Sighs Matter (10 page)

Taylor stopped chewing.

“And this manifests how exactly?”

She bit into her chicken, baring her teeth. “Multiple personalities.”

“Well, one of those personalities is definitely a prick,” he drawled.

“Oh,” Claire hastened, “he was like that before the accident. But since the trauma, when he’s under stress, a secondary identity apparently emerges.”

Taylor tilted his head as though he was dying to hear what she’d say next.

She leaned forward as if to divulge a secret. “He believes himself to be a Cassanova, and thinks every nubile woman he meets a potential conquest.”

Taylor raised his brows, grinned, nodded, and gave her a thumbs-up.

Adam scowled. “Does he consider you a potential conquest?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I’m sure he does. I mean, I am a woman, and he is wholly indiscriminate.
Any
nubile female will do. The file from his psych eval says that when he’s pursuing a woman, he exhibits pronounced disfluency and agitation. Yet he persists in the belief that, if he can just find the right pickup line, he can get any woman into bed.”

Adam laughed. “He stutters, gets pissed, and thinks he can score?”

She slid her gaze from Taylor’s eyes to Adam’s, and smiled serenely. “It’s been known to happen.”

Taylor pursed his lips and slowly shook his head as if to say,
Is that the best you’ve got?

“The fact that he’s impotent compounds the problem, of course.” Picking up a breadstick, she snapped it in half.

Taylor straightened, blinked, then scowled.

Adam raised his head. “Yeah?” he smirked. “Well, I sure had that one pegged.”

The waiter appeared to refill their wineglasses. As he picked up the bottle, Adam’s cell phone rang and he reached for it, accidentally bumping the waiter’s arm and splashing the dark Cabernet all over his shirt and tie.

“I’m sorry, sir!” the waiter choked. “Here, let me get a nap—”

“Never mind,” Adam growled, jumping to his feet. He pressed his napkin to the saturated fabric as he thumbed a button on the cell phone. “This is Dr. Thursby,” he said quietly. “Yes. One moment.” Turning to Claire, he said, “I’m sorry. I have to take this. A patient in Portland. You understand.”

“Certainly,” she said, partly rising from her chair. “The wine stain. Is there anything—”

Moving away from the table, he said, “No, I’ll be fine. I’ll take the call in the men’s room while I try to wash some of this wine off my shirt.”

“Of course.”

Taylor’s blue eyes bored holes into the back of Adam’s skull as he retreated to the bathroom. When Adam had gone, Taylor downed his wine, then tossed his napkin on the table like a gauntlet thrown at her feet. He shoved his chair back, stood, and began walking toward her.

Claire froze in place, locking eyes with Taylor.

Stay away you self-serving jerk! Don’t come any closer!

He ignored her telepathic order and stopped when he reached her table.

“W-w-well, I’ll be d-damned,” he stammered loudly. “Look at this. A n-n-nubile female.”

“Go. Away.”

“N-Nice dress,” he said. “Do you know what would look good on you?”

“No,” she sighed wearily.

“Me.”

“My,” Claire drawled, looking into Taylor’s glittering blue eyes. “That
is
an old line.”

“Hey, b-b-baby. Should I call you in the morning, or just n-nudge you?” He waggled his brows.

“Taylor . . .”

“Do you believe in the hereafter? Then you know wh-what I’m here after.”

“Taylor,” she warned. “You’ve gone far enough.”

“My name’s not Taylor. It’s Haywood.”

“Haywood?” she said dully.

“Yeah. Haywood Yakissme.”

He smiled down at her, and their eyes met, and for a moment, it was as it had been a year ago when things were fresh between them, uncomplicated, and the possibilities had seemed endless.

In spite of herself, she felt the ends of her mouth curl into a smile.

“Haywood Yakissme?” she snickered.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

His lids lowered a bit, and his eyes sparkled like fireworks on a clear July day. He leaned forward. Without thinking, she lifted her chin.

A large, masculine hand appeared out of nowhere, a barrier between them. Claire looked up the length of arm to see Adam staring daggers at Taylor.

“Not on my watch, pal. What in the hell are you doing here, McKlintock?”

Taylor shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, shaking his head. With a smile, he stuttered, “Mc-Mc-McKennitt.”

“You sound like a frigging chicken,” Adam mumbled. “What do you want?”

Taylor’s eyes assessed her companion. “A place in the country. A good home-cooked meal. Warm socks on a cold day. Oh, and world peace.” Turning to Claire, he said, “Nice seeing you both again.” He glanced at Adam. “Except for you.”

