The Colors of Love (3 page)

He was overtired, short of sleep, and unaccountably attracted to a wild woman who'd pulled a hit-and-run, except she hadn't run. She'd brought the child to the hospital, and she seemed determined to wait in that empty waiting room until the cops came to take her statement.

He grabbed a coffee in the lounge, then checked Sara's X-rays. Clear.

Too late now to return to the benefit, where he'd originally planned to spend the night socializing with as many of the Thurston Foundation directors as he could.

Whatever he did with the rest of the night, he certainly wasn't going to think about the woman named Jamila Ferguson, and his insane urge to either shake her or kiss her.

* * *

Concussion wasn't good.

Jamie shuddered as she remembered the sickening sensation of impact. She'd struck a child with her car. That impact—the girl must have been thrown to the ground, hit her head. Just a moment earlier Jamie had thought she saw something move. She'd slowed and hadn't seen anything, except there
had
been something. That fleeting sense of something moving was her warning. If only she'd listened, stopped.

She paced restlessly across the empty waiting room. Why was it so empty? Weren't emergency rooms filled with people all the time? The whole place had pale green walls, the sort of ice green that could cool even the hottest red just by being present on the same canvas. Was it the green that made hospitals so frightening?

Where was the doctor? He'd walked away after looking at her as if she were dirt. She thought doctors in the emergency room would appear wearing green, or perhaps white lab coats, but he'd been formal in black jacket, white shirt, and bow tie. He'd been so good with the little girl, as if he knew exactly what to say.

He hadn't seemed impatient at all, until he looked at Jamie.

Why on earth had she told him her birth name? Nobody called her Jamila, although she supposed she'd be hearing the name more now that Liz had decided it sounded exotic.

Where had the doctor gone? Was the child alone now? Jamie hadn't been in a hospital since her mother's death when she was eleven, but she was certain any child would be terrified to be left alone in a hospital examining room.

"Excuse me, miss."

Jamie swung and found herself staring at a burly, uniformed policeman.

"Are you the driver of the car that hit the little girl?"

She swallowed. "Is she—"

"Why don't we sit down here?" He gestured to the plastic-covered sofa against the wall. "Could you use a cup of coffee?"

Ten minutes later, Jamie had half a cup of black coffee inside her, and she'd just finished giving the officer all the details of the accident. At his request, a nurse Jamie hadn't seen before appeared to draw a vial of blood from her vein. Jamie was glad she hadn't touched that glass of champagne. If she'd had the champagne, she might have been slower to brake her car.

Sara might be dead.

"I saw something just before the accident," she told the policeman. "Something moving on the road, but when I slowed down, there was nothing. I think it must have been the kitten. The little girl must have been hidden from me by the parked cars. I think that's why I didn't see her."

"It's not a part of town where you'd expect to see a kid outside in the middle of the night," he said sympathetically. "I talked to the doc, he says there'll be a social worker checking out the kid's situation. I'll be talking to her father, too, when he gets here. I think you're in the clear, Ms. Ferguson. Just be sure to notify your insurance company in the morning."

"What about the girl? I need to know—"

A small, harried man in his thirties rushed into the room, a nurse just behind him.

"Sara!" he said explosively. "Where's Sara? I need to see my daughter!"

"She'll be down from X-ray in a minute," the nurse assured him, evidently not for the first time. "Mr. Miller, your daughter's conscious and has only minor injuries, but Dr. Kent sent her for X-rays to be certain."

Jamie could see the worry in his pale gray eyes as he demanded, "What sort of doctor is Dr. Kent? If he's an intern, I want—"

"Dr. Kent is a pediatric specialist, a consultant on our staff. I assure you, Sara's in the best hands."

When the nurse slipped away, Jamie stepped up to Sara's father. "Mr. Miller, I'm Jamie Ferguson. I was driving the car."

"What was my daughter doing outside? She should have been in bed."

"She was trying to catch a kitten named Squiggles," said Jamie. "Sara was afraid it would get wet, that it would catch pneumonia."

"That cursed cat." He sank down into a chair. His throat worked. "Pneumonia. She must have... Sara's mother... she had a cold. Just a cold, then suddenly it was pneumonia." He gestured at the green walls around them. "She died here, six months ago."

Chapter 2

Ten minutes of shut-eye in the physicians' lounge hadn't done anything to tame Alex's irritation with the woman named Jamila.

It was forty minutes before he got out of the hospital, another fifteen before he found the address where Sara Miller lived, an old three-story house converted to apartments, surrounded by similar structures. A wealth of nooks, crannies, and porches for a kitten to hide under.

He saw no sign of skid marks on the road, nothing to testify to the earlier accident. Despite Alex's conviction that Jamila was the sort of woman who drove too fast, he knew from the minor nature of Sara's injuries that she must have been going slowly at the time of impact.

Three o'clock in the morning. Jamila Ferguson would be tucked in her bed by now. Wherever she was, it was a sure bet she'd forgotten her promise to find Sara Miller's stray kitten.

Alex wondered if he had a chance in hell of finding Squiggles.

If he did find the cat, he'd take it to Paula for a couple of days. His sister would be irritated, but she wouldn't turn the cat away. Then Alex would talk to Sara about adopting the cat out. If he checked around, he'd find a good home for it. He might have tried Diana, who had two young sons and no pets, if she weren't leaving for five weeks in Europe on tomorrow evening's jet.

Uncomfortably, Alex admitted that he was relieved Diana was going.

He'd been spending a lot of time with Diana lately, working on projections for the juvenile diabetic treatment center he wanted the Thurston Foundation to fund. Lunches together, sometimes dinners at her elegant condo, after which he'd read a bedtime story to her two energetic young sons. Then, last Saturday...

