When Hearts Collide (13 page)

The chirping of sparrows outside her window woke Molly and she glanced out the bedroom window. The sun beat down, evaporating the evidence of the past three days of rain. Fluffy white clouds floated like snails across a brilliant blue sky. It was going to be a wonderful day, especially if some of that sun infused Gracie and Pearce’s moods.

Gracie had started having temper tantrums again and Molly was at her wits end keeping her occupied. Pearce was no better. He seemed to have been in a snappy mood ever since she had returned from her dinner with Doctor Graham. It would be good for everyone to get out of the house.

She tiptoed down the hall and peaked in on Gracie. The child lay on her back, her breathing even, her face resembling a chubby cherub. No pouting lower lip, no whiny cry, no uncontrollable tears, no evidence of yesterday’s temper. Molly let her sleep.

What side of the bed would Pearce wake up on?

Should she check on him? He’d been off the intravenous antibiotics for two days now, yet she was still in the routine of staying up till midnight to give the dose and then waking at six to give the next one.

It seemed like something was missing—not having to administer the intravenous medication, and going into Pearce’s room in the middle of the night.

The thought of her nightly forays to his room set her imagination off and running. Like his daughter, he slept on his back. Molly couldn’t shake the vision of Pearce, his body spread-eagled, the sheet wrapped around his waist, his chest exposed. He reminded her of a Greek god.

How often had her gaze followed the triangle of dark, wavy hair to where it disappeared under the edge of the crisp white sheet, skimming over the material, then focusing again on the length of his long muscular legs. It wasn’t the cast, or the circulation of his toes beyond the cast, that drew her attention. Instead, she imagined those long limbs entwined with hers. Prickles of heat spread up her arms, leaving a crimson trail behind.

She gave her head a shake. This had to stop. Talk about teenagers and their raging hormones. She needed a cold shower, but she’d just gotten out of one fifteen minutes before.

Resting after a vigorous physiotherapy session, Pearce positioned the wheelchair in front of the desk so he could do paperwork yet watch the garden.

Molly and Gracie were playing fetch with Trooper. A smile came to his lips. She was so good with the child. With Molly’s nurturing, Gracie had come out of her shell and blossomed. She no longer clung to him or Molly, her nightmares were less frequent, and she was bubbly and happy most of the time. Her previously pale cheeks now had a healthy blush, and she was more confident, more exuberant. It warmed his heart to hear her laughter echoing through their house.

Pearce leaned back on the chair’s leather headrest and watched Molly and Gracie run through the sprinkler. Trooper trotted behind them, enjoying the water as much as the humans. With the tight wet curls framing her face, Molly looked like an angel.

The temperature had soared into the eighties, and she wore a pair shorts and a tank top. Pierce had trouble keeping his eyes off the legs that seemed to go on forever. From her time in the sun, they were tanned to a golden brown. The cotton shorts hugged her hips, and Pierce was drawn to the rounded shape the material concealed.

He knew he should look away, but the picture was so tantalizing, especially when she bent to fix Gracie’s shoes. His fingers tingled at the thought of tracing the curve of those tanned legs, of caressing those shapely calves, of slowly extending upward along the arch of her buttocks.

When the vee of her tank top exposed mounds of flesh, he ached to let his fingers creep up to the tempting swell of her breasts. Heat that had nothing to do with the outside temperature surged through him, engorging him.

At that moment, Molly glanced toward the house, blushing as if she knew he’d been watching her. She quickly turned her attention back to Gracie.

Pearce forced his mind back to his work. He had to stop thinking about her. It was pleasant, the sensations she aroused, but it was leading nowhere. He didn’t want anyone complicating his life, and this woman would be gone as soon as he was better.

He pulled a file out of the drawer and spread the papers across the desk. He had read the report three times. Maybe Molly was right. Maybe it was too soon to get back to work. He was definitely having trouble concentrating, but how much of that was from the distraction she provided?

Pearce heard the door slide open and looked up. Molly stood there, her scent wafting into the room ahead of her. The sun streaming through the casement window created a gleaming crown on the waves of her crimson hair. Removing his glasses, he leaned back in the chair, and smiled up at her. At his direct gaze, he saw her quick indrawn breath and noticed the blush kiss her cheeks.

Approaching the desk, Molly watched him for a second before speaking. “You should be resting. You’re not ready to get back to work.”

“I have work to deal with.” He smiled slowly. “There are things that can’t wait.”

“You can’t keep pushing yourself. You have to give your body time to recover.”

“I can’t stand this. I have things I need to do.” Pearce shook his head.

