Trouble Don’t Last Always (10 page)

Like Lilly had been with Myron. The thought brought her up short.

She hadn’t seen beyond Myron’s smooth words to the cruel person he really was. All she’d seen was a man she thought she could love forever, a man who in return would love her and give her the children and loving family she’d always wanted.

She’d been wrong and paid dearly for her mistake. Just as Dr. Wakefield was paying for his mistake in not giving his keys to the car thieves. She had a chance to correct her mistake, and at the moment her chance was tied to another man who needed but detested her presence.

Had his blindness made Dr. Wakefield cruel or had he simply hidden his cruelty, as Myron had?

She studied his rigid reflection, wishing she knew the answer. Although his arms were taut, his body rigid, her fear wasn’t as strong. The more time passed, the less likelihood there had been of Myron striking out. Like a rattler—if it didn’t strike quickly there was always the chance that it would let down its tail and slither off on its belly.

Unless she wanted to face the possibility of Myron finding her and making her go back, she’d better get beyond her fear and do her job. Mrs. Wakefield didn’t impress Lilly as the kind of person who bluffed.

She gazed at the heavy cut-glass bottles and tubes with similar shapes scattered on the counter. “What do you want next?”

Startled, Adam’s head came up and around. She’d been so quiet he thought she had gone. “I don’t like people lurking around.”

“I wasn’t—yes, sir.”

The last two words were so soft, he caught himself leaning toward her. He jerked back. Even over the cloying scent of his after-shave he smelled roses. Maybe he was the one insane. “Put everything in the sink, then leave. That’s all for tonight.”

“Dr.—”

“Never mind; just leave!”

Lilly jumped, stepped back to leave, then stopped. How many times had she wished for someone to help, to understand? How many times had she been too ashamed and embarrassed to ask for help?

Both of them had been kicked in the teeth by life; maybe together they could fight back. “The bottle of after-shave must have been almost empty, because there wasn’t much on the floor, and there’s another bottle. Were you planning to shave?”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

With trembling hands, Lilly placed the assorted bottles and tubes in the sink, ignoring the menacing voice.

“I’ve broken plenty of things. So has everyone, but it still gets you when it happens. I never thought of it before, but the cologne sprays and aftershave splashes. Your tube of hair cream is softer than your toothpaste. You ever notice how toothpaste falls off the toothbrush? A lot of times I bet it would be easier to just squirt it in your mouth.”

She stole a look at Dr. Wakefield in the mirror. What she saw wasn’t reassuring. His face was set, his jaw clenched. The lean muscles of his arms were bunched.

“Your bed is made up and the covers turned back.” She slid her hands into the pockets of her robe. “Good night, Dr. Wakefield.”

She was at the door of the bathroom when he said, “What’s your name?”

“Lilly. Lilly Crawford.”

He turned and seemed to stare straight at her. “Well, Lilly Crawford, the next time you disobey my order, you’re fired.”

She was too stunned to speak.

Turning, he felt in the sink, picked up his toothbrush and the toothpaste dispenser. “And, Lilly?”

Scared, she wondered what else he was going to say. “Y-Yes, sir?”

Putting the bristles beneath the opening, he pushed down on the plunger. A mound of toothpaste rolled out on top of the bristles. “Keep your advice to yourself until it’s asked for.”

Chastised, she left. She didn’t hear Adam curse when the naked bristles reached his mouth.

Adam had a restless night. He wasn’t very proud of himself. He hadn’t been in a long time. His life had been hell since the carjacking and he had selfishly made everyone else suffer right along with him.

Last night he had reached a new low. He’d never been deliberately cruel, hadn’t known he could be. Yet that was exactly what he had been.

Anger had clouded his judgment and he had said things to the woman he shouldn’t. She’d tried to help, yet somehow she had made him feel utterly useless. Like a spiteful child, he had struck back.

