The Homecoming (30 page)

“I guess.” She was turning it over and over again in her palm.

Seeing the pain in her eyes, he lifted her bruised and swollen knuckles to his lips. Then, before she could pull away, he said, “Let’s get you settled into the house. Then I’ll go back to Mom and Dad’s and pick up Trey.”

She took the hand and slid off the gurney. “Maybe we should get him first.”

“He’s out on Cole’s boat. Plus, I thought you might want to clean up beforehand.”

She wrinkled her nose, taking in the medicinal odors of the hospital and the acrid smell of dried blood. “Good idea.” And one he knew she normally would have thought of. Yet more proof that she was more shaken than she was letting on.

“I wanted to stick with the accident story and wait until we caught the guy who did this. But I’m going to have to tell him, aren’t I?”

“If you don’t, he’ll probably hear it at school.”

“Since half the neighbors were out in the street when they wheeled me out to that ambulance, and the sheriff being attacked is probably the biggest story the
Shelter Bay Bugle
has had to report on since that beached whale a few years ago, it’s going to be impossible to keep it a secret.”

“We had a mission code,” Sax volunteered. “KISS.”

“Keep It Simple, Stupid. Cops have the same thing.”

“Yeah. That’s it. Just tell him that you walked in on a burglary in progress, that yeah, the guy got a few licks in, but so did you. And that you chased him away, he won’t be back, and you expect to apprehend him real soon.”

“That sounds like a press briefing.”

“Short of taking him out of school and keeping him away from the TV, that’s the best you can do.”

“I know. But it’s hard.”

“I know.”

Actually, Sax figured that was the understatement of the century. Especially after what the kid had already experienced in his young life.

They went through the seemingly interminable checking-out process. Then, although she’d protested that she didn’t want them, that she needed to stay alert for her son, he insisted on taking the time to fill the prescription she’d been given for pain pills. SEALs might swear by “vitamin M”—Motrin—but he had a feeling that once she got into bed, she’d be grateful for the good stuff.

Finally they were in the car, headed toward the coast.

Sax remained silent, figuring that if she wanted to talk, she would.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She confirmed his thoughts as they crossed the iron bridge. “Not now.”

“Not now,” he agreed. Along with discipline, the Navy had taught him patience.

The sun was lowering into the sea as they reached the house, turning the sky a brilliant rainbow of oranges and purples. Instructing her to stay put, he went around the front of the car and opened the passenger door. Fortunately, it wasn’t raining. If he was going to stay here, and it appeared he was, he was definitely going to have to clean out that garage his pack- rat grandfather had filled to the rafters.

“I think I could live here a hundred years and never get tired of that view,” he said.

“I don’t blame you.” She paused after he’d helped her out of the low-slung car. “It’s stunning.” She lifted a hand and shielded her eyes against the dazzle of jewel-toned sky as she spotted the rising spray of whale spouts just beyond the breakers. “Especially the whales.”

“Yeah. They’re cool. Trey was jazzed when he saw them.”

“I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done to help with him,” she said.

“He’s a cool kid. I’ve enjoyed every moment.” From the halting way she was climbing the steps to the porch, Sax suspected her ribs must hurt more than she’d let on at the hospital. Having had his share of injuries, he knew how even bruised ribs could make every breath difficult. She’d hurt like the devil in the morning. But at least she’d know she was alive.

Since Trey would be sleeping in the extra bedroom again, and the second guest room was still filled with yet more stuff his grandfather had left behind, Sax helped her up the stairs and led her to his own room. “The bathroom’s right in there.” He pointed toward the door on the far side of the room. “Bath or shower?”

“A bath sounds heavenly,” she admitted. “But getting in and out of the tub might be more than I’m up to right now.”

“I’d be happy to help.”

The touch of sexual suggestion he’d allowed to slip into his tone made her laugh, as he’d intended. Unfortunately, he realized it had been a mistake when she pressed a hand against her chest, right beneath her breasts.

“Sorry,” he said.

