Rachel Lee (30 page)

"I hope you like them," he said, sounding awkward.

"Like them? I love them! But you didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

She faced him then, her heart beating a rapid tattoo, her body suddenly remembering the night they had spent together. Why was she remembering that now? She tried to quell the gooey warm feeling that seemed to be spreading through her, but failed. Her body seemed to be reaching out to him, as did her heart, but her mind was screaming, No, this is not right! "But ... red roses...." She wanted to believe they really meant something but was terrified of believing it all at the same time.

He looked down. "I never felt like giving anybody red roses before."

Her heart slammed again, then climbed up into her throat. Her mind shrieked warnings to get out of there now, because only trouble could lie ahead, but her feet remained glued to the parking lot.

He sighed almost inaudibly, then said, "I'm sorry I upset you at the motel. But I don't regret it. I'll never regret it."

Then, before her scattered thoughts could come up with a single thing to say, he leaned toward her and kissed her.

He probably meant it to be a light, brotherly kiss, but her body and heart weren't going to settle for that. She melted into him, every cell and fiber of her being softening as if they wanted to become part of him.

Then his arms closed around her, and it felt good, so good, to be held by him, to feel his strength supporting her. She felt like a flower drinking rain after a long drought.

He drew her even closer, until it almost seemed they were welded together. Joni felt every last bit of resistance in her slipping away.

She had dreamed of this for so long, and who was going to say it was wrong now? Certainly not she.

But before the joy in her could bubble up too much, Hardy released her and stepped back. "Come on," he said. "It's cold out here. Let's go home."

Home? She didn't have a home anymore. Even after last night, she wasn't ready to consider moving back in with Hannah. It was too close to Witt. But she didn't dare ask Hardy if she could stay with him. It was too much of an imposition. Besides . he'd probably just meant that kiss to be friendly. She didn't want him to think she was going to hang all over him because of it. She'd seen other women embarrass themselves that way and had always vowed she wouldn't do it.

Sitting in the truck, with the box of beautiful roses on her lap, she looked out the side window and felt her chest ache with a sorrow and longing so intense it almost overwhelmed her. Everything that mattered to her in life was being stripped away. Her heritage, her uncle, even the man she had believed to be her father. Everything was a sham, it seemed, most especially the word love.

She was afraid to glance in Hardy's direction for fear all her anguish would come spilling out and he would feel obligated to take care of her again. That was all she was to him, an obligation. All of this had started because he'd found her stuck in a snowbank and upset. Not because he wanted her in his life, but because he felt a responsibility to her. Maybe because of Karen. Maybe because that was who he was.

But it had never had anything to do with her.

She absolutely did not want to be an obligation. That was not what she wanted from Hardy, not what she had ever wanted . but all she had ever had. He'd let her hang around him and Karen like the kid sister who had to be humored. He hadn't really wanted her there.

And it continued today. Everything that had happened between them had happened because of his sense of responsibility. That hurt her.

He wasn't even talking to her now, and finally she dared to glance in his direction, wondering if he was annoyed with her or just impatient to get rid of her. She couldn't read his face, unfortunately. Except that his jaw seemed a little tight.

Well, it didn't matter, she told herself. She needed to get on with her plans to find a job elsewhere and move away from all these damn shadows of the past. Enough was enough. These last few weeks seemed to have chilled her soul.

Much to her surprise, Hardy drove right by Hannah's house and took her to his own. "You're staying here," he said almost sternly. "Until Witt straightens out, I don't want him coming anywhere near you."

Still an obligation, she thought. Her throat tightened painfully, but she managed to say, "I hope you're prepared to have me hanging around for the rest of my life, then."

He looked at her, his gaze strange, almost hot and hard. He was angry, probably at having to rescue her again. "You might be surprised," he said flatly.

At what, she couldn't imagine. Witt was as predictable as the rain every summer afternoon. Or the snow every winter.

