The Wish List (14 page)

He stared down at her, his expression guarded. “We’ve gotten rid of Cory’s monsters, yes,” he declared.

But not his own, she could tell. It was as plain as white paint. He had survived the day with her son, he had banished her child’s fears, and that had to be enough.

She would accept that, because she had to. With a small nod, Faith stood and moved a step closer. She took the remaining plastic game piece he held in his hand and gave it to Cory.

“Then, thank you,” she said quietly, trying to ignore the warm feeling that had thrummed through her entire body when her fingers had brushed Nathan’s palm. “Thank you very much.”

She folded her fingers closed to mask the heat and turned away quickly, concentrating on her son and the scattered remnants of the game. “It’s time to clean up the table, Cory. I think you’re well enough by now to move around a bit more, and I’m going to make dinner. There must still be some steaks in the freezer.”

“I’ll say my goodbyes then,” Nathan said, moving to the door. “And be back here in about an hour and a half. Is that enough time?”

Faith didn’t answer. She waited until Cory had waved a cheerful goodbye and trudged off to put his toys away before she turned to Nathan. “You think I’m such an ungrateful slouch that I’d send you out to find your own dinner after you watched my son all day?”

Nathan raised one hand, easily now. Faith noted that he no longer felt the need to hide his hands behind his back or shove them in his armpits. “I didn’t expect payment for watching Cory. I volunteered to stay because I needed to.”

“Because you didn’t want any more regrets in your life.”

“Yes,’’ he said, the sharp line of his jaw tensing.

“Good.” Faith crossed her arms in a stern gesture, rising on her toes to bring her eyes closer to his level, but she couldn’t keep a partial smile from forming. “Then everything’s fine, and you’ll stay for dinner. Because leaving when I’m trying to thank you will definitely land you in hot water, Murphy. You’ll have regrets, big time. I’ll—I’ll—” She tilted her head, trying to think of something dastardly enough to convince him to stay.

Nathan took a step closer. “You’ll what, Faith? What will you do?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” she admitted with a tiny, weak shrug, angry at herself for wanting him even nearer. She hoped and prayed that she wouldn’t do something foolish, like letting him see how he affected her.

What would she do? Darn, if she wasn’t very careful, she would kiss him again.

Faith cleared her throat. “What will I do? Maybe…give everyone at the hospital your address and tell them you want visitors? Get Cory to call you up and sing songs all night? Set up a tent outside your door and stage pajama parties for a week? Maybe ask Dr. Anderson what he’s holding over your head?”

At his sudden frown, she shook her head. “No, I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t mean it. You know I wouldn’t do that, but...darn it, Nathan, the man who rid my house of monsters forever is not walking out of here without dinner, and I
do
mean that. It’s absolutely final. Therapist’s orders. So, are you convinced yet? Are you scared yet?”

Nathan followed her as she deliberately moved into the kitchen and turned to face him. He stepped into her space, bracing his hands on the counter next to her hips, bracketing his legs around hers, sending heat sizzling through her and making it difficult to breathe. “Am I scared? Of you? Of a woman I tower over, a woman who threatens me with pajama parties?” He placed his lips near her ear. “Absolutely, Faith. Absolutely. No woman has ever stripped away my defenses the way you have. No woman has ever scared me more.”

Nathan’s last words were spoken with conviction, his voice husky, whisper soft and caressing. His breath feathered across Faith’s cheeks, enticing her, making her want him.

No man had ever scared her more, either. She was just as frightened of what was happening between them as he was. And now she’d teased him too much, pulled him too close with her taunts again. It would be best to let him go home for dinner. It would be best...but then he’d be alone...having his dinner in an empty house, as he had for so long—

“Just tell me if you’re staying, Nathan,” she finally said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling, trying to manage to look mean when they were so close she wasn’t sure where her body ended and his began. “Are you staying?” she repeated, “or do I have to haul out the heavy artillery?”

She swallowed hard. Her emotions were far too near the surface, in danger of being exposed. The need to lean close and press her breasts against his chest was frightening. The desire to splay her hands across the broad planes of his back nearly overwhelmed her.

