A Family For Christmas

She didn’t have to go in. She could call Lynn Bishop, the full-time nurse who lived on the premises. Lynn would get Sara in. Lila could handle the rest in the morning. Any other time, with any other resident under these circumstances—no lives at risk—she would have done so.

But she didn’t. For the first time since she’d come to The Lemonade Stand she’d let something get personal.

Edward needed her.

And damn her for needing to be there for him.

CHAPTER FOUR

Prospector, Nevada

CARA SLEPT FOR two days. Two days in which Simon knew moments of peace, of pleasure, and moments when he sank into pure hell. Tending to a patient again—yeah, of course there’d be moments of pleasure. He was a doctor. Doctoring was all he’d ever wanted to do. From the time he was in junior high he’d known his course.

Peace...now, that had surprised him a bit. Sitting in that cabin in the evening, with the light down low and a book in his lap...and upon first waking in the morning, knowing that someone was in the next room, having to keep a schedule, having something to do at a particular time...had brought peace. He should have known. Should have been able to figure out that he needed structure. Human Nature 101.

And sinking into hell—well, that had pretty much been the rest of the time that he wasn’t climbing his way back out of it.

His patient, on the morning of her third day with him, woke him when she moved quietly through the body of the cabin to the restroom she’d visited a few times in the previous two days, with him right behind her in case she felt weak. On those occasions, he’d left her at the door. She’d called out to him when she was ready for him to come get her.

When he’d seen her underwear hanging wet and obviously cleaned on the far towel bar the previous morning, he’d taken it out to dry in the sunshine after he’d seen her back to bed. Everything had been right where she left it when she’d made her next trip, and had disappeared from the bar right after.

She’d consumed three cans of soup. Half a cracker. And a couple of glasses of orange juice. Along with more than a quart of water. The previous evening he’d removed the makeshift butterfly bandages he’d put on her face and was encouraged by the pink skin surrounding her worst abrasions. Her skin had been cool to the touch since day one. She was healing nicely with no sign of infection.

Pretending to remain asleep on the pullout as he listened to her cross the floor, move down the short hall and close the bathroom door behind her, Simon considered what the day would bring. She was able to get up, move about without any slowness of step or obvious signs of dizziness. It was time for her to resume minimal activity. Another full day in bed was not going to be good for her.

A woman up and about his cabin, needing another day or two of rest, but no longer requiring the direct supervision of a physician, was not good for him.

As a patient, she’d either been asleep, answering his questions or following his orders. He’d kept his questions strictly professional. And his orders—a couple more bites, deep breath, please—even more so.

He needed her gone so he could get back to the business of getting back to his life. Getting back out in the woods. Challenging himself more than closing one eye indoors would do. He hadn’t worn the eye patch since he’d found her.

She had no idea she was dealing with a one-eyed man, and he had every intention of having that state of affairs remain just as it was. But with that, his right eye could grow weaker, letting the left eye do all of its work. Not wanting to leave her alone in the cabin—not completely sure she wouldn’t bolt on him—he’d had to settle for closing his left eye and watching the old television set that worked only with the DVD player attached. He’d kept the sound low, so as not to disturb his patient, and was pretty sure that the time he’d thought he’d seen a shadow move across the screen had not been a brain trick brought on by the fact that a female voice in the movie had just said come here. He was pretty sure he’d seen that shadow.

And was antsy to get outside in the daylight and test himself.

Just as antsy as he was to have the woman out of his house.

Wanting to no longer have a patient to care for...well, with his usual self-honesty, he had to admit that he wasn’t eager for that part of this little time warp to end.

Simon was sitting up, in the sweats and flannel shirt he kept by the couch to put on when he had to tend to his patient during the night, with the bed already folded away by the time Cara came back through the front room. He’d been keeping the place toastier at night, in deference to his patient, but even if he hadn’t been, he was a sleep-in-the-buff guy.

