Sara's Song (9 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Sara's Song
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Adam's eyes fell on the note hanging from the refrigerator door. He plucked it off.
Dear Mr. Lord,
We followed your instructions to the letter. Our bill is in your mailbox. We raked and blew out all the dead debris in the garden and cleaned the benches and chairs. We did not disturb your dog and the pups. We did, however, feed them and left some extra food. The bill for the dog food is stapled to our invoice. You have a lovely home. Thank you for calling Merry Maids Cleaning Service.
Sincerely,
Allison Meyers
Dog? Pups? Adam raced to the garden. He dropped to his haunches to stare at the animal who was eyeing him with suspicion. When he spoke, his voice was soft and gentle. “It's going to get cold out here tonight. I can get you a nice warm blanket and make a fire if you want to come inside. These little guys look like they might like that. I'm harmless, I want you to know that. I'm not even going to ask how you got in here. You can stay, though. I'll be glad for the company. I always wanted a dog. Six pups, huh? I'm the guy that can buy the dog food if you want to stay.” He held out his hand for the dog to sniff. “I'm going to leave the kitchen door open, and then I'm going to build a fire. You come in when you're ready.”
Inside the house, Adam took the polished steps two at a time. The linen closet held the finest linens, the warmest comforters, the fluffiest towels money could buy. He whipped out a thousand-dollar goosedown comforter and a pile of soft yellow towels. He took the steps at a gallop, missing the last three completely as he ran back to the kitchen. He doubled the comforter in front of the fireplace and added the towels to make a perfect nest for his new houseguest.
Within minutes he had a fire blazing. His eye on the door, he picked up the phone to call Harris Teeter. “Listen, I need some groceries, and I can't get out. Whatever you charge for delivery is okay with me as long as you bring the stuff right away. I want five pounds of chicken livers and gizzards, some baby food. Yeah, yeah, mix and match sounds good. What's pablum? Okay, throw some of that in. Dog cookies. Milk, coffee, eggs, bacon, orange juice. Thirty minutes. Great.” Adam rattled off his address just as the dog approached the open doorway.
Adam sat down on the rocker. “Come on in. Real food is on the way. You can bring the kids in when you're ready. That's your bed,” he said, motioning to the folded comforter. The dog, a spaniel of some sort, eyed him warily. She advanced slowly, sniffing and looking around. She pawed at the comforter, sniffing the towels, one eye on Adam. He continued to rock, his voice low and gentle when he talked to her. Satisfied, the spaniel turned and went back to the garden. She returned six times, carrying each pup by the scruff of the neck, settling them one by one on the fluffy yellow towels on top of the comforter. Adam thought he heard her sigh when she settled herself next to her offspring.
Should he close the door or not? Maybe he'd leave it open a little so she could go in and out. On the other hand, leaving it open might cause a draft. He knew diddly-squat about dogs or puppies, but if he had to take a guess, he'd say the pups were newborn. Drafts were not good. He continued to talk as he got up from the chair to cross the kitchen floor to close the door. He later swore the dog sighed again when she realized she was indoors and wouldn't be put out in the cold, damp garden with her new pups.
Ten minutes later the groceries arrived. Adam made coffee while the chicken livers were frying. The spaniel's soulful eyes followed his every move. When the livers cooled, Adam scooped them onto a dish mixed with a scrambled egg. He set the dish down next to the comforter. When the spaniel made no move to go to the food, Adam sat down on the floor and hand-fed her. She took the food daintily, a small bit at a time. He held out a dish of water, watching as she drank.
Adam added another log to the fire and poured himself a cup of coffee. He wasn't going anywhere. He had a family to take care of. All he had to do was call the restaurant to ask them to bring his bags over. “Just put the bags on the steps. I'll leave twenty bucks for your efforts in an envelope.”
Twenty-five minutes later his bags were inside, and he was back on the rocking chair, coffee in hand, the television on the counter tuned to the early-evening news. The dog and her pups slept contentedly. Adam wished there was someone he could call to tell about the past hours. He wondered what Dallas would say.
Adam dozed in the rocking chair. For the first time in years he felt contented, at peace with himself. He slipped into a deep, peaceful, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Five
“Sara, are you going back to the canyon this evening?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I guess I'm kind of wondering why you never invite Dallas to come here or why the two of you don't, you know, do the town. I understand the publicity thing, but there are ways to get around that. What
do
you do up there? You've been seeing him for almost a month now. Nothing's happened, according to you. You say you're just friends. Is there something you aren't telling me? We've always shared everything. I'm starting to worry about you. You have this pensive look in your eyes all the time. Nellie mentioned it to me today. Are you starting to fall in love with Dallas Lord? Some of the edge should be off his grief by now. If my opinion counts for anything, I think he's starting to depend on you. That can't be good. For either one of you.”
