A Dr. Andrews finally armed with the results of some tests approached him warily. Rachel Carstairs was suffering from only one thing. Exhaustion.
It made all the other little pieces fall into place. The whitewashed look, the stumbling.
"She isn't unconscious, just asleep. Probably the best medicine. Seems to have been running on nervous energy for too long. Hasn't eaten for the last twenty four hours as well. We could start an intravenous drip, keep her overnight."
The doctor checked the large man's face for a reaction, wondering about his relationship to the patient. Ms. Carstairs was one lucky woman. Luke Summers had watched the tests they had run on her like a mother hawk. One wrong move, his expression had warned, and I'll pull this place down around your ears. Everybody knew he didn’t care about medical insurance and forms to fill. He was paying for what he wanted and he wanted the best. Right now.
It was late. Luke wanted to get back to the ranch. Share his news. Hold his soon-to-be son. Rid himself of the tensions of the day.
He looked at the sheet draped figure on the bed. The decision was already made. There wasn't much of her to poke and prod. He hated hospitals himself. He couldn't abandon her in one.
"Does she need hospitalization?"
"Not really. A nurse just sponged her down and gave her some juice. She had no trouble drinking it. As long as she keeps up her fluid intake she'll be all right. She has no fever and there are no signs of any other infection. This medical card you found with her passport shows her shots are up to date. Unofficially I'd say all she needs is rest. If she has a place to go, someone to take care of her, we could release her. Otherwise I have to keep her here."
Luke swallowed, "I'll take full responsibility. I'm a relative."
So, help him God, he was. Of a kind.
Coming awake wasn't frightening. She was used to waking in strange places. A hut, a tent, the floor of a school. It was usually the attack on her senses that wakened her. Children screaming, a rooster crowing, the gabble of human voices that believed in operating at full lung capacity.
What alarmed Rachel now was she wasn't in a foreign, dirty, smelly, loud place, with the barest of amenities. Or in a foreign, clean, fragrant, quiet place, with the finest of comforts. She had been in both over the last few years.
She was in a four poster bed. Large, luxurious, frightening. White Priscilla drapes framed a piece of orange sky. Sunset? Sunrise?
Lilies of the valley on a green background covered the walls. The sculptured carpet matched the background color of the elegant wallpaper perfectly. A cherry dresser gleamed against one wall. Outside someone was talking. Spanish. A woman laughed. The sound jogged Rachel's memory. This definitely wasn't the motel room she had checked into. She turned her head.
A figure shot out of a chair in the corner, "She's awake. Come quick. She's awake." A well-built girl ran out of the room.
Rachel froze. Never had her waking up been a cause for rejoicing before. Was she hallucinating?
Boots rang on the wooden floor outside. The door was thrust wider. A man, backlit, stood there. Big. Wide. Blocking out the world. Fear receded as strength flowed out of him and wrapped her like velvet. The absurd sensations swamping her confirmed this had to be a dream.
"How are you feeling?"
Rachel thought about it for the first time since she had woken up. She wiggled her toes, pinching herself surreptitiously under the bedclothes. Everything seemed to be in working condition. This was no dream. "Fine."
He came closer. It hit Rachel all at once. The telegram. The flight back. The courtroom scene. This wasn't the middle of someone else's nightmare. It was the middle of her own.
She had lost Gordie. She had never had him. Rachel closed her eyes. On top of the sheet one hand curled into a fist, highlighting white knuckles.
"Where does it hurt?" A hand was placed on hers. Warm, comforting, protecting.
Winner takes all. The last time she'd seen him he'd been swathed in victorious woman. His lawyer was obviously a woman of many talents.
"Where am I?"
She remembered the surge of current that had passed between them outside the courtroom. From him to her. At the time she hadn't paid much attention to it. She couldn't ignore it now. The big hand on hers ignited every nerve ending.
"At the Diamond Bar."
Rachel shot up in bed. Her head repaid her for the movement by swimming. Eyes closed she willed herself better. Weakness was unaffordable.
"Your ranch. How did I get here?"
