Meeting at Midnight (4 page)

So was Gwen. Putting the two women together in my mind made me uncomfortable. I shifted, stretching out my bad leg. “I guess that would be lonely, being an only child.”

“I had my fantasies about having a brother or sister when I was growing up. But a lot of people from big families fantasize about being an only, I think. Didn't you?”

“No more than four or five times a day. Especially when Charlie and Annie were teenagers. Not that Annie got into any real trouble, but she was a girl. There's so much
stuff
about being a girl at that age…” I shook my head. “I wanted to lock her up or send her to a convent. Raising girls is scary.”

“She's quite a bit younger than you, I gather.”

“Eleven years, yeah. She's the youngest.” I hadn't done right by Annie. For years she'd had a kind of phobia about leaving Highpoint, and I hadn't even realized it—probably because I'd liked having her around too much to question why she'd moved back home and stayed. Jack had known, though. He'd married her and taken her off to see the world, one dirt-poor village at a time. And she loved it. I frowned at my coffee cup.

“More coffee?”

I shook my head. “No, thanks. Ah…jeans probably won't work with this stupid knee. There ought to be a pair of sweats in the bottom left drawer of my dresser, though. If you'd get them, I can have my shower in the downstairs bathroom, then get dressed.”

“You are not—” she started, then stopped, shaking her head. “Who'd have thought you'd be so devious?”

I scowled. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm supposed to fuss at you, remind you of what the doctor said, et cetera. In the end, you'll give up on the shower, and I'm supposed to concede that you can get dressed. Which is what you really want.”

“Are you sure you don't have brothers?”

She chuckled. “Nary a one.”

Yet she obviously knew men. Well, she'd probably had plenty of opportunity to observe my half of the species. That showgirl's body would get any man's attention. Then he'd get
hooked by that slow smile, or the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, laughing all by themselves. “You aren't giving me a hard time about getting dressed,” I observed.

“Not much point. I knew you'd be champing at the bit today. You do realize I'll have to help you, don't you?”

“Like hell you will.”

She just looked at me. For once, even her eyebrows didn't comment.

At last I sighed. “The shirt. I'll need help with that. And the sling.”

“I could give you a sponge bath first.”

A visceral flash hit me—her hands running a warm, soapy washcloth along my arm to my shoulder, then down my chest…she'd be bending over me, bringing those magnificent breasts close enough to… “No, you can't.”

Like I said, I know my limits.

I
couldn't reach my left foot. I glared at my knee, washcloth in hand.

I was sitting on the toilet with the lid down. I'd managed a spit bath of sorts, pulled on my shorts and sweatpants…and one sock. I couldn't get my left sock on. And I couldn't wash my own damned foot.

Everything throbbed—head, shoulder, knee. My feet were cold. I was going to have to ask for help.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door.

“Yeah?” I growled.

“Thought you might be ready for a cup of coffee,” Seely said through the door. “And an extra hand. As I recall, I had the devil of a time with shoes and socks when my wrist was broken.”

I sighed. “It's unlocked. How did you break your wrist?”

The door swung open. “I wasn't a very coordinated child.
Fell from the monkey bars when I was seven. Daisy had to do everything for me at first, which sorely offended my dignity. Here.” She held out a tall walking stick. “Duncan dug this up in the attic yesterday. He thought you might be able to use it.”

I put down the washcloth and took the stick. It was made of walnut, a dark, burled wood that felt smooth and cool to my fingers. “How about that.” I smiled, bemused. “I'd forgotten all about this thing. Funny. I must have seen my father use it a hundred times, but the one time that floated into my head just now…”

“Yes?” She set the mug on the tiny bit of counter next to the sink.

“We were in Crete. Me and my dad, that is. Annie was only a month old, so my mom wasn't able to go with my dad that year.” I leaned the stick against the wall. There wasn't really room for it in this little scrap of a bathroom, but it made me feel good to have it near. “We'd climbed this little rise overlooking the dig, and he was using his stick to point out a city that didn't exist anymore. All I saw was this reddish maze of crumbling walls in the section that had been excavated. He saw so much more—the granary, the wide, dusty street leading to the temple. Maybe even the people on that street.”

“He had vision. It sounds like a good memory.”

“Yeah.” I thought about how excited I'd been to go with him. How hard I'd tried to see what he did…and failed. “It was the first time I'd gone with him. I guess that's why that memory sticks out.”

“How old were you?”

“Eleven. It was summer, of course. I remember—hey!”

She'd knelt and was reaching for my foot. “Must have been hot.”

“Blazing. You don't have to do that.” I tried to retrieve my foot without creating a tug-of-war.

“Quit that or I'll tickle you.” She ran the washcloth over my sole. “I'll admit I'm not a real nurse, but I'm pretty sure this sort of thing is part of the job.”

