With a Little Help (15 page)

He'd spoken to Cherie between her patient appoint
ments, and had practically heard her eyebrows lift when he told her. She'd said she couldn't talk to her daughter then, but that she'd come and see her tomorrow. Nate intended to hold her to the promise.

Ignoring Cherie's evident impatience with the discussion, he asked why Emma found confined, dark spaces so distressing. “She handled the CPR like a veteran, but by the time she got out of the cellar, she was almost on the point of collapse.”

“We've never had a cellar or anything similar,” Cherie said, sounding puzzled. “As a child, she hated going through tunnels and games like hide-and-seek, but I don't know why.”

In some ways, Cherie knew less about Emma than he did. “As a clinician, you'd have found her reaction worrying if you'd seen it,” he pointed out.

“Hmm. I'll talk to Greg tonight and see if he has any clues.” With that, Nate had to be content.

No wonder Emma struggled with her family. Cherie had sounded as if Emma's bravery was only to be expected. And surely this wasn't the first time she'd shown symptoms of a full-blown phobia? Weren't any of them concerned about her? Nate sure as hell was. This time he couldn't kid himself his interest was medical.

He hadn't wanted to feel so strongly about Emma, but there were some things a man couldn't fight. Such as a woman getting under his skin as surely as if she'd inserted a central IV line directly to his heart.

At least he was man enough to put Emma's feelings first. She didn't want to be involved with anyone in his profession, and his own family experience made it easy to understand her reasons. It didn't stop him from trying to help her, though.

From Grace, he was aware of the gossip doing the rounds of the hospital about Emma sharing his house. He wouldn't be surprised if Cherie was fueling some of it. Not that he minded as much as he might have once. Having his name coupled with Emma's was starting to feel alarmingly comfortable.

Like the way she looked now, asleep in her bed in the housekeeper's suite.

Comfortable and about eighteen, he decided. An improvement on her near panic and nausea earlier. He had to resist the urge to smooth the hair away from her face as she slept.

He'd found it tough enough keeping his hands to himself while she showered and changed. For once, he'd managed the kitchen, insisting she take things easy. Okay, with one hand, he could only heat up the frittata she'd prepared yesterday, and put together a basic salad, but she'd reacted as if he'd done something remarkable. He'd felt ten feet tall.

She had a knack for appreciating small things. When he'd been with Pamela, two dozen roses were barely enough. With Emma, he had a feeling a single perfect bloom would send her into raptures. He made a mental note to test the theory soon.

Seeing his home through her eyes was also an education. The kitchen he'd rarely used was turning into a place of warmth while he watched. Meals he'd have eaten without noticing were now savored. He'd read a quote from Aldous Huxley that most human beings had an almost infinite capacity for taking things for granted. Emma turned that notion completely on its head. Brave new world, indeed.

He'd meant to tell her he'd spoken to her mother, but hadn't been able to bring himself to spoil the mood. By bedtime, he still hadn't said anything, telling himself she'd been through enough for one day. When he'd offered her his room, wanting no more than to keep a medical eye on her, she'd insisted she was fine in the housekeeper's suite but had agreed to let him look in on her once she was changed and in bed.

When he did, he saw that the suite was more homey with her things scattered around. After a matter of days the rooms looked lived-in, the decorator accessories mingling with a couple of scented candles, a kookaburra soft toy and some hair doodads.

Exhausted, she must have fallen asleep almost immediately. Her hair was down now, falling across the pillow. In the glow of a night-light, the strands shone red-gold, making him want to bury his face in their softness. Instead, he settled his head back against the recliner chair, stretched his long legs in front of him, and simply watched.

 

E
MMA WAS RUNNING, THE LOW
-hanging branches slapping her as she tore through them. Her breathing was loud and her heart almost bumped out of her chest. The sound was nearly as loud as when her father had let her listen to her heartbeat through his stethoscope.

Instinct told her the harder she ran, the closer she'd get to Gramma Jessie's house. Except she couldn't see the house through the thick bush, and all she could hear was the creek running over rocks. Stumbling, she noticed a patch of red flowers. They were the only red flowers she'd seen, and there was the big black rock behind them. She was running in circles, not getting closer to home, but more and more lost.

A sob erupted from her throat but she pushed it back. Daddy said big girls didn't cry. They thought about what they needed to do, and then did it. But he hadn't been lost in the bush, chased by an angry bee because she'd picked the wild flower he was feeding on. She hadn't meant to take his flower, but the bee wouldn't stop chasing her.

