Rescued by Mr. Wrong Read online

  “What about Duke and Delores?” she asked. “Do they know who you are?”

  “Duke does. He has nothing to do but watch television, so he recognized me right off. Delores just thinks I’m a crackpot who never remembers to badger her about her rent. She’s happy believing that...and providing me with scones masquerading as rocks.”

  Carrie smiled. “So what now? What are your plans for the future?”

  “Oh, I’ve got some,” he said. “Like for instance, right now I’m going to bed.”

  Carrie glanced at her watch. Nearly two hours had gone by since she’d read a word in her book. And she was no longer interested in the story. The novel couldn’t compete with the real-life journey she’d just heard. “Take the bedroom, Keegan.”

  He started to protest, and she waved off his argument. “I insist. You need a good night’s sleep, and I’ve done nothing but sleep, so the bed is yours.” Patting the sofa cushion, she said, “I’ll be fine right here. And besides, I’m not ready for bed yet.”

  “Okay.” He stood and ambled toward the bedroom. “Call me if you need anything. Otherwise I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “We can give Grady a call then,” she said. “See if he’s had any luck with the car part.”

  He smiled. “Sure, we’ll call him, but I’m getting kind of used to having you around, so if you’re stuck here awhile longer, don’t worry about it.”

  “You don’t mind my constant questions?”

  “I wouldn’t say that, but as a former reporter, I can hardly blame you for probing into my past life and being generally nosy, now can I?” He stopped at the door. “But maybe soon we’ll turn the tables and I can ask you a few questions.”

  He shut the door and she turned up the volume on the TV so she could hear the next day’s weather forecast. If it was going to be a nice day, she’d spend it outside and possibly avoid any questions he might ask.

  * * *

  KEEGAN HAD TO admit his bed felt pretty wonderful. Maybe it was the expensive mattress he’d invested in. Or maybe it was the lingering scent of lavender left by the previous occupant. Carrie did smell good. The subtle, breathe-deep kind of floral headiness that made a man’s mind wander—to where it probably shouldn’t.

  He was beginning to enjoy having company in his lonely cabin, not just any company, but this cheery save-a-tree, save-the-planet optimist who would like nothing more than to change his mind about his future plans. He grinned to himself. Carrie Foster wouldn’t succeed in getting him to cancel the sale of his property, but it was miracle enough that he was willing to listen to, and even enjoy, her low, seductive voice trying to get him to.

  Wow, where did that come from? Seductive? He didn’t fool himself into thinking she was in any way a female he should be interested in. No. She was his opposite, a nature-loving, peace-seeking woman-child inexperienced in the kind of world that had shaped his personality. He’d seen the worst of people. She probably refused to admit there was a worst.

  He hadn’t always been like this, though he couldn’t remember a time when his glasses were rose-colored. During his childhood he’d been on his own, scraping coins from the sofa to buy a soda. The experience had made him a curious realist most of his life. Unfortunately his years as a correspondent had changed him from a realist to a pessimist and taught him that evil existed and couldn’t hide its ugly underbelly from inquiring minds determined to expose it.

  Still, there was Carrie, and he couldn’t deny the influence she’d had on him in just a few days. He had to admit that she was the one person in years who had half a chance of changing him back into the person he used to be, the less jaded, less wounded Patrick Breen who enjoyed his summers at his grandfather’s campground.

  “Don’t even think about it, Breen,” he said into his pillow. “You’ve left too much heartache in your wake to risk spoiling something so good.” But he could dream, couldn’t he? He could imagine that he was worthy of someone like Carrie. He wondered if she’d had many relationships. Somehow he doubted she had. Despite the fact that she had a killer smile and bottomless blue eyes that didn’t let a guy turn away, she wasn’t the type to sacrifice principles for casual fun. For some reason, while she appeared to enjoy the company of men, she seemed above the fray of mortal males who took without fully giving back.

