Rescued By Mr. Wrong
Rescued By Mr. Wrong
Cynthia Thomason
Life is meant to be livedSurprising her family for Christmas seems like a good idea…until Carrie Foster loses control of her car in a freak blizzard. Now she’s stuck in the middle of nowhere with a fractured leg, the unplanned-for guest of the man who saved her life.Keegan Breen lives in a secluded cabin on his family’s neglected campgrounds, which nature-lover Carrie sees as a potential paradise. The haunted war correspondent is a world away from the boy he was once. But together, can they prove the cynics wrong and show that opposites can not only attract, but be soul mates?
Life is meant to be lived
Surprising her family for Christmas seems like a good idea...until Carrie Foster loses control of her car in a freak blizzard. Now she’s stuck in the middle of nowhere with a fractured leg, the unplanned-for guest of the man who saved her life.
Keegan Breen lives in a secluded cabin on his family’s neglected campgrounds, which nature-lover Carrie sees as a potential paradise. The haunted war correspondent is a world away from the boy he was once. But together, can they prove the cynics wrong and show that opposites can not only attract, but be soul mates?
“I’m a realist, Carrie. You’re a...”
“I know what I am! Go ahead, be cynical.” She glared at him, an inner fire now lighting her eyes. “You were a good reporter. Heck, you’re even famous. But here’s what I think. I think you got some kind of kick out of seeing the awfulness of mankind. I think it confirms what your dark, brooding soul has always believed—that our world is a miserable place. And that, Keegan Breen, is just plain sad, and that’s why I feel sorry for you.”
“You know what I think, Carrie?”
She scowled. “I think you’ve made it quite clear.”
He smiled, because in truth he was enjoying this moment more than many he’d experienced in a long time. He more than liked this fighter Carrie. He more than admired her. “I think we’ve pegged each other pretty accurately. We haven’t been together two weeks yet, and we know each other as well as if we’d been friends for years.”
Secretly, he was starting to hope they could be more...
Dear Reader (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c),
This is the final love story about three sisters, The Daughters of Dancing Falls. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey of each of the unique women, who are bound together by their love for each other and their caring father. No family dynamic is perfect. It takes work, patience and love to nurture the bond of parent and child.
In this book, Carrie’s story, this youngest daughter flexes her independence muscles despite having challenges to face. All her life she fought against her father’s overbearing concern, and only when she meets a man who seems her complete opposite does she learn what it means to see the world from another person’s point of view—even her father’s. I sincerely hope that Carrie’s struggle to be herself while recognizing her special gift to help another person heal will be a satisfying end to a series I loved writing.
Cynthia
PS: I enjoy hearing from readers. You may contact me at cynthoma@aol.com or visit my website, cynthiathomason.net (http://www.cynthiathomason.net).
Rescued by Mr. Wrong
Cynthia Thomason
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CYNTHIA THOMASON inherited her love of writing from her ancestors. Her father and grandmother both loved to write, and she aspired to continue the legacy. Cynthia studied English and journalism in college, and after a career as a high-school English teacher, she began writing novels. She discovered ideas for stories while searching through antiques stores and flea markets and as an auctioneer and estate buyer. Cynthia says every cast-off item from someone’s life can ignite the idea for a plot. She writes about small towns, big hearts and happy endings that are earned and not taken for granted. And as far as the legacy is concerned, just ask her son, the magazine journalist, if he believes.
This book is dedicated to anyone who ever felt that true love was just beyond their grasp.
Don’t ever stop reaching.
Contents
Cover (#u866875ff-7ace-5c0e-8958-de2711ee1dcc)
Back Cover Text (#uaf5d1e11-9828-529f-afc2-c79b4d1cd87e)
Introduction (#uae83524a-cbf4-51eb-8dd7-d23dfb09436b)
Dear Reader (#u2ed2ca6c-34ab-5d8c-986f-4ace8f8733f1)
Title Page (#u4ab6784d-9aef-544f-b205-ad73617bd360)
About the Author (#u67c2c126-0f30-514d-aeb0-3acb4b450646)
Dedication (#u5b3a99c0-5af3-5f0a-8fd5-21ea71635ea3)
PROLOGUE (#u7c89c0c8-3b50-5342-87fd-89e0f6c2fc85)
CHAPTER ONE (#uf28086b4-60c9-5a5d-b976-6af33ad88a90)
CHAPTER TWO (#u71319cbb-04e5-594a-adff-dff126fc4b6a)
CHAPTER THREE (#u73987a6b-5263-5175-8a62-b43cc8cc27be)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u91c90e93-d709-544d-837c-6a2b4d347341)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u5a44638c-597c-5fc6-8fc6-fa1885dff4fb)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c)
“WHITEOUT CONDITIONS.” Those had been the radio forecaster’s words just a few minutes ago as Carrie slowly navigated the lakeshore route to her home in Fox Creek, Ohio. She couldn’t recall ever driving on such treacherous roads before, but now she knew exactly what was meant by “whiteout.” The paleness of the snow-covered asphalt seemed to blend with the white of the air around her as flurries mounted in intensity. The horizon had been obliterated, making the lanes of the highway indistinct and the sun only a gray, hazy memory. Her surroundings were muddled together, a vacuum of white, starkness and cold.
The sudden blizzard wasn’t the only frosty aspect of this holiday season. Her chilly conversation with her father last night was still fresh in her mind.
“I’m very disappointed, Carrie,” her father had said. “This is the first time you’ve missed Christmas, and I can’t imagine what is more important than being with your family.”
Once again her father had used the guilt factor to persuade her to do what he thought was best. Carrie was tired of explaining all her decisions. Besides, no one in the Foster family understood Carrie’s devotion to trees, especially the shoreline birches of central Michigan lakes that were showing serious effects of pesticide treatment.
Even worse, her father had followed up by announcing, “I’ve made you an appointment with a brilliant new allergist, Dr. Hower, for December 26. I don’t want to cancel.”
“Not another allergist, Dad,” she’d said. “We all know what I’m allergic to—nearly everything. I won’t be prodded and poked anymore!”
“Fine. Have it your way.” He’d been angry, but after a moment his tone had leveled. “Honey, I am the doctor in this family, and I’m only thinking of you.”
That statement had calmed her since it was true. Unfortunately, her father’s concern and medical expertise had left her longing for independence her entire life and a lot less mothering from her caring father. This time she was determined to chart her own course, which meant monitoring the experiments with her trees and refusing more asthma treatments.
Dr. Martin Foster had ended their uncomfortable conversation with a warning. “If you change your mind...”
“Daddy, I won’t.”
“If you do, don’t set out in the morning. Bad weather is predicted for Christmas Day.” As if he didn’t trust her to do anything he told her, he’d added, “I mean it, Carrie. Don’t drive if the forecast is unfavorable.”
When would he ever stop treating her like the baby of the family? Even babies grew up, and she was thirty years old. However, by that evening, Christmas Eve, she’d mellowed. With promises from her crew to continue her work, she’d decided to tackle the five-hour drive in the morning and arrive at her father’s estate, Dancing Falls, in time for Christmas dinner. She’d loaded her car with gifts and headed south for the normally easy drive. Hopefully she’d miss the worst of the weather.
But typical of Ohio winters, a freak blizzard, worse than predicted, had blown in off Lake Erie. The turnpike closed almost immediately, but the traffic app on her iPhone showed that the local two-lane roads were being cleared, leaving her route along the lake passable. That was a few hours ago. Now, in midafternoon, she still had more than two hours to drive in rapidly deteriorating conditions.
Carrie slowed her small foreign car, impractical for blizzard conditions, to a crawl, and was still unable to determine where the road ended and the shoulder began. She hadn’t seen another pair of headlights in miles, so she wasn’t worried about hitting another car. She gripped her steering wheel and plowed ahead. This storm couldn’t last forever. She pictured her father sitting in his chair by the fireplace, secure in the knowledge that his daughter wouldn’t dare ignore his warning and be foolish enough to set out in a storm. He would be furious if he knew she was out in this weather.
Vapor collected on the inside of her windshield, so Carrie lowered her window a few inches to let in fresh air. Just in case, she reached inside the pocket of her purse where she always kept her inhaler. Sometimes, thank goodness not often, a sudden blast of frigid air could bring on an asthma attack.
This was obviously not her lucky day. The wind rushed around the knit stocking cap over her head and seemed to flow downward and settle directly in her lungs. She felt her airways constrict with a tingling pain that signaled a problem. She put the inhaler between her lips, depressed the button and breathed in the lifesaving medicine.
Several seconds later she found herself staring into a pair of bright gold eyes. She braked suddenly, and her heart raced as she realized she was sliding toward a deer, a beautiful fawn-colored creature who stood in the road and was probably as shocked to find herself out on a day like this as Carrie was. Carrie swerved. The deer took flight.
Before she could contemplate the miracle that the deer’s life had been spared, Carrie’s car skidded on a patch of ice. She braked with a slow and steady pressure as she’d been taught by a driver’s education instructor. The car began to fishtail. Turn the steering wheel in the direction of the skid or away from it? She couldn’t remember. She lost control. The car veered off the road as if it had a mind of its own and spun in a complete circle before plowing into a bank of snow and hitting something solid.
Carrie felt the impact in every bone. A sharp pain sliced up her right leg as the car’s air bag exploded around her chest. Her forehead connected with a bone-rattling jolt against the top of the steering wheel. Carrie thought of her family snug and safe at Dancing Falls. Images of her two sisters, her niece and nephew, her dad, swirled in her mind before she lost consciousness.
CHAPTER ONE (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c)
LATELY, KEEGAN BREEN was the last person anyone should count on to run an errand of mercy. And he was just fine with that. He didn’t ask anyone to do anything for him, and he appreciated the return consideration. However, this Christmas Day was something of an emergency. His neighbor Duke struggling to cope with memory loss associated with his eighty-six years, had forgotten to order his heart medication, and he needed to take it every day, or... Well, even Keegan didn’t want to be responsible for that.
So Keegan had called Duke’s doctor and discovered that the MD had some samples of Duke’s meds in his home. Keegan then ventured out in the snow to pick up a couple of pills. What had started out as a short twelve-mile journey to town in light snowfall had now become an hour’s pain-in-the-neck trek in blizzard conditions.
“Lake-effect snow,” Keegan muttered to himself. A person never knew when it would do its worst, but that was the chance he took living on the shore of Lake Erie. Thank goodness his seven-year-old Chevy Tahoe—with its 350 horses, V-8 engine and two tons of steel on a truck chassis—could barrel through almost anything.
He slowed for the curve about a mile from the abandoned Cedar Woods Campground where Keegan lived in the old camp store and Duke lived in a small trailer. Through the whiteout conditions, Keegan managed to see a pair of red taillights glowing faintly from a mound of snow left by an earlier plow. He braked to a crawl and stopped behind the motorist who’d obviously lost his mind to be out in this weather on a holiday. Especially without a “blizzard beast” like the Tahoe.
Getting out of his vehicle, Keegan walked around to the driver’s side of the compact car. A few more minutes and the ridiculous little two-seater might have been buried in a mini avalanche, leaving the driver to become a human popsicle.
Pulling his jacket collar around his ears where his ball cap stopped short of providing protection, Keegan approached the driver’s window. Snow had accumulated, but it was light and dusty, not the kind that sticks the moment it lands. He brushed off the snow with his heavily gloved hand and peered inside.
Besides a mound of wrapped packages, only one person was in the automobile—a woman, slumped over the limp remains of an air bag, and one who apparently didn’t have the sense to listen to a weather forecast before venturing out on a day like this. Even more astounding, the gal had left her window partially opened and snow was settling on her shoulders and head.
“Lady!” Keegan called. “Lady, are you okay?”
She wasn’t. Keegan saw a faint stream of red coming from her forehead. He’d seen enough head injuries in his day to know the possibility of serious complications. He tried the door. Locked. With about four inches of opening to work with, he slipped off his glove and stuck his hand in the window, wiggling his arm downward to the door lock. Thank goodness he was able to reach the button and pull it up.
He opened the car door. The woman didn’t move. Her breathing seemed labored. “Darned air bag must have knocked the wind out of her,” Keegan said aloud. He’d never thought they were a good idea. He wasn’t crazy about seat belts either, especially now when he had to work his fingers through deflated nylon to free the woman.
The seat belt latch clicked, and the woman moaned and tried to sit upright. She managed to turn her head and stared with partially closed eyes at Keegan. Those eyes popped wide open instantly. Visibility was poor, but he figured she’d seen enough to be freaked out by his appearance, so he backed up a step. Meticulous grooming wasn’t at the top of his list of priorities these days.
She stuck out her hand and pounded his chest with a weak fist. “Leave me alone,” she said.
Keegan leaned in the car door. “If I do, you’ll freeze to death out here. And you have a head injury.”
She struggled to take a breath. “I do?”
“Yes, and who knows what else is wrong. You’ve driven your car into a snowbank and hit one of our scenic telephone poles.”
She continued staring at him as if he were her worst nightmare. “Call an ambulance,” she said.
“You don’t want me to do that. If I call for an ambulance, it would take forever in this weather for it to reach us. Plus, we’d be putting the drivers at risk. Your best bet is to go with me.”
“Go with you? I don’t even know you.”
“I don’t know you either, but I’m willing to take the risk,” the man said. “Now, let’s get you out of that car, so we can get you medical help. You could have serious injuries.”
“I do,” she said through gritted teeth. “I think I broke my leg.”
* * *
CARRIE FELT LIKE a knife had sliced into her calf. She touched her head and stared at the sticky red mess on her fingers. Definitely bleeding, but the cold was slowing it down some. What was she going to do now? Miles from nowhere, a broken leg, a damaged head, an asthma attack, and no one but this large, grisly-looking man to help her. His hair reached his shoulders, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a month.
Mr. Grisly leaned on the roof of her car. “Do you live around here?” he asked.
She could honestly answer that she didn’t. She was still at least two hours from home and four hours from her Michigan address. But maybe she should lie. What good would that do? Even if her car wasn’t wrecked, she didn’t know if she’d be able to drive anywhere. Why couldn’t it have been her left leg that was injured?
“No,” she said. “I live in Michigan.”
“No one you know in this area?”
She shook her head, knowing if she gave her father’s name, he would never let her forget her foolish decision.
“Then I guess you’re stuck with me.” He reached his arms into her car, pushing back the remains of the air bag. With a skillful and surprisingly gentle touch, he probed her arms and legs. “I don’t think anything else is broken. So come on. We’re going to the hospital.”
Did she want to add stupidity to her list of problems? She didn’t know this guy. Think, Carrie. Drawing in a sharp breath of pain, she said, “I don’t even know your name.”
He exhaled a frosty breath. “Keegan Breen.”
“I don’t know if I trust you.”
“Look, I’m not going to hurt you. Truthfully, I’m not that crazy about helping you. I was on my way home and looking forward to a fireplace and roasting some hot dogs.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “It is Christmas, you know.”
“How far is the hospital?” she asked.
“Twenty minutes, maybe more in this weather.” He looked out her windshield. “I think it’s let up a little in the time we’ve been talking.” Wiggling his fingers, he added, “Let’s go, buttercup. Grab hold.”
There was something calm about his voice, almost soothing. And anyway, what other choice did she have but to trust him? She couldn’t stay in an automobile that didn’t even have a working heater anymore. She wrapped her hands around each of his forearms and let him do the heavy lifting. He pushed his hand under her rump and had her out of the car and safely tucked against his chest in a matter of moments. The change in position made the pain in her leg worse. She bit her lip to keep from screaming out.
He started walking toward a monster car of some type. “Wait,” she said. “My purse. My inhaler. My glasses. They probably fell off the dashboard when I hit the pole.”
He trudged back, leaned her against the car and reached for her purse on the passenger seat. She took it, scrambled to find the inhaler where she’d dropped it in the bag. He found her pair of dark-framed reading glasses on the floor of her car and handed them to her. Then she allowed him to lift her again. This time she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her hands in the fleece underside of his collar. Ah, warmth...and something else, too. The scent of hickory, like kindling from a fire. Nice. Maybe he wasn’t kidding about the fireplace or the hot dogs.
Just before they reached his vehicle, he glanced down at Carrie’s face, probably his first good look since he’d found her. His jaw dropped a bit. “You’re just a kid,” he said. “Why did your parents let you out on a day like this?”
Once again the baby of the family gets treated like a baby. All her life people had been telling her she didn’t look old enough to be out of grade school or middle school. Just recently she been aged to the high school level. “I swear, Carrie Foster, you don’t look old enough to even have a full-time job...”
Well, she did have a job, a very responsible one as an agent with the US Forest Service. And she had a master’s degree in natural sciences. And she was an adult! “I’m not a kid,” she said. “I’m quite old enough to know better than to drive in this weather, thank you!”
“Knowing and doing are obviously two very different things to you.” He deposited her in the roomy passenger seat of what she now recognized as a Chevy Tahoe, similar to the vehicles her coworkers drove in the Service. After this experience, she’d have to seriously consider trading in her cute French car and getting a four-wheel drive of her own.
“I’d put you in the backseat, but it’s full of fire logs,” he said. “I can help you elevate your leg onto the dashboard.”
“No. I’m okay. Just drive.”
He went around to the driver’s side, got in and pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ve got to make a phone call before we go.”
“Okay.”
“Duke? It’s Keegan. I’ve got your meds, but I won’t be back at the camp for a while. How soon do you need them?”
The camp? Was this guy a survivalist of some kind?
He paused while Duke answered. “No problem. I should be home by then.” Another pause. “I’m fine. Just came across a stranded motorist who needs some medical attention. I’m dropping her at the hospital.”
Carrie relaxed her shoulders into the seat back. Once she was at the hospital she’d be safe, and the twenty-minute drive with Keegan Breen was better than alerting her father to her problem and enduring his criticism. Besides, there was something comforting about the conversation she’d just heard, and she realized that she was beginning to trust him. Keegan was apparently doing something for a friend. And right now he was her only hope of getting out of a snowbank and getting her leg looked after. It was nice to know he was accustomed to helping people. Although she couldn’t get the image of his idea of a “camp” out of her mind.
And getting to the hospital was only the beginning of her problems. What would she do after he dropped her off? She didn’t want to call her sisters. Even if she swore them to secrecy about this event, they would ignore her and immediately tell their father, claiming it was for her own good. Everyone just assumed that Carrie needed help, and rules of independence didn’t apply to her. Her best bet was to see what the damages were and what the hospital suggested. Then she’d make a decision.
“So, what were you doing driving on a day like this?” His voice brought her back to the present and the throbbing pain in her leg.
“I was hoping to surprise some people today.”
He stole a quick glance at her before focusing on the road. “They should be surprised all right. A call from the hospital should knock their socks off.”
So true. If the hospital called her family, someone would definitely hop in a car to come get her, which could easily end in another vehicle disaster. And if they even made it safely in this blizzard, she’d never hear the end of it.
“I’m not going to tell them,” she said, deciding at that moment that she would handle this situation on her own—somehow.
He stared at her a bit longer, his face serious. “That’s your decision, I guess. But you are in somewhat of a mess here.”
She shifted on the seat, trying to relieve some pain. There didn’t seem to be a comfortable position. “How much longer?”
“About ten minutes I’d say.” He stared up at the gray sky. “As long as another flurry doesn’t start.”