Suddenly the earth gave way underneath her. A huge tree had fallen over, leaving a hole where its roots had been torn out of the ground. She tried to slow her headlong rush, but her feet slipped and she slid down, down, down until she landed at the bottom of the hole, all the breath rushing out of her. Soil rained down around her, over her clothes and hair. If it didn't stop, they'd never find her. She clawed at the
soft earth, screaming for her father as the blackness threatened to swallow her up.

 

“E
MMA, WAKE UP.
Y
OU'RE SAFE
.”

She fought as hard as she could against the tree roots tangling around her, then slowly realized where she was. The roots were strong male arms holding her, making her feel secure. “Nate?”

He nodded. “You were having a nightmare.”

“Did I wake you?” She must have been loud enough to bring him from the other side of the house.

“I wasn't far away.”

Then her vision cleared and she saw the still-rocking chair and the blanket he'd tossed aside in his haste to get to her. “You've been here all night?”

“I was worried. You did so well with Doug, then fell apart.”

She tried for lightness. “Story of my life.”

His hold tightened. “I don't buy that, and neither should you. You're a strong woman, Emma. Stronger than you know.”

Her voice felt strangled. “How can you say that?” All her life she'd been told what she couldn't do. How could Nate have such faith in her? She tried to identify what else she could see shining in his eyes, and resisted putting it into words. Afraid to be wrong.

“Easily. Doug Armstrong is alive today because you faced your greatest fear to save him.”

Still feeling the effects of the nightmare, she tried to see what he was getting at. “Fear? I don't understand.”

Nate ran his hand over her tangled hair. “I suspect this fear goes much deeper. Tell me what you remember from your nightmare.”

E
MMA FELT HER JAW SET.
“Not much. It was only a bad dream.”

“Then tell me the bits you do remember.”

He was taking her seriously, she thought, and her emotions were raw enough that for once, just once, she felt safe sharing the dream with another person. No censure lurked in Nate's gaze. No surface reassurance. But no letting her dismiss her experience as unimportant, either. “I was afraid. Terribly, terribly frightened.”

As her breath quickened, she felt him massage the small of her back, the circular movements sure and comforting through her nightdress. And arousing enough that she wanted to pull his head down and draw his mouth close enough to kiss.

He wasn't going to be sidetracked, though. “Frightened of what?”

“That's just it, I don't know. I knew when I was in the dream, but like always, when I woke up the details vanished.”

“You've had this dream before?”

“On and off for years. Not recently, though.”

He frowned. “Until something triggered it again. You were in the cellar with Doug, it was dark, confined, probably felt damp—”

“Don't,” she cut in, her voice hoarse. “You're not my doctor.”

“Just as well, since I'm your lover,” he said.

“We made love. It's not the same.” She wouldn't let it be the same.

His expression darkened. Now what? “I won't push if you don't want me to. But I think you do. And one thing about us doctors, we're good at keeping secrets.”

“No,” she protested sharply. “I don't like secrets.”

“Is this dream about a secret, Emma?”

She tried to push him away but he held fast. At the mention of secrets, her expression had gone blank and when she spoke, her voice sounded as if she was back in the dream of being four years old, confirmed when she said, “Yes…. no. Daddy said we should keep this a secret.”

Oh, God, no.
Nate felt dread ram a fist down his throat. “Why, Emma?”

“He didn't want my mother to worry.”

“That was long ago. You can tell the secret now. Your mother would want to know.” He prayed he was telling the truth.

Emma's beautiful face had become masklike, confirming his suspicion that she was reliving the event
in her mind. “I wasn't supposed to wander off. I was picking flowers for Gramma Jessie. She likes flowers. There was a bee in one. I dropped the flower but he chased me all the way to the creek.”

This wasn't what he'd expected to hear. “What happened then?”

“I got lost. Really, really lost. Then I fell in the hole where the tree toppled over after the storm yesterday. It left this big dark, damp hole taller than me.” Her voice wavered, fell silent.

He shook her gently to bring her out of the memory. “Emma, sweetheart, this wasn't yesterday. You remembered something you went through a long time ago. It's in the past and can't hurt you now.”

She gave her head a little shake. The mask was replaced by an expression so open, so vulnerable that his heart ached. Was he the first to hear this story? The level of trust that implied blew his mind. At the same time, he felt relief at seeing her become fully aware of he surroundings again. “Do you remember what happened after you fell in that hole?”

