“When Neetie got sick, I was afraid it was all happening again. I like Neetie. I don’t want to fail him like I did Jimmy.”
He couldn’t believe he had admitted to such fear. A doctor was supposed to be confident in his decisions, and if he wasn’t, he needed to at least act as if he was. But he couldn’t, no, wouldn’t, mess up again.
“Have you spoken to the boy’s family? They may be more understanding than you are being with yourself.”
No. He couldn’t face Roger. He couldn’t make the boy better. “I don’t think they want to see me.”
“You might be surprised.” Her voice sounded warm with compassion.
A big fat drop of rain landed on his forehead. Another splattered on his arm.
“The rainy season has begun,” Maggie announced with awe. “A time for a new beginning.” She lightly squeezed his hand.
Was there a double meaning there? Tough Maggie, who fixed everything for everybody, seemed to be fixing him also. It felt wonderful to be traveling back to where he belonged.
She tugged on his hand, then let it go. “Come on. We’d better run if we don’t want to get soaked.”
Maggie searched her bag a few minutes later to find a clean, dry shirt. Across the hut Court did the same. She glanced at him and found him watching her with an intent look. His eyes dropped to where her wet shirt molded to her breast. Her nipples hardened, pushing against her thin sports bra. She pulled on the material in an effort to make her reaction less visible.
His mood had changed from one of deep remorse to ease as they’d run to get out of the rain. His full-bodied laugh had filled the hut as they’d both tried to get thought the narrow opening at the same time. She hadn’t been able to help but join him in his mirth.
But now the air between them reminded her of the lightning they had been watching earlier, hot with expectancy. Maggie took a deep breath, and tried to add some firmness to her tone when she said, “Be a gentleman.”
“Do I have to?” A wolfish, predatory smile curved his lips. “There should be some perks to having to stay in a simple hut in the middle of nowhere.”
She gave him her best piercing look but her fortitude weakened as his unwavering stare made her breasts tingle. A stream of heat curled within her but she held the unwavering stance.
With an exaggerated sigh he turned his back. “You sure know how to disappoint a guy.”
“I’m confident there are plenty of women in Boston you could ogle.”
The rasp of his zipper caught her attention. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder but she was tempted. Concentrate on what you are doing. Get into those dry clothes pronto.
“I imagine there are a few.”
She heard the humor and the self-assurance in his voice.
His lack of doctor-patient confidence hadn’t affected his male ego.
Maggie jerked on a dry undershirt, wishing with all her heart she had another dry bra. The thin material of her shirt didn’t seem like enough protection from Court’s fire-starter stare.
She arranged her short knit shorts so she could get into them quickly. She wasn’t normally such a prude. Was it that she didn’t trust Court or didn’t trust herself? The feelings he evoked had lain dormant for so long she couldn’t trust herself. She slipped out of her wet panties, pulled off the flimsy, damp skirt and jerked on her shorts. “Jealous?”
“Jealous?”
She spun around. “Why would I be jealous?”
Court pulled his olive-colored cargo shorts up over his hips. She watched in fascination as notch by notch he pulled his zipper into place, leaving the button of his pants open.
“Come on, Maggie, you’ve been in the wilds too long. I’m kidding you. I’m not a monk but I’m no Casanova either.”
She removed the band holding her hair and swung it back and forth in an effort to fan it out so it would dry quicker. It would look a mess in the morning if she didn’t comb it.
A hissing sound came from his direction. She turned. A tingle ran up her spine, and the small room closed in on her, making the sleeping arrangements even more intimate. “What?”
“I’ve never seen your hair down. It’s beautiful.”
Her cheeks heated. “You’ve been in the wilds too long. It’s a mess and will be worse in the morning.” She searched her bag for she couldn’t remember what.
Their shared laugher and smothering heat of the past few minutes were the first she’d shared with a man in a long time. It felt nice to be desired. Especially by a man as intriguing as Court, to want him to touch her, kiss her, make love to her…
Relief washed over her when she turned and found Court putting a log on the fire and crawling into his sleeping bag. He turned his back to the fire and her. Court had been giving her a hard time just to make her feel uncomfortable. To get them both back on an even keel.
