When You Wish (Contemporary Romance) (4 page)

Chapter
Three

The summons to the lake home of Mrs. Cabilla came before the sun set on Grace’s anger. She should have known Chadwick would run to Mommy and tattle. He just hadn’t seemed the type—more a face-to-face kind of
guy. Why else had he come looking for her in the first place?

Grace had been to the mansion many times, as Mrs. Cabilla was a client. When Grace met Mrs. Cabilla she had been one stressed-out lady, her shoulder muscles wound so tightly the woman couldn’t breathe. She had ended up in the ER with chest pains.

After having massage recommended by her therapist, Mrs. Cabilla tried Grace and became a believer. Grace also introduced her to the soothing hobby of handiwork. Because while the mind and the hands were focused upon a repetitive task, the never-ending wheel of problems melted away, at least for a little while.

Mrs. Cabala took to knitting like a trout to a stream, and whenever her world got a bit too much for her, she made another afghan. There were quite a few afghans lying around the mansion, which was how Grace’s concept for Project Hope came into their conversations.

Grace rang the bell next to the huge double doors at the front of the Cabilla lake home, then listened as the bing-bong, bing-bong, echoed through the house. The doorbell always made Grace feel kind of lonely. Such a big house for such a tiny woman.

Mrs. Cabilla an
d her husband had been inseparable during their forty-five years of marriage, and losing him six years ago had broken her heart. Haying no children to remember him by, or to soothe her loneliness, she had thrown herself into administering the vast estate left by the man she adored. But Mrs. Cabilla hadn’t a clue about money, which was where Perry Schumacher came in.

The man in question opened the door and stared down his long, thin
nose at Grace. She couldn’t figure out why he didn’t like her; she’d done nothing but help Mrs. Cabilla. Maybe he thought she took advantage of the friendship in applying for the grant. But, as Mrs. Cabilla said, the money had to go to someone, why shouldn’t it be used to make Grace’s wish come true?

“Miss Lighthorse, right on time as usual. Please come in. Welcome.”

The twist of his lips told her she wasn’t welcome, but then she’d never been welcome when Perry was around. Her grandfather would have dubbed him “weasel spirit.” Grace turned a surprised chuckle into a cough. Perry would not be amused. She doubted much amused Perry.

Grace experienced a twinge of unease. Maybe he felt the money should go to Dr. Chadwick. If Chadwick were indeed cl
ose to curing paronychial infection, whatever it was, wasn’t that worth putting her dream on hold for a little while longer?
Should
she withdraw her application?

But would she ev
er find another foundation willing to take her seriously? If she gave up this chance, what she believed in with all her heart might never come to pass.

“Have a seat,” Perry ordered.

“Where’s Mrs. Cabilla?”

“Peru.” Perry moved his glasses up the bridge of his nose so he could peer at her as if she were a bug on a pin. “Don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember. But why am I here if she’s still there?”

“Conference call,” he chimed as if announcing dinner.

“Now?”

“As soon as Dr. Deadly shows up.”

“Who?”

“You know, the big guy.”

From the sight of Perry’s pruned lips, Grace figured he didn’t care for Chadwick either. Interesting. Maybe Perry just didn’t like anyone. That thought warmed Grace’s heart. And here she’d thought he only looked down his long nose at her.

Bing-bong, bing-bong.

Grace caught her breath. Showdown at the OK Corral. Her palms began to sweat. Business situations had never been her strong point.

Perry scuttled off to get the door. From the e
choing silence, the mansion on the lake must be deserted but for the three of them. No need for servants when the lady of the manor was away. Still, the place seemed kind of spooky with the shadows of an approaching summer evening spreading across the living room floor toward her feet.

This place
was
secluded, and Perry was kind of weird. What if the doorbell ringer was Perry’s accomplice and not the incredible doctor?

“Accomplice?” Grace shook her head and stood, drifting to the floor-length window that overlooked Lake Illusion. “You are losing it, Grace.”

What might Perry do? Kidnap her? Why? She was broke down to her last dollar, and the Jewels weren’t in much better shape. There were other things Perry could have lured her here for, but she doubted he could work up the enthusiasm for any of them.

A male voice in the hallway made Grace relax. She’d only met him once, but she would recognize the deep, mellow tone of Daniel Chadwick’s voice in the dark.

The dark? Grace put her hand to her head. She had to stop thinking about him in those terms. There would be no fraternizing with this enemy.

The two men appeared in the doorway, and the contrast between them made Grace’s heart beat faster. Dan looked even larger next to Perry, less stuffy, because when compared to Schumacher, Prince Charles would look like a wild and crazy guy. Even without a comparison, Dan was downright handsome—to a woman who liked large, blond, Vi
king invaders.

When had she become that kind of woman? Grace glanced at her watch. About five hours ago, it seemed.

When Dan saw her he stopped in his tracks and Perry, staring at his clipboard, ran smack into the doctor’s back, bouncing backward like a bumper car. His clipboard went flying; his papers scattered, and he wheeled his arms madly. Dan spun about, quick despite his size, and grabbed the smaller man before he fell.

“Hey, there,” he said, as Perry found his feet. “You okay?”

Perry jerked his arm from Dan’s hand quite rudely, sniffed, and bent to pick up his things. “Watch where you’re going,” he muttered.

Dan glanced at Grace and lifted an eyebrow. Grace fought not to smile, though she wanted to share a smile with Dan over Perry’s obvious distaste for them both. But she feared if she softened even a little she would lose everything she’d fought so hard to get. Dan
was the enemy. She had to remember that, even though she really wanted to forget.

“Hello, Doctor.”

He raised his eyebrows at her frosty greeting, glanced at Perry, then shrugged, and stepped into the room. He held out his hand. “Miss Lighthorse, we meet again.”