Molly’s voice was soothing. “If you push yourself and get overtired, you may have a relapse.”

He swore under his breath. “I hate this. I’m not used to being sick.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Molly laid her hand on his arm. He covered hers with his own and felt the heat radiating from her body.

“No.” He shook his head and smiled apologetically. “No, it’s legal documents for a client.”

“Can’t your partner handle it?” Molly asked.

“He’ll have to.” Pearce’s shoulders sagged even lower. “After I call him, could you help me back to bed?” His grin was lopsided. “I guess I better take my nurse’s advice and rest.” He reached down and rubbed his leg above the cast. “And maybe one of those magic pain pills.”

Pearce watched Molly pull back the covers on the bed, not fully paying attention to his telephone conversation arranging for his partner to come the next morning. He’d barely replaced the receiver, before Molly grasped the handles of the wheelchair and maneuvered it close to the bed. The scent of her cologne wafted around him, making him dizzy. He felt his heart rate accelerate and a now familiar tingle run up and down his spine.

“Do you want anything before I settle you?”

“Just one of those pain pills.” He grinned at her. “And you to hold my hand until I fall asleep.”

As soon as the words crossed his lips, he saw Molly’s cheeks flush. What if he’d told her the rest of what he wanted? What if he told her his imagination was working overtime as he had an unbidden urge to pull her onto the bed, and have her lie down beside him.

Ignoring his spoken request, and his imagined one, Molly barely took the time to drop a pill on the bedside table before fleeing the room.

Molly didn’t think anything of it when Gracie picked at her breakfast, but when she did the same at lunch, red flags went up. She examined the child. Did she look pale, or was Molly imagining it?

“Gracie, do you feel all right?”

“Not hungry.”

“Do you want to lie down for a bit?”

“No.”

The sound came out as a whine. Gracie, usually a bundle of energy, refused any thought of a nap and tried her best to prolong bedtime as long as possible. Molly expected a vehement denial, not a docile refusal. She recalled the morning and the previous night, trying to remember if there’d been any other signs. Gracie hadn’t wakened in the night, hadn’t been coughing, and she hadn’t complained of any pain. But she didn’t seem her usual self.

Molly reviewed what she knew about childhood illnesses. What signs should she be looking for—fever, rash, fatigue? Had the child had chickenpox or measles? Molly prayed it wasn’t either of those. Watching Gracie pick at her lunch, she wondered if Pearce even had a thermometer.

“Gracie, do you feel hot?” Molly put her hand on the child’s forehead. It was cool, but she would check it with a thermometer anyway. “Does your tummy hurt?”

Gracie nodded.

“Where does it hurt, honey?”

When Gracie patted her belly button, Molly wondered about appendicitis, but the pain didn’t seem bad enough, and it was in the middle of her abdomen. If it became worse or radiated to her lower right side, she would have Doctor Graham check her.

She crossed to Pearce’s office. “Do you have a thermometer? I think Gracie may be coming down with something. She’s been picking at her food all day and doesn’t want to play.”

“Maybe she just ate too much yesterday.” Pearce tipped his head. He was trying to reassure her, yet Molly still felt uneasy. Gracie was usually so active that cartoons only held her attention for ten minutes before she was up to something else. Now she lay on the couch in the family room, quietly watching Dora and Diego search for treasure.

Pearce grabbed his crutches and followed Molly into the family room where he sat on the couch beside his daughter. “Do you have a tummy ache, Gracie?”

She sniffed. “Just want to watch Dora.”

He pulled the child into the curve of his arms, and let her blond head rest on his chest. Her eyelids looked heavy as she tried to focus on the television. Molly checked her temperature. Still normal. Without disturbing his daughter, Pearce stretched out a hand and waved her over. “Come and sit with us, Molly.”

“I need to put the wash in, and clean up the kitchen.”

“No, you should come and sit with us. Right Gracie?”

Then both of them were smiling at her, twin smiles that shot arrows straight through her heart. One arrow struck the soft maternal side of her heart. The other struck like a flaming dart, setting off desires she was trying hard to suppress. Neither arrow could she resist. Her legs seemed to move on their own volition, and before she realized it, she stood beside the couch. She went to sit on the chair across from them, but Gracie protested.

“Come here, Molly Mommy.” Gracie lifted tired, pleading eyes, and Molly felt like Play Dough waiting to be molded by the child’s soft plump hands.

Reluctantly, she sat beside her two charges. The closeness to Pearce set off her internal furnace. Molly shifted on the couch, trying to keep her hip from coming into contact with Pearce’s. But his weight created a larger dip, and she kept sliding against him.

