Love Lies Bleeding (8 page)

One stupid moment of violence . . . and a life is ruined. And through no fault of mine. It was her . . . she was responsible for what happened, not me. Why should I continue to pay the price? I stare out the window at the lights. Somehow they don’t seem as bright as they once were. Disgusted, I throw my napkin on the table and down the last of my wine. I signal for my check, and after settling the bill, leave my half-eaten meal sitting on the table, the bloody juice now congealed on the plate.

I stride past the waiter, past the maître d’, and out the dining-room doors. As I stab the elevator button, my anger sizzles. Another evening ruined by her. It can’t continue. I’ve earned a better life than this . . . I
deserve
a better life than this. There must be a way out.

All I have to do is find the key.

Chapter Seven

A
nne sat in her car and stared at the cabin. Yesterday did not go well. Sam had shut herself in the bedroom for most of the day, claiming weariness. At first Anne had wondered if it was avoidance on Sam’s part. It had been obvious Sam didn’t want her there and resented her parents’ and fiancé’s interference.

They’d left that part out during her interview, she thought wryly. Neither the father nor the fiancé had mentioned that Sam was less than thrilled with the idea of in-home therapy. Anne’s lips curled downward in a frown. What kind of reception would Sam give her today? Would she spend the entire summer struggling to win Sam’s cooperation? Didn’t Sam realize how lucky she was? She had people in her life who cared, who would do anything to help her.

Disgusted, Anne shook her head.
She’d
never had that kind of support in
her
life. No one had ever stepped up to the plate to help her. It had always been up to her, and her alone, to shoulder the burdens, to make the decisions, to solve the problems. It was a miracle that she hadn’t been crushed by the weight of it all.

She laid her head against the seat and shut her eyes for a moment. Instead of acting like a spoiled brat, Samantha Moore should be overcome with gratitude.

Straightening, she opened her eyes and blew out a long breath as she stared at the cabin door. What she thought of Samantha Moore wasn’t important. She had a job to do. During the interview, Lawrence Moore had made his expectations clear, and in not so many words, he’d let her know that failure was not an option.

Her thoughts shot to the pile of bills lying on the kitchen table. A pang of anxiety squeezed her chest. What if she did fail and he fired her? Laid off from the hospital and no money coming in—it wouldn’t take long for her savings to dwindle. Her carefully laid plans for Caleb’s college would be shot to hell. All those years of scrimping, wasted. She rubbed a spot on her chest as if to loosen the knot around her heart. She couldn’t let that happen. Whether Samantha Moore wanted her help or not didn’t matter. She’d do whatever it took to keep Lawrence Moore happy.

Flinging the car door open, she got out and strode across the sandy yard to the front porch. She’d taken one step when a plant growing at its edge caught her eye. Had it been there yesterday? Anne moved closer to take a look.

Stalks with deeply veined, green leaves shot skyward and were beginning to arch toward the ground. Looking closer, Anne saw tiny clusters of buds forming. She’d driven by this cabin for years, but she’d never noticed this bush growing by the porch. The landlord must have planted it.

“Ah, who cares?” she mumbled to herself, fingering the leaves. “Time to quit dithering and get my butt in there. I’ve got a patient who resents me.” Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “But I’ve faced worse.”

With firm steps, Anne crossed the porch and unlocked the cabin door. Swinging it open, she peered into the semidark room. The silent atmosphere was stifling.
This won’t do,
she thought. Quickly, she moved to the French doors, and flinging back the curtains, jerked one open. Immediately sunlight flooded the cabin, chasing away the darkness, and the air lightened as a breeze from the lake fluttered in.

Anne took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Better.”

Moving back to the kitchen, she began making preparations to cook breakfast. She’d wait until it was ready before waking Sleeping Beauty. As if the young woman had been summoned by her thoughts, Anne turned to see Sam shuffle into the kitchen.

Squinting against the sunlight, Sam ran her fingers through her butchered hair.

Glancing at Sam over her shoulder, Anne decided that was the worst haircut she’d ever seen. It looked like the woman had used a Weedwhacker. Maybe she should gently suggest a trip to Alice’s Beauty Barn in Pardo?

“Good morning,” she said, schooling her face into a cheery mask. “What would you like for breakfast? How about eggs and sausage?”