“You always did have an active imagination, Carly. We're just friends. If you led the kind of life Dallas has been living all these years, you would want some private time, too. We watch movies, take walks, listen to music, and we talk. He's torn right now. He doesn't know if he should cancel the tour and break up the band. Part of him wants to do it, and part of him doesn't. He also has to find a replacement for Billy Sweet. He views that as some kind of betrayal on his part and told me he had a terrible row with his brother. The way Dallas talks about him he must be the most hateful person walking the earth. He said Adam let him down. He didn't elaborate beyond that. The other thing is, he doesn't want my privacy invaded. Yours would be, too. I'm surprised no one has found out about me. What else do you want to know?”
“Are you serious about him, Sara?”
“I don't know. I like him tremendously but . . .”
“But what?”
Sara took so long to respond that Carly had to prod her. “I don't know. Sometimes he seems so ... he's somewhere else even though he's talking to me. I'm embarrassed and even ashamed to say this, but sometimes I don't think he's . . . literate. I find myself testing him in little ways. I try to be clever and sometimes he picks up on it. It's unsettling. He says things like, oh, you're playing Adam's game. I do like him. A lot. Sometimes I see myself in him. He seems to need me. For now. There are days when I think I need him. He's so sweet. He's kind and gentle. He doesn't put the moves on me. He's always complimentary. He tries very hard to please me.”
“And you haven't been to bed with him?”
“No. He's kissed me, though. The world more or less exploded if that's your next question.”
“And?”
“That's it. He tells me he trusts me. He places great store in trust. It might have something to do with my being a doctor. He trusts Adam, but he doesn't like him. I can't figure that out.”
“Does anyone call or visit?”
“No. And to my knowledge he doesn't call anyone.”
“What does he do all day when you aren't there?”
“He says he writes songs.”
“Why would he do that if he's going to break up the band?”
“I don't know, Carly.”
“Maybe this isn't a healthy relationship.”
“He needs me at this time. Yes, he depends on me, but I think it's a temporary dependency. I look forward to spending time with him. He lost his best and only friend. He's devastated.”
“Aha! Thirty-eight-year-old men are not supposed to need anyone. Boy, this guy is nothing like they portray him in those supermarket rags if what you say is true. What would happen if you didn't go up there every night?”
Sara shrugged. “He'd probably watch a movie by himself. Is that so terrible?”
“I think you're getting involved in something you aren't going to be able to deal with later. I know you, Sara, you commit and you trench in. He doesn't sound to me like he's wrapped too tight.”
“That's a terrible thing to say. People react differently to grief. Look, I can wean myself away from him if I want to. Believe it or not, I enjoy his company. He can make me laugh, and I can make him laugh. I'm getting pretty sick of root beer, though. He guzzles it by the gallon. Don't worry about me and tell Nellie to stop worrying, too.”
“Oh, Sara, I forgot to tell you. You can't go to Dallas's this evening. Nellie fixed things up with that vet. He's stopping by this evening to take you out for coffee. I don't know how I could have forgotten to tell you that.”
“She did
what?”
“You heard me the first time, and the doorbell is ringing. Guess it's him.”
The panic on her sister's face made Carly laugh.
“Get rid of him, Carly.”
“Oh, no. Nellie said you said it was okay.”
“That was a month ago. He was a no-show. I waited for two hours.”
“Nellie said she told you this morning and you said, ‘uh-huh.' You better open the door, Sara. I'll call Dallas and tell him you're running late, or should I cancel you for this evening?”
“Cancel me,” Sara barked as she yanked at the heavy front door.
Standing in front of her was one of the handsomest men she'd ever seen in her life.
“Dr. Killian, I'm Steven McGuire. I think we have a coffee date.”
“Yes, Please, come in. Just let me get a sweater.”
“Listen, if this is a bad time, we can do it some other time. You have the look that says, oh, God, I forgot.”
Straining to hear Carly's voice in the kitchen, Sara's tone was more brisk than she intended. “Why would you say something like that?”
“Body language. The look in your eye. You're overdressed for a coffeehouse.”
“You certainly know how to make a girl feel at ease,” Sara snapped.
“This is a bad time. My mother always told me to be wary of women who snap at a guy on the first date. I'll call you.” He was out of the door and walking down the walkway to his car before Sara could think of a suitable retort.
“Guess you're going to have to stay home tonight,” Carly said, her voice sly. “Dallas said okay, and he hopes you have a good time.”
“You told him the truth! For God's sake, why?”
“You didn't tell me to lie. He didn't sound like he cared one way or another. I'd go for the bird in the hand. He's almost to his car. If you hurry, you can catch him. He's a hunk. A guy that good-looking should not be on the loose.”
“Stevennnn. Wait!”
Carly watched from the window as Sara tried to explain the misunderstanding. Her eyes intent, she ran the conversation she'd had with Dallas Lord over in her mind. He'd sounded puzzled and vague. The conversation had been short, but in her opinion he'd become distraught when she mentioned the name Dr. McGuire. She'd been careful to stress the word “friend” and doctor in regard to Steven McGuire, and she didn't know why. Something wasn't right where her sister was concerned, and she couldn't pinpoint that either. When Sara climbed into Steven McGuire's Saab, Carly sat down on the sofa and thought back to the time Dallas Lord had spent at Billy Sweet's bedside. It wasn't anything he said, and it wasn't the way he'd looked. It was what he
did.
