Out of the Ashes Page 7

  It took him several minutes to isolate that the odd sensation was about Shannon. About that spontaneous hug. About the expression in her eyes as she'd lectured him. As though she—cared about what happened to him. Even though he'd just watched her leave, he still felt her presence. He could hear her fussing over him. It brought a smile to his lips. If he concentrated, he could still feel her arms around him. It was . . . comforting?

  Shaking his head, he forced himself to move from the window. Comforting was not comforting at all. It was damned uncomfortable. Though he was unlikely to allow things to go any further, he realized there would need to be a wall between them. A tall one. Slippery. With no footholds. And—a moat. Filled with alligators. When he returned to work, things would have to be different. Because she was his employee. He—was her employer. More importantly—because comfort was a gift he couldn't allow himself to accept. He didn't deserve softness from anyone. Least of all from someone like Shannon. She was good. Kind. The sort of person who rescued spiders and released them outside instead of squashing them. She wouldn't hurt anyone. Hell, she was a nurse. Compassion and caring were in her blood. A woman like that had no business being contaminated by someone like him.

  But wanting someone like her couldn't hurt much. Because he would never allow himself to have her. Wanting her would make him suffer. That—was something he could live with.

  TRAVIS WATCHED HIS wife wind her way through the crowded waiting room at Mass General. A sea of bodies sprawled in chairs. A whimpering baby escalated to a full-blown wail. A toddler shrieked when he took a tumble over an old man's cane. The orthopedic surgery suite was packed. "Jesus," he muttered. It was gonna be a long day.

  "How's Curt?" MaryJo flopped down next to him. "Sorry I'm late. I had to wait for the sitter."

  "He's gone back for the nerve block. I was with him for a few minutes."

  "And?"

  His wife's intoxicating scent invaded his space. "He was pretty upbeat." He grinned. "Whatever they gave him had already started working. He was pretty loopy. I imagine that will get worse in the next few minutes."

  Disappointment flashed across her features. "Damn, I wish I'd been there. He's always torturing me with the stuff I blurt out. I'd love to get some dirt on him."

  Travis cracked up. Nearly seven years in, his wife still held the capacity to surprise him. He loved that about her. "Don't worry," he reassured. "They said we could see him one last time before the surgery. I'm sure you'll score a few secrets."

  "He's always so buttoned up," she complained. "Did he say anything good?" Her eyes lit with hope.

  "First, he was worried the doc was going to amputate his leg." Grabbing her hand, he threaded his fingers through hers. "The surgeon was explaining about the ligaments and what he was going to replace, but Curt kept interrupting, saying he really, really needs that leg and the doc shouldn't amputate. In drunk-Curt-speak it came out as 'ampulate'."

  MaryJo's desire for vengeance evaporated. "Aww . . . poor Curt. He's probably been so worried about the surgery, but he hides everything. You never know what he's really thinking."

  "Here's something for you," he remembered. "He was talking about the girl in his office." He glanced at his watch. "Should be any minute now."

  "Wait—what?" She tugged on his arm. "What girl? What did he say?"

  "The woman he hired—Shannon . . . something." He shrugged. "Every nurse that stopped to check him, you know—his IV and stuff?" His wife riveted, Travis continued. "He kept calling them Shannon."

  "What did they look like? Is she blond? Dark hair? Red?"

  "No idea.” He shrugged. “The nurses were all different. But, according to Curt, all of them were Shannon." He smiled. "They were teasing him about it. Poor bastard just kept gushing about her smile and how pretty she is and how nice she is." He rolled his eyes. "God—so humiliating. Hopefully, he won't remember any of it."

  "I think it's sweet." At his grunt, MaryJo whacked his arm. "I'd like to think you'd babble sweet things about me if you were doped up under anesthesia."

  His smile turned wicked. "Baby, you'd better hope I don't talk like Curt. What if I spilled about your sexy jumpshot? And all those moves I taught you-"

  Her tightening grip cut him off. "Perhaps you have a point," she choked out, her face flaming. "Just to be clear. I taught you a move or two."

