Unbelievable (16 page)

I tugged on the door twice before it opened.
Stupid door.
Booker followed me to the nurse station. I increased my pace, heading straight to the desk, although calling the long laminate counter with six tall steel chairs a desk seemed like a misnomer to me. Cole stood at the far end with another doctor, examining an x-ray.

“How can you not like a guy whose life’s mission is to help people
?” Booker said with a look of admiration.

Cole finished and came over. “Sorry, got distracted,” he apologized. He turned to Tess sitting at the desk and
asked, “Where did the scheduling book get put?” Before she could answer, a loud voice blasted its way through the nurses’ station from the waiting area. I turned to see a large, gray-haired man push his way past the secretary and stumble into an exam room before collapsing in drunken stupor onto the bed.

“You know, Tess,” Booker said softly, “you really ought to ask a man before you put your hands all over his gun.” I turned to see Tess’s hand wrapped around Booker’s gun, which was still in the holster strapped to his hips. She jerked her hands away and step over to her desk in horror.

“I’m so sorry, Booker. H-he just freaked me out with all his screaming,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to touch your gun. I don’t know what came over me.”

“No problem,” he said gently. “You don’t have anything to be afraid of. Old man Quaff’s a regular around here. He’s loud, but he’s not a danger. Once he sobers up he’ll be apologizing all over the place.”

She nodded timidly before handing Cole the schedule. He set the book on the counter and flipped through the pages. Booker stood next to him but continually eyed Tess. The distraction made for an easy escape. I rushed straight to the elevator and went downstairs for a Diet Pepsi.

I stayed away as long as I dared. Thankfully when I came back to the office, Booker had left and Cole was busy with an emergency. This façade needed to end.

Chapter 13

Cole’s office furniture arrived the next day. We spent the afternoon arranging and rearranging everything several times.

Over the next couple days Cole
called me several times making lame requests. “There are a few scuffs on the wall I’d like you to touch up,” Cole said to me early one morning over the phone.

“I’ll come by this afternoon. Just stick a Post-it note on the areas,” I yawned.

“I think it best that you wait until I can be in the office to do the painting,” he insisted. I didn’t question why. I didn’t care why. I only wanted to be with him.

Three days after the furniture came he must have run out of ideas. He called me wanting the books on all three bookshelves rearranged in alphabetical order.

“Cole, I’m telling you, it won’t look good. You need planned random heights to invite eye appeal,” I explained. “Alphabetical order will make it look messy, chaotic.”

He still insisted. “I want to find my books easily, not have to search high and low for what I need, Lilah. I’ll pay you extra.”

“No. Booker paid me well. I’ll rearrange the books, but I promise, you’ll hate it.”

Booker had indeed paid me well. When he’d seen the office put together, he was very impressed. So impressed he included a handsome bonus in my check.

I went in to work on the books after lunch, per Cole’s request. I decided to have his Shakespeare book rebound as a surprise. When I got there Cole was still working in the ER. I carefully placed the prized possession in my purse and then got busy rearranging the books. He joined me almost immediately.

We no sooner finished the job when he said, “You were right, I hate it. Tomorrow let’s randomize them again.”

Cole even went so far as to shuffle his schedule around to work evenings so he could help me with his endearing requests.

A few times I’d stroll to the ER to watch Cole. I’d sit at the nurse’s desk for a bird’s-eye view and sketch him as he worked. I loved watching him. He was truly in his element in the ER: in control, never fumbling, never unsure.

When things were quiet in the ER, we’d spend the time laughing about a wacky patient or we’d play what Cole dubbed “Our Shakespeare Game.” I’d quote a line or two from a Shakespearean play, and he’d ID the act and scene.

In all my life I couldn’t remember enjoying myself more. Neither traveling the world over, eating expensive food, nor sleeping in the finest hotels could compare to the happiness I felt just sharing the day with Cole.

Not wanting our time together to end, I suggested we try a few different activities in hopes of finding a hobby for him.

We started with bowling the next day. His bowling ball and the gutter quickly developed an intimate relationship after only four frames. They were having an all-out affair by the tenth. The four calls he received from the ER during our game certainly didn’t help his focus.

“Cole, try keeping your wrist straight,” I said, demonstrating on my turn.

“I thought I was
,” he frowned after another gutter ball.

Miniature golf wasn’t much better.

“Lilah, if I didn’t have to finagle the ball through a windmill or a crocodile’s jaw, I’d do much better,” he assured me as one of his shots bounced off the windmill and into a small pond teeming with goldfish.

Surprisingly, I talked him into giving rock climbing a try. Granted, it was a twenty-foot rock wall inside a sporting goods store with all kinds of safety gear, thankfully, but he did try. I gave the guy props. I decided not to venture out into the athletic realm after that.

“I guess you were born to be a lover, not a fighter,” I said when we got back to his office for a little medical attention. I placed a bandage over the cut on his cheek from his run-in with the rock wall.

“Oh . . . um . . . tell me again, what are you
planning to put on the wall above my desk?” he asked, trying to deflect my flirting.

I guided him into his new leather chair, cupped his face in my hands, and leaning very close to his face I said, “I told you three times already. It’s a surprise.” And to help him remember I kissed his right cheek, then his left, each kiss landing very close to his lips. When his ears burned red, I kissed each also.

