When Morning Comes (7 page)

Cade refused to let the words touch him in any way. The man had wanted to hit him yesterday. If things had gone differently, he might have done just that. People's emotions were flighty and that's why he preferred his own company. People said and did what benefitted them.

Cade finally took the man's hand for one strong shake, then turned and headed back to the surgical suites to do what he did best.

*   *   *

Sabrina was waiting for Cade when he came out of his last surgery. It was almost five. He looked tired. No wonder. He'd been in surgery for over nine hours that day. After Ann's surgery, he had done two spinal procedures.

He stopped when he saw her leaning against the wall, then slowly continued. “There can't be a problem with Mrs. Ward.”

She held up a thermos. “Coffee, and not from the cafeteria. Kara is holding a table for us in the cafeteria. And don't worry, it's takeout.”

He didn't move. She smiled into his frowning face. “Come on, doc. You're been on your feet all day. What can it hurt to have a meal with your newest associate? Or you can have the leftover dried chicken I saw languishing in the warming tray in the cafeteria.”

“Let's go.”

*   *   *

They'd barely reached the table in the cafeteria before Kara Simmons spoke briefly and then left. On the table were a woven picnic basket and one place setting with real flatware.

“You aren't eating?” he asked, holding her chair.

“Late lunch. Please sit.” She removed the top of the picnic basket and served him veal cutlets and steamed vegetables, then poured him a cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar?”

“Black.” Cade took his seat, picked up his fork, and took a bite. “It's good.”

Sabrina laughed. “I told you I didn't cook the food.” Propping her arms on the table, she leaned over toward him.

He didn't have to look around to be aware that probably every staff member was staring at them. He'd only eaten in the cafeteria a handful of times, and that was when he'd been desperate. The food was probably good when freshly prepared, but he'd always been late.

“You can't cook?” he asked, enjoying in spite of his best efforts the way she seemed to enjoy life and being with him.

“I tried, but there were always more interesting things to do.” She grinned. “I was into a lot of extracurricular activities in high school. I went to college at home, but I was just as heavily involved.”

He could believe it. She was probably very popular. His cell phone rang. He pulled it from his waist. “Dr. Mathis.” He came to his feet. “I'm on my way. Mrs. Ward is asking for me.”

Sabrina came to her feet. “Let's go.”

Standing, he glanced at the picnic basket, her dinnerware. “What about your things?”

“She's more important. Let's go.” She reached for his arm.

*   *   *

Less than three minutes later, Cade entered Mrs. Ward's cubicle with Sabrina on his heels. Sitting by her bedside, her husband held her hand. He rose on seeing them. “Baby, the doctor's here with Sabrina.”

Cade went to the other side of the bed. “Mrs. Ward, what is it?”

Her lashes fluttered open. She blinked. “Dr. Mathis.”

“Yes, are you feeling all right?”

A slow smile spread across her face. “I woke up.”

“That was the plan,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Your plan, but His might have been different.”

“His?” Cade questioned, looking across the bed at her husband.

“God,” he explained.

“You—you gave me a chance to see Clarissa grow up. Thank you. Sabrina was right. Thanks to both of you,” she murmured, her eyes closing again.

“She needs to rest,” Dr. Mathis told her husband. “You can stay for another five minutes. I want her to be moved to ICU just as a precaution for the night.”

Fear flashed in her husband's eyes again. “You said everything was all right.”

“It is. She can be monitored more closely there.”

“What if she needs you?” he questioned.

“The nurses will call. Five minutes.” Taking Sabrina's arm he left the room. “Thanks for the meal. I won't keep you. Good-bye.”

He was dismissing her. She'd let him … for now. “Good night, Dr. Mathis.”

*   *   *

Kara went to bed, but she couldn't sleep. She kept thinking about Tristan, second-guessing herself about throwing away his card.

Three thousand dollars.

Did he really think they were worth that much? What kind of freelance writer was he that he could write out that kind of check as if it were for three dollars? She needed to talk to someone.

