Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set (57 page)

She isn't a human guinea pig
, Finn thought.

“I have her chart right here in front of me, and she did fine last time. I'm reasonably certain the same will be true now.”

“Reasonably certain? That isn't exactly comforting.”

She heard the
click-click
of his ballpoint. “Do you have a pen and paper handy?”

Finn rummaged in a nearby kitchen drawer and produced both. “Yes, I do.”

“You probably remember what to watch for, but just in case...” He recited the list, as if reading from a pharmaceutical handbook: headache, neck pain or stiffness, nausea or vomiting, dizziness, irregular breathing, vision or memory loss, difficulty speaking, loss of consciousness and seizures.

Finn made a habit of memorizing the contraindications listed on the brochures included in each prescription package, but she wrote them down anyway.

“And what's the plan if the DexPak doesn't reduce the inflammation?”

“We could try a ventriculostomy—we did detect a small amount of fluid near where we placed the shunt following the accident.”

Finn had read all about that procedure. Peterson would have to drill a small hole in Ciara's skull, insert a thin tube and drain the fluids. If successful, placement of the shunt could put an end to all of her symptoms. But if the drain became blocked, everything he'd just listed could happen, and more. As if that wasn't enough, there was a risk of infection.

“How long would the shunt need to stay in?”

“How 'bout we cross that bridge when we get to it?”

“So you're saying it isn't likely that procedure will be necessary?”

“I'm saying that right now the DexPak is our best course of action. Are you still using the pharmacy on Twenty-First Street?”

Finn told him she was, and he offered to fax over the prescription right away. Finn thanked him.

“Happy to do it. You have my cell number, so don't be afraid to call me if anything seems off.”

The call ended just as the coffeemaker hissed, signaling a full pot. Finn poured herself a cup and sat at the table, staring at the notes she'd written. Ciara would take the news in stride. She always did. Connor, on the other hand, could spin a tornado from a light breeze. Was it possible to keep the news from him a little longer? It would mean doling out meds when he wasn't around. No, that wouldn't work; his comings and goings were too unpredictable. Honesty, presented in a calm yet academic way, seemed to be her only option.

He walked into the kitchen puffy eyed and rumpled and grabbed a mug from the drain board. “What kind of idiot makes phone calls at this hour on a Saturday?” he grumbled.

“Ciara's doctor. He's heading to the airport to attend a medical convention and didn't want us to wait until Monday to hear the test results.” She brought him up to speed using only the least worrisome details, and surprisingly, he took the news well.

“I can pick up her prescription, save you the trouble of doing it.”

“The pharmacy is only a few blocks away, and I have a few errands to run anyway.” Remembering how she'd hurt his feelings last night, she added, “But it's nice of you to offer.”

Connor helped himself to coffee and joined her at the table. “How 'bout when Ciara gets up, I make us a big country breakfast, like I used to. Everything I need for pancakes and sausage gravy is in the fridge. And I think I saw potatoes in the cupboard under the sink.”

He liked to boast that he made the best home fries this side of the Mississippi, and it drove Rowdy crazy, mostly because, despite dozens of attempts over the years, he'd failed to replicate Connor's recipe.

“I'm sure Ciara will love it.”

“Ciara will—will love what?” She shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“Conn... Dad offered to make us a big country breakfast.”

She brightened. “Sausage gravy and—and pancakes?”

He winked. “My famous fried potatoes, too.”

“Can I help like I did when I was little?”

“Wouldn't be a Leary breakfast if you didn't.”

“Call me when it's ready,” Finn said. “I'm gonna make up the beds and throw a load of towels into the washer.”

“No need to make my bed.”

“Mine, either,” Ciara echoed.

“I heard the paper hit the top porch step. Why not put your feet up and relax, and let us take care of breakfast,” Connor suggested.

“Even setting the table.” Ciara looked up at Connor. “Right, Dad?”

He kissed the top of her head. “You betcha.” He shooed Finn from the room. “We'll call you when it's ready.”

She didn't know how to react. Connor, behaving like a dad?
Better enjoy it while you can, because it isn't likely to last long.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

S
AM
COULDN
'
T
EXPLAIN
his reaction to Finn's “so far” comment. He thought about it long past midnight on Friday. He came to the conclusion that all she needed was a little time to herself, and resisted calling or dropping by.

But that hadn't lasted long.

Early Monday morning, he'd received orders to report for a Thursday meeting in the chief's office, and Finn was the first person—the
only
person—he wanted to talk to about it. She'd said some pretty insightful things in response to the Jasmine Epps story, and he craved more of the same confidence boosting. When she didn't pick up, he used logic to fight off disappointment. She was busy monitoring Ciara's health, checking on construction at The Right Note, jumping through hoops to keep booze out of Connor's hands.

He also tried getting in touch that night, but the call went to voice mail yet again. As it had on Tuesday. By Wednesday, after Sam had sent three texts and left two messages, it dawned on him that her silence was a message to
him
.

