A Family for Christmas

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  She broke off, regretting the last statement. Like she was personally invested in his success.

  Simon didn’t jump on it. He was frowning. “Then what? What did I do?”

  “It’s what you aren’t doing,” she said. “And really, it’s none of my business, and it’s not like I’m an expert or anything...”

  She couldn’t do this. If he wanted to live in his little lie bubble, that was his choice. He wasn’t hurting anyone.

  “What aren’t I doing?”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “Then I’m making it your business.”

  He was a couple of feet away, on the end of the bed, and it felt like he’d touched her. His gaze held hers. So sincere.

  Why hadn’t she met him ten years ago? Or before that, while her mother had still been alive?

  Shaking her head, Cara remembered that sometimes asking why was nothing but a dead-end road.

  “Cara. Please.”

  He’d taken her in. Cared for her...

  “It’s just...you might have the best eye guy in the world, maybe you paid him a lot of money and his surgery success rate is phenomenal, but I think he’s promising you the moon and stars when all he can give you is clouds.”

  Then again, if Simon hadn’t come up to his mountain cabin to heal, he wouldn’t have found Cara. Maybe it was like Mom said...you never know, with every breath you take, who you might be serving.

  Of course, saving the life of a criminal was kind of a dead end in itself.

  God. She just couldn’t get over it. Couldn’t see herself that way. And yet, as the days passed and she grew healthier, as she started to remember more about that horrible day, there was truth to things Shawn had told her.

  And things that didn’t bear remembering. She’d rather go to her grave than remember the moment when...

  She shook her head again.

  And realized that Simon was staring at her.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t ask you to help me.” He looked...disappointed. In her.

  “I want to help you.” Just as she’d been grateful for—and maybe selfishly hogged?—every aspect of helping her mother. “I just... I don’t see any progress from last week. You stopped just inches before the tree, too. And if someone is promising you more, if you’re building your whole future on what some doctor has told you...it just makes me want to scream. That’s all.”

  “I saw the shadow, Cara. That means the optic nerve is not dead.”

  He was missing the point, but she absolutely didn’t want to piss him off. Looking down at her hands she said, “Okay.”

  “It could take up to a year before I’ll know how much of my sight will return.”

  “Okay.” Was he not mad at her, then? She was afraid to look.

  “You don’t believe I’ll see again.”

  “I didn’t say that. I have no idea if you’ll see again. I’m not God. And I know nothing about eyes and how they work.” She studied the baseboard along the wall in front of her. And then the tips of her new hiking boots. “I just hate it when people are misled. When they place all their hopes on something because someone makes promises and then it fails.”

  “And you think I’ve been misled?”

  She nodded. There. It was out in the open.

  “Then you can relax. I do have a renowned eye surgeon, but he didn’t live up to his reputation, in my opinion. His prognosis was more along the lines of ‘find a new career’ than anything else. He and most of my peers and people I’ve thought were close friends all these years. All they wanted to do was impress upon me all of the things I could still do...while promising their undying support.”

  Oh. What the hell, then...

  “Science and medicine, they only do so much,” he continued, watching her intently, though she knew he was only seeing her out of the one good eye. “The rest is in the hands of God, or fate, which often works through the power of the mind. That’s the true healing force. And that’s why I’m here. I know I’m going to see again. It’s just a matter of patience, working the muscles and not losing belief.

  “The first two I could do anywhere, but that last one... The only way I could be certain I wouldn’t fall under the pressure of all of the renowned medical people around me and begin to accept less for myself was to get away from them.”

  She’d been relieved there, for a second, when he’d said that his doctor had told him not to expect that eye to see again. Right up until she’d realized that it wasn’t the other doctors she had to be concerned about.

  It was the doctor sitting right in front of her. The one who refused to accept that not every physical ailment could be fixed—no matter how good a doctor you were. Or how much you thought you had control over such things.

  A doctor who reminded her of a doctor she’d once known. One she’d also lived with. One who’d gone to extreme lengths because he’d refused to accept the truth.

  “My distance vision might not be improving yet, but I saw the dark shadow of you and the boards more clearly than I saw the tree last week.”

  He was, quite possibly, going to be the person to share her last moments on this earth. And this was how she repaid his kindness? By not believing in him, just like those people he’d run away from?

  What kind of a person did that make her?

  And what did her opinion matter?

  “I saw you,” he said.

  Maybe he had. Maybe he was only convincing himself he had. Maybe both times his body had felt a change as something drew near and he’d made himself believe there was a shadow. Either way, she wasn’t saying any more. Except, “Okay.”

  She looked at him, to make sure that he got the message that, though she didn’t believe him, she wasn’t against him. She wasn’t going to be the one to blame for his loss of hope.

  She kind of smiled.