She appraised his face, which seemed perpetually set in a stern profile. Despite his growth of beard, she could tell his features were strong and weathered, as if he’d spent time in the sun and wind. Maybe he was a farmer or a construction worker, something like that—or, there was the image again, a survivalist. She’d heard stories about these rugged, gruff men who lived in compounds. Anyway, she figured he wasn’t a businessman driving an old monster vehicle. The gray in his beard indicated that whatever he did, he’d been at it awhile.
His hair was a different story. Once he’d removed his cap, she saw just a sprinkling of gray at his temples where the strands flowed back to a shoulder-length mass of thick, dark brown waves. Good, healthy hair. She brushed her fingers through her fine, baby blond hair with its professionally colored darker tips and realized she envied him for his apparent lucky-from-birth gift.
“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly.
Jolted back into awareness, she said, “Carrie. Carrie Foster.”
He stuck out his hand, and she briefly grasped it. “I’ve never heard the name Keegan,” she said. “It’s Irish, isn’t it?”
“Through and through. Mom and Pop and all the grandfolks.”
Keegan swung into the parking lot of a building Carrie identified as Trumbly County Medical Center. The lot was nearly empty with snow packed up against car bumpers. He didn’t bother with finding a space, instead, stopping at the emergency entrance. He came around to her side and lifted her out of the vehicle.
“I can walk,” she said.
“Sure you can, but humor me. I like to flex my muscles once in a while.”
Inside, he called for a wheelchair. A nurse brought one immediately, and Keegan gently lowered Carrie into it.
“What have we got?” the nurse asked, tenderly probing the wound on Carrie’s head.
“Car accident. Besides the obvious, I suspect a broken leg.”
The nurse wheeled Carrie into a smaller room where a staff member asked her a number of questions about medications, the level of her pain. She took Carrie’s blood pressure and pulse before someone with a clipboard came in and asked for Carrie’s insurance card. Thank goodness she had her purse, and thank goodness the card didn’t show her Ohio address. If there was any way to avoid alerting her father about this trouble, she wanted to do it. She and Dr. Martin Foster had had so many arguments over Carrie’s health, her asthma, her stubborn resistance to listen to reason about being out in nature for her job, she figured this incident might make her dad chain her to Dancing Falls forever. But seeing her family at Christmas had prompted her to set out in this weather despite facing a certain argument with her dad. She’d thought he’d mellow once he realized she had arrived safely. But now...
“Your vitals are good,” the nurse said. “But we’re going to do a CT scan of the head and take an X-ray of the leg. Both tests will just take a few minutes.” Turning to Keegan, whose presence had become surprisingly comforting to Carrie’s peace of mind, she said, “You can wait in the lobby.”
For the first time since Carrie had met him, he seemed indecisive. Stay or go? What would he do? He had no obligation to stay, but for some reason, Carrie wanted him to. “It’s just a quick X-ray,” she said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d wait.”
He shrugged. “Sure. I can wait as long as it doesn’t take too long.”
A half hour later, Carrie was wheeled into an emergency cubicle. A nurse went to get Keegan, and they were told the doctor would be in shortly with the test results.
When the doctor arrived, he stood next to Carrie. “Well, young lady, you were lucky this time. This could have been much worse. As long as I’ve lived in the snowbelt, I’ve seen foolish people try to drive in our crazy weather and come in here with all sorts of...”
“Doctor, I know I shouldn’t have been driving,” Carrie said, trying not to resent the doctor’s parental tone. “What did the X-ray of my leg show?”
“You have a simple fracture. We’re going to put a soft cast and a boot on it. Should be okay in a month or so.”
“A month? I can drive, can’t I?” Carrie asked.
“Drive? Heavens, no. You fractured your right leg. You won’t be driving until you can do it without a cast or boot. Unless you want to get in another accident and maybe take someone else out with you this time.”
She was going to be stuck here for a month? Where would she stay? Would she have to call her father after all? Could she expect someone from her crew in Michigan to come after her? They were operating on limited man power through the holidays.
“You can come into my office in a week, and I’ll x-ray your leg again,” the doctor said, handing her a business card. “Right now a nurse will bandage your head and apply the cast. You do have a slight concussion, which means someone will have to watch you through the night.” He focused on Keegan. “You can do that?”
His eyes widened. “Me? I don’t know...”
“Yes, he can,” Carrie said. “I’ll be fine.”
“You can’t leave the hospital without a responsible party to drive you home and take care of you.” He stared at Keegan. “You’re a relative?”
Keegan started to speak, but Carrie interrupted. “Yes, yes, he is. This man is my husband.”
CHAPTER TWO (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c)
“WHY IN THE name of everything that makes any sense at all did you tell that doctor I am your husband?”
Thank goodness Keegan had kept quiet while the nurse bandaged Carrie’s head and provided her with pain meds to get her through the next few days. Now, as they were leaving the hospital parking lot, Keegan’s patience had obviously reached its limits.
“I certainly couldn’t monitor my concussion symptoms by myself, now could I? I needed a husband at that moment, and you were the only candidate.” She waited for him to say something. He merely continued seething. “I could have said you are my father. Would that have made you happier?”
“What you could have said is that I’m nobody to you, that I don’t even know you. You could have avoided a blatant lie somehow.”
“And what would that have done for me? They weren’t going to let me leave the hospital. And even if they did, I would have been on my own in a town I don’t know, in a snowstorm, without a car, with a broken leg and again...a concussion...”
“You’re darn lucky the doctor didn’t ask my name. He’d have noticed that our last names are not the same.”
“I thought of that,” she said. “I had an answer ready.”
He shook his head. “I’m sure you did. I’m starting to feel like you rammed your car into a pole, and I’m the one dealing with the consequences.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic? Besides, you can hardly say that you don’t know me. We’ve been together for—” she glanced at her watch “—almost four hours now. I feel like I know you as well as I know most...” She couldn’t come up with a word.
“Strangers?”
“We’re not strangers. You saved my life.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. And anyway, if I had it to do over again...”
“You’re saying you wouldn’t help me again? For heaven’s sake, Keegan, I could have frozen to death.”
He didn’t say anything. Maybe he was thinking that was a very real possibility.
“If it makes you feel any better, I would do the same for you.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “You’d pull me from a wrecked car, take me to a hospital in a blinding snowstorm and sit with me for three hours?”
“Of course. I don’t know about getting you out of the car, but the rest I would do.” She leaned forward, grateful that the pain injection had started working, and it no longer hurt to move. She could clearly see into Keegan’s face. “I hate to suggest this and give you any ideas, but unless you come up with a place to dump me, I’d say you’re more or less stuck with me for tonight at least.”
“I’d say you put it just about right.”
“I could go to a motel, but I need someone to watch me. Do you have family, a wife, perhaps? She could check on me.”
“I don’t have a wife. I live alone, which makes this whole situation even worse.”
She might have preferred hearing that a motherly Mrs. Breen would be present, but she’d make this work. For some reason she was no longer afraid of this man. She didn’t suspect an ulterior motive in his begrudging acceptance of her overnight stay. If anything, she figured he’d just continue to brood and finally ignore her. “It’s one night, Keegan,” she said. “Tomorrow I’ll call a tow truck and have my car brought to your house, and I’ll be on my way back to Michigan.”
He gaped at her. “Are you so drugged up you can’t remember what the doctor said? You can’t drive for a month.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, I don’t think that’s true. He was being overly cautious. I can manage.”
“Carrie...” This was the first time she could recall him using her name. “You weren’t able to manage an automobile with both your legs working!”
“Look, just let me stay with you tonight. Tomorrow we’ll work something out.” His silence was deafening, so she took a different approach, one she didn’t really believe. “I’m taking more of a chance than you are,” she added. “I’m a defenseless female. You could obviously do whatever...”
He held up his hand. “Stop right there. Do you actually think I’d touch a girl that doesn’t look more than about seventeen years of age...?”
“I’m thirty! I’ll show you my driver’s license.”
He took a moment to let her pronouncement sink in. “Okay, maybe you are, but what if you suddenly go all wonky on me and call the police? How will it look, you, incapacitated, and me in a cabin alone together?”
“First of all, don’t give me any reason to call the police, and second, you’ll look like what you are, a Good Samaritan whose only crime is helping a needy traveler.” She grinned, hoping he saw it that way. “Why, it’s practically biblical in moral righteousness.”
He didn’t seem convinced, but at least he kept driving toward whatever mysterious place he lived.
* * *
HOW DID I end up in a mess like this? Keegan kept going toward the campground where he inhabited a cabin that seemed to grow smaller by the mile. What choice did he have? Carrie was right. She couldn’t stay alone with a concussion. He’d seen enough battle injuries of that type to know that concussions could be serious. But she’d flat out lied telling the doctor he was her husband. Recalling his shock, he almost smiled now. If she only knew. Keegan Breen was not husband material. He’d tried it once. He’d failed. Right now he wasn’t even confident that he should be lifesaver material.
But he could get through one night. He’d let her bunk in his bed with her leg elevated and the pain pills taking her to Neverland. He’d sit up in a chair and watch her, and then this would all be over. Tomorrow they could get her car towed, and then maybe she’d call someone to come drive it for her.
Yes, the perfect solution. He would only be inconvenienced for a few hours. Feeling confident with a plan, he looked over at her. “So, you have family?”
“Of course.”
“Someone who could come and drive your car for you?”
She gave him a sideways glance. “I’m a good driver, you know.”
“Hmm...” He pointed to a mound of white in the road ahead. “Your car, exactly where you left it.”
She stared at the lump of frosty carnage. “Oh, my poor car. But that could have happened to anyone,” she argued. “It was a terrible storm.”
“I don’t drive a tin can, so it didn’t happen to me,” he said smartly. “And aren’t you glad?”
“I was reaching for my inhaler,” she said.
“Why do you have an inhaler? Do you have asthma?”
She didn’t answer but nodded her head slightly.
Oh, great. Another wrinkle to add to his list of nursing duties. Stay on topic, Breen. “Now, about those family members...”
“I have two sisters. Each of them would come here to get me. I have one father who would come also.” Her voice tensed when she mentioned her father. “And I don’t intend to tell any of them about this.”
“Why not?”
“My father has issues about my asthma. I won’t go into that now, but he would somehow turn this broken leg into an example of how I don’t take my asthma seriously. And I don’t want my sisters on the road in these conditions.”
“Okay. What about a husband?”
She shook her head. “Just you, and you’re only temporary.”
“You got that right.” He felt obligated to point out the obvious. “Carrie, you can’t stay with me indefinitely. I live in a Cracker Jack box. You’ve got to go somewhere.”
“I know I do. Why would I want to stay with you? You obviously don’t want me.” She paused as if waiting for him to argue the point. When he didn’t, she said, “I’ll figure it out tomorrow. Right now my head hurts too much to think.”
She leaned forward. Her hair fell straight as an arrow around her shoulders. Her thick bangs caught a waft of air from the heater and blew away from her forehead, revealing more of her face. Such a young face, Keegan thought again. She could pass for a teenager. Maybe, just to keep things honest, he would ask to see her driver’s license.
Now that he studied her, he could detect some subtle signs of age. She didn’t have that rosy glow that healthy teens had. She was pale, but maybe that was due to pain. There were a few tiny lines around her full mouth and a couple at the corner of her eye. But all in all, it was a cute face, Keegan thought. Darned cute.
Hold on, Breen, he said to himself. You’re forty-one years old, old enough to be her jaded uncle, so don’t let your mind go off-kilter about having a houseguest for one night, especially one with her problems. In fact, who knew how many problems this lady had? Physical ones—those were obvious, but why wouldn’t she call someone in her family to rescue her? What was she hiding? He wouldn’t put it past her to start telling a whole new series of lies.
He’d noticed the label on her coat. Top of the line. Her gloves were the finest leather. Her boots probably ticked out at a couple hundred bucks. And he didn’t know much about hair color, but it couldn’t be cheap to keep that two-tone look fresh. It was like she didn’t know if she wanted to be a blonde or not.
Maybe she was a rich brat, though she didn’t seem like it. Yes, she was opinionated, pragmatic to a fault and way too bold for his tastes, but overall he’d peg her as levelheaded even though she wasn’t quite realistic enough about her current predicament. And she was brave. She was staying with an older, unshaven guy who could... Well, she was lucky in that regard. He hadn’t lost all direction in his moral compass.
And she was cute. There was that word again, one that hadn’t been evident in his personal vocabulary in a long time.
“How much longer?” Her voice jerked him back from private thoughts.
“For someone who’s not going anywhere, you sure are concerned with miles. But you’re in luck. See that sign up ahead?”
She squinted into the darkening dusk and light misting of snow. “Yes, I see it.”
“Home, sweet home.” He turned on his blinker and slowed.
She placed the flat of her hand on the car window and said, “You live in a campground? Wow. How interesting.”
* * *
HE GRUNTED A response before saying, “You think that’s cool or something?”
“Not cool I guess, but you certainly are close to nature, and that can never be bad. I don’t understand how you could live in nature and still be so grumpy.”
He ignored the grumpy remark. “Believe me, I’ve lived—and slept—in nature much more than I care to remember. And I only leave the sign up here by the road so people can find where I live. This isn’t a working campground. No one has stopped here for at least fifteen years.”
“You did, obviously. You live here.”
He pulled around a circular path to stop in front of a log-sided building which appeared as a hulking shadow in the darkness. The Cracker Jack box, she assumed. “I own this property. My grandfather left it to me a year ago. I still don’t know if it was a test of my endurance or a joke.”
She couldn’t see much of the surrounding land. Nightfall had reduced the landscape to vague images of a smattering of trees, a few concrete pads mostly covered in snow. “You certainly aren’t very grateful,” she said.
“I will be, come spring, when Cedar Woods becomes only a bad memory in my rearview mirror.”
She wondered what he meant. This had to be a prime piece of property. As far as she could determine, Lake Erie was still just across the road, and there were no buildings to obstruct the view. Since the massive cleanup of the lake several years ago, this property had to be a potential paradise.
Keegan’s phone rang. “Hello, Duke. Yeah, I’m back.” He paused. “I can bring your medication over in a few minutes.” He nodded. “Okay, if you think you can make it over here on your walker. The fresh air will do you some good.”
He disconnected and turned to Carrie. “Hang on a sec. I’ve got to switch on the outside lights so we both don’t end up flat on our butts on an ice patch.”
He did more than that. He flipped on a bright light and brought a snow shovel from behind the structure. In a few minutes he had a clear path from the cabin to the Chevy. Carrie had never shoveled snow. Her father had a service, a nice middle-aged guy who came out with his plow to lay salt and do the driveways at the first sign of snow. And the US Forest Service always maintained the roads for its employees.
She watched Keegan’s movements—sure, strong and practiced. She didn’t doubt he could shovel his way to the main road if he had to.
Keegan left the shovel against the house and came to the Chevy and opened her door. Spreading his arms, he said, “Let’s go, princess. Your humble servant awaits.”
His condescending way of speaking to her prickled. She’d been called “princess” many times in the past, often from males who were suffering from what they called her cold shoulder. And sometimes from folks who referred to her as the favored third daughter of Martin and Maggie Foster. She hadn’t liked the reference then, and she liked it even less now. In truth, the Martins loved all their daughters equally, never showing favoritism of one over the others. Despite his problems with her lifestyle, Martin was a wonderful father, and Maggie once was a caring and loving mother. Unfortunately her advanced Alzheimer’s disease had robbed her of the ability to even communicate with her children now.
“Don’t call me that,” she said to Keegan. “I’m not a princess. I spend most of my time outdoors, where I’m a hard worker. I know what it’s like to have dirt under my fingernails.”
“Sorry.” He almost looked appropriately chastised. “It’s just a logical assumption. I mean you’re wearing a three-hundred-dollar coat and designer boots...”
“That means nothing. You own a piece of lakefront property and this castle made of logs, and I certainly wouldn’t make the mistake of calling you Prince Charming.”
He smiled, showing nice white teeth below the scrub of moustache on his upper lip. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll try to be more careful with the princess references.”
He scooped her into his arms and began carrying her to the cabin. “I’ll come back for the crutches they gave you.”
“Good. I’m sure I’ll get used to them quickly.”
“Oh, yeah. They’re a piece of cake. You ought to be running a marathon any day now.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic, and you don’t have to treat me like a baby.” Truthfully, she hadn’t felt so secure in a long time. Keegan had strong arms, a comfy broad chest and a sure step. What more could a princess want?
A cackle of laughter permeated the quiet air. It was followed by the raspy voice of an elderly man. “Hey, Keegan, what you got there? I sent you in for a couple of pills and you come back with a woman. When I send you to have my oxygen tank refilled, you’ll probably come back married!”
Keegan stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and whispered close to Carrie’s ear. “Do not tell this man that I’m your husband.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I only did that so I could get out of the hospital.”
“Hello, Duke,” Keegan said. “You going to make it?”
Carrie tried to see the visitor over Keegan’s shoulder, but either Keegan was too tall or the man was too short. His voice and a soft metallic squeak of the walker indicated that he was closer. “Yeah, just a few more feet to go.”
Keegan took Carrie inside and deposited her on a large comfortable sofa. “I’ll be right back,” he said, “just as soon as I get Duke his pills and fetch your crutches. You know what they say, a caretaker’s work is never done.”
She thought he might have smiled at her, but if so, he turned away quickly, pulled up his collar and went back into the cold.
Thirty minutes later Carrie had mastered the crutches well enough to make it to a small but tidy bathroom and back to the sofa again. The doctor had told her to use the sticks for a short time and then rely on the walking boot. The transition couldn’t come fast enough. Walking with crutches wasn’t for sissies, and neither was going over eight hours without a meal.
As if reading her mind, Keegan said, “We should eat. What do you want?”
What was he going to do, show her a menu? How much food could he have in this place? She decided to make it simple. “I usually have grilled cheese and tomato soup when I’m not feeling well.”
“I can manage that.” He headed to the kitchen and began opening cupboard doors. “One Christmas dinner coming up.”
Oh, yikes! Christmas! Carrie had left all the presents in her car. And she’d promised to call her family. She dug her cell phone out of her purse, settled into the sofa cushions to muffle her voice in Keegan’s small living room, and dialed her father’s number. She had to be careful with her words so her father wouldn’t conclude that she was having a problem or that she’d disobeyed his very strict orders. Thank goodness her young nephew, Wesley, answered the phone. Carrie adored the six-year-old.
“Hey, Aunt Carrie, this is the best Christmas ever, except you’re not here.”
“I know, sweetie. I miss everyone so much.”
They talked about his gifts and the giant tree that her sister Jude’s friend had brought them. Jude had been furious at first when Liam Manning had carried the tree into her small apartment above the barn at Dancing Falls, but she’d quickly adapted to the Christmas spirit once she realized that she was crazy about the man who’d brought her the tree.
Wesley passed the phone around and Carrie spoke to everyone. Her sister Jude seemed so much more cheerful than usual. And her sister Alexis’s newlywed status made her positively euphoric. Last, Carrie spoke to her niece, Lizzie, and then her father. Their conversation was especially brief, and she ended it with asking her dad to give her mother a kiss for her.
When she finally hung up without telling her family any of the events of her day, Carrie realized she truly did miss them all. But she wasn’t about to make her misfortune a reason for her sisters or father to start out on icy roads, or for her father to keep her at Dancing Falls forever.