“Dirt showered down on me.” Her voice sounded steadier. “I couldn't climb out. I thought I was going to be buried.”

Being buried alive was a fear so primal, people had placed breathing devices in coffins just in case. He suppressed a shudder. “What happened then?”

“I don't know. Wait. Yes, I do. I started singing to calm myself.”

The thought of Emma as a little girl, suffering that way, made him want to rip an unfeeling universe apart with his hands. “You were strong even then, sweetheart.”

She gave him a rueful look. “My father didn't think so. He heard me and pulled me out, then told me off for getting lost. He didn't want to hear about the bee.”

Nate wanted to shout with relief. It wasn't what he'd feared after all. “He was probably out of his mind with worry. Parents of lost kids often say they'll hug the child first, then threaten what they'll do to them if they ever run off again.”

Her smile turned wistful. “I think my dad forgot the hugging part.”

Nate made up for it now, clamping her against his chest as if he never intended to let her go. He felt her heart beating against him, lovely, strong heartbeat. Lovely, strong woman. While he still could, he released his hold, but kept an arm around her. “Are you sure?”

“About the hugging? I don't know. I mostly remember the yelling and how cold and angry he was. He insisted that I shouldn't tell my mother what happened.”

“Did he explain why?”

“He said it would be our secret so my mother wouldn't get upset with me for going near the creek. Until now, I'd forgotten about falling in the hole.”

“You repressed the memory,” Nate said. “But it surfaced in your dream tonight. When you got out of the cellar, you were almost in shock, so I knew something else was affecting you.”

“I'm sorry for making such a fool of myself.”

“Don't,” he snapped, his tone bringing her head up. “Don't apologize for being human. Courage isn't rushing headlong into danger. It's being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway. By that reckoning, you're a true hero.”

Emma felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from her shoulders. Knowing why she hated dark places might not remove the fear, but understanding was a start. “Thank you,” she said softly.

She let herself reach up and find his mouth as she'd wanted to do since she awoke. The instant her lips met his, it set off a chain reaction of yearning.

With the bedcovers layered between them, body contact was limited, but she felt his muscles tighten as she pressed closer. His hand pulled her against the hardness of his chest. Nightmares and fears dissolved into needs and desires.

When he tried to stroke her hair with his splinted hand, she heard his throaty sound of frustration. To help, she linked her hands around his neck, clinging so he didn't have to support her, freeing his good hand to cup her nape. The sensation was unbelievable.

“Your hair smells wonderful,” he murmured, burying his face against her neck. “Like a garden.”

“My shampoo,” she said. He kissed the hollow at her nape and along her collarbone. He probably knew the clinical name for every bone in her body. All she knew was that bones could melt when kissed.

She was well into the melting stage when he pulled away.

He gathered himself with visible effort. “You're not up to this.”

Disappointment shivered through her. “I thought we agreed you aren't my doctor.”

“But I do care about you.”

Not in the way she wanted him to, apparently. She resisted the urge to pull the bedcovers prudishly around her, and cloaked herself in dignity instead. “And you don't like the feeling.”

“I like it well enough.”

His guarded tone chilled her. “Then what's the problem?”

Levering himself to his feet, he began to pace. “You're the problem. We're both the problem for each other.” He swung around. “You've told me often enough you don't want to get involved with a doctor.”

Hard to see how she could get any more deeply involved. “Are you trying to say you have regrets?”

“Of course I do. Not about making love to you. Never that.”

“Then what?”

He gestured around them. “Dragging you into my
life. I saw what being married to a doctor did to my mother. I won't do that to you.”

“You don't have to. Things can change.” Who was she trying to convince?

“I'm an all-or-nothing man. There isn't room for anything besides my career.”

“Nate, that might have been true once. But you've already changed. When you were told you could return to surgery in another couple of weeks, you looked…I don't know…disappointed.”

“I admit I wasn't as thrilled about the prospect as I thought I'd be.”

“Do you know why?” When he looked as if he was about to protest, she held up her hands. “Fair's fair. You had your turn digging around in my psyche.”

“No hidden secrets, no surprises. What you see is what you get.”

“Except I don't
get
anything.”

“It's nearly daylight; Joanna will be arriving soon.”

“Oh, you fight dirty, Dr. Hale. What if I told you I don't care if she finds us in bed together?” Emma was surprised to discover it was the truth.

