One side of his mouth quirked up. She’d been surprised when he’d kept his cool earlier. Little did she know there were more surprises in store.
Travis unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open until Phoenix made it through. The place was like a tomb, dark and cool and silent. He flipped on a light.
Even accustomed to seeing it every day, it didn’t look homey. Two framed pictures of his family sat on the mantel, compliments of his mom one Christmas. A soft chenille throw on the leather couch and a small arrangement of silk flowers were housewarming gifts from Rosie and Sara.
But the room didn’t look lived in.
He’d declined both their offers to help him decorate because he expected his house would be exploding with life by now. A kid or two in the extra bedroom, his wife reminding him to take out the trash, toys strewn throughout, tantalizing smells coming from the kitchen and meals around a dining room table which only gathered dust at the present.
He turned away and walked the short hallway into his bedroom with Phoenix at his side. As he emptied his pockets of keys, wallet and change, she trot-limped back into the living room.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten your chew,” he called after her while loosening his boot laces.
She responded with a growl and a short bark.
“What’s the matter, girl?” He toed off his boots and followed her.
Phoenix stood by the front door, sniffing.
A rapid knock came from the other side.
After a glance through the peephole, he swung the door open. “J.T.? What are you doing here this time of night?”
“Well, it’s great to see you too, little brother.” He shouldered his way in, carrying a bag in each hand. “I brought the beer. Let’s party.”
Party? “It’s nearly midnight, J.T. Where are the boys?” Though he’d never known his brother to be the irresponsible sort, Travis also knew Sara’s death had taken its toll. He looked for signs of drinking, but only saw an older, slightly darker version of himself with a case of nerves and hollowed-out eyes.
“They’re spending the night with mama and daddy. Their first camp out. You know.” He hitched one shoulder, and his gaze slid away from Travis’s. “Like we used to do in the backyard.”
Aw, hell. That meant J.T. had been rambling around in his farmhouse all by himself. No wonder he was here. Travis stifled his complaint about phone messages that had gone unanswered. “I’ve got frozen mugs. You want one?”
The offer earned him a firm clap on the shoulder. “Knew I could count on you for a good time. Lead the way.”
In the kitchen, Travis pulled two mugs from the freezer before giving Phoenix a chicken-basted rawhide treat.
J.T. perched on a kitchen bar stool, filled the mugs to the brim and took a long drink. “I hesitated to ring your doorbell in case you had a girl here.”
A girl? Travis eased onto the second bar stool. “I don’t date much, J.T.” Claire’s image popped into his mind, a fleeting moment during their date when he’d pulled away from their kiss. Her eyes were heavy with desire, lips swollen and parted.
Damn. Definitely all woman, there.
He swiped a hand across his chin and shifted in his seat. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve both had thirtieth birthdays. Mostly, I work, like you. When I do date, they’re old enough to be called women. I rarely bring one here.”
Would he have invited Claire here if they’d continued to see each other? Probably would’ve scared her off for sure. In hindsight, he realized they’d spent a lot of time flirting and not so much getting to know each other.
He frowned when J.T. shrugged and popped the top off another beer. That happened fast. When had he finished off the first one?
“Watch it, Trav. You’re starting to sound all respectful and responsible. Next thing you know you’ll be married.” He stared at the foam topped beverage in front of him, his expression determined. A second later he was chugging it.
“Slow down, J.T. It’s a long drive home.”
In response, his brother popped the top off another beer.
“J.T?”
Phoenix, hearing the edge in his voice, lifted her head to stare at them.
The seconds oozed by.
J.T. ignored the mug, lifted the bottle halfway to his mouth, then set it down with a thump. His jaw clenched and unclenched. He stared a hole through the sweaty brown glass as if it held untold secrets. “She’s everywhere in that house, Trav. Everywhere.” His voice was raspy, as if torn from his soul.