Remembering the odd sizzle that had occurred the last time he’d taken her hand, Grace hesitated. But she would not be as rude as Perry, so she let Dan take her hand in his.

Big mistake. His warmth soothed her chill. His large, strong hand enveloped her smaller, slimmer one. Her fingers were strong, from her work, but she could sense the power of this man within her hand. His calluses rasped along her palm, and the reminder of that imperfection made her wonder: Why would a research scientist have the hands of a day laborer?

Before she could ask, he pulled away. Grace looked into his face and found a scowl. He turned abruptly. “I’m surprised you went running to Mrs. Cabilla so quickly. You don’t seem the type to tattle.”

“Me?” Grace asked. “But I thought you—”

“Conference ca
ll!” Perry chimed from the doorway. As if on cue, the phone rang. He bustled into the room, ordering them about like a general. “Doctor, you sit here. Miss Lighthorse, here. Mrs. Cabilla is a busy, busy woman. So let’s get this settled, shall we?”

Before either of them could agree, disagree, or spit in his eye, he pushed a button on a phone that sat upon the coffee table between them.

Mrs. Cabilla’s voice filled the room. “Daniel?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Grace?”

“Yes?”

“Perry?”

“Ma’am.”

Grace waited for him to click his heels and bow like a tin soldier. She’d never understood Mrs. Cabilla’s devotion to this abrasive man. He must have positive traits unseen by the human eye.

“You can go, Perry. Thank you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

An actual smile tilted his too-thin lips, and a sly glint sparked in his eye. He knew something, and Grace had a feeling neither she nor Dan would like what was about to occur.

Before she could demand an explanation for this entire charade, Perry scuttled from the room, and Mrs. Cabilla began to speak. “I hear you two are tussling.”

“Tussling?” Dan stared at the phone as if he could see Mrs. Cabilla in Peru if he only stared hard enough.

“Fighting over money is so . . . so . . . so
bourgeois
.”

“Only people with money to spare would think so,” Grace replied.

Dan glanced at her as if he couldn’t believe she’d speak so to Mrs. Cabilla, but she always had. Mrs. Cabilla liked it, probably because no else dared.

Mrs. Cabilla chuckled. “How true, Grace, how true. Still, I don’t want you two squabbling over my darling Drew’s legacy. That would
demean everything he meant the grant to stand for.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I’m going to leave that up to the two of you.”

“Huh?” Grace and Dan said at exactly the same time.

“You are two intelligent young people. I adore you both. I agree that you each have equally legitimate pursuits for the Cabilla Grant.”

“Can’t we split it?” Grace asked.

“No,” Dan answered. “The grant is for one charity . . .” His mouth puckered on the last word. “Per year. No divisions.”

“True,” Mrs. Cabilla said. “The two of you need to come to an understanding. I’m having a lovely time here in the mountains. Grace, you wouldn’t believe what I’m learning. There is a man here, I guess you would ca
ll him a witch doctor.” She giggled. “But he’s so wise.”

Dan moaned and put a hand over his face. Grace ignored him. “What kind of witch doctor?”

“I don’t know, dear. All I know is I feel younger than I have since Drew died. We sit on the beach, and we talk, and we laugh, and he has given me a potion for my shoulder that makes me forget it ever hurt at all.”

“Rum,” Dan muttered. “Maybe tequila.”

Grace shot him an annoyed glare, which he didn’t see because he was still holding onto his head like he had a hangover. Dan was not helping matters. Though she’d been the one to lead Mrs. Cabilla away from a life of stress and pain and onto the path of rejuvenation and relaxation, and she was glad to hear joy in Mrs. Cabilla’s voice for the first time ever, Grace still didn’t like the smell of this.

“I’m going to stay awhile longer. One thing I’ve learned from
Abuelo
is the need to see all sides to a question. The only way to find the answer you seek is to listen to the voice of the universe.”

“Mrs. Cabilla, what
are
you talking about?” Dan sounded as if he might be sick.

Grace could sympathize. Those not familiar with the mystical path were often unduly confused by it. Dr. Dan’s head must feel ready to explode.

“This is what I propose—Grace will help you at the lab, Dan.”

Dan stood up so fast Grace wondered if the blood loss from the movement would make him go down like a rock. The pale cast to his face made her get up, too. She wouldn’t be able to stop him from falling, but she might keep his head from smacking on the marble tile, which would avoid a long trip to the ER for everyone.

Grace glanced about the room. At least she would have plenty of blankets to cover him and stave off shock. There must have been an afghan on the back of every chair and couch.

Dan took a dee
p breath, drawing Grace’s attention away from the blankets and back to his face. His color looked better. “Mrs. Cabilla, I work alone.”

Bah, bah, bah, bum—with nobody else
, sang George Thoroughgood in Grace’s mind. Of course the song was “I Drink Alone,” but the concept was the same. When Dr. Dan worked alone, he obviously preferred to be by himself.

“Not anymore. There is an interesting theory down here, which roughly translates to walking a mile in another’s shoes. I think both of you would benefit by such a
walk. Grace, you need to understand the medical mind-set in order to work with the people who can give approval to Project Hope. You need to speak their language, or they’ll never take you seriously.”

Grace sighed. True enough. She’d been turned away countless times, seen as a fruitcake, nutcase, banana-brain an
d several other food groups. Because of how she looked, how she dressed, what she did, no one in the medical field would listen to her, despite the fact that her IQ was in the genius range. To them, if you were smart you were a doctor, or a lawyer, not a back-rubber.

“And, Dan, you seem to be stalled at the very cusp of your discovery. I think being alone too much is clouding your vision. How can you visualize a cure, if all you see is what is right in front of you? If all you hear is your own heart beating? Listen to the music of the universe.”