She’d dressed herself. That first day, he’d washed her clothes. Left them on top of the wooden trunk at the end of the bed. Her long dark hair was in a ponytail. He didn’t know where she’d found the rubber band. The first morning she’d woken in his cabin, he’d offered her a spare comb and toothbrush. She’d brushed but had been too weak, or in pain, to shower. She’d obviously taken care of that this morning.

“You found your clothes.” What did you say to a woman you barely knew when she was standing in the middle of your remote hideaway cabin before you’d even been to the bathroom in the morning?

“Yes.” Her body faced the bedroom, but she stood halfway between it and the bathroom, looking at him. Sort of. Her gaze wandered toward the floor.

She appeared to have no curiosity about her surroundings. But then, she’d had two days’ worth of trips back and forth to the bathroom to check it out. He hadn’t noticed her looking around then, either.

“Uh, thank you. For washing them.” She glanced at him, held his gaze and then wavered again.

He couldn’t figure her out. The more she recovered, the more docile she seemed to become. Why would a woman have more fight in her when she was physically weak than when her strength had started to return?

“You’re welcome,” her said after a moment of studying her. “I’m fixing oatmeal and toast for breakfast. You should eat at the table this morning.” Because she couldn’t spend another full day in bed.

His thoughts were repeating themselves. She had to be up and about. He didn’t want her about. She was too weak to hike out of there on her own. And neither of them relished the idea of visitors. All things they had to talk about.

She didn’t seem to have anything to say. With a nod, she turned away, entered her room and the cabin grew silent. She hadn’t closed the door. He could go look in and see what she was doing.

He made oatmeal, instead.

* * *

CARA WASN’T AFRAID. If she’d ever in a million years imagined herself in her current position, she’d have figured herself for terrified, but she wasn’t. Her heart was calm. Resigned. At peace. Karma had been fulfilled, and life and death would be what they were.

Fate had led her to this path. Her way was clear. She was completely, utterly alone now.

No one to miss her, either, which made it all easier. Except Mary. But Mary would be much happier now. Shawn loved his sister. Looked out for her. The two had formed a blessed bond during their difficult upbringing. Shawn never spoke harshly to Mary, never lifted a hand to her except when she was interceding on Cara’s behalf. Without Cara there...

Shawn. A vision of her husband’s smiling sun-drenched face, windblown hair, came to mind. She’d met him on the beach in Florida. His confidence and joy in living had captivated her...

No. These last minutes, last hours, last day or two at the most, were hers. They were days to find her essence. To cling to it. To slide away with her heart firmly attached to its goal and get to those waiting for her on the other side.

If she got there—where they were. Surely she was paying her price here. Bowing her head, she prayed to all that was, to angels and stars and heavens, begging to let her earthly life be the penance. The thought of being anywhere in eternity but with those she’d loved with all her heart who’d gone before her...

Clang! It sounded like a pan had dropped on the old linoleum floor in the kitchen. Picturing the scarred red pattern in her mind, she imagined the doctor picking up whatever he’d dropped. And paused to wonder whether those unsteady fingers had cause him to lose a life.

Staring ahead, she straightened. She couldn’t control the future. Or what would happen to her when she passed. She could only have faith. Keep her mind on what must be. She’d escaped Shawn. That had been answer enough for her. She was meant to die out here.

Shawn had thrown her driver’s license on the ground near her body—so authorities would be able to identify her, she knew. When she’d started her trek in the woods, she’d slid it inside the cup of her bra. Now it lay in the back pocket of her jeans. She was ready to be identified.

But first, she had to get away from the man hell bent on keeping her alive to salvage his own soul.

Sitting quietly, almost numbly, on the side of the bed, she waited to go eat oatmeal.

* * *

SIMON HAD VERY carefully set his place at the end of the wooden table that sat four. Placing her bowl and spoon directly on his left, the brown sugar and plate of buttered toast in front of them, left his uncooperative right eye with little responsibility. He’d called her to the table, set to pouring milk into a pitcher, heard the scrape of her chair and turned to see her sitting in his seat.

What guest took the seat at the head of the table?