Sam tugged at her errant spikes of hair, looking first at Anne then glancing toward the open door to the deck. “Nothing—just coffee,” she mumbled.

During the interview, Lawrence Moore had shown Anne pictures of Sam, but looking at her now, she was amazed at the difference between the woman in the photos and the one who stood there, pulling at her hair. In the photos, she’d been smiling and confident, but now? It was like she’d been stripped to the bone. Light pouring in highlighted her hollow cheeks and her almost skeletal frame. And her eyes—shadowed and haunted—darted around the kitchen with uncertainty. At that moment Anne thought she’d never seen anyone
less
confident than Samantha Moore.

Catching Anne watching her, Sam dropped her hand away from her hair and gave Anne a defiant look. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing,” Anne replied quickly, pulling the eggs and milk out of the fridge. “You don’t look like you slept well. Did you have a bad night?”

Sam gave a rough bark. “You might say that.” She looked back toward the door to the deck. “There’s too much light in here. And,” she called over her shoulder as she limped across the room, “don’t ever leave here again without pulling all the drapes and blinds.” Reaching the door, she closed both the door and the drapes, plunging the room back into gloom.

Breakfast forgotten, Anne was beside her in an instant. “It’s as dark as a tomb in here,” she said, opening the drapes. “A little sunshine will make you feel better.”

Sam shut the drapes. “No, it won’t.”

Anne opened them. “Yes, it will.”

Sam’s hand wavered on the curtains while her eyes narrowed. “I like it dark.”

“I don’t. The curtains stay open,” Anne said, drawing herself up to her full six feet and staring down at Sam. As she looked into those troubled eyes, sympathy tugged at her, but she tamped it down. She couldn’t let this little wisp of a thing get the upper hand.

Emotions flitted across Sam’s face—defiance, anger, and finally resignation. Her shoulders sagged, and she pivoted awkwardly. “Whatever,” she replied in a voice dripping with bitterness. “I’m going back to bed.”

Anne’s hand stopped her. “No, you’re not. You’re going to eat breakfast, take your meds, and start your therapy.”

“Who put you in charge, Nurse Nancy?” Sam shot back, hugging herself tightly.

“Your father.”

Sam’s arms dropped to her side. “Oh, that’s right.” She shambled over to the couch and plopped down. “You’re here to care for his crippled daughter,” she finished sarcastically.

Anne placed her hands on her hips and studied her. “Do you want to get your mobility back or not?”

Sam’s chin shot up. “Of course I do,” she exclaimed, “but I don’t need you to do it. I’m tired of everyone treating me like an invalid.”

“Then quit acting like one,” Anne fired back, returning to the kitchen.

Sam surged to her feet and with halting steps followed her. “Excuse me? You’ve known me what? Less than twenty-four hours? How do you know how I act?”

“And during those twenty-four hours, you’ve spent most of your time hiding out in the bedroom, sleeping.” Anne cracked three eggs in a bowl and beat them with short angry strokes. “That’s not the behavior of someone who wants to get better.”

“You don’t know anything about it,” Sam insisted.

“I know what I’ve seen and what your father and fiancé told me during the interview.”

Sam yanked out a chair and sank down. “Did you ever consider that their perspective might be a little skewed? That they have their own reasons for sticking me up here in the boonies?”

“Such as?”

“Such as my mother doesn’t like dealing with ‘unpleasant’ situations.” Sam leaned back in her chair and gave Anne a long look. “Remembering what happened to me is unpleasant.”

“My impression was that your parents and fiancé want to do what’s best for you.”

“No, they want to do what’s easiest for them. And shoving me off on you is easy.”

A comeback sprang to mind, but Anne clamped her mouth shut.
Nope,
she thought,
I’m not going to get involved in a debate about her relationship with her parents.
Instead, she calmly laid the whisk in the sink and turned her attention to Sam. “What difference does it make what their motives are? Isn’t getting your strength back the important thing?”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?” Sam cried. “I’ve taken every pill, every potion they shoved my way, until I’ve felt so woozy it’s been hard to tell what’s real and what’s not.”

Anne let her expression soften. “It takes time for the body to heal and—”

“Right,” Sam snorted, cutting in, “like I haven’t heard that one before, and while you’re at it, why don’t you explain to me how fortunate I am?”