  Teasing her was one of the great joys of his life. "If it were me babbling in there, they might think twice before releasing me to your care." His fingers tightened around hers. "You'd probably delay my recovery."

  "Shut up." Her lips were twitching, the telltale sign she was trying hard not to crack up. When she faced him, her beautiful eyes softened with hope. "Wouldn't it be nice, though? Curt never mentions anyone. Ever," she said. "Have you ever seen him talk about a woman? It's like he won't allow himself to—go there."

  Travis agreed. "I don't claim to understand it, but I think it probably has something to do with him feeling guilty."

  "But—it was so long ago," she protested. "He's paid for it a million times-"

  Raising their joined hands to his mouth, he brushed hers with a kiss. "I agree, Mariela. But that doesn't change how Curt perceives everything. Only he gets to decide when he's through torturing himself." He glanced up as the surgery doors whooshed open. The nurse beckoned him. "Come on, sweet. We can go see him." Waiting while she stood, he smiled down at her. "Operation Blackmail is about to commence. Remember to take notes."

  WITH A SIGH, SHANNON checked the clock for the hundredth time. "Okay," she announced, "you're bordering on ridiculous." She had no business being so preoccupied. She barely knew him. Besides—Curt would be fine. "He's probably out of surgery by now," she muttered to the empty office. In a way, she wished it were busier. Wished the phones would ring off the hook. She even wished, however momentarily, for Billy to drop by, rambling about baseball and wasting twenty minutes of her time. That way, she wouldn't be thinking about Curtis. About that hug. About the expression in his eyes, fleeting as it had been. Before he'd shut down, she'd clearly witnessed an emotion. Unguarded. For a nano-second. It might have been pleasure. Or desire. Hell—maybe it had just been surprise. That his overly sensitive office manager was coming unglued.

  "What were you thinking?" Her sigh broke the normally comforting stillness. Shannon puzzled over the situation. There was no doubt her boss was likable. Seriously likable. But, she'd known a hundred guys like that. He was gorgeous, in the careless, doesn't-really-know-it way. His rare smiles made her wish they weren't so fleeting. Those secretive, tortured eyes that never missed a thing. He was passionate about his work. After deadbeat Brad, the hard-working quality was a serious turn-on. He was loyal to his employees. His family. Friends . . . assuming he had them.

  Perhaps it was the vibe of isolation that drew her to him. The quiet, steady, go-it-alone quality. As though it were self-imposed rather than the natural way he might choose to be. She wondered what his personality had been like before the accident. With his looks, she'd guess he'd been popular. Had he been funny? Carefree? A jock? A risk-taker? Or a directionless, young man sorely in need of guidance? Would she have found him attractive back then? Or would her own floundering confusion have sensed the bad-boy vibe and run in the opposite direction?

  Summoning the long memorized details from the trial, she recalled that Curtis had been from a broken home. A mother similar to her own—only worse. She frowned as the memories sifted through her brain. There'd been something about step-fathers. Allegations of abuse. Over her own mother's objections, Shannon had attended the trial, wanting a face to associate with all the pain. But, each day, Curt had entered the courtroom staring straight ahead. Once seated, he'd never turned—not even to acknowledge the only family member who'd bothered showing up for him. His brother—a half-brother. She scrolled through her phone. "Travis Lockwood." The man she would soon call to see how Curt was faring.

  "Jeez—why do you care?" Forcing her thoughts back to the work on her desk, she rol
led her eyes. Get over yourself! She was supposed to be finding ways to learn about the accident—not date him. He'd taken someone important from her. Her life had altered drastically because of Curtis Forsythe. Yet, here she was—almost dangerously attracted to him.

  She'd often wondered how her life would've been different had her grandmother lived. As a teenager, Shannon had fantasized about moving in with her . . . about college breaks spent in a cozy, quiet home—filled with the scents of the holidays. A turkey at Thanksgiving; snuggled under the afghan with her sister Kerry; the parade on TV while Gram made pumpkin bread for brunch.

