The Way Home (12 page)

Cal swallowed convulsively. He didn't want to feel this way about Amy. And he especially didn't want to feel this way right now, when he was struggling with other choices and decisions that would affect the rest of his life. Cal didn't understand why the Lord had put this woman in his life at this particular time, but he also trusted that there must be a reason. And so he turned to the Master, as he often did in times of turmoil, for guidance.

Dear Lord, I'm confused,
he prayed as he held Amy in his arms.
After today, I know that I care deeply about this woman. But we seem ill suited in so many ways. Our priorities—and our lifestyles—are completely different. Amy could never be happy in a cabin in the mountains. But I'm more and more convinced that I can't be happy anywhere else. Please, Lord, help me resolve this dilemma and give me the wisdom to discern Your will.

As Amy leaned against Cal, savoring the haven of
his strong, sure arms, she felt strangely content. She wasn't a woman who leaned on
anyone
very often, but at this moment it felt wonderful. In fact, oddly enough, it felt as if she'd somehow come home. She didn't understand the feeling, but neither did she fight it. It felt too good. So with a sigh, she closed her eyes and nestled her cheek against his chest, conscious of the rapid beat of his heart beneath her ear. Amy didn't think his elevated pulse was from the exertion of helping her out of the car, and a sudden tingle of excitement ran through her that had nothing to do with her recent trauma.

Cal felt her tremble and pulled back slightly to gaze down at her, his eyes troubled. “Are you okay?”

No, she wasn't. Her own pulse had gone haywire, and she was having trouble breathing as she grappled with her own conflicting emotions. It felt way too good in this man's arms. And though she tried desperately to stifle the thought, she couldn't stop wondering what it would be like to feel his lips on hers.

“Amy?”

Cal's worried voice brought her back to reality, and she forced her stiff lips into the semblance of a smile. “I'll be better once I'm inside.”

If Cal noticed the unevenness in her voice, he made no comment. Instead, he closed the door and took her arm, matching his pace to hers as she made her way slowly to the door. She fumbled in her purse, all too conscious of his hand resting protectively in the small of her back. When her fingers closed over the key, she turned to him and again summoned up a smile.

“Thank you for everything, Cal. I'm really sorry
about tonight. I'm sure you had better plans for your evening then spending it at the hospital.”

He tilted his head and gave her a crooked grin. “Are you telling me to get lost?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Of course not. You're welcome to come in. I just don't want to ruin the rest of your evening.”

He reached over and took the key from her hand. “Trust me, Amy. This is where I want to be.”

She didn't know how to respond to that, so she simply let him open the door and guide her inside.

“Why don't you sit down and I'll get you some water so you can take a pill?”

“You really don't have to wait on me, you know. I'm used to taking care of myself.”

He turned toward her and placed both hands lightly on her shoulders. “I know. You're a very strong, independent woman. But you've had one tough day. And frankly, so have I. It's not a pretty thing to watch someone you—you care about get hurt right in front of your eyes. In fact, it's as close to hell as I ever want to get. So let me do this for you, okay? It will make me feel better.”

Cal had a way of making it sound like
he
was the beneficiary of his own good deeds, Amy realized, remembering his comment about his work at Saint Vincent's. And positioned that way, she could hardly object.

“You win,” she capitulated.

When he returned a few moments later, she was playing back the messages on her answering machine.
“I need to call the news editor back. The rest can wait,” she told him.

He handed her the water and a pill. “Would you like some dinner?”

She made a face. “No way. I'm still kind of queasy. What time is it, anyway?” She glanced at her watch and her eyes widened. “Ten o'clock! I must have been at the hospital for hours. What about you? Did you have dinner?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh, Cal! You must be starving!”

“Only in the last few minutes.”

“I've got some microwave stuff in the freezer. You're welcome to anything in there, but I think my supply is pretty depleted,” she said apologetically.

He grinned. “A starving man isn't very picky. Go ahead and make your call while I scrounge something up.”

The news editor wasn't available, but the station promised to have him get back to her shortly. She rose to go to the bathroom, pausing in the kitchen doorway to find Cal with a chocolate-chip cookie stuck in his mouth as he searched through her freezer.

“That's not very nutritious,” she teased.

He turned to her and removed the cookie. “Maybe not. But it's very available.”

“True,” she conceded. “Listen, would you mind answering the phone while I change into something more casual? My station should be calling back any minute.”

“Sure. Take your time.”

