Rescued by Mr. Wrong Read online

  He was almost surprised she hadn’t. “Okay, but what about the rest of it? You manipulated Taylor and me into your idea of happiness. You talk to your sisters as if you alone can make them see the positive side of everything. Let me tell you something, Carrie. The world can be a cruel and challenging place. A lot of bad things happen because of a lot of bad people and the whims of an extremely vengeful Mother Nature. I’ve seen it all. I’ve lived it.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap and stared at them. For a moment he thought she might be close to tears. Well, too bad. Someone had to tell this woman that lies of convenience, like inventing a husband when you needed one, claiming you were in Michigan when you were recuperating a few hours from home, often didn’t work out the way you wanted them to. And making a world look beautiful with trees and flowers didn’t make it so. And manipulating lives to suit your expectations of how people should act could get you in a heap of trouble.

  Was he sorry she’d brought Taylor here? No, as it turned out, he wasn’t. Was he still angry at her for taking such liberties with their lives? Yeah, he was. She had no right to tamper with his personal business and to manipulate a future she didn’t know would work.

  He cleared his throat, refusing to let his guilt for being so blunt infuse his words now. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  “Sure.” She looked up at him. Her eyes glistened with moisture, but her mouth was set in a determined line. “I feel sorry for you.”

  “Okay. Many times I’ve felt sorry for me, too.”

  “You have your outlook, and I understand you’ve come by it honestly, by seeing the horrors of war and devastation. But you chose that kind of life. I chose my life as well, and I have my outlook, too. I’ve come by it by trying to make the world a better place.”

  He harrumphed. “And so have I in my way. But I’m a realist, Carrie. You’re a...”

  “I know what I am! Go ahead, be cynical. That’s all you’ve been in years. But no one forced you to follow every trail of destruction, to witness lives shattered, homes destroyed, futures ruined.” 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 high out of seeing the awfulness of mankind. And it confirms what your dark, brooding soul has always believed—that our world is a miserable place, and those who live in it are miserable, too. And that, Keegan Breen, is sad, and that’s why I feel sorry for you.”

  “You know what I think, Carrie?”

  She scowled at him. “Yes. 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.”

  She almost smiled back at him but at the last moment got control of her lips and frowned. “Do you even have any friends, Keegan? Do you really think of me as a friend?”

  “A few. And no. I don’t think of you as a friend. I’m not quite sure what I do think of you, but a buddy, a pal, isn’t it.” He reached across the space between them and put his hand on her knee. “The other night I kissed you, remember?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

  “I’m going to do it again. I’ve been thinking about doing it all three days that Taylor was here. Heck, I’ve been thinking about it since I pulled you out of your car.”

  Her eyes widened. She took in a sharp breath. “I can’t imagine why you would want to. I mean, if we’re oil and water...”

  “I can’t imagine, either,” he said, drawing her close to his chest. His hand caressed the side of her face. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You baffle me, Carrie. You confuse and destabilize me.” His lips brushed hers. “But dang, if you don’t make me look at the world a little differently.”

  “Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  He smiled. “Not always for an eternal pessimist, but right now, yes.”

  His mouth covered hers, and he tasted sweetness and goodness and hope. And most of all Carrie, the brightest ray of whatever fate or angel or mischievous heavenly entity had sent her into a snowdrift that day. His chest expanded with the effort of keeping his heartbeat in rhythm.

  Her lips softened against his. He moved his head, seeking more of her, drawing her into whatever might still be decent in his soul. She moaned, a gentle responsive sound that made him deepen the kiss until there was nothing but the two of them, the subtle hum of the car heater and this brilliant winter day.

  * * *

  MARTIN STUDIED THE reports from the geriatric specialty doctor and the neurologist. Both professionals had been to Dancing Falls today. The neurologist had left a comprehensive report and the geriatric doctor was still standing by Maggie’s bedside.

  Looking up from reading the report, Martin said, “You’ve looked at these, Ron?”

  “I have.”

  “What do you think?”

  “You’re a doctor, Martin. You know as well as I do what those reports...”

  “Don’t try to sidestep giving your professional opinion, Ron. We’ve known each other too long. And you’re the geriatric guy, the one who sees his patients through end-of-life situations.” He paused long enough to take a deep, steadying breath. “How long does she have?”

  “I don’t know, Martin. A few days, maybe a few weeks yet. You know that sometimes death is a slow and difficult journey.”

  There was much to prepare, so much Martin had refused to take care of while he still maintained some hope for a miracle. “Your best guess, Ron,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  Dr. Ron Norton sighed. “Okay, leaving out the stats which you can clearly read for yourself—the slowed pulse rate, the diminishing brain wave activity—we have other signs that Maggie is entering the last phase of life. You told me that she has a hard time swallowing and will only take ice chips or Popsicles. Her skin is thin and colorless. There are liver spots on her hands and feet and all her extremities are cool to the touch.”

