janet dailey- the healing touch (11 page)

Rebecca smiled down at the girl. "You may think this is silly," she said, "but the old-fashioned way is the best. Do you guys have a turkey baster?"

"A turkey baster?" Michael asked. "Yes, Bridget just showed me how to use it the other day."

"Good, that's what I need."

"I'll go get it."

Rebecca rolled up her sleeves, then reached down to touch the little red nose as she waited for Michael to return. "Poor baby," she said. "I guess Santa will have to make his run without Rosie the Reindeer tonight."

"Do you really think this is going to help?" Michael asked as he watched Rebecca fill the baster again with a mixture of mineral oil and milk of magnesia. Gently he held the nanny's mouth open as Rebecca squeezed it in. Rosie swallowed weakly, then began to cry again.

For the past five hours they had been taking turns giving her the medicine. But so far, there had been no results.

"I don't know yet," Rebecca said, laying the baster aside and sitting in the straw beside the goat. "If we can just get enough into her, it may all work out... in the end," she added, pointing to Rosie's tail.

"A bad pun, Dr. Rebecca," Michael said with a tired smile as he sank onto the hay next to her.

"Hey, at six o'clock in the morning that's as good as it gets."

Rebecca looked over at Katie, who was sleeping in the corner, curled into a ball in the straw. Michael's leather jacket was draped over her small shoulders.

"She finally gave it up, huh?" Rebecca said.

"Yes, and I'm glad," Michael replied. "There was no reason for her to be up all night worrying. A hell of a way for a kid to spend Christmas Eve."

He gazed at the child for a long time, then he turned back to Rebecca. "You were right. I am afraid I'm going to lose her, too. I wake up in the middle of the night, sweating, worrying about it."

Rebecca nodded. "I'm not surprised, considering all that's happened to you. I felt the same way after Tim's accident, but as time passed it got easier. It will for you, too."

"Do you think so?" He looked at her with a light of hope in his blue eyes that were so much like his daughter's.

"Yes, I promise. The first two years are the worst. Then it gets easier."

Michael ran his hand over the kid's swollen belly. Rebecca noticed that his fingers were shaking slightly, and her heart went out to him. She wondered how she could ever have considered him cold and uncaring.

"When I think of Beverly," he said, "I only remember her death... the fact that I wasn't there. I remember the last time I saw her. She was so sick and helpless—she didn't even know me. Beverly was always a strong, proud
woman. She wouldn't want me to
remember her that way. I don't want to think of ho- that way."

"Time will help you with that, too," Rebecca said, laying a comforting hand on his broad shoulder. "The day will come when you'll remember her life—the happy times, her strength, her laughter, her beauty- more than the sad circumstances of her death."

To her surprise, he reached out, grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to him. For a long time, he held her tightly against his chest, his face buried in her hair, saying nothing.

Her arms went around his waist, and she allowed herself the wonderful luxury of melting into another human being. The embrace was the first intimate contact she had experienced since before Tim's death. And she couldn't believe how much she needed it or how good it felt to hold someone and to be held in return.

Finally, he released her and she was shocked to see the depth of emotion in his eyes. What she saw there was a mirror image of what she was feeling.

"You've done so much for us, Rebecca, for me," he said as his hand slipped lightly down her cheek. His fingertips were so warm, so gentle as he brushed a stray curl away from her temple. "In the time I've known you, you've shown me how important it is to reach out to others."

After a quick glance at his sleeping daughter, he leaned toward her and tenderly kissed her cheek. The sensations of acute desire and equally sharp fear shot

through her at the contact. Suddenly, she felt as though she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak.

"I want to reach out to you, Rebecca," he said. His fingers twined in the hair at the nape of her neck, sending shivers of pleasures down her back. "If I do... if I find the courage to reach out... will you be there?"

A hundred replies raced through Rebecca's mind as she sat there in the straw, looking into the eyes of a man she could easily love. A man she already loved. Her heart could only allow her to give one reply, "Michael... I-"

Her words were cut off by a loud bleat as Rosie began to thrash around, struggling to stand.

"Hey, hey," Rebecca said, setting issues of romance aside for the moment, "this looks promising."

"Here,"
h
e said, rising from his seat on the straw, "let me help her up."

Carefully, he lifted the nanny, his arms under her belly and supported her for a minute or so. When he released her, she stood on wobbly legs, but, shaky or not, she was standing. And that was what mattered at the moment.

"Now we wait again," Rebecca said. "She seems to be ready to do something."

A few minutes later, the medicine had finally worked, and the little animal had rid herself of most of her burden. She wasn't crying any longer, and her tiny tail had even begun to wag a bit.

"What a good girl!" Rebecca said. She dropped to her knees and hugged the goat around the neck. "Your mistress will be so proud of you when she wakes up."

"Should I tell her?" Michael said, nodding toward Katie.

"I wouldn't yet," Rebecca said. "In another hour or two, Rosie will be feeling even better and ready to celebrate Christmas. Why don't you let Katie sleep until then."

Michael walked over to his daughter and tucked the jacket more snugly around her shoulders and neck. "You were right about something else," he said. "Even if I lose Katie someday, I wouldn't have missed having her in my life. She's given me so much joy."

"I can imagine," Rebecca said.

"I was so afraid to love her the way I had her mother," he said. "But just look at her. How could I help it?"

Rebecca smiled. "I know what you mean. She has a beautiful spirit. I fell in love with her right away."

"Well, that feeling seems to be mutual," he said. "All the way around."