“We’re just talking dinner, Nathan,” she whispered. “You know that I don’t want more than that. No more than you do. I’m your therapist, here to do what’s good for you, and eating a big dinner is definitely good for a man who’s been faced with kid food all day.”

Faith managed a small smile. Nathan was still close, his hips nearly brushing her own. Desire slipped through her. Hot. Insistent. Nervously, she sucked in her lower lip, trying to ignore her body’s reactions.

Nathan groaned softly. “Stop doing that. Stop looking like it’s you I’m having for dinner, Faith. I’ll stay, I promise, if you’ll just stop staring at me like that. Only don’t bother with the steak. I hardly think a little antimonster paint merits such a first class spread.”

Slowly, he straightened. He backed off to give her space and room to breathe—room to think.

“That’s nonsense. She opened the fridge to pull the steaks from the freezer, then popped them into the microwave to defrost. “You have no idea how long these steaks have been up here. They ought to be tougher than old retreads by now. You’ll get some real practice wielding a knife, which of course, you need. You are a surgeon, after all.”

She looked back over her shoulder to see if Nathan was playing along, if the tense mood of moments ago had been broken. He was standing just a few feet behind her, one side of his mouth tilted up slightly.

“And you’re a devious and dangerous woman, Faith. Trying to manipulate a man.”

At his words, Faith sobered and she turned to him quietly. “No, not really, Nathan. I’m just trying to thank you. You helped Cory today. You helped me. Cory seems so much brighter, more relaxed, and you did that. Can’t you accept a simple thank you from me without fighting it every step of the way?”

Nathan opened his mouth—to argue, she was sure—but she reached out and brushed her fingers across his warm, dry lips to stop him. “I’m only offering to feed you, Nathan. Don’t you deserve at least that much?”

Her fingers were still resting against his lips. Gently Nathan pulled them away. He held her hands against his chest, his gaze locked on her own. She could feel the soft give of skin, the hardness of muscle, the rise and fall of his breathing.

Don’t feel. Don’t feel, she ordered herself. Don’t think of him as a man, as someone you want to touch. Please.

Maybe her body had jerked at that thought. Maybe he’d seen the panic in her eyes, because Nathan turned her hands palm up, and released them. “I’ll stay and practice my cutting skills on your steaks,” he agreed.

Despite her own misgivings about her reaction to him, it was a victory of sorts, Faith realized. Although…she also couldn’t help noticing Nathan hadn’t really answered any of her questions. He didn’t think he deserved thanks. She knew that. And because of that, she couldn’t help asking just one more question.

Busying herself at the stove, she waited until she heard Cory singing in the distance, knowing that they wouldn’t be interrupted. She didn’t turn around because she didn’t want to make Nathan feel cornered.

“Nathan?” she called softly, knowing by the tingles up her spine that he was still close behind her.

“What, Faith? Do you need some help? Just tell me what you want.”

She paused, knowing that she was delving into things that were really none of her business. But she wanted to know—and needed to know—why Nathan had given in to her bullying that first day at his house. He was a man who’d been hiding for a long time. Faith realized she’d been pushy, but she was wise enough to know that obstinance alone just wouldn’t have cut it. Nathan had been forced to the wall. Somehow.

“Nathan, what exactly is it that Dan Anderson is holding over your head? I said I’d never ask him, and I won’t, but...are you in trouble in some way? Does it have anything to do with your medical practice? Do you need—do you need help? Is there anything I can do?”

There was no reason he should answer that question, absolutely none. She was nothing to him, really, and he was a proud man. There wasn’t any way he would really let her help him beyond what she was already doing. She knew that, but she still had to offer. Whatever it was that Dr. Anderson knew, it was important to Nathan. And a therapist had to keep a patient’s total sense of well-being in mind, all the time, she told herself. That was why she was interested, why she wanted to know. That was all.

“Nathan?” she asked softly, finally turning to look at him. “Is there anything I can do? I’m here to help you, you know. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but you can trust me. I won’t betray your secrets.”

Nathan’s eyes darkened. “You think I don’t know that? That’s the problem with you, Faith. You give too much, you offer too much. You’re a devoted therapist, but it isn’t wise to leave yourself so open. People can hurt you. I could hurt you.”

She swallowed, keeping her gaze anchored on his. “Does that mean that you don’t want to confide in me?”