We also ran together every morning. His frustration grew as he struggled to find a safe hobby to enjoy. I’d noticed how well he did with running and suggested we train for a marathon.

“When you run, you seem to stay focused, like you do when you’re working in the ER
,” I pointed out one morning after a grueling run on a particularly hot morning.

“Do you know how many injuries we treat after a marathon?” he frowned. “Too many. I’ll stick to casual running.”

“You and your statistics.”

“In the ER, I’m able to stay focused because I enjoy my job. It’s enough of a challenge to keep my mind in the game,” he explained, after taking a long cool drink of water from his water bottle. “And when I run, I clear all thoughts from my head and concentrate on running. Things like bowling and mini golf don’t take a lot of concentration and my mind tends to wander.”

When I bit my lower lip and suggested I knew an activity that would hold his concentration, he abruptly left my apartment, claiming he had an early morning meeting he’d forgotten about.

Maggie, too, was impressed with Cole’s office and begged me to help her put the finishing touches on her wedding. She opened up to me at lunch one afternoon about her mother, a cruel, bitter alcoholic, and the struggles she had growing up.

The more I got to know her and Seth the more sure I was Daddy had lied to me about what happened here three years ago, only why? Not wanting to chance that somehow Daddy monitored my cell phone and internet usage, I drove to the library twice wanting to look up what exactly happened in Port Fare three years ago. Each time I sat in the parking lot, not having the guts to get out of my car and go inside. I simply didn’t want to know.
Vintage Delilah Dreser:
When the going gets tough, I get going
.

Booker asked me over to talk finances, inviting Cole to come along for dinner after
word. I only agreed because it meant spending more time with Cole. How could I help Daddy take Seth and Booker’s money now that I knew them? The stress of going against Daddy triggered even more nightmares. I stayed up late most nights painting, hoping to relax myself enough to avoid them. It didn’t work. They still came.

With my favorite pair of green capris and a yellow daisy print shirt, I flattened my hair as best I could and decided to forgo what little makeup I usually wore. Booker watched me constantly when he was around. I suspected he
was trying to place my face. Dinner at his house might be a real challenge. I hoped to steer the conversation to the wedding, which was in two days, to help keep Booker occupied.

“You look nice, Lilah, but I’m afraid Cole’s not here yet.” Booker held open the door and I stepped into his home. Despite the fact that it needed a woman’s touch to soften it up, it was beautiful. The impressive
family room sported dark oak bookshelves and a huge wooden grandfather clock in the corner. A black Lab came over to greet me.

“What a pretty dog. What’s her name?” I asked
, rubbing the dog’s ear. Her black eyes squinted shut in ecstasy.

“Daisy May. She’s Maggie’s dog.”

“Are you dog sitting?” I asked.

“No. Long story,” was all he said. He gave the dog a few pats and a rawhide bone he picked up next to her dish. She took the bone and trotted off.

Booker led me to an office off the kitchen. He was preparing dinner, and I stole a whiff as we passed the six-burner gas stove. Yum!

“Here, sit in the comfy chair.” He pulled out the large
, brown leather chair from his massive dark oak desk for me. He grabbed a smaller chair from across the room and sat next to me.

“
These are some safe investments I’ve done,” he said, tapping a small pile of papers. “These are more risky, and therefore have a higher profit margin.” He pointed to a larger stack to the left. “I’m not sure just how aggressive you are.”

I looked at him and smiled. “Very. I checked my account this morning. I’d like to start out with five thousand if that’s okay. That must seem like chump changed to you,” I said
, looking over the high risk pile. He’d invested hundreds of thousands of dollars at a time. One investment dating three months after Alan and Bill were killed was for over a million dollars. Part of Daddy’s money? My heart sank. Booker really did steal from Daddy—at least, it looked that way.

“Lilah, you have to start somewhere. Every little penny will add up if you’re careful.” He rifled through a third file on his desk, grabbing a yellow sheet of paper and setting it in front of me. “Last year—” his phone rang, interrupting him.

“Gatto,” he said into the phone.

He then covered the phone and said, “I have to take this. I’ll be right back. Go ahead and look over the investment sheets. Take notes if you’d like.” I nodded to his back as he walked out, closing the door behind him.

Too easy. Way too easy. I flipped through the folds and wrote down the numbers to his bank accounts and his credit cards. I even found his social security number on several different forms and copied it, too. I quickly slipped the paper into my wallet. I reorganized everything into piles and waited for him to return, all the while fighting the sick feeling crawling its way up my spine.

When the office door opened, instead of Booker, in strolled Mr. Tall, Blond, and Delicious . . . in blue scrubs. The guy needed to do some serious clothes shopping.

“I do believe I’m asleep.”

“Why?” Cole asked with trepidation as he crossed the large office with his long legs.

“Because you’re quite dreamy.”

He rolled his eyes and laughed. “That’s pretty cheesy.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.” I stood, attempting to draw him into an embrace. He caught my hands and led me out into the dining area to a beautiful wood table and Booker.

“Booker built this,” Cole said as we sat. “Nice, huh?”

“Very. You’re a talented woodworker, you know how to invest wisely, and if the food tastes half as good as it smells, you’re a terrific cook.” I scooped up some green beans as I spoke. “Is there anything you can’t do?”