Thunder rolled in the distance as Maggie slipped into her sleeping bag. She punched at the extra blanket doubling as a pillow. There was more thunder but closer this time. Maggie flipped over on her side. At another blast of thunder she rolled again. She couldn’t decide whether she couldn’t sleep because of the weather or the fact that Court lay nearby.
Somehow his declaration earlier had built a bridge between them. Even though she was an easy person to talk to, he would also leave those admissions behind when he left. She wouldn’t be a content reminder of his weakness. That brokenness in him made him even more likeable.
A flash of light filled the narrow opening around the edges of the door covering as it ruffled in the breeze. Seconds later a boom filled the air and shook the earth beneath her. She sat ramrod straight, letting out a squeak.
“Maggie?”
“I’m fine. It caught me by surprise.” She lay back again and curled into a ball, shutting her eyes tightly. Could she disappear into the ground?
* * *
“Maggie, you’re shaking.” The temperature had dropped but Court would bet that wasn’t causing her chills. Fearless Maggie was fighting some demon.
With a whoosh of the zipper he undid her sleeping bag and laid it flat on the ground.
“What’re you doing?”
He couldn’t help but enjoy her indignation.
“You’re shivering. I already have one sick person to worry over and I’m not taking any chances with you. The temperature dropped and you need warmth. I can provide that.” Even if it killed him doing it. “Scoot over.” He stretched out beside her and pulled his sleeping bag over them. She accepted the situation, seeming to have lost all energy to fight.
“I’m not cold,” she murmured, looking toward the fire, her back to him.
“Then you’re afraid of storms?”
“No, I’m not afraid of storms. I’m afraid of memories,” she muttered.
Court didn’t say anything. This lovely woman who lived in the glaring reality of death every day might have more in common with him than he’d thought. Was she also running from an ugly past?
His fingers itched to stroke her hair. If he did, could he resist running his hands through it, putting his face it, inhaling the scent of it? He balled his hands into fists, stopping the fantasy, and said, “Want to talk about it?”
The concept of caring enough to listen was alien to him. Keeping an emotional distance had always been his trademark. Love or care too much and you got hurt.
“Maggie, you can talk to me.” He made his tone a soft, reassuring one, as if to one of his young patients. He shifted on to his side and propped his head in his hand. At least one hand stayed under control.
She kept her back to him but after a deep breath she started to speak, les
s to him and more to some unknown spot on the other side of the hut.
“It was raining that night.” The words came out haltingly, as if they had been bottled up and now the top was being removed. Each word fizzed out under pressure. “I was late getting off work. A last-minute emergency. I still had to change. My girlfriends were giving me a lingerie party.” She rolled onto her back, and instead of facing him she looked at where the thatch of the roof met at a point above. She studied it as if she watched a motion-picture screen.
Court didn’t move. He didn’t want to risk interrupting her, stop her from talking.
“I was so excited. I was going to be married in two weeks. I thought Ted was the love of my life.”
Irrational as it was, he felt a pang of an unknown emotion to know she’d cared so deeply for another man.
With a shaky breath she said, “We planned to have lots of children.”
Court watched one large tear slipped down her cheek. Still, he didn’t touch her. Her tone said she would appreciate it. She wanted no one to feel sorry for her.
“What happened? Tell me.” He pushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I’ve shared my ugly secret.”
Maggie went still as if she was processing the truth of that statement. She whispered, “The car skidded, and rolled and rolled. I was trapped, crushed. The doctors said I’d live but I’d never have children.”
“I’m sorry.” Since he’d met her he’d seen daily demonstrations of how much she loved children. For any woman it would be devastating but for Maggie it must have seemed like a death sentence.
“That wasn’t the worst.”
He strained to hear her.
“I would’ve adopted but my fiancé didn’t see it that way. Although he did have the decency to wait until I was out of the hospital before he told me the wedding was off. In his family, producing a child is a sign of virility in a man. He wouldn’t marry someone who couldn’t have children.”
Court’s curse word filled the air.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Maggie said, regaining some of her feistiness. “I’d been stamped imperfect.”
“I know about imperfection and that’s not true about you. You’re a perfect nurse, a perfect mother for Neetie, a perfect friend, perfect listener. There is no way a person with as big a heart as yours could ever be imperfect. Look at me.” His words were stern as he waited until her moisture-filled eyes met his gaze. “I don’t want you to ever say that about yourself again.”