Safe Harbor (9 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

W
HEN
S
TEVI
RETURNED
to her room after talking to her father, she found Mike awake and attempting to sit up.

“Hold it, don’t strain yourself,” she cautioned, hurrying over to the bed. She was afraid that if he tried to do too much too soon, he might wind up tearing his stitches—or something worse.

“Trying to sit up isn’t supposed to be straining myself,” Mike protested.

This was all his doing. He’d let his guard down for a second and all this had happened because of it. Now here he was, being taken care of by a slip of a thing. It wasn’t right.

Yet there was no denying that he felt rather shaky right now and he just wasn’t used to it. He’d always been the strong one. This was a whole new experience for him and he didn’t like it at all.

“We’ll have a debate about that later,” she promised him, bending down so that she was approximately level with his shoulder. “Here, lean on me and we’ll see about getting you comfortable.”

Mike definitely wasn’t happy about needing help—hers or anyone else’s—but he recognized that it would be a lot easier doing it Stevi’s way than being stubborn about it and struggling to drag himself upright on his own.

Besides, Stevi smelled like wildflowers. And there was something rather nice about having her softness support him.

Once he was more or less in an upright position, Stevi quickly lodged pillows behind his back to keep him that way.

“There,” she said triumphantly, taking a step back. Satisfied, she looked at him and asked, “Ready to try it again?”

He had no idea what she was talking about. Did she have some sort of an agenda after all? Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as she looked.

“Try what again?” he asked guardedly.

“Eating. You fell asleep before I could get very much into you,” she reminded him, then laughed. The sound made him think of delicate wind chimes. “I figure at this rate, you’ll be done with breakfast just before Christmas dinner.” Not that she minded playing his nursemaid. “So, ready for more?”

Mike shrugged. “I’m really not all that hungry,” he admitted.

It did strike him as odd, seeing how he hadn’t eaten since before his near-fatal chest-meets-bullet, diving-into-the-ocean-to-survive encounter, but his appetite was nonexistent.

“Too bad, you need to eat,” she informed him, mustering as much authority into her voice as possible. It was a lot easier trying to boss Andy and Cris around than this man, even if it was for his own good.

He stared down at the plate she brought over. Eggs and ham. “I guess better that than a bowl of oatmeal,” he rationalized.

His comment struck a chord. “You don’t like oatmeal?”

He made a face in response. “I won’t tell you what it reminds me of. Suffice it to say I absolutely hate oatmeal.”

“Huh. Small world,” she commented, then said, “Me, too. When I was a girl, my mother tried every way she knew how to get me to eat oatmeal, bless her. But it didn’t matter what she did to it, how she sweetened it, I just couldn’t get myself to actually put a spoonful into my mouth and swallow any of it down.” She shuddered just to think about swallowing the thick, pasty cereal. “Now then, I’ll give you the same choice I gave you before. Do you want to feed yourself or would you rather that I did it?”

He took the plate from her and rested it on his blanket. “I think I’m strong enough to lift a fork.”

As he began to eat, there was a quick knock on the bedroom door. Before Stevi could murmur a frustrated, “Now what?” the door opened and Cris walked in carrying a tray. There was a covered dish on it and from the aroma, whatever was under the cover was fresh and hot.

Cris nodded at Mike and said, “I thought something hot might be more appetizing. So I put together a doctor-approved hot lunch for you. Broth, Jell-O, warm biscuits, nothing too heavy for your digestion until you get used to eating again.” She set the tray down on the bureau. “Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to have me prepare.” She glanced over her shoulder at Stevi. “Bring the tray back when you get a chance,” she requested. Then, telling Mike, “Don’t eat too fast,” Cris left the room.

“Cris treats everyone the same way she treats her son, Ricky,” Stevi explained.

They each had their skills, their attributes, the one thing they did better than the others, and they brought it to the table, to try to help others—and each other—whenever they could.

“It’s the mothering instinct,” Stevi continued. “Cris seems to have it in triplicate for some reason. And now that she’s pregnant again, all I can say is that we’re all pretty much doomed.”

