A Family For Christmas. Tara Quinn Taylor

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СКАЧАТЬ Cara there...

      Shawn. A vision of her husband’s smiling sun-drenched face, windblown hair, came to mind. She’d met him on the beach in Florida. His confidence and joy in living had captivated her...

      No. These last minutes, last hours, last day or two at the most, were hers. They were days to find her essence. To cling to it. To slide away with her heart firmly attached to its goal and get to those waiting for her on the other side.

      If she got there—where they were. Surely she was paying her price here. Bowing her head, she prayed to all that was, to angels and stars and heavens, begging to let her earthly life be the penance. The thought of being anywhere in eternity but with those she’d loved with all her heart who’d gone before her...

      Clang! It sounded like a pan had dropped on the old linoleum floor in the kitchen. Picturing the scarred red pattern in her mind, she imagined the doctor picking up whatever he’d dropped. And paused to wonder whether those unsteady fingers had cause him to lose a life.

      Staring ahead, she straightened. She couldn’t control the future. Or what would happen to her when she passed. She could only have faith. Keep her mind on what must be. She’d escaped Shawn. That had been answer enough for her. She was meant to die out here.

      Shawn had thrown her driver’s license on the ground near her body—so authorities would be able to identify her, she knew. When she’d started her trek in the woods, she’d slid it inside the cup of her bra. Now it lay in the back pocket of her jeans. She was ready to be identified.

      But first, she had to get away from the man hell bent on keeping her alive to salvage his own soul.

      Sitting quietly, almost numbly, on the side of the bed, she waited to go eat oatmeal.

      * * *

      SIMON HAD VERY carefully set his place at the end of the wooden table that sat four. Placing her bowl and spoon directly on his left, the brown sugar and plate of buttered toast in front of them, left his uncooperative right eye with little responsibility. He’d called her to the table, set to pouring milk into a pitcher, heard the scrape of her chair and turned to see her sitting in his seat.

      What guest took the seat at the head of the table?

      The table was oblong. She’d taken the seat closest to the kitchen. And he was screwed. Failing to come up with a reason to move the second place across the table, Simon set the pitcher of milk next to the toast and took her chair, leaving his nearly blind right eye as his leading man.

      * * *

      KNOWING THAT SHE wasn’t going to get away without his sending out a search party unless she convinced the doctor that she was fine, Cara ate every bite of cereal in her bowl. At least swallowing no longer hurt. She had a piece of toast. And felt guilty for doing so. She was only prolonging a life meant to end. She wouldn’t take her own life. Her mother had taught her well, and killing yourself, no matter how imminent death might be, was wrong.

      Karma, Fate—they could use you right up until your last breath. Even the way you took your last breath could be used—to help someone else. You had to let nature take its course. And she would. Just as soon as she could get away from her current predicament.

      “That was good, thank you.” Her manners, another reflection of her mother, were ingrained. Funny how she was thinking of Mom so much. Must be because being in her company again was so imminent. She felt comfort and then knew guilt again. She didn’t deserve comfort. She was scum of the earth. Worse than Shawn and...

      “You’re shaking.”

      Cara came out of her personal hell to see the doctor studying her. With that way he had of tilting his head a bit to the side. She’d noticed it the first day. Kind of liked it.

      She would pay for her mistakes by Fate’s plan. In Fate’s time. Peace settled over her again.

      “Finish up your juice and we’ll get you settled on the couch,” the doctor said, nodding at her glass. His voice was...tender. She responded to it. Knew she shouldn’t. His kindness was wasted on her.

      “I was planning to leave today.”

      With a small frown, he shook his head. “We agreed you’d stay until you were better.”

      “We said a few days.” Funny how absence of fear freed up voice. She didn’t know the doctor. She figured he had a death on his conscience. And that he was hiding away from something. There were six months’ worth of soap and other supplies in the big laundry closet at the back of the bathroom. He’d been gentle and respectful in his care of her. Professional. But it could just be until she was well enough to serve another need.

      Men had those needs. Didn’t seem to matter what was going on in their lives. And one as hot as he was, a doctor, no less, probably wasn’t used to going without.

      Still, she knew no fear. Had nothing left to lose...

      “...you’re still weak, as evidenced by your shaking, but after two days in bed, with only a bit of soup to eat, you will be weak. You’ve been badly beaten. Repeatedly, in my opinion. Your body is pulling all of your energy into the healing process. For this reason, I cannot, in good conscience, let you wander out there on your own. I will, however, drive you to the closest town if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be.”

      Town! Shawn could be there. Her heart pounded. Shawn couldn’t know she was still alive. She couldn’t go back to him. She’d rather kill herself. Shawn...he knew her weaknesses, her issues. Her mistakes... He’d use them against her...

      So much for no fear. The same sense of purpose that had come over her the night she’d convinced Shawn she had a brain bleed took root again.

      Sitting up straight, she said, “I’m fine. Really. Let me prove it to you. I’ll...” she looked around “...clean the cabin for you today. I’ll stay busy all day. And when you see that I don’t pass out or have a heart attack, you agree to let me go.”

      “You are not cleaning my cabin.” He glanced around, turning his body as though he had to inspect every corner of the building. “In the first place, it doesn’t need to be cleaned. I have a system...a schedule.” He shook his head, as though he wasn’t sure what he was saying. Or maybe why. And then, with more of the gentle bossiness she was used to, he said, “What kind of a doctor would I be if I let you overextend yourself, cleaning up after me?”

      The words reminded her of his earlier statement. Something about not being able to afford another life on his conscience.

      “I’d like you to spend the day out here, on the couch, sitting up, except for naps if you feel the need, with some light activity. You have no broken bones, but you’re still badly bruised. And the blows to your face were severe. We need to give the swelling some more time to dissipate, inside and out.”

      She hadn’t studied her face in the mirror. Had actually avoiding even looking at herself, other than to focus on individual cuts as she’d tended to them. She’d felt all of the bruising, though, and the bumps, as she’d washed her face in the shower. She’d felt the sting as the soap and water sluiced over some of the deeper cuts.

      “I put the salve on the wounds after I washed, just as you instructed.” Antagonizing him, in any way, would be counterproductive.

      He nodded. “I can see that.”

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