Sam’s remark echoed Anne’s earlier thoughts and Anne felt a stab of guilt. She watched Sam’s anger and misery shimmer around her like an aura, and she couldn’t help thinking that maybe Samantha Moore wasn’t so fortunate after all. But before she could frame a response, Sam continued.

“ ‘Really, Samantha,’ ” Sam said in a spot-on imitation of Lawrence Moore. “ ‘Look around the hospital—how many of these people will never walk again?’ ” She suddenly slumped in her chair. “I’m supposed to be thankful they only bashed in my skull.”

Turning away, Anne struggled for the right words to say. This woman probably had more money than she herself would ever see in her lifetime, yet Samantha Moore couldn’t buy what she needed most—determination. Anne had to find a way to break through the girl’s bitterness. If she didn’t, she’d fail and Lawrence Moore would fire her. Grabbing the bowl, she felt a small sigh escape before she could stop it. Rolling her shoulders, she tried to release the building tension while she plastered a smile on her face.

“Look, just sit there and relax while I make breakfast,” Anne said, sliding the toaster toward her and popping two slices of bread into the slots. “After you’re finished, we’ll go out on the deck and start on some exercises.”

Sam rose to her feet and took a halting step toward the living room. “I told you . . . I’m going back to bed.”

Anne’s smile vanished. Great. What did she do now? Hog-tie her and haul her out onto the deck? Lawrence Moore would love hearing about how she manhandled his daughter.

“No wonder you’re not making progress,” Anne muttered, and slammed the lever down on the toaster.

Sam whirled. “What did you say?”

Pivoting, Anne leaned against the counter and met Sam’s angry stare with one of her own. “I’m not surprised at your condition. You say you don’t want to be treated like an invalid, but that’s exactly how you act.” Frustration sharpened her voice. “You don’t have what it takes to work hard.”

Sam’s head reared back. “That’s not true. Thanks to me, Dad’s agency is one of the best in this country.”

“That was then. What about now?”

Sam’s gaze broke away from Anne’s face and slowly traveled down her own body. Her focus settled on her left leg. She stared at it a moment before stiffening her spine and returning her attention to Anne. “How long?” she asked, her voice soft.

“What do you mean?”

“If I promise to cooperate, how long before I’m back to normal?”

“You want a time frame?”

Sam nodded mutely.

Should she make false promises in order to ensure Sam’s cooperation? She’d never lied to a patient before, but if it meant hanging on to this job . . . Looking at Sam standing there—her chopped hair, her thin body—she wanted to help her. Feeding her a bunch of bullshit wasn’t the way to do it.

“I can’t give you one,” she said finally. “All I can give you is a promise. I’ll work hard if you do.”

Inside she prayed it would be enough.

Sam barely touched her breakfast, but Anne had at least one victory. Sam had dressed in loose sweatpants and a T-shirt and was now lying on a chaise longue while Anne massaged the wasted muscle in her left leg. She’d almost gone into shock when Anne had insisted that they do the exercises on the deck overlooking the lake. Even now, as Anne kneaded her leg, Sam’s eyes were scrunched shut while tension vibrated through her small frame.

Those eyes suddenly popped open and Sam’s leg jerked.

“Did you hear that?” Sam whispered.

Anne shifted as her eyes scanned the area around the cabin. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Rustling,” Sam replied, flinging an arm toward the deck railing. “Over there in the trees.”

Anne resumed her massage. “It was probably just a squirrel. Try to relax.”

“I want to go back inside,” Sam said as she tried to sit up.

“It’s okay,” Anne answered, gently pushing her back. “We’re staying out here. The fresh air and the sunshine will do you good.”

“I said I’m going back inside,” Sam repeated firmly.

“No, you’re not.” Anne kneaded Sam’s thigh muscle in swift strokes. “You promised to cooperate and that means we stay out here.”

With a disgusted sigh, Sam plopped back against the chaise and closed her eyes again.

Perplexed, Anne shook her head. It was a beautiful day. The sun beat down on them, warming her back as she leaned over Sam’s leg. And bees, drawn by the heavy scent of the lavender oil she was using, buzzed lazily at the corner of the deck. How could Sam prefer being cooped up in the cabin? She moved her hands down Sam’s thigh, pressing firmly on the tightness gathered beneath the skin. Slowly, she felt the knots begin to ease. A smile tickled at the corner of Anne’s mouth.