by Tracy March
“Nicely.” She nestled against him, fitting just perfectly. “How did you know about this place?”
“I found it early this afternoon. As hard as it is to believe, I had sanctuary fever, and had to get out for a while. I brought my guitar so I could practice the wedding music, and followed the trail. Ended up here.” He swept his fingers beneath her chin, tipped her head up, and kissed her gently, easing heat into it until she arched against him as he tensed with need. He longed to make her his…if only for tonight.
“Everything was here?” she asked breathlessly after they reluctantly ended their kiss. “The candle and the flower petals?”
He grinned. “Gerard helped a little with the atmosphere. Not only that, he said he’d block off the trail after we left the reception so we’d have a little privacy.”
“I wondered why he winked at you when we left. It kinda had me worried there for a second,” she teased.
“No worries. Not tonight.” He lightly kissed her forehead, and turned her around in front of him so she faced the sea. Smoothing his hand along her satiny strapless dress, he found the zipper and pulled it down agonizingly slowly, taunting himself as he trailed kisses across her shoulder and along her back. She shivered beneath his lips, spiking the pressure that was building inside him.
Lane released the zipper and took a step back. The dress fell to the stone terrace, revealing that all Paige had been wearing underneath was a matching blue thong. He drew in a sharp breath. Her skin looked luminous in the moonlight, the curve of her waist a perfect crescent. The view he had right now was more captivating than anything he’d seen on this island, but he knew he’d be even more spellbound in a moment. He kissed the nape of her neck, and pulled the pins from her hair. It fell down her back in a silky golden cascade.
“Turn around,” he whispered.
Still in her strappy silver stilettos, she pivoted gracefully and faced him, somehow looking confident and vulnerable at the same time. Lane couldn’t remember seeing anything sexier…ever. “You look amazing.” He’d swear from this second on that he had seen an angel.
Indulging himself, he allowed his gaze to wander slowly up her body, and concentrated on controlling his own. He wanted to take things slow and make them last.
Eager to feel her next to him, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the back of the chaise. Just as he’d done in the Pool of Love, he swept her off her feet and held her close, his heart beating double time.
The sweet scent of flowers rose from the chaise as he placed her on the bed of petals.
She gathered a handful, held them above her, and released them. They wafted down and delicately landed on her neck and breasts. “This is like a fantasy,” she said softly.
“You have no idea.” He joined her on the chaise, determined to kiss every spot where a petal had landed—and several others where they hadn’t. “This is our last night in paradise, and I want to make sure you remember it.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lane stood at the front window of his rental house in Maple Creek, drinking his second cup of coffee of the morning. Outside, barren trees stood in freezing rain, the early-February sky heavy and gray. He blinked several times, hoping when he opened his eyes he’d be back in balmy St. Lucia…with Paige.
They’d left each other at the airport yesterday. Just as it had been when they arrived, they were booked on separate flights through different connecting cities. That was one detail that matchmaker Sylvia had missed somehow. Regardless, he’d consider her effort a success, because he had fallen hard for Paige. Being without her yesterday, headed back to real life, had given him plenty of time to think about her, and how difficult it would be to be without her in Maple Creek. Had she fallen for him, too? If he had to judge by their last night together, he’d say yes, but she’d never mentioned a word about seeing him once they returned to the States. He had to give her credit for sticking to their arrangement, but he didn’t have to like it.
Still, he had hope. He knew he should take the partnership in Richmond if Dr. Garvey offered it to him. Who else was going to give him a chance, considering his now-checkered professional past? But Paige would be here in Maple Creek. He simply couldn’t imagine living apart from her. There was no way she could realistically move to Richmond with him, but that didn’t stop him from fantasizing about it.
Whatever happened, the trip to St. Lucia had turned his life in a different direction. He combed his fingers through his hair, again thinking about getting it cut. He liked it short, but he’d let it grow after everything went down in Austin as a way of disguising and protecting himself. He didn’t feel he needed that anymore.
