Out of the Shadows (4 page)

She sighed. It was his turn, it seemed, to ask hard-to-answer questions. “Long time.”

“Accident?”

Nodding, she whispered, “Yes.”

“Automobile? Or work related?”

Patrice forced a sigh. “You’re off duty, Doc, so just relax, okay?”

He shot a glance her way, and she could see by the puzzlement in his eyes that he didn’t understand her reluctance to talk about her father’s condition. She didn’t
mind
talking about that, exactly…it was how he got into the chair in the first place that she minded talking about.

“So do you live near the hospital?”

He shook his head. “I live a few minutes from here. Plumtree Apartments.”

“How long?”

“Little over a year.”

“Wow. Amazing.”

“That I live nearby?”

“Well, that, and the fact that we haven’t run into one another in the grocery story, or at the pharmacy.”

“So how’d it happen?”

“That we haven’t run into one another?” Maybe playing dumb would get him off track.

“Okay, I can take a hint.” He looked at her again. “Not your favorite subject, I take it.”

She breathed a sigh of relief—

“So what’s your mom up to tonight?”

—and the breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t prepared for this eventuality.

“Is she a boxing fan, too?”

“Mom hated boxing,” Patrice blurted.

“Hated? Past tense?” He shot a stunned look in her direction. “Oh, man. I’m sorry, Patrice. I had no idea….”

She leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes. “Some fun date this is starting out to be, huh?”

Wade reached over and took her hand. “If it was fun I wanted, I wouldn’t have asked you out.”

That
snapped her to attention! “Ex
cuse
me?”

“Oh, wow. Oh, man. I, uh, I didn’t mean it that way. I only meant—”

Laughing, she squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, Wade. I know what you meant.” She paused. “I think—”

“After that crack, I feel I owe you something better than the dinner I’d planned.”

“Don’t be silly. The Mexican place is just fine.” She smacked her lips. “In fact, I’ve been craving soft tacos all evening.”

“Soft tacos? No foolin’?”

She nodded.

“My favorite,” they said in unison.

This time, Wade squeezed Patrice’s hand. “Say, maybe this night is gonna turn out all right, after all.”

Maybe,
she thought.
And maybe I’d better be
real
careful with this one.

Because already, she felt the oh-so-familiar tugs at her heartstrings.

H
is hand on the small of her back, Wade led her into the restaurant. She seemed so small, so vulnerable beside him. If he had to guess, he would’ve said Patrice was five feet tall, not a fraction of an inch more.

The instant they stepped into the restaurant, an elderly woman hollered, “Dr. Cameron!” She hurried toward them, arms outstretched. “It’s been too long. We’ve missed you!”

“Nice to see you, too, Mrs. Gomez,” he said as she wrapped him in a grandmotherly hug. “How are you?”

She pressed a hand to his cheek. “Fine, thanks to you.”

“And where
is
Mr. Gomez?”

Her eyes twinkled with mischief when she released him. “In the kitchen,” she whispered, “telling Juan how to do his job.”

“That’s a good sign.”

Suddenly, she faced Patrice. “And who is your lady friend?”

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to slide
an arm around her waist. “Patrice,” Wade drawled, pulling her close to his side, “ah’d like you to meet Corrinne Gomez, sweetest li’l gal east of the Rio Grande.”

Mrs. Gomez took Patrice’s hands in her own, then drew her into an embrace. Wade watched as Patrice returned the woman’s warm gesture, seemingly unperturbed by the uninvited physical contact.

“Ah, theese one,” Mrs. Gomez said, “theese one, she’s a keeper.” She grabbed two menus from the hostess stand. “Come with me. I’ll find you a nice quiet booth in the back, where you’ll have some privacy.”

As Patrice slid onto the burgundy leather seat, Mrs. Gomez winked. “I’ll send Enrique right over with tortillas and salsa,” she said, handing them each a menu. After whipping a book of matches from her apron pocket, she lit the candle in the middle of their table.
“Suerte grande!”
she said, winking again before hurrying away.

Patrice’s gaze followed until Mrs. Gomez disappeared into the kitchen. She rested both arms on the table and leaned closer to Wade. “Lots o’ luck?” she translated, grinning as her eyes bore into his.

Wade always brought women to
Mi Casa
for a first date. If they passed the Gomezes’ muster, he made a second attempt. So far, no woman had eaten here more than twice. He felt more than a little guilty, putting Patrice through her paces this way. For one thing, she hadn’t been the aggressor, like the others. For another, he genuinely
liked
her.

He felt the heat of a blush, ran a finger under his collar.

“And what was with that conspiratorial little wink?” she added, winking herself.

He couldn’t very well tell her the truth, and for some
reason, didn’t want to tell the usual first-date fibs. So he grinned, shook his head and said, “That Mrs. Gomez. Quite a card, isn’t she.”

Wade prepared himself for a sassy retort, and likely would have heard one—if Juan hadn’t blustered up to the table just then.