Amy continued to the bathroom, where she washed
her face and then used a hand mirror to gingerly examine the back of her head in the vanity mirror, cringing when she saw the large white bandage. Good thing they only showed her from the front on camera, she thought wryly. It was going to take a long time for all that hair to grow back.

Just as she finished dressing she heard the phone ring, and she padded barefoot toward the living room, tucking her T-shirt into her sweatpants as she walked.

“Yes, she's okay,” she heard Cal say. “Shaken up, of course, and she has a nasty cut on the back of her head. But the doctor said she'll be fine.”

There was a moment of silence, then he spoke again.

“No, don't worry. I'm going to stay tonight until she's settled. And I'll stop by to check on her again first thing in the morning…Mmm-hmm…I already asked, but she said no. Any suggestions on what might whet her appetite in the morning if she's still not hungry?”

Amy's brows rose in surprise and she paused in the doorway. Jarrod Blake, the night news editor, was good at his job, but it wasn't like him to ask about anyone's health—or eating habits—in any detail. And he certainly wouldn't know anything about Amy's favorite foods.

Cal listened for a moment, then turned and caught sight of her. “She just walked in. I'll put her on.” He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Your sister,” he said.

Amy frowned and walked toward him. “Kate?”

“She saw your clip on the national news a few
minutes ago, and she sounded pretty frantic. I told her you were okay, but I don't think she'll believe it until she hears your voice.”

Amy reached for the phone. “Kate?”

“Oh, Amy! I was so afraid you were—” Her voice broke on a strangled sob.

“Kate, really, it's okay,” Amy reassured her. She gently lowered herself into the desk chair, her gaze on Cal's broad back as retreated to the kitchen. “I just needed a few stitches.”

“I wish I could be there with you!”

“I love you for the thought, but really, I'm okay. Cal is here. And you've got that baby to think about. Please, don't worry.”

“Have you heard from Mom?”

“No. Have you? Did she see it, too?” Amy asked in alarm.

“I guess not, or she would have called. But she'll hear about it in the morning from someone.”

“I'll call her first thing,” Amy promised.

“Okay.” Kate was beginning to sound more like herself. “Listen, isn't this Cal the one you bought the date with at that auction?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn't know you'd been seeing him.”

“I haven't been.”

“Then what's he doing there?”

Amy lowered her voice. “I don't know. He just showed up at the hospital, and then he brought me home.”

“I thought you said there wasn't anything between you two?”

“I didn't think there was.”

“Hmm. Sounds like you better revise your thinking, sister dear.”

“What I think is that you're reading too much into this,” Amy said firmly. “Besides, my head hurts too much to think about this tonight.”

“You're right,” Kate said, instantly contrite. “Go to bed and get some rest. Will you call me tomorrow and let me know how you are?”

“Of course.”

“Say good-night to Cal for me. And, Amy…he sounds really nice.”

As Amy rang off, she couldn't disagree with Kate's assessment. Especially when Cal walked in a moment later bearing a plate of toast and a cup of tea.

“I know you aren't hungry, but you should try to eat something,” he said before she could protest. He set the plate and cup on the desk beside her.

Once more, Amy felt her throat constrict. It had been a long time since anyone had looked after her, and Cal's simple gesture made her realize just how alone she'd been for so many years. Amy blinked rapidly to clear the sudden film of moisture from her eyes and then looked up at him. “What about you? I hope you had more than that cookie.”

He shrugged. “I nuked something while you changed. Go ahead, eat a few bites at least.”

Amy nibbled on the toast and watched as Cal leaned against the back of the couch, hands thrust into his pockets, legs crossed at the ankles. He looked tired, she thought, her gaze softening in sympathy.

“I'm really sorry about dragging you into this, Cal.
After all the stress and strain of the trial, this is the last thing you needed.”

“You didn't drag me into this, Amy. I willingly got involved.”

“Why?”

The question was out before she could stop it, and she felt hot color rise to her cheeks. “Listen. Forget I asked that, okay?”

There was silence for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was cautious. “Why don't you want me to answer that question?”

Because I'm afraid, she cried silently. Afraid of disrupting my carefully planned life. And even more afraid that your answer won't be the one my heart wants to hear.

“I don't think I'm up to dealing with heavy questions tonight,” she replied instead, her voice quavering slightly.

“I think you're right.” He stood up and walked slowly toward her, and she stared at him silently, her heart hammering in her chest. For a moment his intense gaze locked with hers, and then he glanced at her plate, now empty except for a few crumbs. “I guess you were hungrier than you thought,” he said softly.

