by Julie Miller
Chapter Ten
“What would I do without him?” Martha Taylor sniffed back the tears that had already turned her eyes red.
Brett tightened his grip around his mother’s shoulders, worried at the downward spiral of her thoughts. “We’re not going to lose him, Ma.”
“Then why won’t they tell us anything?”
When she turned her face into his chest, Brett snuggled her inside the dubious comfort of his hug. He was way out of his league with this one. Though the doctors in the E.R. and cardiac unit of St. Luke’s Hospital had all spoken positively about his father’s chances for recovery, his mother was taking this threat to her family with uncharacteristic pessimism.
Sid Taylor had never suffered anything worse than a cold or the flu, she’d insisted. Strong as a bull, he rarely missed a day of work in his butcher shop.
“Why didn’t I see this happening to him? I’ve been baking too many desserts. I let him sleep in front of the TV when he should be out walking.”
Brett understood that kind of guilt born out of love. He tightened his hug and spoke words that Sid had once told him, shortly after Mark Bishop’s death. “You can’t predict the future. You can’t always know what’s going on in someone else’s life. We just have to do the best we can with what we know.”
The words made logical sense, but still couldn’t blot out the shadow of failure that had plagued him all these years. Mark’s tragedy could have been prevented. He should have prevented it.
“I know.” Martha stepped back. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, calming herself. He wondered if she had found comfort in those words, or if she, like him, was simply going through the motions of moving on so her family wouldn’t worry about her. “I suppose it’s Alvin Bishop’s funeral that’s making me think this way. They were the same age.”
“Dad is nothing like old Alvin was.” Brett refused to even compare the two men. One knew nothing about fatherhood, while Sid could write a book about how to do it right. “I know I’m prejudiced,” he conceded. “But Dad takes a lot better care of himself than Alvin ever did.”
Martha nodded. “He takes good care of all of us.”
Gideon pushed to his feet from the waiting room’s velour couch. He massaged his hand across their mother’s back. “Bypass operations are a routine procedure. They’ve done hundreds of them here at St. Luke’s. Dad’ll pull through and get back to keeping us all in line in no time.”
Mac added his support. “You handled everything the way you’re supposed to, Ma. The doc said there won’t be any permanent damage to his heart muscle. When Dad felt the pressure in his chest, he called 911. And the aspirin you gave him may have helped prevent more serious side effects.”
“But they’re cutting him open.” She touched her hand to her sternum where Sid’s incision would be. “He’s old enough to retire. He shouldn’t have to work in that shop every day.”
Josh shrugged his fingers through his sandy-brown hair and grinned. “But Ma, how would he meet all his friends? He’s a mainstay at the City Market. Going to work is a social event for him.” His remark earned him his mother’s indulgent smile.
Jessie stood and linked her arm through Martha’s. “Come and sit for a while. You’ve been up since two this morning. You don’t want Dad worrying about you not taking care of yourself.”
“I know you’re right. But waiting is so hard.” Martha still clung tenaciously to Brett’s hand. “Will you find out what’s going on?”
Seeing her surrounded by his younger siblings—all strong, competent, caring adults now—Brett felt safe enough to leave her side. “I’ll go ask the nurse for an update.”
“I just wish Cole was here.” Martha’s gaze swung up to his. The responsibility she entrusted him with settled like a mantle about his shoulders. With Sid temporarily incapacitated, she looked to him to serve as head of the family. “I know he and your father haven’t always seen eye to eye. But he should be here.”
That mantle grew a little heavier. He looked beyond the family circle to his cousin and best friend, Mitch. “Last I knew, he was working at that Italian restaurant over on Harrison.”
“I’ll get on the horn and track him down.” Mitch turned to his wife before stepping away. “You okay?”
Casey Taylor nodded and slipped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. “I’ll stay and keep Martha company.”
An unexpected ache clenched inside Brett at the unabashed kiss they shared. He immediately thought of Ginny. She was so strong, so driven and mentally focused. A pint-size fireball of temper and passion who hid her vulnerabilities beneath an icy control. He’d called her earlier, hoping to draw on some of that strength.