At 7:56
A.M.,
the longest she could stand it, Kara rang Sabrina's doorbell, then rang again, hoping she hadn't gone to the hospital or for a donut run as she occasionally did on weekends.

The door opened. Sabrina, in a lacy pink silk robe and matching short nightgown, yawned. “What's up?”

“I need to talk to you.” She held up a bag. “I have food.”

Sabrina's eyes widened. She reached for the bag, digging inside as she headed for the kitchen. Then she stopped. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

Sabrina continued to the modern kitchen in the back of her house. The Viking appliances were seldom used, but as Sabrina often said, it looked pretty. She grabbed the orange juice from the refrigerator while Kara got the plates and napkins. In less than half a minute, they were sitting down to French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon.

Sabrina blessed the food and took a bite. “Talk.”

“I met a man.”

Sabrina blinked, grinned. “Hot dog. When?”

“Yesterday,” Kara explained and told her about Tristan. “He liked my paintings.”

“And you liked him?” Sabrina said, licking the powdered sugar from the French toast off her finger.

“What woman wouldn't?” Kara twisted in her seat. “What I want to know is about my paintings. He was prepared to pay a lot of money for them. I can't get it out of my mind that I might be able to make money from my paintings.”

“About time you believed someone.”

Kara put her hand on Sabrina's arm. “You're my friend. I haven't let many people know I paint. Even the people in my office. They think they're nice, but nothing special.”

“Believe me, they are.” Sabrina pulled her leg under her. “I gave one to Mom and Dad for their wedding anniversary. They both love it.”

Kara smiled indulgently. “Again, because you gave it to them.”

“If I didn't love you, I'd hit you.” Sabrina folded her arms. “So, you have to decide if you want to see Tristan because he turns you on or because he might be able to help you market your paintings. I think you should consider both.”

Kara shook her head. “Paintings only. With the extra money, Mama could do some things she wants. Maybe take a trip.” And stop blaming me for losing Burt.

“What about you?” Sabrina asked, her eyes narrow, her tone a bit sharp. “You mother has a new car, new clothes, regular trips to the beauty salon. You, on the other hand, make do with a ten-year-old car, haven't purchased anything new to wear in months, and do your own nails and hair. Shall I go on?”

“I don't need much, and those things help her feel better,” Kara said, trying not to squirm. “I'd be in the beauty shop for hours waiting for this head to dry.”

Sabrina grunted.

Kara rushed on. “Then you think I should try to find him?”

“Yes. Sadly the janitors are on it when emptying trash, if nothing else. His card is probably long gone, but there are other ways.” Rising from the table, Sabrina went to the computer workstation in the kitchen and turned it on. “We'll Google him.”

Kara peeked over her shoulder and chewed her lower lip. “Don't you think that's being a bit invasive?”

“Being invasive is using Google Earth to find a picture of his house.”

Sabrina typed in his name.
TRISTAN LANDERS WRITER
popped up.

“Wow.” Sabrina grinned and looked over her shoulder at a hovering Kara. “You can pick them. That is one gorgeous man.”

Kara didn't like the strange motion in her stomach on seeing his picture. “I'm only interested in what he can do for me with my paintings.”

“He asked you out, didn't he?”

Kara frowned and continued reading his stats. “Yes, but he understands I'm not going out with him.”

“From looking at his picture and his accomplishments, he doesn't strike me as a man who gives up easily. He's written for some of the top magazines in the country, including
Luxury
. That took perseverance,” Sabrina mused.

“I said no and I meant it.”

“Whatever you say. From all of these awards and accolades, he might be connected to a lot of influential people in the arts.”

“That's all I care about,” Kara said, trying and failing to not let the picture of Tristan with two beautiful women in tiny bikinis bother her.

Sabrina leaned back in her chair and grinned. “If you change your mind later on, I won't blame you.”

Straightening, Kara quickly shook her head. “I won't.”

Holding up both hands, Sabrina stood. “Just saying. You can jot down his information and call him while I clean up the kitchen.”

“Now?” Kara squeaked.