The husky cadence in his voice made the last swallow of toast stick in her throat. Did the man have even a remote clue how appealing he was? she wondered, trying to ignore her staccato pulse. “I—I guess so,” she said inanely as she stared back up at him, mesmerized by the banked fire she saw in the depths of his eyes.

He took a deep breath, then cleared his throat. “Come on. You need to get to bed.”

Amy didn't object when he took her arm as she stood. She suddenly felt off balance again.

“Do you need to change?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I'm too tired. This will do.”

When she reached the bed, she sat down wearily. The physical and emotional upheavals of the past few hours had completely sapped her energy.

Cal waited for her to lie down, but when she continued to simply sit there, shoulders drooping, head bent, he lifted her legs onto the bed, then gently helped position her on her side. He reached for the blanket, pausing in surprise at the hand-stitched quilt that lay at the foot of her bed. The homespun touch seemed out of place in Amy's sophisticated lifestyle.

“Is something wrong?” Amy asked sleepily when he didn't move.

Cal quickly finished drawing up the quilt and tucked it around her shoulders. “I was just admiring your quilt. It reminds me of ones Gram has done. Did you mother make it?”

“No. I did.”

He stared down at her in surprise. “You quilt?”

“I grew up on a farm, remember?” Her words were slightly slurred now.

“But I thought you left all that behind.”

“Me, too.” She sighed. When she spoke again, he had to lean close to hear her fading voice. “Life's funny, isn't it?”

Cal stared down at her. Yeah, life was funny, all right. And surprising. Not to mention confusing.

He reached down and gently brushed a stray strand of hair off her face, his fingers lingering on her soft skin a moment longer than necessary. Then he drew a ragged breath. He had no idea where this thing between them was leading. But he did know one thing. It was time to find out.

T
he delicious smell of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls slowly coaxed Amy out of her deep slumber, and she sighed contentedly, savoring the aroma. What a nice dream. Cinnamon rolls were one of her all-time favorite treats, and it had been a long time since she'd indulged in them. They were
way
too fattening. But at least she could enjoy them in her dreams, where they came calorie free and…

A sudden clatter brought her fully awake, and Amy sat bolt upright, a move she immediately regretted. A wave of dizziness and pain swept over her, and she dropped her head into her hands as yesterday's nightmare events came vividly back to her. And now it seemed she was plunged into yet another nightmare. Someone was in her kitchen! A shiver of alarm raced along her spine, and she groped in the drawer of her nightstand for the pepper spray she'd kept there ever since Cal's mugging. When the world at last stopped
spinning, she rose slowly and silently crept to the kitchen, her heart hammering in her chest, pepper spray poised.

If she was inclined to jaw dropping, the sight that greeted her when she peeked around the doorway would have done the trick. Cal was at the stove, concentrating on making what looked like an omelet. His jacket hung over one of the kitchen chairs, and he'd rolled the sleeves of his white shirt up to the elbows. Her gaze lingered on his broad shoulders for a moment before she transferred it to the table, where a plate of cinnamon rolls dripping with icing sent her salivary glands into overdrive.

As Cal reached for a plate, he caught sight of her and, in one swift, discerning glance, assessed her condition. Though her clothes were in disarray, her makeup nonexistent and her hair unkempt, her color was more normal and her eyes looked clearer, he noted with relief. Then his gaze fell on the pepper spray, and he gave her a quizzical grin.

“Your sister told me you had a weakness for cinnamon rolls and anyone who tempted you was in trouble, but don't you think the pepper spray is a little extreme?”

Amy stared at him in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Fixing breakfast.”

“I can see that. I mean…
why
are you here?”

“I told your sister I'd check on you this morning. And she made me promise to try and get you to eat something.” He slid the omelet onto a plate and
placed it on the table, then pulled out her chair with a flourish. “Can I tempt you?”

That was definitely a loaded question, Amy thought wryly as she tried to ignore the sudden flutter of her pulse. “Actually, I'm, uh, pretty hungry today,” she stammered.

“A good sign,” he pronounced, pushing in her chair as she sat down.

“Aren't you eating anything?” she asked as he walked back toward the counter.

“I might try one of those cinnamon rolls with a cup of coffee.”

She reached for one herself as he rejoined her, and closed her eyes to savor the first bite. “Mmm! This is heaven!”

Cal chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. “I'll have to tell your sister that her strategy worked.”

Amy wrinkled her nose. “She knows me too well. Not that I'm complaining, you understand.” She took another big bite and chewed slowly. “Just out of curiosity, may I ask how you got in? Did you call on one of your police connections to jimmy the lock or something?”