“Hey,” Adam said. “What happened to your stutter?”

Taylor cocked his head and considered Adam for a moment. “It took a hike, right along with your humility, pal.”

With a quick nod to Claire, Taylor turned on his heel and returned to his table, where he threw down some bills, then left.

Another young waiter appeared at their table, dabbing at the wine stain on the white cloth. As he worked, he slid narrow glances at Adam.

“Where’s our other waiter?” Claire asked. “Is his shift over?”

The boy turned to her, but before he could say anything, Adam interrupted. “Oh, I saw him in the restroom. Seemed to not be feeling well. A stomach thing, I think. Isn’t that right, boy?”

Without a word, the waiter nodded, gathered up the soiled napkins, and left.

Taking his seat, Adam fumed, “Did you know McKennitt would be here tonight?”

“Adam,” she laughed. “I didn’t know
we’d
be here tonight. You picked the restaurant, remember?”

“Sorry,” he said, his eyes dark and troubled. “This has gone so badly. I’m sorry.”

“Adam, it’s okay. Things hap—”

“No. That stupid son of a bitch ruined everything.”

True, Taylor had obviously followed them and intruded on their dinner, but he’d been harmless enough, even funny, and she didn’t like hearing Adam refer to him that way.

Relaxing back in her chair, she smiled again. When it was clear Adam was going to continue behaving like a little boy who’d been denied dessert, she said, “Well, he’s gone now. No harm done. There was no
everything
to ruin, was there?”

He huffed out a long breath, eyed her for a moment. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a small black box. With his thumb, he snapped it open.

And there it sat. Moonbeams on velvet, snatched from the sky, resting on a band of gold.

Her heart stopped. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his.

“Everything,” he murmured, “was me . . . asking you . . . to marry me.”

Dilate
To live a long time.

Claire stared at the ring, then at Adam, then back at the ring, then back at Adam. Searching his shining and eager eyes, she tried to find some kind of rationale for his proposal.

The truth was, she barely knew the man. He’d appeared one day at the hospital, asking about staff positions. It had been a slow day, so they’d had a chance to chat for a while. Since then, they’d met for drinks or dinner a few times. He always mentioned his kids and how much he missed them. Beyond that, they’d never held hands, strolled in the moonlight, even kissed until tonight. Basically, they’d never been intimate in any way.

Yet Adam Thursby wanted to marry her?

Apparently he had quietly developed deep feelings for her—much deeper than the ones she’d developed for him.

“Adam,” she said with a nervous laugh. “We hardly know each other. I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.” He grinned sheepishly at her and set the ring on the tablecloth by her wineglass.

It was uncomfortable, even a little embarrassing, to have a man invest in a diamond ring the size of a doorknob and propose marriage when you didn’t return his affections. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but this was so out of the blue . . .

“I’m afraid I can’t.” She gently moved the ring box back to his side of the table. “We barely know each other.”

With his index finger, he slid the box back across the table. “So let’s get to know each other.”

What on earth had happened to his hand? “Your knuckles, Adam. They’re red and swollen. How—”

He shoved his hand under the table. “Nothing,” he said in an airy tone. “Banged ’em on the bathroom door. I was in such a rush to get this damn wine off my clothes.”

That’s not what it looked like to her, but why would he lie about hurting his knuckles? It wasn’t as though he’d been in some kind of fistfight, which was what the redness, scraping, and swelling suggested to her.

Glancing down once more at the box, she set it on his side of the table. “I like you, Adam. But I think that’s as far as it will ever go.”

His friendly eyes went a little dull at that, and he cleared his throat. Quirking his mouth into a charming grin, he picked up the box and set it firmly in front of her.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she felt flattered, charmed, or annoyed.

Clasping his hands together, knuckles curled under so only the index fingers protruded, he aimed them at her. “I don’t think you’ve given me a fair chance, Claire. When you know me better . . .”

Annoyed won by a landslide.

“I’m sorry, but the answer is no. I think I’d better go. I can take a cab home, if you prefer.”

His handsome features suddenly seemed distorted. Too angular, too hard. The gray eyes she’d thought attractive had gone dark, flat, accusing. Then he shrugged and gave her a smile.

“My fault,” he said apologetically. “I rushed things. You’re just so . . . well, perfect for me. And for my kids.” His cheeks flushed. “I’d love for you to meet them when they get here. Really, they’re terrific. You have no idea how much I miss them.”

