His Healing Touch (16 page)

Somehow, she had to get him to tell her about this guilty secret he’d been hiding in his heart. Because once the truth was out, she could prove to him—to
herself
—that nothing he’d done was unforgivable.

She gave a shaky sigh and peered into the mirror above the foyer table, hoping her eyes didn’t show the telltale signs of her teary prayer.

“What’s the matter,” said a deep, grating voice. “Don’t tell me you miss Romeo already?”

“B
uddy, I’m going to have to put a bell around your neck if you keep sneaking up on me that way.” Kasey pressed both palms to her chest, willing the action to calm her wildly drumming heart.

“Sorry.” He leaned on the front door. “So what’s the scoop? Old Thorne agree to come back for a little…dessert?”

She only stared at him.

“I’m just sayin’ it took an awfully long time to say goodbye, especially for a doctor on his way to a hospital emergency.”

The way to handle him, she hoped, was to ignore sarcastic comments like that. “Did you get enough to eat?” she asked cheerfully.

“You bet.” He patted his belt. “One more notch, I would’ve been in big trouble.”

“Remind me, when you leave, to pack some leftovers for you.”

He grimaced. “You know I don’t like reheated food.”

She ignored the pout, too. “You might feel differently
at midnight when all the takeout places have closed.” She breezed past him. “Because if I know you, the only thing in your refrigerator is a six-pack of beer.”

Buddy caught up to her. “Fat lot you know.” He grinned. “Last time I checked, there was a stale loaf of bread and some moldy cheese in there, too. Oh, and something in a plastic bowl that I’m scared to touch.”

“You realize, don’t you, that you’re making my point for me.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I guess you are.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders, gave her a sideways hug. “You’re the best, Kase. I’m a lucky guy, havin’ a woman like you lookin’ out for me.” He kissed her temple. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His moods were like quicksilver, changing and reshaping in a heartbeat, without so much as the slightest warning. This latest mercurial shift, she hoped, was proof she’d succeeded in taking his mind off Adam.

She returned to her seat in the dining room, and sipped her water. Kasey had barely touched her meal—not unusual, considering she’d taste-tested every food item on the table before the meal. Watching the enjoyment of friends and relatives made all the cooking and cleaning and baking more than worthwhile. The contented feeling induced a gratified smile.

Buddy caught her eye. He must have thought the smile had been intended for him, for he sent her a teasing wink. Blinking nervously, she looked quickly away and blushed—exactly the wrong thing to do, as it turned out, for it encouraged another wink, punctuated by a tolerant grin.

If only she could come up with a good excuse to leave the room, even for a moment. But the baskets she’d placed at either end of the table brimmed with golden biscuits, and
the deep bowls of mashed potatoes, gravy and mixed vegetables still steamed aplenty. Kasey reached for the water pitcher, but even before she grasped its silvery handle, condensation on the jug’s rounded sides told her it didn’t need refilling.

“Would you pass the butter, Kase?”

Buddy sat, both hands flat on the table, blinking innocently at her.

Kasey handed him the covered, ornate stoneware plate, and when he took it from her, he grazed her skin with a lingering fingertip. The fact that he didn’t seem to mind when she snatched back her hand and hid it in her lap told her the touch had been calculated, deliberate.

Exasperation began building inside her. She tried to concentrate, instead, on the quiet dinner conversation. But there were half-a-dozen discussions going on simultaneously: whether or not the Ravens would make the playoffs, would Cal Ripkin play another season for the Orioles, was the gravy homemade or the stuff from a jar?

The soft notes of classical music wafting from the stereo speakers was oddly in sync with the
clink
of silverware against china. Somehow, over the din, Kasey heard the hushed
swish-swish
of the pendulum as it swayed to and fro in the mahogany body of her grandfather clock, and above that sound, the hollow
tock-tock-tock
of its mechanical timepiece.

And in the middle of all this controlled commotion, she thought of Adam, tall and strong, with an air of self-assurance that calmed everyone within reach of the sound of his manly voice. Oh, how she wished she could hear that voice now!

She wondered if he’d made it to the hospital yet. Kasey said a quick prayer, asking God to see to it there was nothing serious wrong with his patient—not only for the
woman’s sake, but also so Adam would be able to return before dinner was over.