"I brought you here."
What was she? A brown paper parcel? The worst part was she had no recollection of any of it.
"How?" the squeak in her voice was denigrating, "I mean one minute I'm in my motel room, the next minute I wake up here......" She frowned.
Blanks weren't easy to fill. Besides the tiny quivers of awareness that kept running through her, interfered with concentration. Rachel hoped it was only malaria. It couldn't be this man. It shouldn't.
"I had to talk to you," Luke began slowly. She reminded him of a Chihuahua facing a grizzly. He had an idea she wasn't going to like what he had done. "I followed you to the motel from the courthouse. You fainted. At the hospital the doctor said it was either staying there or going to a place someone could take care of you. I brought you here."
He didn't miss the flicker of naked pain in her eyes. It tugged at his heartstrings. No one should be so alone.
It had been a fact so long, Rachel told herself, and it shouldn't hurt. But she couldn't deny the aching mass of heaviness in her heart his words had raked over. The scar tissue wasn't as strong as she'd thought.
"How long have I been asleep?"
"A little over twenty four hours. It's five in the evening now. The doctor at the hospital said you were suffering from exhaustion."
"You should have left me there," she said stubbornly, "Why didn't you?"
Navy blue eyes assessed her. Luke realized he couldn't tell her the truth. Not right now. She wouldn't tolerate any hint of compassion. The other feeling he was experiencing, he hadn't labeled yet.
He opted for diplomacy. "I thought you might like to spend some time with Gordie, get to know him."
The name ripped her self-control. No. She didn't want to get to know the baby. Not now. Getting to know Gordie, then having to let go, would break her. She couldn't risk it. There was only so much pain a heart could bear in one lifetime. So much aloneness.
Better a long distance relationship, like the kind she'd had with Chris. Checks, letters, gifts from foreign locations. Impersonal, painless, easy.
The kind Rachel Carstairs could handle like a pro.
The sound of the door opening dragged her back to the immediate present. An elderly woman bustled in. This had to be the housekeeper Luke had mentioned in court yesterday.
"There you are, awake at last!" A face beamed at her above a tray. Golden, love warmed, it was framed in brown hair liberally sprinkled with white. Hazel eyes reflecting humor and happiness looked at her. Cheer and comfort exuded from every pore. Under her ample blue and white apron she wore a checked housedress. The accent reminded Rachel of the volunteer she'd met from Europe last year. "Welcome to the Diamond Bar. Slept twenty hours straight you have. Did Luke tell you its Saturday evening now? That was Angela my niece by marriage, who was sitting with you. She helps out here. She's a good girl, just going through that emotional teenage stage when screaming is an accepted method of communication. Hope she didn't frighten you." Unspoken reassurance came across clearly with the information Hannah was giving her. You're safe. We'll take good care of you. "Luke brought you home because the doctor said all you needed was rest. No one can get that in a hospital...not the way they keep waking you up to check you are getting better. We were told to make sure you kept taking plenty of fluids and you did that all right. I guess it's time you ate something. Just got you a light meal for now. We'll have dinner in a couple of hours."
"This is Hannah who makes us all toe the line at the Diamo
nd Bar," Luke affectionately introduced the woman who had brought him up. "She helped put you to bed last night."
Rachel touched her throat. She was in something voluminous and high necked. Safe. Her hair was unbraided. The fingers she ran through it told her someone had brushed it for her. She would have to find something to tie it back with later. It was much too long to leave like this.
Turning to Hannah she held her hand out formally, "Thank you so much. I'm sorry to have been so much trouble."
"No trouble at all, child," the gentle squeeze of Rachel's hand conveyed comfort and unlimited understanding, "Pleasure to have Christina's cousin here. She told me all about you. Kept saying how much she hoped you would come for a visit. Said the summer you were twelve she felt she had the sister she always wanted. Now don't you tire yourself out talking. Eat and rest or Luke here will bar me from this room. He calls me motor mouth as it is. I'll come back later and sponge you down. We'll catch up on everything once you're better." Hannah smiled, fluffed up her pillows and bustled out.
