Trouble Don’t Last Always (16 page)

Jonathan released the lapels of Adam’s robe. “No matter how many times it happens, it still tears you up inside.”

“Sit down.”

“How do you know I’m not sitting down?”

“By the angle of your voice,” Adam answered. “Now sit and tell me about her.”

Lilly stood at the door with the tray in her hands, tears forming in her eyes and running down her cheeks as she listened to Dr. Delacroix. Mother Crawford always said each person always thought his heartache was the worst until he heard someone else’s.

“You did all you could to prevent this from happening. I’m sure of that, Jonathan.”

“Knowing that doesn’t make it easier. Life is precious. Wasting it angers the hell out of me,” Jonathan answered tightly.

Adam rubbed his neck where the collar of the robe had bitten into the skin. “I noticed.”

Lilly knocked on the partially opened door and entered. “I brought you some soup, Dr. Wakefield.”

“Is there a sandwich with it?” he asked.

“No, but if you give me five minutes there will be.”

“Bring one for Jonathan. You haven’t eaten today, have you?”

“No.”

Lilly mouthed,
Thank you,
to Dr. Delacroix and hurried back downstairs. When she returned, Adam’s dining table was between the two men. Placing the pita bread ham sandwiches in front of them, she told Dr. Wakefield the position, pleased that before she left he picked up his sandwich and took a hefty bite. Whatever the crisis had been, it was over.

Lilly was waiting for Dr. Delacroix when he came downstairs. There was no sense beating around the bush. “Thank you. I–I didn’t know what to do. I guess you were right about my experience.”

“I was wrong. You have something infinitely better. Empathy. I thank you for that. Good night.” He was almost to his car when the door behind him opened. He glanced over his shoulder.

“I forgot to ask how much the talking clock cost?”

He surprised her by answering without hesitation. “Sixteen seventy-eight. Tax and shipping included.”

Lilly studied the well-dressed man whose very size made her wary. He obviously cared about the Wakefields. She’d been judged unfairly too many times in the past not to feel a little guilty about doing the same to Dr. Delacroix.

“By the way, Mrs. Wakefield returned while you were upstairs with Dr. Wakefield. I told her you had gotten him to eat. She’s at the cottage.”

Jonathan studied Lilly a long time before a slow smile spread across his handsome face. “Thank you. I think I’ll drop by.”

“I thought you might.”

“Why didn’t you call about Adam?” Jonathan hurled the words without preamble when Eleanor opened the door.

Her fingers clutched the doorknob. She’d known before opening the door that he was angry. She’d seen that side of him too many times in the past not to recognize what the set jaw, the narrowed gaze, the tense shoulders meant. She just hadn’t correctly calculated the degree of his anger.

However, even if she had, after Lilly called a few minutes earlier with news of how he had gotten Adam to eat, Eleanor would have opened the door in any case. He’d gotten through to Adam when they were all floundering. She owed him that courtesy.

“Why?” he repeated.

Her accelerated heartbeat, the strange fluttering in her stomach, were the reasons she hadn’t called, reasons she couldn’t possibly share with him. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

His handsome face harshened. “That’s a crock, Eleanor. I love him, too, and you damn well know it. Now why didn’t you call?”

Eleanor felt the pounding in her head that had been a slow tapping for the past three days become the loud clang of an angry anvil. Her fingertips massaged her throbbing temples. She would have faced the devil himself if she thought it would help Adam, but she hadn’t been able to call an old friend because his mere presence sent her heart skipping in her chest.

She moistened her dry lips before she spoke. “Thank you for helping, but do you think we could discuss this later?”

Jonathan’s shrewd brown eyes narrowed. “What’s the matter? You have a headache?”

“Yes. So, if you don’t mind ...”

“I do mind,” he said and brushed past her into the house.

Incensed, Eleanor whirled around. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Jonathan kept walking. Fuming, Eleanor closed the front door and followed. When she entered the kitchen he was bent over looking inside the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?”

Straightening, he shut the door. “You’re not eating again.”

She’d had enough of his interference, of her acting like a simpering fool. “You’ll have to forgive me if I forgot to eat when my son wasn’t eating.”

“Would starving yourself help Adam? Would going blind help?”

Her head snapped back. “You’ve gone too far.”

“I haven’t gone far enough.” He began opening cabinets, then turned to face her. “Did you stock food after you decided to stay?”

Beside a few staples, she hadn’t. “The main house has everything I need.”

“Then why aren’t they here? Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

She couldn’t answer. The pounding became worse. Her hands went back to her temples. “Jonathan, please. I really don’t feel well.”

“Be glad I can see that or you’d see just how upset I am,” he said, advancing on her. Unsure of his mood, she cringed. Despite the anger in his face, the hand that closed around her forearm was gentle. “Come on.”

Eleanor tried unsuccessfully to pry his unrelenting fingers loose. “Stop. What are you doing?”