“Everybody okay?”
Keegan’s voice cut through her melancholy. “Who? What do you mean?”
“Whoever you were talking to. I hope he had a nice Christmas.”
“If you mean my first-grade nephew, then, yes, he did.”
Keegan set a tray with two meals on an ottoman, and handed Carrie a napkin, a glass of water and a pain pill.
“This looks wonderful,” she said, breathing in the scent of melted cheese and warm tomatoes. She took the pill, and ate a few bites before saying, “Thanks for this, Keegan. And don’t worry about the sleeping arrangements. I’ll be fine on this sofa.”
“You’ll take the bed tonight,” he said matter-of-factly. “Can’t have you thrashing about on the sofa and maybe falling off.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll probably just sit up all night and stare at you.”
She widened her eyes at him. “Now, that’s just creepy.”
He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “I know, but that’s what these instructions from the hospital say I’m supposed to do. So take up the creepiness factor with the doctor.” He picked up his sandwich and the TV remote. “You watch the news?”
“Sure.”
They settled back to engage in world events and images of Christmas cheer until Carrie finished her dinner and fell asleep on the couch.
A few hours later, she didn’t know how many, she heard someone call her name. “Carrie, Carrie, wake up.”
CHAPTER THREE (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c)
“I’M SORRY,” a man’s voice said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She tried to erase the fog in her brain by taking deep breaths and sitting up. Unfortunately, nothing in her body seemed to be working. She heard herself moan.
“I figured you’d be sore,” the man said. “Usually takes a few hours after an accident for the muscles to tighten up.”
The past hours were slowly coming back to her. And the fact that she was in a cabin with a man she’d only just met. “Keegan?”
“Who else did you think it would be?” he said. “Don’t try to get up. I’m just checking on you. I’m supposed to wake you through the night.”
“I’m a little confused...”
A small lamp burned in the corner of an unfamiliar room. In the dim light, she attempted to acclimate herself to the surroundings. The last she remembered, she’d been watching an orchestra perform at the White House on a huge flat-screen TV. She’d been on the sofa. Now she was definitely in a bed. The room was cool and quiet.
“How did I get here?”
“Not on those crutches.”
“You carried me in here?”
He responded with a nod and withdrew a small metal cylinder from his shirt pocket. A flashlight. Carrie realized he’d changed clothes, trading his long-sleeved Henley shirt for a warmer flannel one. Apparently he’d showered, too. A fresh pine scent drifted to her nose. She loved the smell of pine.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“One a.m. I’ve got to give you a pill and check your pupils.”
“What for?”
“I’m not sure.” He looked at the paper he’d held earlier. “One might be larger than the other, or they both might be big. Or, hopefully, they both will be normal-sized. I’ve got to ask you some questions, too.”
He pushed a button, turning on the modern LED flashlight. She allowed him to hold up her eyelids and shine the light in her eyes.
“They look okay to me. Do you think you’re going to throw up?”
“What? No.”
“What’s your name?”
She frowned. “We don’t really have to do this, do we?” When he simply stared at her, she said, “Carrie.”
“Do you remember how you got here to my place?”
“Of course. I’m not confused anymore. My whole body hurts, and I’m tired. Can I go back to sleep now?”
“I’m supposed to ask you when you were born and who the president of the United States is.”
“I can put your mind at ease,” she said. “I was born thirty years ago, and the president is my boss. You can go because I’m quite fine, really.” She moved and pain sliced up her leg. “But not before you give me that pain pill.”
He handed her the pill and a glass of water. She pushed herself up in the bed and leaned against a pillow. And noticed that she wasn’t wearing her clothes. A soft cotton T-shirt fell loosely around her torso. “This shirt is yours?”
“It is.”
“How did I end up wearing it?” she asked. “Tell me you didn’t...”
“I did. But don’t get your princess panties in a twist.” He frowned. “Oops, sorry about the princess thing. You’re still wearing the underwear and socks you showed up in. There were blood stains on your sweater. I’ve washed it and hung it up to dry. You can reswaddle yourself appropriately in the morning.”
“I will.” She didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, angry or grateful. Or resentful of the way Keegan talked about undressing her as if it were an everyday occurrence for him.
He nodded toward the glass. “Drink up. My guess is the pain won’t be so bad in the morning, and we can cut down on the dosage.”
She did as he instructed. The water was cold and refreshing and felt good going down her throat. “I don’t have a fever, do I?”
“I don’t think so. I felt your forehead earlier.”
He was taking his nursing duties seriously. She noticed a wooden armchair next to the bed. “Have you been sitting there all night?”
“Pretty much.”
“That chair looks very uncomfortable.”
“It is, but don’t get carried away with gratitude. I remembered that you said you’d do the same for me, so I’m just paying it forward. I’ve got your phone number on speed dial for when I break a bone.”
She smiled. There was no way he could know her phone number unless he’d gone through her purse. He didn’t seem the sneaky type. Suddenly alert and wanting to talk, she said, “Have you ever had one?”
“One what?”
“Broken bone.”
He thought for a moment, a reaction she found strange. Either a person had suffered a broken bone or he hadn’t. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone would forget.
“Oddly,” he said, “I haven’t. Sprains, pulled tendons, a bullet hole, that sort of thing, but no breaks.”
She leaned forward. “Bullet hole?”
“Only one. I consider myself lucky, and I think that if they ever take an X-ray of my skeleton, they’ll discover that I’m made of titanium.”
“What do you do for a living that you get shot and wounded all the time?” She didn’t really believe him about the bullet. “Or do these injuries come from jealous boyfriends?”
“Nope. Generally speaking, no one has a reason to be jealous of me. As for my work, it did involve an element of danger. But I don’t do anything dangerous now. In any case, we all have a past, don’t we? Even you, I bet.”
“Sure. I’ve been bitten by spiders, got a raging case of poison ivy and once I got a giant splinter. But I work in the forest. You didn’t tell me what you did before living here.”
“Nope, I didn’t. I traveled a lot.” He took her glass. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“No, I’m okay for now.”
“I’m going into the living room, but I’ll be back to check on you.”
She couldn’t help noticing that he’d strategically ignored her question about his occupation. Was it because he was lying about the injuries? Or ashamed of how he’d gotten them?
“Call if you need anything,” he said as he shut the door, leaving her alone and wondering.
A few minutes later a smoky odor crept under the bedroom door. Carrie coughed, feeling her lungs constrict. “Keegan, what’s that awful smell?”
He opened the door. “A cigar. I have one every so often—mostly after really difficult days—or when I have unexpected company.”
“You can’t do that when I’m in the house. I have asthma.”
“You’re allergic to cigar smoke?”
“Among other things, but especially cigar smoke.”
He expelled a long breath obviously meant to convey his extreme self-sacrifice. “Fine, I’ll put it out. If anything else bothers you, I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
She smiled and snuggled into her pillow. She didn’t believe he was half as tough as he wanted people to think, especially when he whispered, “Merry Christmas.”
* * *
MONDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 26, Dr. Martin Foster’s family and home had pretty much returned to normal. His housekeeper, Rosie, had agreed to watch Wesley while his mom, Jude, went to the hospital to see the man she would soon marry. Alexis, her husband and her daughter had gone home to Columbus. Presents that hadn’t already been worn or played with were displayed neatly under the tree. The leftovers from a big meal were stored in the refrigerator for Monday night’s supper. And everyone agreed that it had been a nearly perfect holiday but would have been better if the Fosters’ youngest daughter, Carrie, had been home.
Dr. Foster’s breakfast was interrupted by a knock on the front door. He went to answer and was delighted to see Aurora, who owned Aurora’s Attic Bed and Breakfast, his immediate neighbor and Fox Creek’s newest enterprise.
Martin wiped a few toast crumbs from his chin as he opened the door. “Why don’t I just give you a key, Aurora?” he said. “It’s not like you aren’t as much a member of the family as the girls are.”
Dressed in her typical attire of jeans and a flannel blouse, she breezed by him carrying a white box. “Well, I’m not a member of your family, Marty, and to come in without knocking would just be rude, at least the way I was raised.” She smiled at him. “Besides, you can use the exercise that walking from the dining table to the front door gives you.”
He patted his stomach and thought about putting in an hour at the hospital gym later. At sixty-five, he was in great shape, but his own personal stuffing had settled around his waist since yesterday’s dinner with all the trimmings. He didn’t know how Aurora maintained her wiry, thin figure, especially when he smelled the contents of the box she was carrying. She must not eat her own cooking.
“Are those cinnamon rolls, or are you just trying to break my heart?” he asked her.
“They are cinnamon rolls,” she said, handing him the box. “I thought there might be enough family left to enjoy them this morning.”
“Oh, there is,” he teased. “Wesley and I will polish these off in no time, and Jude will be back from the hospital soon.” He started toward the kitchen. “I’ve got a few minutes. Come on in and have a cup of coffee.”
They sat at the kitchen table where Martin enjoyed a still-warm-from-the-oven roll. “Did you hear from your son last night?” he asked Aurora.
She shook her head. “I didn’t expect to. After he stole that money from me and took off, I figured I wouldn’t hear from William until he’d been arrested or—” her eyes clouded over “—worse.”
Martin wished there was something he could do to make Aurora’s situation with her son easier. She’d taken him in a few weeks ago when he’d gotten out of rehab, but the thirty-year-old had disappointed her again by taking cash and jewelry from her bedroom dresser. At least Aurora had convinced Martin that she’d come to terms with the kind of person William was, and she no longer held out hope that her baby boy would change.
He patted Aurora’s hand. “But yesterday was Christmas. I just thought...”
She gave him an aching sort of smile. “I doubt William even knew it was a holiday. Besides, I had your family to celebrate with. It was a wonderful Christmas with Alex and Lizzie, and Jude falling in love.”
“Yes, it was, but Carrie should have been here. I don’t know what I’m going to do about that one, Aurora. I want her home where I can take care of her. It’s almost like she resents having a doctor in the family.”
“I know how you feel, Marty, but Carrie doesn’t want to be taken care of.”
“She thinks she’s invincible, but I’ve seen her during those times when the asthma attacks severely limited her breathing. Her mother and I watched her carefully her whole life when she played or did chores, or, God forbid, even got near an animal or ragweed. And what does she do? Studies natural sciences and forestry in college and takes a job with the Forest Service where asthma triggers abound.”
Aurora smiled, which always worked to take the sting out of her words. “Marty, you say that as though her decision was her way of rebelling against so much parental interference.”
“I’ve thought about it. You know kids.”
“I’m not saying there couldn’t be an element of truth to your theory, but from what the girls tell me, Carrie truly loves trees and wants to care for the environment.”
“I suppose. But what she chose to do with her life defies all logic. If she should forget to take her pills, or can’t find her inhaler in an emergency...” He ran his fingers through his thick gray hair. “I’m surprised I haven’t lost every hair on my head worrying about that girl. Maggie and I thought she’d eventually outgrow some of her allergies, but they’ve only gotten worse, and Carrie has only gotten more stubborn.”
Aurora took a sip of coffee. “I’m sorry you worry so much about her, Marty.”
He smiled. Of all the people he knew, perhaps Aurora was the one who most understood. “One of these days, if I can pin Carrie down long enough, I’m going to make her do the sensible thing and stay here with me full-time.”
Aurora looked at him a few moments. “Oh, that should work well,” she said.
He chuckled. “I can dream about it at least...”
“Dr. Foster?”
Recognizing the voice of Maggie’s nurse, Martin stood and rushed to the bottom of the stairs. “What is it, Rebecca?”
“Maggie is refusing her food. She’s okay for now, but I thought you might want to come up and have a look.”
Martin turned and nearly ran into Aurora who had followed him from the kitchen. She nudged him forward. “Go. I’ll see myself out.”
He gave her shoulder a little squeeze as a goodbye and headed for the stairs. His life was caught in this awful middle ground. He was committed to the woman upstairs whom he loved beyond reason, and yet he had some strong feelings for the elfish, red-haired sprite of a woman he’d just watched leave. Aurora had come into his life as if she’d been sent to become a rudder for the difficult years he was having now.
And there was no denying the truth any longer. He cared deeply for her.
Less than a minute later, Martin sat at Maggie’s bedside. He took her hand and looked into her eyes, though her gaze was focused, as usual, on an indeterminate spot on the ceiling. “What’s this I hear, Maggie Mine? You don’t like your breakfast this morning?”
His wife looked pale, but otherwise she seemed as she did every morning, caught in the vacuum of her mind, a condition from which there was no escape. Alzheimer’s disease left struggling family members with far more questions than answers, like why did the heart keep beating strong when the mind seemed to have shut out every sound, sight, touch? It wasn’t fair, and to a healing man of science like Martin, it was fate’s dirty trick.
Martin pressed a spoon to Maggie’s lips. “It’s tea, darling, just the way you like it.” Her mouth twitched, but it was more an effort to keep the liquid from going in than a desire to taste it. Martin set the spoon on the nightstand. “That’s all right. You’re just not hungry. We’ll try later.”
Martin checked his watch. He was due at the hospital in forty-five minutes, and yesterday’s snow would make driving difficult. “I have to go, Maggie, but I’m planning to call Carrie in Michigan later today. I told you we all talked to her last night, and she seemed fine, but, I don’t know, I just feel that something’s not right.”
He fluffed Maggie’s pillow. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. What do I know about intuition anyway? It’s just that, of all our daughters, she is the one most removed from us and the one who most keeps me awake at night. Jude is barely a half mile away in the barn. Alex is a mere three-hour drive away in Columbus. But Carrie, she travels the country, determined to save the forests while I sit here and fret.”
He bent and kissed his wife’s forehead. “I can well imagine what you would say to me, Maggie darling, what common sense advice you would give me. But I can’t change who I am any more than you can change who you are.” He smoothed a hand over her forehead. “It’s up to me now, to worry for both of us. And I’m doing a bang-up job of it.”
* * *
CARRIE OPENED HER eyes to a dull throbbing in her head. The room was still mostly dark, but it was morning. She could see sunlight streaming around the heavy window shades. A digital clock next to the bed read eight thirty. Surely she could take another pain pill now.
She sat up and carefully moved her booted leg to the edge of the mattress. The crutches were against the wall within her reach, so she stood on one leg, tucked the aluminum torture sticks under her arms and headed out the door, aware that the T-shirt she wore barely covered her fanny. Well, no time for modesty now. She had to use the bathroom.
When she had accomplished that task, including rubbing a bit of Keegan’s toothpaste over her teeth, she went into the living room. A fire still burned in the fireplace, turning the chill of the bedroom into a cozy warmth. She next needed to see to another necessity—food. She was starving.
She poured coffee into a mug left on the counter, and, fearful of spilling it while trying to reach a chair with her crutches, she stood against the counter and took a long, welcome sip. And wondered where Keegan was.
The question was answered promptly. The front door opened. A man’s heavy steps pounded the porch, an obvious attempt to rid his boots of snow. And then Keegan appeared with her suitcase in his hand.
“Good morning,” he said, whipping off his ball cap and shaking snow from the brim. “I thought I’d be back before you woke up.”
She blinked. “You have my bag.”
“I do. I remembered that we hadn’t locked the car yesterday, so I went to see if I could get your things. Luckily the bag was in that small area behind the seats.”
“What about all the presents? Were they still there?”
“Yes, I think so. Did you want me to bring them here?”
“No. They’ll be all right. You locked the car?”
“I did.”
“Thank you. I can’t wait to put on clean clothes.” She cringed before asking the next question. “How did the car look?”
“Still mostly like a pile of snow.”
“Great.”
“I scraped some of it off so the tow truck can at least find the vehicle.”
“Have you called anyone yet?” Considering that it was Monday, and Christmas was officially over, businesses should be operating as normal.
“No. We’re going to have to get someone from Sandusky where the hospital is located. That’s the closest town. I don’t want to make decisions for you. It’s only right that you talk to them and get the charges first.”
She recalled the salesman’s words when she bought the car. “It won’t be easy to get repairs,” he’d said. “But that’s true for all foreign makes.”
And then there’d been her father’s warning. “Don’t buy that car, honey. It offers no protection. Get something sturdy and solid instead.”
As usual she hadn’t listened. She had to have the adorable thing. “Like it matters what the charges are,” she said to Keegan. “I have to pay it.” She drank more coffee, relieved that the headache had abated some and she was beginning to feel more like herself.
Keegan took a skillet from under the stove and set it on a burner. “One thing though, Carrie... If the car won’t start, there really isn’t any reason to have it towed here to the campground. It should go back to the shop where it can be serviced. I use a guy named Grady. He knows engines and all the diagnostic tests they use on cars these days, and his prices are fair.”
“Does he know foreign cars?”
“I’m sure he does, though models like yours are a rarity around here.”
“I’ll call him.” Carrie stared longingly at the skillet. “What are you planning to do with that?”
He removed a tub of butter from his refrigerator. “After I get you settled in a chair, I plan to make bacon and eggs. If you behave yourself and put your leg up, I just might share.”
She could almost taste what she imagined would be the best meal of her life. “Keegan?”
He peeled a few slices of bacon and dropped them into the skillet. “Yeah?”
“After breakfast I’d really like to have a shower.”
“Sure. If you think you can manage.”
She smiled as innocently as her mischievous sense of humor allowed. “I thought you’d help me.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c)
HE ALMOST DROPPED the spatula he was using to flip the bacon. Without looking at Carrie, he said, “You want me to help you take a shower?”
Her laughter was infectious and at the same time intimidating. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”
He grunted under his breath. “Take it from someone who knows a bit about words, little girl. You should watch what you say to avoid finding yourself in a heap of trouble.”
“Quit calling me little girl and princess and all those other demeaning names.”
He scrambled three eggs. “Sorry. You’re right.”
“Why do you know so much about words? Do you do crossword puzzles?”
“Never. My interest goes beyond knowing what q words don’t have a u following them.”
“So, you’re a writer?”
“I write a bit.” She was curious this morning, and he was just as determined to keep his anonymity. Once a person realized who he was, who he had been, the questions began, and so did the reliving. Unless he was writing, Keegan had no interest in remembering his past.
She shrugged, accepting his succinct answers. “About the shower, I meant what I said. I certainly need help. You can get me into the bathroom, turn on the water, lay out some clean clothes and then leave. Oh, and maybe put a plastic bag over this soft cast.”
He turned the bacon once more. Concentrating on cooking was not as simple as it had been a minute ago. Maybe he’d allowed his mind to wander to inappropriate places. “I can do that,” he said.
He brought a plate to the table and escorted her to a chair. “Toast is coming up.”
“This looks great.” She took the paper towel he’d left by her place mat and settled it on her lap. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“You call this cooking? I call it survival training. Some of the places I lived, I’d have to prepare a meal and eat it before the insects could carry it off the plate.”
“You make it sound like you lived somewhere in the outback.”
Close. Though the outback would have been easier. He went to get her toast, and brought his plate to the table. He took the only other chair available and sat across from her. The third chair, the one his grandmother and grandfather had used when he visited, was still sitting by Carrie’s bed. She looked refreshed this morning, like maybe the pain had subsided and she could make a decision about her immediate future. But the bandage on her swollen forehead was surrounded by a sickening purplish color which he knew must be tender to the touch.
“How are you feeling?” he asked after they’d both consumed most of their breakfasts.