Guilt at hurting his feelings flooded her heart. Reaching over, she patted his arm. “I know you miss your kids, Adam. I wish I were the woman to make you happy, but I’m not. I’m sure you’ll meet someone soon.”

Claire wanted to pay for her meal, but Adam insisted on picking up the tab. To make up for upsetting her, he said. He drove her back to the farm, and though he’d been cordial the whole way, some niggling thing had begun eating its way into her mind. Something was off about him. Perhaps it was his body language. His actions and unconscious movements didn’t match his words. She was no psychologist, but she’d studied human behavior enough to know he wasn’t being entirely truthful with her. Maybe it was as simple as fear of rejection; maybe it was more.

When he’d pointed at her after she’d rejected his proposal, he’d used the “gun” posture with his index fingers. Though he was smiling, that action indicated he was angry—very angry—and possibly thought she should be made to pay for infuriating him.

Whether that was true or not, however, she had no way of knowing. She only knew she never had to see him again. She wished him well, of course, but considered their relationship had run its course.

When she finally fell into bed, she found sleep as elusive as vapor. She dreamed of Taylor, but whenever he was close enough to kiss, Adam’s angry face would intervene, startling her into waking.

Curled under the covers in the big bed she’d used since she was a kid, she inhaled a cool breath of the morning air that tickled the hem of the curtains at her open window. Down around her feet, Agatha stirred, stretched, blinked at the new day, and raised her back leg straight up to begin her morning ablutions.

Shoving the covers aside, Claire decided to push thoughts of Adam and Taylor away, too.

After a quick shower, she dressed and checked her messages. There were seven—three from patients, three from other physicians, and one from the pharmacy. Since she wasn’t on call, her pager had been pretty quiet for the last few days, which was a blessing, considering what had been happening in her life.

She glanced out her bedroom window to see Aunt Sadie working down in the vegetable garden at the side of the house. Beside her, Agatha had taken a position in the shade of an enormous tomato plant, its ripe fruit shiny and red in the late morning sun.

Sadie loved her garden and would probably spend all day out there, losing track of time the way Claire did when she was working with the bees.

Well, Claire decided, since her aunt was occupied, she may as well go downstairs to her office and get caught up on her patient files. After grabbing a quick bite to eat, she sauntered into the office, sat at her grandfather’s big old mahagony desk, and began shuffling through the stack of notes and folders she’d been neglecting since the accident.

By the time she was finished, it was nearly five o’clock. The aroma of brewing coffee curled up the stairs as she was coming down, luring her into the kitchen. Just as she arrived, Aunt Sadie shrugged into her peach-colored summer sweater.

“Now, you be a good boy while I’m gone,” she said to Hitch, who was doing a two-step back and forth across the back of a kitchen chair.

“. . . come back . . . Shane . . .” Hitch finished his recital, then squawked and began screaming for Shane all over again.

“So dramatic.” Sadie sighed when the noise had died down. She nudged the parrot under his beak. “Where
do
you get it?”

“I couldn’t begin to imagine.” Claire laughed.

“Anything you need from the store? Thought I’d make a quick trip, now that the Seattle Police Department has been nice enough to return my truck.”

The truck in question had been delivered last night while Claire was out to dinner with Adam. If they’d found any evidence that might lead to the identity of the perpetrator, they were apparently keeping it to themselves.

With a shake of her head, Claire said, “Thanks, Auntie, but I don’t need anything.”

“When’s your next shift at the hospital?”

“Tomorrow.”

Sadie’s delicate gray brows arched as she said, “Are you sure it’s safe to go to work? How do you know whoever hurt you won’t try it again?”

And wasn’t that the million-dollar question.

“I don’t,” Claire answered, trying not to let the worry show in her eyes. “But I can’t let what happened interfere with work, Aunt Sadie. Trite as it sounds, life goes on.” She went to the cupboard and pulled out a mug. “The police assured me they’re going to keep an eye out for more trouble. The security guy is coming tomorrow to change all the locks, so we shouldn’t be bothered by any more intruders.”

Sadie’s gentle eyes were filled with worry. “This whole thing is most disturbing and I fear for your safety. Do me a favor, and stick close to home for a while. No more trips to Seattle until this is settled.”

Claire gave her aunt a gentle squeeze. “You have my promise I’ll be careful.” Time for a change of topic. “I think I’ll go to check on the hives now. Some of the supers are probably full enough to be harvested.”