Initially, her thin, unsteady voice had meant nothing to him, but as his anger cooled and he had time to think he recalled another voice that was just as unsteady and unsure, Kristen’s. He’d heard the same uncertainty in his sister’s voice too many times to count. Beautiful, talented, shy, and unassuming, she reached to the deepest part of him when no one else could.

He owed Lilly an apology, owed his entire family and Nicole one. The jury was still out on Jonathan, but that didn’t mean Adam had changed his mind about being left alone.

He’d regain his sight soon. They just had to give him space until he did.

Two brief knocks, followed by two more.

He stopped pacing in front of his bedroom door. She hadn’t called his name and inexplicably he missed the breathless, hesitant catch in the soft drawl of her voice. Texas, he’d bet. She must be angry with him.

Good. It was better if she remained pissed and out of his way. An apology from him would be an open invitation for her to start giving him advice again.

Opening the door, he stepped aside. “You know where to place the tray.”

“Yes, sir.”

Silently she passed back by him. The only reason he knew was the hint of roses. Without thought, he leaned into the smell. Then he realized what he was doing and swung the door shut.

Over her shoulder Lilly glanced back at the slammed door, then continued down the stairs to the kitchen for her own breakfast. She detested cold eggs and usually waited until she returned from Dr. Wakefield’s room before cooking hers. This morning there had been no need. He didn’t want to talk to her any more than she wanted to be in his presence or be reminded of what had happened last night.

Picking up the stoneware plate, she took a seat in the breakfast nook in one of the ladder-back chairs facing the curtainless arched window. Absently munching on a strip of bacon, she watched two squirrels chase each other across the green lawn, then spring onto the trunk of an oak tree and disappear into the leafy foliage.

Beyond the trees she could see pink azaleas in full bloom beneath a cloudless pale blue sky. The day would be perfect.

But not for her. Her appetite gone, she dropped the bacon back on the plate and leaned back in her chair.

She had been so proud of herself, so hopeful that Dr. Wakefield had finally begun to accept her. She’d been wrong. Last night he had made that painfully clear.

“Keep your advice to yourself until it’s asked for.”

The harshly spoken words still had the ability to make her flinch. They were too much of a reminder of how Myron had treated her, what he might have said to her. Only, with him, she would have been too afraid to voice her opinion. From the mess she had made of things, maybe she should have dealt the same way with Dr. Wakefield.

She hadn’t, and now she wasn’t sure how to proceed or even if she would have the chance. Mrs. Wakefield had been very clear; if Lilly couldn’t do the job she’d have to hire someone who could.

Then where would she go?

She’d have money coming to her, but she wasn’t sure how much, since she wasn’t sure if Mrs. Wakefield planned to take out taxes. After paying for car repairs, she didn’t know what she’d have left…if any at all.

Sighing, Lilly picked up her fork and dug into her eggs. She might as well eat while she had the chance. Her meals might become few and far between after leaving. As soon as the eggs settled on her tongue, she frowned and reached for the salt, then the pepper shaker. She was so upset she must have forgotten—

Her head came up; her hand paused. She had prepared Dr. Wakefield’s eggs the same way. She was getting up with the salt and pepper shakers when she glanced back at her plate. The salt was indistinguishable, but there was a scattering of the black specks of the pepper.

People usually seasoned to sight just as she had. He wouldn’t be able to do it. A simple thing…if you could see. Her hand clutched the small glass containers. What would it be like to live in a world of darkness? To be dependent on others?

If she’d been blinded, Myron would have kicked her out or put her in a home just as he had wanted to do to his mother. He hadn’t because he didn’t want to ruin his good standing in the community and because he just as badly wanted his mother’s house and her rental property. Mother Crawford had come up in the Depression and could pinch pennies with the best of them.

Setting the shakers aside, Lilly closed her eyes, felt around on the table for her fork, then proceeded to eat. Two frustrating minutes later, she was on her feet heading for the stairs. If she couldn’t last two minutes, how had a man of Dr. Wakefield’s stature lasted five weeks?

