Critical Care (36 page)

Erin leaned back in her computer chair and checked her watch.
Still too early. She was meeting Brad at the park for a picnic, and
he said he'd pick up some deli sandwiches. But she wanted far
more than pastrami and dill pickles today. She wasn't settling for anything less than the truth. About the Little Nugget Victim Fund
envelope and what he'd done with the money. Gambling? Had he
taken it to Tahoe the night he'd left her behind? He'd brought a
pizza over the evening before-after Erin put the envelope in her
tote bag. Was that when he stole it?

Were there any more lies? betrayals? Erin's stomach churned.
After all those years with her father, she already knew much more
than she wanted to about dishonesty. Today when Sarah talked
about making mistakes, Erin almost repeated something she'd
heard over and over from her mother: "We can't out-sin God's
ability to forgive." Well, regardless, Erin doubted she had what it
took to forgive Brad. She'd wanted to try. She'd prayed about it
countless times since she'd found those torn checks, but ...

But now she still had twenty minutes to kill. She'd do a bit
more work on her grandmother's credit card mess. Over a thousand
dollars to a Nevada horse farm. How could they make a mistake like
that? Ridiculous. Erin smiled, thinking of Iris Quinn. Redheaded
like Erin, tall and willowy, and Kate Hepburn feisty. Or was, until
the exhaustion of caring for her sick husband took its toll. Followed by the unrelenting stress from a mountain of medical bills
left in the wake of his death. Erin hated seeing the spark dwindle
in Nana's eyes, and if she could do battle with the credit card company ... ding-ding, round one!

Erin reached into her desk and pulled out an envelope neatly
labeled, "Credit Card Statements, Iris Quinn." Then typed in the
name of the creditor, Betcher Horses, and clicked to start the Internet search. She grinned, relishing the thought of explaining that
the only livestock her seventy-six-year-old grandmother owned
was a goldfish named Elmer Fudd and the last time she'd been on
a horse was on the carousel at the Santa Cruz boardwalk.

Her eyes widened. Wait. What? She double-checked the spelling on the credit card statement and the Web site URL. Betcher
Horses was a horse-racing Web site? Online betting? How could
that be possible?

Erin picked up the statement showing the disputed balance
and the Web site URL. Printed, of course, with Iris Quinn's name
and credit card number. Similar to many other statements Erin
had stored in her desk for at least a year. Her grandmother didn't
gamble. But if someone had managed to get ahold of her credit
card number ...

Oh no. Erin closed the Web site and propped her elbows on the
desk, pressing her face into her palms. No. It couldn't be. But her
roommate didn't gamble, and as far as Erin knew, her roommate's
fiance didn't either. And the only other person who'd had access to
this desk-to Iris Quinn's credit card information-was Brad.

Betcher Horses? Erin growled, her hands balling into fists. Betcher
sweet backside, I'm going to ... try to stop short of killing him.

Claire poked at the logs in the woodstove, closed the glass door,
and latched it. The afternoon had turned rainy, and the oak-scented
fire, along with the sweater, mug of soup, and her cat's safe return,
warmed her inside and out despite the day's turmoil.

She glanced up toward the sound of raindrops pelting against
the steep metal roof of her cabin and smiled at her thoughts. My
cabin. My cat. It was the first time since Kevin's death she'd thought
of them that way. She'd surprised herself earlier when she'd said
those words to Merlene on the phone: "My cat was lost." It always
seemed like she was a kind of caretaker here, preserving all that had been her brother's-his house, his cat, his SUV, his firehouse
sweatshirt, his running trails.

Maybe because she'd felt too guilty to let him go and too terrified to face her fears head-on. So she'd jogged her brother's trails,
run from the ER, turned away from her friends and her church, and
printed off spreadsheet after spreadsheet of painstaking plans for
her future. Doing everything she thought would protect her heart.
And then expected God to put those plans into effect. Claire shook
her head. She'd been a stubborn fool.

She peered out the rain-streaked window to see the pines moving in the wind and the sky still dark with clouds and then rejoined
Smokey on the couch. Her Bible lay open on the table next to a
lone daffodil petal that had dropped when she dumped the vase.
Hope. She'd reread Jeremiah 29:11 and her study Bible's explanation of the verse: ". . . as long as God, who knows the future,
provides our agenda ... we can have boundless hope. Not that we
will be spared pain, suffering, or hardship, but that God will see us
through to a glorious conclusion."

And then she remembered what Erin had said this morning at
coffee when they'd talked about Logan: "His will be done." That's
what Claire should have been praying all along. She knew that
now. God had a plan, and she had to trust it for her career, for her
life, for ... Logan Caldwell? Claire's throat tightened. Was it God's
plan that Logan go back to Beckah?

She sank into the couch, remembering the look on Logan's
face this morning and the urgency in his eyes when he'd told her
about praying with Sarah and talking with God on that oak stump.
Praying. A man who'd once been a brokenhearted boy clutching a
picture of Jesus and praying for his mother to come home. A man
who'd lost a baby, a wife ... and now found his faith again. Tears rose in Claire's eyes. "Your will be done," she whispered, her voice
blending with the steady drumming of rain.