His first patient was due in at nine, but the barbershop opened at eight. So did Sweet Bee’s. He showered and shaved and was downtown by five after, eager to see Paige. He’d saved a pretty shell they’d found on the beach the night of their dinner, and he wanted to give it to her, if for nothing else but a keepsake.
The door chimed as he stepped inside Sweet Bee’s, looking toward the kitchen. Within seconds, Cyn came out, smiling. “Dr. Anderson,” she said. “Welcome back. Looks like St. Lucia agreed with you.”
He smiled despite his disappointment that Paige was nowhere to be seen. “Closest to paradise I’ve been.”
“Your regular?” she asked, referring to the espresso that Alice often got for him in the mornings.
He’d already had two cups of coffee. Add an espresso and he might really scare his patients. “Maybe later. Is Paige coming in soon?”
“Any minute now.”
“And that’s when she takes her dad breakfast?”
“Yep.”
“Let me bring it to him,” he said. “I’m hoping he’ll squeeze me in for a haircut before my first patient.”
“Sure thing.”
Lane waited while Cyn got the coffee and muffin ready, hoping Paige would show. Cyn emerged from the kitchen and put a pink-and-yellow-striped bag on the counter along with the cup of coffee. “For Mr. E.”
“Thanks.” Lane picked up the bag and coffee. “I met Trent Hawthorne when we were in St. Lucia. You work for his grandmother, right?”
Cyn nodded. “Guess you could say I work for him, too—in a way. It’s a family company, you know?”
“Dude runs a hell of a resort.”
“It’ll be a miracle if I ever see one of them.”
“You’ll get there.” Lane smiled reassuringly and headed for the door. “Tell Paige I stopped in.”
“Will do.”
Next door, the stripes spun in the barbershop pole, just as they did every day except Sunday. Lane stepped inside and got the same feeling he had the day he’d met Paige. It was like going back in time seeing the big, old-fashioned barber chair and the combs soaking in a container of Barbicide on the counter. Mr. Ellerbee even offered straight-razor shaves. Lane had never had one, but his dad swore it was the closest shave a man could get.
Several chairs formed a waiting area in the corner by the front window, and a table was scattered with dog-eared magazines—everything from Field & Stream to Sports Illustrated.
The barber chair was empty, and Mr. Ellerbee sat in the waiting area with Mayor Warren, who already had a Sweet Bee’s coffee in hand. “’Mornin’, Doc,” Mayor Warren said.
Mr. Ellerbee greeted Lane with a smile and a nod, but Lane felt an odd nervousness being face-to-face with Paige’s dad. When he’d come in as a patient, he’d been a nice man in relatively good health for being in his late sixties. Average height, average weight, average vitals. But he was no longer average anything because Lane had slept with his daughter. And he was hoping to take her to Richmond with him, or wherever he ended up.
“Hello, gentlemen.” Lane tried to sound casual. “Mr. Ellerbee, I brought your breakfast.”
Mr. Ellerbee’s big, golden-brown eyes sparkled with surprise, then concern.
Paige’s eyes.
“Is Paige all right?” he asked.
“She’s fine,” Lane s
aid, not having considered he might alarm Mr. Ellerbee by bringing breakfast instead of Paige. “I just thought I might convince you to give me a haircut after you enjoy your muffin and coffee.”
“I can get you done right now if I can drink my coffee while I work.” He stood, a little wobbly on his feet.
Lane reached out and steadied him. “You okay?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “My sinuses are acting up. Makes me dizzy every time. Gives me a headache, too. Nothing a little coffee can’t fix.”
That wasn’t the recommendation Lane would’ve made, but he didn’t want to argue with Paige’s dad. “If you want to come by the office, I’ll check you out and prescribe something if you need it.”
“You oughta do that,” Mayor Warren said.
“I’ll be fine.” Mr. Ellerbee rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Have a seat in the big chair and tell me what we’re gonna do with all that hair.”
“Buzz it.” Lane sat in the chair, feeling liberated already.
“Gonna be some sweeping up to be done after that,” Mayor Warren said.
Mr. Ellerbee put the cape on Lane. “You sure about the buzz?”