Or maybe it was the vulnerability he sought. She might be the one person who could understand this fear of letting down his family. Of not being the person his mother and father and brothers and sister needed him to be right now.
He’d failed before.
He might fail again.
But it wouldn’t be for lack of trying. Determined to see his family through this crisis, he left the plush waiting room and strode down the hallway to the surgical ICU desk.
“Excuse me.” He leaned over the counter to prompt the attention of the two attendants sharing a conversation over their monitors. “Can you tell me if my father’s out of surgery yet?”
The younger of the two desk clerks answered. “One of the surgical aides buzzed a couple of minutes ago, Mr. Taylor. They’re closing up now.”
“That’s good, right?” he asked, knowing he’d never shake this sense of unease until he saw his father’s mischievous grin for himself. “The surgery hasn’t taken too long, has it?”
“I don’t know those kind of details.” She smiled in sympathy. “But the doctor will come out in a few minutes to give you a status report.”
She spun her chair around to resume her conversation with her friend. Her hair twirled with the movement, stirring up the clean scent of her shampoo. But as he inhaled, the fragrance changed. A subtle perfume of flowers teased his nose, the rich texture of freesia. The familiar scent of…
…an angel.
Brett looked to the elevator doors and watched a miraculous ray of sunshine step toward him. His breath caught in his throat, and something hot stung the corners of his eyes as Ginny closed the distance between them. A shy frown puckered the smooth skin of her forehead.
“How’s your father?” she asked, as if she was breathless from rushing to the hospital, yet unsure of her welcome.
So strong, he thought. So vulnerable.
He stared at her for a moment in disbelief that she had come, absorbing the beauty of her bright blue eyes. He hadn’t asked, yet she was here. He gaped long enough to see her fingers reach up to nervously tuck that stray silver-blond curl behind her ear.
“Brett?”
Like a statue suddenly brought to life by some divine magic, he leaned down and closed himself around her, wrapping her in his embrace, burying his nose in the flowery scent of her hair. He dared to speak only when her arms snuck around his waist and held on to him with that unique feminine strength that made him feel whole and supremely masculine. The tips of her small fingers pressed into his back, aligning them together in a way that had him believing the past could really stay in the past, and he could look forward to the future once more.
“You’re here.”
She turned her cheek into his chest and snuggled closer. “The Taylors, and anyone who cares about them, come together in times of crisis, right?”
A cold splash of reality doused his soaring spirit. He raised his head and inched back, resting his hands on her shoulders, reluctant to break contact with her completely. The confused expression on her face when she tipped her chin did her credit. Her acting skills were improving.
“Your cover.” He’d come too far through the emotional wringer to mask his disappointment. “Smart move to show up here. I’ll get that call in to Sophie for you as soon as
I find out about Dad.”
Her hands latched onto his belt and jerked him back as he turned away. Her cheeks flushed a brilliant rose.
“Dammit, Brett. I want to be here. I…” Her gaze dropped to the buttons of his shirt as she seemed to search for a particularly difficult word to express herself. Then her hands tightened into fists and she lifted her face to zap him with a bolt of clear cobalt blue. “I was trying to say that I care about you. I wanted you to know that if there’s something I can do to help, I will. You’ve helped me with Amy and Alvin. I owe you. I just wanted you to know that.”
He trailed his fingers along her jaw, testing the combination of softness and strength there, of silky skin and resolute determination. He traced the curl behind her ear and let her hair tangle in his fingers as he framed her face in his hands.
Perhaps she had come simply to repay a debt. Maybe it was beyond the capacity of her guarded heart to feel love. Maybe her sense of fair play was the best she could give him at the moment. Maybe it was the most she would ever be willing to give.
Brett was too smart and too tired and too full of need for this woman to let that little window of opportunity pass him by. He wanted only one thing from her. He had only one request.
He dared her to meet his challenge.