“Making sure you eat. You need more than a sandwich.”

“I’m not Adam!”

He stopped and stared down at her, his brown eyes blazing. “In some ways you’re as blind as he is.” He started toward the door again.

Eleanor didn’t say anything. She didn’t think he meant physical blindness, but she didn’t want to discuss it.

Opening the passenger side of his car, he helped her in, then went around and climbed inside. Instead of starting the car, his hands flexed on the steering wheel. His face looked hard, remote, but there was something else there that pulled at Eleanor. “Are you all right?”

He looked at her, his gaze piercing ice. “Would you care if I wasn’t?”

The question was like a slap to her face. The hurt was overwhelming. “How can you say anything so cruel to me?”

“Is it any crueler of you to shut me out of your life, out of Adam’s life, as if neither of you matter to me?”

Eleanor tucked her head. He was right, yet there was no way she could explain. Even now, she wanted to lay her head on his shoulder, have him comfort her the way he used to, but fear of how far she’d take that comfort held her immobile.

“Eleanor,” he said quietly, and no power on earth could have kept her from raising her head. What she saw in his dark eyes was a misery equal to her own. “I missed you.”

Tears pricked her eyes; emotion knotted her throat. “I missed you, too.”

His sad smile almost broke her heart. “We’ve been friends too long to let anything come between us. What do you say we forget this week happened and start over?”

He was giving both of them an out. She’d been wrong. He had picked up on the currents between them. Thankfully both of them realized to act upon them might ruin their friendship. A risk neither was willing to take. “After we eat, I’d like to pick up a couple of canvases.”

His hand briefly covered hers. “I’d like nothing better.”

Lilly tidied the room and turned down Adam’s bed. She felt the time was right for another nudge. Kneeling beside the leather chair he sat in, she said, “I’ve brought you something. Listen.”

“Seven-thirteen P.M.” said an animated female voice.

He jerked upright. “What?”

“It’s a talking clock. Give me your hands.”

Slowly he extended his hands and she wrapped his long fingers around the squat, fat, triangular shape. “You can set the time for automatic or manual.”

The three control buttons on top were the size and shape of the keys on his computer keyboard. Adam thought of the cuckoo clock that had driven him crazy and asked, “Which one is for the manual control?”

“The second one. Here.” She moved his index finger to the indented button and pushed.

“Seven-thirteen P.M.”

Adam clicked the button again. Again it noted the time in its electronic voice. A frown worked its way across his forehead. “Where did this come from?”

Lilly crossed her long legs under her. She’d already decided what to say. “I asked your mother to get it for me. Dr. Delacroix dropped it off tonight.”

“Why?”

“The clock will help me keep my job.”

“How?”

She almost smiled. Dr. Wakefield certainly didn’t take anything at face value. “By letting you know that I’m doing my duties in a timely manner.”

His fingers closed around the bulky shape and he hefted the clock. “I thought you were low on funds.”

“I am, but I consider the clock a necessity. If I don’t keep this job, I won’t be able to get my car out of the shop.”

“You do realize that this may work against you?”

“How?”

“Now I’ll really be able to tell if you’re loafing.” Sitting back, he pushed the MANUAL button.

Lilly rolled her eyes. No one but Dr. Wakefield would say such a thing.

The itching beard woke Adam up. Scowling, he sat up in bed, his fingernails raking through the stubble. It was all her fault. He’d been doing just fine— well, almost just fine—until she had started talking about some guy’s itching beard. She was strange. At times she was a motormouth; other times she was strangely silent.

Knowing the scratching only made the itching worse, he got out of bed and went to the bathroom to splash cool water on his face. He caught himself scratching in the bathroom and returned to bed. Frowning, he wondering what time it was, then almost smiled as he made his way to his clock and punched the button.

“Two-o-five A.M.”

Setting the clock down, Adam picked up the phone and punched in the first two buttons. If he had to be up, then so did she.

A sleepy Lilly answered on the second ring, her voice husky with sleep. “Hello.”

For some perverse reason Adam enjoyed the fact that he had awakened her. “My beard is itching.”

“What?”

“My beard is itching and you have to do something about it,” he told her, his hand going back to his face.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Two-o-five A.M., to be precise,” he answered, satisfaction in his voice. “You must have a razor of some type. Bring it.” He hung up the phone and went to the sink in the bathroom.

Dressed in his bathrobe and jeans, his arms folded across his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles, Adam leaned back against the marble vanity. His chin was thrust out and he looked immensely pleased with himself when Lilly entered the bathroom.

“I have the razor.”

“Good.” With surprising agility, he hooked his bare foot around a stainless-steel stool to pull it from beneath the vanity, then sat down on the soft padded leather seat. “I’m ready.”

“What?”

“I want you to shave me.”

Her eyes widened. “I’ve never shaved anyone before.”

