Land's End

by Marta Perry

  “Trust me, they won’t let me do too much.” She met his gaze. They stood so close that she could see the tiny fan of lines at the corners of his eyes, the slight beads of perspiration on his forehead. “I have to go. If I sit here and do nothing, I—I’ll think too much.”

  That was probably the one thing she could have said that he’d understand. He nodded reluctantly.

  “All right. But you’re not driving with that shoulder. Give me five minutes to change, and I’ll take you.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “It’s the only way you’re getting out of here. I still have the keys to your car after putting it away last night. I won’t give them back until Dr. Sam says so.”

  Pick your battles, she reminded herself, and much as she hated to admit it, he was probably right. She shouldn’t drive in this condition.

  “All right. Five minutes.”

  When he’d vanished into the house, she walked across to the railing. Ahead of her the low dunes rolled down to the beach. The tide was out, and pale sand stretched invitingly. No wonder Trent had wanted to jog this morning. She’d be tempted herself, if every inch of her body hadn’t been in protest mode at the very thought of moving.

  The breeze off the ocean lifted her hair, carrying the salty tang that would have told her she was at the ocean if she’d been blindfolded. This view was totally different from the rocky New England coast where she’d summered as a child, but familiar nonetheless. Gulls swooped and screamed, the waves murmured. Last night’s dark terrors seemed an eternity away.

  This is the day that the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it. It’s Your day, Lord, and it’s a beautiful one. Help me to follow the path You have for me this day.

  A car pulled around the house from the garage area, with Trent at the wheel. He’d forsaken the Rolls for a midsize sedan. He drew to a stop and got out to open the door for her.

  “That was less than five minutes,” she said, getting in, careful not to bump her arm.

  He slid behind the wheel. “I didn’t want you to get any ideas about stealing one of my cars and taking off.”

  “I might be tempted by the sports car,” she admitted. “With the top down, on a day like this.”

  “It’ll be hot later,” he said, glancing at the clear sky.

  True enough. “I’m glad I didn’t need a cast. That would be miserable in the heat.”

  Her comment seemed to remind him of something unpleasant, because a frown settled between his brows. “I didn’t want you driving because of that arm, but that’s not all there is to it. I don’t think you should go anywhere alone for the time being.”

  She studied his hands, strong and tanned on the steering wheel as he took the road along the shore. They were competent and sure, like everything else about him.

  “I thought you might agree with Chief Gifford that the attack was nothing personal.”

  “The day I start taking Gifford’s assessment for fact is the day someone else better take over running the company.” Grim lines bracketed his mouth. “You’ll be driven and picked up wherever you want to go.”

  She could argue, but she didn’t want to. The terror of the previous night was too fresh in her mind. “All right.”

  He flashed a sideways glance at her. “It’s going to be that easy?”

  “Only for the moment,” she said primly.

  He laughed. “That’s our Sarah.” He turned onto the road that led to the clinic, reminding her of the back roads she’d traversed the night before.

  “Any news on Lizbet Jackson?” She knew he’d have told her if he had any news, but she had to ask.

  “Nothing. I have Gifford and his people going door to door. They’ll come up with her sooner or later.”

  Judging by the determined set to Trent’s jaw, Gifford better hope it was sooner.

  “I’ll try talking to Esther about Lizbet again, but she hasn’t been very cooperative so far.”

  Trent pulled up to the clinic door, ignoring the No Parking sign. She started to get out, but he reached across to put his hand over hers.

  “Just call the house when you’re ready. Someone will come to pick you up.” His grip tightened. “And be careful. I can guarantee your safety when you’re inside Land’s End. It’s outside that you could be in danger.”

  She nodded, because if she tried to speak, she’d probably trip over the words. Trent was way too close—his hand over hers, his face scant inches from hers.

  Trent was wrong. She was in danger inside Land’s End as well as out—in danger from her own foolish heart.

  The clinic was quiet and apparently deserted when she walked inside, but the door had been unlocked, so someone must be in. “Hello? Anyone here?”

  Someone straightened from behind the counter. Esther. She always had been the first person here.

  “Morning.” Esther studied the sling, her face giving nothing away. “We didn’t expect you’d be here today.”

  Welcoming as ever, obviously. Sarah pinned on a smile. Regardless of what had caused Esther’s antagonism, Sarah wouldn’t contribute to it by taking offense.

  “I’m on the schedule. I can manage.”

  “No need.” Esther rounded the counter. “Dr. Sam said he’d fill in this morning. We’ll get along fine without you.”

  Maybe because she was already edgy, maybe because of the pain, the careful control she kept on her temper suddenly shattered into a million pieces. She slammed her bag down on the counter with her good hand.

  “What is it with you, Esther? You act like I’m a raw intern who can’t be trusted with live patients. Haven’t I proved my worth to the clinic?”

  She should be ashamed of herself, yelling at the nurse that way. Esther was staring at her as if she were a total stranger.

  She shook her head. “Look, I didn’t mean to yell. I suppose you feel I deserted the clinic when it needed me, but—”

  “You’ve got it backward,” Esther snapped. “You deserted the clinic when you needed us.”

