When You Wish (Contemporary Romance) (17 page)

Just outside Em’s door, the voices became clear, and Grace stopped creeping and started to eavesdrop. She couldn’t help herself.

“Get out of my room, you big oaf.”

“O-laf, not oaf. Has your illness jumbled your mind, my Em?”

“I’m not ill, and I’m not your Em. What I am is tired. Go away.”

Grace frowned. It wasn’t like Em to be so impatient. And especially with Olaf. Em had always treated him like a great big, overly cuddly, slightly annoying dog.

“You have scared me unto dying, Em. When I came to my home and discovered you ill my own heart fell about my ankles. If you would marry me and be my love we could have so many happy nights. I would not be out clog-dancing with other women, and you would not be wearing too-small clothes for other men.”

Grace gaped as Em sighed. “I’ve told you before, Olaf, I’m too old for you. You need a woman who can give you a family. You’re still a young man”

“We have a family. You are my heart. Your sisters I adore; Gracie is like my own. It does not take shared blood to make a family, it takes love. And I love you all.”

“Grace is not your own. You deserve a child, and for that you need a different woman than me. Even thirty years ago, I couldn’t have children.”

“I had a child. She is lost. I do not wish to travel that road again. I wish to travel the rest of my life with you.”

“You’re being silly.”

“No, you are. Love is a gift. You do not throw gifts to the ground and clog-dance all over them. You grab them with both your hands and hold them to your heart.”

“I’ve had five husbands.”

“And you are still here and they are all dead. What does that tell you?”

“I’m cursed?”

“No, you need a younger man for number six.”

Grace smiled. Olaf had a point.

“I did so hate burying one after another. You promise I won’t have to bury you?”

“Olaf promises.”

“Ha, lying to me already. How can you promise that?”

“Because you do not
bury
a descendant of Vikings.”

“Oh, really, what do you do with them?”

“I will tell you after.”

“After?” Em giggled, and sheets rustled.

Grace fled. Though she might be happy that her partner and her aunt had found happiness, she did not want to wait around and listen to “before.”

As she went back
the way she’d come, she discovered Ruby and Garnet were not asleep after all. They stood smiling in the doorways to their rooms.

“Did sister and O
laf work things out?” Ruby whispered.

“Sounds like it.”

“Hounds in the thicket?” Garnet said in a stage whisper. “I thought we were waiting for Em to kiss and make it with Olaf.”

“They are!” Ruby snapped.

“Whose car?”

Grace took a st
ep toward Garnet, meaning to explain at close range, but Ruby got there before her, shoved her sister back into her room and followed, shutting the door behind them. Frantic whispering followed before Grace heard, “Now if we can only get Grace to marry that nice young man, they can start having babies for us to play with.”

“Uh-oh,” Grace murmured. “Matchmakers at eleven o’clock.”

No wonder Dan had been asked to dinner. She’d have to put a stop to any hopes in that direction. Sure, she and Dan were like a match and gasoline in the physical attraction department, but the very thought of them getting married was ludicrous. Their personalities were like oil and water. They’d kill each other before a year was out. No two people could be more different.

Leaving her aunts to continue their whispering beyond the closed door, Grace continued to her room. Flicking on the light, her gaze fell upon the picture of two laughing people, which she kept upon her nightstand.

The man was dark, handsome, intense, while the woman was blond, beautiful, ethereal. Her parents had been oil and water, too. Different as night and day, yet their marriage had been the stuff of dreams—until Joseph Lighthorse died. The empty ache in her mother’s eyes had shown Grace she did not want to love a man so much that when you lost him you lost a part of yourself.

Just looking at the picture of her parents made Grace’s eyes water. As she often did when things bothered her, and tonight she had a plate full of bothersome things, Grace picked up her crocheting. While her mind and hands were occupied with a repetitive task, her subconscious often picked at a problem.

She’d always felt like an outsider with her parents, an intruder even, on their perfect love. That was why having the Jewels around worked so well for everyone. Her aunts had doted on her as the child they’d never had. Grace had not lacked for attention, or for love.

Her family had
always been considered odd—outcasts even before the treaty troubles. The fey Irish quilt maker and the Ojibwe attorney made quite a pair. But what man wanted his wife’s three sisters living with him?

Though Grace’s father had denied living the Ojibwe way, he had been raised with the value of family. When he married his wife, he’d understood and accepted that her sisters would live with them, too. It also helped, when he worked day and night, for his wife to have her sisters to play with.

Grace finished the granny square, clipped the yarn and tied off the block. Shaking her head at the bitter cast to her memories, she tossed the block back into the bag next to her bed.

She’d had a happy childhood. Her parents had loved each other. Her mother had not complained about her father’s career. She had understood what drove her husband, e
ven if his daughter hadn’t. Diamond Lighthorse may have become a hermit after losing the man she’d adored more than anything else, but while he’d been her husband, whatever he’d done had been fine with her—even working himself to death.

Grace wished she could say the same for herself.

Chapter Eleven

Dan arrived at the hospital promptly at ten, and Grace was nowhere to be found. Of course she’d only told him to b
e there; she hadn’t told him exactly where.

So he stood around in the lobby feeling big and conspicuous and foolish, until he thought to ask at the desk for Grace Lighthorse. His real-world skills definitely needed brushing up.

“Certainly, she’s here.” The elderly clerk beamed. “Comes every week at least once, sometimes two or three times, and goes to the pediatric floor. Lovely girl—kind and giving. You know her?”

Dan nodded. “And the pediatric floor is . . .?”