“Pretty good. I slept well, but that’s because I had the bed. Tonight we’ll switch. I don’t want to take up your bed when you need it. I’ll be fine on the couch.”
Tonight? He stared at the top of her head. Had that been a slip of the tongue or was she planning to stay another night? And another? He thought she’d be gone by this afternoon. Well, okay. He could deal with one more night if he had to. Heaven knew, he’d dealt with worse situations than this. But what did she think would change after the second night? She’d suddenly be cured?
After breakfast he helped her into the bathroom, lowered her to the closed toilet lid and set out a washcloth and towel. He then brought a large black plastic bag which he used to wrap her leg from her foot to her knee and secured it with duct tape. “That should work.”
“Where did you put my bag?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Okay. Would you pick out some clean clothes for me? My shampoo and conditioner is in a zippered case on the right side of the suitcase.”
“What clothes do you want?”
“I don’t care. Anything is fine.”
“Be right back.” He went into the bedroom, transferred the suitcase to the bed and opened it. A pleasant scent wafted up to his nostrils, and he resisted the urge to see where the floral fragrance originated. Not your business, Breen, he told himself. He picked out a pair of sweatpants, a shirt and some underwear, and went back to the bathroom.
Carrie gave him a strange, almost critical glare when she saw his choices.
“You told me to pick something,” he said. “Do you have a problem with this stuff?”
“Not with the sweatpants. The boot will fit around the ankle with no problem, but...” She held up a jersey knit shirt that had been embellished with silver beads. She’d brought it along in case her family wanted to go out to dinner. “Are we going someplace fancy tonight?”
“Which is why I asked what you wanted,” he said. “I just grabbed the first things I saw.”
“I understand. Just bring me a simple T-shirt. They are rolled up at the bottom of the case.”
He reached for a small bundle, held it up and wished he hadn’t. “Your underwear?” The miniscule thing hardly seemed to fit its description. Keegan was not comfortable around lace, especially when there was such a small amount of it connecting two triangles of nylon.
“Well, yes, but I wear that when I want to achieve the three f’s.”
“Which are?”
“Feminine, fancy and fun. I don’t think this situation applies.”
Darned right. Keegan would have felt better holding up a cotton brief he could have used as the jib sail on his boat. “I’ll put it back.”
“Never mind. It will do.” She waved her hand to dismiss him. “If you’ll just bring another shirt, I’ll manage.”
He set the bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the shower, brought a different shirt for her and left. As he picked up the breakfast dishes, all he could think about were those tantalizing scraps of lace.
She came out of the bathroom a short while later wearing the sweatpants and the green T-shirt which said Save a Tree, I Value My Job. Keegan smiled at the shirt. “I guess you really are a tree hugger.”
“I like things that grow and bloom and change with the seasons. Always have. I guess I believe that if people are close to nature, they can change, too.”
“Is there a human person in your life you love as much as you love trees?”
“A few,” she said. “But overall, I find it much easier and more comfortable to cultivate relationships with nature, cultivate being the definitive word. Trees adapt to their environment. Too many people don’t even bother trying. They settle into lives of stagnation.”
Keegan cringed inside. He’d been basically living a stagnant life for over a year, and he’d been fine with it. He wondered how her job choice fit in with her illness. Keegan didn’t know a whole lot about asthma, but he did know it was not curable. Once you had asthma, you had it forever. “So how do you manage your asthma out in the wilderness?” he asked her.
She sat on the sofa and patted the damp bandage on her forehead. He reminded himself to change the dressing for her.
“With medications and common sense. Asthma can be controlled if a person is aware of their triggers.”
“And what are your triggers?”
Her full mouth twisted in a frown of acceptance. “Almost everything. I have allergic asthma along with the standard one-size-fits-all variety. But I medicate every day and always keep a bronchial dilator handy for emergencies. And just so you know, I don’t live in the wilderness. I work in urban reforestation. There’s a big difference. The most remote areas I get to are acreage around lakes, public parks, that sort of thing.”
“And exactly how does a person reforest an urban area, with tree houses?” He thought he’d made quite the clever joke. At least she smiled. Oddly, he was truly interested in her answer. But he’d always been a fanatic about learning what he didn’t know.
“By choosing the right trees for a particular area. Just because a property is urban doesn’t mean it can’t use trees for beautification. We call them ‘working trees.’ Some we plant for shade, some for soil improvement, some to prevent erosion... The list goes on.”
“So your job is not just a matter of ‘there’s a good spot for a tree?’”
“Hardly. For instance, if I were to reforest this patch of ground you live on...”
“Hold on,” he said. “This property is as is and where is. I suppose there are a few dead trees and shrubs, but for what I have planned, it doesn’t need beautifying.” I’m selling it just like it sits, dead trees and all. It won’t matter once a five-story hotel occupies the acreage.
She frowned at him. “Obviously I wasn’t planning to go outside with a shovel and get to work. Do what you want. It’s your property. Besides, I haven’t even seen it in the daylight. There may have been so much neglect that it would be too costly to regenerate the soil.”
Now she was just being contrary or trying to make him feel guilty. So much neglect? Granted, no one had taken care of this place in years. But surely it was still salvageable. Doesn’t matter, Breen, he said to himself. When the hotel is here, when all the tree roots had been removed...
Wanting to change the subject, he put the last of the washed dishes in a cupboard. At that moment a persistent scratching sounded on the cabin front door, followed by a bump and a thump. “I suppose I should warn you about something...”
Before he could explain, the door opened, and a large dog bounded inside, leaving snowy paw prints on the floor. The animal headed straight for Keegan, tongue hanging out and tail twisting with wild enthusiasm.
“...about the dog,” he said.
She laughed. “Glad I took my medication this morning. He’s beautiful.”
“She. Flo is a female Irish setter.”
“Is she yours?”
“No. Belongs to Duke, but she likes to split her time between the two of us.”
Flo picked that moment to shake vigorously, sending snowflakes fluttering around the cabin.
“I’d love to pet her,” Carrie said. “But so not a good idea.”
“Yeah, among the triggers you talked about, dog hair must be a biggie.”
“Yep, it is. My sister has a dog, but she always keeps Mutt at least a hundred yards away from me.”
Keegan took a dog treat from a canister, teased Flo with it a few moments and finally let her win. Then he walked to the open front door and snapped his fingers. “Out now, girl. Go find a chipmunk to chase.”
The dog obeyed. If only all females were as cooperative as this Irish setter. He closed the door. “Are you ready to make that phone call to Grady?” he asked Carrie.
“Oh, right. Sure.”
“Just remember, even if he gets your car running, you can’t drive it. You’ll have to get two people to come and get both you and the car.”
“So you keep telling me.”
He brought her the number, and she dug her cell phone out of her purse. Once she’d made the arrangements to have her vehicle towed, he unpacked the supplies a nurse had given him at the hospital. Ointment, gauze, sterile tape. “Let me put a clean bandage on your forehead.”
She sat still, letting him do his clumsy thing. Good grief, Breen, your hands didn’t shake this badly when you were in a war zone with IEDs exploding around you. But then, embedding with a bunch of military guys was far different from cohabitating with this one delicate female. At least his world, as unexciting as it had been pre-Carrie, would go back to normal once she called in her own personal troops to get her out of here.
As unexciting as it was... Keegan lived with the reality that his life now was uneventful. When he wasn’t working on his book, he watched television news broadcasts. He still couldn’t quite get his fill of news. Now, since Princess Carrie had plowed into a snowbank within shouting distance of his cabin, he felt like he was approaching the starting gate of a wild roller coaster ride, which might involve facing feelings again. There were too many feelings he didn’t want to relive except on a computer screen.
What was it about Carrie that intrigued him? He didn’t want to be intrigued. She was all smiles and hope and consumed with nature. Keegan was the exact opposite. And he was growing accustomed to a low-energy existence. Yet, he was intrigued. He figured his all-but-forgotten libido would settle down once she headed to wherever home was. And he could go back to sleeping in his bed and the nightmares that plagued him every night. Now if he could just get rid of that recurring pain...
She lightly touched her forehead where he’d just applied the bandage.
He occupied his inexperienced hands with putting away the amateur doctoring equipment. “How does that feel?” he asked.
“Fine. You do good work, doc.”
He huffed a disbelieving breath. “Hopefully you won’t get gangrene. Want me to help you to the sofa and turn on the TV?”
“Sure. I could watch something, I guess.”
He started to help her to her feet when he heard a knock on his door.
“Geez, Breen,” she said. “Aren’t you a card-carrying hermit?”
He frowned. “I thought so, but it’s a bit like Times Square around here this morning.” He went to the door and opened it to a rather large woman with a heavy winter coat and a scarf around her frizzy gray hair. She held a basket in her hands.
“Oh, it’s you, Delores,” he said.
She thrust the basket toward him. “Scones. Just made ’em warm from the oven.”
He hesitated. “Take them,” she ordered. “I can’t eat a dozen scones.”
No one could, he thought. But maybe Carrie could help. He glanced at Carrie. Her bright eyes told him that Delores’s English accent might have mistakenly indicated that the woman actually knew how to make a good scone. Wait until Carrie tasted one. She’d learn soon enough that accents do not automatically hint at good bakers.
He raised the cloth around the biscuits and pressed on one with his thumb. Yep. Dry and hard as ever. “Thanks, Delores.”
She stuck her head inside the cabin, looked around, spied Carrie and said, “Hello there, darling. I heard Keegan had some company.”
“That makes you, Duke, Flo and me who know about this arrangement,” Keegan said, nodding at Carrie. “This is Carrie. Carrie, Delores. Now all the people that matter know that I have company, and I don’t see any reason to tell anyone else.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you implying that I’m a gossip?”
“Ever since you invested in a cell phone,” he said.
“Why are you trying to keep this lovely young lady a secret, Keegan? What have you got up your sleeve?”
“Nothing but my arm,” he said attempting to close the door and send a clear message. But Delores was too quick for him and had apparently just noticed the walking boot on Carrie’s leg. She was inside and removing her scarf before he could step out of her way.
“Oh, my, you poor dear,” she said, casting a disapproving glare at Keegan. “You didn’t do this to her, did you?”
His jaw dropped. “You know, Delores, I should start charging you rent. Sometimes your conclusion jumping is just too much!”
Carrie quickly came to his defense. “I had a car accident. Keegan has been a perfect gentleman and a fairly good nurse. In truth, he more or less got stuck with me after pulling me out of a snowbank.”
Delores patted Carrie’s hand. “Well, that’s fine, then. He could use a little company in this place. I live just out back in the yellow unit by the tree line. If you need anything, just open the bedroom window and holler. I’ll hear you.”
Carrie smiled. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. I’m only here temporarily until my car is fixed.”
Now she was staying until her car was fixed? When would that be? A couple of days? A week?
“I’ll be on my way, then,” Delores said. She rewrapped the scarf and headed for the door. As she left, she called back, “Ta-ra, then, see you cozy couple later.”
One glance at Carrie’s round eyes confirmed that she had heard the comment.
When he’d shut the door on the latest visitor, Keegan set the basket of scones on his table and grumbled. “Neighbors. Never liked ’em. Never will.”
Carrie responded as casually as her telltale grin allowed. “Except one you risk your life for to get his medicine. And the other you let live here rent-free.”
“They both live here rent-free,” he grudgingly admitted. “They sort of came with the property when I moved in.”
She nodded slowly. “I see. Then what choice did you have?”
Not much. And when the property sold, he thought, both of those decrepit trailers and their nosy old residents would have to go. And he sure wasn’t taking them with him.
* * *
THE CLOSEST CARRIE had gotten to fresh air on this first full day of confinement had been when she stuck her head out the kitchen window. Ordinarily she never went a full twenty-four hours without being in the open, communicating with the trees and plants she loved so much. But unwilling to test her walking boot in the snow, she’d had to settle for a deep breath of cold, crisp Ohio winter air from the windowsill. Cold almost didn’t describe the outside temperature. Frigid, freezing, approaching zero was more accurate.
Her decision to test the environment had almost caused an asthma reaction. When she felt the first signs of laboring lungs, she quickly drew her head back inside and closed the window. Bitter cold temperatures were not kind to asthma sufferers, which was why Carrie had recently made plans with the US Forest Service to send her for the worst of the winter to Tennessee where the temperatures were fairly moderate. Now, of course, with this broken bone, she might have to reconsider.
So, as darkness settled around the cabin, she thought about her future. If she didn’t go to Tennessee on her next assignment, and if she didn’t go back to Michigan where temperatures could be almost as severe as Ohio’s, what would she do? Swallow her pride and go home to Dancing Falls where her father would pamper her until she felt like a near invalid?
While she was growing up, her father had constantly checked the outside temperatures to determine if his youngest daughter could go out and play. If the thermometer dropped below thirty-five, she was bundled in a snowsuit, mittens and a hat. And still her father watched from a window.
And he wondered now why Carrie had chosen to work in nature and a lifestyle that allowed her to choose for herself when she could go outside. Independence was a wonderful thing, and the Fosters had encouraged all their daughters to be independent, even if their teaching backfired occasionally. The Forest Service had been an understanding employer, allowing Carrie to move assignments according to climate changes. But her father still believed that he, and only he, knew best.
Blocking the low drone of the television, Carrie continued thinking about her father. She loved him dearly. He was sweet, caring and brilliant. His current life was divided between his career and his responsibilities to his ill wife. And yet he still found time to fuss over Carrie. Every phone call, every visit was always punctuated by questions on her health, reminders to take medicine, gentle urges to get her to come home. And she couldn’t convince him that she was fully capable of making her own choices and monitoring her health. She didn’t even want to think of his reaction to her foolish decision yesterday. Embarking on a five-hour trip in a snowstorm had not been such a good choice, as it turned out.
How different her life would have been if her mother, Maggie, were still the vibrant, funny, sensible woman who’d raised the girls into early adulthood. She would have understood Carrie’s need to be herself, her striving for normalcy in the career she’d chosen. She would have balanced Martin Foster’s obsessive worry with calm rationality. Maybe their new neighbor, Aurora, who’d become a trusted friend to her father and sisters, could provide the support her father so desperately needed.
Carrie’s thoughts were interrupted by the local weather report. She sat up straight on the sofa and hit the volume button on the TV.
“Fairer temperatures, a slow warming trend...lots of sunshine with highs tomorrow in the upper thirties.”
Carrie smiled. Practically bathing suit weather in northern Ohio. Tomorrow she could go outside and investigate these seven acres which seemed to not matter to Keegan Breen. The prospect made her almost giddy.
She turned off the television, leaned into the comfortable sofa cushion and closed her eyes. Keegan had been stuck at his computer most of the afternoon, doing what, Carrie didn’t have the faintest idea. Now he was in the bedroom with the door partially closed. But she could hear his voice, low, peaceful...almost loving. The mellow timbre of his words vibrated deep inside her in a soothing, comforting way, as if she could listen to that voice all night.
“Sounds like you had a good Christmas,” he said. “Did you do anything special to celebrate?” There was a pause after which he said, “No, I don’t need to talk to her. The check arrived, I assume.” Another pause. “You’re welcome. I love you, Taylor.”
Keegan uttered a few more words which Carrie couldn’t make out. Then she heard him disconnect with a simple, “Take care of yourself.” Carrie opened her eyes as he came into the living room rubbing the back of his neck. He suddenly seemed tired.
Carrie sat up. “Everything okay?”
“Sure. Why would you ask?”
“I heard part of your conversation,” she said.
“You were listening to my phone call?”
“Not intentionally, but you didn’t close the door all the way.”
“I thought you were watching TV.”
“I turned it off.” She waited for him to say something else. He went into the kitchen and started making a pot of coffee. “If you’d like to talk about anything...” She laughed softly. “I am the perfect captive audience.”
He turned away from the coffeemaker to stare at her. “Carrie, if you want to know who I was talking to, why don’t you just ask?”
“Okay. Who were you talking to?”
“My son. He lives in Seattle. And again I just spent another Christmas away from him.”
“That can’t be easy.”
“It’s not, but over the years I’ve missed plenty of holidays, and I’ve got no one to blame but myself.” He pressed the button on the coffee brewer. “You want a cup? It’s decaf.”
“Sure, thanks. And, Keegan...?”
“What?”
“You must be divorced from the boy’s mother, right?”
“That’s a logical assumption.”
“Did she not invite you to spend Christmases with your son? Did she keep him from coming to see you?”
He frowned, and she hoped she hadn’t crossed a boundary of privacy. But he seemed like he was having a tough time with missing his son.
“My ex-wife isn’t an unreasonable person,” he said. “I’m just not Daddy-of-the-year material. Let’s leave it at that.”
Wow. Keegan’s conversation with his son had been short and almost awkward. Yet his voice had been comforting, his tone almost sweet. If she had to guess—and since he wasn’t going to say anything else, what other choice did she have—she concluded that he had genuine feelings for his son.
“Okay,” she said. “Conversation closed. You take the bed. I’ll sleep fine on the sofa.”
“Never mind.” He took a long sip of coffee and brought a mug to her. “I won’t be sleeping much tonight anyway.”
CHAPTER FIVE (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c)
KEEGAN’S CELL PHONE rang early the next morning. He answered it right away and spoke in a near whisper, obviously trying to keep from disturbing Carrie in the bedroom. His voice was alert, as if he’d been awake a long time, or perhaps, as he’d said, hadn’t slept much at all.
“Oh, hello, Grady,” he said. “No, she’s not up yet, and I don’t want to disturb her.”
“It’s all right,” Carrie called out. “I’m awake.” She glanced at the bedroom clock. Eight o’clock. Sunlight streamed through the window blinds promising a beautiful day, just what she’d hoped for.
Keegan’s head appeared in the opening of the bedroom door. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
He entered the room, and she sat up against the pillows. She pulled a comforter over her sleeveless nightgown and placed her arms over the top, wrapping herself in a modest cocoon. The only times she had been this underdressed with a man had not turned out well for her. She lightly clasped the amethyst amulet she always wore around her neck, appreciating its smooth familiarity.
Keegan smiled while his gaze grew more intense. “Warm enough?” he said.
She brushed bangs from her eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m good. That’s the car mechanic on the phone, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Hold on. I’ll put him on speaker.” Keegan pressed the appropriate button. “Go on, Grady. Carrie’s listening.”
“We’ve got a problem,” the mechanic said. “I checked the car out thoroughly yesterday but couldn’t figure out why it wouldn’t start. Finally found the problem. The impact destroyed the steering box.”
Carrie leaned forward in the bed. “That sounds bad.”
“It’s not good,” Grady said. “Without a steering box, you can’t...well, I guess it’s obvious. Unfortunately this is not a universal gizmo. I’ve had to contact the foreign automaker and order a replacement. Once it gets here, I don’t know how long it will take me to get the car running again. I’ve never exchanged this particular part before.”
“I see.” Carrie stared at Keegan, trying to judge his patience barometer. Was this news already ruining his day? She’d taken a week off from her job, so she wouldn’t be expected back in Michigan until after the coming weekend. But that might be too long for Keegan to put up with her.
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Cynthia Thomason
Life is meant to be livedSurprising her family for Christmas seems like a good idea…until Carrie Foster loses control of her car in a freak blizzard. Now she’s stuck in the middle of nowhere with a fractured leg, the unplanned-for guest of the man who saved her life.Keegan Breen lives in a secluded cabin on his family’s neglected campgrounds, which nature-lover Carrie sees as a potential paradise. The haunted war correspondent is a world away from the boy he was once. But together, can they prove the cynics wrong and show that opposites can not only attract, but be soul mates?