Yes, Sara had definitely put her stamp on the old Moreland place. No one could say it wasn’t homey or lived-in. She’d given it the warmth of a woman’s touch his house lacked.
Travis kept those thoughts to himself, his throat thick with sympathy for J.T. The sounds of Phoenix gnawing on her treat filled the pregnant pause in conversation. As for J.T., there were no words to ease his pain. He obviously didn’t want to be alone.
“Couch sleeps pretty good, if you’re not particular.”
J.T. downed another beer.
When Travis finally crawled between the sheets in his king-sized bed, he fully expected to be asleep in seconds. But the vision of Claire that had risen in his mind kept playing over and over, like some instant replay video on a continuous loop.
A mind-bending kiss had begun the instant he closed the door behind them that night. She’d walked him backwards until the sofa halted his progress. He nipped at her earlobe, letting her know he appreciated a woman who wasn’t afraid to show him what she wanted.
He pulled her down with him, one arm wrapped around her waist, unable to get her close enough. The soft, powdery scent of her filled his nostrils, and he gave into the moment. This would be good. Real good.
Only the sounds of her soft sighs and gasps interspersed with his labored breathing filled the silence as their need escalated.
Lying side by side was great, but awkward. He wanted both hands free to touch her. Now. One good twist and she was beneath him. He bunched the top portion of her dress exposing a taut belly. The navel jewelry glittered as she breathed.
“What’s this, hmm?” He bent and kissed the area below it, exposed by a low-riding skirt.
“It’s a fairy.”
He kissed above it, sliding his thumb under her breast. “Why a fairy?”
She chuckled, the sound sultry, and tried to tug him closer. “Why not? I can use all the luck I can get.”
He looked into her passion filled gaze and knew he wanted to do things differently. Slow things down. This time. With this woman.
He groaned into his pillow. Stupid idea. But he wasn’t wrong about the heat between them, hadn’t misread that. She’d definitely been into him.
Everything he’d said from that moment on had created a chasm between them and sparked anger in Claire.
Was he nuts to have put an end to their heated interlude?
Years earlier, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought if he knew the woman had a genuine interest. In this case, he and Claire had been dancing around each other for months. She was willing. He had the inclination. That should have been reason enough to go for a hot, brief affair.
So why hadn’t he?
* * *
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that color becomes you, Claire,” Rita White, an oncology nurse, gushed. Several others around her smiled and nodded their approval. “What’s the next one going to be? Do you have one planned?”
Claire knew Rita meant her hair. It was the favorite topic of conversation whenever she was around the nurses’ station.
It seemed quite the amusement for Travis too. He’d certainly made a point of goading her about it every chance he got. Hard to overlook. Humph!
“Well, the Plum Pudding has gotten so many comments I’m thinking of staying with the fruit colors. Granny Smith is the next in line.” She paused, waiting for the reaction.
Rita’s mouth pursed in an “O” shape as she regarded Claire’s funky
hairstyle.
Travis seemed plenty attracted when her hair was pink. So, what was his deal now? And why was she even obsessing about it? She shook her head, as if doing so would shake off the object of her thoughts.
“Granny Smith’s are green, right?” The naturally pretty nurse was frowning, as if trying to puzzle out why anyone would want green hair.
“What? Oh, yeah.” She really had to overcome this preoccupation with him. “They’re kind of like the color of new leaves in spring. My hair would match my eyes. Cool, huh?” Claire grinned and leaned over the counter to whisper, “And I don’t think I’d get any patient envy, do you?”
The young nurse returned Claire’s grin. “Probably not.”
“You got any messages for me?” She tried not to show her own envy over Rita’s long blonde tresses tied back into a low ponytail. Claire’s beautician side noticed the natural color, excellent condition and healthy shine. Her purely female side remembered when her own hair had looked the same. Maybe someday it would again, if she were phenomenally lucky. Time would tell.
Sometimes she got tired of waiting for her life to begin again.
