrival. Apparently Patty Stamp had seen to that along with everything else.

  Cain soon joined her. “Dinner’s ready,” she announced.

  “That was quick,” he teased.

  They ate at the dining room table, which was set with pink linen napkins and a centerpiece made of freshly clipped holly and cinnamon candles. Neither felt obligated to carry the conversation. Linette suspected it was because they didn’t feel the necessity to fill the silence with idle chatter. Perhaps, like her, Cain didn’t know what to say.

  Cain helped her with the dishes, and afterward they drank coffee in front of the fireplace in matching wing-back leather chairs. As he sipped from the ceramic mug, Cain read over some business
papers John Stamp had left for him to review.

  The fire mesmerized Linette; the flames licked noisily at the logs, and every now and again they’d spit and sizzle as if undergoing some great debate.

  Intermittently her gaze drifted to Cain, and she thought about what her parents had said, the warnings they’d issued when they’d learned she was spending the holiday with a man she barely knew. Yet she felt none of their concern.

  Cain must have felt her scrutiny because he raised his eyes to her. His gaze softened as it met hers. His look was gentle, almost loving. Neither spoke. For her part, Linette wasn’t sure she could. All she knew was there was no place else she would rather be than right here with Cain McClellan sitting at her side.

  “I’m not being good company, am I?”

  “On the contrary,” she hurried to say. “I’m perfectly content.”

  Her in-laws hadn’t known what to say when she’d announced she wouldn’t be joining them for Christmas after all. Linette knew she’d stunned them by telling them she was traveling with Cain to Montana. Michael’s mother had swiftly phoned Linette’s, and within fifteen minutes Linette had received a call from her concerned parents. Once she’d explained how she’d met Cain and what she intended to do over Christmas, her mother had been left speechless. Unfortunately Betty Lawson’s silence hadn’t lasted long, and Linette had been forced to listen to a tense lecture about the wisdom of her actions.

  Apparently both Michael’s parents and her own felt she was making a foolish mistake. She couldn’t trust her own judgment, they feared. She wasn’t herself. Grief had clouded her thinking.

  Perhaps they were right.

  Linette had certainly never done anything like this before, but then she’d never met a man like Cain McClellan.

  She yawned and decided to rest her eyes a moment. She must have been more tired than she realized and drifted off to sleep, because the next thing she knew Cain was whispering close to her ear. Her eyes fluttered open, and she found him standing next to her chair.