  He kind of smiled back.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SIMON HAD THE hots for his houseguest. He couldn’t pretend otherwise. He also had no intention of acting on the feelings. The woman was married—to a bastard Simon hoped she’d divorce the first chance she got—but for the moment...

  She was also there under his protection. Because his conscience wouldn’t let him just watch her go out into danger all alone. He couldn’t prevent her from doing so. But as a doctor, he had the means to report the abuse he’d treated in an emergency situation. He wasn’t doing so as long as she was with him. Because he was hoping she was getting emotionally stronger as well as physically and would soon be ready to let him take her to a shelter. To get whatever legal and psychological help she needed to be completely free.

  He also wasn’t going to further involve himself with a woman who didn’t believe in him. And clearly, in spite of her reassurances, she didn’t.

  Knowing that she thought he wasn’t going to see again was a blow he hadn’t expected. Like finding the enemy had infiltrated your camp.

  Still, aware as he was of his intense physical attraction to her, he had to be very careful in the choices he made. Like the time she’d walked into the room and he’d suddenly been picturing her in the underwear he’d picked out for her—wondering which pair she was wearing. He’d left the cabin, chopped wood he didn’t need and continued to chop until all sensation had left his body.

  He laid it all out clearly in his mind as he prepared dinner that evening. Cara hadn’t come out of her room since he’d left her there almost an hour before. She’d taken a book in with her when she’d retired the night before. Perhaps she was reading.

  She’d been doing most of the cooking, but he’d offered to make his baked spaghetti earlier in the day and was keeping to that predetermined program.

  He should never have gone into her room. Had only done so out of concern. The way she�
��d gone inside so suddenly...gone straight to her room. For all he knew, she’d suddenly fallen ill. Head trauma could take weeks to present complications. He’d had to be sure.

  He hadn’t had to stay. Once he’d known that she’d just been preventing herself from saying something she seemed to think she’d regret, he should have politely excused himself. Not badgered her.

  Truth was, he was quietly, slowly going nuts with her living like a shadow in his home. Not just because of physical need. Because he had this insane desire to know what she was thinking. All the time, it seemed. It was almost a...compulsion...to know her better. To know her intimately.

  Even when he knew he didn’t want to know. Couldn’t afford to know.

  He was going to see again.

  He chopped onion. Dropped it into heated olive oil, watched for translucency and vowed to think of nothing but dinner preparation until the meal was complete.

  He almost made it. Cara came out shortly before the spaghetti was due to come out of the oven. He was preparing a salad from the fresh vegetables he’d picked up in town the day before when he’d retrieved her package. He’d spoken to no one except the clerk. Wanted no contact with the outside world until he was ready.

  And now, until Cara was ready. He couldn’t turn his back on her, stop seeing the good in her, just because she didn’t believe he was going to see again. A lot of great individuals, giving, respectable, loving people, shared her belief. He needed her out of his life, but more than anything, he wanted her to have whatever time she needed to find the inner strength to break free from her fears and seek help.

  She worked around him in the small kitchen, getting plates, filling glasses with ice, setting the table. He always sat to the right of her now. She placed things on the table to his left. He hadn’t asked. She hadn’t said, either, but he’d been noticing more and more over the past days how much she fit herself into his routine, doing small things to make his life more comfortable. Her awareness, in the midst of the hell she had to be going through inside, drew him to her as much as anything.

  As had happened many nights before, they ate without speaking. And yet the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. His need to know what she was thinking got in his way a bit. Until it won out.

  “Why do you have an aversion to doctors?” It was a fair question. His determination was based on the fact that he was a doctor and on their conversation that had ended so abruptly earlier that afternoon.

  Because he’d been consumed by a need to move closer to her on the bed and had gotten up and walked out without another word.

  Her fork suspended above her plate, Cara seemed to be studying the table. She took another bite. Chewed. Swallowed. And looked at him, her long dark hair loose tonight, framing those big brown eyes.

  “My...mom...” She shook her head, her gaze dropped. She filled her fork and took another bite. Chewing seemed to be difficult.

  So many times he’d wondered about her parents. Her past.

  “What about your mom?”

  Her gaze aimed toward the table, she shook her head again. Took a sip of tea.

  “Are your parents still alive?”

  She might leave the room. If she did, he’d do the dishes and settle down with a good book.

  “I was thinking that it might be good for your eye to watch television,” she said, eating a little more. “You know, with the changing lights, some bright some not, you might be able to distinguish some things.”

  She was trying to support him. Just as she’d said she would. He supposed it was better than telling him to his face to accept the truth of his changed circumstances, as his friends back home had done. Didn’t feel any better, though, knowing as he did that she thought he was wasting his time.

  Still, her trying... It meant something.

  He couldn’t let it mean too much or her beliefs could start to have an impact on him. Wearing off on him. Causing him to start having his own doubts...

  But...she was trying...