He'd hummed the whole time he was in the ICU. Humming to the sounds of the machinery Billy Sweet was hooked up to. He'd even tapped his foot. Once he'd demanded to know if the sound of the respirator
ever
changed. When she said no, he stopped humming and tapping his foot. How strange that she should be thinking about that now. She shrugged. She looked at her watch. Fifteen minutes to get ready for her date with Hank. Dallas Lord was her sister's business, not hers.
 
 
“Are you sure you don't mind waiting, Steven? I only have two patients I want to check on.”
“Not at all. You were a real sport going to the clinic with me to check on Bessie. How could I do less? A patient is a patient even if yours is two-legged and mine is four-legged. I hope yours is resting as comfortably as my shepherd.”
“Mrs. Osborne is old, and she's frightened. Having your gall bladder taken out at the age of seventy-six is traumatic. She's got herself convinced some state agency is going to slap her in a nursing home. Nellie and I try to spend as much time with her as we can to reassure her it isn't going to happen. Being old and alone is very frightening.”
“Why do you think I put all that junk in Bessie's cage? She'd old, too. She cuddles with her teddy bear and blanket. I think she has a few good years left. I hope the same applies to your Mrs. Osborne. Take your time. I'll balance my checkbook while I wait.”
“She looks like a precocious squirrel
, Sara thought when she entered Sadie Osborne's room. ”You're supposed to be sleeping, Mrs. Osborne. It's almost midnight. What's wrong? Please, I can't understand what you're saying if you keep crying. Tell me what happened.”
“Dr. Granger came in a while ago, and he said they're sending me to one of those centers tomorrow.”
“That's not true, Mrs. Osborne. Dr. Granger is mistaken. You're going home tomorrow, and Social Services is sending someone to help out four hours a day. Nellie and I arranged it all. One of our volunteers is going to drive you home in the morning when I discharge you.”
“He said they're taking me at nine o'clock. He showed me the paperwork. One of the nurses packed my bag. I want to go home. My animals miss me. I know they miss me because I miss them. My neighbor is taking care of them, but it is such an imposition.”
“I'll straighten everything out. Is everything else okay? Let's take your blood pressure and temperature first, though. You've been walking around with the walker, haven't you? No dizzy spells or rapid heartbeat?”
“No.”
“Tell me something, Mrs. Osborne. I know it's late, but if I discharge you now, would you object to my taking you home?”
“God love a saint. I would not object at all.”
“I'll be back in a few minutes.”
Sara tore down the hall to the doctor's lounge where Dr. Granger was sipping coffee and leafing through
Playboy
magazine. She ripped the magazine out of his hands and tossed it across the room. “How dare you upset Mrs. Osborne,” she almost shouted. “You had no right, Granger, to say one word to my patient. If you ever do it again, I'll drag you before the board. Mrs. Osborne is not going to a rehab center. She's going home. In fact, Granger, she's going home tonight, and I'm taking her. She's frail and she's scared. You with your thoughtless know-it-all attitude could have brought on a heart attack. I smell liquor on your breath, too. Push me one more time, Granger, and it's all over.”
“Get off it, Sara. Who the hell do you think you are? First of all, I was following orders. Addison McKinley, you do know who he is, don't you? He signs our paychecks in case you forgot. McKinley told me to inform her of his decision. I was following orders.”
“Mrs. Osborne is my patient. I decide where she goes and when she goes. Not you and not Addison McKinley. How dare you attempt to take her dignity away. How dare you, Granger! Mess with me one more time and I'll . . .”
“You'll what?” Granger sneered.
“I'll personally kick your ass all the way to the Santa Monica Freeway. Me. By myself. Alone. With no help. On top of that, I'll take out a full-page ad in the
LA Times
telling the entire city what a crapola doctor you are. I think it's safe to say every nurse and staff member in this hospital will donate to the cost of the ad.”
The senior doctor tried to bluster. “Jesus, you get your panties in a wad real easy. For God's sake, she's just an old lady who has lived her life. Inside of a month she'll be back here, and you know it. She belongs in the center where people can watch over her.”
“Read my lips, Granger. I didn't save that woman's life so you could screw it up. She belongs at home with her things and her animals and not in some rehab center where she'll be a Social Security number and nothing more. Don't for one minute think I don't know you have a vested interest in that rehab center. What's your percentage, twenty-five, thirty percent? I'm begining to think I might make a good whistleblower. Now, get the hell out of my way before I do something
you'll
regret.”
Seething with fury, Sara stopped at the nurse's station long enough to write Sadie Osborne's discharge and to call Nellie. “I'm going to take her home, Nellie. I don't want a snafu tomorrow morning. The poor thing is so rattled she's been crying all evening. I would appreciate it if you could meet me at her house. I did ream him out, Nellie. I'll probably get fired in the morning. Of course Addison has a percentage. Not Harry, though. It's a dollar thing, Nellie. No, I am not sorry. I'd do it again. We should be there in about forty-five minutes. Yes, Nellie, he's very nice. Exceptionally nice. No, there were no sparks. I think he'll make a very good friend. I'll see you later.”

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