A Week From Sunday (4 page)

Thank goodness,
she thought.

The man had to be a lumberjack. His jeans were pushed into the tops of calf-high boots. A flannel shirt was tucked into the waistband, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Dark hair covered muscular forearms. Adrianna could still see him in her mind’s eye as the doctor’s voice retreated down the hallway.

“Who was that?” she asked when the doctor returned. Adrianna spoke softly, as if she were afraid the man would hear her.

“Quinn Baxter, the driver of the truck.” The doctor pulled a chair up close to the bed and sat down. “He’s a real fistful of a man, isn’t he?” She bent over and looked into Adrianna’s face. “Is your vision clear? I’m afraid you might have a slight concussion.”

“I can see just fine, but I feel slightly sick to my stomach.” Adrianna’s eyes were full of misery when she looked at the doctor. “When can I leave here?”

“Is someone expecting you?” When Adrianna didn’t answer, she said, “I need to know your name. The sheriff will be asking about the accident.”

“My name is Adrianna Moore. But do you need to tell him?”

The doctor looked at her skeptically. A question floated through her mind.
Is this lovely girl running from the law?
She could think of no other reason why the woman didn’t want the sheriff to know who she was.

Adrianna could almost hear the thoughts running through the doctor’s head and quickly said, “I’m not wanted by the law, but there’s somebody back in Shreveport that I don’t want to find me.”

“Your husband?”

“No, I’m not married.”

“Quinn will have to report the accident.”

“Does he have to know my name?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Tears came into Adrianna’s eyes as she knew she had no choice but to tell this kind woman why she had left Shreveport. The doctor took her hand and held it while she told about her father’s death and Richard Pope trying to take control of her life. When she finished the doctor patted her hand and sat quietly for a while.

“What did you plan to do?”

Adrianna spoke over the sob in her throat. “I wanted to get as far from Shreveport as I could. I need a job. I can’t withdraw the money from my account at the bank or Richard will find out where I am.” The doctor stayed silent as she continued. “All I’ve ever done is take care of my invalid mother and then my father until he died two weeks ago. About the only thing I can do is play the piano. I played for weddings and funerals at my church.”

“Let me think about this for a while. I want you to stay here overnight. Maybe we can work something out.” The doctor’s mind was busy mulling over a solution that would depend on that bullheaded man down the hall. She could hear the murmur of voices as Quinn talked with Gabe LeBlanc, his best friend. The two men were as different as a dog and a cat. Although they were of equal size, Gabe’s voice was soft and musical, while Quinn’s was like a buzz saw when he was irritated.

Dr. Bordeaux went down the hall to her kitchen.

Adrianna closed her eyes and wondered if she had made a mistake telling the doctor about Richard. But it was too late now.

“Calm down,
mon ami,
” Gabe was saying as the doctor entered.

“What in the hell am I going to do for a piano player?” Quinn exploded.

“Not having a piano player is the least of your worries.” Gabe gave a snort of laughter.

“They’re used to that honky-tonk piano. The louder the better.”

“Maybe you could play a record.”

“Yeah.” Quinn looked at his friend as if he’d lost his mind. “Goddammit,” he cursed. “Why’d this have to happen now?” He looked at the bulky bandage on Gabe’s hand. “Are you sure you can’t play with one hand?”

Gabe knew his friend was frustrated. He’d had a lot on his mind lately, trying to keep the supply of logs going to the mill, looking after his brother, and attempting to keep the tavern going so that Jesse could get the medical attention he needed. Dr. Bordeaux had said there was a place in Atlanta that might be able to help him.

The doctor poured herself a cup of coffee. “The woman will be all right. She may have a slight concussion, and I’m keeping her overnight.” The doctor went to the door. “Do you need some pain pills, Gabe? That was a really bad cut on your hand. You’re lucky the glass didn’t cut a tendon.”

“Thanks for fixing me up, Doc. What do I owe you?”

The doctor smiled. “I’ll take two quarts of blood and a hunk of boudin.”