  He rolled onto his side, stuffed a pillow between his knees to ease the ache of an old surgery which had removed a piece of shrapnel from his hip. He should be dog tired. He wanted to sleep. He needed to, but he didn’t want to sleep so soundly that the nightmares would come back.

  Some nights, when the past haunted him beyond what was rational, he stayed up all night so the ugliness of what he’d witnessed wouldn’t cause him to wake in a sweat, with the moans of a suffering populace coming from his own lips. No, that was not the experience he would want to expose to someone as sweet as Carrie. That was the part of living like a hermit he hadn’t confessed to.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SOMETIME IN THE middle of the night, Carrie woke to sounds of intense anguish. Except for a small night-light, the cabin was dark. Her eyes popped open in alarm. She jerked upright and raised up on her elbow to listen. The groans came from the bedroom, and they were sorrowful and tortured and caused the skin on her arms to tingle in a shared terror. What was wrong? Had someone broken into the cabin? What would she do? She couldn’t run.

  One goal, to get to Keegan if he was suffering, guided her actions. She rose from the sofa, grabbed her crutches and went as quickly as the awkward sticks allowed to the bedroom door.

  “Keegan?” She kept her voice low and soothing as she peered through a crack in the door. The moonlight coming in an open window was bright, and she quickly determined there was no one else in the room.

  Keegan didn’t answer and instead released another long painful sound from his throat and what seemed the depths of his soul.

  She went inside and approached the bed. He was asleep, yet his body responded to some personal suffering that she could only imagine. Under the covers his legs moved frantically as if he were trying to run. He spoke in guttural sounds she couldn’t make out. His hands clawed at the covers, tried to push them away as if they were restraints.

  Carrie gently laid her hand on his bare arm. “Keegan, shhh now. It’s all right.”

  He turned toward her. His eyes opened to give her a glassy stare. He wrapped his hand around hers and jerked with a sudden pull that sent her sprawling onto the bed. He yanked her to him, engulfing her in powerful arms that had once felt protective and comforting, but now frightened her with extraordinary desperation.

  Her own insecurities flooded her mind. “Keegan, wake up. You’re still asleep. What’s wrong?”

  He only increased his hold over her, bringing her close to his chest, burying his face in her hair. When she felt his hot breath on her neck, she panicked, gulping air, trying to ease the pain in her chest. “I can’t breathe,” she ground out. She pushed against him. He released her and groaned once more as he fully awakened.

  “Carrie...” His voice, trembling and uncertain, seemed to come from a faraway place. “What are you...? How did you...?” His eyes glittered gold in the darkness as he struggled to find his way back from wherever his dreams had taken him.

  Carrie scrambled out of the bed, balanced against the side of the mattress on her one good leg. “Keegan? You were dreaming,” she said between insufficient draws of air.

  He crawled out of bed on the other side. “Where is your inhaler?”

  “In my purse, on the floor next to the sofa.”

  He rushed from the room and returned seconds later, the device in his hand. “Here, use it.”

  She sat back down on the bed and pulled in two complete soothing breaths. “I’m okay now. I don’t think I need it. You startled me, that’s all.”

  “I scared t
he wits out of you is more like it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Carrie. I have these dreams...”

  “It’s all right,” she said, and patted the mattress next to where she sat. “You’re winded yourself. Here, sit.”

  He gave her an intense stare. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to fear me.”

  “I don’t.” She smiled. “Not now anyway. When I heard you in your sleep I only wanted to help.”

  After a pause, he sat next to her, sweat glistening on his face and staining his T-shirt. “You can’t help me, Carrie. Why do you think people choose to live as I do? It’s not always because they have a problem with society. Often they make the decision to be alone because they know they can’t be helped, and they’ve elected not to inflict their pain on others.”

