A Man She Can Trust. Roxanne Rustand

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СКАЧАТЬ been up here twice? Three times? Only for brief visits, though.” She dropped her gaze back to her knitting and started another row. “I suppose we should be upfront with each other, so there aren’t any misunderstandings. As with all the other kids I’ve raised, I expect you to work hard in school, to keep my curfews and pitch in. I won’t tolerate drugs, alcohol or smoking. I expect simple respect, and that’s what I’ll give you, along with a home as long as you need it.”

      She looked up at him over her half-glasses. “Now, you tell me your feelings about all of this. Fair enough?”

      He levered himself off the sofa and grabbed for his duffel bag—surely not big enough to hold much. For a moment he seemed ready to flee, then he sagged back down, dropped his forearms on his thighs and bowed his head. “I got no choice, do I,” he said flatly.

      He didn’t, unless he chose to run…and that could only lead to more trouble. Grace said a quick, silent prayer for the right words. “Honey, your mom is my niece. That makes me your flesh and blood. I care about you. Let’s do our best, here, all right? Summer will be here before you know it. In the meantime, maybe you can consider this a bit of a vacation…an adventure, in the most beautiful place on earth.”

      He glanced up at her, and for just a moment she saw beyond his tough shell.

      “Have you ever been snowmobiling? Ice fishing? Cross-country or downhill skiing?” Grace mentally catalogued every person she knew in town who could help her out. “Fly fishing? Canoeing?”

      “You do all that?” he sneered.

      “Cross-country, but my bones are a little too stiff for downhill. Fishing. As for snowmobiling, I know lots of people who are into it, big time.”

      He stood up and shouldered his duffel bag. “Where do I sleep?”

      Grace set aside her knitting, crossed the living room and opened the door leading to the second floor. “Either room up there. You’re welcome to rearrange the furniture any way you’d like, and I’ll bring up some linens in just a few minutes.” She glanced at her watch. “Are you hungry? Do you want something before you turn in?”

      He jerked his head no, and tromped up the stairs.

      Grace sighed. She’d had many teenagers under her wing. Emotionally damaged, surly, some of them had been homeless or had come from abusive situations, and most of them had chafed against the restrictions of a disciplined household. They’d all come around, with love and patience.

      But she’d been much younger then. She’d had the energy and the determination to help those children the best she could, and had sent them out into the world with much greater chance of success.

      Now, she felt old. Tired. With the aches of arthritis keeping her awake at night, how was she going to keep up this time? But there was no way she could refuse.

      Ross and Ashley needed her, and she was going to make sure she didn’t fail them.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “I CAN’T HELP it, Warren. You’re stuck here—with me.” Grace frowned at him over her half-glasses. “Just be glad your infection hasn’t spread past the surgical site. If all your cronies had to wear gowns, slippers and masks in here, you’d probably have a lot less company. This way, it’s just the person changing your dressings who has to gown up.”

      “Seven more days,” Warren grumbled, glaring at the IV pole looming above his bed. “I could be in Florida golfing.”

      “Or you could be six feet under.” Grace double-checked the bag of vancomycin she’d brought in, then hung it with the bag of saline and started the dose. “Not long ago, an antibiotic-resistant staph infection like this one would have killed you.”

      “No one ever accused you of tact, Gracey.”

      “I’ve got plenty of tact, Bugs.” She grinned. He’d always hated that nickname. Probably hoped he’d left it behind in grade school, when he gave Billy Alderson a black eye. “I just know it doesn’t work with you.”

      Warren snorted.

      “But I’ve got some good news for you—I saw your son talking to Dr. Jill out in the hall, just a few minutes ago. It must be wonderful to have him back, isn’t it?”

      “Oh, yeah. And it’s good to see you. Are you my nurse this shift?”

      “Just until Marcia gets here. She had some car trouble.”

      “Stop back again, would you? It’s nice…just talking about old times.”

      The past couple of days had been more hectic than usual, with a spate of mid-winter injuries and illnesses—influenza, broken legs and ankles from winter sports, bronchitis and pneumonias—and until today she hadn’t given him more than a quick greeting.

      The loneliness in his eyes touched her heart. “Of course I will.”

      Grant knocked lightly and walked in, following Dr. Jill. From the strained expression on Jill’s face and the rigid set of Grant’s shoulders it was all too clear that they still barely tolerated each other’s presence.

      It was such a shame. Jill was one of her closest friends in the hospital and her ex-husband was still Grace’s lawyer—a fine and caring man. How could things have gone so wrong between them?

      Grace took one last look at the rate on the IV pump and started for the door to give them privacy.

      “How’s he doing today?” Jill asked, stopping Grace.

      It was a question intended to keep her there—perhaps as a buffer—because every last detail of Warren’s day was clearly documented in the interdisciplinary notes section of his chart.

      “Quite well,” Grace murmured. “His vitals have been normal for the past twenty-four hours. I’d like you to take a look at his IV site, though. I think we’ll need to restart it sooner than scheduled.”

      Jill moved to the bed and smiled in greeting, then inspected his arm. “She’s right, Warren. Vanco is hard on the veins. We’ll have to change your IV at least twice before you’re done.”

      Warren scowled. “Do whatever you damn well please and then leave me alone.”

      “Dad—”

      “It’s okay,” Jill said, sparing Grant a chilly glance and then turning her attention back to Warren. “No one likes being here. Right?”

      He fixed his stony gaze on the wall just over her head.

      The similarity between Grant, Jill and Warren almost made Grace smile. They were strong, intelligent people—and all of them had definite opinions. When the three got together, sparks flew.

      Grace silently commiserated with Jill above the patient’s head, then gathered her tray of supplies and slipped out the door.

      GRANT LEANED BACK in his father’s ancient, leather-upholstered desk chair and smiled. “So you’re saying you want to rewrite your will again, Mr. Walthan?”

      Hal pursed his lips and studied the ceiling, СКАЧАТЬ