His eyes met hers and the affection she saw there went straight to her heart, bringing a rush of happiness, quickly followed by the ever-present wave of anxiety.

It never went away completely... the fear of loving... of losing.

But something in his eyes gave her the courage to push it away. At least for the moment. She stood and

looked out the window at the sun, which was rising in a cloudless sky. "Merry Christmas, Michael," she said.

"Merry Chr—" He gasped. "Oh, no! Santa hasn't come! And he's spent the past month shopping and buying decorations and food to try to make up for the Thanksgiving Day Massacre."

She laughed and waved a hand toward the door. "Go, see to it that Santa takes care of business. We're fine here."

"Gee, thanks for reminding me." He hurried to the door. "Boy, if I'd blown this one, I'd have been on Katie's bad side for the next ten years."

"Katie?" a small voice piped up from the corner. "Somebody call me?"

Michael groaned. "Too late. I'm dead."

Katie sprang up from her bed in the straw, looking sleepy and tired, but delighted. "Rosebud!" she shouted. "You're standing! You're not crying anymore!"

She threw her father's jacket aside and ran to her pet. The goat's tail began to wag as she nuzzled her mistress.

"You made her well!" the child cried as she hugged the animal. "Dr. Rebecca, you fixed her! Thank you! Thank you so much!''

"You're welcome, Katie," Rebecca replied. "But I couldn't have done it alone. I had a lot of help." She nodded toward Michael.

Katie glowed with pride as she looked at her father. Clearly he had risen to
the status of "Hero Extraordi
naire" in her eyes. She bounded over to him and threw her arms around his waist. "Thanks, Daddy," she said. "This is the best Christmas present in the world!"

"You're welcome, kiddo." He returned her hug, then tugged on one of her curls. "But, speaking of Christmas ..." He paused to clear his throat. "You see, Katie, I've been so busy with Rosebud, that I...I didn't... I haven't had the chance to..."

"Let me guess," she said, rolling her eyes heavenward, "the guy with the beard hasn't shown up, right?"

"Uh...I haven't been in the house yet, but I strongly suspect you're right."

Katie's eyes softened as she looked up at her father, then at Rosebud, who was becoming more like her frisky self by the moment.

"It isn't important, Daddy," she said. "Rosie's all that really matters. You made her better, and that's what I care about." She paused. "Rosie and pumpkin pie, that is."

Michael laughed and kissed the top of his daughter's head. "Katie, I'll have you know there are three pumpkin pies in that refrigerator and gobs of whipped cream to go on them. There's a great big turkey—which I'd better get into the oven—dressing, cranberry sauce, the works. You can eat and eat to your voracious little stomach's delight."

"You won't want to overdo it," Rebecca warned, "or you'll end up like Rosebud and we'll have to chase you around with a turkey baster full of mineral oil."

"Oo-ooo, yuck."

"I have a better suggestion," Michael said, walking over to the corner to retrieve his jacket. "I was just about to ask Rebecca if she wants to have pancakes with us this morning."

"Really?" Katie's smile grew even wider. "Your special pancakes?"

"With pineapple and pecans and maple syrup," he said, looking at Rebecca. "Then, of course, you're invited to hang around for my first, experimental Christmas dinner. No guarantees."

"Sounds great!" she agreed. "I accept."

Katie hurried over to Rebecca and motioned for her to lean down. Placing ha lips against her ear, the girl whispered, "He doesn't make his special pancakes for just anybody. I think he really likes you."

"Hmm.. .that's nice," was all Rebecca could say. She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, turning them nearly as red as the lipstick on Rosie's nose.

"What are you two whispering about?" Michael asked.

"Nothing." Katie giggled and gave Rosebud a hug. "I'll go put the syrup in the microwave," she told Rebecca. "That's my job when he makes pancakes."

She bounded away and out the door, running and skipping toward the house.

"Thanks for making me look good with the kid," he said when Katie was out of earshot.

"No problem," she replied. "But I do charge more for that. It'll be on my bill."

"So, I'll owe you, huh, Doc?" He lifted one eyebrow.

"Big time."

He held his hand out to her, a look of affection and apprehension in his eyes. She knew what the gesture symbolized.

"I'm here, Michael," she said, giving him her heart's answer. She took his hand and squeezed it. "Right here."

A second later she was in his arms again, but this time it wasn't a hug between friends; it was a lovers' embrace.

His kiss was warm, soft and gentle, but it conveyed a depth of passion that surprised and thrilled her. Feelings, long dormant, rose and spread deliciously through her body, reminding her that she was still very much a woman.

He gave her another, and then another. She didn't even think of resisting. Why should she, when it felt so natural, so right?

Finally, when both of them were breathless, he led her and Rosebud out of the stable and over to the goat's pen. "Considering the size of my debt," he said, carefully securing the gate, "I might have to pay you off in pancakes."

Again, he took her hand and escorted her toward the house.

"Pineapple pancakes...huh?" She bit her bottom lip, contemplating the offer.

"Maybe every Sunday morning for the rest of your life... if you li
k
e pancakes that much."

She held on to his hand, afraid that she was going to fall off this whirling carousel of happiness any moment. "I like pancakes," she said. "Actually, I love than."

He paused in the middle of the lawn to give her another kiss.

"What about Katie?" she asked, nodding toward the house with its many windows.

"She's going to figure it out pretty quick anyway," he said before he gave her another one that made her weak in the knees.

"Okay," she said, struggling for breath, "the pancakes sound great. Let's call it a down payment."