“Here they are. New patient in three-twelve.” Rita pushed the papers toward her.
Claire read the information before tucking the notes into her pocket. “Anything I should know about this Melanie Holcomb?”
Rita couldn’t share medical information, but the emotional condition of a patient was just as important.
“Young. Single mother. Prefers Mel. She’s upset about her little boy’s future. Her mom has him right now, and I’m not sure what’s going on. But something’s definitely worrying her.”
“The note says her kid is coming by later today. I’ll see what I can do about getting her spruced up. Me and my magic bag of tricks.” She ran her thumbs under the straps of her heavy backpack, waggled her fingers and strode off.
Two doctors, deep in conversation, nodded at her as she passed by them in the hall. First stop, a teenager whose once thick mop of shaggy brown hair was now a quarter-inch of re-grown fuzz. She loved to experiment with makeup and Claire indulged her today with shades of delicate pink and sparkly gold. Next was Sadie, the fifty-ish patient who’d requested a head shave.
Claire followed that task with a facial, a light application of makeup and a pretty headscarf that complemented the woman’s eyes. This one had a great attitude. If such a thing could make a difference, and Claire needed to believe it did, the woman would beat the odds.
She’d stalled on the woman in 312 as long as possible. Women near her own age were the hardest to deal with.
Claire stood outside the door and paused. She knew all too well what to expect behind it. Although Rita hadn’t divulged the medical condition of her patient, Claire had seen the truth in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her way inside.
The young woman lay still, skin sallow, lips pale and dry. Her eyes were closed, sparse lashes a shade darker than the skin beneath them. Although the heart monitor beeped steadily, the cancer had taken its toll. Illness hovered in the air like thick, choking smoke. Claire took a deep breath and released it slowly.
The woman’s eyelids fluttered open, as if she’d sensed Claire’s presence. Dull eyes the color of cocoa powder stared at Claire for a moment before the corners of her mouth quirked into the ghost of a smile. “They said you weren’t a run-of-the-mill angel.”
“Excuse me?” Was the woman delusional?
“I told the doc if you could make me look presentable, you had to be an angel.”
“Ah.” Claire grinned and glanced over her shoulder. “Darn. Still no wings. You’ll be surprised what I can do without them. I think it’s more the magic of cosmetics than anything angelic, especially in my case,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes.
A real smile resulted from her silliness, showing an echo of beauty where before there had only been fatigue. Good. That’s what her mission here was all about.
“Thanks. I’m Mel.”
“I’m Claire. But I haven’t done anything to thank me for yet.” She shrugged off the backpack and sat it on a nearby chair.
“You didn’t lie. That’s something. Most people feel the need to tell me I really don’t look so bad.”
Claire propped her hands on her hips. “Girl, we’ve got some serious work to do, but you’re not a lost crusade.”
“You mean a lost cause?”
“Whatever.” She flipped her hand, shooing away the mistake. “You’re not either one.”
Mel’s gaze turned serious. “I don’t want my little boy to see me like this. Can you work a miracle so he’s not scared?” She swallowed audibly, her eyes filling. “These IV’s and machines are bad enough. I don’t want him to remember being scared of me.”
Claire nodded, unsure she could speak without her voice cracking. She cleared her throat while withdrawing her makeup kit and facial products. From her bag of tricks, she also pulled out a small compact disc player and pushed play. The soft sounds of ocean surf and a muted piano melody sprang into the room.
“Hey, that’s nice.”
“I’m glad you like it.” This was the point where she usually tried to get the patient’s mind off the present and suggested some faraway tropical locale to think about—Waikiki, Montego Bay, or maybe Cancun. This time it didn’t feel right, and she went with her instincts.
“How old is he?” With a few pumps from a small spray bottle, she filled the room with a clean, refreshing scent.
“Cody’s three and a handful.” Mel’s smile was sad. She touched a small picture on her portable tray. “He’s pretty confused right now. I’ve never been away from him, and he doesn’t understand why I don’t go home with him.”
