Rescue Team (19 page)

“Your father still lives in Sunnyvale?” Wes’s voice was gentle.

“Happy Hollow Lane.”
Except I only use his e-mail address.

Wes took another sip of his coffee and was quiet for a moment. The coffeemaker burbled in the kitchen and Kate wished she’d switched on her iPod for music. She still could. . . .

“It’s funny,” Wes said, his voice low and soft, “the things that stick in our minds. My mom—my stepmom, Miranda—has been in my life for much longer, but I still remember my mother making pancakes. The way you do it to make them into shapes: hearts and Mickey Mouse faces. And a
W
for my name. You’ve seen that?”

An ache filled Kate’s throat. She nodded.

Wes shook his head. “I had tea with Amelia Braxton today. She reminded me about my piano recital way back when. And about my mother being there, rooting for me. Coaching me when I got lost with the verses. I’d forgotten.” He set his coffee down, met Kate’s gaze. There was vulnerability in his expression. “My stepmom would say it was a blessing. A good thing to hold on to.”

Kate wished she hadn’t just thought of the cross hidden away in the closet, only yards from where she sat with a man who was
comfortable talking about blessings. And grace and hope. She didn’t want to think about how nothing about her fit with any of that.

“And I think
you
are too, Kate.” The blue eyes met hers.

“What?” she asked, hearing her voice emerge in a whisper.

“A good thing.” He reached for her hand. “A good thing I’d like to hold on to . . . if that’s okay with you.”

“I . . .” Kate struggled, the quivers robbing her of speech. “Yes. It’s okay.”

“Great.” He raised her hand to his lips.

“It’s . . .” She heard herself chuckle. Knew it was because she was nervous. And because she was having a ridiculous time breathing now that he’d moved close, cradling her cheek in his big palm. She blinked at him, warmth flooding through her. “The nail polish, right?” Her heart skittered as Wes leaned closer. “You can’t resist this great nail polish.”

He laughed, lips against her cheek. “No. It was the Jeep. Drove me crazy the way you handled that old Jeep.” Wes nuzzled Kate’s neck, a trace of beard growth tickling her skin.

Then he leaned away just enough to smile at her. “And?” he asked.

She smiled back at him. “And what?”

“You can’t resist me because . . . ? C’mon, it’s only fair.”

“Okay. Your eyes, then.”

He chuckled. “Nancy Rae said that too. Just today.”

“She’s too old for you.” Kate’s breath caught as Wes leaned close again. “Too short. Bad hair. And—” She sighed as his lips touched the corner of her mouth and raised her arms, eased them around his neck. He slid his around her, strong but gentle, then brushed his lips lightly across hers. A promise of another kiss to come.

“I’m serious,” he whispered. “I think it’s good that we found each other. Don’t you?”

“Mmm.” Kate nodded, but she didn’t really want to think at all. Right now she only wanted to feel. To be in this good man’s arms even if it was only for a short time. Hope beyond that was too risky. But it was the closest thing to happiness she’d known in so long. It did feel different, safe . . .
wonderful
.

She buried her fingers in the softness of Wes’s hair, drew him closer. Then closed her eyes and tasted his tender warmth more deeply . . . beginning a kiss he seemed only too willing to continue.

“W
HAT’S THAT TUNE?”
Wes’s mom covered the serving platter with a cloth napkin and settled opposite him at the porch table.

“Hmm?” He realized he’d been lost in thought.

“That song.” She gazed at Wes over the rim of her coffee cup. The morning breeze wafted scents of sausage and country-fried potatoes—a testament to Mrs. Tanner’s kitchen. “You were humming. It sounded like ‘Brown Eyed Girl.’”

“Probably was.” He smiled, warmth spreading through his chest at the memory. “Heard it last night. In Austin.” Wes picked up his coffee, knowing she’d wait forever. Patience could have been Miranda Tanner’s middle name. He released the breath he’d been holding. “I like her, Mom.”

“I figured.” She left it at that, respectful of his privacy as always, though her caring expression was as effective as the huge welcome mat outside the Tanners’ door. And a walloping dose of truth serum.

“Kate’s different,” he told her. Then was at a complete loss for words. How could he explain Kate to his mom? He wasn’t sure he understood any of this himself. “I mean, she’s pretty, of course—that’s obvious. Smart. And funny, too.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I like that she’s so determined and independent. Strong. And tries like the devil not to need anybody. But . . .”

“But you think she might need you?” There was something in his mother’s eyes that Wes had seen before. That day she watched him slide down the Braxton well to rescue the little girl.

“I’m not sure.” He suspected Kate’s admitted “mistakes” had something to do with her relationships with men. That she’d been disappointed, maybe even hurt. He hated the thought of it. For that reason alone, Wes was determined to take things slowly where Kate was concerned. Be completely respectful. And protective? He had no doubt she’d prickle at that. “Kate’s pretty stubborn. I told you what she said the first day we met: ‘No one here needs to be rescued.’”

“If I recall—” his mom glanced toward the sound of a horse’s whinny—“you told me she was like ‘brushing up against a cactus.’”