“I’ve never let a woman shave me before, so I’d say we’re even.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“I’d like to get some sleep before the next century.” Pushing his shades back firmly on his nose, he lifted his chin.

“Remember, this was your idea.” Her hand unsteady, she turned on the hot water, then draped a towel around his neck. Wetting a hand towel, she wrung out most of the moisture and wrapped it around his face.

“You’re standing wrong. You’ll have to get behind me or between my legs.”

“What!” she shrieked.

“Don’t go woman on me. Come on; this thing is itching.”

Not sure what he meant, she debated her choices. If she got behind him and had to lean his head back it would be even with her breasts. She was already shaking her head as she took a tentative step between his legs. Thank heaven she had taken time to put on her robe. With trembling hands, she removed the towel from his face, rewet it, then pressed it to his beard.

“Umm,” he sighed, refolding his arms and relaxing against the vanity.

Her hand shook a little more. She tried not to think where his head would be if she had stepped behind him. “You’re all right?”

“Yes. Use short, even strokes and I’ll remain that way.”

Removing the towel, she squirted the foaming white shaving cream into the palm of her hand, then quickly spread it over his face, around his mouth, beneath his nose.

“Here goes.” The first swipe of the razor on his face sounded as if she were scraping sand paper, but hair, not skin, came off. Pleased, she repeated the motion, gaining confidence with each stroke.

Five minutes later, she straightened. “Finished. You can wash your face again. The sink is to your right. Your after-shave is next to the right of that.”

Getting up, Adam wrinkled his nose, then rubbed his hand over his face. “Don’t you ever get tired of badgering me?”

“Helping you,” she said before she thought, then tensed as uneasiness swept through her.

“So you say.” Slowly he stood and faced the sink. “Good night. I can finish from here.”

Her relief was immense, but she wasn’t home free yet. “Then I’ll leave you with this for the future.” Lifting his hand, she put a small black leather pouch in it. “Everything is marked with raised letters. Shaving cream is SC, moisturizer is M, face cream, although I’m not sure what you need it for, is FC.”

“Marked?”

“Puff paint.”

He twisted the soft leather case in his hands, then turned his head toward her. “You had this ready, didn’t you?”

A lie was useless. “Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you just give it to me?”

It was now or never. “You don’t take suggestions very well.”

His long fingers flexed on the case. “The tape recorder was for me all along, wasn’t it?”

She took a leap of faith and answered, “Yes.”

“You tricked me.”

Although there was no heat in the words, her nervousness increased. “I only did it to help.”

He turned his back to her and faced the sink. “That will be all.”

Feeling miserable, she turned to leave. “Good night, Dr. Wakefield.”

“Lilly.”

She stiffened. She was almost afraid to turn. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Relief and happiness flooded her. The wide smile on her face carried over to her voice: “You’re welcome.”

“What time do you bring my tray for breakfast?”

“Eight.”

“Don’t be late.”

At exactly eight the next morning, Lilly knocked on Dr. Wakefield’s door. “Dr. Wake—”

The door opened, and Dr. Wakefield stood in the doorway. “Come in. I’m starving.”

It took a few seconds for Lilly to get past how the yellow Polo shirt delineated the muscles in his wide chest, the clean smell of his spicy after-shave. Odette had been right: Dr. Wakefield was a good-looking man.

“Lilly?”

“Potato pancakes at twelve, link sausages at six, hash browns at nine.” She placed the tray on the table and waited, hoping this time he’d come to the table while she was still in the room. He didn’t. She tried another tack: “It’s a gorgeous day outside. Would you like to take a walk later on?”

The pleasant expression on his face vanished. “No.”

“You need exercise.”

“Don’t tell me what I need,” he snapped.

Lilly saw all her hard-earned progress fading away. “I’m sorry. I just thought you’d like to get some fresh air.”

“Why do you think the balcony windows are open?”

138

She shifted from one foot to the other. “Can Samuel drive me into town this morning to get my car?”

He took a step toward her. “You’re sure it’s fixed?”

“The mechanic said it was. He said it was ready yesterday, but he had to wait for an inspection.” Lilly frowned. “He acted as if I knew what he was talking about.”

“I had Jonathan check out your car.”

“He told me. Why?”

“To make sure you reach New Orleans safely.” Stepping back, he opened the door wider. “My breakfast is getting cold.”

Dismissed, she started from the room, then stopped when she was even with him. “Thank you for helping.”

She was out the door when he called her. “Lilly?”

“You aren’t going to fire me now that my car is fixed, are you?” she asked, her voice shaky.

His mouth flattened. “Don’t pick up any hitchhikers on your way back.” The door closed.

“What has gotten into him?” she muttered, then started down the hallway. She stopped abruptly and stared back at the closed door. He’d been attacked when he’d stopped.

She continued down the stairs. Despite Dr. Wakefield’s animosity and gruffness at times, he’d done what Myron never had thought to do, worry about her safety and ensure that she had a safe car to drive.