“Stay.”
“DAMMIT, Cole, you plant your butt in the chair and wait until Ma gets back out here.” Brett fisted his hands at his sides, fighting the urge to grab his younger brother by his long brown ponytail and drag him back to the waiting room.
At Mitch’s request, the prodigal son had shown up at the hospital. But after twenty minutes, Cole Taylor had slipped into his black leather jacket and headed for the elevators.
“Look.” Strong, unsmiling features, so like his own at the moment, defied him. “I made my peace with Dad. I can’t stay.”
“It sounds like you read him the last rites. You want Ma to hear you talk that way?” Brett’s temperature rose right along with his concern over the look on their mother’s face when she walked out of Sid’s room and found she had missed Cole again.
“I can’t stay.” He articulated each word with a finality that hinted at some underlying message.
But with only a couple hours of sleep to get him through this family crisis, Brett didn’t have the patience to figure it out. “You run out on us so often, I forget what you look like. Which side of the law is taking up your time today?”
A flash of fire in Cole’s dark eyes flared and went out. Brother number three could mask his feelings as quickly and completely as…as Ginny.
“Don’t you think I want to come back and be a part of this family?”
Still rattled by the comparison he’d just made, Brett reached out to his brother the way he wanted to reach out to Ginny. He clasped his hands around Cole’s thick shoulders. “Then do it.”
“I can’t, big brother.”
“Are you in that much trouble?”
An edgy control that kept people at a distance softened a fraction. Cole gripped Brett’s wrist and squeezed, the closest thing to a hug that he would allow. “I watch my back.”
“You better.” Brett released him, but cuffed a friendly fist at his shoulder. “Or I will.”
“I’ll get back when I can. Take care of Ma, okay? Jessie, too.”
The request went without saying. Cole was the Taylor who seemed to need help right now. “Is there something I can do?”
“Nah.” He pressed the down button on the elevator, telling Brett the conversation was over.
The words to keep his family together failed Brett. He searched for the right thing to say or do. In the end, he could only stand shoulder to shoulder with his brother, and doff a goodbye salute as the elevator doors shut behind him.
“Brett?” Ginny’s crisp voice snuck through his overworked mind, pinpointing that raw inner core that carried the burden of his family’s troubles. He failed to muster a smile before turning to face her. “Your father’s asking for you.”
A full day at the hospital hadn’t dulled the beauty in the symmetry of her heart-shaped face. Dealing with insurance forms and wayward brothers and the threat to his father’s life hadn’t dulled his desire for her, either. Soft yet strong, sure of herself yet shy, Ginny Rafferty had gotten into his blood somehow.
But murders and this damn charade between them got in the way of telling her how he felt, of proving to himself he had the right to feel this way.
Brett reached for her hand and pulled her into step beside him as he marched down the hallway to his father’s room. True to an unpredictable nature he might never understand, she tugged against his grip.
“I’m just the messenger, Brett. Your mother said Sid wanted to talk to you.”
“He’ll talk to us.” He emphasized the group pronoun and lengthened his stride.
Ginny doubled her speed to keep up. “But I don’t belong—”
“You belong to me.”
Brett stopped and looked down into her stunned face. “That ring says as much. My father believes you love me, that we’re getting married. I don’t intend to let him think any differently until he’s better.”
“I just thought—”
“Don’t think.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and let the heel of his palm slide down to the upper curve of her right breast. “Feel. Open up that cold, frightened heart of yours and just feel something for a change.”
A sheen of moisture brightened her eyes. “That’s not fair. I don’t want to hurt your family. But I’m an outsider. This is hardly the time or place to promote our engagement.”
“Then why did you come this morning?” He asked the question knowing that he pushed those emotional buttons she tried so hard to avoid. “Why did you stay?”
She dropped her focus to the front of his shirt, a sure sign that she didn’t know the answer herself. “Because you asked?”
Brett shook his head and pressed his hand closer to her heart. “Doesn’t some small part of you care about me? For real?”