He didn't like admitting that maybe Aggie had been right, but what else was he to think, all things considered? Perfect timing, he told himself. He had classes to teach and a business to run. And if he hoped to come out of the meeting at headquarters with a job, he'd better show up with a clear head and a calm heart.

His cell phone pinged, alerting him to an incoming phone call.

“What's up, cousin?”

He hadn't heard from Zach in weeks. No surprise there. Nate and Sophie had told him that Summer was keeping the father-to-be busy. Sam grinned, picturing the big former marine painting pink-and-white stripes on the nursery walls or grappling with the elaborate car seat/stroller/infant carrier Sam had sent as a shower gift.

He propped his feet on the railing. “Calling to announce the addition of another Marshall to the family?”

“Aw, man. What a buzzkill.”

Sam laughed. “Didn't mean to steal your thunder. Go ahead. I'll shut up while you give me all the statistics...except how many hours Summer was in lab—”

“So her water breaks, right, but she sleeps right through it.
I
don't, though. ‘Hey, sweetie,' I say...and I'm shakin' her real gently, like, ‘Hey, darlin', you wanna call your doctor while I throw your suitcase in the truck?'”

Sam pictured the scene and smiled. In his opinion, Zach had earned every bit of joy life had to offer. He'd never fully understood his cousin's decision to enlist, but supported his cousin's choice despite worry-inducing news reports that painted a very different picture of the Middle East than those drawn in Zach's upbeat letters. He'd come back to them in reasonably good shape...weeks before his sister Libby was attacked. Not long afterward, he'd met Summer, still battling ghosts that were eerily similar to Libby's. Now Zach was happy, finally, so yeah, it was good, real good, to hear proof of it in his voice.

“So she's still half asleep, see,” he continued, “but she rolls over and goes, ‘Zach, did you forget to put the cap on your bottled water again?' And I'm starting to panic, 'cause I read more of those ‘when you're expecting' books than she did, and know
exactly
what's going on. Anyway, I jump into my pants and pull on my boots and clomp around to her side of the bed. Pick her up. Get her on her feet. And she opens those big beautiful eyes and smiles. ‘Uh-oh,' she says, ‘guess I'd better call the doctor while you throw my suitcase in the truck, huh?'”

Sam couldn't be sure if the sound he heard was Zach chuckling or Zach choking back a joyous sob.

“I drove like a speed demon the whole way to the hospital, flashers blinking, horn honking, gripping the steering wheel so tight I thought I'd bend it. And then?”

Sam was happy for Zach. And a little envious, too.

“And then just like that,” Zach said, “I'm a husband
and
a dad.” He exhaled a shaky sigh. “Didn't think I'd ever feel better than when Summer said, ‘I do'...”

His voice trailed off. Had they been disconnected, or was Zach too overcome with emotion to speak?

“I was wrong,” he said at last. “Dead wrong. They put that itty-bitty bundle in my arms, and...and you've heard that saying ‘my legs buckled?'”

“Yeah...”

“Well,
that.
I sat in the nearest chair and started bawlin' even harder than she was.”

“Summer, you mean?”

“No—I can't believe I'm about to say this—
my little girl.
”

Envy smacked him yet again, and Sam decided he'd been away from the ranch too long. With no one but himself to worry about, he was in danger of turning into a self-centered jerk.

“Summer's okay, then?”

“Not just okay. Incredible. Beautiful. Magnificent
. Perfect
. I tell ya, Sam, life's good. Real, real good.”

“You earned it. So did Summer. And I can't wait to meet little... What's the baby's name?”

“Cassidy Rose. Soon as we hang up, I'll send you a picture.”

“Can't wait.”

“You're gonna love her. So when
are
you visiting? Thanksgiving?”

Finn had almost said yes to his invitation to spend the holidays at the ranch, but then Friday and the “so far” comment had happened.

“I guess that'll depend on Nate and Eden.” Not the whole truth, but not a lie, either. “Have they set a date yet?”

“Aw, who knows with those two. Every time I ask, all I get is ‘soon.' Don't know which one is the holdout.”

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”

“No, nothing like that.”

Good, Sam thought.
Just because
you're
destined to grow old alone, doesn't mean they should
.

“They're trying to get their ducks in a row so they can legally adopt the boys after things are official. But you know what they say about red tape.”

“Yeah, official paperwork can be a pain, all right. I hope they get it straightened out soon. Because Eden is good for Nate, and he's good for her.”

“Weird, isn't it, that Nate will become a dad to a crowd of boys, days after he puts that ring on her finger?”

That “wish it were me” sensation kicked in again. “Those are some lucky kids.”

“And they know it, too. Every one of them has cleaned up his act. So much that you probably won't recognize them.”

Sam didn't know what to make of the emotions swirling in his head—and thumping in his heart. He'd been born into a huge, loving family, a family that was growing by the minute. Why couldn't he be satisfied with that? Why did he want what Zach had—and what Nate was about to get—so badly that he could taste it?

“So how're things in Music City?”

Should he tell Zach about the scheduled meeting with the department's high muck-a-mucks? Nah. He'd wait until afterward, when he had more concrete information.