“You’d get that anyway, Doc. The boudin, not the blood.” Gabe’s dark eyes swept caressingly over the doctor’s face as she smiled at him and left the room. He had loved this woman for the past three years, and she had no idea he even thought of her in that way. But he did. He’d walk through fire for her. Quinn was the only person who was aware of Gabe’s feelings for the doctor.

“Every bottle in the back of that truck was broken,” Quinn said irritably.

“Not every bottle,
mon ami
.”

“But damn near it,” Quinn snorted. “The Whipsaw needed that liquor. Where are we going to get the money to replace it?”

Gabriel LeBlanc shrugged his wide shoulders. In his early forties, he had ink-black hair and dark eyes. The broad smile he normally wore was tempered by the pain that now raced through him. His left hand was wrapped tightly in bandages and throbbed ferociously. The cut had gone almost to the bone, and he’d wager a month’s pay that he would not be using the fingers for several weeks.

“We’ll come up with the money. We always do. Ain’t no use in worryin’.”

Quinn stopped moving and looked hard at Gabe. The man had been by his side for a long time, ever since Quinn’s father had passed away. As Lee’s Point’s only tavern, the Whipsaw served the men who worked in the mills north of town, as well as the Cajuns. It took a hard worker with a steady hand to operate it. Quinn had found the perfect man in Gabe. More than just his helper, the Cajun was his best friend.

“I got more worries than money,” Quinn continued. “I took the day off from the mill to make that run with you.” For all his life he’d worked as a logger; his father’s death hadn’t changed that. Juggling both responsibilities, he had made the best of it . . . for Jesse. “Taking time off isn’t the easiest thing for me. Times are tough. You see all these fellas coming through town looking for work. One of these days they’ll find someone else to cut their logs.”

“Good.” Gabe chuckled. “You get fired, then I’ll have some help.”

“Very funny. Your ass isn’t the one on the line.”

“Is that right? How many jobs do you see for a one-handed musician?” Gabe raised his left hand for emphasis. A wave of pain shot through it, and he winced.

“The loggers want music. There isn’t a Cajun alive that doesn’t want music when he drinks.”

“What about Karl? He can play. Those two sing-along nights pay the bills.”

Quinn frowned. Karl was one of the Whipsaw’s fill-in bartenders, little more than a kid. Quinn had heard him plunking away at the keys one night. He would have sworn a jackass had a better ear for music.

“When we need someone to drive the customers away, we’ll hire Karl to play the piano.”

“He’s not that bad. Who else do we have?”

Unable to answer, Quinn started to pace again.

The thunderstorm had finally begun to let up. A light rain still splashed against the windows, but it looked as if the sun was trying to break through. Soon it would be hot and humid. In his mind Quinn played the crash over and over again. The car had come at them so quickly, he knew there was nothing the woman could have done to avoid hitting them. The damage to his truck had been minor, far less than the damage to her car.

“That damn woman,” he muttered.

“Stop blaming her,” Gabe said. “The storm was a humdinger. She wasn’t used to driving in it. When the car got away from her, we were in the way, that’s all. It could have happened to anyone.”

“That’s just like a brainless woman,” Quinn argued. “They don’t have the sense to stay off the road when they’ve had no experience driving in a storm. I’ve got a notion to go in there and give her a piece of my mind.”

Quinn’s frustration continued to grow. Lately, one problem had piled up on top of another
. Goddamnit!
He strode to the door and yanked it open. Before he could pass through, a strong hand grabbed his shoulder.

“What are you going to do?” Gabe asked.

“What does it look like? If I lose the tavern it will be her fault,” he snarled as he glared at the Cajun. “And if you don’t want another busted hand, you’d better let go of me.”

Gabe’s eyes held Quinn’s for a moment before he said quietly, “You’d fight a one-handed man?”

“Damn right I would!”