  After Bernie left, her mother's idea of a traditional holiday was booking herself a trip—with various men from the club. Separated men. Divorced men. Husbands with a wandering eye. Having been the cheatee in a relationship had apparently given Marilyn license to become the cheater. Christmases after her father left had meant a cheerless, empty house and a lonely, terrified younger sister. Some years, they were able to buy a tree—if Marilyn remembered to leave them any money. Her stomach tightened at the memory. Her mother returning from whatever exotic locale she'd traveled to—tanned, relaxed and guilt-free. "What do you mean I didn't leave enough money? What did you do with it?" Too many times, they'd been forced to choose—tree or groceries.

  Mostly, Shannon had dreamed of peace. She would've gladly traded life in her parents' house—filled with accusations and bitterness for the comforting sameness of Janey's home. But, could that dream ever have come to fruition? Would her grandmother have welcomed the exhausting burden of a teenager? Would she have taken Kerry, too? She wouldn't have been able to leave her sister behind.

  Rising from her desk, she tried to shake off old memories. Absently, she drifted to the coffee station. It was easy to idolize people after they were gone. Flaws became charming idiosyncrasies. Her father's mother had been far from perfect. A great cook, but a terrible driver. Particular about her possessions, every item had a home—and no deviation was tolerated. Unless it was Gram's keys. Those seemed to go missing with alarming regularity. Smiling as she rinsed the coffeepot, Shannon acknowledged Janey had been a loving grandmother—but a somewhat critical mother-in-law. Always offering 'helpful' hints to her mom that Marilyn had found to be anything but. To Gram's credit, she'd been equally disappointed by her son's actions in breaking up the McCarty household. Despite her grandmother's imperfections, she'd been the one constant during those awful years. A safe harbor in the turbulent, stormy waters her life had become.

  Startled when the phone rang in the lobby, Shannon left the kitchen, grateful to shove the depressing memories aside. Thank goodness. Actual work to focus on. As she lifted the receiver, she glanced at the clock. And wondered how Curt was doing.

  HOURS LATER, SHE LOCKED up. Legal pad under her arm, she tucked the files in her bag. It was unlikely Curtis would be alert tonight, but since she was stopping by to check on him, Shannon decided to bring them anyway. To make it look like you're there for a legitimate reason, the niggling voice in her head reminded. Instead of what it really was—inventing an excuse to drive thirty minutes out of her way to check up on her sexy, driven, enigma boss. Why was she unable to stop thinking about him? Why did she care about a man she barely knew? He'd had outpatient surgery. "Big deal." The nurse in her knew better than anyone—his procedure was performed several times a day in hospitals everywhere. His brother had even confirmed the surgery had gone well.

  Tossing her bag on the passenger seat, she scowled at herself in the rearview mirror. "Why are you such a pleaser?" She'd allowed Brad to take her for every cent she had. The worst of it was—she'd known something was wrong. The protective vibe of her intuition had warned her. She'd ignored her suspicion when she'd caught Brad taking money from the cash register—then blowing it on a round of drinks for the deadbeats sitting at the bar. Showing off. Instinct had whispered she should cut her losses. Run from him.

  But then, her stupid, desperate, needy voice had jumped in. Brad would never hurt you. Brad loves you. At her lowest point, she'd justified pouring her time and money into his failing business—convincing herself she was fighting with him. Side by side. If it failed—she would be there to comfort him. "Cue the clouds parting," she muttered. "The sun shining down. Angels singing." She snorted over her fantasy. They'd recover together, and their struggle would make them stronger as a couple.

  Or . . . she'd catch him screwing a waitress. In her bed.

  "Idiot," she mumbled as she pulled out of the parking lot. Was she making the same, stupid mistake now? A hot guy. A desperate, pathetic woman. Caring about his pain. Working overtime to protect his business. Rushing to his side- "Like a lap dog." When Curt probably wouldn't cross a parking lot for her.

  Had he spared her a second thought since the previous night? Remembering her impulsive hug, Shannon cringed. All she'd had to do was say goodbye. Then walk out the door. "You couldn't even manage that." She'd gone and done something stupid. Unprofessional. After she'd bolted for her car, he'd probably laughed, secretly amused that his hired flunky already had the hots for him.