Life is meant to be lived
Surprising her family for Christmas seems like a good idea...until Carrie Foster loses control of her car in a freak blizzard. Now she’s stuck in the middle of nowhere with a fractured leg, the unplanned-for guest of the man who saved her life.
Keegan Breen lives in a secluded cabin on his family’s neglected campgrounds, which nature-lover Carrie sees as a potential paradise. The haunted war correspondent is a world away from the boy he was once. But together, can they prove the cynics wrong and show that opposites can not only attract, but be soul mates?
“I’m a realist, Carrie. You’re a...”
“I know what I am! Go ahead, be cynical.” She glared at him, an inner fire now lighting her eyes. “You were a good reporter. Heck, you’re even famous. But here’s what I think. I think you got some kind of kick out of seeing the awfulness of mankind. I think it confirms what your dark, brooding soul has always believed—that our world is a miserable place. And that, Keegan Breen, is just plain sad, and that’s why I feel sorry for you.”
“You know what I think, Carrie?”
She scowled. “I think you’ve made it quite clear.”
He smiled, because in truth he was enjoying this moment more than many he’d experienced in a long time. He more than liked this fighter Carrie. He more than admired her. “I think we’ve pegged each other pretty accurately. We haven’t been together two weeks yet, and we know each other as well as if we’d been friends for years.”
Secretly, he was starting to hope they could be more...
Dear Reader (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c),
This is the final love story about three sisters, The Daughters of Dancing Falls. I hope you’ve enjoyed the journey of each of the unique women, who are bound together by their love for each other and their caring father. No family dynamic is perfect. It takes work, patience and love to nurture the bond of parent and child.
In this book, Carrie’s story, this youngest daughter flexes her independence muscles despite having challenges to face. All her life she fought against her father’s overbearing concern, and only when she meets a man who seems her complete opposite does she learn what it means to see the world from another person’s point of view—even her father’s. I sincerely hope that Carrie’s struggle to be herself while recognizing her special gift to help another person heal will be a satisfying end to a series I loved writing.
Cynthia
PS: I enjoy hearing from readers. You may contact me at cynthoma@aol.com or visit my website, cynthiathomason.net (http://www.cynthiathomason.net).
Rescued by Mr. Wrong
Cynthia Thomason
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CYNTHIA THOMASON inherited her love of writing from her ancestors. Her father and grandmother both loved to write, and she aspired to continue the legacy. Cynthia studied English and journalism in college, and after a career as a high-school English teacher, she began writing novels. She discovered ideas for stories while searching through antiques stores and flea markets and as an auctioneer and estate buyer. Cynthia says every cast-off item from someone’s life can ignite the idea for a plot. She writes about small towns, big hearts and happy endings that are earned and not taken for granted. And as far as the legacy is concerned, just ask her son, the magazine journalist, if he believes.
This book is dedicated to anyone who ever felt that true love was just beyond their grasp.
Don’t ever stop reaching.
Contents
Cover (#u866875ff-7ace-5c0e-8958-de2711ee1dcc)
Back Cover Text (#uaf5d1e11-9828-529f-afc2-c79b4d1cd87e)
Introduction (#uae83524a-cbf4-51eb-8dd7-d23dfb09436b)
Dear Reader (#u2ed2ca6c-34ab-5d8c-986f-4ace8f8733f1)
Title Page (#u4ab6784d-9aef-544f-b205-ad73617bd360)
About the Author (#u67c2c126-0f30-514d-aeb0-3acb4b450646)
Dedication (#u5b3a99c0-5af3-5f0a-8fd5-21ea71635ea3)
PROLOGUE (#u7c89c0c8-3b50-5342-87fd-89e0f6c2fc85)
CHAPTER ONE (#uf28086b4-60c9-5a5d-b976-6af33ad88a90)
CHAPTER TWO (#u71319cbb-04e5-594a-adff-dff126fc4b6a)
CHAPTER THREE (#u73987a6b-5263-5175-8a62-b43cc8cc27be)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u91c90e93-d709-544d-837c-6a2b4d347341)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u5a44638c-597c-5fc6-8fc6-fa1885dff4fb)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c)
“WHITEOUT CONDITIONS.” Those had been the radio forecaster’s words just a few minutes ago as Carrie slowly navigated the lakeshore route to her home in Fox Creek, Ohio. She couldn’t recall ever driving on such treacherous roads before, but now she knew exactly what was meant by “whiteout.” The paleness of the snow-covered asphalt seemed to blend with the white of the air around her as flurries mounted in intensity. The horizon had been obliterated, making the lanes of the highway indistinct and the sun only a gray, hazy memory. Her surroundings were muddled together, a vacuum of white, starkness and cold.
The sudden blizzard wasn’t the only frosty aspect of this holiday season. Her chilly conversation with her father last night was still fresh in her mind.
“I’m very disappointed, Carrie,” her father had said. “This is the first time you’ve missed Christmas, and I can’t imagine what is more important than being with your family.”
Once again her father had used the guilt factor to persuade her to do what he thought was best. Carrie was tired of explaining all her decisions. Besides, no one in the Foster family understood Carrie’s devotion to trees, especially the shoreline birches of central Michigan lakes that were showing serious effects of pesticide treatment.
Even worse, her father had followed up by announcing, “I’ve made you an appointment with a brilliant new allergist, Dr. Hower, for December 26. I don’t want to cancel.”
“Not another allergist, Dad,” she’d said. “We all know what I’m allergic to—nearly everything. I won’t be prodded and poked anymore!”
“Fine. Have it your way.” He’d been angry, but after a moment his tone had leveled. “Honey, I am the doctor in this family, and I’m only thinking of you.”
That statement had calmed her since it was true. Unfortunately, her father’s concern and medical expertise had left her longing for independence her entire life and a lot less mothering from her caring father. This time she was determined to chart her own course, which meant monitoring the experiments with her trees and refusing more asthma treatments.
Dr. Martin Foster had ended their uncomfortable conversation with a warning. “If you change your mind...”
“Daddy, I won’t.”
“If you do, don’t set out in the morning. Bad weather is predicted for Christmas Day.” As if he didn’t trust her to do anything he told her, he’d added, “I mean it, Carrie. Don’t drive if the forecast is unfavorable.”
When would he ever stop treating her like the baby of the family? Even babies grew up, and she was thirty years old. However, by that evening, Christmas Eve, she’d mellowed. With promises from her crew to continue her work, she’d decided to tackle the five-hour drive in the morning and arrive at her father’s estate, Dancing Falls, in time for Christmas dinner. She’d loaded her car with gifts and headed south for the normally easy drive. Hopefully she’d miss the worst of the weather.
But typical of Ohio winters, a freak blizzard, worse than predicted, had blown in off Lake Erie. The turnpike closed almost immediately, but the traffic app on her iPhone showed that the local two-lane roads were being cleared, leaving her route along the lake passable. That was a few hours ago. Now, in midafternoon, she still had more than two hours to drive in rapidly deteriorating conditions.
Carrie slowed her small foreign car, impractical for blizzard conditions, to a crawl, and was still unable to determine where the road ended and the shoulder began. She hadn’t seen another pair of headlights in miles, so she wasn’t worried about hitting another car. She gripped her steering wheel and plowed ahead. This storm couldn’t last forever. She pictured her father sitting in his chair by the fireplace, secure in the knowledge that his daughter wouldn’t dare ignore his warning and be foolish enough to set out in a storm. He would be furious if he knew she was out in this weather.
Vapor collected on the inside of her windshield, so Carrie lowered her window a few inches to let in fresh air. Just in case, she reached inside the pocket of her purse where she always kept her inhaler. Sometimes, thank goodness not often, a sudden blast of frigid air could bring on an asthma attack.
This was obviously not her lucky day. The wind rushed around the knit stocking cap over her head and seemed to flow downward and settle directly in her lungs. She felt her airways constrict with a tingling pain that signaled a problem. She put the inhaler between her lips, depressed the button and breathed in the lifesaving medicine.
Several seconds later she found herself staring into a pair of bright gold eyes. She braked suddenly, and her heart raced as she realized she was sliding toward a deer, a beautiful fawn-colored creature who stood in the road and was probably as shocked to find herself out on a day like this as Carrie was. Carrie swerved. The deer took flight.
Before she could contemplate the miracle that the deer’s life had been spared, Carrie’s car skidded on a patch of ice. She braked with a slow and steady pressure as she’d been taught by a driver’s education instructor. The car began to fishtail. Turn the steering wheel in the direction of the skid or away from it? She couldn’t remember. She lost control. The car veered off the road as if it had a mind of its own and spun in a complete circle before plowing into a bank of snow and hitting something solid.
Carrie felt the impact in every bone. A sharp pain sliced up her right leg as the car’s air bag exploded around her chest. Her forehead connected with a bone-rattling jolt against the top of the steering wheel. Carrie thought of her family snug and safe at Dancing Falls. Images of her two sisters, her niece and nephew, her dad, swirled in her mind before she lost consciousness.
CHAPTER ONE (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c)
LATELY, KEEGAN BREEN was the last person anyone should count on to run an errand of mercy. And he was just fine with that. He didn’t ask anyone to do anything for him, and he appreciated the return consideration. However, this Christmas Day was something of an emergency. His neighbor Duke struggling to cope with memory loss associated with his eighty-six years, had forgotten to order his heart medication, and he needed to take it every day, or... Well, even Keegan didn’t want to be responsible for that.
So Keegan had called Duke’s doctor and discovered that the MD had some samples of Duke’s meds in his home. Keegan then ventured out in the snow to pick up a couple of pills. What had started out as a short twelve-mile journey to town in light snowfall had now become an hour’s pain-in-the-neck trek in blizzard conditions.
“Lake-effect snow,” Keegan muttered to himself. A person never knew when it would do its worst, but that was the chance he took living on the shore of Lake Erie. Thank goodness his seven-year-old Chevy Tahoe—with its 350 horses, V-8 engine and two tons of steel on a truck chassis—could barrel through almost anything.
He slowed for the curve about a mile from the abandoned Cedar Woods Campground where Keegan lived in the old camp store and Duke lived in a small trailer. Through the whiteout conditions, Keegan managed to see a pair of red taillights glowing faintly from a mound of snow left by an earlier plow. He braked to a crawl and stopped behind the motorist who’d obviously lost his mind to be out in this weather on a holiday. Especially without a “blizzard beast” like the Tahoe.
Getting out of his vehicle, Keegan walked around to the driver’s side of the compact car. A few more minutes and the ridiculous little two-seater might have been buried in a mini avalanche, leaving the driver to become a human popsicle.
Pulling his jacket collar around his ears where his ball cap stopped short of providing protection, Keegan approached the driver’s window. Snow had accumulated, but it was light and dusty, not the kind that sticks the moment it lands. He brushed off the snow with his heavily gloved hand and peered inside.
Besides a mound of wrapped packages, only one person was in the automobile—a woman, slumped over the limp remains of an air bag, and one who apparently didn’t have the sense to listen to a weather forecast before venturing out on a day like this. Even more astounding, the gal had left her window partially opened and snow was settling on her shoulders and head.
“Lady!” Keegan called. “Lady, are you okay?”
She wasn’t. Keegan saw a faint stream of red coming from her forehead. He’d seen enough head injuries in his day to know the possibility of serious complications. He tried the door. Locked. With about four inches of opening to work with, he slipped off his glove and stuck his hand in the window, wiggling his arm downward to the door lock. Thank goodness he was able to reach the button and pull it up.
He opened the car door. The woman didn’t move. Her breathing seemed labored. “Darned air bag must have knocked the wind out of her,” Keegan said aloud. He’d never thought they were a good idea. He wasn’t crazy about seat belts either, especially now when he had to work his fingers through deflated nylon to free the woman.
The seat belt latch clicked, and the woman moaned and tried to sit upright. She managed to turn her head and stared with partially closed eyes at Keegan. Those eyes popped wide open instantly. Visibility was poor, but he figured she’d seen enough to be freaked out by his appearance, so he backed up a step. Meticulous grooming wasn’t at the top of his list of priorities these days.
She stuck out her hand and pounded his chest with a weak fist. “Leave me alone,” she said.
Keegan leaned in the car door. “If I do, you’ll freeze to death out here. And you have a head injury.”
She struggled to take a breath. “I do?”
“Yes, and who knows what else is wrong. You’ve driven your car into a snowbank and hit one of our scenic telephone poles.”
She continued staring at him as if he were her worst nightmare. “Call an ambulance,” she said.
“You don’t want me to do that. If I call for an ambulance, it would take forever in this weather for it to reach us. Plus, we’d be putting the drivers at risk. Your best bet is to go with me.”
“Go with you? I don’t even know you.”
“I don’t know you either, but I’m willing to take the risk,” the man said. “Now, let’s get you out of that car, so we can get you medical help. You could have serious injuries.”
“I do,” she said through gritted teeth. “I think I broke my leg.”
* * *
CARRIE FELT LIKE a knife had sliced into her calf. She touched her head and stared at the sticky red mess on her fingers. Definitely bleeding, but the cold was slowing it down some. What was she going to do now? Miles from nowhere, a broken leg, a damaged head, an asthma attack, and no one but this large, grisly-looking man to help her. His hair reached his shoulders, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a month.
Mr. Grisly leaned on the roof of her car. “Do you live around here?” he asked.
She could honestly answer that she didn’t. She was still at least two hours from home and four hours from her Michigan address. But maybe she should lie. What good would that do? Even if her car wasn’t wrecked, she didn’t know if she’d be able to drive anywhere. Why couldn’t it have been her left leg that was injured?
“No,” she said. “I live in Michigan.”
“No one you know in this area?”
She shook her head, knowing if she gave her father’s name, he would never let her forget her foolish decision.
“Then I guess you’re stuck with me.” He reached his arms into her car, pushing back the remains of the air bag. With a skillful and surprisingly gentle touch, he probed her arms and legs. “I don’t think anything else is broken. So come on. We’re going to the hospital.”
Did she want to add stupidity to her list of problems? She didn’t know this guy. Think, Carrie. Drawing in a sharp breath of pain, she said, “I don’t even know your name.”
He exhaled a frosty breath. “Keegan Breen.”
“I don’t know if I trust you.”
“Look, I’m not going to hurt you. Truthfully, I’m not that crazy about helping you. I was on my way home and looking forward to a fireplace and roasting some hot dogs.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “It is Christmas, you know.”
“How far is the hospital?” she asked.
“Twenty minutes, maybe more in this weather.” He looked out her windshield. “I think it’s let up a little in the time we’ve been talking.” Wiggling his fingers, he added, “Let’s go, buttercup. Grab hold.”
There was something calm about his voice, almost soothing. And anyway, what other choice did she have but to trust him? She couldn’t stay in an automobile that didn’t even have a working heater anymore. She wrapped her hands around each of his forearms and let him do the heavy lifting. He pushed his hand under her rump and had her out of the car and safely tucked against his chest in a matter of moments. The change in position made the pain in her leg worse. She bit her lip to keep from screaming out.
He started walking toward a monster car of some type. “Wait,” she said. “My purse. My inhaler. My glasses. They probably fell off the dashboard when I hit the pole.”
He trudged back, leaned her against the car and reached for her purse on the passenger seat. She took it, scrambled to find the inhaler where she’d dropped it in the bag. He found her pair of dark-framed reading glasses on the floor of her car and handed them to her. Then she allowed him to lift her again. This time she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her hands in the fleece underside of his collar. Ah, warmth...and something else, too. The scent of hickory, like kindling from a fire. Nice. Maybe he wasn’t kidding about the fireplace or the hot dogs.
Just before they reached his vehicle, he glanced down at Carrie’s face, probably his first good look since he’d found her. His jaw dropped a bit. “You’re just a kid,” he said. “Why did your parents let you out on a day like this?”
Once again the baby of the family gets treated like a baby. All her life people had been telling her she didn’t look old enough to be out of grade school or middle school. Just recently she been aged to the high school level. “I swear, Carrie Foster, you don’t look old enough to even have a full-time job...”
Well, she did have a job, a very responsible one as an agent with the US Forest Service. And she had a master’s degree in natural sciences. And she was an adult! “I’m not a kid,” she said. “I’m quite old enough to know better than to drive in this weather, thank you!”
“Knowing and doing are obviously two very different things to you.” He deposited her in the roomy passenger seat of what she now recognized as a Chevy Tahoe, similar to the vehicles her coworkers drove in the Service. After this experience, she’d have to seriously consider trading in her cute French car and getting a four-wheel drive of her own.
“I’d put you in the backseat, but it’s full of fire logs,” he said. “I can help you elevate your leg onto the dashboard.”
“No. I’m okay. Just drive.”
He went around to the driver’s side, got in and pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ve got to make a phone call before we go.”
“Okay.”
“Duke? It’s Keegan. I’ve got your meds, but I won’t be back at the camp for a while. How soon do you need them?”
The camp? Was this guy a survivalist of some kind?
He paused while Duke answered. “No problem. I should be home by then.” Another pause. “I’m fine. Just came across a stranded motorist who needs some medical attention. I’m dropping her at the hospital.”
Carrie relaxed her shoulders into the seat back. Once she was at the hospital she’d be safe, and the twenty-minute drive with Keegan Breen was better than alerting her father to her problem and enduring his criticism. Besides, there was something comforting about the conversation she’d just heard, and she realized that she was beginning to trust him. Keegan was apparently doing something for a friend. And right now he was her only hope of getting out of a snowbank and getting her leg looked after. It was nice to know he was accustomed to helping people. Although she couldn’t get the image of his idea of a “camp” out of her mind.
And getting to the hospital was only the beginning of her problems. What would she do after he dropped her off? She didn’t want to call her sisters. Even if she swore them to secrecy about this event, they would ignore her and immediately tell their father, claiming it was for her own good. Everyone just assumed that Carrie needed help, and rules of independence didn’t apply to her. Her best bet was to see what the damages were and what the hospital suggested. Then she’d make a decision.
“So, what were you doing driving on a day like this?” His voice brought her back to the present and the throbbing pain in her leg.
“I was hoping to surprise some people today.”
He stole a quick glance at her before focusing on the road. “They should be surprised all right. A call from the hospital should knock their socks off.”
So true. If the hospital called her family, someone would definitely hop in a car to come get her, which could easily end in another vehicle disaster. And if they even made it safely in this blizzard, she’d never hear the end of it.
“I’m not going to tell them,” she said, deciding at that moment that she would handle this situation on her own—somehow.
He stared at her a bit longer, his face serious. “That’s your decision, I guess. But you are in somewhat of a mess here.”
She shifted on the seat, trying to relieve some pain. There didn’t seem to be a comfortable position. “How much longer?”
“About ten minutes I’d say.” He stared up at the gray sky. “As long as another flurry doesn’t start.”
She appraised his face, which seemed perpetually set in a stern profile. Despite his growth of beard, she could tell his features were strong and weathered, as if he’d spent time in the sun and wind. Maybe he was a farmer or a construction worker, something like that—or, there was the image again, a survivalist. She’d heard stories about these rugged, gruff men who lived in compounds. Anyway, she figured he wasn’t a businessman driving an old monster vehicle. The gray in his beard indicated that whatever he did, he’d been at it awhile.