The table was oblong. She’d taken the seat closest to the kitchen. And he was screwed. Failing to come up with a reason to move the second place across the table, Simon set the pitcher of milk next to the toast and took her chair, leaving his nearly blind right eye as his leading man.

* * *

KNOWING THAT SHE wasn’t going to get away without his sending out a search party unless she convinced the doctor that she was fine, Cara ate every bite of cereal in her bowl. At least swallowing no longer hurt. She had a piece of toast. And felt guilty for doing so. She was only prolonging a life meant to end. She wouldn’t take her own life. Her mother had taught her well, and killing yourself, no matter how imminent death might be, was wrong.

Karma, Fate—they could use you right up until your last breath. Even the way you took your last breath could be used—to help someone else. You had to let nature take its course. And she would. Just as soon as she could get away from her current predicament.

“That was good, thank you.” Her manners, another reflection of her mother, were ingrained. Funny how she was thinking of Mom so much. Must be because being in her company again was so imminent. She felt comfort and then knew guilt again. She didn’t deserve comfort. She was scum of the earth. Worse than Shawn and...

“You’re shaking.”

Cara came out of her personal hell to see the doctor studying her. With that way he had of tilting his head a bit to the side. She’d noticed it the first day. Kind of liked it.

She would pay for her mistakes by Fate’s plan. In Fate’s time. Peace settled over her again.

“Finish up your juice and we’ll get you settled on the couch,” the doctor said, nodding at her glass. His voice was...tender. She responded to it. Knew she shouldn’t. His kindness was wasted on her.

“I was planning to leave today.”

With a small frown, he shook his head. “We agreed you’d stay until you were better.”

“We said a few days.” Funny how absence of fear freed up voice. She didn’t know the doctor. She figured he had a death on his conscience. And that he was hiding away from something. There were six months’ worth of soap and other supplies in the big laundry closet at the back of the bathroom. He’d been gentle and respectful in his care of her. Professional. But it could just be until she was well enough to serve another need.

Men had those needs. Didn’t seem to matter what was going on in their lives. And one as hot as he was, a doctor, no less, probably wasn’t used to going without.

Still, she knew no fear. Had nothing left to lose...

“...you’re still weak, as evidenced by your shaking, but after two days in bed, with only a bit of soup to eat, you will be weak. You’ve been badly beaten. Repeatedly, in my opinion. Your body is pulling all of your energy into the healing process. For this reason, I cannot, in good conscience, let you wander out there on your own. I will, however, drive you to the closest town if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be.”

Town! Shawn could be there. Her heart pounded. Shawn couldn’t know she was still alive. She couldn’t go back to him. She’d rather kill herself. Shawn...he knew her weaknesses, her issues. Her mistakes... He’d use them against her...

So much for no fear. The same sense of purpose that had come over her the night she’d convinced Shawn she had a brain bleed took root again.

Sitting up straight, she said, “I’m fine. Really. Let me prove it to you. I’ll...” she looked around “...clean the cabin for you today. I’ll stay busy all day. And when you see that I don’t pass out or have a heart attack, you agree to let me go.”

“You are not cleaning my cabin.” He glanced around, turning his body as though he had to inspect every corner of the building. “In the first place, it doesn’t need to be cleaned. I have a system...a schedule.” He shook his head, as though he wasn’t sure what he was saying. Or maybe why. And then, with more of the gentle bossiness she was used to, he said, “What kind of a doctor would I be if I let you overextend yourself, cleaning up after me?”

The words reminded her of his earlier statement. Something about not being able to afford another life on his conscience.

“I’d like you to spend the day out here, on the couch, sitting up, except for naps if you feel the need, with some light activity. You have no broken bones, but you’re still badly bruised. And the blows to your face were severe. We need to give the swelling some more time to dissipate, inside and out.”

She hadn’t studied her face in the mirror. Had actually avoiding even looking at herself, other than to focus on individual cuts as she’d tended to them. She’d felt all of the bruising, though, and the bumps, as she’d washed her face in the shower. She’d felt the sting as the soap and water sluiced over some of the deeper cuts.

