Shattered Dreams (Moonchild) (4 page)

Not going to happen. Yet.

Rafe pressed against the wall.
No.
He fought a recurring vision. A flash of light surrounding Tom’s face appeared. The vision had occurred frequently during Rafe’s stay in the hospital. Months had passed since the last time. He had no idea what the image meant.

Rafe pushed away from the wall. At least this time the rush of anger and the memory of pain hadn’t happened. Rather than waiting for the elevator he hurried to the stairs, dashed to the first floor and left the hospital. As he rode past Manon’s office, the absence of lights meant she’d gone home. Did she live at the house just outside town where she’d grown up?

He sped to the apartment complex.
Damn.
Manon was everything he wanted. For more than sex, though his cock had different ideas.

Enough.

He dare not weave a dream of the future before he’d solved the past.

At the complex, he parked beside his van in the roofed parking area. He rode the elevator to his floor.

An erection pressed against his jeans. Thoughts of Manon’s touch nearly made him erupt. During the physical, she had seemed impersonal but her fingers had brushed his skin as she’d placed the electrodes. Those brief brushes had stirred memories and escalated his desire. Had she noticed? Had she hidden her own reaction?

He unlocked the apartment door. Just recalling those moments made him harder. He entered, dropped his leather jacket and gloves on a chair and stared at the phone. He could call. Would she slam the receiver to end the call the way she had to Tom? One way to find out. He opened the directory Gran had left, found Manon’s number and pressed the keys.

“Dr. Lockley’s service. How can I help you?”

“Sorry, wrong number.” He disconnected. That answered his question. Explaining  to a faceless woman why he wanted to speak to Manon wouldn’t work.

He slumped on the couch. He loved her. During the years since his departure form Fern Lake, he’d tried to forget Manon. Hadn’t worked. The months of amnesia had contained bits of memory about people and places. Had been akin to solving a jigsaw puzzle. One by one, the pieces had joined. He’d remembered her, written letters, sent them and waited for an answer. While browsing on the internet, he had learned she was in Europe. He followed her successes.

One day all mention of Manon vanished. He recalled his fear she had married or died. He’d pushed her from his thoughts and he’d started to school to earn the first of his degrees.

During those years there had been several women who had held his attention for a time. When they had wanted more than he could give, he had walked away. Friends with benefits had been all he could offer.

Last December, he and Gran had spent the holiday week at her cabin. She’d spoken of her desire to ret
ire and had asked if he would consider taking her place. After he agreed, she had told him Manon had set up practice in town as a family physician. The news had shocked him but he had agreed to come. That conversation was engraved in his thoughts.

“Let me finish my doctorate so I don’t have to face a three hour commute.”

“Are you leery of seeing Manon Lockley?”

“Maybe. There’s also the consulting job that finishes in May just after graduation.”

“Then I’ll retire in September and work with you over the summer. Some of the staff might resent a man with a fancy degree.”

Now he was here and so was Manon. He had two choices. Forget her or make his desire a reality.

As he started down the hall, he pulled off his shirt and saw some of the lead attachments were still in place. Not wanting to pull his chest hair, he turned into the bathroom. As he stripped, Manon’s face flashed into his thoughts. Shadow hands stroked his chest. His cock moved to readiness.

Ever since he’d held her in his arms, he’d wanted her. He should have kissed her until she responded.

Enough!

He turned on the water and stepped into the stall. With a flick, he changed the temperature. An icy stream washed over him. The sticky circles fell off. He scrubbed and rinsed. His body shook. Hypothermia threatened, but one part of him failed to heed the cold. He turned the water off. A cold shower hadn’t halted his desire. He strode to the bedroom and sank on the mattress. Time to take the matter in hand.

He ran his hands over his chest where she had touched. A memory of the citrus fragrance of her shampoo made him groan. His hands moved over his abdomen to grasp his cock. He slid into a memory of the first time he and Manon had pleasured each other, the time before she’d given him her virginity.

She knelt at his side and grasped him. Slowly, she had explored from the head to the base. One hand circled his dick and began to pump.

Tension built. Harder and faster he slid his hand along the shaft. He gulped breaths of air. Groans and growls filled the air. Closer and closer he rose toward his goal. With a shout he reached the peak and spewed.

“Manon.”

Chapter
3

Manon set the receiver in the cradle and switched her calls to the answering service. A relieved sigh passed her lips. The three patients at the hospital were improving and she had no reason to make evening rounds. No desire either. A stop in CCU might bring her into Rafe’s vicinity. She wasn’t ready to see him again. Learning the days and weeks of grief had been based on a lie had brought an avalanche of confusion.

He was alive. He was attractive. Her old feelings toward him had been revitalized. What was she going to do?

She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. Images of him from the past and the present flashed. The face of the younger Rafe slid over the body of the man she had examined. She had loved him, had dreamed of a life with him until the night the dream mirror had smashed into a million shards.

Why had he returned to
Fern Lake? With a doctorate in nursing management, he could have taken a position at a prominent hospital or become a university professor. Had Mrs. Patton’s desire to retire lured him here? Why?

An errant thought arose. Years ago, Rafe had talked about exploring the country on his bike. He’d thought of staying in one place as being confined. Had he changed or was his coming here a momentary stop on the way to a greater adventure?

Rafe was alive.

Forming tears burned. Manon gripped the arms of the chair. She wouldn’t cry because he lived. She’d shed too many when she’d been told he had died.

A sound midway between a sigh and a groan emerged. Who had lied? Why couldn’t she remember whose voice had made the grim announcement? Would she ever know who had erased her hope?

