Without warning, his revelations to Brianne came back to him. He’d admitted wanting kids. What he’d omitted was that he’d never really been able to envision the family scene with Linda. Things between them had soured too fast. But Jake could too easily imagine it with Brianne. Waking to her warm body in the morning and falling asleep beside her at night. Watching her body change and grow with his child.
Jesus, where had that thought come from? He jumped out of bed, looked for her in the bathroom, then headed for the kitchen. Unfortunately she wasn’t there, either. His heart skipped a beat, and the note propped against the coffee machine didn’t calm his nerves: “Wish I could have shared the morning coffee with you but I got called to the hospital a little early. Have a cup for me. Brianne.”
She’d left him with a full pot of coffee and a burning sensation in his gut. How the hell had he slept through a phone call?
As if on cue, the telephone rang.
He snatched up the receiver. “Brianne?”
“No, David. If she had to be at the hospital early, why the hell didn’t you call me? I’d have tailed her or relieved you there.”
“She’s at work?”
“Yeah, she’s there. But I can’t do my job if you don’t—”
Jake slammed down the phone, cutting David off cold. “Sorry, buddy,” he muttered belatedly. And he continued muttering as he pulled on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers, grabbed his keys and ran for the door.
This woman would be the death of him. And he wanted to die every morning and every night with her in his arms. But he couldn’t do that if she was wandering around, ignorant of the threat Ramirez posed.
He tipped the doorman and asked him to walk Norton, before hailing a cab and heading for Brianne. He’d put off the truth in favor of selfish need last night, but the morning had come and he had to level with her. Immediately.
BRIANNE RUBBED HER EYES and poured a cup of coffee from the machine in the lounge. She’d gotten here early, and apparently she’d been needed more for emotional support than physical therapy. Mrs. Cohen had become disoriented and had tried to leave her bed. Her family was away, and the name the older woman kept muttering was Brianne’s. It was probably because Brianne didn’t treat only a patient’s body, she treated her mind. She talked to patients while she was working. And she often got the sense that too few people, doctors and family alike, did the same.
She pulled a couple of pink papers out of her pocket, glancing at her messages. One was from her old landlord asking her to come by and pick up her mail—he’d agreed to hold it for her instead of her switching things around for the summer and risking losing important bills and letters. She wondered if there was a reply from the Ranch and shivered. She now viewed the prospect, which had once held great appeal, with increasing uncertainty. Because of Jake.
Brianne took a long, less-than-satisfying sip of the strong, caffeinated brew. She’d need the jolt if she was going to stay awake and on her feet after the night she’d had. And what a night it was—hot, sultry—and she wasn’t talking about the weather. That was why contemplating the end of the summer or, worse, the end of her relationship with Jake was so painful. But the alternative was unbelievably confusing. She massaged her aching head once more.
If a summer affair was supposed to be straightforward and easy, why was Brianne so confused about so many things?
She’d always hoped that if she did get the California job, she would enjoy the same kind of warm rapport with the kids that she did with the elderly adults here. But she couldn’t know for sure, and Brianne liked the geriatric patients she treated. More than she’d admitted to herself. They held a wealth of life history and love, even the cantankerous ones. They counted on her, and she prided herself on knowing she’d never let them down.
And then there was the biggest reason her upcoming move no longer held great appeal. She rubbed at her temples with her right hand. Even if another therapist could take her patients, Jake would still be in New York. Her insides churned, and Brianne understood the reason. She would be across the country, in California with the brother she adored. But he was becoming a man; Marc no longer needed her quite the same way he had when he
was younger. She’d called him after leaving Mrs. Cohen and he’d rushed her off the phone; meeting his friends was now more important than talking to his sister. He’d grown up.
Maybe it was time Brianne did the same. Did that mean considering a future in New York, with Jake? She shook her head. What was she thinking? He’d given her no indication he wanted more than a summer fling, and, besides, nothing about their differences had changed. Or had they? Perhaps a better question was, had she changed?
“Brianne?” Sharon burst into the room, a yellow, gold and orange bouquet of wildflowers in her hands. “Someone left this on the front desk. It’s for you.”
Surprised, Brianne took the arrangement and placed it on the table by the old couch.
“Secret admirer?” Sharon asked.
“I don’t know.” Actually, she did know, and warmth spread through her. She hadn’t thought Jake was a flowers kind of guy but apparently she was wrong. She held the knowledge close, having no desire to “share” Jake, her feelings or his gift, by discussing him—even with a friend.
“They are beautiful,” Sharon said.
Brianne glanced at the flowers. They were charming and perfect for her. She didn’t know what they were called, but she adored the simple arrangement.
The phone in the lounge rang, and Brianne picked it up on the first ring. “Rehab, Brianne Nelson speaking.”
“Did you like the gift?” asked a deep male voice with a trace of a foreign accent.
She gripped the phone tighter in her hand. “I think you have the wrong person.”
“You said this is Brianne Nelson.”
“It is,” she said warily, the memory of the man with the tattoo sneaking into her mind. “Who is this?”