“Third floor. Elevator’s down the hall on the right. Tell her I said hello.”

Dan started down the hall. Everyone loved Grace, everywhere, it see
med. She must be the social butterfly of the century. So why was she having so much trouble getting Project Hope into hospitals?

Dan stepped onto the elevator and punched “3.” Obviously everyone else thought the idea for Project Hope as silly as he did. So how was he going to live up to his part of the bargain they’d made with Mrs. Cabilla? Grace was living up to hers.

Bing!
The elevator opened and Dan stepped out. Typical hospital floor: nurses’ station, patient rooms, lounge. The only thing out of place was the laughter coming from one of the rooms on the other side of the hall.

Drawn despite himself, Dan walked toward the musical sound of a child’s laughter and found Grace.

She knelt at the foot of the child’s bed, her full, multicolored skirt swirled in a pool around her legs. The tip of one socked toe peeked out from beneath the hem, her shoes, no doubt, tossed into the far corner the moment she’d walked in the door.

A sock puppet covered each hand, and she ducked her head b
eneath the edge of the bed, waving those hands up high so the little girl, Becky Bouchamp, according to the door, could see the show.

“And
poof
, the genie disappeared,” said the right hand, which looked like some kind of malformed dog.

“And everything was happy again,” said the left hand, which looked not quite as good.

Becky giggled, drawing Dan’s attention from the vision on the floor to the angel in the bed. Though her skin seemed unnaturally pale, her face was lit with joy. Huge, dark eyes sparkled in a tiny face, surrounded by very, very short brown hair. She looked like a pixie child in the midst of that big, white bed. In her hands she clutched the brightly colored cloth Grace had been sewing the morning Dan jogged to her house.

“Sometimes I’m still scared,” said the right hand.

“Me, too,” said the left hand.

“But at least we have each other.” They hugged. “And even when we’re all alone, we always have something to hold on to.”

The right hand held up a square of peach flannel and scrunched the material in its fist—or rather, to its chest. Left hand did the same with a slice of green corduroy.

“Magic blankets!”

The two hands clasped in another hug, pressing the mini blankets between them. The little girl clapped and Grace sat up, putting her chin on the edge of the bed and grinning. Becky waved and laughed—a great, big belly laugh that seemed to overtake her entire body with glee.

Dan had very little experience with children. He saw them on the streets sometimes, and if they were well behaved they seemed pleasant enough. But this one was as cute as a kitten. That laugh kind of wrapped around a person’s heart and squeezed. He wanted to hear her laugh again, so he held very still.

“So I’ll come back and see you at the end of the week?” Grace stood. “By then I bet you’ll feel a whole lot better.”

The animation drained from the child’s face like water from a sieve. “The doctors hurt me. But I don’t get any better. Mommy cries. Daddy, too, when no one’s looking.”

Dan’s heart squeezed with sadness this time, and he swallowed a sudden lump in his own throat. Another reason he’d decided to be a doctor without patients. Sometimes things went well and everything was okay and then other times . . .

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Grace sat on the bed. “But now that you have the magic blanket, you’ll never be alone.”

Magic blanket? Dan frowned. He might not be a doctor with patients, but he knew better than that. Having the puppets believe in magic was one thing, encouraging such a belief in a sick child was another. Before Dan could say anything, Becky spoke, and the hope in her voice made him stay right where he was, with his mouth shut.

“I can sleep with it?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t sleep good here. It’s too dark, and it’s never really quiet.”

“I know. That’s rough. But sleep will help you feel better.”

“Can I take my blanket when I go for tests?”

“If the nurses say it’s all right, and I bet for most tests it will be.”

Becky brightened even further. Grace leaned over and kissed the little girl on the forehead. As she straightened, Becky threw her arms around Grace’s neck and held on tight.

Grace gathered the child onto her lap. For a long while they rocked—Grace, the little girl, and her new blanket. The scene was so peaceful; Dan didn’t want it to end. But of course it did.

He leaned against the door in an effort to see better and the hinges creaked. Both Grace and the child glanced up and saw him. Their expressions, which had been soft
, and warm, and full of joy, became guarded once more, and Dan wanted to kick himself for destroying the beautiful picture.

“Dr. Chadwick, how nice to see you.” The ice in Grace’s voice revealed the lie to her words.

“Doctor?” The panic in the child’s voice made Dan hesitate before stepping into the room. She seemed to shrink in upon herself as he approached. Grace held her more tightly, and Becky inched the blanket up her face until only her eyes could be seen above the hem.

“I don’t know you. Are you a new doctor? You aren’t going to hurt me, are you?”

Dan froze in the middle of the room, uncertain what to say, unwilling to come closer and scare her any more.

“No, sweetie,” Grace intervened, and her voice was no longer cold but warm as a summer day. “Dr. Chadwick’s not that kind of doctor.”

A surprised snort of laughter escaped Dan at hearing his own words turned around to the good for a change. The child, uncertain what was so funny, nevertheless, smiled at him, and he felt, for just a minute, how he’d felt when he’d kind of saved Em’s life. Grace looked at him over the child’s head, and when she smiled, too, his heart warmed.

For the first time he was glad to be “not that kind of doctor.” For the
first time he was glad to be exactly who he was—because Grace had smiled at him.

Grace kissed the top of the child’s head and set her back on the bed. “I’ll be back, Becky. You hold on to your magic blanket, and everything will look brighter. I promise.”

Dan’s joy evaporated. He’d forgotten about the magic blanket stuff. That really had to stop. “Grace—”

She held up a hand. “Be right there.”

“I really don’t think you should—”