Rescued By Mr. Wrong

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

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.”