Rescued by Mr. Wrong Page 18

Carrie smiled and shook her head.

  “What are your plans, Carrie? You should be able to go without the boot soon.”

  “One week. I go to the doctor this coming Friday. I’m sure he’ll recommend that I walk without the boot.”

  “And then?”

  Wasn’t that the question of the day? What would she do? Drive back to Michigan, she supposed. She loved her job. Maybe not as much as she would love staying put somewhere and making a few acres her own to beautify and cultivate. For a year or so, Carrie had been feeling the need to establish roots somewhere, not with her father watching over her, but maybe someplace close to him, a place where she could monitor the triggers to her asthma and learn to more effectively live with the disease.

  And ironically, she’d crashed into the perfect property a few weeks ago, and now she hated to leave. Lakefront, potentially lush and lovely, Keegan’s land was a dream come true to a reforester like Carrie. But some dreams were destined not to come true, and in a year or so, this fertile land would hold a multistory hotel and asphalt parking lot.

  “I’ll return to my job,” she told Delores. “I’m lucky they haven’t replaced me.”

  “And what will Keegan do?”

  Carrie reminded herself that Delores and Duke didn’t know of Keegan’s plans to sell the land out from under them. “He’ll stay here, for a while at least,” she said.

  “And be all grumpy again.” Delores stood. “I’ll be sorry to see you go, dear. But you never know what can happen in a few days.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “I’ll take these muffins to Keegan now. Afterwards I promised Duke I’d mend his curtains.”

  She shuffled toward the cabin’s back door, leaving Carrie to ponder what an odd little group they all made. Two elderly people who Carrie had thought were practically indigent, an old dog who loved snow more than any creature ought to, a brilliant and previously famous reporter, and an optimistic but somewhat sickly tree hugger.

  Carrie sighed. What would happen to that optimism when she drove away from this place, and Keegan, a week from now?

  * * *

  “THANKS, DELORES,” KEEGAN SAID, taking the plate she offered. “These look good.” He paused, sniffed the muffins. “I mean they really do.”

  “You enjoy them.”

  He peeked around her shoulders. “How’s Carrie doing out there?”

  “Oh, all right. She’s having what we used to call an air bath and quite liking it.”

  “Did she have one of your muffins?”

  “She did. And again, I’m sorry I didn’t bring scones.”

  Delores headed back to her trailer. Keegan set the plate on the table and grabbed a muffin to sustain him while he went back to work on his computer. His thoughts were flowing more easily now that Carrie had agreed to stay for the next week. Funny how she was affecting nearly every aspect of his life. He wondered what he had done for her. Fixed a few meals, given her some rides and a place to sleep. That was about it. Her worldview didn’t need changing, and if he tried, he would only pollute it.

  After a few minutes Keegan heard a car pull up to the cabin. He got up and went to the front door. A stocky man, a couple of decades older than Keegan, got out of a rusty SUV.

  “It can’t be,” Keegan said aloud. A smile broke across his face as he opened the door. “Butch Slattery! What are you doing here?”

  The two men embraced the moment Keegan’s beloved photographer crossed the threshold.

  “You were hard enough to find, Pat,” Butch said. “A campground somewhere in Ohio? That was all I had to go on, but a good reporter never gives up.”

  Keegan took Butch’s coat, tossed it on a chair and went to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee, the beverage the two men had lived on for days at a time, when they weren’t sipping whiskey.

  “I should have contacted you,” Keegan said. “Though you’re just as hard to locate. Where have you been?”

  Butch pulled out a kitchen chair and sat at the table. “Been at my daughter’s place in Indiana. She’s a sweetheart, you know, believes I need looking after. But the boredom has gotten me down. Do you realize there’s not a whole lot to do in central Indiana?”

  Keegan chuckled. “About as much to do as there is in northern Ohio, I imagine.”

  “How do you put up with it, Pat? After the lives we led, looking out for each other, dodging trouble. Don’t you miss the excitement of the old days?”

  Butch was the one person Keegan could answer with complete honesty. “Yeah, sometimes. I came here to collect myself, find some peace, think about my future. But after more than a year, my future doesn’t seem any more clear than it did the day I arrived.”

  Butch smiled, showing he hadn’t yet replaced a couple of teeth he’d lost in Iraq. “I knew I hadn’t made a mistake in coming here.”

  Keegan brought him a mug of coffee. “What are you talking about?”

  “Have you been watching the news?”

  “Sure.” Keegan sat across from him. “Can’t change your stripes.”

  “That civil war in northern Europe is a fascinating piece of business,” Butch said. “Almost tribal in its ferocity. So many factions fighting for domination, so many folks fleeing for safety. Refugee camps are springing up everywhere.”

  Keegan nodded. “I’ve been following the story.”

  “Bet you’ve been writing it in your head, too.”

  Keegan smiled. “Like I said about stripes...”

  “I haven’t seen one bit of reporting that seems to capture the desperation in that area, the human interest stuff, the struggle to survive in those conditions.”

  “It’s got to be tough.”

  Butch took a long sip of coffee, stared at his friend and remained quiet for a few moments. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Let’s go, Pat. Let’s hop a plane before all the airports are closed over there and do what no other two guys can do as well as the two of us. Tell it true.”