“No.” She managed another of those valiant smiles that broke his heart. “I appreciate your not treating me like some weak-ass invalid.”

“For the record, your ass is terrific, and
weak
is never a word I’d use in regard to you, sugar. As for that invalid deal, as much as I understand and respect your independence, it really wouldn’t hurt to let someone take care of you once in a while.”

Apparent surprise steamrollered over the pain that had been glazing her eyes. She looked up at him, then shifted her gaze out the window, where a giant ball of sun was sinking beneath the sea, gilding the water a shimmering gold and bronze.

“Now, there’s a concept,” she murmured. Then she looked back up at him. Strain showed in her eyes and the brackets on either side of her mouth. “I’m not sure I know how to do that.”

He wondered if she realized how much she’d revealed with that single statement. He and his younger brother, J.T., might’ve given their mother fits over the years (while Eagle Scout Cole had always been Mr. Firstborn Perfect). But Maureen Douchett had never been stingy about showing her love.

He could remember her rubbing calamine lotion over his body after he’d gotten into a mess of poison oak when he was about the age Trey was now. Remembered numerous times she—and his father—had taken turns staying up all night to put cool cloths against his fevered forehead. And those times when he’d gotten the flu and she’d never uttered a single word of complaint about changing the sheets he’d hurled all over.

Sax reminded himself to tell his mom how much he appreciated her maternal comforting the first chance he got. Although he knew for a fact that Kara’s mother loved her—hadn’t she sounded uncharacteristically near panic earlier today on the phone?—apparently she had saved all her TLC for her patients.

Or perhaps, he considered, they just emotionally drained her so much that when she got home from the hospital, she had nothing left for her own daughter.

“It’s always good to learn a new skill set,” he said. “Meanwhile, why don’t you start with a shower?” He went over to the myrtle- wood chest he’d helped his grandfather make more than two decades ago and pulled out a black T-shirt. “I don’t have any pants that’ll fit you,” he said apologetically.

Damn
. He should’ve at least dropped by her house on the way over here. Which showed he hadn’t been thinking clearly either. “But I’ll pick up some things for you and Trey on my way over to my folks’ house.”

“Thanks.” As she took the shirt from his hands, their fingers briefly touched, creating a spark that shot through him like a lightning bolt. He knew, from the way her eyes widened, that she’d felt it, too.

“Well.” They stood there, inches apart. She looking up at him, he looking down at her.

Feeling a pull of desire as strong as the tides pounding away at the cliff outside the house, Sax shoved his hands, which were practically itching with the need to touch her, into the back pockets of his jeans to keep them out of trouble.

“Take your shower,” he said. “I’ll fix you something to drink.”

“I probably shouldn’t. Not after that pill you forced down my throat back at the hospital.”

“I was talking about a cup of hot tea.”

“Tea?” She looked up at him, clearly surprised. “You make tea?”

“Well, in the interest of full disclosure, it’s probably not what anyone would serve to the queen. But my mother stocked the kitchen before I came home, and put in a box of Earl Grey I haven’t opened. So, while I may be no expert, I figure it can’t be that hard to put a bag in a cup and nuke it.”

“That pretty much makes us even on cooking skills,” she admitted. “And tea sounds heavenly.”

With that she turned on her heel and, holding the shirt against her bruised ribs, walked into the bathroom with more energy than he would’ve thought she could’ve mustered under the circumstances and shut the door behind her.

God help him, it was happening all over again, just as it had that long-ago night on the beach. It was madness to want any woman the way he wanted Kara. Insanity to
need
any woman the way he needed her.

But that didn’t stop his mind from conjuring up an image of the two of them engulfed in clouds of steam, the heat lamp overhead casting a ruby glow over their wet bodies as he picked up a bar of soap, rubbed it between his palms to create a lather, then spread the fragrant bubbles over her slick, slender body.

He imagined the shuddering, gasping sounds of her breathing as his touch lingered at her breast, circled taut nipples. Then he’d continue down, slowly, erotically, lower and lower, the feel of his hands splayed across her stomach making her moan. And reach for him.