A picture of him formed in her mind: stethoscope draped around the collar of his white lab coat, nodding in a caring yet professional way, assuring his patient that all was well. The image might have made her smile…if she hadn’t looked up just then and caught Buddy staring at her.

Turning away quickly, Kasey smoothed the napkin on her lap, shoved a bite of turkey back and forth through the gravy pond in her mashed potatoes, picked at a nub on the tablecloth…until she remembered that was exactly what Adam had done at her kitchen table on Halloween night. Folding her hands in her lap, she recalled that moments later, he’d delivered his warning.
Don’t judge a book by its cover,
he seemed to be saying,
because this one is nothing but a list of disappointing surprises.
He’d sounded so miserable that she’d hugged him, and the way he’d held her—tightly, holding his breath as his muscles tensed—made it clear how very much he needed a friend.

Kasey sighed. Oh, for a moment alone!

There were pots soaking in the sink. She could go into the kitchen right now and scrub them. But how polite would it be for the hostess to leave her guests while she performed dishwashing duties?

Peripheral vision told her Buddy was paying careful attention to her every move. What
was
it with him, anyway? For the past few years, she’d had a distant, edgy perception, like somehow he’d slipped a collar around her neck with every intention of keeping a tight hold on her leash. Nothing too obvious, of course—that wasn’t Buddy’s way—but the feeling had been plain enough.

And it was getting plainer by the day.

Did he actually believe that a few thousand dollars could
buy
her, like a puppy in a shopping mall pet store?

The question stopped her cold.

She’d done the math, enough times to know that the total donated by her anonymous gift-giver over the years added up to more like a
hundred
—not a few—thousand dollars. Maybe she’d implied, by
using
that money, that she was, indeed, for sale.

She couldn’t have given the money back because it had always arrived just when they’d needed it most!

You didn’t have to spend it,
she chided herself for the millionth time.
You could have donated it to charity.

Then Pat laughed, a carefree, comfortable sound, and Kasey remembered how many times that same money had paid the mortgage, or bought groceries or kept the electric company from turning off their power. Aleesha’s animated face and gestures echoed Pat’s contentment, reminding Kasey that there were reasons why the courts had let her adopt the girl: Kasey owned this house outright, her business was thriving. Neither of which would be true if she
hadn’t
put that money in the bank.

Hundreds of times, she’d tried to uncover the identity of her mysterious caretaker. Back and forth through darkened rooms she’d pace, stopping at every window to peer out into the black night, staring at each silhouette, studying even the slightest movement of branch and bush and tree in the hope she’d catch him tiptoeing to or from the mailbox.

But he’d been too stealthy, too secretive. Like the night shadows that blanketed the Delaney house, he managed to slip in and out without making a sound, without leaving a trace…not even the slightest footprint.

“Pickles, Kasey?”

Buddy’s harsh, abrasive whisper slammed into her thoughts like a hammer. Again, she jumped, nearly upsetting the pickle dish.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

But his sneaking up on her—figuratively and literally—was getting to be a habit, and not a good one, either. She leaned in close and hissed through clenched teeth, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you do that on purpose, that you
like
frightening me.”

He blinked, eyebrows raised. One hand on his chest, he said, “Kasey, you break my heart talkin’ like that. I love ya like crazy.”

She sat back, thankful no one else had heard their quick, quiet exchange.

This time, it was Buddy who leaned close. “Like I’ve said before, what reason would I have to hurt you? Hmm?”

They were nose to nose. Near enough to kiss, close enough for Kasey to believe the spark in his dark eyes was put there by spite. She reared back and cleared her throat, wishing the meal would just end, that everyone would just go home.

Because it was all she could do to keep from holding her head in her hands and screaming.

He stretched out on the cushions of the brown tweed couch in the doctors’ lounge, fingers linked under his head and feet hanging over the worn sofa arms, and groaned.

Wade flopped onto the matching chair across the room. “You’re makin’ old man noises, Adam.” He propped his feet on the coffee table. “Keep that up, and pretty soon you’ll be belting your trousers up under your armpits.”

“Tell you the truth,” Adam said around a yawn, “all I care about right now is getting five minutes of sleep.”

Wade stretched. “Thanks for taking care of that popped stitch for me. I never would’ve made it all the way around the beltway in time to keep the next one from going.”