Quinn entered the room, and the woman looked up at him expectantly. He had intended to give her a tongue-lashing, to tell her what a poor driver she was and how she had damaged his business, maybe beyond repair, but something happened as he approached the bed. His eyes took in the figure, so slim it barely made an impression on the bed. She looked different from the way he remembered when he had carried her from the wrecked car to his truck and then into the doctor’s office.

She was vulnerable and unbelievably beautiful.

Adrianna stared at the man who had barged into the room. She figured him to be somewhere in his middle thirties. He was tall, with long arms and legs. Thick black hair was pushed back from his face as he looked at her. His jaw moved, but no sound came out. His piercing gray eyes seemed to pin her to the bed.

As she stared back, Adrianna felt a strange sensation wash over her. This man was unlike any she had ever met before. Certainly he was different from the young accountants and lawyers she’d met during the course of her father’s business dealings. They were refined and professional. This man was neither. She felt her face redden in embarrassment.

“Quinn Baxter,” Dr. Bordeaux said, entering and breaking what had become an awkward silence. “This is Miss Adrianna Moore.”

Looking at the strange man, Adrianna saw a flicker of annoyance cross his face, but it disappeared just as quickly. The look that replaced it mirrored the harsh weather that had caused her accident.

“What in the hell were you doing on the highway?” His voice sounded like sandpaper to Adrianna’s ears. His rugged features grew sharper with each word. “I don’t know where you came from, but people around here have sense enough to stay off the roads in bad weather if they don’t know how to drive in it.”

“I’m sorry,” Adrianna managed to say.

“That’s not good enough. Do you have any idea what that accident has cost me? I’ve got a business to run. Almost every damn bottle of liquor I was bringing back was busted. It’s going to cost you plenty to replace it.”

“Quinn Baxter!” Dr. Bordeaux interrupted, stepping in front of him and cutting off the hot glare he had fixed upon Adrianna. “I will not have you stomping into my office to take out your frustrations on my patient.”

“You know how he can get, Doc,” a softer voice said. “He ain’t happy unless he’s got something to complain about.” Adrianna peered around the doctor and saw a man leaning casually against the door.
“Bonjour,”
he said. He was probably a bit older than the rude creature with the wild hair, but he had the same rough features. Unlike the other man, he had a warm smile.

Adrianna noticed the bandage on his hand. “Oh no,” she blurted out. “Is that from the accident?”

“I’m afraid so.” Gabe’s smile grew wider. “I think that’s one reason Quinn here’s got his back up.”

“That’s his problem, Gabe.” Dr. Bordeaux crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at the wild man. “It’s not a good enough reason for you to come in here yelling like an ignoramus.”

“Since you’ve got all the answers, Sarah,” Quinn said, “why don’t you tell me how in the hell I’m supposed to produce a piano player when Gabe’s hand is busted?”

“It isn’t broken.” The doctor wrinkled her nose at Quinn. “It’s cut and will take a few weeks to heal, that’s all.”

Without a moment’s thought, Adrianna said, “I play the piano.”

The conversation stopped as the three turned to stare at her. As her eyes moved from face to face she saw a mixture of different emotions: interest, surprise, and the last was the disbelief on Quinn’s features.

“What did you say?” Quinn asked, moving past the doctor and placing one rough hand on the bed’s headboard. He stared down at her, his eyes narrowed.

Her heart pumped painfully. “I can play the piano,” she repeated. “I’ve been taking lessons since I was a little girl. My father insisted upon it. He said one who had a good grasp of music was an intelligent person.”

“I guess that lets me out,” Quinn said. “What kind of music do you play?

“All kinds. But mostly classical. Mozart is my favorite.” A smile crossed her face. She was happy that she could be of help, but her smile quickly faded as she saw a frown form on Quinn’s face. Hurriedly she added, “I can play anything if you have the sheet music.”

At that the man’s frown deepened. His eyes locked on hers. Adrianna could see the thoughts were whizzing around in his head. Turning to Gabe, he said, “Have you got sheet music at the Whipsaw?”

“Of course, but . . .”