Rachel leaned back. The urge to burst into tears tightened the muscles in her throat to aching point. "I'm sorry to have made so much extra work."
Luke hooked his hands in his belt and said. "It's no trouble. Hannah loves having people around."
He didn't show any signs of leaving and Rachel slowly slid her legs out from under the white eyelet comforter, "I need to use...."
She never got a chance to finish the sentence. Strong arms swung her up to a strong chest. She was carried out the door, across the hall, into the bathroom, set on her feet. He kept an arm around her, till she found her balance.
"There's everything you might need in the top drawer," his breath stirred her hair, "I'll be right outside the door."
Five minutes later the process was repeated in reverse. Dazed Rachel wondered if there was some rule about walking in this house, she wasn't aware of. Maybe they'd just shampooed their carpets and didn't want them dirtied. The echo of Luke's footsteps informed her of the error of her surmise. The corridors had wooden flooring.
In the minute it took to reach her room Rachel closed her eyes. It was the only way to shut him out. Even so the picture of his firm chin, the slash of his nose, the warmth of his gaze, was branded on her mind. Three of her other senses ran amok. He smelled of the outdoors, of smoke, of hard work. He felt like rock under the softness of a much washed, checked shirt. He sounded like the rush of water over a gravel bed. She heard something about the doctor ordering complete rest.
"I can walk," Rachel protested.
It didn't sound like her at all. Shy, breathless, flustered. Where was all the self possession of the last few years? She had worked with and treated men of all ages. There was no reason for this one to affect her like this.
She tried again, "I'm perfectly all right."
"Not till the doctor says so." Her words could have just been so much water off a duck's back. "I'm taking you in to see Dr. Kenton tomorrow, for some tests. He's the family doctor. Till then you are to stay in bed."
Placing her on the bed, he gently spread her hair over the pillow. Tucking her in as if she were an errant child, he anchored her with an oak bed tray, "Eat."
Rachel stared at the tray. There was enough food to last her three days here. Oven warm croissants, freshly curled pats of butter, three varieties of jam. Under a covered dish rested two poached eggs. A glass of freshly squeezed juice caught her eye. If this was a light meal she'd need help when dinner time came around.
She sipped at the juice. As soon as he left she would take the tray back to the kitchen, explain to Hannah she wasn’t hungry.
Luke had no intention of leaving. He pulled up a chair to the bed, straddled it. After a while he took the glass of juice out of her hand and repeated, “Eat."
He wasn't going to mind his own business. Resignedly she broke off a piece of the croissant, chewed on it. Immediately her salivary glands came to life, begged for more.
As Luke watched her a throbbing began in his jaw. One might think she had reconstituted shoe leather in her mouth. Reaching forward he picked up a croissant, slathered it with butter, topped it off with peach and apricot jelly and held it out to her.
Her eyes widened but she took it from him. The fingers that brushed his were icy cold. Luke's eyes fixed on the stain of color in her cheekbones. He wanted to pick up the chair, hurl it out of the window.
What was wrong with the woman? No one could be that self controlled. He had expected questions, an argument, a protest at the very least. Not docile acceptance of everything he said and did. What made Rachel Carstairs wrap herself in lead lined layers of indifference? The answer would provide him with the key to understanding her.
Halfway through the croissant she gave up. He didn't push it.
"Want something else?"
"Can I have some coffee?"
"Sorry. The doctor said no caffeine." He hadn't, but Luke knew it wouldn't do her any good. "Would you like some herbal tea? Hannah swears by it."
"No thank you."
He lifted the tray. Rachel sank back on the mound of pillows and closed her eyes. It was as good a dismissal as any she could think of.
Behind the screen of closed lids her thoughts rioted. Why had Luke Summers brought her here? The sooner she was out of this bed and back in L.A. the better.
"What has she been living on?" Hannah asked fiercely as he entered the kitchen with the tray. "I've seen starving cattle look better."
Hannah knew more about Rachel than he did. In fact it was she who had filled him in with a few details of Chris' cousin before the case. Apparently his sister-in-law had talked about Rachel to the rest of the family.