“Downright harmonious,” he said. “Get it? Music City...” And then he noticed someone pacing behind his pickup. Standing, Sam peered over the railing.
What in the world?

Connor looked up, as if summoned by Sam's thoughts.

“Apartment eight, right?” he shouted, one hand shading his eyes.

Nodding, Sam waved him up. “I'll have to get back to you, Zach. I just got some unexpected company. Give my love to Summer, and kiss that baby for me.”

“No way. You're gonna have to come home and do that yourself.”

“Okay,” he said, chuckling, “it's a deal.”

Pocketing the phone, he wondered how Finn's dad had found out where he lived. To his knowledge,
she
didn't even know his address.

“Hey,” he said, opening the door wide.

Connor stepped past him and, hands pocketed, said, “You're not an easy man to find.”

“Really.” Sam led him into the living room. “What's up?”

“I, ah, I want to talk about Finn.”

“Well, that's a relief,” he admitted. “I thought maybe something happened to Ciara.”

“Kee? Nah. She's good. Fine.” Connor worked the kinks out of his neck. “Doc prescribed some new meds. Seems to be helping.” Nodding, he cleared his throat. “Don't think she's had a headache or a dizzy spell in days.”

“That's good to hear.” And he meant it. The poor kid already had enough to contend with.

“Yeah, it beats exploratory surgery.”

The man had been in his house slightly more than a minute, and already Sam had tired of his small talk. “So...is Finn okay?”

“Yeah. Physically anyway.”

“Not to be rude, but...” Sam glanced at his watch, a not-so-subtle hint that Connor might consider getting to the point. “Why'd you come looking for me?” Maybe, in addition to an explanation, Connor would tell him who'd directed him to the apartment.

“Oh. Right. So anyway, I just stopped by to apologize for my girl. She's got a lot on her shoulders, between taking care of Kee and running the diner and the renovations and all. I'm sure you understand if she sometimes seems a little short-tempered. If she said something to tick you off, well, put the blame where it belongs. On her mom and me.”

“What makes you think she ticked me off?”

Connor grunted. “You guys were like this.” He held up his forefinger, crossed the index finger over it. “And then?” He made a wide V of the digits. “Doesn't take a genius to figure out...” He lifted his chin. “Wait. You mean...you mean you ticked
her
off?”

In a way, Sam supposed he had. He didn't understand why, but at this point, what difference did it make?

“So what did you mean, she's all right...physically?”

Connor shook his head. “Aw, she's been moping around since Friday night. Hardly says a word, except to Kee. She'd wring my neck if she knew I was here, telling you any of this, but I've heard her crying. After lights-out. In the shower. Any time she thinks Ciara and I can't hear. The other day, I caught her standing at the sink blubbering like a baby.”

“Did you ask her what the problem is?”

Eyes wide, Connor seemed stunned by the question. “Of course I did. I'm a sorry excuse for a father, but I'm not totally heartless.”

Sam's patience was running out. “Never meant to imply you're either. But when I hear she's been crying—which is totally out of character for her—it's only natural to ask
why.
”

“You know what they say...careful what you wish for? Well, in a word, the problem is
you.
At least, that's my opinion, and you know what they say about those? ‘Opinions are like armpits—everybody has a couple, and mostly, they stink.'”

Sam grinned, even though it hurt like mad, hearing he might be the cause of Finn's misery.

“I'm not here to assign blame, Sam. God knows I'm in no position to do that! I just thought, what could it hurt to stop by, ask you to call her, see if you can mend fences or whatever.”

“Already tried calling. Texted her, too. When she didn't answer...”

“You took it to mean she wants nothing more to do with you.”

Sam winced, and Connor added, “Well, you're wrong. Finn would never admit it, but she needs you. That's why you have to talk with her. Face-to-face. The sooner, the better.”

The thought that jumped into his head made him feel like a five-year-old:
he'd
made an effort. If she refused to meet him halfway, what more could he do?

“She'll be home alone tonight. I know that for a fact.”

“Alone? But what about Ciara?”

“I'm taking her out for pizza. Finn has some unpacking to do at the diner, prepping for the reopening.” Connor inspected his fingernails. “The contractor made great progress this week. My guess is they'll finish up in a week, two at most, and she has some decisions to make about what to keep and what to toss.”

“What time will you and Ciara leave tonight?”

“Five, six o'clock? Poor kid isn't real steady on her feet—hasn't been since the accident, if you want the truth—but right now it's worse, because she's still adjusting to the new meds. I don't have my license back yet, so we'll need to walk. Slowly. Her favorite pizza parlor is always packed, so we could be gone for a good two, three hours.” Standing, he walked to the door. “So will you stop by?”

“Yeah. I guess. Why not?”

Connor laughed, and just before stepping outside, he said, “When you get there, you might want to adjust your enthusiasm level.”

On the way to his room, Sam remembered that day at the zoo, when the sunshine had turned Finn's cheeks pink and the humidity curled her waves into soft ringlets. He got a glimpse of himself in the foyer mirror. If the mental image of her could paint a goofy love-struck grin on his face, what would happen when he got an eyeful in person?