“Uh . . .” The warmth returned. “Not so much.” Wes shrugged, knowing that if truth serum were actually on the breakfast menu, he’d admit in a heartbeat that he’d never held a woman as soft and sweet. “She’s had some tough things to deal with in her life.”

His mom waited, the gentle concern in her eyes saying,
“As have you, Son.”

“Kate’s mother died when she was a teenager.” Wes stopped himself from mentioning that she’d run away from home. And been gone for a year. The thought staggered him, but he wasn’t about to betray Kate’s confidence. “She and her father had some issues related to all of that. Still do.”

“I liked Matt. I had a sense he was on a much bigger journey than a drive out here from California. And that his daughter was an important part of it.”

“Hmm.” So had Wes. It was the reason he’d risked giving Kate’s father her address. So the man could share his newfound hope. And faith? Wes couldn’t deny that he’d wanted that for Kate too.

But she’d sent her father away.
“It’s not a Hallmark movie . . . I gave him instant coffee and told him to drive safely.”

“More coffee?”

“No thanks. Let me help you clear these dishes; then I’m heading to the drilling site. Dad’s going directly there after he drops Dylan at school. I’m hoping to get that job done early—have to go into Austin later.”

“Kate?”

“Travis County Search and Rescue meeting. We’re going over water-rescue plans.”

“Ah yes. The storm that’s coming.” His mom glanced up through the pecan branches.

“Right.” He stacked the breakfast plates.

“That’s fine, Wes. I’ve got the rest of this. Go to work.”

“Thanks.” He stepped close, gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Great breakfast, Mom.”

“You’re welcome.” Her quick smile was replaced by that same look he’d seen earlier. The familiar careful-Son-it’s-a-deep-well expression of motherly concern. “When you said that Kate tries hard not to need anyone . . . does that include God?”

-  +  -

“You’re smiling,” Lauren told Kate over the din of the hospital cafeteria. She paused as an overhead page for an OB department
visitor repeated a second time. “And considering that your fork is hovering over a dubious-meat-source enchilada, I’d say that look on your face indicates . . .”

“That I’m really hungry?” Kate was unable to stop the spread of her smile or the betraying flush she felt at the neck of her scrubs. Lauren had phoned and texted at least a half-dozen times last night, starting around 9 p.m., about half an hour after Wes drove away from her house. He’d left her reluctantly; she’d seen it in his eyes, felt it in that last lingering kiss.

He’d made a joke of not wanting her landlord to see a car sitting late in her driveway, then said he had to be up early for work. She knew Wes was being respectful of her. The way he’d been when he opened the car door, pulled out her chair, and stayed protectively on the side of traffic every time they walked. That he’d willingly gone home early left her feeling both relief and a pang of regret. It confirmed everything she’d started to believe:
This man is special.

“I did send you a text,” Kate said, wrinkling her nose as she cut the enchilada—it was an iffy entrée. Not anything like last night’s amazing dinner. The flush reached her ears.

“‘All fine. CU tomorrow,’” Lauren quoted. “You call that a post-date recap? You could never write scripts for
The Bachelorette
.”

Kate laughed. “I didn’t call you back because I was still talking to Wes. On the phone. He called as soon as he got home and we talked until way late.”

It was Lauren’s turn to smile. “That can only be good.”

“I guess.” Kate prodded something with her fork; she hoped it was an olive. How could she explain that she wasn’t sure she could recognize “good” for certain? The words
good
and
man
had never linked up in Kate’s life experience. She only knew that
today—everything today—felt better after last night. She took a slow breath. “Yes. I think it could be. Good.” Her mouth was dry. She stabbed the olive and popped it in.

“I’m not going to pry. Don’t worry.” Lauren pressed the edge of her fork against her own enchilada. “I only needed . . .” Her eyes met Kate’s. “I wanted to be sure my pal was okay. You know?”

“I know.” Kate’s throat tightened.
Where were you ten years ago, my friend?

“Great. So I was thinking if you’re not going to California for Thanksgiving, maybe—” Lauren grimaced suddenly, pointing her fork over Kate’s shoulder. “Hunker down. Look at your plate. Barrett Lyon’s sniffing the air. Oh no, he’s heading—”

“Kate.” Barrett arrived beside them, flashed Lauren a smile. “Lauren, good to see you.” His gaze connected with Kate’s for longer than was comfortable.

“Was there something you needed?” Kate asked, thinking her friend was holding her fork more like a weapon than a utensil. “I’m grabbing a bite of lunch, and then I’ll be back in the office if you have business to dis—”

“I only have a few minutes. I’m due at the courthouse.” He shot a glance at Lauren. “If I might interrupt and speak privately with you, Kate?”

Kate let herself imagine how he’d look with a cafeteria fork stuck between his well-groomed brows. “Lauren, I—”

“No problem.” Lauren set her fork on the tray and stood. “I wanted to say hello to Dana anyway.”