Taking away the by now very cold eggs, Stevi brought over the tray that her sister had carried in.

The fog in Mike’s head was beginning to clear, thanks to all the sleep he’d gotten, and while his body was still depressingly weak, he
was
able to think straight.

About a lot of things.

And he knew what he was being confronted with was something out of the ordinary—at least in comparison to the day-to-day world he lived in.

“Are you people always this willing to put yourselves out for a total stranger?” he asked. “Not that I’m complaining, but I don’t get to meet many people like you and your family. I’d say you were all unique.”

Having given him the tray, Stevi made herself comfortable on the chair that was still at his bedside. She was hoping to finally be able to find out something about him.

“Where?” she asked.

He looked at her and shook his head, confused. “Where what?”

“Where is it that you meet people? Where you work? What is it that you do?”

The life he’d led for the past twenty-four months had trained him to assume a persona that would fit whatever occasion he found himself in and still sound believable to whoever he was talking to at the time. It was second nature to him and he slipped into it now.

For safety reasons, he became a man who couldn’t readily remember anything beyond his name. He did
not
want to repay these people for their kindness by lying to them—especially to Stevi, but he’d been truthful with her earlier when he’d told her that the less she knew, the better.

His world was a dangerous place and the sooner he got well and left the inn, the better off everyone else would be.

So, until he could make that happen, feigning ignorance was the best path for him to take right now.

He looked at her with all sincerity and said, “I don’t know.” He paused, allowing frustration to enter his voice. “It’s all just a fog. Every time I try to remember, to recall anything beyond my name and a few simple facts, I find myself staring at this murky fog that won’t let me break through.” He sighed and then confided, “It’s so frustrating.”

Moved, Stevi nodded, completely sympathizing with him. In a rather small way, she understood. When she’d been in high school, she’d played a number of different sports and during one of the games—a soccer semifinal play-off—she’d been knocked to the ground and hit her head. She was out for what felt like forever. It had been more like five minutes but the upshot of it was that she couldn’t focus on anything for almost two days.

The spill, even what she had done just prior to the contact that had sent her sprawling to the ground, eluded her.

“Don’t worry, it’ll come back to you,” she said. “It might take some time, but you’ll be able to remember everything that’s important.” She really hoped that she wasn’t just whistling in the wind in this case.

Mike nodded solemnly as if he was taking in every word. The small smile he offered her hid what was at this point a growing, rather large tidal wave of guilt.

Lying was his business, almost his vocation. He did it to stay alive, to do his job and to ultimately bring in what he referred to in his mind as “the bad guys.”

But in this case he was lying to the good guys, to people who were putting themselves out for him. He knew he had to, that it was necessary, but that still didn’t make it right or wash away his guilt.

And as such, it was hard for him to reconcile the two halves.

“By the way,” Stevi pointed out, “don’t feel as if you have to clear your plate. Just eat what you can.”

Wrestling with his moral dilemma, doing his best to attempt to beat it back and contain it, he nodded absently. He was only half listening. “Good to know.”

Mike took a few more bites and began to feel drowsy again, despite his long naps. He was asleep before Stevi cleared the tray.

“Well, that didn’t take long, did it?” she noted, looking at Mike. “Was it something I said?”

This time, she felt she could leave the room without fear that he might try to hobble away. She felt fairly certain that she and her family had put all his concerns to rest. Moreover, she had made a breakthrough with him and he trusted her. It was obvious that getting shot had put him in a position of not trusting anyone, so she was rather satisfied that she had made decent headway with him in that area.

Stevi stood there a minute longer, the tray in her hands, watching him sleep. Without concerns to mar his features, he looked to be only a little older than she was. All sorts of questions popped into her head. Very few of them touched on who would want to shoot him and why. Mostly she wondered who he had been before this happened to him, before he had washed up practically at her feet.

And she wondered how long he would remain here before his memory returned and his life called him back.

Stevi sighed. One step at a time, that was all she could take. One step at a time.

Even so, for the first time in more than twenty-four hours, Stevi could feel the tension in her body beginning to leech out of her.

