The Invitation (Montgomery/Taggert 19)

What had she expected from a man who organized everything inside her kitchen cabinets by size? Whimsy?

“You know, I can walk. I cut my hand, not my foot, and I’m feeling better now. If I’m too heavy for you, I should walk.”

“No” was all William said.

When he reached the top of the steep arroyo, she thought he would put her down, but he didn’t. Instead, he held on to her and walked back toward the house. She really was all right now, except that pain was shooting up her arm and beginning to fill her entire body. Her arms were hanging down William’s back, and there was so much blood on her hand that she couldn’t see the cut very well, but she told herself it wasn’t very deep. Surely it wasn’t deep enough to need stitches. She had always bled a great deal, hadn’t she? That was just a sign of her good health. In fact, she didn’t see any need to call a doctor. A little soap, a good tight bandage, and she’d be fine.

As though he were reading her mind, William said, “Stitches and no argument.”

With a grimace, she put her hand back down and stopped looking at it.

Three hours later, stitched up, as she said, like a Hong Kong suit, and ensconced in bed, Jackie felt like an idiot. How could she have been so stupid as to fall down the side of a canyon?

While she was contemplating her lack of intelligence, her bedroom door opened and William entered carrying a tray of food, which he placed over her knees.

“Chicken soup, crackers, salad, lemonade, and chocolate pudding for dessert. Now eat and get well.”

“Really, Billy, I am perfectly capable of feeding myself. Anyone would think I’d just had a bout of typhoid fever from the way you’re acting. I’m going to get up and—” While William watched with a knowing expression on his face, she pushed the tray away and started to stand up. Immediately she felt light-headed and dizzy. The back of her hand to her forehead like the Victorian dainty she felt like, she lay back down on the bed.

“What were you saying? You’re not feeling bad are you, Jackie? It’s just a little cut, a mere twenty-six stitches, and the loss of enough blood to keep three vampires healthy for a month. So why are you in bed? Why don’t you take a plane up? Do a few stunts?”

She was sure she deserved his sarcasm. After all, she had acted like a baby during the stitching. Young Blair had raced to her house, driving his father’s car as though it were a grounded airplane, and the moment Jackie saw him, she had started trying to talk him out of sticking needles in her skin. Young Blair—called that to distinguish him from his mother, also a doctor and also named Blair—had blinked at her a few times, but then he had looked at William as though for permission.

“Stitch. I’ll hold her.”

And that was what was done. Young Blair stitched while William held Jackie in his strong arms and soothed her as though she were an infant. He stroked her hair and asked her really dumb questions about airplanes. He seemed to be trying to make her angry or to make her laugh, or maybe he just wanted to distract her. To some extent he succeeded, for after the twentieth stitch, William’s constant questions, added to the pain, annoyed her to the point that she said, “William Montgomery, you don’t know anything about airplanes. You might as well have stayed with paper airplanes for all you know about flying. You have no talent, no feel for the machines or the air.”

“Why won’t you enter the Taggie?” he shot back, taking advantage of what she was going through to find out what she refused to tell him.

“Because—Oh! What are you using? A needle for stitching saddles? That happens to be my flesh you’re gouging.”

Young Blair didn’t pay any attention to her as he continued stitching her hand. “Almost finished. This is a very bad cut, Jackie, and I want you to use your hand as little as possible for the next few days. I want you to give this time to heal. And that means no flying.”

“But—”

William cut her off. “I’ll take care of her.”

“And who is going to take care of a youngster like you?” Jackie shot back, in so much pain that she didn’t care what she said or whose feelings she hurt.

William didn’t seem in the least bothered by her nasty remark. “I’ve hired an eighteen-year-old virgin to change my diapers. Do you mind?”

Jackie could feel her face turning red as she looked at Young Blair’s head bowed over her palm. He didn’t look up, but she could feel him smile. William had implied that she was jealous and that they were lovers—which of course was far from true. She wanted to explain to the doctor, but she couldn’t think of what to say.

After the stitching was done and Jackie was at last free to rest her head against the pillows, she couldn’t help feeling annoyed that Young Blair had taken William aside and talked to

him as though he were Jackie’s husband or even her father. “Keep her quiet,” she heard Young Blair saying softly. “She’ll be okay in a day or two, but she’s going to need looking after until then.”

“Of course,” she’d heard William say, as though it was understood that this young—very young—man would take care of her.

So now William had prepared her a meal and was insisting that she eat it. “I’m not hungry,” she said, and even to her own ears she sounded like a whining child.

William stood over her, looking down at her from his great height. “All right,” he said softly, “have it your way. I’ll call a nurse and pay her to take care of you for the next few days. I won’t impose myself on you further.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said defiantly.

“Can you?” He arched an eyebrow. “How are you going to wash your hair with one hand? I guess you could leave it full of dried blood. Of course you might attract flies, but what does that matter? You’re tough. You can take it. How are you going to feed yourself with one hand? There isn’t enough food in this house now to feed a goldfish much less a hungry female. I think I’d better call a nurse. I believe I heard that Miss Norton is free.”

At that name Jackie paled. Miss Norton was every child’s nightmare of a nurse: big, strong, utterly unsympathetic. She had been born full-grown, with steel gray hair, wearing a starched white uniform and looking about fifty years old, and she’d never aged a day since her birth, which had to have been over a century before Jackie was born.