"It's a long flight from Bangladesh," Luke explained, puzzled by the unusual urge to protect her. "I talked to Jenks, her lawyer, this morning. According to him she came straight to the courthouse from the airport. From the time she left the village she was working in, to the time she got off the plane at LAX she'd been travelling for seventy two hours straight. Engine trouble in Hong Kong held the flight up twelve hours. She's been under a terrific strain, not knowing if she would get here on time. Add jet lag to that and it's going to take her a while to get back to normal."
"Wonder why she wanted Gordie?" Hannah muttered to herself. "If she's after the money, I'm the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe." There was a silence while she watched Luke eat the poached eggs. "Did she ask to see Gordie?"
"She's still very tired." Why was he defending her? He'd thought it strange himself that she hadn't shown any interest in the child.
"Hmph." Hannah wasn't to be fooled. "Something's very wrong here. And if you tell me I'm imagining things Luke Summers, I'm going to be mad enough to serve up boiled carrots for dinner."
But Luke had no answer for her. Snatching Gordie from his playpen he swung him high till the room was filled with childish chuckles. Setting his nephew on his shoulders, he strode from the room.
It didn't matter if Rachel Carstairs wasn't interested in getting to know Gordie. He would never lack for love on the Diamond Bar. Half the ranch hands had hung around till he had gotten home last night. Their victory yell at the news he had won had been uproarious. Quite a few of them had grown up with him and Rob. They shared his love and pride in Gordie.
The fact that he had brought the opposition home with him had subdued them. Interest had been rife as they'd watched him carry the limp form into the house. But they knew better than to question his actions.
Hannah had barely brought one of her nightdresses to the guest room when Gordon had started crying. Luke had slipped away to check on him and by the time he'd returned, their involuntary guest had been settled for the night.
The decision to sleep in her room had been automatic. Hannah's days were filled with watching the baby. He couldn't ask her to work a night shift as well. Neither could he leave Rachel Carstairs alone in the guest wing of the house. She might wake disoriented and terrified. He settled matters by taking the baby monitor with
him to the guest room. If Gordie cried he would be in his room before his nephew had drawn his second breath.
She was a restless sleeper. Her tossing had the quilt on the floor twice. The first time he retrieved it he had made a discovery. She slept on her stomach. Muttered words in a foreign language snapped him back to attention. Tucking the quilt around her he returned to his sleeping bag.
The short scream, a few minutes later, had him on his feet before he could place it. "Tim, hurry, please. The woman. I can't hold on much longer. Tim."
She was threshing madly, her unseeing eyes wide open, her arms straining to hold some unknown body. Her thin wail of despair whipped through him like a northerly. Luke gathered her to his chest.
"Hush," he scolded. "You're home now. There's nothing to worry about."
She stilled so suddenly he thought she had slid back into sleep. But she hadn't.
"Home?" The eyes were focusing now. "I'm home?"
Emotion tore at his throat. There was a bank of yearning in the grey eyes so close to his own. A bank of disbelief. The desire to change that look shook Luke to the core of his being.
"Yes."
She pressed against him. Her eyelids drooped but her words were crystal clear, "Don't ever let me go."
Her hands came up, followed the lines of his body from his hands to his shoulders, up his cheeks then into his hair. She brought his head down to hers still searching for the promise he had offered. Her eyes remained closed in an effort to preserve the mirage. The lips that touched his were as soft as rose petals.
The contact changed everything. Suddenly her grip tightened as if she were searching desperately for some sort of proof. Luke kissed her back as he would a child, wanting to give her the reassurance she so badly needed. He wasn't sure when passion took over. Only that he was drowning in the sweetness of her mouth and she was trying to pull him down with her.
"Please," she pleaded in that raspy voice of hers, "Please hold me."
Her tone cut the cord of desire.
Rachel Carstairs was ill. She didn't know what was she was doing or saying. This was as far as her dream could go.
Faith Hope and Love (A Homespun Romance) Page 3