He'd been thinking of her as a friend, hadn't been expecting to find her in his arms, clearly expecting intimacy. She was a lovely woman, but he needed time first—time to think about what he wanted, where they were going.

Diana's trip to Europe would give him that time.

He knew she was exactly the sort of wife he wanted: intelligent, maternal, calm. When she returned, he was almost certain he'd take the next step and become her lover. Then, a few months later, he'd probably ask her to marry him. Meanwhile, he'd get Dennis to finish those pro formas for the treatment center, and he'd finalize the specifications for the building.

But tonight, he needed to find this kitten, then arrange a home for it where Sara could visit, at least until she accepted the landlord's anti-cat edict—or her father moved to a building that allowed pets.

He parked in an empty space just past Sara's building, shook off a wave of weariness, and took the flashlight from his glove compartment, the umbrella from the backseat. Outside the car, the rain seemed to drive harder as he walked along the sidewalk, bending down to shine his light under the cars.

"Kitty, kitty," he called quietly, but he heard no responding meow. He knew it was probably futile, but Sara would be expecting the absent Jamila Ferguson to produce the missing cat.

After Alex had finished checking the nearby cars, he worked his way around into the alley behind Sara's building. The girl's father should be doing this, but the man seemed too focused on the grief of losing his wife six months ago to attend to his daughter's needs.

Alex sympathized with Miller's grief, but he intended to make sure Sara's father understood his daughter's needs must come first from now on. The love was there, obvious in Wayne Miller's worried eyes, but Alex suspected Miller wasn't keeping a careful enough eye on Sara's baby-sitting situation. Mrs. Davis from downstairs sounded more convenient than competent.

Alex prowled along the alley, shining his light under anything he thought might be a likely hiding place, wondering how long it would be before one of the residents called the cops on the prowler and Alex ended up having to explain himself to a patrol cop.

"Kitty," he called, as much to reassure anyone looking out a darkened window as to entice the cat. Obviously, the cat didn't want to be found.

He lifted his wrist and pushed the light on his watch. He could forget getting back to the charity benefit tonight. Just as well, he decided. If he'd taken Diana home tonight, she might have invited him in. Of course he wanted that as much as she did, but not tonight when he was on call and might be beeped at any moment. Better when she returned to Seattle after her trip.

He saw the corner of a porch at the back of the next building, angled his umbrella against a wind-driven blast of rain whipping through the space between the buildings, and stepped right into an ankle-deep puddle.

The jolt knocked the flashlight from his grasp. As he reached down in the dark to grasp for its familiar shape, water seeped into his shoe.

Ahead, something moved.

The flashlight was dead, useless, probably an electrical short from its mud bath. Alex dropped it into his pocket and reached for the shadow. When his fingers touched something wet and soft, they closed instinctively.

When he pulled, she came into his arms, wet and gasping. Then she spoke and he recognized her husky voice.

"What are you—"

"It's me," he growled.

Her elbow dug into his shoulder and his hand locked onto her wrist before her fist could find its mark. Her bones felt lean and fragile in his grasp, her flesh cool and wet. He recognized her scent, something subtle, the kind of perfume that cost a fortune because it was designed to go straight to a man's gut.

"Jamila, it's me. Dr. Kent."

She froze.

Someone turned on a second-story light in the building beside him, illuminating the shape of the woman he'd grasped.

"Dr. Kent," he repeated. "Sara's doctor." He was amazed that his voice sounded calm despite the way his heart was pounding.

"You—" Her
breathing sounded ragged. "
You're
looking for Squiggles?"

He hadn't expected her to come, couldn't seem to let go of her. "You're soaking. Get under my umbrella."

"I don't care about the rain." She pulled free of his grasp. "I've been calling for the cat. He must be here somewhere. You made me drop the tuna."

"The what?"

"The tuna."

Alex grabbed his flashlight and gave it another sharp shake. This time, the light came on and illuminated the woman crouching at his feet.

"Here it is." Her red curls were dark with rain, sprung into ringlets. Her lashes seemed excessively long in the beam of the flashlight. The floating red and green shirt she'd worn earlier was now clinging damply to her breasts.

In one hand, she held an open can of tuna.

"I talked the man at the convenience store into opening it," she explained. "I don't carry a can opener in my car."

"Or an umbrella."

"I like rain." She turned away from him and started walking along the back of Sara's house, calling, "Squiggles? Here, kitty," in that husky voice that seemed tuned to something inside Alex.

When he moved to follow her, she said, "We should split up. We'll cover more area and Squiggles will be less frightened of one person than two."

He didn't know if that made sense or not, but he knew it was a bad sign when it bothered him this much to stand near a woman he didn't like.

"You'd better take my umbrella."

"No. Too many things to carry."

If he offered his flashlight, she'd make the same objection.

"You search the front of the building then," he said. "There's more light. I'll search back here."

"I'll be able to see once your light is gone. My eyes will acclimatize to the dark."

His light showed a bead of water running down her face. As he watched, her tongue slipped out and caught the drop before it could reach her upper lip.

He clenched his fingers around the flashlight. He'd been working too hard, not playing enough. He hadn't made love to a woman in too damned long, or this wouldn't be happening to him.

"Right," he said. "I'll go this way. You stay here and search."

Ten minutes later, he'd worked his way around to the front of Sara's building again when he thought he heard something, perhaps Jamila calling out. He hurried back into the alley and found her crouched, the can of tuna held out in front of her, a bedraggled kitten hovering uneasily a foot away.

"Stay back," she warned in a low, soft voice. "You'll frighten him. Come on, kitty. It's real tuna. You like tuna, don't you, Squiggles?"