  Not having the heart to tell her he’d been watching television all along, after she went to bed, he nodded. “You’ve seen my collection of movies,” he told her. “Pick one and we can watch it tonight.”

  She nodded. Took another full bite.

  “Cara, are you parents still alive?” All of a sudden the information was critical. To satisfy something burning within him or because he somehow knew she needed help finding her way out of inner hell, he wasn’t sure.

  “My mom died when I was seventeen.”

  A year before she’d married that bastard. A small piece of her puzzle fell into place.

  “And your dad?” Had she been raised by a single mom? Maybe her parents were divorced. Or...

  “He’s dead to me.”

  That one surprised him. Put him on alert, too. He’d heard that abuse was often a cyclical thing. Was that why Cara had remained with a man who hit her for so long? Why she hadn’t stopped loving Shawn the first time he hit her?

  Had her father’s abuse maybe been more predictable? Was that why it had taken Shawn’s unpredictability to make her stop loving him? His mind filled in blanks with possibilities. He wanted the truth.

  “Why?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Tell me about doctors then. About your mom.”

  Her gaze, when she turned it on him, was vulnerable and determined in equal measure. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

  “I want to help.”

  “I don’t need your help.” Her gaze dropped.

  “I don’t want your help,” she said next. Set her fork down.

  And looked at him again. “I’m sorry. That was rude. You’re... I appreciate...the clothes...caring for me...it’s...”

  Reaching out a hand, Simon touched her cheek. Just a light brush. “Tell me about your mom.”

  He needed to help her. There was no telling how much longer they’d be able to live like this...two capable human beings with full lives ahead of them, in a tiny cabin. He had a lot of money saved. Investments. He could hang out a long time, if he so chose. Years.

  But he wasn’t a hang-out-and-do-nothing type of guy.

  Probably why he was obsessing about having sex with his housemate. Definitely why he needed her to get emotionally strong enough to seek help elsewhere.

  Cara carried her plate to the sink, rinsed it and left the cabin.

  * * *

  WHAT IN THE hell am I doing?

  She was probably just messed up, way more than she’d thought, but it was starting to seem like she was falling in love with the man who wouldn’t let her get on with the end of her life.

  She was a married woman.

  A criminal.

  Outside, Cara made it to a fallen tree at the side of the cabin and remembered him telling her—pointing out the log when they’d been in the yard one day that week—about first finding her. About nudging her with his foot, pushing her over, thinking she was a fallen log...

  Which reminded her why she was there at all.

  He was her doctor!

  And it hit her...transference. She dropped down to the tree. Not caring if it was bug infested. Or if a mountain lion or other nighttime predator was close by.

  Transference. That totally explained the bizarre urge she’d just had to lay her head on Simon’s shoulder and beg him to take her back to the bed they’d sat on together that afternoon. To make love to her and hold her all night long.

  Years ago, she’d heard her dad telling her mom about a patient who’d told him she was in love with him. Cara had been twelve or thirteen and hadn’t liked—at all—that some woman fancied herself in love with her father.

  Mom hadn’t been concerned, though, citing a similar situation that she’d known about when she was charge nurse at the hospital where she’d worke
d before Cara was born.

  Cara could remember having doubts, still, but she’d taken her cue from her mom and quit worrying about it.

  Until Mom got sick. A memory came flashing back. Her father had been working late. Said he’d had a seminar to attend. Mom had had a particularly painful night and she’d been unable to sleep. The later it got the more agitated she’d become. Eventually, Cara had gotten up and gone into her dad’s home office. Had been trying to find a list of patient files on his computer. She couldn’t remember the name of the woman who’d told him she was in love with him, but she’d known if she could just see it again...

  She’d had some idea about going online and trying to find the woman. Maybe an address or phone number. Maybe she could just make sure that Daddy wasn’t fooling around on Mom...

  He’d come home and found her in his office, going through his things. He’d demanded to know what she was doing. When he was there, so strong and solid, she’d been unable to accuse him of infidelity. Made up some lie about...she couldn’t even remember what.

  What she remembered was that he’d known she was lying.

  He hadn’t punished her, though. She’d thought, then, that it was because he was guilty of something and relieved she hadn’t found out. And if not that, then he just hadn’t cared about her enough anymore to bother with discipline.

  Wow...

  Shaking, Cara sat there, looking back. Another lost memory returning. Had she been burying them for years?

  Was this how Fate had chosen for her to go? By losing her mind?

  As a mom, with a child she’d loved more than life, she could imagine... Her father had to have known what Cara was going through with Mom sick. What if he’d gone easy on her because he’d understood?

  She shook her head. But no matter how hard she tried these days to shake off what she couldn’t handle, it continued to batter her.

  Burying her head in her knees, she covered it with her arms—needing the pain to stop.

  “Cara...”

  He called softly from a distance, but he was coming toward her. She could hear him now.