  “I don’t believe that,” she said. “I don’t know what your dream was about, but I believe that no one is beyond help.” She wanted to touch the smooth, muscled skin of his thigh at the hem of his boxer shorts. She wanted to show him a sample of human kindness that might break down his wall of hopelessness. But instead she clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m a good listener, Keegan. Tell me about the dreams.”

  “They’re not for you to hear, Carrie, but thanks. Someone like you...you can’t imagine.”

  “Try me,” she said. “How do you know I can’t relate?”

  He stared at a spot on the wall, refusing to look into her eyes. “Go back to sleep. This won’t happen again tonight. It’s over.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  He looked at her now, a gentle smile curving his lips. “I doubt either one of us will sleep any more tonight,” he said. “You’re really not leaving the room?”

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  “Then, would you lie next to me for a few minutes? It would be nice to feel someone I can trust. I promise I won’t...”

  “I know. Yes, I will.”

  He settled into the bed and raised the covers to accommodate her. She crawled into their warmth, and he pulled the comforter to her shoulders. His arm rested across hers, and he gently tugged her back to his chest. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Your leg?”

  “It’s fine.” She expected to feel the first skitter of panic up her spine, the one she’d tried to overcome all her adult life.

  “Are you cold?” he asked. “I can close the window.”

  “No, it’s okay.” And then, quite by accident, she relaxed in his arms, almost snuggling next to him in a familiar, comforting way. Keegan’s breathing was normal, deep and rhythmic. Yet she knew he wasn’t sleeping. His fingers flexed against her rib cage, and she instinctively nestled closer. This must be what security feels like, she thought. Encompassing and warm. Keegan had no ulterior motive to hold her except to make them both feel safe. Images of the last few minutes vanished as she gave into the sweet abandonment of fear and reluctance.

  She knew she couldn’t stay like this the rest of the night. When she sensed Keegan was asleep, she would go back to the sofa. Lying next to him, though amazingly nice, was a level of intimacy she wasn’t ready for, and she didn’t know when or even if she ever would be ready. But not tonight. Definitely not tonight. Until she heard the steady breaths of a man in deep sleep, though, she would stay with him and recall her own haunting dream.

  Five years earlier...

  “I love you, Carrie. I want to be close to you. I want to make love to you.”

  Jeff was a good man. Carrie had met him in college. She’d flirted with him until he’d practically fallen into her lap, and they’d dated for three years. He talked marriage and children and a home. She’d thought he might be the one to change the timid qualities she hated about herself. She allowed him to touch her, kiss her, always drawing away when the intimacy became too much. But this night was different, and she had agreed to it.

  “I’ve booked a room for us at the university inn,” he said. “It will be perfect, like a mini vacation. We’ll be alone and together. No pressure from phones or people showing up unexpectedly. The time seems right, Carrie.”

  “Sure, Jeff,” she’d said. How could she argue with him? All of her friends talked about their sexual adventures, and at the age of twenty-five, Carrie had nothing to add to the conversation. “You’ll take care of everything... You know, birth control...”

  “Absolutely. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  He’d taken her to dinner and for a short walk afterwards. He’d been a gentleman, and yet there had been a continuing undercurrent of expectation. She could feel it in his urgent touches, his whispers of what was to come. Other women must delight in such attention, she thought. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she abandon the fear, the thought that she was taking a risk far greater than she could handle? Committing to a forever she wasn’t sure she wanted? What if she allowed Jeff to make love to her and she didn’t like it? What about all their plans then?

  They’d gone to the inn. The room was warm and cozy. A fire had been lit on the hearth. Champagne rested in a silver bucket next to a vase of roses. He’d thought of everything. Jeff was the perfect man. He could be the perfect lover.

  He fumbled with the buttons on her sweater, unzipped her jeans. “I...I have to use the bathroom,” she’d said.

  After a few minutes he’d called to her. “What are you doing, Carrie? Is everything okay in there?”

  “Yes. Fine.” She’d come out wearing a nightie that she had just purchased that day. Jeff was lying on top of the bed, naked from the waist up. Smiling, he pulled her down next to him. She was suddenly trembling.