“I put the salve on the wounds after I washed, just as you instructed.” Antagonizing him, in any way, would be counterproductive.

He nodded. “I can see that.”

“Thank you for the butterflies. The cuts are healing nicely.” Unlike some of the other cuts Shawn had inflicted over the years, calling them surfing accidents and then insisting that she didn’t need medical attention. Of course, he’d taken advantage of her doctor phobia on that one. She didn’t go to them.

Except for...well, Mary had helped her find...had gone with her...

Mary. Sweet Mary. Sometimes she wondered if part of Shawn’s appeal all along had been the younger sister he’d protected so fiercely. From the time they were ten and fourteen it had been just the two of them, growing up in foster care.

She hoped that Mary, her sister-in-law, best friend and salvation, was going to be happy now that Shawn had no reason to be upset with her.

“You’re tired. Let’s get you to the couch.”

Blinking, Cara realized she’d been fazing out while the doctor had been watching her. Maybe he was right. Maybe she did need a bit more rest.

Just a short nap.

“I feel badly leaving you with the dishes.” She’d had an earlier thought that she’d do them before she left...

“I wouldn’t have let you do them if you tried, so this just saves us wasting your energy on another argument,” he said as he led her away from the table.

She didn’t want to lie on the couch with him sitting there. Didn’t want to sleep in the open...

“I’d be less of an intrusion if I napped in the other room,” she said, and when he paused, added, “I promise to sit on the couch the rest of the day and follow your instructions without argument.”

She didn’t want to spend another whole day in his cabin. Prolonging the inevitable. But she needed the bed. Her head was starting to hurt and she was feeling a bit nauseous, too. She shouldn’t have had that last piece of toast.

“I’m going to hold you to that promise,” the doctor said as he saw her to the door of the room and let her walk alone to the bed.

“I know.”

He stood there until she was settled on the four-poster she’d made that morning with a cover from the trunk over her.

“Sleep well, Cara.”

She kind of thought he’d smiled at her as he left the room.

Clearly, the man needed her to be a successful project.

CHAPTER FIVE

THERE WAS NOT a hell of a lot to do in a cabin that had only one main room and only burner-phone contact with the outside world. He’d been so busy sending himself on hikes, even on the one day it had rained since he’d been there, and bumbling blindly around the interior of the place, making his right eye work—or else—that he’d failed to consider that the hours would be long and excruciatingly empty with a patient sharing the space.

He offered her the option to choose a book from the library he’d brought up with him. It covered an entire wall of the cabin. She did, and they read for a while. Until lunch, which she’d offered to help him make. He hoped his refusal didn’t come out sounding as desperate as it felt. He’d been looking forward to the ten minutes alone in the little kitchen that it would take him to grill up some cheese sandwiches.

Out of habit, when they first sat down, he studied the bruises and cuts on her face, making certain there was no sign of infection.

“You really don’t have to look at me right before you eat,” she said. “I’m fine with you looking away.”

“You say that as if you wouldn’t find it painful to have someone look at you and need to look away.”

Her shrug touched him. The ease with which she blew off pain bothered him, too.

“You’re used to walking around with bruises on your face.”

“You can see the scars, Doctor. They aren’t all that noticeable when I have makeup on, but you know this isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way. Which is why I know I’m fine. I’ve never taken even so much as a morning off from work in the past.”

“You weren’t left for dead in the past. Hadn’t faced a night of exposure. And you’re right, I’ve seen the scars. A couple of the cuts you have right now, most particularly the one on your lateral left cheek, had I not butterflied it, would have left a much deeper scar than the ones already there.”

“I thanked you for them. The butterflies.”

“I’m not looking for thanks.” He wasn’t looking for anything. But he got kind of frustrated when she silently finished half a sandwich. Some answers would be nice.

“I’m of the opinion that these current injuries are worse than those left from previous beatings.”

She didn’t respond.

“How did you go to work...on those mornings you didn’t take off?” His conversational skills definitely rusty, he filled his mouth with sandwich.