Instead of answering, Sadie pursed her lips, shifted her slight weight onto her other leg, and jangled her car keys in her hand. Claire knew her aunt well enough to know when something was on her mind, and Sadie obviously wanted to say, or ask, something, but didn’t know how to approach the topic. Finally, “How did your date with Adam go last night?”

Behind them, Hitch hopped onto the table, chattering nonsense, filling in the silence with chirps and mutterings.

“It was fine,” Claire said vaguely. “The food was wonderful.”

She thought of Taylor and the antics he’d pulled. “It was entertaining.”

Then she thought of Adam and the small velvet box. “It was filled with surprises.”

And then she thought of the answer she’d given Adam. “It was over early.”

Sadie narrowed one eye on Claire. “Have you slept with Adam?”

Knowing Sadie as she did, Claire wasn’t at all shocked by the question.

“No.”

“Do you plan to?” Sadie lifted her head, and her silky hair slid back, allowing Claire to see the intense concern in her aunt’s eyes.

Letting the empty mug dangle from her index finger, Claire said, “No.”

“Never?”

“Well, he asked me to marry him . . .” Hesitant to go into the whole thing, she let her voice trail off.

Sadie frowned, deepening the lines between her eyes. “He’s very handsome. Reminds me of a young Bill Holden.”

“Who?”

Sadie smiled wistfully. “Before your time, dear.” She sighed. “Adam simply oozes confidence.”

“Surgeons generally do. It’s a part of the job description. They can’t do what’s required unless they are very self-possessed.”

Fiddling with her keys again, Sadie said, “Call me a big buttinski, but I don’t think you know that fellow well enough to marry him.”

“You’ve been a big buttinski all my life, darling.” She chuckled. “Why stop now?”

Settling her hips against the sink, Claire considered her feelings about Adam, not that they mattered anymore.

“Adam and I have similar goals. And he’s reputed to be an excellent surgeon on his way up. But, the truth is—”

“The higher a monkey climbs, the more you see of its behind.” Sadie flattened her mouth and shook her head. Her eyes closed like those of an empress about to bestow the wisdom of the ages.

“Aunt Sadie, I . . . you didn’t
like
Adam?”

“How
I
feel about him’s not important. You seem to feel you know him, but you don’t. Not if you haven’t slept with him, you don’t.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Claire said. “Listen, I should explain. See, last night—”

“Other than teaching you how to protect yourself, and trying to impart some wisdom into yours and your brother’s heads about making smart decisions, I’ve pretty much kept quiet about sex.” A tiny smile tilted her mouth. “I know you’ve probably had your share of beaus, and you’ve probably slept with some of them, and that’s fine.” She gave a sharp nod. “I’d think it a mighty sad turn of events if a woman your age had never enjoyed what the bedroom has to offer. But . . .”

Her voice trailed off as she gazed directly into Claire’s eyes.

“When I ran off to Hollywood at sixteen, I was a virgin. First thing I did was get rid of it.” She let a singsong sigh past her lips, and smiled wearily. “Virtue was a burden that became too heavy to bear. Besides, undue importance has been placed on keeping it. Life is hard enough, Claire. Dispatching of one’s innocence lightens the load considerably, frees a person to tend to other, more important things. If knowledge is power, then knowing how adult physical relationships work takes the edge away from the males and gives it to the females. A man can’t take advantage of a girl who’s figured a few things out.”

“You were a woman ahead of your time, Auntie.”

“Unquestionably,” she said, lifting her head in a manner befitting royalty. “What I am trying to say, Claire, is that it has been my experience a woman doesn’t really know a man until she’s been at his mercy, flat on her back, with his hands on her. In other words, until she’s had sex with him.”

Claire’s mind went immediately to Taylor, and this time, she did nothing to stop it.

“Some men,” Sadie continued, her eyes downcast, “some men treat you like you’re no more than baggage for them to use any way they wish. Those men are known as selfish bastards.”

“. . . bastards . . .”

“Shut up, Hitch. Some men will take much more than they’re ever capable of giving. Those men are known as selfish sons of bitches.”

“. . . sawfish . . . sonsabbats . . .”

“Good boy, Hitch.” She smiled sweetly at her pet. “He’s so quick.” Returning her attention to Claire, she said, “And then there are some men who will idolize you, cater to your every whim, and generally overwhelm you with affection to the point of being cloying. While that may sound appealing, it gets quite tiresome.”