But he’d evade her touch, continuing his erotic journey, drawing out the sensations until she was begging him to take her. Now.

“Damn.” Hot and bothered, he readjusted his jeans to make room for the mother of all hard-ons, and left the bedroom before he gave in to impulse and joined her in that shower.

Faith and John were back in the hotel room. While the swelling in Danny’s brain had begun to recede, there was no way she was risking taking him out of the ICU and back home to Shelter Bay yet. But he was well enough for her to take a break and try to gather up her emotions that had been shattered while she’d been forced to listen to Kara being attacked by that monster.

“Damn,” John said, as he threw his body down onto the sofa in the suite’s living room. “This has been one hell of a couple days.”

“Tell me about it.” She sank down beside him. “At least Daniel seems to have turned the corner.”

“And Kara’s okay.”

“She’s always been incredibly strong. And she sounds as well as one can be after such a nightmare.” Faith dragged her hands through her hair, appalled to notice they were still trembling. She’d always had the steadiest hands of anyone she knew. It was a necessity in her business. “I’m so proud of what she’s made of her life—her career, what a wonderful mother she is—but there are times I honestly wish she’d chosen any other line of work. The idea that a child of mine could be attacked, not once, but twice, is abhorrent.”

“It’s tough, but so is she.”

“She’s only twenty-eight. Which is so young to have so much responsibility.”

“In years maybe. But don’t forget, she spent most of her childhood hanging around the sheriff’s office. Not only was she essentially a single mom holding down the home front while Jared was off fighting terrorism, but she has a degree in criminal justice, and spent several years as a cop in a city.

“She’s really good at her job, Faith. In time, she’ll probably be as good as Ben. Besides, there are other sheriffs around the country even younger than her. And normally, when you’re dealing with a population of under a thousand people, there’s not all that much danger of having to worry about serious crime.”

“Her father and I wanted her to come home after California. Where she’d be safe.” Faith felt tears stinging at the back of her lids and resolutely blinked them away. “And now this happened.”

“I promise you, sweetheart, this isn’t going to end up like Ben’s shooting. We’ll get that bastard who did this to her. And make him pay.”

Faith never cried, because her parents had drilled into her that showing emotions demonstrated a lack of control. Later, during her medical training, she’d learned to lock any feelings away, because they could interfere with her work. Plus, what good would it do for the parents of a seven-year-old whose brain she was going to be cutting into to know that sometimes she was as nervous about the procedure as they were?

Everyone who’d ever worked with Faith, her patients and their families, or even those who knew her socially, were always describing her as being cool as a cucumber.
Grace under pressure
, one resident had written in his evaluation during her internship.

She also knew there were those who’d accused her of being too cool during that terrible time after her husband’s death. Although she’d pretended to ignore them, there’d even been the occasional whisper that anyone who wasn’t more shaken could possibly have been involved in what had officially been declared an accidental death.

Knowing the truth, that her heart had been shattered when John had shown up at the hospital to break the news about the shooting, Faith had mostly been able to keep those accusations from getting under her skin.

But even watching herself, as if from a distance, imagining how others must have seen her, she realized that her behavior must seem unnaturally unfeeling. The problem was, in the beginning, she’d been shocked to the point of numbness. How could the strong, honest, wonderful man she’d fully expected to spend the rest of her life with be snatched away in the amount of time it took a bullet to escape the barrel of a gun?

She was, admittedly, a control freak—a necessary personality trait for any surgeon, especially one who went spelunking around in people’s brains.

Then later, whenever those banked emotions would attempt to break free, she resorted to her lifelong behavior pattern of cranking the screws down even further.

But now, exhausted, physically and emotionally drained, she felt like a pane of glass with a thousand cracks in it, on the verge of shattering.

“I’m sorry.” Appalled when tears began to overflow her eyes and stream down her face, she dashed at them with the backs of her hands. “I’m afraid I’m on the verge of falling apart.”