“Yes—no. It’s not that. Hell, I suppose you
should
know. Then you can find out just what a jerk I really am. What Dan threatened me with, it’s nothing...and everything. It’s about my sister, Celine. I’ve been lying to her ever since the accident. She thinks I’m fine, completely healed. She believes that I’ve been back at work all this time.”

Faith held out one hand, not quite understanding what he was saying. “Why?” It was the only word she could manage.

“Why didn’t I tell her? Why don’t I want her to know? Because she’d come. In a second. Celine is—” He held out his hands and shrugged his shoulders. “Celine is family. She
has
a big family. Five wonderful children, who think she spun the stars. She’s the epitome of the very word
home
—warm, nurturing, a real mother hen. If she knew the truth, she’d fly here on the first plane she could catch. And if she came she’d bring—”

“The kids?” Faith supplied.

“And more.” Nathan took a deep breath. “Pictures, tears, sympathy, hugs, chicken soup, smiles...memories. She’d dredge up the memories,
all
the memories,” he ended on a husky growl.

“And you can’t take that, can you?” Faith asked softly. She wanted to go to him, to put her arms around his waist and offer him all the things he’d just told her he didn’t want from his sister. Somehow Faith managed to keep her distance. “You can’t take that at all, can you, Nathan?” she repeated. “The family, the memories?”

Silence filled the room, the only sound the small and distant chatter of Cory playing with his toys.

Finally Nathan shrugged. He ran one hand over his jaw, ignoring her question. “I’ll take what you’re offering tonight, Faith. Therapy...and steaks,” he promised.

But no more than that, Faith realized. Never any more than that, tonight or any other night. Whether he had meant to or not, Nathan had sent her a warning. One she meant to heed.

~ ~ ~

Nathan had gone, and Cory had been sent to find his pajamas when he appeared at the door to Faith’s room.

“Mom?”

She looked up to see Cory. He was still dressed, a familiar bit of paper clutched in his fist. He was looking at her with that complete love and trust that only small children know.

This was what she needed, Faith thought with a sigh; a moment with Cory, a moment to look ahead to a future that didn’t include Nathan.

“Mom, you need to change some stuff here,” he explained. “I got a problem.”

“A problem, tiger? What could be wrong?” Reaching out, she took the paper from him, and drew him closer to her chair.

“Read the list,” he said, looking confused.

Faith cleared her throat. “Black hair and brown eyes. Not a doctor. Not afraid of kids or monsters. Short,” she concluded.

“Short?” Cory squeaked. “I didn’t put that.”

“No.” Faith was surprised to find herself blushing. “I did. Well, after all, I’m kind of short myself,” she reasoned, defending herself. “It would be hard to spend my life looking up at a giant.”

Still Cory frowned. “It’s no good,” he said, shaking his head. “I need to change some stuff.”

“All right,” Faith said carefully, taking up the eraser end of the pencil he offered, leery of what was coming next. “Shoot, tiger. Tell me what you want to change.”

“
Not
short,” he said immediately. “Don’t worry, you’ll grow, Mom,” he promised. “And cross off ‘Black hair and brown eyes.’ Maybe it would be more fun to have a daddy who
didn’t
look so much like me. You can leave ‘Not afraid of kids or monsters,’ though. That’s still okay. And then—”

“Cory.” Faith knew what was happening. She knew what he was going to say next. “Let’s not make so many changes all at once. We have time, lots of time. I told you. And you put a lot of work into this list. Let’s leave it until another time, when it isn’t so late, and we’re feeling fresher.”

She could tell by the stubborn set of his chin that he was going to argue. Gently she tapped him there with one finger. “Please, Cory. Mom’s tired.”

It was a cheap comment, almost a lie. But she couldn’t have faced the final disintegration of this list, the words she’d clung to only last night.

“Okay,” he finally agreed. “But read it to me one more time, and point to each one as you read it, so I’ll know for sure what it says.”

With a nod Faith touched the paper and read the list. “Not a doctor,” she said, pointing to the first line on the list. “Not afraid of kids or monsters,” she concluded. “Now are you happy?” she asked.

Cory looked skeptical. “Just one more thing,” he begged. “Just one.”