His hair was a different story. Once he’d removed his cap, she saw just a sprinkling of gray at his temples where the strands flowed back to a shoulder-length mass of thick, dark brown waves. Good, healthy hair. She brushed her fingers through her fine, baby blond hair with its professionally colored darker tips and realized she envied him for his apparent lucky-from-birth gift.
“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly.
Jolted back into awareness, she said, “Carrie. Carrie Foster.”
He stuck out his hand, and she briefly grasped it. “I’ve never heard the name Keegan,” she said. “It’s Irish, isn’t it?”
“Through and through. Mom and Pop and all the grandfolks.”
Keegan swung into the parking lot of a building Carrie identified as Trumbly County Medical Center. The lot was nearly empty with snow packed up against car bumpers. He didn’t bother with finding a space, instead, stopping at the emergency entrance. He came around to her side and lifted her out of the vehicle.
“I can walk,” she said.
“Sure you can, but humor me. I like to flex my muscles once in a while.”
Inside, he called for a wheelchair. A nurse brought one immediately, and Keegan gently lowered Carrie into it.
“What have we got?” the nurse asked, tenderly probing the wound on Carrie’s head.
“Car accident. Besides the obvious, I suspect a broken leg.”
The nurse wheeled Carrie into a smaller room where a staff member asked her a number of questions about medications, the level of her pain. She took Carrie’s blood pressure and pulse before someone with a clipboard came in and asked for Carrie’s insurance card. Thank goodness she had her purse, and thank goodness the card didn’t show her Ohio address. If there was any way to avoid alerting her father about this trouble, she wanted to do it. She and Dr. Martin Foster had had so many arguments over Carrie’s health, her asthma, her stubborn resistance to listen to reason about being out in nature for her job, she figured this incident might make her dad chain her to Dancing Falls forever. But seeing her family at Christmas had prompted her to set out in this weather despite facing a certain argument with her dad. She’d thought he’d mellow once he realized she had arrived safely. But now...
“Your vitals are good,” the nurse said. “But we’re going to do a CT scan of the head and take an X-ray of the leg. Both tests will just take a few minutes.” Turning to Keegan, whose presence had become surprisingly comforting to Carrie’s peace of mind, she said, “You can wait in the lobby.”
For the first time since Carrie had met him, he seemed indecisive. Stay or go? What would he do? He had no obligation to stay, but for some reason, Carrie wanted him to. “It’s just a quick X-ray,” she said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d wait.”
He shrugged. “Sure. I can wait as long as it doesn’t take too long.”
A half hour later, Carrie was wheeled into an emergency cubicle. A nurse went to get Keegan, and they were told the doctor would be in shortly with the test results.
When the doctor arrived, he stood next to Carrie. “Well, young lady, you were lucky this time. This could have been much worse. As long as I’ve lived in the snowbelt, I’ve seen foolish people try to drive in our crazy weather and come in here with all sorts of...”
“Doctor, I know I shouldn’t have been driving,” Carrie said, trying not to resent the doctor’s parental tone. “What did the X-ray of my leg show?”
“You have a simple fracture. We’re going to put a soft cast and a boot on it. Should be okay in a month or so.”
“A month? I can drive, can’t I?” Carrie asked.
“Drive? Heavens, no. You fractured your right leg. You won’t be driving until you can do it without a cast or boot. Unless you want to get in another accident and maybe take someone else out with you this time.”
She was going to be stuck here for a month? Where would she stay? Would she have to call her father after all? Could she expect someone from her crew in Michigan to come after her? They were operating on limited man power through the holidays.
“You can come into my office in a week, and I’ll x-ray your leg again,” the doctor said, handing her a business card. “Right now a nurse will bandage your head and apply the cast. You do have a slight concussion, which means someone will have to watch you through the night.” He focused on Keegan. “You can do that?”
His eyes widened. “Me? I don’t know...”
“Yes, he can,” Carrie said. “I’ll be fine.”
“You can’t leave the hospital without a responsible party to drive you home and take care of you.” He stared at Keegan. “You’re a relative?”
Keegan started to speak, but Carrie interrupted. “Yes, yes, he is. This man is my husband.”
CHAPTER TWO (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c)
“WHY IN THE name of everything that makes any sense at all did you tell that doctor I am your husband?”
Thank goodness Keegan had kept quiet while the nurse bandaged Carrie’s head and provided her with pain meds to get her through the next few days. Now, as they were leaving the hospital parking lot, Keegan’s patience had obviously reached its limits.
“I certainly couldn’t monitor my concussion symptoms by myself, now could I? I needed a husband at that moment, and you were the only candidate.” She waited for him to say something. He merely continued seething. “I could have said you are my father. Would that have made you happier?”
“What you could have said is that I’m nobody to you, that I don’t even know you. You could have avoided a blatant lie somehow.”
“And what would that have done for me? They weren’t going to let me leave the hospital. And even if they did, I would have been on my own in a town I don’t know, in a snowstorm, without a car, with a broken leg and again...a concussion...”
“You’re darn lucky the doctor didn’t ask my name. He’d have noticed that our last names are not the same.”
“I thought of that,” she said. “I had an answer ready.”
He shook his head. “I’m sure you did. I’m starting to feel like you rammed your car into a pole, and I’m the one dealing with the consequences.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic? Besides, you can hardly say that you don’t know me. We’ve been together for—” she glanced at her watch “—almost four hours now. I feel like I know you as well as I know most...” She couldn’t come up with a word.
“Strangers?”
“We’re not strangers. You saved my life.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. And anyway, if I had it to do over again...”
“You’re saying you wouldn’t help me again? For heaven’s sake, Keegan, I could have frozen to death.”
He didn’t say anything. Maybe he was thinking that was a very real possibility.
“If it makes you feel any better, I would do the same for you.”
He gave her a skeptical look. “You’d pull me from a wrecked car, take me to a hospital in a blinding snowstorm and sit with me for three hours?”
“Of course. I don’t know about getting you out of the car, but the rest I would do.” She leaned forward, grateful that the pain injection had started working, and it no longer hurt to move. She could clearly see into Keegan’s face. “I hate to suggest this and give you any ideas, but unless you come up with a place to dump me, I’d say you’re more or less stuck with me for tonight at least.”
“I’d say you put it just about right.”
“I could go to a motel, but I need someone to watch me. Do you have family, a wife, perhaps? She could check on me.”
“I don’t have a wife. I live alone, which makes this whole situation even worse.”
She might have preferred hearing that a motherly Mrs. Breen would be present, but she’d make this work. For some reason she was no longer afraid of this man. She didn’t suspect an ulterior motive in his begrudging acceptance of her overnight stay. If anything, she figured he’d just continue to brood and finally ignore her. “It’s one night, Keegan,” she said. “Tomorrow I’ll call a tow truck and have my car brought to your house, and I’ll be on my way back to Michigan.”
He gaped at her. “Are you so drugged up you can’t remember what the doctor said? You can’t drive for a month.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, I don’t think that’s true. He was being overly cautious. I can manage.”
“Carrie...” This was the first time she could recall him using her name. “You weren’t able to manage an automobile with both your legs working!”
“Look, just let me stay with you tonight. Tomorrow we’ll work something out.” His silence was deafening, so she took a different approach, one she didn’t really believe. “I’m taking more of a chance than you are,” she added. “I’m a defenseless female. You could obviously do whatever...”
He held up his hand. “Stop right there. Do you actually think I’d touch a girl that doesn’t look more than about seventeen years of age...?”
“I’m thirty! I’ll show you my driver’s license.”
He took a moment to let her pronouncement sink in. “Okay, maybe you are, but what if you suddenly go all wonky on me and call the police? How will it look, you, incapacitated, and me in a cabin alone together?”
“First of all, don’t give me any reason to call the police, and second, you’ll look like what you are, a Good Samaritan whose only crime is helping a needy traveler.” She grinned, hoping he saw it that way. “Why, it’s practically biblical in moral righteousness.”
He didn’t seem convinced, but at least he kept driving toward whatever mysterious place he lived.
* * *
HOW DID I end up in a mess like this? Keegan kept going toward the campground where he inhabited a cabin that seemed to grow smaller by the mile. What choice did he have? Carrie was right. She couldn’t stay alone with a concussion. He’d seen enough battle injuries of that type to know that concussions could be serious. But she’d flat out lied telling the doctor he was her husband. Recalling his shock, he almost smiled now. If she only knew. Keegan Breen was not husband material. He’d tried it once. He’d failed. Right now he wasn’t even confident that he should be lifesaver material.
But he could get through one night. He’d let her bunk in his bed with her leg elevated and the pain pills taking her to Neverland. He’d sit up in a chair and watch her, and then this would all be over. Tomorrow they could get her car towed, and then maybe she’d call someone to come drive it for her.
Yes, the perfect solution. He would only be inconvenienced for a few hours. Feeling confident with a plan, he looked over at her. “So, you have family?”
“Of course.”
“Someone who could come and drive your car for you?”
She gave him a sideways glance. “I’m a good driver, you know.”
“Hmm...” He pointed to a mound of white in the road ahead. “Your car, exactly where you left it.”
She stared at the lump of frosty carnage. “Oh, my poor car. But that could have happened to anyone,” she argued. “It was a terrible storm.”
“I don’t drive a tin can, so it didn’t happen to me,” he said smartly. “And aren’t you glad?”
“I was reaching for my inhaler,” she said.
“Why do you have an inhaler? Do you have asthma?”
She didn’t answer but nodded her head slightly.
Oh, great. Another wrinkle to add to his list of nursing duties. Stay on topic, Breen. “Now, about those family members...”
“I have two sisters. Each of them would come here to get me. I have one father who would come also.” Her voice tensed when she mentioned her father. “And I don’t intend to tell any of them about this.”
“Why not?”
“My father has issues about my asthma. I won’t go into that now, but he would somehow turn this broken leg into an example of how I don’t take my asthma seriously. And I don’t want my sisters on the road in these conditions.”
“Okay. What about a husband?”
She shook her head. “Just you, and you’re only temporary.”
“You got that right.” He felt obligated to point out the obvious. “Carrie, you can’t stay with me indefinitely. I live in a Cracker Jack box. You’ve got to go somewhere.”
“I know I do. Why would I want to stay with you? You obviously don’t want me.” She paused as if waiting for him to argue the point. When he didn’t, she said, “I’ll figure it out tomorrow. Right now my head hurts too much to think.”
She leaned forward. Her hair fell straight as an arrow around her shoulders. Her thick bangs caught a waft of air from the heater and blew away from her forehead, revealing more of her face. Such a young face, Keegan thought again. She could pass for a teenager. Maybe, just to keep things honest, he would ask to see her driver’s license.
Now that he studied her, he could detect some subtle signs of age. She didn’t have that rosy glow that healthy teens had. She was pale, but maybe that was due to pain. There were a few tiny lines around her full mouth and a couple at the corner of her eye. But all in all, it was a cute face, Keegan thought. Darned cute.
Hold on, Breen, he said to himself. You’re forty-one years old, old enough to be her jaded uncle, so don’t let your mind go off-kilter about having a houseguest for one night, especially one with her problems. In fact, who knew how many problems this lady had? Physical ones—those were obvious, but why wouldn’t she call someone in her family to rescue her? What was she hiding? He wouldn’t put it past her to start telling a whole new series of lies.
He’d noticed the label on her coat. Top of the line. Her gloves were the finest leather. Her boots probably ticked out at a couple hundred bucks. And he didn’t know much about hair color, but it couldn’t be cheap to keep that two-tone look fresh. It was like she didn’t know if she wanted to be a blonde or not.
Maybe she was a rich brat, though she didn’t seem like it. Yes, she was opinionated, pragmatic to a fault and way too bold for his tastes, but overall he’d peg her as levelheaded even though she wasn’t quite realistic enough about her current predicament. And she was brave. She was staying with an older, unshaven guy who could... Well, she was lucky in that regard. He hadn’t lost all direction in his moral compass.
And she was cute. There was that word again, one that hadn’t been evident in his personal vocabulary in a long time.
“How much longer?” Her voice jerked him back from private thoughts.
“For someone who’s not going anywhere, you sure are concerned with miles. But you’re in luck. See that sign up ahead?”
She squinted into the darkening dusk and light misting of snow. “Yes, I see it.”
“Home, sweet home.” He turned on his blinker and slowed.
She placed the flat of her hand on the car window and said, “You live in a campground? Wow. How interesting.”
* * *
HE GRUNTED A response before saying, “You think that’s cool or something?”
“Not cool I guess, but you certainly are close to nature, and that can never be bad. I don’t understand how you could live in nature and still be so grumpy.”
He ignored the grumpy remark. “Believe me, I’ve lived—and slept—in nature much more than I care to remember. And I only leave the sign up here by the road so people can find where I live. This isn’t a working campground. No one has stopped here for at least fifteen years.”
“You did, obviously. You live here.”
He pulled around a circular path to stop in front of a log-sided building which appeared as a hulking shadow in the darkness. The Cracker Jack box, she assumed. “I own this property. My grandfather left it to me a year ago. I still don’t know if it was a test of my endurance or a joke.”
She couldn’t see much of the surrounding land. Nightfall had reduced the landscape to vague images of a smattering of trees, a few concrete pads mostly covered in snow. “You certainly aren’t very grateful,” she said.
“I will be, come spring, when Cedar Woods becomes only a bad memory in my rearview mirror.”
She wondered what he meant. This had to be a prime piece of property. As far as she could determine, Lake Erie was still just across the road, and there were no buildings to obstruct the view. Since the massive cleanup of the lake several years ago, this property had to be a potential paradise.
Keegan’s phone rang. “Hello, Duke. Yeah, I’m back.” He paused. “I can bring your medication over in a few minutes.” He nodded. “Okay, if you think you can make it over here on your walker. The fresh air will do you some good.”
He disconnected and turned to Carrie. “Hang on a sec. I’ve got to switch on the outside lights so we both don’t end up flat on our butts on an ice patch.”
He did more than that. He flipped on a bright light and brought a snow shovel from behind the structure. In a few minutes he had a clear path from the cabin to the Chevy. Carrie had never shoveled snow. Her father had a service, a nice middle-aged guy who came out with his plow to lay salt and do the driveways at the first sign of snow. And the US Forest Service always maintained the roads for its employees.
She watched Keegan’s movements—sure, strong and practiced. She didn’t doubt he could shovel his way to the main road if he had to.
Keegan left the shovel against the house and came to the Chevy and opened her door. Spreading his arms, he said, “Let’s go, princess. Your humble servant awaits.”
His condescending way of speaking to her prickled. She’d been called “princess” many times in the past, often from males who were suffering from what they called her cold shoulder. And sometimes from folks who referred to her as the favored third daughter of Martin and Maggie Foster. She hadn’t liked the reference then, and she liked it even less now. In truth, the Martins loved all their daughters equally, never showing favoritism of one over the others. Despite his problems with her lifestyle, Martin was a wonderful father, and Maggie once was a caring and loving mother. Unfortunately her advanced Alzheimer’s disease had robbed her of the ability to even communicate with her children now.
“Don’t call me that,” she said to Keegan. “I’m not a princess. I spend most of my time outdoors, where I’m a hard worker. I know what it’s like to have dirt under my fingernails.”
“Sorry.” He almost looked appropriately chastised. “It’s just a logical assumption. I mean you’re wearing a three-hundred-dollar coat and designer boots...”
“That means nothing. You own a piece of lakefront property and this castle made of logs, and I certainly wouldn’t make the mistake of calling you Prince Charming.”
He smiled, showing nice white teeth below the scrub of moustache on his upper lip. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll try to be more careful with the princess references.”
He scooped her into his arms and began carrying her to the cabin. “I’ll come back for the crutches they gave you.”
“Good. I’m sure I’ll get used to them quickly.”
“Oh, yeah. They’re a piece of cake. You ought to be running a marathon any day now.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic, and you don’t have to treat me like a baby.” Truthfully, she hadn’t felt so secure in a long time. Keegan had strong arms, a comfy broad chest and a sure step. What more could a princess want?
A cackle of laughter permeated the quiet air. It was followed by the raspy voice of an elderly man. “Hey, Keegan, what you got there? I sent you in for a couple of pills and you come back with a woman. When I send you to have my oxygen tank refilled, you’ll probably come back married!”
Keegan stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and whispered close to Carrie’s ear. “Do not tell this man that I’m your husband.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I only did that so I could get out of the hospital.”
“Hello, Duke,” Keegan said. “You going to make it?”
Carrie tried to see the visitor over Keegan’s shoulder, but either Keegan was too tall or the man was too short. His voice and a soft metallic squeak of the walker indicated that he was closer. “Yeah, just a few more feet to go.”
Keegan took Carrie inside and deposited her on a large comfortable sofa. “I’ll be right back,” he said, “just as soon as I get Duke his pills and fetch your crutches. You know what they say, a caretaker’s work is never done.”
She thought he might have smiled at her, but if so, he turned away quickly, pulled up his collar and went back into the cold.
Thirty minutes later Carrie had mastered the crutches well enough to make it to a small but tidy bathroom and back to the sofa again. The doctor had told her to use the sticks for a short time and then rely on the walking boot. The transition couldn’t come fast enough. Walking with crutches wasn’t for sissies, and neither was going over eight hours without a meal.
As if reading her mind, Keegan said, “We should eat. What do you want?”
What was he going to do, show her a menu? How much food could he have in this place? She decided to make it simple. “I usually have grilled cheese and tomato soup when I’m not feeling well.”
“I can manage that.” He headed to the kitchen and began opening cupboard doors. “One Christmas dinner coming up.”
Oh, yikes! Christmas! Carrie had left all the presents in her car. And she’d promised to call her family. She dug her cell phone out of her purse, settled into the sofa cushions to muffle her voice in Keegan’s small living room, and dialed her father’s number. She had to be careful with her words so her father wouldn’t conclude that she was having a problem or that she’d disobeyed his very strict orders. Thank goodness her young nephew, Wesley, answered the phone. Carrie adored the six-year-old.
“Hey, Aunt Carrie, this is the best Christmas ever, except you’re not here.”
“I know, sweetie. I miss everyone so much.”
They talked about his gifts and the giant tree that her sister Jude’s friend had brought them. Jude had been furious at first when Liam Manning had carried the tree into her small apartment above the barn at Dancing Falls, but she’d quickly adapted to the Christmas spirit once she realized that she was crazy about the man who’d brought her the tree.
Wesley passed the phone around and Carrie spoke to everyone. Her sister Jude seemed so much more cheerful than usual. And her sister Alexis’s newlywed status made her positively euphoric. Last, Carrie spoke to her niece, Lizzie, and then her father. Their conversation was especially brief, and she ended it with asking her dad to give her mother a kiss for her.
When she finally hung up without telling her family any of the events of her day, Carrie realized she truly did miss them all. But she wasn’t about to make her misfortune a reason for her sisters or father to start out on icy roads, or for her father to keep her at Dancing Falls forever.
“Everybody okay?”
Keegan’s voice cut through her melancholy. “Who? What do you mean?”
“Whoever you were talking to. I hope he had a nice Christmas.”
“If you mean my first-grade nephew, then, yes, he did.”
Keegan set a tray with two meals on an ottoman, and handed Carrie a napkin, a glass of water and a pain pill.