“Nothing so dramatic. I left your key on the table by the door when I brought you home last night, so I just borrowed it.”

“How late did you stay?”

He shrugged. “A couple of hours after you went to bed. I wanted to make sure you were sleeping okay before I left. By the way, your station called. Somebody named Jarrod. I told him you were asleep, and
he said not to worry about coming in for a few days. How's the omelet?”

Amy speared another forkful. “Surprisingly good.”

Cal pretended to look offended. “Well, thanks a lot. I do have
some
culinary talent.”

She chuckled. “And I suppose you made the cinnamon rolls, too?”

“You've got me there,” he admitted with a lopsided grin. “I know a little mom-and-pop bakery that works magic with dough.”

“They have my vote,” Amy concurred as she helped herself to another roll.

Cal drained his coffee cup and glanced at his watch. “When you finish that, why don't I change your dressing before I head to the office?”

Amy looked at him in surprise. “Cal, you've done more than enough as it is. And you're probably already late for work. I can manage.”

“Not easily. You won't even be able to see what you're doing without juggling a mirror in one hand, and I think it's a two-handed job.”

She couldn't argue with his logic. “Don't tell me you're a medic, too.”

He gave her a disarming grin. “Hardly. Believe it or not, the sight of blood makes me pretty squeamish.”

Amy looked at him in surprise. “Honestly?”

“Yep. So much for my macho image.”

She smiled, charmed yet again by his lack of pretense. “Then your offer is doubly appreciated. I don't
think it's a pretty sight back there. You're not going to pass out on me or anything, are you?”

He chuckled. “I'll let you know if I feel dizzy.”

He rose and retrieved the gauze and tape, as well as some antiseptic cream, then positioned himself behind her.

“Ready?”

“I guess so.”

Cal carefully eased the tape off her scalp, and though she didn't say a word, he knew by the rigid lines of her body and her white-knuckled grip on her coffee mug that she was hurting. When at last the dressing came free and Cal got his first look at the gouge on the back of her head, he sucked in his breath sharply.

“You okay?” Amy asked, her own voice strained.

“Yeah.”

“Does it look bad?”

Cal gazed down at the jagged abrasion. It was nearly three inches long, caked with dried blood and framed by angry, inflamed skin. “Bad” was an understatement.

“Could be worse,” he replied, striving to keep his voice light as he reached for the gauze. “I think I'll clean it up a little before I put the cream on, though.” He walked over to the sink and dampened the gauze, giving himself a moment to recover from his first look at the cut. He hadn't been kidding when he told Amy he was no medic. He didn't like blood. Never had. Especially when it was on someone he cared about. And seeing her injury in living color only brought
home to him again how close she had come to something more serious.

He took his time at the sink, and by the time he repositioned himself behind her, he felt calmer. “This will probably hurt,” he said apologetically.

“I'm sure it will. But I can handle it,” she said with more bravado than she felt.

Cal was sure she could. Amy Winter was one tough lady. But he didn't want to test her limits, so he cleaned off the dried blood as carefully as he could until at last the long row of stitches was revealed. He paused once when she winced, and let his hand drop to her shoulder.

“I'm okay,” she said shakily.

He waited a moment, then carefully applied the cream and rebandaged the wound, using a much smaller piece of gauze than the one applied by the emergency room staff. “I think they overdid it with the bandage at the hospital. In fact, you should be able to disguise that premature bald spot pretty well with your hair,” he teased, hoping to distract her.

When she made no comment, he finished up quickly, then came around and squatted beside her. Her face looked strained, and slightly paler than when she had first come into the kitchen, and he reached over and touched her cheek gently, his gaze tender. “I'm sorry if I hurt you,” he said softly.

She drew in a deep breath. “It's okay. There's no way around it for the next few days, I guess. I'll just try to get a lot of rest, and hopefully it will heal faster.”

He hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I have a suggestion about the rest part.”

He seemed suddenly…
nervous
was the word that came to mind, and she looked at him curiously. “What?”

He didn't answer her question immediately. Instead, he rose and returned to his seat, where he wrapped his hands around his empty coffee cup. Now he really had her attention. “What is it, Cal?”

He looked over at her. The idea had come to him late last night, and at the time it had seemed inspired. Now, in the light of day, he wasn't so sure. But he had already decided that he could no longer ignore the attraction between them, and this was an ideal opportunity to test the waters.