Shaking his head, Adam closed his eyes. Popped stitch,
ha! What should have been a ten-minute quick-fix turned into a four-hour ordeal. The elderly woman who’d popped a stitch worked herself into such a frenzy over it that she disconnected her monitor wires and her feeding tubes, and tore out the staples securing her bypass, as well.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘No problem, pal. You’d do the same for me.”’

“No problem. You’d do the same for me.”

Chuckling, Wade said, “You forgot ‘pal.”’

“No,” Adam said, grinning as he opened one eye, “I didn’t.”

Wade wadded up a paper napkin that someone had left on the table and tossed it at Adam, who didn’t even flinch when it landed beside his head. The only movement was the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“Man, you must be pooped. You’re not even tempted to throw it back?”

“Sure. Put it in a safe place and I’ll get around to it when I wake up. Or at the turn of the century, whichever comes first.”

“So how was dinner?”

Scrubbing his face with both hands, Adam shook his head. That kiss in her kitchen was the only thing he could recall. “Delicious,” he said, grinning to himself.

“She’s a good cook, huh?”

I have no idea,
Adam thought,
but she’s a good kisser….
“How ’bout your dinner?” he felt obliged to ask. “Did your sister make her famous sausage stuffing?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you bring Marcy?”

“Nah.”

In response to the downhearted tone in his friend’s voice, Adam sat up. “What did you do, take Carole, instead?”

Wade grimaced. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’.”

Adam wasn’t surprised. The blond gum-snapper would have been to a Cameron family celebration what an alligator would be to a baby nursery.

“Who did you take?”

“Nobody.”

“Why not?”

In place of Wade’s usual mischievous grin, there was a tight-lipped scowl. “Mom’s got…she was diagnosed with breast cancer a couple weeks back.”

Adam winced. He’d spent almost as much time in the Cameron house growing up as in his own. Despite the nasty divorce when Adam and Wade were ten that forced Mrs. Cameron to take a full-time job, she’d found time to bandage Adam’s skinned knees, to stitch the rips in his football jersey, to teach him to waltz before his junior prom.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said. A tight knot formed in his stomach as he wondered why things like that happened to people like Mrs. Cameron.

“Have they done a biopsy yet?”

Nodding, Wade said, “Yeah.”

It didn’t sound good. Not good at all. “So they’ve scheduled surgery?”

He nodded again. “Yeah. Next week.”

Adam didn’t have to ask if the doctors would perform a radical mastectomy; Wade’s tone made that clear enough.

“How long have you known?”

“Since day before yesterday.” Wade leaned his elbows on his knees, pressed his palms to the sides of his head. “She insisted on a quiet no-guests-allowed dinner. Wouldn’t say why. The rest of us thought maybe early senility was startin’ to set in, ’cause you know how Mom loves big family gatherings.” His voice broke slightly when he added, “Now we know why—”

“How is your sister taking it?”

“’Bout the same as me, I guess, putting on a brave face for Mom….”

…and falling apart when she isn’t around,
Adam finished silently.

Wade got to his feet and stared at the ceiling. “I’ve got a bad feelin’ about this, pal. A real bad feelin’.”

Adam stood, too, and walked over to his friend. “No reason to think that way,” he said, dropping a brotherly hand on Wade’s shoulder. “They’re working miracles in oncology these days.” He gave the shoulder a slight shake. “Look, if there’s anything I can do—take some of your patients, do follow-up exams, make hospital rounds—”

Wade nodded. “I might take you up on some of that. Thanks.” He held Adam’s eyes. “She asked me to tell her ‘unofficial son’ that he’s the only non-Cameron allowed at the hospital that day.”

Her unofficial son.

That’s what she’d been calling Adam since he and Wade met in Mr. Beazley’s fifth-grade classroom. From the moment Adam had first set foot in her galley kitchen, Mrs. Cameron had made him feel like a member of the family. Years later, on one of the many nights he’d spent on her living room sofa, she’d caught him sneaking back into that tiny kitchen, and somehow coaxed a tearful confession out of him…about the Halloween prank, about the extra part-time job he’d taken to earn money for the Delaneys. After that, there was nothing he couldn’t tell her; after that, she was every bit as much a friend to Adam as anyone he’d ever known, as anyone he ever
would
know.