  He stared down at the patient he had been visiting regularly for over two years. “But her breathing is stable. There is movement behind her eyes. Her legs and arms are still limber, and most importantly, there is no evidence of pain. She’s peaceful, Martin. You should be thankful for that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Both men turned as Jude came into the room. She walked on bare feet, having obviously left her boots and socks downstairs. “Dr. Norton, you make it sound as if Mom is dying.”

  Martin put his arm around Jude. “Honey, you knew this time would come...”

  “But not now. We’re not ready.”

  Martin put his hand on the side of Jude’s head and pressed her face to his shoulder. “No, Jude, not now. She’s not dying now. But we have to accept...” His voice faltered. “It could be soon.”

  Jude stood straight and walked to the bedside. In her typical attire of jeans and an old plaid shirt, she looked like the young tomboy daughter he’d never quite understood, Martin thought. But at least he could take comfort from the fact that Jude had found her happiness after years of trials and sadness.

  “I have to call Carrie. She needs to be here,” Jude said.

  “There’s time, Jude,” Dr. Norton said. “Your mother’s death isn’t imminent.”

  “But Carrie would want to know...”

  “We’ll alert her when it’s necessary,” Martin said. “Let’s not disturb her work until we know something more definite. There’s nothing she can do anyway. And Alex is close by. Maybe she’ll come for the weekend.”

  Jude took her father’s hand. “But, Daddy, what about you? I want to help you throu
gh this, but I don’t know how. I don’t know what you need.”

  “You girls are what I need—when the time comes. You three and your mother are all I’ve ever needed.”

  “At least let me call Aurora,” Jude said. “She would want to be with you.”

  “Yes, she probably would, and there’s no doubt Aurora would be a comfort to me, but right now she is suffering from the loss of her son.” He smiled at his daughter, though his lips trembled with the effort. “I’m going downstairs with Dr. Norton, honey. Why don’t you sit with Mom for a while? It will help you find some peace with what is going to happen.”

  She nodded. “Wesley is in the kitchen. Don’t tell him, Daddy. He still thinks his grandma is sleeping. He still reads her stories and picks out TV shows for her.”

  “I won’t tell him.” He followed Dr. Norton to the door but stopped and turned back to his daughter.

  “Jude...”

  “Yes, Daddy?”

  “You are a help to me every day, even if I don’t tell you as much as I should. Each of my girls is special, but you’re the strong one. I depend on you, Judie. You’ve always stood up for what you believe in, no matter the consequences. Your strength has seen you through many heartaches, and a simple man of science like me can learn a lot from you.”

  She ran a finger under her nose and sniffed. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  IN THE WEEK since Taylor had returned to Seattle, Keegan experienced a level of comfort he hadn’t enjoyed in years. His conversations with Taylor had been more intimate as they shared details about their lives and relived the conversations they’d had while Taylor was at the campground.

  Keegan’s writing had taken on new meaning. He was writing faster now, thinking way ahead of the pace of his fingers. And he’d discovered one distinct change in the attitude he reflected on the monitor. His words had become less cynical about the world as he discovered renewed empathy and compassion for what he had seen as a reporter. Deep inside he didn’t hurt any less. Maybe that would come in time. But in many ways the hurt he was feeling now was good, cleansing and blessedly normal for a man who had witnessed the worst of mankind.

  Sometimes, very often in fact, he paused and reflected on what had changed in his life, and the answer was always the same. Carrie. And more and more his thoughts lingered on her. She had opened his eyes without ever expanding his current world, which was now confined to seven lonely acres. But he’d lived in a world in which he’d buried his hands in the muck of human suffering for so long, he didn’t think he’d be able to live as a contented man.

  He didn’t regret what he’d done with his life. True, he felt a continuing guilt over what his obsession with his work had done to his son, but maybe he was taking steps to close the gap he’d allowed to grow while he was away. But regret over what he’d seen, the words he’d written? No. His reporting had been top-notch, an eye to the miseries of injustice. His award-winning words had brought millions of dollars to the world’s oppressed who needed it. His articles had made people more aware of their own good fortune and perhaps more aware of the darker nature of man’s soul.

  Keegan didn’t kid himself that he was healed, that the dark side of his own psyche had been purged. He was a realist, and he knew that the events he’d witnessed would be with him always, a continuous beast clawing inside his breast to break free. But he was changing, little by little, and he was better because of Carrie.

  So where did they go from here? The last seven days had been experimental. They’d spent their time pursuing their own interests, coming together for meals and conversation. And then, in the evenings, they would nestle side by side on the sofa watching a movie, or they would take drives over nearby snow-dusted roads. They lived wonderfully normal lives, whatever that meant. He’d all but forgotten.

  When Keegan held her hand, he felt connected to something better than himself. When he kissed her, he imagined himself as he was in the nineties when he’d accepted that his family was basically dysfunctional and turned his attention to sports and girls. It had been an innocent, uncomplicated time then, and it was so now.