What now? Rafe’s appearance had triggered a desire to find a hiding place. She wouldn’t leave town.
Fern Lake was her home. Most of her life had been spent in the house just outside the town limits. Her parents’ graves were in the town cemetery. Her brother, just a year older, lived in the house he’d inherited when their mother died.

She couldn’t leave but thoughts of seeing Rafe every day stirred the shattered dreams of yesterday.

Embarrassment had colored her face. She had fainted. The shock of seeing a dead man had been the trigger. She’d roused on the examining table where he’d carried her. Had there been a soft brush of his lips on hers? Was this memory a figment of imagination raised by memories and desires? Unless she asked, she would never know.

Not going there.

Any interaction with Rafe had to be at the hospital and concern patients or staff.

Visions of his muscular chest rose. His taut abs tumbled in her thoughts. Scars marked his tanned skin. She’d been tempted to stroke and taste but she had refrained. Thank heavens the lab coat had hidden her body’s response. Had her eyes betrayed her? She’d seen evidence of what her presence had stirred in him. The gown had hidden little. Heat flowed from her face to gather in her lower abdomen.

Manon rested her head against the cool metal of the desk. She had to control this urge to explore the past. Their love had been a teenage dream, also a rebellion against her father’s dreams of her becoming his gift to the musical world. She often wondered why he hadn’t chosen Jay whose musical ability led him into composition. But Jay had no desire to perform in public. Neither had she.

Part of her wanted to embrace those distant memories. Who had been the first one to speak of Rafe’s death? Did she want to remember o
r continue to practice selective amnesia?

Her father had gloated about Rafe’s failure to arrive for the prom date. Her father had used her to rejuvenate a failing career. Three wasted years wandering over
Europe. His constant reminders that Europe was the place where talent was appreciated had grown old.

“You will come to adore the attention.”
He’d said those words so often she’d wanted to scream.

From the age of eighteen to twenty-one, her life had been a kaleidoscope of concert halls filled with medleys of music. She’d hated every moment on the stage. Applause had left her cold. Only the online college classes she’d taken had kept her sane.

Where had her father learned about Rafe’s death? He’d been at the house during the time Rafe’s accident had occurred. Though she had asked, as recently as the day before he died, he had never said.

Manon booted the computer and searched for mentions of Rafe’s name. She entered the archives of the local newspaper. Sports’ activities, scholastic honors. He’d been on the list of those graduating from high school. There were papers from articles he’d written in grad school but no mention of the accident. She had never looked before. She had believed he was dead.

She shook her head. Staring at the computer screen was non-productive. She logged off. After removing her purse and medical bag, she lifted Rafe’s massive medical history and went to her car.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into the driveway of her house, the second ranch house she’d purchased when she’d returned to
Fern Lake. Though too large for one person, she liked the space. Four bedrooms, two and a half baths, formal living and dining room, kitchen and family rooms connected. She even had a home office behind the two car garage. She pressed the opener and parked inside.

After heating a mug of coffee, she sat on the family room and opened Rafe’s medical folder. The first few pages puzzled her. Why had he included the police report of the accident?

He’d been found on the side of the road near his smashed bike. Skid marks had been seen as a deliberate act. Something about the angle. A motorist’s statement mentioned a dark car speeding off. She had called 911. How long had Rafe been unattended? Couldn’t have been long.

She set the report aside and read the notes from the EMTs. The number of injuries shocked her. She scanned the steps taken to stabilize him and shivered. He was fortunate to be alive.

She recalled the scars she’d seen and the ones she hadn’t but noticed on Emma’s assessment. The scar on his chest showed he’d had broken ribs and a collapsed lung. There’d been simple and compound fractures of his arms and legs plus a fractured pelvis. Though he’d worn his helmet, he’d suffered a concussion resulting in amnesia.

Manon ran her hands over her arms to erase a sudden chill. Mrs. Patton had been notified. Why hadn’t the older woman told anyone? Or had she?

A sudden thought jolted her. Her father had vanished for an hour or two the afternoon of the prom. He’d returned around the time Rafe should have arrived. Had her father made arrangements for the accident?

She glanced at the police report again. Her father had been at home at that time. Relief made her head spin.
Not her father.
Who had delivered the news?

Tears spilled over her cheeks. While she’d been storming in a rage, Rafe had been lying on the side of the road. When grief had dampened the anger, he had undergone life-saving surgery. She rubbed her eyes. Who had caused the accident? Had to be the one who had brought the news.

She rose from the sofa and went to the kitchen. Her stomach ached from hunger. Rafe had returned but how long would he stay? She feared another heartbreak. Her hands clenched. There was no way she would let that happen.

After making a salad with strips of broiled chicken breast, she poured a glass of white wine. She sat at the counter, sipped wine and ate. After finishing she carried the glass into the family room and sat on the roomy recliner. She snapped on the TV, surfed for a time and switched to music.

A classical symphony flowed from the speaker. What would have happened if instead of fainting she had run to Rafe? What if during the exam she had crossed from impersonal to personal? What if they had kissed? She thought she recalled a light brush on her lips.

Memory or imagination?

Though she had no desire to relive the past, she had questions. She had to forget what had happened between them years ago. Those days were gone. With a sigh she drained the glass and turned off the music. Exhaustion hovered like a cloud of smoke. Today had been difficult and the days ahead would be more so.

She walked to the master bedroom and pulled a nightshirt from a drawer. In the bathroom, she adjusted the shower to a warm spray, stepped inside and let the water wash over her. Shame she couldn’t wash away the memories rising like ghosts of the past.