“Dr. Cameron! We were worried you’d fallen off the horse.” He laid a beefy hand on Wade’s shoulder “It isn’t Friday night unless Baltimore’s Bachelor of the Year brings a pretty girl here to eat!” His hearty laughter thundered as he gave Wade a playful slap on the back. “Glad to see you’re still in the saddle, m’boy!”

Wade squirmed under Patrice’s level gaze.
Yeah,
he thought,
still in the saddle.

“Theese,” he said to Patrice, “eese one special man.”

One well-arched brow rose a bit as Patrice made a feeble attempt to smile. She met Wade’s eyes. “I’m beginning to get the picture,” she said carefully.

“He has a heart the size of his head, theese one.” Juan glanced at Wade. “Shall I tell her thee story?”

Wade held up a hand, traffic cop style. “No. Really. Juan, we’d like a basket of tortillas, if you don’t mind, and some—”

Juan shoved his bulk onto the seat beside Patrice. “Four years ago,” he continued, slinging an arm over her shoulders, “I was a telephone repairman. I was high on a pole when the ol’ ticker gave out. Thank the good Lord for safety harnesses!”

Normally, the Gomezes teased Wade about his exploits. He couldn’t remember a time when either of them had mentioned Juan’s surgery. “Juan,” he began, “Patrice, here has to get back because—”

“Patrice.” Juan faced her. “Pretty girl, pretty name,”
he said, beaming. Then he aimed his dark-eyed stare at Wade. “Maybe theese time, you peek a winner?”

Wade covered his eyes with one hand. “Juan—”

“You think because you’re a big-shot doctor you can interrupt an old man’s story?” Another round of rumbling laughter filled the booth. He turned to Patrice again. “As I was saying, I had a heart attack up there, hanging from the telephone pole. And it would have killed me, if not for the good doctor, here.” He reached across the table, squeezed Wade’s forearm. “I thank the good Lord for him every day of my life.”

A moment of silence ticked by before she said, “Maybe
I’m
the one who picked a winner.”

Was she kidding?

Wade came out of hiding in time to see the merry gleam in her eyes. So she’d decided to play along, he realized as his blush intensified.

Juan held a forefinger aloft. “But you haven’t heard the half of it!”

She tilted her head—a bit flirtatiously, Wade thought.

“There’s more?”

He figured Juan was gearing up to tell her about the loan, and he didn’t want that. Didn’t know why, exactly, he just didn’t. Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, he tried to think of a way to divert Juan’s attention. He saw Enrique just then, having an animated conversation with a diner. “Looks like your boy could use some help,” Wade said, pointing.

Juan didn’t so much as glance in his son’s direction. “After the operation,” he went on, “I couldn’t go back to climbing poles, and I wasn’t trained to do anything else.” His voice softened. “For as long as I could remember, I took care of my own. Not being able to work was—”

“Juan, enough. You’re—”

“My condition began to worry the good doctor, here. And months after the surgery, after a checkup, he came to our house. I was making soft tacos, he agreed to join us for supper…and he gave me the idea for
Mi Casa,
right there at our kitchen table.”

Patrice blinked and sighed. If she said “my hero!” like an actress in some
B
movie, he’d dump the sugar bowl into Juan’s lap.

“We had spent all our savings, keeping the bills up to date while I was out of work. One bill we didn’t have to pay was Dr. Cameron’s. He didn’t charge a penny for his services. What do you think of that, Patrice?”

She looked from Wade to Juan and back again. “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

“Well, what would you say about this. He also gave me the down payment to buy this place.”

Wade could only exhale the breath he’d been holding and shake his head, hoping for the best.

A few seconds ticked by before she said, “I guess I’d have to say you’re right to call him a hero.”

The entire Gomez clan had been calling him that for years. Patients and their families routinely dubbed him a hero, too. His sister’s kids had never said the word, but he could see in their eyes that they thought the world of their Uncle Wade. Despite it all, he hadn’t felt the least bit heroic—until Patrice said it.

But, sure as he was sitting here, looking into her gorgeous face, the truth would come along sooner or later, and change her opinion of him. So for as long as this feeling lasted, Wade decided, he may as well go ahead and enjoy it.

She thought it was charming, the way Wade blushed like a schoolboy under Juan’s obvious admiration. Horse
and saddle references aside, she admired him, too. And so Patrice made a concerted effort to ease his discomfort.

She introduced dozens of topics, from the philosophical to the political. The interchange of opinions and ideas taught them they had a lot more in common than Ellicott General. They voted for the same man in the last election, became enraged at the mere mention of flag burning, loved kids and dogs and apple pie.

“Dessert?” Enrique said, rolling the dessert cart to their table. Patrice smiled as Wade rubbed his palms together.

“I’ll take an order of the flan,” he said, grinning. “Patrice, what’ll you have?”

She couldn’t remember her name ever sounding quite so lyrical. “I’m stuffed,” she admitted. “Maybe I’ll just have a bite of yours?”