Hardy helped her into the house, and Barbara, who had the day off, seemed to bubble over when she saw the roses. She helped Joni put them in a large vase, then asked, "Would you like me to take them up to your room?"

Joni shook her head. "Thanks, Barbara, but they're too pretty to be hidden away. Why don't we keep them down here, where everyone can enjoy them?"

"What a sweet notion."

Hardy had already disappeared to his shop, and Joni could faintly hear him banging around. "I guess he's mad at me," Joni said as Barbara poured them both a cup of tea.

"At you?" Barbara laughed. "My dear child, no! No man gives a dozen long-stemmed roses to a woman he's angry with. No, it's not you."

Joni didn't exactly believe her. The roses were just an apology for the accident.

Barbara poured milk into her tea and returned the jug to the refrigerator. Then she sat across from Joni and reached out to cover her hand. "Honey, he's mad at Witt. He's been taking guff from that man all these years, and he never much minded it. As near as I can tell, Hardy's always believed it was what he deserved. But he doesn't figure you deserve this crap."

"But Hardy doesn't deserve the crap, either."

"You and I know that. I don't think Hardy's heart would agree, though." Hannah sighed, let go of Joni's hand and stared down into her teacup. "I've never been able to find a way to make him believe he wasn't responsible for Karen's death. He wasn't drunk. He wasn't speeding. How can it be his fault that some drunk drove smack into him without warning? But that's the logic of the mind, Joni. The heart's not so reasonable."

"I know." Indeed she did. She'd had plenty of unreasonable emotional reactions herself.

"But he's getting angry now, and that's a good tiling. Anger is a sign of healing. But it might be uncomfortable for the rest of us for a while."

"Well, I'll be gone as soon as I can find a job somewhere else. It shouldn't be too difficult. I really hate to impose on you like this."

Barbara looked at her, suddenly still. "Really? You're still going to do that?"

"Definitely. I'm through with this whole situation. My uncle..." Her voice trembled, and she paused for a moment to gather herself. "My uncle is poisoning other people's lives. Hurting other people. He's been hurting Hardy for years, and now he's hurt me ... and he's certainly hurt my mother. I want to get so far away I don't ever have to think about him again."

In that moment Hardy's mother reminded Joni so much of Hannah that it was almost uncanny. Barbara sat silently for a minute or so, sipping her tea. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, almost gentle.

"Joni, I'm sure you've realized that running away is never an answer, because you always carry yourself along."

"That's what they say." Joni felt her throat tightening again, and she suddenly ached so badly for her mother that she could have cried. Now, right now, she needed Hannah's arms around her. "But why stay here so that Witt can scowl at me every time we meet on the street? Why do that to myself?"

Hannah nodded. "I'm not sure I have a good answer for that. But before you do anything rash, you need to be sure that getting away from Witt is enough to make up for everything else you'll be leaving. Your mother, your friends, a town where you know everyone. I understand that young people get bored in places like this, but ... there's plenty that's good about Whisper Creek, too."

"Oh, I know that. I love this place. But..." Joni shrugged. "I give up."

This time Barbara didn't seem to have anything to say at all.

Hannah was getting more irritated by the minute. She couldn't find Witt anywhere. What had that damn fool man done? she wondered. Gone off to Denver? He wasn't supposed to be driving until they were sure the medicine was working. Thinking he might have returned to work, even though he wasn't cleared to yet, she called up to the mine and learned that no one had seen him, and if they had, they would have sent him home.

She checked all his haunts, from the hardware store to the saloon where he was known to bend an elbow from time to time, but no one had seen him.

Fear began to sink icy claws into her, fueling her irritation. What if he'd tried to drive somewhere but had gone off the road? But no, his car was in his driveway. What had she been thinking, letting him drive home from the hospital last night? She knew he wasn't supposed to, but had figured a mile and a half wasn't anything to worry about. At least he hadn't taken it into his head to interpret that as license to drive anywhere.

But all this ruminating was doing nothing to tell her where he'd gone.