  Carrie’s stay at the campground was coming to an end. Her car was fixed and sitting outside on the gravel lot. Her walking boot would be cast aside in a week if her X-rays were positive. She’d stayed in touch with her fellow tree lovers in Michigan. They understood her plight but wanted her back.

  Could he let her go? Of course, if that was what she wanted. And she should want her old life back, not this temporary one with an embattled hermit of a man whose demeanor was as different from her pleasant, hopeful attitude as anyone’s could be. She “could do so much better.” That old phrase entered his thoughts with regularity because it was true. She deserved better than him.

  He checked the clock. Three in the afternoon. Maybe he’d decide what they’d have for dinner. He walked to the back window and looked over his yard where Carrie sat in the middle of it all sketching. She’d taken to doing that again, adding details, drawing plants and trees, maybe in hopes of changing his mind, maybe to make beautiful what had grown wasted. He sighed. She’d given him so much more than he could ever give her.

  When a knock sounded at the front door, he went to open it. “Well, hello,” he said.

  Jeanette stood on his threshold wearing a light jacket, appropriate for the day, black leggings and a dark blue sweater.

  She came inside, not waiting for an invitation.

  “So, you are still alive out here,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder.” She pulled off her gloves and shrugged out of her jacket, tossing everything on the closest chair. Then she went to Keegan and put her arms around his neck. “Missed me?” she asked, a note of flirtiness in her voice.

  “We haven’t gotten together in a long while, Jeanette. I thought you’d moved on,” he said, backing away from her.

  “You don’t still have your houseguest, do you? It’s been three weeks, for heaven’s sake. She should have gone by now.”

  He resented her tone, as if no one could stand to be around him for that long. “She hasn’t moved on. Not yet. She broke her leg, Jeanette. It takes time to heal.”

  Jeanette’s gaze swept the small area. “Then where is she?”

  “Outside.”

  She strode to the window. “What’s she doing, drawing pictures?”

  “Yes. She likes to do that.”

  Jeanette went to the nearest chair and sat. “I’ve got to tell you, Keegan. You’ve really surprised me. I never saw you as the type to willingly minister to someone’s needs like this.”

  He couldn’t argue that point.

  “I mean...if I thought you were getting other benefits from this arrangement, but you’re just boarding and feeding her...aren’t you?”

  Keegan frowned. “She’s not a horse, Jeanette. She’s a guest.”

  Jeanette stared up at him with a coy smile. “So, are there?”

  “Are there what?”

  “Other benefits.”

  “No! Nothing like that is going on.”

  “Well, good, because she’s just a kid, isn’t she? I mean, is she old enough to vote?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Doesn’t she have family? Why aren’t her parents taking care of her instead of you?”

  “It’s a long story and frankly, none of your concern.”

  “Fine. It’s you and me that I’d like to be concerned with.” Jeanette rose from the chair and walked to him. “I’ve missed you, Keegan. You aren’t always fun in the usual sense, but you’re always entertaining.” She looped her arms around his nape again. “How much longer is she staying?”

  He fastened his hands on her forearms with the intent of pushing her away. “I don’t know. As long as she needs to.”

  A blast of cool air enveloped them, an
d they both turned to see Carrie on the back threshold. She tried to shut the door quickly, but the wind caught it. Keegan dropped his hands to his sides. Jeanette backed away slowly. Carrie’s mouth opened, then closed again. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Well, hi, honey,” Jeanette said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Pretty good, thanks. I won’t be staying much longer.”

  Keegan closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath. She’d heard Jeanette, and had probably even seen her arms around him.

  “Don’t hurry on my account,” Jeanette said. “You wouldn’t want to rush the healing process.”

  When he opened his eyes, Keegan allowed his gaze to settle on the floor. He could imagine what Carrie was thinking, and she wouldn’t be wrong.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Jeanette asked. “Do you need anything, hon? Things I could pick up at the store for you? I see you’re walking on that boot. Maybe we could have a girls’ day soon. Would you like that? Maybe go to lunch?”

  Keegan’s gut clenched. Jeanette was talking to Carrie as if she were twelve years old. He couldn’t look at her to see the hurt he knew would be in her eyes.

  “No, thank you. I won’t be staying long enough to have a girls’ day.”

  Jeanette picked up her coat and gloves. “Okay, then, just call if you change your mind. Kee has my number.” She headed for the exit. “You two behave yourselves, and, Kee, call me.”

  She exited the cabin, leaving a deathly silence behind her. Keegan wished there were a hole in the floor so he could disappear for a while. His relationship with Jeanette was what it was, and he’d always accepted that they gave and took from each other in equal measure. But nothing he could say to Carrie now would make up for what just happened. But he had to try.

  * * *

  “I’M SORRY,” SHE said again after a moment. “I had no idea...”

  He took a step toward her. “It’s not like it seems, Carrie.”

  She brushed past him, determined to hide her pain and shock behind cool indifference. “You don’t have to explain to me, Keegan. I realize you had a life before I got here...”