The truth was that despite Claire throwing out every roadblock
she could, God had gifted her with a number of blessings these past
weeks. He'd called her back to the ER to provide the very counseling she needed herself. He'd given friendship-and vital missing
fellowship-with Erin and the Faith QD ministry and presented
that beautiful, healing moment with her patient Jada Williams.
Then he'd stood beside her to save Sarah's life and in the process
restored Claire's trust in her skills. And he'd sent Logan. To show
me my heart is healed enough to love again. That was good, so good,
to know.

Claire hugged herself, aware of that achy-good sensation in
her chest, the same feeling that started when she'd begun to realize she was falling in love with Logan. "Plans to give you hope and
a future." God had brought Logan into Claire's life so she could
feel hope again. As for her future ... she'd have to have faith. If
it didn't include working at Sierra Mercy, she'd be okay with that.
If that future didn't include Logan Caldwell, then she'd somehow
have to accept that too. Because as much as it hurt to lose him, she
believed now that God intended to see her "through to a glorious
conclusion." Meanwhile, she still had Erin and Smokey and-

Claire sat up suddenly, not sure if the insistent pounding sound
was rain or thunder or ... the door? She listened again. Yes, knocking. She crossed the room, afraid to breathe. Then prayed as she
turned the doorknob. Your will be done. Your will be done.

Her knees barely held her when she saw him.

Logan's hair was wet; whether from a shower or the rain Claire
couldn't be sure. He'd changed from wood-sprinkled flannel to a
fresh white shirt and khakis but hadn't shaved. And that simple ruggedness, combined with his obvious fatigue, made him look as
raw and vulnerable as her wayward cat. His blue eyes caught hers
and Claire's heart stalled.

"Hi," he said softly. "I'm back."

"Logan," Claire managed, "come in. You're getting soaked."

He glanced through the rain toward his Jeep, and for one
awful-awful-moment, Claire's stomach sank. He's going to say
Beckah's with him.

"Great. Thank you." Logan smiled. "But I left the Jeep running
because I didn't know if you'd be here. My cell phone battery died,
and-stay there. Don't move an inch. I'll be right back."

That's why he didn't call. Claire's heart soared as she watched
Logan jog to the Jeep, but she reminded herself not to press him
with questions. She'd let him say what he came to say. Your will
be done.

In mere moments, Logan returned and stepped through the
front door. He took Claire's hand and led her toward the couch,
declining her offer of coffee. His voice, despite his obvious fatigue,
took on the timbre of urgency it had early this morning. "I was
afraid you wouldn't be here," he said, tugging her forward. "I need
to talk to you about-" He stopped as he spied the bedraggled
black cat asleep on the couch. A grin lit his face. "Hey, Smokey's
back!" Logan turned and gave her hand a squeeze. "That's so great.
He's okay?"

"A few nicks here and there, but it looks like the one-eared cat versus raccoon came out just fine." She smiled, that sense of
amazement washing over her once again. Smokey and his raccoons,
me and the ER. Now Logan. What had Logan battled today? And
who won?

"Good," Logan said, sitting and drawing Claire down beside
him. He continued to hold her hand, his gaze on her face. "Plenty
of good things today, then." He glanced down for a moment.
"And I ...

Claire held her breath. She told herself that whatever would
be would be, what came of Logan's day in Carmel she'd accept.
She'd be happy for him. She'd still feel love for him no matter
what he said, but she would let him walk away if that's what had
to be done.

"I went to see Beckah today," he said, raising his eyes to hers
again. "In Carmel."

She started to feign vague surprise but then decided against it.
Today was about truth. Nothing less would do. "I know."

Logan raised his brows.

"I mean, I heard you went. I was with Erin when you called
this morning. But I didn't know if you'd found Beckah...." Her
voice faltered.

"I did. I found her."

"Oh." Claire struggled against a lump that threatened to
choke her.

"Not that anyone was thrilled with a Harley pulling up to the
wedding chapel, believe me. Especially that guy with the cages of
doves." He chuckled at the confusion on Claire's face. "Beckah's
bird thing. But at least I caught her before the ceremony started."

Claire tried to smile, but her teeth were clenched too tightly. If
Logan didn't cut to the chase pretty soon, she was going to jump out of her skin. She summoned a whisper. "And?" You stopped the
wedding? You told her you still love her? You ... ?

Logan sighed. "I told Beckah what I told you this morning.
That I handled everything wrong from the beginning. With our
marriage and especially with the baby." His brows drew together,
the look in his eyes achingly honest. "The truth is, I let my wife
down when she needed me most. I told Beckah I didn't expect her
to forgive me, but I had to come tell her how sorry I am. Because I
know she deserves so much more."

She tightened her fingers against his, her chest cramping. Yes.
She deserves who you are now. Claire cleared her throat. "And what
did she say?"