“This looks wonderful,” she said, breathing in the scent of melted cheese and warm tomatoes. She took the pill, and ate a few bites before saying, “Thanks for this, Keegan. And don’t worry about the sleeping arrangements. I’ll be fine on this sofa.”
“You’ll take the bed tonight,” he said matter-of-factly. “Can’t have you thrashing about on the sofa and maybe falling off.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll probably just sit up all night and stare at you.”
She widened her eyes at him. “Now, that’s just creepy.”
He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “I know, but that’s what these instructions from the hospital say I’m supposed to do. So take up the creepiness factor with the doctor.” He picked up his sandwich and the TV remote. “You watch the news?”
“Sure.”
They settled back to engage in world events and images of Christmas cheer until Carrie finished her dinner and fell asleep on the couch.
A few hours later, she didn’t know how many, she heard someone call her name. “Carrie, Carrie, wake up.”
CHAPTER THREE (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c)
“I’M SORRY,” a man’s voice said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She tried to erase the fog in her brain by taking deep breaths and sitting up. Unfortunately, nothing in her body seemed to be working. She heard herself moan.
“I figured you’d be sore,” the man said. “Usually takes a few hours after an accident for the muscles to tighten up.”
The past hours were slowly coming back to her. And the fact that she was in a cabin with a man she’d only just met. “Keegan?”
“Who else did you think it would be?” he said. “Don’t try to get up. I’m just checking on you. I’m supposed to wake you through the night.”
“I’m a little confused...”
A small lamp burned in the corner of an unfamiliar room. In the dim light, she attempted to acclimate herself to the surroundings. The last she remembered, she’d been watching an orchestra perform at the White House on a huge flat-screen TV. She’d been on the sofa. Now she was definitely in a bed. The room was cool and quiet.
“How did I get here?”
“Not on those crutches.”
“You carried me in here?”
He responded with a nod and withdrew a small metal cylinder from his shirt pocket. A flashlight. Carrie realized he’d changed clothes, trading his long-sleeved Henley shirt for a warmer flannel one. Apparently he’d showered, too. A fresh pine scent drifted to her nose. She loved the smell of pine.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“One a.m. I’ve got to give you a pill and check your pupils.”
“What for?”
“I’m not sure.” He looked at the paper he’d held earlier. “One might be larger than the other, or they both might be big. Or, hopefully, they both will be normal-sized. I’ve got to ask you some questions, too.”
He pushed a button, turning on the modern LED flashlight. She allowed him to hold up her eyelids and shine the light in her eyes.
“They look okay to me. Do you think you’re going to throw up?”
“What? No.”
“What’s your name?”
She frowned. “We don’t really have to do this, do we?” When he simply stared at her, she said, “Carrie.”
“Do you remember how you got here to my place?”
“Of course. I’m not confused anymore. My whole body hurts, and I’m tired. Can I go back to sleep now?”
“I’m supposed to ask you when you were born and who the president of the United States is.”
“I can put your mind at ease,” she said. “I was born thirty years ago, and the president is my boss. You can go because I’m quite fine, really.” She moved and pain sliced up her leg. “But not before you give me that pain pill.”
He handed her the pill and a glass of water. She pushed herself up in the bed and leaned against a pillow. And noticed that she wasn’t wearing her clothes. A soft cotton T-shirt fell loosely around her torso. “This shirt is yours?”
“It is.”
“How did I end up wearing it?” she asked. “Tell me you didn’t...”
“I did. But don’t get your princess panties in a twist.” He frowned. “Oops, sorry about the princess thing. You’re still wearing the underwear and socks you showed up in. There were blood stains on your sweater. I’ve washed it and hung it up to dry. You can reswaddle yourself appropriately in the morning.”
“I will.” She didn’t know whether to be embarrassed, angry or grateful. Or resentful of the way Keegan talked about undressing her as if it were an everyday occurrence for him.
He nodded toward the glass. “Drink up. My guess is the pain won’t be so bad in the morning, and we can cut down on the dosage.”
She did as he instructed. The water was cold and refreshing and felt good going down her throat. “I don’t have a fever, do I?”
“I don’t think so. I felt your forehead earlier.”
He was taking his nursing duties seriously. She noticed a wooden armchair next to the bed. “Have you been sitting there all night?”
“Pretty much.”
“That chair looks very uncomfortable.”
“It is, but don’t get carried away with gratitude. I remembered that you said you’d do the same for me, so I’m just paying it forward. I’ve got your phone number on speed dial for when I break a bone.”
She smiled. There was no way he could know her phone number unless he’d gone through her purse. He didn’t seem the sneaky type. Suddenly alert and wanting to talk, she said, “Have you ever had one?”
“One what?”
“Broken bone.”
He thought for a moment, a reaction she found strange. Either a person had suffered a broken bone or he hadn’t. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone would forget.
“Oddly,” he said, “I haven’t. Sprains, pulled tendons, a bullet hole, that sort of thing, but no breaks.”
She leaned forward. “Bullet hole?”
“Only one. I consider myself lucky, and I think that if they ever take an X-ray of my skeleton, they’ll discover that I’m made of titanium.”
“What do you do for a living that you get shot and wounded all the time?” She didn’t really believe him about the bullet. “Or do these injuries come from jealous boyfriends?”
“Nope. Generally speaking, no one has a reason to be jealous of me. As for my work, it did involve an element of danger. But I don’t do anything dangerous now. In any case, we all have a past, don’t we? Even you, I bet.”
“Sure. I’ve been bitten by spiders, got a raging case of poison ivy and once I got a giant splinter. But I work in the forest. You didn’t tell me what you did before living here.”
“Nope, I didn’t. I traveled a lot.” He took her glass. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“No, I’m okay for now.”
“I’m going into the living room, but I’ll be back to check on you.”
She couldn’t help noticing that he’d strategically ignored her question about his occupation. Was it because he was lying about the injuries? Or ashamed of how he’d gotten them?
“Call if you need anything,” he said as he shut the door, leaving her alone and wondering.
A few minutes later a smoky odor crept under the bedroom door. Carrie coughed, feeling her lungs constrict. “Keegan, what’s that awful smell?”
He opened the door. “A cigar. I have one every so often—mostly after really difficult days—or when I have unexpected company.”
“You can’t do that when I’m in the house. I have asthma.”
“You’re allergic to cigar smoke?”
“Among other things, but especially cigar smoke.”
He expelled a long breath obviously meant to convey his extreme self-sacrifice. “Fine, I’ll put it out. If anything else bothers you, I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
She smiled and snuggled into her pillow. She didn’t believe he was half as tough as he wanted people to think, especially when he whispered, “Merry Christmas.”
* * *
MONDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 26, Dr. Martin Foster’s family and home had pretty much returned to normal. His housekeeper, Rosie, had agreed to watch Wesley while his mom, Jude, went to the hospital to see the man she would soon marry. Alexis, her husband and her daughter had gone home to Columbus. Presents that hadn’t already been worn or played with were displayed neatly under the tree. The leftovers from a big meal were stored in the refrigerator for Monday night’s supper. And everyone agreed that it had been a nearly perfect holiday but would have been better if the Fosters’ youngest daughter, Carrie, had been home.
Dr. Foster’s breakfast was interrupted by a knock on the front door. He went to answer and was delighted to see Aurora, who owned Aurora’s Attic Bed and Breakfast, his immediate neighbor and Fox Creek’s newest enterprise.
Martin wiped a few toast crumbs from his chin as he opened the door. “Why don’t I just give you a key, Aurora?” he said. “It’s not like you aren’t as much a member of the family as the girls are.”
Dressed in her typical attire of jeans and a flannel blouse, she breezed by him carrying a white box. “Well, I’m not a member of your family, Marty, and to come in without knocking would just be rude, at least the way I was raised.” She smiled at him. “Besides, you can use the exercise that walking from the dining table to the front door gives you.”
He patted his stomach and thought about putting in an hour at the hospital gym later. At sixty-five, he was in great shape, but his own personal stuffing had settled around his waist since yesterday’s dinner with all the trimmings. He didn’t know how Aurora maintained her wiry, thin figure, especially when he smelled the contents of the box she was carrying. She must not eat her own cooking.
“Are those cinnamon rolls, or are you just trying to break my heart?” he asked her.
“They are cinnamon rolls,” she said, handing him the box. “I thought there might be enough family left to enjoy them this morning.”
“Oh, there is,” he teased. “Wesley and I will polish these off in no time, and Jude will be back from the hospital soon.” He started toward the kitchen. “I’ve got a few minutes. Come on in and have a cup of coffee.”
They sat at the kitchen table where Martin enjoyed a still-warm-from-the-oven roll. “Did you hear from your son last night?” he asked Aurora.
She shook her head. “I didn’t expect to. After he stole that money from me and took off, I figured I wouldn’t hear from William until he’d been arrested or—” her eyes clouded over “—worse.”
Martin wished there was something he could do to make Aurora’s situation with her son easier. She’d taken him in a few weeks ago when he’d gotten out of rehab, but the thirty-year-old had disappointed her again by taking cash and jewelry from her bedroom dresser. At least Aurora had convinced Martin that she’d come to terms with the kind of person William was, and she no longer held out hope that her baby boy would change.
He patted Aurora’s hand. “But yesterday was Christmas. I just thought...”
She gave him an aching sort of smile. “I doubt William even knew it was a holiday. Besides, I had your family to celebrate with. It was a wonderful Christmas with Alex and Lizzie, and Jude falling in love.”
“Yes, it was, but Carrie should have been here. I don’t know what I’m going to do about that one, Aurora. I want her home where I can take care of her. It’s almost like she resents having a doctor in the family.”
“I know how you feel, Marty, but Carrie doesn’t want to be taken care of.”
“She thinks she’s invincible, but I’ve seen her during those times when the asthma attacks severely limited her breathing. Her mother and I watched her carefully her whole life when she played or did chores, or, God forbid, even got near an animal or ragweed. And what does she do? Studies natural sciences and forestry in college and takes a job with the Forest Service where asthma triggers abound.”
Aurora smiled, which always worked to take the sting out of her words. “Marty, you say that as though her decision was her way of rebelling against so much parental interference.”
“I’ve thought about it. You know kids.”
“I’m not saying there couldn’t be an element of truth to your theory, but from what the girls tell me, Carrie truly loves trees and wants to care for the environment.”
“I suppose. But what she chose to do with her life defies all logic. If she should forget to take her pills, or can’t find her inhaler in an emergency...” He ran his fingers through his thick gray hair. “I’m surprised I haven’t lost every hair on my head worrying about that girl. Maggie and I thought she’d eventually outgrow some of her allergies, but they’ve only gotten worse, and Carrie has only gotten more stubborn.”
Aurora took a sip of coffee. “I’m sorry you worry so much about her, Marty.”
He smiled. Of all the people he knew, perhaps Aurora was the one who most understood. “One of these days, if I can pin Carrie down long enough, I’m going to make her do the sensible thing and stay here with me full-time.”
Aurora looked at him a few moments. “Oh, that should work well,” she said.
He chuckled. “I can dream about it at least...”
“Dr. Foster?”
Recognizing the voice of Maggie’s nurse, Martin stood and rushed to the bottom of the stairs. “What is it, Rebecca?”
“Maggie is refusing her food. She’s okay for now, but I thought you might want to come up and have a look.”
Martin turned and nearly ran into Aurora who had followed him from the kitchen. She nudged him forward. “Go. I’ll see myself out.”
He gave her shoulder a little squeeze as a goodbye and headed for the stairs. His life was caught in this awful middle ground. He was committed to the woman upstairs whom he loved beyond reason, and yet he had some strong feelings for the elfish, red-haired sprite of a woman he’d just watched leave. Aurora had come into his life as if she’d been sent to become a rudder for the difficult years he was having now.
And there was no denying the truth any longer. He cared deeply for her.
Less than a minute later, Martin sat at Maggie’s bedside. He took her hand and looked into her eyes, though her gaze was focused, as usual, on an indeterminate spot on the ceiling. “What’s this I hear, Maggie Mine? You don’t like your breakfast this morning?”
His wife looked pale, but otherwise she seemed as she did every morning, caught in the vacuum of her mind, a condition from which there was no escape. Alzheimer’s disease left struggling family members with far more questions than answers, like why did the heart keep beating strong when the mind seemed to have shut out every sound, sight, touch? It wasn’t fair, and to a healing man of science like Martin, it was fate’s dirty trick.
Martin pressed a spoon to Maggie’s lips. “It’s tea, darling, just the way you like it.” Her mouth twitched, but it was more an effort to keep the liquid from going in than a desire to taste it. Martin set the spoon on the nightstand. “That’s all right. You’re just not hungry. We’ll try later.”
Martin checked his watch. He was due at the hospital in forty-five minutes, and yesterday’s snow would make driving difficult. “I have to go, Maggie, but I’m planning to call Carrie in Michigan later today. I told you we all talked to her last night, and she seemed fine, but, I don’t know, I just feel that something’s not right.”
He fluffed Maggie’s pillow. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. What do I know about intuition anyway? It’s just that, of all our daughters, she is the one most removed from us and the one who most keeps me awake at night. Jude is barely a half mile away in the barn. Alex is a mere three-hour drive away in Columbus. But Carrie, she travels the country, determined to save the forests while I sit here and fret.”
He bent and kissed his wife’s forehead. “I can well imagine what you would say to me, Maggie darling, what common sense advice you would give me. But I can’t change who I am any more than you can change who you are.” He smoothed a hand over her forehead. “It’s up to me now, to worry for both of us. And I’m doing a bang-up job of it.”
* * *
CARRIE OPENED HER eyes to a dull throbbing in her head. The room was still mostly dark, but it was morning. She could see sunlight streaming around the heavy window shades. A digital clock next to the bed read eight thirty. Surely she could take another pain pill now.
She sat up and carefully moved her booted leg to the edge of the mattress. The crutches were against the wall within her reach, so she stood on one leg, tucked the aluminum torture sticks under her arms and headed out the door, aware that the T-shirt she wore barely covered her fanny. Well, no time for modesty now. She had to use the bathroom.
When she had accomplished that task, including rubbing a bit of Keegan’s toothpaste over her teeth, she went into the living room. A fire still burned in the fireplace, turning the chill of the bedroom into a cozy warmth. She next needed to see to another necessity—food. She was starving.
She poured coffee into a mug left on the counter, and, fearful of spilling it while trying to reach a chair with her crutches, she stood against the counter and took a long, welcome sip. And wondered where Keegan was.
The question was answered promptly. The front door opened. A man’s heavy steps pounded the porch, an obvious attempt to rid his boots of snow. And then Keegan appeared with her suitcase in his hand.
“Good morning,” he said, whipping off his ball cap and shaking snow from the brim. “I thought I’d be back before you woke up.”
She blinked. “You have my bag.”
“I do. I remembered that we hadn’t locked the car yesterday, so I went to see if I could get your things. Luckily the bag was in that small area behind the seats.”
“What about all the presents? Were they still there?”
“Yes, I think so. Did you want me to bring them here?”
“No. They’ll be all right. You locked the car?”
“I did.”
“Thank you. I can’t wait to put on clean clothes.” She cringed before asking the next question. “How did the car look?”
“Still mostly like a pile of snow.”
“Great.”
“I scraped some of it off so the tow truck can at least find the vehicle.”
“Have you called anyone yet?” Considering that it was Monday, and Christmas was officially over, businesses should be operating as normal.
“No. We’re going to have to get someone from Sandusky where the hospital is located. That’s the closest town. I don’t want to make decisions for you. It’s only right that you talk to them and get the charges first.”
She recalled the salesman’s words when she bought the car. “It won’t be easy to get repairs,” he’d said. “But that’s true for all foreign makes.”
And then there’d been her father’s warning. “Don’t buy that car, honey. It offers no protection. Get something sturdy and solid instead.”
As usual she hadn’t listened. She had to have the adorable thing. “Like it matters what the charges are,” she said to Keegan. “I have to pay it.” She drank more coffee, relieved that the headache had abated some and she was beginning to feel more like herself.
Keegan took a skillet from under the stove and set it on a burner. “One thing though, Carrie... If the car won’t start, there really isn’t any reason to have it towed here to the campground. It should go back to the shop where it can be serviced. I use a guy named Grady. He knows engines and all the diagnostic tests they use on cars these days, and his prices are fair.”
“Does he know foreign cars?”
“I’m sure he does, though models like yours are a rarity around here.”
“I’ll call him.” Carrie stared longingly at the skillet. “What are you planning to do with that?”
He removed a tub of butter from his refrigerator. “After I get you settled in a chair, I plan to make bacon and eggs. If you behave yourself and put your leg up, I just might share.”
She could almost taste what she imagined would be the best meal of her life. “Keegan?”
He peeled a few slices of bacon and dropped them into the skillet. “Yeah?”
“After breakfast I’d really like to have a shower.”
“Sure. If you think you can manage.”
She smiled as innocently as her mischievous sense of humor allowed. “I thought you’d help me.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c)
HE ALMOST DROPPED the spatula he was using to flip the bacon. Without looking at Carrie, he said, “You want me to help you take a shower?”
Her laughter was infectious and at the same time intimidating. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”
He grunted under his breath. “Take it from someone who knows a bit about words, little girl. You should watch what you say to avoid finding yourself in a heap of trouble.”
“Quit calling me little girl and princess and all those other demeaning names.”
He scrambled three eggs. “Sorry. You’re right.”
“Why do you know so much about words? Do you do crossword puzzles?”
“Never. My interest goes beyond knowing what q words don’t have a u following them.”
“So, you’re a writer?”
“I write a bit.” She was curious this morning, and he was just as determined to keep his anonymity. Once a person realized who he was, who he had been, the questions began, and so did the reliving. Unless he was writing, Keegan had no interest in remembering his past.
She shrugged, accepting his succinct answers. “About the shower, I meant what I said. I certainly need help. You can get me into the bathroom, turn on the water, lay out some clean clothes and then leave. Oh, and maybe put a plastic bag over this soft cast.”
He turned the bacon once more. Concentrating on cooking was not as simple as it had been a minute ago. Maybe he’d allowed his mind to wander to inappropriate places. “I can do that,” he said.
He brought a plate to the table and escorted her to a chair. “Toast is coming up.”
“This looks great.” She took the paper towel he’d left by her place mat and settled it on her lap. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“You call this cooking? I call it survival training. Some of the places I lived, I’d have to prepare a meal and eat it before the insects could carry it off the plate.”
“You make it sound like you lived somewhere in the outback.”
Close. Though the outback would have been easier. He went to get her toast, and brought his plate to the table. He took the only other chair available and sat across from her. The third chair, the one his grandmother and grandfather had used when he visited, was still sitting by Carrie’s bed. She looked refreshed this morning, like maybe the pain had subsided and she could make a decision about her immediate future. But the bandage on her swollen forehead was surrounded by a sickening purplish color which he knew must be tender to the touch.
“How are you feeling?” he asked after they’d both consumed most of their breakfasts.
“Pretty good. I slept well, but that’s because I had the bed. Tonight we’ll switch. I don’t want to take up your bed when you need it. I’ll be fine on the couch.”
Tonight? He stared at the top of her head. Had that been a slip of the tongue or was she planning to stay another night? And another? He thought she’d be gone by this afternoon. Well, okay. He could deal with one more night if he had to. Heaven knew, he’d dealt with worse situations than this. But what did she think would change after the second night? She’d suddenly be cured?