“Thanks. Sorry.” Kate’s gaze returned to Barrett as he claimed Lauren’s chair. In a room dotted with scrubs, his beautifully tailored suit made him look like a foreigner.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” His lips quirked at the confusion
on her face. “Yesterday, when we spoke on the phone. You said you weren’t feeling well.”

When he asked her out to dinner. Saying,
“We should pursue this.”

“But now . . .” Barrett’s gray eyes seemed to note her new nail polish like it was evidence in a fraud case. “You look fully recovered.”

Kate refused to feel flustered. “Thank you. Never better.” She lifted her chin. “That is, unless there’s some new problem?” She noted the leather briefcase he’d set on an empty chair.

He leaned forward slightly. “I spoke with Austin PD this morning.”

Her throat constricted.

“The detective who came to your house,” Barrett explained. “He said you gave a limited description of the young woman on the tape. It was dark, obviously. He said it seemed clear to him that your conversation with her was brief. And that she offered nothing to indicate she was in serious distress.”

Other than grabbing my arm . . . asking if I’d really help her.

“Which supports any defense the hospital may have to present.” Barrett smiled. “You did well, Kate.”

“Has there been progress in locating that girl?”

“Nothing from the photo sent to doctors’ offices and clinics. But I expect the police will get responses now that the local media has it.” He raised his brows. “You probably saw the mention on the news. Last night?”

“No. I missed it.”

“At any rate, the police are doing what they can to find Ava Smith. And as I explained before, the best-case scenario liability-wise is that it doesn’t happen. She stays lost, the church buries Baby Doe, and it all dies down.” He tapped the tabletop like he
was banging a gavel. “Second-best outcome is that she’s found negligent in her baby’s death.”

Kate fought a wave of nausea.

“If that doesn’t happen and the hospital’s backed into a corner,” he continued, “the optimal defense would be—”

“To put the blame on the triage nurse,” Kate whispered, unable to stop herself from stealing a glance at Dana Connor. Lauren was still at her table.

“I hope it doesn’t go there. But yes.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to get to the courthouse. I wanted to bring you up to speed. And say thank you.”

“There’s no need.”

“I’m playing golf this afternoon. With Dub Tarrant,” he added, dropping the hospital board chairman’s name like a winning putt. “I’m sure he’d like to hear that his emergency department director is doing a fine job.”

Something in his eyes made the statement seem more like a question. Her application for a permanent position would soon be under review. Barrett knew that.

“Later, then,” he said, reaching for his briefcase. “Enjoy your lunch.”

Kate managed a weak smile. Then pushed her tray away with a groan. Was Barrett Lyon so sure of her? Confident she’d root for that troubled girl to stay lost and alone with her pain and guilt? Or face arrest and conviction for her baby’s death? Did he think Kate was the kind of person who could point a finger at a fellow nurse and accuse her of negligence? She glanced Dana’s way again, remembering what Lauren said about the question Dana wished she’d asked Kate the day that baby died:
“Have you ever made a mistake?”

Did Barrett really think Kate could do any of those awful
things? Still . . . for the first time in so long, there was finally some hope. And so much to lose. If Barrett put in a good word—

“Hi there!” Judith Doyle set her folded newspaper on the edge of the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t, really. I was just thinking.” Kate wrinkled her nose. “And avoiding this enchilada.”

“Probably wise,” Judith agreed. “I wanted to tell you that my volunteer shift ends at three today. You’d mentioned going for coffee. Is that a possibility?”

“Not today, unfortunately,” Kate told her with regret. “I have to come back for a budget meeting tonight, so I’m leaving a little early to go over some notes at home. Maybe get a short jog in before it starts to rain.” She pulled out her cell phone. “But let’s exchange numbers. And check our calendars—plan for that coffee. Okay?”

“Sounds good.” Judith paused. “You haven’t seen Trista and her baby, have you?”

“No. I heard her father signed out of the hospital AMA.”

“Yes. I’m a little concerned because she usually drives him for those rehab appointments. Brings Harley, sits in our waiting room. She’s not here today. But maybe he’s taking a break because of the surgery.”

“Could be,” Kate reassured, touched again by the woman’s kindness and dedication. “I wouldn’t worry, Judith.”

They exchanged numbers, made a tentative date for coffee. As the volunteer left in a swish of pink, Kate noticed she’d forgotten her newspaper. An
Austin American-Statesman
folded to the editorial page. Kate picked it up, frowned: another commentary from Waiting for Compassion. She skimmed the well-written letter alleging unsafe practices in a local ER. Kate sighed with relief. At least it didn’t appear to be Austin Grace this time.

-  +  -

Wes found Kate exactly where her text indicated she’d be. On the greenbelt near the trailhead in Zilker Park. Next to a bench under the trees.

His breath snagged. Could she have any idea how beautiful she looked right now?

“You found me.” She smiled, her face dappled by shadows from the boughs—and by dark clouds overhead. Her hair had gone wavy from the building humidity, her skin almost glowing. “Such as I am.” Kate glanced at her jogging attire: blue-and-gold San José State University T-shirt, shorts over dark running tights. “Pretty grubby. I warned you.”