I scowled. This was every bit as embarrassing as I'd thought it would be. “No, you're a paramedic. So why aren't you working as one?”

“Because I couldn't hack it.” She grabbed the towel. “So why is your brother married to your son's mother instead of you?”

Sucker-punched. I hadn't seen that one coming, and for a second couldn't think of a thing to say.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.” She dried my foot carefully, giving me the top of her head to look at instead of her face. Even with her hair pulled back, her hair was all crinkly, like a shallow stream wiggling over rocks.

Or like Doofus wiggling all over even when he was trying to stand still. I sighed. I felt as if I'd just kicked a puppy—and gotten bitten for it. “Don't apologize. I asked for it. I jabbed at you because I don't like needing help for every little thing. Can't complain if you jab back.”

“Okay. Hand me your socks, will you?”

I did, and she pulled a sock on my left foot. It felt weird to sit there while she did that. “I'm surprised none of the busybodies you talked to yesterday filled you in about me and Gwen.”

Seely looked up then, her face all smoothed out. “I really am sorry. I'm not usually such a bitch.”

That annoyed me. “You're not a bitch at all.”

“I can be, when my temper's up.”

“I have a temper, too, but no one calls me a bitch.”

She laughed. “I have a feeling no one calls you anything but ‘sir' when you're mad.”

“You haven't been around my family.” I liked that I'd made her laugh. It was a good sound.

“You're obviously close.” She tossed the washcloth in the sink. “Um…Gwen did say that you'd only known Zach for a few months. She said that was her fault.”

“It was my fault as much as hers.” I didn't like talking about it…but I didn't like her thinking I was the kind of bastard who'd ignore his son, either. “I didn't know about Zach's existence until last March. Gwen and I met when I was on vacation a few years ago. It didn't work out—at least, I decided it wouldn't work out. She has money, you see. Family money. A lot of it. I didn't deal with that well when I found out. She, uh, threw away my address when I left, so by the time she realized she was pregnant, she didn't know how to find me.”

“How did you learn about Zach, then?”

“She hired a detective. That was after she'd been diagnosed with breast cancer.” I added firmly, so she'd know the subject was closed, “She's okay now. Anyway, she brought Zach here for a visit, and while Zach and I were getting acquainted, she and Duncan fell for each other.”

They'd fought it. In hindsight I could see that it must have been hell for both of them. They'd known I'd wanted to marry Gwen, and Duncan at least had accepted that I had a prior claim. But at the time I hadn't been able to see anything except how betrayed I'd felt when I found out, how thoroughly my dreams had been destroyed.

Seely rested her hand on my knee. “I'm glad you told me. If Zach is going to be here often, I wouldn't want to say or do the wrong thing.”

That was a good reason for having shot off my mouth. Not the real reason, maybe, but while we were on the subject…. “You should probably know something else. If Zach starts talk
ing about the bad man and the policeman who shot him—well, that really happened. Maybe someone filled you in on that?”

They hadn't. Useless bunch of busybodies. Why hadn't they told her the stuff that mattered, so I wouldn't have to? I didn't like thinking about that night. The strobing red of the cop car lights, the hard white light inside the store, where a crazy bastard had held Gwen and my son at gunpoint…the fear, raw and jagged like a gutful of broken glass.

I'd failed them. No matter how often I told myself there was nothing I could have done to protect them, the bitterness of my failure didn't go away.

But Seely would need to know the basics, so I told her about the holdup of a convenience store last April, and how Gwen and Zach had been among the hostages taken by a not-too-bright gunman. And how Duncan had saved them.

“My God, Ben. You said something about Zach having had a lot of uncertainty in his life, but I never imagined anything like this.”

“He seems to be doing okay. Gwen took him to this guy who does play therapy. That's where kids tell their stories with toys,” I explained, “and the therapist sort of plays with them, only in a way that helps them work through things.”

“What about you?”

“I wasn't part of it.”

“That's what I mean. There's nothing worse than being helpless when someone you love is hurting or in danger.”

Uncomfortable, I said, “I don't usually blather on so much. I just thought you ought to know.”

She chuckled. “You call that blathering? I don't think anything you said even qualifies as a secret. And I do know a few. It's amazing what people will say to a paramedic. I suppose doctors and nurses experience that, too.”

Was that why I felt like there was something between us—because she'd saved my life? Turning the idea over in my mind, I decided it made sense.

She stood. “Seems to me you could use some play therapy yourself, but for now we'll settle for getting you dressed. C'mon, up with you. I'll take that sling off.”

The moment I stood, the room shrank. Seely was standing very close, and the soft herbal scent of her hair seemed stronger. I pretended I didn't notice. “I can get this strap in front.”