  Keegan tried to ignore the tremors in his chest. His heart was beating hard enough to make him sit straight and take a deep breath. “Are you serious, Butch? You want to get involved in these messes again?”

  “I do. And I want you with me.”

  Keegan tried to cover his surprise with a forced chuckle. “I don’t think so. Those days are behind me now.”

  “They don’t have to be.”

  Keegan leaned toward his old friend. “You and I should be thanking our lucky stars that we made it out as many times as we did. I’ve got the scars to prove the close calls, and so do you. If we go back, we’ll just be tempting fate, and this time we might lose.”

  Butch frowned. “I can’t believe this is Patrick Breen I’m talking to.”

  “It isn’t. I go by my middle name, Keegan, now. Patrick left his past on some remote desert.”

  “I’m not about to call you any name other than the one that made you famous. Reporting’s in your blood, Pat. You know it is. The excitement, the thrill, the adrenaline rush. I know you, son, and you can’t live without it any more than I can.”

  Keegan nodded toward his computer. “My life has taken a new turn, Butch. I’m writing my memoir, not that anyone will read them, but I’m getting them down. It’s been a healing experience for me.”

  “Well, fine. But your life story isn’t over by a long shot, Pat. You’re what? Only forty, forty-one, right?”

  Keegan nodded. “Feel older, though.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve got more stories to tell. You just have to live them first.”

  “It’s not simply the writing, Butch.” Keegan’s thoughts focused on Carrie. “I’ve met someone.”

  “You’re in love?”

  Butch asked the question as if the concept were impossible. Keegan wasn’t so sure the old guy wa
s wrong.

  “I didn’t say that,” Keegan answered. “I don’t know what I am.” He stood. “Get up, follow me.” He walked to the window and made room for Butch to look outside. Carrie’s back was to them, her stocking cap pulled low over her head. “That’s her. She’s recovering from a broken leg and has been staying with me since I rescued her from a snowbank.”

  “So you’ve had yourself a sweet deal for a while.”

  “No, it’s not like what you’re thinking. I’m just getting to know her. She’s... Well, she’s not like anyone I’ve ever connected with before. She’s...” He stopped. Revealing more might compromise Carrie’s trust in him.

  Just then Carrie turned toward a sound in the bushes. Her profile became visible to the two men.

  “What is she, eighteen?” Butch said.

  “She’s thirty,” Keegan said, the same defensive tone in his voice he’d used before.

  “She looks like a kid,” Butch said, laughing softly. “A sweet, innocent kid. What’s she doing with a hard-nosed renegade like you?”

  Keegan stepped back from the window, aware that he’d had the exact same thought too many times. What was Carrie doing with him? And what made him think she would stay? He expelled a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about her anymore.”

  “Okay, okay. Let’s talk about you and me and getting back into action. I want you with me, Pat.”

  A few minutes passed. Finally, Butch said, “Give me a piece of paper.” When he had the scrap, he jotted down a phone number. “My cell. Call me anytime. Think about my offer, what we’ve been through—the scrapes, the narrow misses, the victories. We’re not over the hill, Pat. We can make a difference over there, one last bit of action before we put ourselves out to pasture. This may be the last chance we’ll have, together anyway. I’m not getting any younger.”

  He pushed the paper scrap into Keegan’s shirt pocket and patted the outside. “Hope to hear from you. I know I’m a good photographer. And I know you’re the best with words. Don’t wait too long. I’m going to book air travel by Tuesday. Time isn’t on our side.”

  Keegan watched his friend get into his SUV and drive off. He couldn’t pretend that his blood wasn’t flowing like rapids through his veins. He pressed his palm over his chest as if he were keeping his beating heart from bursting through his shirt. Just one more time. Could he do it? Did he want to?

  The story of the civil war had captured his imagination and held him spellbound. He’d thought of all the angles, the big stories, the little ones, the ones that would make a difference. Still, he’d relegated those yearnings to the back of his mind where they belonged. Patrick Breen was gone. He was lucky to be alive.

  But now he could only shake his head. Butch had made him think about all the angles of his life, as well—the isolation, the solitude, that sweet woman in his backyard who’d be better off without him. Maybe Patrick was back for one last hurrah, and Butch Slattery had shown up at just the right time.

  * * *

  “I HEARD TALKING,” Carrie said, coming in the back door. “Did you have company?”

  “Ah, yeah, a fella I’ve known for a while.”

  “That’s nice.” She glanced at the kitchen table. “You made coffee? And I see that most of the muffins are gone.”

  “They were good. Two men can polish off a plate of muffins pretty easily.”

  She sat on the sofa, removed the heavy boot from her calf and massaged her leg. “I’ll be so glad when this last week is over and I can throw this thing away.” She sighed. “And I’ve got to start making some serious plans for what to do next.” After a pause, she added, “Maybe we should talk.”

  She stared at Keegan’s back as he rinsed the coffee mugs in the sink. He didn’t respond. In fact, he seemed almost indifferent.

  “Keegan?”

  He turned to face her.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No. What could be wrong?”