  “Listen, honey,” he’d said. “This is the next step for us.” His kisses, wet and slightly slick, covered her face. His hands seemed almost frantic, as if he needed to feel every part of her at once. He seemed invasive, insisting, not like her Jeff.

  Every instinct screamed that this was not what she wanted. “I can’t do this,” she’d said at last. “I’m sorry, but I’m just not ready.”

  He flopped back on the mattress, and muttered a few words she’d never heard him use before.

  His voice was harsh. “When will you be ready, Carrie? When my hair is gray and I’m still waiting for our first child? What is wrong with you? Are you frigid? Do you hate the thought of making love with anyone? Or is it just me?”

  She struggled with her clothes while he asked the questions.

  “You need to take me home,” she said. “I’m sorry. What else can I say?”

  “I can’t do this any longer, Carrie. I can’t be the Prince Charming to the Ice Queen.”

  “I can get back to my apartment on my own.” She put on her coat.

  “I feel sorry for you, Carrie. I really believe that you’ll never know...” He slid off the bed, dressed quickly and walked her to his car. Without speaking another word, he dropped her at her sidewalk and sped away. He moved soon after, and she never saw him again. But for years she remembered what he’d said. “I really believe that you’ll never know...”

  Once the memory faded, Carrie continued convincing herself that she wouldn’t stay the night with Keegan. She would go back to the sofa. It’s where she felt safest. She wasn’t ready to be with a man this way... Those were her last thoughts as she drifted into a sound sleep next to the most unlikely man who was now keeping her feet warm.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MARTIN LEANED OVER the bed and kissed his wife’s forehead. “Good job, Maggie Mine,” he said. “You ate some toast and drank some tea, but you should be hungry again by lunchtime.”

  In truth, Maggie’s appetite was fading, and Martin knew it. He would have noticed the changes in her even if he weren’t a doctor. But as a doctor, her decline baffled and frustrated him. As a husband, it broke his heart. She ate enough to stay alive, but not enough to thrive. Although what that meant in terms of her general c
ondition, even Martin didn’t know. Thriving, for Maggie, had stopped being an option two years ago. Still, her heartbeat was strong, her limbs flexible, her skin healthy. Her face, her beautiful face, still made his heart ache for what had been.

  “I have a light day, darling,” he told her. “I’m consulting on a couple of cases this morning and seeing a handful of patients. I should be home early, and then we’ll call Carrie and make sure she’s behaving herself. She told me she was making plans to move to Tennessee.” He smiled. “I suppose that’s preferable to Michigan. Our youngest is like a migrating bird, always fluttering off to more temperate climes.”

  His daughter’s lovely face came to mind as clearly as if she were in the room. “I guess I don’t give her enough credit for common sense,” he admitted with a shrug. “But you can’t take the doctor out of the father.”

  Martin was on his way down the stairs when Rosie, his housekeeper, called up to him. “Miss Aurora is on the phone, Martin. Do you want to talk to her?”

  “Yes, of course.” He went into his study to speak on the house phone. He always liked hearing from Aurora, though he seldom knew what to expect. “Hello, Aurora. How are you?”

  “I’ve had some bad news, Marty. I’m going away today.”

  “What’s happened? Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to Parkersburg, West Virginia. I just received a call from a police officer there.”

  He knew. If the quaking in Aurora’s voice hadn’t told him, he would have suspected. A police officer from out of state phoning.

  “Please, Aurora. You can tell me. What’s going on?”

  “It’s William.” Her voice caught on a sob. Martin knew it was bad.

  Her son had arrived in mid-December, which was the first time Martin had ever seen him. The thirty-year-old had looked scraggly, down on his luck. He drove an old rattletrap automobile. Aurora had seemed less than pleased when he arrived. She’d been secretive about William’s problems, but had finally admitted to his drug problem and numerous stays in rehab facilities.