Claire studied the snapshot of a young boy on a beach. He was grinning, obviously very proud of the seashell he proffered for inspection. With his hair wet and his eyes squinting in the bright light, it was hard to tell if he resembled his mother or not. “Cute kid.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do about him.”
“What do you mean?” Claire perched carefully on the bed’s edge, sensing the woman needed to talk.
“My mother had me late in life. She’s arthritic and can’t chase after an energetic little boy, let alone corral a teenager later on.” Mel’s eyes took on a haunted look. “I’m afraid he’ll end up in the state welfare system if this last round of chemo doesn’t kick in.”
Oh, wow. What a dilemma. Claire didn’t know what to say. She hated platitudes, and her patients didn’t usually share such personal information. Her normal techniques wouldn’t work here. The only hope of relaxing this patient was to try and make her feel she’d made some progress toward solving the problem. Maybe then she’d get some much needed rest.
“Sensitive skin? Any allergies I need to know about?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Then let’s begin your transformation.”
“That sounds like a line from an old Boris Karloff movie. You do know I’d rather not enhance this Frankenstein look, right?” Mel quipped.
“Now you tell me. And here I am with a ghoulish palette of grays and beiges.” Claire huffed in mock disappointment. “If you’re not adventurous, we’ll shoot for a boring, healthy glow.”
Her antics were met with a slight chuckle.
“Now close your eyes and relax.” She dipped her fingertips into a jar. “This will feel cool at first,” she warned before applying the soothing gel to Mel’s face with easy, sure strokes. “But it’s great for the skin and will warm on its own.”
The teasing banter surprised Claire. She didn’t usually allow herself this level of familiarity with a patient. Mel and her straightforward ways were so akin to Claire’s own, in another time and place they might have been friends. She needed to rein in the camaraderie before this patient got too friendly.
“Do you have kids, Claire?”
“No.” She hesitated, glad for the perfect segue back to Mel’s problem. �
�Isn’t there anyone else who could raise your little boy? What about his dad?”
“He’s my only hope, if we can find him in time.”
Claire didn’t ask for an explanation of the “in time” factor. They both knew what it meant. “You should try to remain optimistic. It’s tough, almost impossible at times, but some studies have shown—”
Mel stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I know. The power of positive thinking theory. I believe. I do. And most of the time I’m an upbeat person, but I have to be prepared for the alternative for my son’s sake. If only I could find Cody’s dad.”
Had the guy bolted after hearing Mel was pregnant? It wouldn’t surprise Claire. Hadn’t her own father done the same? “We’ll let this cleanse and exfoliate while I work on other areas.”
Mel remained silent.
Had she been too impersonal? Hurt Mel’s feelings?
“Do you know how to contact him or have his last known address?” Claire kept her voice low and soft.
“I tried a couple years ago. His phone number and address had changed. Before I took off for California, Tee was talking about buying a house out west of town. He’d already made an offer, I think.”
“Your mom could locate him, couldn’t she? Maybe he’s listed in a current phone book, or check property tax records.”
Mel remained quiet for a few minutes, her eyes closed while Claire massaged, moisturized and pampered hands, arms and feet. Coaxing ravaged and neglected skin to look healthy while avoiding IV lines required concentration. She’d almost forgotten posing a question when Mel’s eyelids snapped open.
“You may be right, about the phone book, I mean. Mom said she couldn’t find him listed, but I wonder if she tried. She’s probably figuring Cody’s dad was like my boyfriends prior to him. I wouldn’t turn a child over to them, either.”
Claire frowned at the implication, but Mel’s relationship with her mother was her own business.
Mel’s gaze fastened on Claire’s expression. “I’m sure Mom thought she was doing what was best for Cody, protecting him from some unknown fate by ensuring he had a chance at adoption. But Tee is a kind and decent, hard-working man. If he knew about Cody—”
A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel Page 23