Sabrina picked up the cordless phone with one hand and gently guided Kara to the chair with her other. “The sooner you call, the sooner you two can meet and get your new career rolling.”

Kara's stomach knotted. “What if he was just bluffing? What—”

Sabrina dialed the phone number listed on the Web site. “Yes, I'm calling for Kara Simmons, please have Mr. Landers call her at 999-287-5555. He'll know what the call is about. Thank you.”

Kara just stared at her best friend as she replaced the phone and went to the kitchen. When she didn't say anything, Kara followed. “Well?” Kara asked.

Picking up their plates, Sabrina went to the sink and emptied the fragments into the sink disposal. “His answering service, and not a girlfriend.”

“It wouldn't have mattered,” Kara said. At least in that she was being truthful with herself.

“It would if you'd let it. If you'd start living your life and not factor in your mother,” Sabrina said gently.

Kara picked up their glasses and flatware. “I promised Daddy I'd take care of her just like he did, and that's exactly what I plan to do.”

“What about what
you
want?” Sabrina asked.

“She's my mother,” Kara answered, aware from the knowing look on Sabrina's face that she recognized duty not love in her response, and that made Kara ashamed. Maybe she hadn't tried hard enough. Her mother loved other people, why didn't she love her own daughter?

“All right.” Sabrina turned on the faucet and rinsed the dishes. “One thing I'm not letting go is that, if you have an opening for your paintings, you're getting a sinfully sexy gown. People will be talking about the beautiful artist
and
her paintings.”

Relieved that Sabrina had intentionally changed the subject so as not to embarrass her further, Kara tried to smile. “And you'll be there to support me, with Dr. Mathis at your side.”

Sabrina leaned against the edge of the counter. “He needs me, Kara. He needs to relax and enjoy life. I don't think he does.”

“I'd tell you to be careful, but it's obviously too late,” Kara said.

Sabrina grinned and opened the dishwasher. “Yep. After yesterday I'm even more determined. He could have blown me off about going to the cafeteria. He didn't. He doesn't do anything he doesn't want to. He feels something. He might not even be aware of it himself, but he's going to. I'm going after him, and he's going to like it.”

Kara didn't doubt Sabrina's determination. She just wasn't sure about the results. Sabrina always went after what she wanted. Kara had tried that—twice—and had her pride kicked in. Never again.

 

Five

Saturday morning Tristan climbed out of his mint condition '68 Chevy truck and went to the front door of a one-story home on a quiet residential street in East Dallas, his latest project. Tucking the zipped leather folder beneath his arm, with two fingers he pulled the key from the pocket of his jeans and let himself inside. He didn't stop until he was in the small kitchen. Placing the key on the discolored countertop, he surveyed the room.

Like many of the older homes built fifty years ago it had a single oven, gas stove, refrigerator without an ice maker, a single sink, and no dishwasher. All the appliances were copper colored. All were woefully outdated. Not for long.

Leaving the kitchen Tristan easily found the two small bathrooms. The master bath wasn't much bigger than the hall bath. Serviceable, but with no punch. Nothing about either of them would make a person happy, make them feel pampered and like they could start the day in style.

Again, Tristan would change that.

Pulling the notebook from beneath his arm, he opened it. They'd start tearing out on Monday to remodel the house. He'd gotten the rehab bug after doing research for his first article for an interior design book. The article, “Luxury Living Without a Luxury Price Tag,” had been a step-by-step remodeling of his favorite rooms: the bath, kitchen, and bedroom. To him they, not the family room or great room, were the heart and soul of any house.

His thoughts veered to Kara Simmons. If he didn't like a challenge, he might let it go. Her paintings, with their power and passion and hope, wouldn't let him. She had talent. He hated to see people waste what God had given them.

People like Dale Bowler. They'd gotten Dale home a little after six last night. The first thing he did was try to go to the kitchen for a beer. He'd cursed, and Bess has wrung her hands as Tristan poured the four cans out, then searched out the three-bedroom frame home for any liquor that Dale might have stashed.