Critical Care (33 page)

Claire opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head.

"Good." Logan cleared his throat, his expression growing serious.
"Because I need you to listen. You were right about Sarah. She had
that accident-" he winced-"partly because of me. She was trying
to please me. She took those pills because she was hurting from some
tough things that happened to her, and she knew I was the kind of man
who could never understand that. That I would consider it an excuse,
a weakness. But you know what? You know what's so ironic?"

Claire shook her head, holding her breath. She hadn't a clue
about anything.

He gave a short laugh. "It was me all along. I'm the weak link.
Not Sarah or Keeley Roberts or even ... McMuffin." His eyes softened. "And certainly not you. Not you in a million years. You're
the bravest woman I've ever met. You came back to the ER and had
the guts to stand up to someone like me after all you went through
with your brother. After everything that happened afterward. I'd
like to get my hands on that Sacramento doc for what he did to
you." He grasped her hand. "I'm sorry, Claire."

Claire's eyes filled with tears, and the ache in her throat made
it impossible to form words. Then somehow she was in Logan's
arms, her face nestled against his beard-rough jaw. He was warm
and solid and smelled of salty skin and chopped wood.

She finally found voice enough to whisper against his cheek,
"Where did all this come from? What's happened?"

His hands slid down her arms, and he held her away while he
answered. "Sarah and an oak stump, I guess. That would be the
easy answer. But the fact is, I went to the ICU last night to talk with
her. To prove you were wrong about my causing her accident. I
wanted the truth, and I got a whole lot more of it than I'd planned.
Talking with Sarah made me face things I've been too stubborn or
too angry to deal with. For as long as I can remember. From my
mother to my marriage with Beckah. I didn't tell you she'd been
pregnant the year before we broke up."

Oh no. Claire struggled for words.

Logan raised his palm before she could speak. "Wait. There's more.
The truth is, I was disappointed when Beckah told me she was pregnant. I told her the timing was wrong, my career wasn't established,
and my student loans were too high. I couldn't deal with it."

Claire remembered Jada Williams, and her stomach quivered.
"Oh, Logan, you didn't ask her to-"

"No," he said, cutting her off, "I'd never do that. But Beckah
knew how I felt, and when she miscarried, she was sure I was
relieved. I wasn't-I really wasn't. I couldn't convince her of
that, and I couldn't seem to comfort her either. I did it all wrong.
She was suffering and I quoted statistics about miscarriage. She
couldn't sleep and I wrote a prescription. At the worst time in
her life, I didn't give Beckah anything she really needed. She got
more and more depressed and I told her to buck up, that counseling was worthless. When she wanted us to start going to church
together ... I scheduled myself to work Sundays."

Claire touched his hand. "I'm so sorry."

"The point is, I'm the one who should be sorry. I'm the one who fouled up. When Sarah was talking about all those rough
things she'd been through, I started feeling like she was telling
me about myself. And when she asked me to pray with her ..."
Logan smiled at Claire's audible gasp. "Another thing you were
right about, it seems."

Thank you, God. Oh, thank you. Claire watched Logan through
a shimmer of tears, her heart taking flight.

"Somewhere between the ICU and three hours with an ax in
my hands, I realized I was so angry about people leaving me that
I'd started pushing everyone away-even God." He frowned. "Especially God. I wasn't going to talk to someone who knew the truth
about me." Logan shook his head. "Of course, the real truth was
that God's been there all along, waiting for me to finally figure out
that I need him in my life."

Claire swiped her fingers against the corner of her eye. Then
she waited while Logan sat there in silence, noticing how tired he
looked. More than tired. He looked vulnerable despite those big
shoulders and that strong, beard-shadowed jaw. Vulnerable and
raw and ... so very dear. I'm falling in love with him. I care for this
man with my very soul. Claire smiled, her heart so full she could
barely breathe. She was going to tell him how she felt. Right now.

"So we had a talk," Logan said before she could speak. "On the
stump."

"We?"

"God and me. But mostly I just listened. It seems I've got a lot
of things to make up for. Like-" He stood up suddenly. "Wait, it's
Saturday!"

"Right." Claire patted the couch. "Sit back down; you're exhausted.
I'll fix some breakfast and . . . " Tell you how I feel about you.

"Ah, blast." Logan checked his watch. "I'll have to hurry. Thank you for listening, but I need to go or I'll never get there in time."
He bolted forward, his leg bumping the coffee table.

Claire grabbed the vase of daffodils before it could topple over.
"Wait."

"Can't. I'm sorry. I have to do this," he called over his shoulder.
"I'll call you."

Logan fastened his helmet strap; he'd make better time on the
bike than in the Jeep. Two hundred twenty-four miles to Carmel,
according to MapQuest. Three hours and forty-five minutes. He
could shave some time off that. Traffic on 1-5 wouldn't be too bad
on a weekend, except that you never knew how it would go near
the Bay Area.