  She blinked. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You were in trouble. Bad trouble.” Esther planted her hands on her hips. “We wanted to help you, but you couldn’t turn to us.”

  “But I—”

  Esther swept on, obviously letting out what she’d thought for a long time. “You always had to be Lady Bountiful. You could give, but you couldn’t accept help. That would have meant you were a real human being like the rest of us.”

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” To her horror, she was shouting at the woman, and she couldn’t seem to stop. “I don’t think I’m superior to anyone.”

  “Ha!” Esther waggled her finger under Sarah’s nose. “Miz ‘I’m the fancy lady doc from Boston, here to help the poor folk’ not think she’s better than us! ’Course you do.”

  “I do not think any such thing.” She grabbed Esther’s finger. “And if you dare call me Lady Bountiful again, I’ll throw the nearest chair at you!”

  For a moment they stood toe-to-toe, glaring at each other. Suddenly Esther threw her head back and laughed—that rich, hearty, belly-shaking laugh that made everyone within earshot want to laugh with her.

  Sarah let go of Esther’s finger, shocked. She never acted that way. She’d always hated doctors who took advantage of their position to yell at nurses, and she never—

  “Okay.” Esther pulled her into a quick, warm hug. “Now you’re treating me like an equal. Like a friend.”

  Still chuckling, she headed for the door to put out the Open sign.

  Sarah sagged against the counter. What had just happened here? Had Esther meant what she’d said?

  More importantly, had she been right? Had Sarah been coming across that way to the very people she wanted to help? She’d always thought she was treating the people at the clinic with respect, but apparently she’d been wrong.

  Lord, this is a tough pill to swallow. If I needed a lesso
n in humility, You’ve certainly given it to me.

  For some reason, that idea cheered her up. And the reckless freedom she’d felt yelling at Esther had wiped away the lingering remnants of nightmare. She felt as if she could tackle anything.

  “Esther?”

  The woman paused, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Thanks.”

  “For yelling or for calling you names?” Esther asked.

  “Maybe both.” Her smile finally felt natural.

  “Anytime.” Esther vanished into her office, and Sarah headed for the staff lounge to get ready for the day.

  By the time a couple of busy hours had passed at the clinic, she was no longer sure about what she could handle. Her shoulder ached so badly that the whisper of a chart page being turned felt like a battering ram.

  Dr. Sam, who’d been on her case from the moment he arrived, finally sent her into Esther’s office with orders to call for her ride and rest until it arrived. Exhausted, she sank down at the desk and called Land’s End, telling Geneva she was ready to come home.

  When she hung up, she sat staring idly at the computer, an idea slowing forming in her fogged brain. Sooner or later, probably sooner, she’d leave the clinic again, on good terms, she hoped. Maybe she could find a way of showing them all how much they meant to her.

  A few clicks of the keys brought up the clinic’s annual report. If she couldn’t do anything else, maybe she could get some foundation funding. Her mother was always working on committees for grants—she might have some suggestions.

  Energized, she began paging through the report. She could get a copy from Esther, probably, to take with her.

  A few minutes later she leaned back in the chair, frowning at the screen. By the looks of it, the clinic didn’t need her aid. How on earth were they managing to make ends meet without funding?

  She flipped through a few more screens and had the answer. They weren’t. The clinic was already funded, generously, by a grant from Donner Enterprises.

  She could hardly take it in. She vividly remembered all the battles she’d had with Trent over supporting the clinic. He’d declared he was only donating the building to shut her up. She’d have expected, after what happened, that he wouldn’t want anything to remind him of Sarah and her husband.

  She scrolled back through the records, looking for the initial gift. There it was. A month after Lynette Donner died, Trent had begun funding the clinic.

  She didn’t understand. She was grateful, but she didn’t understand.

  “Sarah?” Esther poked her head in. “Your ride’s here.”

  “Okay, thanks.” She stood, feeling as if she needed a crane to pull her out of the chair. “Coming.”

  Esther put her arm around her and walked with her. “Quit trying to be a superwoman. Take it easy for a couple of days.”

  “I’ll try.” Impulsively she threw her good arm around Esther in a hug. “Thanks, Esther.”

  “That’s okay.” Those might have been tears brightening Esther’s dark eyes. “Listen, Dr. Sam told me about Lizbet Jackson disappearing. I’ll see if I can find her for you.”

  “Thanks.” She managed a smile. “Better watch out. I might start leaning on you too much.”

  “That’d be the day. Get on with you.”

  She turned to look for her ride and discovered she didn’t have to look far. Trent had come himself, instead of sending someone, and he held the door open for her.

  “I’d have brought the sports car, but I thought this might be an easier ride if you’ve been overdoing it.”

  She sank into the passenger seat of the comfortable sedan and turned to watch him as he slid behind the wheel again. “How did you know I’d overdo it?”

  “Because I know you, Miz Sarah. You always have to do everything the hard way. Must be that Puritan streak in you.”

  “You’d better be careful. I threatened to throw a chair at Esther if she called me Lady Bountiful again. I could do worse if you keep using the P word.”

  His face crinkled into a grin. “My, you’re really loosening up, aren’t you?”