Lane nodded. “’Bout a quarter-inch.”
“Comin’ up.” Mr. Ellerbee grabbed the electric clippers and went to work, taking a couple of breaks to sip his coffee.
Lane’s hair fell in clumps to his shoulders and slid down the cape to the floor. Deciding not to look in the mirror until the cut was done, he focused on whatever else caught his attention—like the red heart tattoo on the inside of Mr. Ellerbee’s wrist that matched Paige’s pink one. Somehow Mr. Ellerbee managed to make it look masculine.
The hum of the shears ceased, and Mr. Ellerbee brushed the cuttings from Lane’s neck. “There you go,” he said. “You’re a new man.”
Lane looked in the mirror and saw himself how he had looked when he’d been whole. He welled with emotion, thinking how far he had come, anticipating where he’d go. With Paige?
Mr. Ellerbee got a broom and began sweeping up Lane’s hair. “Paige said you kids had a good time in St. Luzahh. Looks like you got zome zun.”
Lane hadn’t noticed him slurring his words before. Mayor Warren looked on curiously as if he’d caught it, too. Mr. Ellerbee stopped sweeping, leaned on the broom, and shook his arm. “Arm’s gone numb.”
Immediately alert, Lane quickly pulled off his cape, took Mr. Ellerbee by the shoulders, and sat him in a chair. “Does your head still hurt?”
“Schplitting,” he said.
Splitting.
“This is going to seem silly,” Lane said calmly, “but I need you to smile.”
He tried to smile, but only one side of his mouth turned up.
“Good.” Lane said, not wanting to alarm him. “Can you raise your arms out to the side for me?”
He raised his arms, and one of them drifted downward.
“Okay,” Lane said. “One last thing. I need you to repeat this sentence back to me. I like Paige’s muffins.”
I like Paige’s muffins? Couldn’t he have thought of anything else?
“I like Pagezz mussins.” Mr. Ellerbee looked confused that he couldn’t get the words right.
He was having a stroke.
“Mayor Warren, I need you to go next door and tell Paige to come over here,” Lane said evenly, despite his racing heart. He’d seen this happen to patients before, but this was Paige’s dad—the most meaningful person in her life. He looked pointedly at Mayor Warren, hoping to convey that this was an emergency but to stay calm. Mayor Warren seemed to get the message and hurried next door.
“I think we need to take care of that headache right away, Mr. Ellerbee, so I’m going to get you a quick ride to the hospital.”
Mr. Ellerbee nodded slowly. Lane called for an ambulance and was glad to get off the phone before Paige arrived seconds later with Mayor Warren close behind.
She looked radiant, even in a white apron. Lane’s heart broke for her, knowing the news he was about to give her. He stood, keeping a sharp eye on Mr. Ellerbee.
“Oh. My. God,” she said, and rushed over to Lane. “You look gorgeous. Your eyes, the angles of your face… I thought your long hair was hot, but holy—”
“Paige,” Lane interrupted. She must’ve thought this was some kind of ruse to get her to come see the haircut her dad had given him. Lane was pleased with her reaction, and he wished he could freeze time—before her dad had become ill. He grasped her shoulders and gravely looked her in her eyes, which clouded with confusion. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this.” He swallowed hard. “But your dad has had a stroke.”
…
Paige sat alone in the stark hospital waiting room with her head in her hands, her insides knotted with worry and fear. As a physician, Lane might be able to get inside information on her dad’s condition, but he didn’t have privileges at this hospital. The minutes passed like hours, giving her way too much time to think.
“Paige?”
She looked up at Lane, so focused on wishing and hoping and praying that she hadn’t heard him come in. He sat next to her, his expression serious.
“How is he?”
“He’s having a CT scan now. They’ll read that and then decide on a treatment protocol.”
Nauseating waves of dread churned in her stomach. “What do you think? You saw him…before.” She braced herself, not sure if she really wanted to hear his answer.
“Strokes are tricky,” he said evasively.
“What does that mean?” It didn’t sound like anything good.
“We should just wait and see what his doctors say after the assessment.”