“After the trial ended, my boss suggested I take a few days off and go home to the mountains to recharge my batteries. I'm leaving tomorrow. Your boss told me last night that they want you to take a few days off to rest and recuperate, too. Since there's no better place for that than the Smokies, I was wondering if you—if you might like to join me. The mountains can do wonders for your mental and physical health.”

Amy stared at him, clearly stunned by the invitation. Cal had expected her to be surprised, had known it was a gamble. And the odds of her accepting seemed to be dropping rapidly with each second that ticked by. When the silence lengthened, he shifted uncomfortably.

“Listen, I know this is unexpected. Why don't you think about it today and give me your answer to
night?” he suggested. “I'll stop by on my way home to change the dressing again.”

Amy hardly heard his addendum. She was still too busy trying to process the unexpected invitation. “Did you just ask me to go home with you?” she said carefully.

“Yeah. There's plenty of room in Gram's cabin. I know it's not the Caribbean or the exotic resorts you like, but it's quiet and restful. And it might do you a lot of good.”

His voice was casual, but Amy could sense his tension as she considered the invitation. While she wanted to explore the possibilities of their relationship, this was a giant step. One she wasn't altogether sure she was ready to take. She'd figured on easing into this thing, not jumping in feetfirst. And a few days in the mountains, with Cal's family and on his turf, was definitely feetfirst. On the other hand, maybe that's exactly what she should do. She'd probably find out pretty quick whether there was any potential between them. As she tried to weigh the pros and cons of accepting, her head began to ache, and she reached up to rub her temples.

“How long will you be gone?” she asked, stalling.

“Until Wednesday night.”

“Let me check with my station and find out just how much time I can take, okay?”

“Fair enough. I'll be here about six. And don't worry about food. I'll pick up a pizza.”

She looked at him and shook her head. No matter what happened between them, one thing was clear.
“You're an amazing man, Cal Richards,” she said softly.

He felt his neck grow red, even as his heart grew warm. “I have to eat, anyway.” He rose and reached for his coat. “Take it easy today, okay?”

She nodded. “I don't think I'm up to doing much else.”

He laid a hand gently on her shoulder, and for a moment their gazes locked—and sizzled. Amy's mouth went dry; she moistened her lips with her tongue. Cal's gaze dropped, and she heard his sharply indrawn breath, saw his Adam's apple bob convulsively. Then, without another word, he turned and left.

 

“Amy! I've been praying for you ever since I woke up! If you hadn't called me in the next ten minutes, I was going to call
you!
”

Amy pulled her knees up and snuggled into the corner of the couch. “I didn't want to wake you. I know you've been sleeping later since you got pregnant.”

“Not this morning. I hardly closed my eyes all night, thinking about you. Did you call Mom?”

“Yes. She hadn't heard anything about it, so I downplayed the whole incident as much as possible. I don't think she was too worried.”

“Unlike your sister, who saw it all in living color.”

“I'm sorry, Kate. I still can't believe it made national news.”

“I can. It was a pretty heroic thing to do.”

“Anyone would have done the same.”

“But they didn't. You were the only one.”

“You sound like Cal. And thanks a lot for telling him about the cinnamon rolls. I probably put on five pounds in the last two hours.”

“He brought them!” Her sister sounded delighted.

“Yeah. Bright and early. Almost too early, in fact. I heard noises in the kitchen and thought it was an intruder. I almost zapped him with the pepper spray.”

“Amy! You didn't!”

“I said ‘almost.' Good thing I didn't. It would have ruined the cinnamon rolls. Not to mention the omelet.”

“He made you an omelet?” her sister said reverently.

“Yes. And a very good one, I might add.”

“This man sounds like a keeper, Amy.”

Amy sighed. “Yeah, he does, doesn't he? The thing is, I'm not sure I have time for romance, Kate. And besides, we're so different. He's a country boy at heart, and I like the bright lights. I don't see how it could ever work.”

“You'll never know if you don't give it a chance. What do you have to lose?”

My heart, Amy replied silently. But her spoken words were different. “You're assuming that he's interested.”

“A man doesn't show up at a hospital emergency room if he's not interested, Amy. I bet if you gave him any encouragement, he'd pursue this.”

Amy sighed. “It seems you're right again, dear sister. He does want to pursue it. The station gave me a
few days off, and he invited me to go to the mountains with him.”

There was a long beat of silence, and when Kate spoke, her tone was suddenly cautious. “Look, Amy, maybe this isn't such a good idea after all. Up till now, everything you've told me about this guy has led me to believe that he's got his head on straight and has pretty solid moral values. But if he's inviting you to shack up with him for the weekend, then—”