  She heard his words, but his face conveyed a different message.

  Later, after she’d had her shower, she snuggled next to Keegan on the sofa. He slipped his arm around her and breathed deeply.

  “Your hair smells good,” he said.

  His hand on her arm, his thigh touching hers, she felt the same warmth and security she’d experienced with Keegan from the start, but now...most amazing of all, she felt loved. He hadn’t used the words yet, but Carrie sensed the deep feelings growing between them. How incredible that this gruff loner of a man who had taken her in, as if it were the last thing he wanted, could become the central force in her life. He didn’t treat her as if she were ill. He treated her as if she were well, and that meant more than words could say.

  He was nothing like the men—boys really—she’d known and trusted. The ones who’d led her on because of what they wanted from her. The ones who’d made her wary that most men had an ulterior motive. Keegan was solid, strong and, once she’d gotten past his wounded soul and stubborn exterior, he was caring, compassionate.

  And he’d changed her. Made her more confident, more ready for an adult relationship. Like the living things she nourished, Carrie had blossomed in this wintry clime. The woman who’d been fearful of giving herself to any man wanted this one with an ache that had been growing for weeks. The realization that she looked forward to this kind of commitment made her tremble with anticipation at the same time her heart swelled with an abundance of emotion. She wanted Keegan to be her first. She wanted him to be her last.

  Since Keegan knew the truth about her, he probably wouldn’t be the one to initiate an intimate relationship. She would have to show him she was ready. She laid her hand flat on his chest and felt his muscles tense. “My leg is feeling especially well tonight,” she said.

  His hand stopped moving on her arm. “That’s great.”

  With her index finger, she traced the buttons on his shirt. He shifted on the sofa. Thinking he was inviting her to do more, she slipped the first button by his throat clear.

  “Carrie, what are you doing?” His voice was hoarse.

  She leaned up and kissed his cheek while her deft fingers freed the next button. “Keegan, you know about my past.” She smiled. “Or perhaps my lack of a past is more accurate. But you should also know that I care deeply for you. We’ve been together for weeks now. There is no one I trust with my feelings more than you.” She gently gripped his chin and turned his face to hers. When she kissed him, she hoped to convey the desire churning inside her. She kissed him deeply and thoroughly.

  He closed his hand over hers, preventing her from baring his chest to her fingers. “Carrie...”

  She sat straight, her gaze locking with his. His eyes seemed troubled, uncertain, while for the first time in her life, Carrie was absolutely positive about what she wanted. “Take me into the bedroom, Keegan. I don’t want to sleep on the sofa any longer.”

  He cleared his throat. “Carrie, I’m not sure this is what we should be doing.”

  “Because it’s my first time?”

  “Yes, that, and other factors.”

  “You don’t want me?”

  He groaned, a sound so sad and somehow desperate that she put a few inches between them and settled her hand on his thigh. “What’s going on, Keegan? I thought... If you don’t have feelings for me, or if they aren’t as strong as mine are for you, then you have to tell me.”

  “It’s not that,” he said. “I do have feelings for you.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I don’t know if you should give up to me what you have saved your entire life for some special man.”

  Her voice dropped to practically a whisper. “I believe you are that man.”

  “I wish I were, Carrie. I’m afraid that I’m not and never will be. The differences between us are vast and fundamental...”


  “No, stop.” She turned away from him, locked her gaze on her hands clasped on her lap. “I get it.”

  “I’m not sure you do.” He stood. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll try to explain. But right now I need a walk in the cold air. You take the bed tonight.”

  She listened to his footsteps as he went to the coatrack by the front door. She heard the rustle of fabric as he slipped his arms into his jacket. She felt the cold blast of winter air when he opened the door. And she jerked at the finality of the sound of that door closing.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “HOW DID YOU SLEEP?” The question, so common and natural between the two of them, suddenly sounded forced and rehearsed. Keegan cleared his throat. “Well, I hope.”

  “Sure. Great.”

  Dark blotches under her eyes told a different story. “I’ve been thinking,” he said.

  “Not just yet, Keegan, okay? I need coffee.”

  Thank goodness. Preparing the cup the way she liked it gave him something to do, something to cut the tension that had filled the kitchen when she came out of the bedroom. He set the coffee in front of her.

  “I’ve got to run an errand,” he said. “I’ll be back before long. Will you be all right?”

  “Of course.” She didn’t look at him. Just drank her coffee as if she weren’t really tasting it.

  “I’ve got my cell phone. Call if you think of anything you’d like me to pick up.”

  She shrugged one shoulder, a dismissal of his offer.

  Once outside, Keegan hurried to his vehicle and climbed inside. He really didn’t have anywhere to go. Oh, he’d stop at the closest market and buy a couple of things so his story would look convincing. But mostly he had to make a phone call. He drove to a roadside park, empty during the winter months and especially in the light dusting of snow falling around him this morning.

  Checking his watch, he determined the time was appropriate for this call. He’d always heard doctors were early risers. Speaking to his Google search app, he requested the number of a Dr. Foster in Fox Creek, Ohio and dialed.

  The phone rang and was answered by a woman. “Hello, Foster residence, how may I help you?” she said.