Logan kicked the starter, put the bike in gear, and pulled out
of the condominium carport. He'd get there before Beckah's wedding. He had to. He needed to tell her he understood why she left.
That he'd driven her away, done everything wrong even though
he hadn't wanted to. She needed to know that even though he'd
made it impossible for her to stay, he'd never wanted her to go.
It was all his fault. There wasn't much time, but he had to try to
finally make things right.

Erin peered through the wavy window glass of Gold Strike Coffee
and toward the road lined with old-fashioned streetlights, wishing
it were warm enough to sit at one of the little tables outside. But
midmornings in April were still parka weather in historic Placerville. It was called Old Hangtown back in the 1840s because of the
way justice was carried out at the end of a rope.

She frowned and reached for her coffee cup. No, she wasn't
going to think about Brad. Yet. She'd deal with him later today.
This morning she was meeting with Claire to talk about Sarah. Ah,
there she is. Erin returned Claire's wave and watched her cross the
street toward the coffeehouse, thinking once again how radiant her
friend looked lately. That the flush on her cheeks had to be from
more than the chill morning air.

"Hey there," she called out as the old door's bell announced
Claire's arrival. "They have cinnamon rolls this morning. Still
warm-I got you one. Grab your coffee."

She did and a few minutes later joined Erin at the window
table. Claire thanked Erin for the pastry, then unwrapped her
marled lavender scarf, her eyes shiny as she settled into her chair.
Erin smiled knowingly as Claire laid her cell phone on the table.
Who's the lucky guy?

Claire smiled back before lifting her cup. "Obviously you
couldn't sleep either."

Erin shook her head. "I still can't believe yesterday. If this keeps
up, I'll be wallpapering the nurses' lounge with those awful critical
stress pamphlets. Oops, sorry."

"No problem. Trust me, none of this was in my master plan.
Not one bit of anything that's happened over the past two weeks,
bad and good. . . " Claire's voice faded away, and soft color rose to
her cheeks again.

Well, well, well. Every symptom in the book.

"Thankfully Sarah's condition stabilized," Claire said. Her dark
brows drew together, and she lowered her voice. "But what about
the accident investigation-could that jeopardize her nursing
license?"

Erin set her cinnamon roll down. "Good question. I was awake half the night thinking about it." And about thieving Brad. "Sarah's
blood screen was basically clean. Alcohol and drug levels nearly
nonexistent. So the police won't have anything to hang their
hats on there. But there's still a chance she could be charged with
speeding or reckless endangerment, I suppose. Driving without
sleep is as dangerous as any drug." Her stomach tensed. "I may
as well be herding cats for the way I managed this one." And my
love life.

"You? Why are you saying that?" Claire lifted her spoon from
her coffee, staring.

"I should have seen how troubled she was. Here I am, spending all this time organizing Faith QD to offer support for the staff,
and I miss something like that? I've already signed up for the next
CISM peer counseling class, but maybe that's not good enough. I
mean, what kind of charge nurse am I, if I'm so blind I can't see
something like this coming with one of my nurses?"

"You're the best kind of charge nurse. Don't do this to yourself." Claire reached across the table and grabbed Erin's hand. "I'm
glad you're taking the counseling course. That'll be great. But you
can't blame yourself about Sarah. I counseled her after the day
care disaster, remember? I keep going over that, but she seemed so
tough, so together. And now in hindsight we're all thinking about
things we missed in her behavior and feeling guilty about it." She
paused as a waitress in a fringed doeskin vest refilled their cups, her
gold nugget earrings swaying as she moved.

Erin watched as Claire took the opportunity to peek at the
display on her cell phone. She felt a twinge of envy; was she ever
going to feel that way? ever find anybody she could trust? "Expecting a call?" she asked with growing curiosity.

Claire's gaze lifted. "Not exactly. Well, I'm ... hoping."

Erin raised her brows, but Claire shrugged. The mystery man
would stay a mystery for now, it seemed.

"Anyway," Claire continued, "what I meant was that we're all
pretty much undone by what happened with Sarah. If you'll pardon my quoting certain unpopular stress pamphlets, we shouldn't
put unrealistic pressures on ourselves. We need to-"

Erin wrinkled her nose. "You're not going to mention petting
sheep and eating corn dogs, are you?"

Claire groaned at the reference to the chaplain's rodeo therapy.
"No. But we need to watch out for each other."

"And try to do things that feel good," Erin quoted, smiling as
Claire peered at her cell phone yet again. She tapped the phone.
"So when are you going to break down and tell me who's suddenly
making you feel so good?" She grinned. "Come on now. It's not
like I can't tell something's going on."

Claire's eyes lit up. "Oh, Erin, I don't know if I should say anything. But I'm dying to tell someone how I feel."

"Spill it. Please. You have no idea how much I need to believe
in happy endings right now."

A phone rang, startling them both. But it wasn't Claire's; it
was coming from Erin's purse. She dug it out, rolled her eyes as
she recognized the number, then faced Claire, mouthing that she
was sorry for the interruption. Erin turned her chair away, leaving
Claire to her cinnamon roll.