“Dr. Wakefield. Dr. Wakefield!” she called through the door. “Don’t eat the eggs. I left the seasoning out. I’ll remake your breakfast if you’ll wait. Dr. Wake—”

The door opened. He stood, shades in place, the plate in his hand, a hard frown on his face. “I believe you left something out of the biscuits as well.”

“I’m sorry.” She swallowed and reached for the plate. He didn’t release it. She lifted questioning eyes to his. “I have it.”

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“No.” She shook her head wildly, then realized he couldn’t see. “I…I was upset about last night and I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t realize until I began to eat.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t to teach me a lesson?”

“I wouldn’t do anything like that to you or anyone,” she said. “I was upset.”

He didn’t release the plate. “You’ve been upset before, and this is the first time the food has been unpalatable.”

She threw a wild glance at the three perfectly browned biscuits with a bite missing out of one, the scrambled eggs barely touched. “I didn’t mean it.”

“You meant it, and I got the message.” Finally he released the plate and stepped back to close the door.

“Wait!” she yelled, using the flat of her hand to keep the door open. His jaw was clenched, his body taut. “I promise I didn’t do it on purpose.”

He stopped but didn’t say anything, just slanted his head down toward her. Knowing he couldn’t see behind his shades didn’t lessen his power to intimidate. Lilly could well imagine he had been a formidable man before his accident.

“I have no place else to go if I lose this job,” she told him, unsure if she should have admitted how vulnerable she was.

His dark head twisted to one side. “My mother hired a homeless woman?”

She shifted uneasily. “Not exactly. I was passing through on my way to New Orleans. My car broke down near here. She needed someone immediately and I needed a job.”

“Serendipity.”

“What?”

Two lost souls thrust together. “How much is she paying you?”

Lilly’s other hand clamped around the plate. “I think you should ask your mother that.”

“I’m asking you.” He hadn’t stooped so low that he’d fire her if she didn’t have enough money to fix her car and leave, preferably getting as far away from him as possible.

“Please, Dr. Wakefield, ask your mother.”

The slight tremble in her voice got to him. He wished she didn’t remind him so much of Kristen, lost and trying to find her way. “Are you from Texas?”

“H-How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. Now go fix my breakfast.”

“Yes, sir.”

She was as skittish as a foal, probably had legs just as long from the sound of her running steps. For a brief moment, he recalled nurses and interns scurrying the same way to carry out his orders. They would again.

Thankfully the kitchen had plenty of clean skillets and bowls. Lilly whipped the four eggs, then added the cold, crumbled bacon, chives, green and red peppers, and cheese to make an omelet. Myron had gone to Las Vegas with some of his hunting buddies and come back insisting she learn how to make them for him. For the first time, she was glad he had.

Sliding the steaming omelet onto a clean plate, she then buttered four slices of toast. Rubbing her palms against the sides of her dress, she stared at the tray. At least the chilled fruit was still good.

Picking up the wooden tray, she went upstairs and knocked. “Dr. Wake-field.”

The door swung open. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry,” she mumbled out of habit. She hadn’t been gone over ten minutes. Rushing across the room, she put the tray on the bed, then came back to the door. “Your omelet is at twelve, your toast at six. The fruit is at nine and your juice is to the right of your toast. I’ll serve lunch early.”

“What’s wrong with your car?”

She blinked. “Sir?”

“What is wrong with your car?”

He enunciated each word as if he were talking to a feebleminded person. She flushed and dug her hands into the deep pockets of the white bibbed apron she’d found in the kitchen. “I don’t know. The man who drove the tow truck said no one could look at the car until Monday.”

“What seemed to be wrong with it?”

Lilly barely kept from hunching her shoulders and squirming. “I don’t know very much about cars. It just died, then started smoking like a freight train.”