He wasn't answering his phone or door, and his car was still in the driveway. Fear whipped her hard. What if he'd had another heart attack?

She stood looking at his door and his car. He could be dead in there.

Finally, not knowing what else to do, since he'd never given her the key to his place, she went home and called the police.

Earl Sanders happened to take her call. "The dispatcher called in sick this morning," he remarked philosophically. "Not to mention that half my crew seems to have the flu or something. So you get the top dog, Hannah. What's up?"

"I can't find Witt. Anywhere. And his car's in the driveway, but he's not answering the door or phone. I'm worried he might have had another heart attack."

"Hell. Sam's out in that area. Just finished up a call. I'll have him come right now. Where are you?"

"At my house. But I can run over to Witt's right now."

"You do that. Sam'll be there in two or three minutes. So will the ambulance."

She was glad he had thought of the ambulance. She'd been so worried that it hadn't even occurred to her Witt might still be alive and in need of immediate medical attention. Stupid, she castigated herself.

She arrived back at Wilt's just as Sam Canfield was pulling up, lights flashing. He climbed out, giving her a brief wave. "When did you last see him?"

"Last night at the hospital."

"Damn." He looked at the house. "Okay. You stay back here."

He didn't explain why, although she guessed he was trying to protect her. As if she hadn't seen the dead and dying on an almost daily basis during her years as a nurse. But she had no delusion that it wouldn't be worse if it were Witt. Closing her eyes, she offered up another prayer.

Sam tried the door, pounded on it with his fist, bellowing authoritatively, "Police. Open up."

Nothing. He peered through the windows on either side of the door but apparently couldn't see anything. Just then the ambulance pulled up, and two EMTs climbed out. Jack Jessup and Hector Cortes. They were the same young men who'd been on duty the night Witt had his heart attack.

"Another heart attack?" Jessup asked her.

"I don't know."

"Just stay back a minute," Sam called to them. Then, drawing his gun, he raised his foot and kicked the door open.

With her heart in her throat, Hannah watched him enter the house, his gun at ready. Oh, God, she hadn't even considered the possibility of a crime! What if.

But before her mind could conjure up any additional horrifying images, Sam came back out the door, bolstering his gun.

"He's inside," he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "Drunk as a skunk, snoring booze fumes, but still alive."

Hannah started forward at once, but Jack and Hector gently restrained her. "Let us check him first, Mrs. Matlock."

Hannah started to shake her head, then caught herself. She understood.

She would only get in the way.

Sam came down the walk to stand beside her. "I think he's okay, Hannah. He seems to be sleeping it off."

"I am going to give that man such a piece of my mind...." Her voice broke, and somehow she turned into Sam. He didn't seem to have any problem with holding her or patting her back soothingly.

"He'll be okay, Hannah. Physically, at least." Sam made a disgusted sound. "Beats me how he could have spent all that time with you over the years and never once seen how much you love him."

Hannah caught her breath, and freshly formed tears stopped spilling, hanging on her lower lashes, threatening to freeze there. "Sam..."

"Sorry, I was out of line, but it was plain as the nose on the damn fool's face."

Hannah started to shake her head, then stopped. What was the point?

Denying it wouldn't change the truth. Suddenly aware that curtains were probably twitching all around, she stepped back. No telling what the gossips might come up with. The unfortunate thing about small-town life, especially where it snowed so much for so long, was that gossip was the stuff of social life. Sam might be ridiculously young for her, but that wouldn't keep the tongues from wagging. She didn't care for herself, but she didn't want Sam to be victimized. "Thanks," she said.

Ten minutes later, Jessup and Cortes came out of the house. "He's conscious," Cortes said. "He'll be all right, but somebody should keep an eye on him for a few hours."

Hannah mentally rolled up her sleeves, and the light of battle came into her dark eyes. "Trust me," she said, "I'll take care of that jackass."

The two men looked as if they wanted to laugh, but only Jessup made a sound, something like a strangled cough. Together, they climbed into the ambulance and sped away.