A Family For Christmas. Tara Taylor Quinn

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      Prospector, Nevada

      CARA SLEPT FOR two days. Two days in which Simon knew moments of peace, of pleasure, and moments when he sank into pure hell. Tending to a patient again—yeah, of course there’d be moments of pleasure. He was a doctor. Doctoring was all he’d ever wanted to do. From the time he was in junior high he’d known his course.

      Peace...now, that had surprised him a bit. Sitting in that cabin in the evening, with the light down low and a book in his lap...and upon first waking in the morning, knowing that someone was in the next room, having to keep a schedule, having something to do at a particular time...had brought peace. He should have known. Should have been able to figure out that he needed structure. Human Nature 101.

      And sinking into hell—well, that had pretty much been the rest of the time that he wasn’t climbing his way back out of it.

      His patient, on the morning of her third day with him, woke him when she moved quietly through the body of the cabin to the restroom she’d visited a few times in the previous two days, with him right behind her in case she felt weak. On those occasions, he’d left her at the door. She’d called out to him when she was ready for him to come get her.

      When he’d seen her underwear hanging wet and obviously cleaned on the far towel bar the previous morning, he’d taken it out to dry in the sunshine after he’d seen her back to bed. Everything had been right where she left it when she’d made her next trip, and had disappeared from the bar right after.

      She’d consumed three cans of soup. Half a cracker. And a couple of glasses of orange juice. Along with more than a quart of water. The previous evening he’d removed the makeshift butterfly bandages he’d put on her face and was encouraged by the pink skin surrounding her worst abrasions. Her skin had been cool to the touch since day one. She was healing nicely with no sign of infection.

      Pretending to remain asleep on the pullout as he listened to her cross the floor, move down the short hall and close the bathroom door behind her, Simon considered what the day would bring. She was able to get up, move about without any slowness of step or obvious signs of dizziness. It was time for her to resume minimal activity. Another full day in bed was not going to be good for her.

      A woman up and about his cabin, needing another day or two of rest, but no longer requiring the direct supervision of a physician, was not good for him.

      As a patient, she’d either been asleep, answering his questions or following his orders. He’d kept his questions strictly professional. And his orders—a couple more bites, deep breath, please—even more so.

      He needed her gone so he could get back to the business of getting back to his life. Getting back out in the woods. Challenging himself more than closing one eye indoors would do. He hadn’t worn the eye patch since he’d found her.

      She had no idea she was dealing with a one-eyed man, and he had every intention of having that state of affairs remain just as it was. But with that, his right eye could grow weaker, letting the left eye do all of its work. Not wanting to leave her alone in the cabin—not completely sure she wouldn’t bolt on him—he’d had to settle for closing his left eye and watching the old television set that worked only with the DVD player attached. He’d kept the sound low, so as not to disturb his patient, and was pretty sure that the time he’d thought he’d seen a shadow move across the screen had not been a brain trick brought on by the fact that a female voice in the movie had just said come here. He was pretty sure he’d seen that shadow.

      And was antsy to get outside in the daylight and test himself.

      Just as antsy as he was to have the woman out of his house.

      Wanting to no longer have a patient to care for...well, with his usual self-honesty, he had to admit that he wasn’t eager for that part of this little time warp to end.

      Simon was sitting up, in the sweats and flannel shirt he kept by the couch to put on when he had to tend to his patient during the night, with the bed already folded away by the time Cara came back through the front room. He’d been keeping the place toastier at night, in deference to his patient, but even if he hadn’t been, he was a sleep-in-the-buff guy.

      She’d dressed herself. That first day, he’d washed her clothes. Left them on top of the wooden trunk at the end of the bed. Her long dark hair was in a ponytail. He didn’t know where she’d found the rubber band. The first morning she’d woken in his cabin, he’d offered her a spare comb and toothbrush. She’d brushed but had been too weak, or in pain, to shower. She’d obviously taken care of that this morning.

      “You found your clothes.” What did you say to a woman you barely knew when she was standing in the middle of your remote hideaway cabin before you’d even been to the bathroom in the morning?

      “Yes.” Her body faced the bedroom, but she stood halfway between it and the bathroom, looking at him. Sort of. Her gaze wandered toward the floor.

      She appeared to have no curiosity about her surroundings. But then, she’d had two days’ worth of trips back and forth to the bathroom to check it out. He hadn’t noticed her looking around then, either.

      “Uh, thank you. For washing them.” She glanced at him, held his gaze and then wavered again.

      He couldn’t figure her out. The more she recovered, the more docile she seemed to become. Why would a woman have more fight in her when she was physically weak than when her strength had started to return?

      “You’re welcome,” СКАЧАТЬ