After breakfast he helped her into the bathroom, lowered her to the closed toilet lid and set out a washcloth and towel. He then brought a large black plastic bag which he used to wrap her leg from her foot to her knee and secured it with duct tape. “That should work.”
“Where did you put my bag?”
“In the bedroom.”
“Okay. Would you pick out some clean clothes for me? My shampoo and conditioner is in a zippered case on the right side of the suitcase.”
“What clothes do you want?”
“I don’t care. Anything is fine.”
“Be right back.” He went into the bedroom, transferred the suitcase to the bed and opened it. A pleasant scent wafted up to his nostrils, and he resisted the urge to see where the floral fragrance originated. Not your business, Breen, he told himself. He picked out a pair of sweatpants, a shirt and some underwear, and went back to the bathroom.
Carrie gave him a strange, almost critical glare when she saw his choices.
“You told me to pick something,” he said. “Do you have a problem with this stuff?”
“Not with the sweatpants. The boot will fit around the ankle with no problem, but...” She held up a jersey knit shirt that had been embellished with silver beads. She’d brought it along in case her family wanted to go out to dinner. “Are we going someplace fancy tonight?”
“Which is why I asked what you wanted,” he said. “I just grabbed the first things I saw.”
“I understand. Just bring me a simple T-shirt. They are rolled up at the bottom of the case.”
He reached for a small bundle, held it up and wished he hadn’t. “Your underwear?” The miniscule thing hardly seemed to fit its description. Keegan was not comfortable around lace, especially when there was such a small amount of it connecting two triangles of nylon.
“Well, yes, but I wear that when I want to achieve the three f’s.”
“Which are?”
“Feminine, fancy and fun. I don’t think this situation applies.”
Darned right. Keegan would have felt better holding up a cotton brief he could have used as the jib sail on his boat. “I’ll put it back.”
“Never mind. It will do.” She waved her hand to dismiss him. “If you’ll just bring another shirt, I’ll manage.”
He set the bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the shower, brought a different shirt for her and left. As he picked up the breakfast dishes, all he could think about were those tantalizing scraps of lace.
She came out of the bathroom a short while later wearing the sweatpants and the green T-shirt which said Save a Tree, I Value My Job. Keegan smiled at the shirt. “I guess you really are a tree hugger.”
“I like things that grow and bloom and change with the seasons. Always have. I guess I believe that if people are close to nature, they can change, too.”
“Is there a human person in your life you love as much as you love trees?”
“A few,” she said. “But overall, I find it much easier and more comfortable to cultivate relationships with nature, cultivate being the definitive word. Trees adapt to their environment. Too many people don’t even bother trying. They settle into lives of stagnation.”
Keegan cringed inside. He’d been basically living a stagnant life for over a year, and he’d been fine with it. He wondered how her job choice fit in with her illness. Keegan didn’t know a whole lot about asthma, but he did know it was not curable. Once you had asthma, you had it forever. “So how do you manage your asthma out in the wilderness?” he asked her.
She sat on the sofa and patted the damp bandage on her forehead. He reminded himself to change the dressing for her.
“With medications and common sense. Asthma can be controlled if a person is aware of their triggers.”
“And what are your triggers?”
Her full mouth twisted in a frown of acceptance. “Almost everything. I have allergic asthma along with the standard one-size-fits-all variety. But I medicate every day and always keep a bronchial dilator handy for emergencies. And just so you know, I don’t live in the wilderness. I work in urban reforestation. There’s a big difference. The most remote areas I get to are acreage around lakes, public parks, that sort of thing.”
“And exactly how does a person reforest an urban area, with tree houses?” He thought he’d made quite the clever joke. At least she smiled. Oddly, he was truly interested in her answer. But he’d always been a fanatic about learning what he didn’t know.
“By choosing the right trees for a particular area. Just because a property is urban doesn’t mean it can’t use trees for beautification. We call them ‘working trees.’ Some we plant for shade, some for soil improvement, some to prevent erosion... The list goes on.”
“So your job is not just a matter of ‘there’s a good spot for a tree?’”
“Hardly. For instance, if I were to reforest this patch of ground you live on...”
“Hold on,” he said. “This property is as is and where is. I suppose there are a few dead trees and shrubs, but for what I have planned, it doesn’t need beautifying.” I’m selling it just like it sits, dead trees and all. It won’t matter once a five-story hotel occupies the acreage.
She frowned at him. “Obviously I wasn’t planning to go outside with a shovel and get to work. Do what you want. It’s your property. Besides, I haven’t even seen it in the daylight. There may have been so much neglect that it would be too costly to regenerate the soil.”
Now she was just being contrary or trying to make him feel guilty. So much neglect? Granted, no one had taken care of this place in years. But surely it was still salvageable. Doesn’t matter, Breen, he said to himself. When the hotel is here, when all the tree roots had been removed...
Wanting to change the subject, he put the last of the washed dishes in a cupboard. At that moment a persistent scratching sounded on the cabin front door, followed by a bump and a thump. “I suppose I should warn you about something...”
Before he could explain, the door opened, and a large dog bounded inside, leaving snowy paw prints on the floor. The animal headed straight for Keegan, tongue hanging out and tail twisting with wild enthusiasm.
“...about the dog,” he said.
She laughed. “Glad I took my medication this morning. He’s beautiful.”
“She. Flo is a female Irish setter.”
“Is she yours?”
“No. Belongs to Duke, but she likes to split her time between the two of us.”
Flo picked that moment to shake vigorously, sending snowflakes fluttering around the cabin.
“I’d love to pet her,” Carrie said. “But so not a good idea.”
“Yeah, among the triggers you talked about, dog hair must be a biggie.”
“Yep, it is. My sister has a dog, but she always keeps Mutt at least a hundred yards away from me.”
Keegan took a dog treat from a canister, teased Flo with it a few moments and finally let her win. Then he walked to the open front door and snapped his fingers. “Out now, girl. Go find a chipmunk to chase.”
The dog obeyed. If only all females were as cooperative as this Irish setter. He closed the door. “Are you ready to make that phone call to Grady?” he asked Carrie.
“Oh, right. Sure.”
“Just remember, even if he gets your car running, you can’t drive it. You’ll have to get two people to come and get both you and the car.”
“So you keep telling me.”
He brought her the number, and she dug her cell phone out of her purse. Once she’d made the arrangements to have her vehicle towed, he unpacked the supplies a nurse had given him at the hospital. Ointment, gauze, sterile tape. “Let me put a clean bandage on your forehead.”
She sat still, letting him do his clumsy thing. Good grief, Breen, your hands didn’t shake this badly when you were in a war zone with IEDs exploding around you. But then, embedding with a bunch of military guys was far different from cohabitating with this one delicate female. At least his world, as unexciting as it had been pre-Carrie, would go back to normal once she called in her own personal troops to get her out of here.
As unexciting as it was... Keegan lived with the reality that his life now was uneventful. When he wasn’t working on his book, he watched television news broadcasts. He still couldn’t quite get his fill of news. Now, since Princess Carrie had plowed into a snowbank within shouting distance of his cabin, he felt like he was approaching the starting gate of a wild roller coaster ride, which might involve facing feelings again. There were too many feelings he didn’t want to relive except on a computer screen.
What was it about Carrie that intrigued him? He didn’t want to be intrigued. She was all smiles and hope and consumed with nature. Keegan was the exact opposite. And he was growing accustomed to a low-energy existence. Yet, he was intrigued. He figured his all-but-forgotten libido would settle down once she headed to wherever home was. And he could go back to sleeping in his bed and the nightmares that plagued him every night. Now if he could just get rid of that recurring pain...
She lightly touched her forehead where he’d just applied the bandage.
He occupied his inexperienced hands with putting away the amateur doctoring equipment. “How does that feel?” he asked.
“Fine. You do good work, doc.”
He huffed a disbelieving breath. “Hopefully you won’t get gangrene. Want me to help you to the sofa and turn on the TV?”
“Sure. I could watch something, I guess.”
He started to help her to her feet when he heard a knock on his door.
“Geez, Breen,” she said. “Aren’t you a card-carrying hermit?”
He frowned. “I thought so, but it’s a bit like Times Square around here this morning.” He went to the door and opened it to a rather large woman with a heavy winter coat and a scarf around her frizzy gray hair. She held a basket in her hands.
“Oh, it’s you, Delores,” he said.
She thrust the basket toward him. “Scones. Just made ’em warm from the oven.”
He hesitated. “Take them,” she ordered. “I can’t eat a dozen scones.”
No one could, he thought. But maybe Carrie could help. He glanced at Carrie. Her bright eyes told him that Delores’s English accent might have mistakenly indicated that the woman actually knew how to make a good scone. Wait until Carrie tasted one. She’d learn soon enough that accents do not automatically hint at good bakers.
He raised the cloth around the biscuits and pressed on one with his thumb. Yep. Dry and hard as ever. “Thanks, Delores.”
She stuck her head inside the cabin, looked around, spied Carrie and said, “Hello there, darling. I heard Keegan had some company.”
“That makes you, Duke, Flo and me who know about this arrangement,” Keegan said, nodding at Carrie. “This is Carrie. Carrie, Delores. Now all the people that matter know that I have company, and I don’t see any reason to tell anyone else.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you implying that I’m a gossip?”
“Ever since you invested in a cell phone,” he said.
“Why are you trying to keep this lovely young lady a secret, Keegan? What have you got up your sleeve?”
“Nothing but my arm,” he said attempting to close the door and send a clear message. But Delores was too quick for him and had apparently just noticed the walking boot on Carrie’s leg. She was inside and removing her scarf before he could step out of her way.
“Oh, my, you poor dear,” she said, casting a disapproving glare at Keegan. “You didn’t do this to her, did you?”
His jaw dropped. “You know, Delores, I should start charging you rent. Sometimes your conclusion jumping is just too much!”
Carrie quickly came to his defense. “I had a car accident. Keegan has been a perfect gentleman and a fairly good nurse. In truth, he more or less got stuck with me after pulling me out of a snowbank.”
Delores patted Carrie’s hand. “Well, that’s fine, then. He could use a little company in this place. I live just out back in the yellow unit by the tree line. If you need anything, just open the bedroom window and holler. I’ll hear you.”
Carrie smiled. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. I’m only here temporarily until my car is fixed.”
Now she was staying until her car was fixed? When would that be? A couple of days? A week?
“I’ll be on my way, then,” Delores said. She rewrapped the scarf and headed for the door. As she left, she called back, “Ta-ra, then, see you cozy couple later.”
One glance at Carrie’s round eyes confirmed that she had heard the comment.
When he’d shut the door on the latest visitor, Keegan set the basket of scones on his table and grumbled. “Neighbors. Never liked ’em. Never will.”
Carrie responded as casually as her telltale grin allowed. “Except one you risk your life for to get his medicine. And the other you let live here rent-free.”
“They both live here rent-free,” he grudgingly admitted. “They sort of came with the property when I moved in.”
She nodded slowly. “I see. Then what choice did you have?”
Not much. And when the property sold, he thought, both of those decrepit trailers and their nosy old residents would have to go. And he sure wasn’t taking them with him.
* * *
THE CLOSEST CARRIE had gotten to fresh air on this first full day of confinement had been when she stuck her head out the kitchen window. Ordinarily she never went a full twenty-four hours without being in the open, communicating with the trees and plants she loved so much. But unwilling to test her walking boot in the snow, she’d had to settle for a deep breath of cold, crisp Ohio winter air from the windowsill. Cold almost didn’t describe the outside temperature. Frigid, freezing, approaching zero was more accurate.
Her decision to test the environment had almost caused an asthma reaction. When she felt the first signs of laboring lungs, she quickly drew her head back inside and closed the window. Bitter cold temperatures were not kind to asthma sufferers, which was why Carrie had recently made plans with the US Forest Service to send her for the worst of the winter to Tennessee where the temperatures were fairly moderate. Now, of course, with this broken bone, she might have to reconsider.
So, as darkness settled around the cabin, she thought about her future. If she didn’t go to Tennessee on her next assignment, and if she didn’t go back to Michigan where temperatures could be almost as severe as Ohio’s, what would she do? Swallow her pride and go home to Dancing Falls where her father would pamper her until she felt like a near invalid?
While she was growing up, her father had constantly checked the outside temperatures to determine if his youngest daughter could go out and play. If the thermometer dropped below thirty-five, she was bundled in a snowsuit, mittens and a hat. And still her father watched from a window.
And he wondered now why Carrie had chosen to work in nature and a lifestyle that allowed her to choose for herself when she could go outside. Independence was a wonderful thing, and the Fosters had encouraged all their daughters to be independent, even if their teaching backfired occasionally. The Forest Service had been an understanding employer, allowing Carrie to move assignments according to climate changes. But her father still believed that he, and only he, knew best.
Blocking the low drone of the television, Carrie continued thinking about her father. She loved him dearly. He was sweet, caring and brilliant. His current life was divided between his career and his responsibilities to his ill wife. And yet he still found time to fuss over Carrie. Every phone call, every visit was always punctuated by questions on her health, reminders to take medicine, gentle urges to get her to come home. And she couldn’t convince him that she was fully capable of making her own choices and monitoring her health. She didn’t even want to think of his reaction to her foolish decision yesterday. Embarking on a five-hour trip in a snowstorm had not been such a good choice, as it turned out.
How different her life would have been if her mother, Maggie, were still the vibrant, funny, sensible woman who’d raised the girls into early adulthood. She would have understood Carrie’s need to be herself, her striving for normalcy in the career she’d chosen. She would have balanced Martin Foster’s obsessive worry with calm rationality. Maybe their new neighbor, Aurora, who’d become a trusted friend to her father and sisters, could provide the support her father so desperately needed.
Carrie’s thoughts were interrupted by the local weather report. She sat up straight on the sofa and hit the volume button on the TV.
“Fairer temperatures, a slow warming trend...lots of sunshine with highs tomorrow in the upper thirties.”
Carrie smiled. Practically bathing suit weather in northern Ohio. Tomorrow she could go outside and investigate these seven acres which seemed to not matter to Keegan Breen. The prospect made her almost giddy.
She turned off the television, leaned into the comfortable sofa cushion and closed her eyes. Keegan had been stuck at his computer most of the afternoon, doing what, Carrie didn’t have the faintest idea. Now he was in the bedroom with the door partially closed. But she could hear his voice, low, peaceful...almost loving. The mellow timbre of his words vibrated deep inside her in a soothing, comforting way, as if she could listen to that voice all night.
“Sounds like you had a good Christmas,” he said. “Did you do anything special to celebrate?” There was a pause after which he said, “No, I don’t need to talk to her. The check arrived, I assume.” Another pause. “You’re welcome. I love you, Taylor.”
Keegan uttered a few more words which Carrie couldn’t make out. Then she heard him disconnect with a simple, “Take care of yourself.” Carrie opened her eyes as he came into the living room rubbing the back of his neck. He suddenly seemed tired.
Carrie sat up. “Everything okay?”
“Sure. Why would you ask?”
“I heard part of your conversation,” she said.
“You were listening to my phone call?”
“Not intentionally, but you didn’t close the door all the way.”
“I thought you were watching TV.”
“I turned it off.” She waited for him to say something else. He went into the kitchen and started making a pot of coffee. “If you’d like to talk about anything...” She laughed softly. “I am the perfect captive audience.”
He turned away from the coffeemaker to stare at her. “Carrie, if you want to know who I was talking to, why don’t you just ask?”
“Okay. Who were you talking to?”
“My son. He lives in Seattle. And again I just spent another Christmas away from him.”
“That can’t be easy.”
“It’s not, but over the years I’ve missed plenty of holidays, and I’ve got no one to blame but myself.” He pressed the button on the coffee brewer. “You want a cup? It’s decaf.”
“Sure, thanks. And, Keegan...?”
“What?”
“You must be divorced from the boy’s mother, right?”
“That’s a logical assumption.”
“Did she not invite you to spend Christmases with your son? Did she keep him from coming to see you?”
He frowned, and she hoped she hadn’t crossed a boundary of privacy. But he seemed like he was having a tough time with missing his son.
“My ex-wife isn’t an unreasonable person,” he said. “I’m just not Daddy-of-the-year material. Let’s leave it at that.”
Wow. Keegan’s conversation with his son had been short and almost awkward. Yet his voice had been comforting, his tone almost sweet. If she had to guess—and since he wasn’t going to say anything else, what other choice did she have—she concluded that he had genuine feelings for his son.
“Okay,” she said. “Conversation closed. You take the bed. I’ll sleep fine on the sofa.”
“Never mind.” He took a long sip of coffee and brought a mug to her. “I won’t be sleeping much tonight anyway.”
CHAPTER FIVE (#u861a2cb0-c641-5159-86c9-5966aca6771c)
KEEGAN’S CELL PHONE rang early the next morning. He answered it right away and spoke in a near whisper, obviously trying to keep from disturbing Carrie in the bedroom. His voice was alert, as if he’d been awake a long time, or perhaps, as he’d said, hadn’t slept much at all.
“Oh, hello, Grady,” he said. “No, she’s not up yet, and I don’t want to disturb her.”
“It’s all right,” Carrie called out. “I’m awake.” She glanced at the bedroom clock. Eight o’clock. Sunlight streamed through the window blinds promising a beautiful day, just what she’d hoped for.
Keegan’s head appeared in the opening of the bedroom door. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.”
He entered the room, and she sat up against the pillows. She pulled a comforter over her sleeveless nightgown and placed her arms over the top, wrapping herself in a modest cocoon. The only times she had been this underdressed with a man had not turned out well for her. She lightly clasped the amethyst amulet she always wore around her neck, appreciating its smooth familiarity.
Keegan smiled while his gaze grew more intense. “Warm enough?” he said.
She brushed bangs from her eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m good. That’s the car mechanic on the phone, isn’t it?”
“Yep. Hold on. I’ll put him on speaker.” Keegan pressed the appropriate button. “Go on, Grady. Carrie’s listening.”
“We’ve got a problem,” the mechanic said. “I checked the car out thoroughly yesterday but couldn’t figure out why it wouldn’t start. Finally found the problem. The impact destroyed the steering box.”
Carrie leaned forward in the bed. “That sounds bad.”
“It’s not good,” Grady said. “Without a steering box, you can’t...well, I guess it’s obvious. Unfortunately this is not a universal gizmo. I’ve had to contact the foreign automaker and order a replacement. Once it gets here, I don’t know how long it will take me to get the car running again. I’ve never exchanged this particular part before.”
“I see.” Carrie stared at Keegan, trying to judge his patience barometer. Was this news already ruining his day? She’d taken a week off from her job, so she wouldn’t be expected back in Michigan until after the coming weekend. But that might be too long for Keegan to put up with her.
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Cynthia Thomason
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Life is meant to be livedSurprising her family for Christmas seems like a good idea…until Carrie Foster loses control of her car in a freak blizzard. Now she’s stuck in the middle of nowhere with a fractured leg, the unplanned-for guest of the man who saved her life.Keegan Breen lives in a secluded cabin on his family’s neglected campgrounds, which nature-lover Carrie sees as a potential paradise. The haunted war correspondent is a world away from the boy he was once. But together, can they prove the cynics wrong and show that opposites can not only attract, but be soul mates?