  "That ends tonight," she vowed. Braking for a red light, she reviewed her visit like a battle plan. Curtis would be heavily medicated—still under the effects of anesthesia. By logging a visit, she would meet the brother. Through Travis, she would earn brownie points for the visit. The dutiful employee showing up after a long day at the office. Even if Curt was awake, he wouldn't remember her being there. If the opportunity arose, she might be able to perform a little recon. Search for answers on her grandmother's senseless death.

  Remember? Her brain taunted—the original reason for taking the job? Closure. Peace. At least then, she would finally have done something right.

  Seeing Curt tonight would accomplish two goals, she reminded. The spying, of course . . . and confirmation on how he was faring. "So—you can stop thinking about him." Once she confirmed he was fine-- she could relax. Maybe treat herself to a nice dinner before heading home. Give Kerry some alone time with Theo. This weekend—she would shop for a new apartment. Having finally paid her sister off, she'd also scrimped enough from her first three checks for the deposit on a place of her own. Her life was about to get better. Crazy better—with freedom galore to do as she wished. "I'll dance naked in the kitchen if I want." In a tiny, ridiculously expensive, hopefully safe, please-be-less-than-an-hour-commute-away, one-bedroom apartment.

  Personal space . . . to leave stuff out. Or keep it neat. To not live out of cartons stacked in the corner of the room. To carve out a work space for her furniture projects. "Maybe-" She said to no one. "You could enroll in an online dating service." It was time to put Brad in the rearview mirror. Or—under the tires. In the trunk—bound. Gagged. The nonsensical images in her head made her laugh. It was time to stop beating herself up over her mistakes. It was also time to kill the stupid, misguided attraction for her boss.

  As the light winked green, she studiously avoided acknowledging what would happen during the night to come. How Curt's pain would worsen once the anesthesia wore off. Somewhere in the night—likely around three—he would be helpless. Unable to move. Unable to escape the pain. And likely—alone. Knowing Curtis, he would have insisted on it. Unless Travis had been persistent enough to overrule his loner brother.

  Gnawing her bottom lip, she kept her worried gaze on the road. "Not your problem, McCarty," she muttered. The nurse in her would remind Travis to stay ahead of the pain—to give Curtis as many meds as the surgeon had prescribed. The nurse in her would advise him to 'ice the shit out of it'. Curt's words brought a flicker of a smile to her lips before she sighed. But, the woman in her would take a sleeping pill tonight . . . so she wouldn't lie awake worrying about him.

  Chapter 4

  "Trav—look! It's Shan- Shanninin." Grinning at the vague outline of the woman standing next to his bed, Curt knew he was seriously wasted. But, his nose would recognize that scent anywhere. "You smell so good." Blinking a few times, he tried to remember what he w
as saying. "Like pretty . . . flowers. Shannie smells like . . . a garden."

  Her startled laughter spread through him like the first smoky sip of Crown. A pleasant slide of heat before the powerful punch to his stomach.

  "Hi, Curtis. How are you feeling?"

  Discovering his hand waving in front of his face, he scratched his chin, surprised to feel whiskers there. Had he forgotten to shave today? "Feel great. No problem."

  "Are you keeping up with his meds?"

  His brother nodded. When did Travis get here? "Travie's takin' care of me again. Always takin' care of me." He shook his head. "I had surgery, you know."

  As Shannon came into better focus, she nodded. "I heard about that." His gaze followed her finger as she pointed to his leg. "He needs more elevation—at least one more pillow."

  When his brother smiled at Shannon, the warm whiskey feeling dissolved, leaving Curt annoyed. His brother better not be thinking of stealing her. "Shannie's a nurse."

  Travis looked surprised. "How'd you end up working with Curt?"

  Curt laid back against the pillows, content to listen to her voice. She was talking about being a nurse. Shannie had such a nice voice. Soothing. Soft. Pretty. "You can't have her, Trav. I foun' her—so . . . she's mine." A burst of feminine laughter had him forcing an eye open. "MaryJo won't like that."

  "You're right, sweetie. I definitely wouldn't like that." MaryJo's husky voice washed over him. "I'll keep an eye on Travis for you."