This was too close. She should be worrying about a sick child, not the havoc the child’s father’s closeness created in her body. She should move away, move away as fast as her feet could carry her, but Gracie had shifted, stretching her body so that it lay across both adults. Reluctant to move for fear of disturbing her, Molly remained, stopped her shifting and let her body rest against Pearce. Within minutes, the child was asleep, trapping both adults.

Pearce shrugged and gave her his mischievous wink that sent tingles raging through her. What could she do? She tried to focus on Dora, but her mind was on matters that would surely make the cartoon character’s blush more vividly than the raspberry pink of her cotton T-shirt.

To make matters worse, Pearce seemed immensely happy with the situation. After a few minutes, he stretched his free arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She resisted briefly, but oh, she felt so safe. She would just rest her head against his chest for a few moments, maybe close her eyes, maybe pretend that this was all real, pretend that she was part of this family.

Gracie’s voice woke her. “I’m thirsty.”

Startled, Molly looked around the family room. How long had she slept? The sun still shone through the bay window. She glanced at the digital reading on the clock, 4:30. She’d slept for over an hour, and from the drowsy look in Pearce’s eyes, he too had succumbed. Grateful for the chance to escape, Molly disentangled herself and hurried out of the room. She returned with drinks for Pearce and Gracie, but this time refused the temptation of her previous spot on the couch and insisted she had chores to do.

She busied herself making a light supper, but all the while she was fraught with questions. What was she doing? Where was this leading? Molly knew she was headed on a treacherous path, one that could only end with a tumble down heartbreak ridge.

When she returned to the family room with soup and sandwiches, she sat at the opposite end of the couch putting distance—emotional and physical—between herself and Pearce. Despite the urge to stay and feel a part of her temporarily adopted family, Molly left them watching cartoons.

She checked Gracie’s temperature several times over the afternoon and though it remained normal, Molly kept a close eye on her. Gracie only nibbled on her food, and at bedtime, there was no protest from the child. She was asleep before Molly read halfway through a story. After tucking the sheets around her, Molly checked on Pearce, then headed to bed with a romance novel. At least it would have a happy ending.

Molly lay in the darkened room, listening to the sounds of the night. What had woken her? She listened to the wind rustling the leaves in the trees outside her window, the rumble of water pipes, the patter of rain on the shingles, but instinctively knew those sounds hadn’t woken her.

She heard soft cries coming from the room next door. She jumped out of bed and grabbed the housecoat she’d left on the chair. She didn’t bother with slippers. Molly pushed open the door and hurried to Gracie’s bed.

The nightlight shed a diffuse illumination to the room. Gracie lay on her back, her cheeks crimson in an otherwise pale face. Whimpering in her sleep, she twisted restlessly, tangling her body in the sheets. Damp blond curls matted her face and her breathing was faster and more labored than normal. Molly touched her forehead. It burned her fingertips. When had the fever started?

Molly placed the thermometer under the child’s armpit and waited anxiously for the digital response. It beeped—104. Too high!

Gracie roused to take some Tylenol and a few sips of water. Molly sponged her down with a cool washcloth. The child barely protested. When Molly was finished, Gracie wrapped her hot arms around Molly’s neck and snuggled against her. Lying down beside the child, Molly wiped the damp strands of hair from her face. She held the blazing body and waited for the Tylenol to kick in. The child moaned several times, then fell into a fitful sleep.

Molly tried to keep her eyes from closing, but she was so tired. She knew she should tell Pearce about the temperature, but the way Gracie clung to her made it impossible to disengage herself without waking her. Molly didn’t want to leave her alone. With her high fever, Gracie could have a febrile seizure.

It was the longest thirty minutes Molly had ever spent. Finally the medication began to work, Gracie’s body cooled, and she slept peacefully. When Molly was sure her fever was down, she tiptoed out of the room and down the stairs.

Pearce snored softly. Should she let him sleep? Gracie’s fever was down, at least for now. But if it were her child, she would want to be woken no matter what. She reached out her hand.

He roused with a gentle shake of his shoulder and stared up at her with sleep-hazed eyes. Then he was smiling. His lips curved in a tempting come-hither look that almost distracted her from the reason for her visit.

“Gracie has a fever.”

“Is she okay?”

“I gave her Tylenol. The fever’s come down, for now.”

He threw the covers off. “I’ll come up.”

Molly increased the pressure on the hand she had forgotten was still on Pearce’s shoulder. “She’s okay now. The fever is under control.”

“Please, Molly, help me up.”

“I’m going back up with her now. Why don’t you stay here? I’ll come get you if the fever returns.”

“Are you sure?”