“Stay put,” she instructed softly to Mike, then turned and using the point of her elbow against the doorknob, she opened her door and walked out still holding the tray.

She closed the door with her back and then headed off to the kitchen.

Walking in through the swinging door, she placed the tray on the long steel table.

Since it was between meals, Jorge was taking a break, as were the two part-time people helping Cris prepare and serve during lunch and dinner. Cris was the only one in the kitchen when she walked in. Her sister was busy working on a menu for the next day.

Preoccupied, Cris still glanced up when she heard the tray meet the tabletop.

For the time being, she set the menu aside. “How’s the patient?”

“He likes your food,” Stevi told her. “Thanks for bringing it.”

Cris waved away Stevi’s thanks. There was no need for it. “No problem. But that’s not what I asked. How is he?”

Stevi gave her the complete rundown. “Weak, tired, frustrated because he can’t remember things—like what he did for a living and why someone would have taken a shot at him,” she explained when Cris looked at her quizzically regarding the source of Mike’s frustration.

“Hopefully, that’s just temporary.” Still, Cris knew that wasn’t a foregone conclusion. There might be complications that weren’t being addressed. “You know, maybe Dad should call Doc Jacobs. Doc still has some hospital privileges, doesn’t he?”

The man she was referring to was a retired physician who was also a long-time friend of their father’s. When their father had fallen ill, years ago, it was Doc who had laid all their fears—and there had been a slew of them—to rest.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have the man look at Mike now, just to be sure, Cris thought.

“I think so,” Stevi said in answer to Cris’s question. “But to be honest, I get this feeling that Mike would rather just try to get better on his own. But if he doesn’t improve in a couple days, then maybe we should override him and look into having him see someone official.”

“You mean other than Silvio,” Cris guessed with a grin.

Stevi nodded. “Yes.” She hesitated for a moment, wondering if Cris was privy to the information her father had just given her. “Did you know that according to Dad, Silvio was a doctor?”

The way Cris’s eyes widened, she realized that her sister didn’t know. “You’re kidding, right? A doctor?
Our
Silvio?”

Stevi nodded, telling herself that she wasn’t saying anything that Cris wouldn’t have eventually pieced together herself. “One and the same.”

The revelation clearly took Cris by surprise. “Maybe we should ask Dorothy what she did before she came here. For all we know, Dorothy might have been an international spy.”

“Now that’s really reaching, Cris,” Stevi said with a laugh.

But Cris wasn’t all that sure she was wrong. “I read somewhere that Julia Child was part of the OSS at the end of World War II,” she said, referring to the precursor to Britain’s MI6. “So, who knows? It could have happened,” she speculated.

The very idea made Stevi laugh harder. “Maybe you’re right. That earth-mother look of Dorothy’s would be the perfect cover for a spy.” And then she sobered a little as she thought of Silvio again. What else had the man she and her sisters had thought of as a guardian angel from time to time done? What other skeletons were buried in his closet? “I guess you just never know about a person, do you?”

Cris readily agreed, then said as her sister began to leave the kitchen, “Just don’t you go keeping any more secrets from us, deal?”

Stopping, Stevi flashed Cris a grin. “Deal. But that works two ways, you know.”

Cris looked at her, bewildered. Her life was as transparent as they came. “I don’t keep secrets,” Cris protested.

The expression on Stevi’s face said she knew otherwise. “What do you call being pregnant?”

“Oh. That. I call it wonderful,” Cris answered with a wide smile. “And now that you all know about it, I am free to be deliriously happy in public.”

She looked at Stevi as a thought occurred to her. Here she was, happy beyond her wildest dreams, her life beautifully mapped out before her, and Stevi’s life was still very much up in the air. She wanted for Stevi what she had. A man to love who loved her back, a son—and a baby on the way. It was, all in all, the perfect life. She wanted the same for Stevi.

“Think he’ll stay on?”

The question came out of nowhere and for a moment, Stevi had no idea what her sister was talking about—or whom. They’d just been talking about her pregnancy, so she made the only logical association—except that it wasn’t all that logical from where she was standing. “Are you talking about the baby?”