Folding his arms, Adam leaned against the door. “It’s irresponsible to operate equipment you know nothing about.”

Her head came up at the chastising tone. It was on the tip of her tongue to say something pithy; then she remembered she needed this job. “Yes, sir. Is that all?”

“Yes.” He straightened.

She was several steps down the hall when he said, “Call first thing in the morning to see how soon your car will be ready.” The door closed.

A chill swept through her. Dr. Wakefield had just given her notice. Her time at Wakefield Manor was running out. She could wait until she was fired or try to figure out a way to ensure that she stayed.

To remain she had to be of some use to him. But how, when he didn’t want her help?

With Myron he’d needed her to care for Shayla, to cook and clean, to slake his lust, and, oddly, to dominate. He’d felt power in her weakness.

That wasn’t the case with Dr. Wakefield. He wanted nothing from her.

Her spirits sinking, she descended the staircase. There had to be some way to prove to him that he needed her.

“Think, Lilly. Put yourself in his place. What do you want more than anything?”

Freedom!
Her brain shouted the word. She’d hated being dependent on a man she loathed for the very food she ate, the roof over her head.

Freedom and independence.

Her hand on the newel cap, she stared back up the stairs. How much stronger was Dr. Wakefield’s resentment against her, even though his condition wasn’t her fault? She had nothing to do with Myron’s meanness, but she’d suffered his wrath just the same.

The difference between the two men, she thought, was that Myron struck out of cruelty, Dr. Wakefield from fear. However, both men put her on the defensive and wanted her to keep her thoughts to herself.

In order to survive with Myron she had let him dictate to her and kept out of his way. If she allowed the same thing to happen with Dr. Wakefield, she might very well end up the homeless person he thought she was.

Like Daniel in the Bible, she had to be brave enough to enter the lion’s den and pray that, like him, she came out unscathed.

He shouldn’t have come.

Jonathan knew that, but he hadn’t been able to convince himself to stay away. Eleanor had sounded so tired and defeated when they had spoken briefly on the phone Saturday night. He’d called her in between one of the four babies he’d delivered. Maxwell had certainly chosen the right night to switch calls. He’d only stay a moment. He just needed to give her something to bring back a hint of the happiness that was usually in her voice.

Reaching across the seat, he picked up the brightly wrapped rectangular package, climbed out of the car, and started up the brick walkway. As always, the red front door surprised him. That she’d chosen such a bright, sassy color amazed all of them and kept him awake at night wondering if beneath her quiet, reserved nature was a passionate woman whose needs matched his own.

The door opened and the object of his desire stood smiling at him. Dressed in a white blouse and black slacks, surrounded by an arched arbor of English ivy, she simply made his heart stop.

“Jonathan, good morning,” Eleanor greeted him, wondering why her heart felt odd in her chest. Perhaps it was because of all the pressure in her life lately. “You’re out early.”

“I wanted to bring you this.” Lifting the package, he handed it to her.

Her amber eyes widened, then went from him back to the plum-and-gold paper. “You shouldn’t have.”

He chuckled, enjoying the delight in her face and eyes. “How do you know if I should or shouldn’t until you’ve opened it?”

Laughing, she sat down on one of the curved stone benches positioned on each side of the door and tore into the present to reveal a paint set. Her slim fingers reverently traced the sable brushes, the pots of oil and watercolors. “Oh, Jonathan, it’s perfect.”

All the time he’d spent trying to decide how to bring back her laughter was worth it. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do, but I don’t have any canvases!” she cried.

“That’s the third part of my surprise.” He smiled down at her crestfallen expression.

“Third part?”

Unable to resist, he sat down beside her, trying to act natural when their thighs brushed together and the heat of her body mingled with his. “Brunch at Antoine’s.”

For some unfathomable reason she had trouble getting her thoughts together. “I–I can’t leave.”

He folded his arms over his wide chest, making him appear more impressive and magnificent. “Why?”

“Adam might need me.”