“Shawn owns a surfing school. I run...ran...the business end. Taking registrations, billing, scheduling, that kind of thing. A lot of it I could do from home.”

He focused on the way the bruise to the right of her lip moved when she spoke. It was showing no signs of the yellowing that would tell him it was healing with the rest of them.

He didn’t have to know her story. Her health was the only thing that concerned him. Still, they had to do something. “So, you hid out until you looked better. What about the scars?” he asked even as he remembered her mention of makeup.

“I didn’t always hide out,” she said. “Everyone knew that I sucked at surfing. As many times as Shawn tried to teach me, I just couldn’t make myself stay up on the board. Anytime I had bruises, he’d just say I’d tried to go surfing again.”

“And doctors believed him? What about the reports...”

“No doctors,” she said, her tone firm. Then she glanced at him, almost apologetically, it seemed, and said, “I’m not real fond of those who work in your profession.”

Interesting.

“No offense,” she added, biting into the second half of her sandwich. “You’ve been great. I feel fine. Well enough to leave...”

He raised his eyebrow, glad that the right side of his face, including the eye itself, still moved along with the left.

“...I know,” she said after a second under his silent look. “I promised I’d stay at least until tomorrow.”

They finished eating. He didn’t ask why she disliked doctors. She didn’t talk about leaving. He let her help him clean up—because it consisted of throwing away the napkins on which he’d set their sandwiches and washing out the glasses they’d used for their tea.

All that was left, then, was moving back to the living area—she on the couch, he with his book in the easy chair next to a side table with a lamp. He could read just fine. He could do most things just fine.

His right eye wasn’t getting the exercise it needed, though. Every hour mattered.

* * *

CARA COULDN’T STOP looking at him. The first time had been an accident. He’d turned a page; she’d looked up and caught his eye. Sort of. He hadn’t been focused on her, but she’d been in his line of vision. Usually a person would have fully focused, once caught out with that kind of sideways glance, right?

Without even a hint that he’d seen her, he looked out the window to the left of him. She’d waited for him to say something. Eventually he’d gone back to his reading.

And so had she.

She wouldn’t have expected that a woman so close to leaving the earth would care at all about broadening her mind, but the book she’d chosen—mostly because he’d been waiting for her to make a choice and it had been right in front of her—dealt with international espionage. Nothing she had any familiarity with whatsoever. The writing style was good. And the story was actually interesting enough to take her mind off the interminable wait.

Except for the break she took every ten minutes or so to look at him. Mostly, he was reading. Or staring out that window.

Maybe he saw something in the dry desert landscaping in the front yard that she was missing. Lots of sagebrush. Trees, because they were up on a mountain. But it was mostly rock and dirt with patches of weedy grass. Rough ground, all of it.

As she well knew. Cold ground, too, where it wasn’t exposed to direct sunlight.

He was doing it again. Turning his eyes enough that he had to see her watching him. Saying nothing.

He definitely had his secrets.

But that was fine. So did she.

Santa Raquel, California

LILA WAS IN her office, tending to a pile of paperwork—state compliance forms—early Friday evening. It had been two days since the near all-nighter she’d pulled pursuant to Edward’s call for help. She’d slept nearly twelve hours straight on Thursday after work, but she still didn’t feel rested.

Weariness had been slowly creeping up on her over the past few weeks, interspersed with bits of almost excitement-laced hours of energy. So unlike her. If things persisted, maybe she’d call her doctor.

The Stand was unusually busy. They’d added twenty more beds over the past year and still were almost filled to capacity. So much violence. So much pain.

It was no wonder she was tired.

And yet...with her right hand hovering over a signature line, she paused, took hold of her mouse in her left hand and opened a private folder on her computer. From day one she’d been saving pictures—taken with permission and for her personal use only—of recovered residents, survivors who were living happy, productive lives. Some of them for the first time.

As her gaze passed from one to another, she was filled again with the same sense of peace, knowing that she was not only where she was needed, but where she needed to be. Wanted to be.