She gazed at him pleadingly, his green eyes looking even brighter with his short hair, the angles of his face more defined. “I’d rather know what I might be facing.”
He furrowed his brow as if he were thinking of the best way to tell her the worst. “If he’s a candidate for thrombolytic therapy—a clot-busting drug—it could restore blood flow to his brain before major damage occurs. He could possibly make a full recovery. If he’s not, there are other procedures that can trap the clot or suction it. So, several different options.”
It was the first time she’d heard him talk like a doctor, and it was comforting right now. “But he could be paralyzed or disabled?” Her voice wavered. “What are the stats on that?”
His jaw clenched. “Let’s not focus on the stats.”
“Please, I want to know.” But did she?
“A third of stroke victims become permanently disabled.”
She shrugged weakly and dropped her shoulders. “Short of a full recovery, he might not be able to work. Outside of me—and the memory of my mom—the barbershop is his life. He needs that little place. It’s what keeps him going. Simple things like haircuts, shaves, and friends.”
“He could heal just fine,” Lane said gently, “so don’t jump to any conclusions.”
She nodded. “He might die, though, right? How many people die?” Her bottom lip started to quiver and she sank her teeth into it.
“Every case is different.”
“Tell me,” she begged.
He sighed. “Another third.” Lane’s voice was a raspy whisper.
Her heart literally ached. Pressure built in her throat as she swallowed back tears. “But he’s all that’s left of my family. My mom’s gone.” A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. “It’s me and him. Who would I have dinner with on Mondays and Thursdays? Or bring coffee and muffins to in the morning?” She grabbed a tissue from a box on a nearby table and wiped her eyes. “Who would remember my mom with me, and love me like no one else?” She looked into Lane’s sympathetic eyes and nearly lost it. “He’s my dad.”
Longing for him to take her in his arms, Paige looked away from him, afraid he would see it in her eyes. Their time was up, and there was no way they could be together now. She stared out the window at the dreary rain. “He can’t leave me,” she said, although she knew it wasn’t her dad’s
choice. And I can’t leave him. Her heart pitched. How could she have even considered moving somewhere with Lane—even in a fantasy? “He’s the only one I’ve got.”
…
Lane was amazed at how Paige handled everything with her dad—making certain he was getting proper care as best she could, and keeping her emotions under control. She had shed a few more tears when she’d learned that his stroke had been mild, and he’d been a candidate for clot-busting therapy. After being hospitalized for a few days, he’d been transferred to a rehab center, where he would recover for a while.
The days flew past. Lane stayed busy seeing patients, while Paige kept Sweet Bee’s operating and ran back and forth to see her dad. She’d asked Lane to come along a couple of times, and he was pleased to see Mr. Ellerbee recuperating well, even though it would be a slow process. Paige’s dedication to him was inspiring, and he understood why she couldn’t leave him—more now than ever—even though it tore at his heart.
Maybe that was the reason she’d stayed true to her word about their fling, never suggesting they continue it beyond St. Lucia and never making a move. He couldn’t imagine that she had any question that he’d want to keep it going. But he’d be leaving Maple Creek in two days. He’d respected her decision, yet couldn’t help but hope she felt the same way he did. It was nearly more than he could bear, thinking they were in the same town, not even a mile apart, but not in the same bed at night. Maybe she had so much on her plate right now that she had little time or energy to think about him or their magical time in paradise, even though it was the first thing on his mind. Or maybe she was the disciplined one, knowing the end was coming for them eventually, and cutting it off on a high point, as they’d agreed.
He’d had plenty of time for the temporary high from their fling in St. Lucia to wear off. Real life had set in quickly with Mr. Ellerbee having a stroke, and Lane trying to figure where he’d be going after he left Maple Creek. He’d arranged to go to Richmond to meet Dr. Garvey, who’d graciously offered Lane a partnership. Lane had no other options at the moment, and looking for other opportunities would require opening his professional wounds that had just begun to heal. So this was “real life.” But nothing he’d done so far in real life had quelled his feelings for Paige; they’d only gotten stronger.