“Okay. Turn a bit…there.” The sling came loose, and she slipped it off. “Of course, I don't know half the secrets Daisy does. If you ever met her, you'd find yourself telling her your life story in no time. People do.”

My shoulder ached more without the sling's support, so I supported that arm with my other hand. “Who's Daisy? A friend?”

“That, yes. Also my mother.”

“You call your mother by her first name?”

“Sure. Can you get those buttons, or do you need some help?”

I thought about letting her unbutton my pajama shirt. Her knuckles would brush against my skin…better to let my right arm dangle and fumble the buttons out left-handed. “I can do it. You did say your mother was unusual.”

She chuckled again. A man could get hooked on that sound. “Unusual, yes. She used to be a flower child. The real thing, Haight-Ashbury and all that. In some ways she still is, though she's doing pretty well as an artist these days. I tease her that she's lost in the sixties. Here, we'll do the difficult arm first.”

She eased the pajama shirt off my shoulder. It fit snugly over the bandages, so she had to take her time. It was ridiculous to get turned on by that, under the circumstances. But it
was a good thing the sweatpants were baggy. “An artist, huh? What kind?”

“Sculpture. She's into what she calls found art these days. Some people call it junk—” her grin flashed “—but she's had two showings at a prestigious gallery in Taos. She scavenges for things people throw away, then paints this or that, puts the objects together and ends up with some pretty interesting pieces.”

“Real modern stuff, I take it.”

“Well, one critic called it ‘an entrancing collision between the primitive and the twenty-first century,' but yes. I have a sneaking suspicion it wouldn't be your type of art.” She tossed the pajama shirt on the back of the toilet, then picked up the flannel shirt she'd brought down earlier.

“What about your father? What does he do?”

“Who knows? He came down with a bad case of respectability a few years after I was born. Poor man. I don't think he ever recovered. Here, hold out your arm.”

She didn't say anything else while I eased my right arm slowly into a sleeve, then my left. This gave me plenty of time to kick myself. She'd mentioned her mother several times, her father not at all. That should have clued me in.

“I know your shoulder is hurting,” she said cheerily. “Turn around and let me do up the buttons. That way you can support that arm until we get the sling back on.”

I did turn, but ignored the rest of her instructions. “Sometimes I don't watch where I'm putting my big feet. I stepped in the wrong place. I'm sorry.”

Her eyes flicked to mine, surprised. Then a wry smile tipped her lips. “Ben, you're supposed to pretend there's nothing beneath my flip attitude but more flip.”

“I'm not much good at pretending.”

“No, you aren't,” she said so gently she seemed to be touching on some great secret. “I think I like that about you.”

She liked my voice, too. And I liked all sorts of things about her. My gaze drifted to her mouth. “I can't imagine what it would be like to grow up with so little family. I'm used to a crowd.”

“But you were a lot older than the others, weren't you? You said Duncan is the closest to you in age, and he's five years younger. That's not a big difference now, but it would have been when you were growing up. You wouldn't have played together, or gone on double dates when you were teens, or—oh, all the things an only child thinks siblings are for.”

“No, but that's not…they mattered. I mean, it mattered that they were around, that…hell. I don't know how to say it.”

“Maybe that they were a huge part of your life? And you love them.”

I nodded, relieved that she understood. “I'm not great with words.”

“I think you do pretty well.” She paused, then went on quietly, “I haven't seen or spoken to my father since I was eight. Um…he and Daisy weren't married.”

I felt privileged, as if she'd handed me a private little piece of herself that she didn't leave lying around where just anyone might see it. “He missed a lot, then. Practically everything that matters.”

“He did, didn't he?” Her smile slid back in place. “More than me, because I had Daisy.”

“The two of you are close?”

She nodded, then just stood there looking up at me, curiosity and something else in those incredible eyes.

It occurred to me that I wouldn't have to bend far to taste her smile.

My heartbeat picked up. I could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat, too. Maybe she was having the same thoughts I was. Maybe she wanted me to kiss her. That sweet notion had my head dipping toward hers.

Had I lost my ever-loving
mind?

Reality snapped back in place. So did my head. Panicked, trying to cover up the moment, I fumbled for the buttons of my shirt.

I forgot that I couldn't use my right arm.

“Oh, damn—
sit!
” She enforced the order with a shove.

I sat. I didn't have enough breath to curse, much less protest.

“You are
not
going to pass out on me,” she informed me.

“Of course not.” The first hard smack of pain had passed, but my forehead felt clammy. I cleared my throat. “I should probably get the sling back on so I don't forget and try to use that arm again.”

“Probably,” she said dryly, and retrieved the sling. Our conversation after that consisted of her instructions to me—turn, hold your arm out, that sort of thing. Did she know I'd been about to kiss her? I couldn't tell.