Ginny bowed her head and pulled away from his touch. “You shouldn’t keep your father waiting.”
He felt the space opening between them like a yawning chasm. He ached to bring her closer, physically, mentally and emotionally. He wanted to teach Ginny about love. He wanted to teach her about trust.
But how? When? Would she even give him a chance?
Brett had a sinking suspicion that his time to reach Ginny’s battered heart was growing short. Soon she’d find Alvin’s killer, and his usefulness to her would end.
With Ginny’s help, he could put Mark Bishop’s memory to rest. She could help him come to terms with his past. But it seemed she had little faith that there could be any future with him.
With a weary sigh, he took her hand, more gently this time, and raised it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the silky skin at her knuckles, glad that she had stayed the day with him, regretful that she hadn’t stayed for the reason he wanted.
“Let’s go see Dad.”
Brett pushed the door open and paused as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light of the SICU room. Chilled air danced along his skin and a sharp whiff of alcohol and iodine tingled in his nose.
But a familiar face, a shade more pale than usual, yet creased with laughter and love, smiled at him from the white pillow. “Brett?”
A steady, healthy beep repeated itself from the monitor beside Sid Taylor’s bed. Behind Brett, Ginny freed her hand and urged him to his father’s side. Brett stepped forward at her gentle insistence. He knew an ironic sense of calm at having the detective behind him to back him up—though the support he took from Ginny’s quiet presence had nothing to do with her badge.
Sid lifted his hand from the sheet atop the bed. Brett linked their thumbs and caught his father’s hand between both of his. Brett couldn’t help but note that Sid’s big grip wasn’t as firm as before. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to be seen.” Sid smiled, though the effort to laugh made hi
m catch at his side with pain. “Damn tubes. Scared your mother. I tried to tell her I don’t feel as bad as I look. Have one of the nurses explain to her what everything’s for.”
“Relax, Dad.” Brett squeezed his father’s hand. “I’ve got everything under control. All you need to concentrate on is getting your strength back. Despite the trouble you had with the anesthesia, the doctors say you’ll be fine.”
Sid nodded and sank back into the pillows, clearly exhausted by the eighteen-hour ordeal. “Your ma’s depending on you.”
“I know.”
As his eyes drifted shut, Sid summoned the strength to tighten his hold on Brett’s hand. “Don’t carry the weight of all this yourself, son. Let that young woman of yours share the burden.”
Sid turned his cheek into the pillow and looked past Brett. Despite pain, exhaustion and a sewed-up hole in his chest, the original Taylor charmer flashed a smile. “I’ll be up and out of here in no time. I expect to be dancing at your wedding reception soon. I get the first dance after Brett, right?”
Feeling the waning strength in his father’s grip, Brett turned and sent a silent message to Ginny, willing her to play her part so Sid wouldn’t question their relationship. He didn’t need any kind of stress right now.
She huddled in the doorway, arms crossed protectively in front of her. Her cheeks blushed a rosy pink at Sid’s flirtations, but she had that stricken look of surprise in her eyes that broadcast her mind’s search for the right lie to tell.
Disappointed, Brett hurried to cover her silence with a plausible excuse. “Ginny and I haven’t set—”
“Absolutely.” That crisp detective voice cut him off. Ginny brushed up against Brett’s side and linked her arm through his. She laid her left hand—the one with the glint of his ring on her finger—over his hand and Sid’s, aligning them as a team. Proclaiming they belonged together. Making it all look—and feel—real. “Maybe even the next two or three dances,” she teased.
Sid winked. “If we can ditch Brett.”
Her breathtaking laughter worked its magic on Sid. It had a bewitching effect on Brett, too. A pang of jealousy for his own father twitched deep in his gut. Ginny had rarely dropped her guard long enough to reveal the sunny beauty of a real smile to him. But here she was, joking and smiling with his father. And Sid believed every last word. Brett almost believed the magic himself. For an instant, his own heart flip-flopped at the notion of a real future with her.