His grin made her stomach flip and her heart lurch. He turned to the waiter, held up one finger, then two. “One flan, two spoons,” he said. And when Enrique rolled his cart to the next table, Wade blanketed her left hand with his. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden. Worried about your dad?”

“Maybe.” With thumb and forefinger, she measured a centimeter of air. “Just a little.”

He gave her hand a gentle pat. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

She nodded. “I know. And I know it’s silly, worrying about him, because he’s really quite capable.”

“Well, we’ll be through here in no time. Then you can see for yourself.”

Another nod. “Thanks, Wade, for understanding.”

He gave a shrug, as if it was no big deal that he’d cued in to her fears…and hadn’t made her feel ridiculous for them, as other men had.

“So how’d it happen?”

Patrice took a sip of her decaf. “Car wreck.”

His hold on her hand tightened slightly.

She’d learned a ton about him tonight; why not even the score a bit?

“It was my fault.”

Silence was his response. She wondered if his caring expression was sincere, or something practiced and mastered in med school. “It was raining that night…
teeming
is more like it. I wanted to go to a party, and talked him into driving me.”

Patrice tried to wriggle her hand free of his grasp, but Wade wouldn’t allow it. Absently, her right forefinger picked at its neighboring thumbnail. If she were a betting woman, she’d say his concern was genuine. “He slammed the car into a big brick wall after he picked me up from the party. He’s been paralyzed from the waist down ever since.”

He nodded, and she could almost read his mind.
No wonder you’re such a devoted daughter—you blame yourself.

“I’m sure you’ve heard this before, hundreds of times, no doubt,” Wade said, “but accidents happen, Patrice.” His hazel eyes darkened and his lips thinned when he added, “
Usually,
they’re nobody’s fault.”

Usually?
The fact that he’d stressed the word made her wonder if Wade blamed himself for an accident in his own past.

“I didn’t have to go out that night, but I didn’t want to miss Marcy’s party.” If she didn’t shut up, and quick, she was going to cry. Why had she opened this Pandora’s box!

“And your dad didn’t have to take you.” He sandwiched her hand between his own. “If you insist on
laying blame, lay half of it on his shoulders. You were a kid, he was a grown-up. He made the final decision, after all.”

She shook her head. “Not really. He hadn’t been himself at all since the—”
Lord,
she prayed,
please help me deal with this!

“Since the what? C’mon. You’ve told me this much. What’s the point in holding back the rest?”

“Suicide.”

His brows dipped low on his forehead. “Sui—
What?
”

Nodding now, she sighed. “A year after Timmy died—almost to the day—my mom killed herself. She knew Dad would take it hard, said so in her note.” She closed her eyes.
Okay to shut up now, Lord? Or is this my penance…telling a total stranger about what happened to my mother and that I’m responsible for my father’s paralysis?

“You were a kid,” he repeated. “Just a kid, for cryin’ out loud. Give yourself a break!”

She was about to say “My dad didn’t get a break, why should I?” when Enrique returned, a serving of flan resting on one palm, two spoons wrapped in the other. He placed each on the table.

“More coffee?” he asked.

“Make it decaf, okay?”

“Sure thing. And the lady?”

“Same,” Patrice said, her voice still trembling slightly. “Thanks.”

Wade seemed in no hurry to eat the dessert. Instead, he changed the mood from confessional to conversational. He talked about the weather, the last movie he’d seen, an article he’d read in the newspaper about certain brands of bottled water that came straight from kitchen
taps. She had to admit, he had a real knack for making people feel relaxed, comfortable. At least, he had that talent with
her.

Suddenly, Wade picked up one of the spoons and carefully cut off a piece of the custard. Holding it in front of Patrice’s face he said, “You first.”

Calmer now, she laughed at the suggestion. She’d seen this in the movies, and now hesitated, afraid she might open too wide, or not wide enough, and the dessert would end up all over her face—or worse, in her lap. “This is silly,” she admitted.

Yet she went along with the suggestion. Wade skillfully slid the bite past her teeth, his own lips parting slightly as he watched her accept his offering. “Thwnkym,” she said around it.

He’d already popped a sizable chunk into his mouth. “Ywr wrlcm.”

Their laughter brought inquisitive stares from nearby diners. They seemed to share one thought: All dressed up like respectable adults, but talking with their mouths full, like a couple of kids.

“I do believe,” he said between snickers, “we’re making public spectacles of ourselves.”

He chose that exact moment to reach out and remove a tiny drop of caramel syrup from her lower lip. The pressure of his thumb lingering there, seemed natural and normal. Their eyes fused on a sizzling current.

She began searching for things to dislike about this man, because having some negative character traits sure would make it easier not to fall for him! But try as she might, so far Patrice couldn’t come up with a single thing. In fact, she felt as though she’d known him for years.

“I can’t believe how much I talked tonight,” he said
as they crossed the darkened parking lot to his car. “I don’t think I’ve bumped my gums this much, all at one time, ever in my life.” He slipped an arm around her waist. “I hope you won’t think I’m a total boor for dominating the conversation all evening.”