  “I guess so.” Relaxed, she watched him as he drove. They’d undoubtedly battle again, but for the moment she felt oddly at peace with Trent. “Will you tell me something?”

  “If I can.” His answer was cautious.

  “Why are you supporting the clinic?”

  He frowned at the road ahead of them as if the curving sweep of sand and gravel fascinated him. “Who told you I was?”

  “Nobody. I saw it in the annual report. So tell me.”

  He shrugged. “No big deal. I needed a tax write-off.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  His brows lifted. “Did anyone ever suggest tact and diplomacy to you as a way of finding things out?”

  She shrugged that off. “I don’t understand. I fought you every step of the way to get you to donate the building. A month after I left, you started funding the whole clinic.”

  “It’s a worthwhile project. I can afford to do it.”

  “Then why did you give me such a hard time?” She couldn’t help the exasperation in her tone.

  “Oh, that.” His smile had a faintly mocking edge. “Maybe because it was so much fun to fight with you. What’s wrong? Can’t you believe that a business-obsessed ogre like me could want to do some good with his money?”

  “No—I mean yes, I believe you want to do good, I guess.” Well, that hadn’t come out very intelligently. “I never called you a business-obsessed ogre, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I seem to recall something like that being said in the heat of battle.”

  “You do not. I was always perfectly polite to you. After all, you were Miles’s boss.”

  The moment she said it, she wanted the words back. Now was not the time to remind him of Miles.

  “Maybe you were just thinking it.” The bantering tone had gone out of his voice. “What difference does it make? The clinic is funded, you got what you want, everyone’s happy.”

  “Is everyone happy?”

  His lips formed a thin, straight line. “As happy as we’re going to be.” He turned toward the Land’s End gate, clicked the remote and waited for the gate to slide open. “Or as happy as we deserve to be.”

  THIRTEEN

  Trent frowned at the stack of mail on his desk. The morning sun streamed through the window, and outside the breeze ruffled the sea oats and called to him. But duty kept him here. Sarah probably wouldn’t believe that he had a sense of duty to match her own, but he did.

  Speaking of Sarah—he glanced toward the door. That was her voice, raised in battle. Joanna guarded that door like a lioness. For a moment he was tempted to let her turn Sarah away, hoping that with her would go the problems and doubts she’d brought into his life. But he couldn’t.

  He flicked the intercom. “Let Dr. Wainwright come in.”

  “But you don’t like to be disturbed in the morning.”

  True enough, but Joanna seemed on the verge of arguing with him about his own schedule. “Send her in,” he said shortly.

  The door opened, and one glance at Sarah’s face had him out of his chair and around the desk to meet her.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” He closed the door in Joanna’s annoyed face.

  She blinked. “How do you know?”

  “The fact that you’re white as a sheet is a giveaway.” He led her to a chair and sat opposite her, relieved that his sharp question had brought the color back to her face. When she’d walked in, he’d been afraid she was going to pass out.

  “Sorry.” She cradled the sling she still wore. “It’s nothing—I mean, I need to go to Beaufort today. I’m probably not safe on the road, and I hoped you’d have someone drive me.”

  “I will.” He studied her face, noting that her shadowed eyes evaded his. “But only if you tell me why.”

  She shot him an exasperated look. “I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
>
  “I’m sure it is. You wouldn’t be running off to Beaufort unless you’d learned something. What is it?”

  “Fine.” She took a breath, and he realized that whatever it was, it was something that hurt her. “I finally went through the boxes of papers I’d brought back from the storage locker.”

  Papers—things from the house she and Miles had shared on the island, she meant. His fists clenched involuntarily, and he forced them to relax. “You found something.”

  “Yes.” She stared at the intricate pattern of the Kirman carpet beneath their feet. Its colors glowed like jewels against the pale pine floor. “I found something. A receipt from a hotel in Beaufort, last spring.”

  He tried to remember a time he might have sent Miles to Beaufort on business. Atlanta, New York, yes—but not a sleepy tourist town up the coast. “You think it means something.”

  Sarah rubbed her forehead. “Beaufort was one of the places we’d planned to visit. I wouldn’t have forgotten if he’d told me he was going there.”

  “Anyone can forget things, Sarah.” But his instinct told him she was right.

  “Not that.” She seemed to force her eyes to meet his. “The receipt was for a double room.”

  Lynette—that’s what she was thinking. Miles had gone to Beaufort with Lynette. The image set his stomach burning.

  He took a deep breath, trying to quench the anger. Stupid, to be angry with two people who’d been dead a year.

  “Let it go, Sarah.” He reached out to clasp her hand in his. “Just let it go. It won’t do any good to pursue it.”

  “I can’t.” She shot out of the chair, walked to the window and stood staring out. “I have to know.” Her shoulders tensed. “If it’s true, I’ll deal with it, but I have to know.”

  “You propose to go to Beaufort and play private detective.”

  She turned, outlined against the pristine seascape beyond the window. “I’m going,” she said. “I can at least ask at the inn where they stayed. Maybe someone will remember something.”

  He stood, longing to stop her. He might prevent her from going to Beaufort today, but sooner or later she’d go. And find what? Evidence that Miles and Lynette had been lovers?