Healing Her Boss's Heart. Dianne Drake

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СКАЧАТЬ liked his sarcastic humor. It was...sexy, in an offbeat way. Kept her on her toes, made her think. She liked the way his niceness slipped in when he was trying so hard to keep it out, too. Trying so hard to be a grump. But he wasn’t grumpy. Not really. A little preoccupied, often totally focused, sometimes distracted. That really wasn’t grumpy, though. More like concerned or concentrated. Not fond of being interrupted in the moment. The way she was, come to think of it. Sometimes she would ignore someone or snap when someone interrupted her, but that wasn’t grumpy, the way Jack wasn’t grumpy when he did the same. Then there was his competence—it radiated from him. He was very calculated in what he did, didn’t waste time or effort, but he was methodical. And to her even that was sexy. In fact, the whole aura surrounding him was sexy. He was perverse, intense, maybe a little dark at times, but there was nothing wrong with that. Not personally. Not professionally. All in all, Carrie liked Jack Hanson. Not for a deeply personal relationship, since he was giving off absolutely no vibes in that direction, but maybe in a situation she would loosely define as a casual friendship. And the thought of him as her friend while she was here in Marrell—she liked that. It could work. If his crown didn’t get in the way.

      * * *

      Priscilla Anderson was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking like she was ready for a hike down the mountain. Probably something well north of seventy, she looked twenty years younger, all decked out in jeans and a red plaid jacket, with her long white hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Just let me get my boots on and I’ll be ready to go back down with you,” she said.

      “How?” Jack asked, as Carrie sprang to action, checking the woman’s vital signs. “Your road’s icing over, and I’m going to be lucky to get volunteers in, let alone get you out of this damned isolated shack.”

      “It may be a shack, Jackie Hanson, but it’s all mine. Which is more than I can say for that shack you’re living in. Willard Mason’s old run-down piece of trash. No running water, no toilet...”

      “It has water, it has plumbing. And electricity. All the modern conveniences...”

      “Which you had to pay to have put in.”

      “Because I bought the place.” He bent to give his grandmother an affectionate peck on the cheek, then shoved one of her cats aside so he could sit next to her. “So, when did the pain start?”

      “It’s not exactly a pain. More like a heavy sensation. And it started three hours ago. I’d have called you sooner, but I was hoping it was indigestion and it would go away.”

      “Well, it didn’t.” He took hold of Priscilla’s wrist to take her pulse. Then looked up at Carrie. “Fast, but not thready.” Then he looked into his grandmother’s eyes, took out his stethoscope, listened to her lungs. When he went for her chest, though, she swatted away his hand.

      “Let her do that,” she snapped, nodding to Carrie. “Don’t want you touching me so privately. Not respectable for a grandson to be doing that.”

      “When did you become such a prude, old woman?” Jack said, standing up and stepping back from the bed, which allowed Carrie to get closer, check Priscilla’s heart and take her blood pressure.

      “The day I heard you were taking over here as a doctor.” She looked up at Jack, and actually winked. “Scary stuff, Jackie, for an old woman who used to powder your behind.”

      “Blood pressure’s a little elevated,” Carrie interjected, looking first at Priscilla, then at Jack. “Heartbeat’s strong, but tachy, like you said. I counted one-forty.”

      “Who’s she, by the way?” Priscilla nodded toward Carrie, but didn’t look directly at her. “Your nurse?”

      “Nope. Her name’s Carrie. She’s one of my new students,” Jack said as he pulled an IV setup out of his backpack and continued to talk as he worked. “From Chicago. A paramedic. Highly trained in dealing with people as stubborn as you. Oh, and she carries a gun.”

      Priscilla arched appreciative eyebrows. “Well, good for you, Carrie. I’ve always admired a woman who could shoot.”

      “Only on the job, Mrs. Anderson,” Carrie told her. “I’m a cop. Guns come with the territory. Out here, though, no guns. The only weapon I have is a wooden spoon that comes with the apartment I’m renting. I don’t do guns on my own time. Don’t even own a personal one.”

      “Me either. Best weapon I’ve got is my brain. Use it wisely and I can get everything I want. Like a grandson who makes house calls in the middle of the night. Oh, and call me Priscilla. Mrs. Anderson is too formal.”

      “Because I want to persuade you to move to town. To move in with me.”

      Priscilla winked at Carrie. “Jackie seems to think he knows what’s best for me. Always has. Most of the time I just indulge him. It makes him feel better.”

      “Then indulge me now,” Jack said. “Just say yes, and by the time I get you out of the hospital, I’ll have a room ready for you.”

      “And my cats?” She looked up at Carrie again. “See, that’s the question I always ask him when he brings it up, because he won’t take the cats, and I won’t go without them. So this is where he shuts up about moving me and gets back to business.”

      “This time, back to business means...” He waved an IV catheter at her.

      “You’re not sticking that in me,” Priscilla warned him.

      “If I have to tie you down, I will,” he said, pointing to the pillow at the head of her bed. “Now, jacket off, feet up, head where it belongs. And stick out your arm.”

      “Don’t trust you as far as I can see you,” she grumbled, doing exactly what he said. “Never have.” She looked at Carrie. “No compassion for his elders,” she said.

      Except compassion was all Carrie saw. It was touching, and sweet. Sweet—a word she was sure he wouldn’t like attached to him. But he was, and it was lovely to watch. He loved his grandmother dearly, and it showed in everything he was doing. It especially showed in the worry written all over his face. And seeing that worry—she fell in love a little bit. Not in the happily-ever-after sense, but in the sense that Jack had qualities she’d never seen in any of the men in her life, and she loved seeing them in him. Loved knowing a gentler side than she’d ever seen in another man—not that there’d ever been a significant man in her life, because there hadn’t been. But the ones she’d known—users, for the most part. Not Jack, though. She could tell he was a giver.

      She’d never had that in her life, never had someone love her the way Priscilla loved Jack either. Or the way Jack loved Priscilla. It was nice. Gave her hope that it might be out there for her, someday.

      * * *

      There was something about this place—all the time he’d spent here growing up, the things his grandmother had taught him here, bringing Evangeline and Alice here... Priscilla had loved Alice deeply and dearly. They’d had a special bond. The same bond he’d shared with his grandmother when he’d been Alice’s age. Walks through her garden, fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookies, and the stories... Nobody told better stories than Priscilla and he could almost see Alice and Priscilla sitting together on the floor, Alice’s brown Salish eyes wide with amazement as Priscilla told the tales of her childhood, or her own adventures in Saka’am, when she’d go to visit friends. It hurt. All of it hurt now. The memories. СКАЧАТЬ