He released her hands from his neck, kissing her fingers before he stood up, causing her heart to give a slight skip. “I believe you, but it isn't that simple. Your parents are coming to see you this morning.”

“They're coming here? Why?”

“I told them what happened yesterday.”

Her heart jolted, then anger flooded through her. “You shouldn't have, Nate. It's not as if I was hurt or anything.”

She flung the covers away to see that her nightgown had ridden up. His gaze heated at the sight of her long legs. “When will you stop deciding what's good for me?”

“Would you have told them yourself?”

She dragged a robe from the foot of the bed and jerkily pushed her arms into the sleeves. “Eventually.”

He angled one shoulder against the door frame. “I thought it was time they heard something good about their daughter.”

“I can imagine my mother's excitement.”

His eyes narrowed. “She's relieved you're okay. And impressed that you saved Doug's life.”

Emma couldn't mask the flicker of hope. “Really?” When Nate didn't answer right away, she dropped her gaze. “That's what I thought.”

“They want the best for you,” he suggested.

She gathered her hair off her neck and secured the twist with a clip. “Their definition of
best
is me marrying a doctor so I fit into their world…your world.”

“A moment ago, you didn't think that was such a bad idea.”

“Nobody said anything about marrying. A moment ago, I wanted you to make love to me.”

“And now?”

“I still want you to.”
Did he have any idea how much?
“But you've invited my parents over, so the question is moot.”

“What does
moot
mean, anyway?”

Her eyes snapped. “In this case, it means impractical. I'm not going to be having sex when my parents arrive.”

“Then we're taking a rain check?”

Mindful of his wrist, she gave him a gentle but firm push. “You're getting out of here while I shower and dress, then I'll make breakfast.”

Once again he surprised her by having the table set and French toast sizzling when she joined him in the kitchen. “How did you manage one-handed?”

“I talked Joanna through making the egg mixture last night, so I only had to soak the sliced bread and toss it into a pan. Electric can opener took care of the berries, which I'm warming. All you have to do is sit down at the table and eat.”

Unused to being waited on, Emma played with the cutlery. Villeroy & Boch, like the dinnerware, she noticed idly. Must be a favorite of Nate's. Unless his decorator had made the choice for him. How did you read a man without clues to his personal tastes? The lack of clues were in themselves clues, she decided, resting her chin on her hand. Nate didn't have time to decorate his own home. How much time would he have for love when a partner couldn't be outsourced
like so much of his life? Everything besides medicine.
And why do I care?

Confusion rolled through her. He was in a kitchen he barely knew his way around, cooking a meal for her. He was either still in medical mode and considering her well-being, or she meant something to him. He was certainly starting to mean more to her, she acknowledged, pensively twirling a fork. Letting him think she only wanted sex wasn't wholly honest. She wanted him, period. Waking up to him this morning had felt so right.

Oh, Ma, you would be planning the wedding if you could hear me thinking.
The idea wasn't as impossible as Emma had once believed. She could actually imagine herself walking down the aisle toward Nate.

Get real, she ordered herself. He didn't want the commitment, and she was dreaming if she thought life with Nate would be different from growing up in her family. He'd said himself he didn't want them to end up like his parents, driven apart by work pressures. Why wasn't her heart paying attention?

Nate was the injured one; she'd been hired to feed him. She jumped to her feet, determined to set him straight on their relationship, but he was coming through the door carrying a plate. “I'll be back with mine,” he said, putting the plate in front of her.

She couldn't help it. She gaped. He'd not only cooked the French toast to puffy perfection, but
dusted it with sugar and mounded the drained berries carefully between the slices. Good grief, he'd even spotted drops of strawberry syrup around the edge of the plate by way of presentation.

With a bump, she sat down. “Where did you learn to do this?” she asked when he returned with his plate.

“I worked my way through medical school as a barista in a café.”

Now she knew why he made good coffee. “But the food presentation?”

“Observation is a key skill in medicine. I watched and learned.”

“But you never cook.”

“What's the point when I'm only making dinner for one? Eat before this gets cold.”

She ate. The creamy French toast contrasted deliciously with the tartness of the unsweetened berries. “This is good,” she said around a mouthful.

He reached across the table and dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Berry juice. Do you still think I'm a one-trick pony?”

“I'm sure you have others, but don't choose to use them.” She gestured with her fork. “This for example. You have the makings of a passable cook.”