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Once a Good Girl...
Wendy S. Marcus
Prim Victoria Forley’s life changed forever the night she slept with Kyle Karlinsky, baddest boy in town. These days, single mum and uber-perfectionist nurse Victoria has goals that nothing – not even Kyle’s shocking reappearance! – can derail. But behind Victoria’s oh-so-frosty exterior is a heat that only Kyle can unleash…maybe it’s the right time to be with the wrong guy after all?
Once a Good Girl…
Wendy S. Marcus
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u052c8400-8193-59c0-9c19-80c08d67b702)
Title Page (#uc0fbd00c-8df4-5d06-82f2-1fd45f972b10)
Praise (#uc287acd0-9eef-5093-9825-7f7cd7987c8d)
About the Author (#u05b999b0-05f5-57d0-af4f-62861de805f2)
Dedication (#u1cde6c91-3ef8-56cf-85e1-2d17eb1f41a8)
CHAPTER ONE (#ub53c4438-163d-5cc6-a6a5-34bafe7306b4)
CHAPTER TWO (#u7e498252-14ff-5a0a-8cdd-c389a56524cf)
CHAPTER THREE (#u31420b5e-888a-57b5-9334-fa0ad56b51e3)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Praise for Wendy S. Marcus
“Readers are bound to feel empathy
for both the hero and heroine. Each has a uniquely
disastrous past and these complications help to make the
moment when Jared and Allison are able to give their
hearts to the other all the more touching.”
—RT Book Reviews on When One Night Isn’t Enough 4 Stars
About the Author
WENDY S. MARCUS is not a lifelong reader. As a child, she never burrowed under her covers with a flashlight and a good book. In senior English, she skimmed the classics, reading the bare minimum required to pass the class. Wendy found her love of reading later in life, in a box of old paperbacks at a school fundraiser where she was introduced to the romance genre in the form of a Harlequin Superromance. Since that first book, she’s been a voracious reader of romance often times staying up way too late to reach the happy ending before letting herself go to sleep.
Wendy lives in the beautiful Hudson Valley region of New York with her husband, two of their three children, and their beloved dog, Buddy. A nurse by trade, Wendy has a master’s degree in health care administration. After years of working in the medical profession, she’s taken a radical turn to writing hot contemporary romances with strong heroes, feisty heroines, and lots of laughs. Wendy loves hearing from readers. Please visit her blog at www.WendySMarcus.com
Dear Reader
People often ask me how I come up with my characters. Are they based on any one person? Should they fear winding up in one of my books? I laugh and answer, �You never know.’ But the truth is my characters are a conglomeration of traits and habits from lots of different people.
As for Victoria, the heroine in the book you are about to read, I’d say she has a bit of me in her. I am a perfectionist, a hard worker, and I am determined to achieve whatever goals I set for myself. While I didn’t have to overcome the obstacles Victoria did, I attended night school to earn my Masters in Health Care Administration while working full time. At the age of twenty-eight I took over as Director of Patient Services for a large licensed home healthcare services agency—a job I absolutely loved.
But with the birth of my second child the measurement of my success changed from a red BMW and a pay-cheque with six figures to being the kind of mom I’d always hoped to be—one who attended school parties and arrived home in time to get her children off the bus. So I left my then dream job and created new opportunities for myself.
I wonder if Victoria would choose the same path. Probably not.
If you’re new to my books, I introduced Victoria in my debut Medical
Romance, WHEN ONE NIGHT ISN’T ENOUGH—the first book in my Madrin Memorial Hospital series. Roxie’s story is up next. I hope you’ll take the time to read them all.
I love to hear from readers. Please visit me at: www.WendySMarcus.com
Wishing you all good things
Wendy S. Marcus
This book is dedicated to Harold Glassberg. A knowledgeable advisor. A staunch supporter. A dear friend. (And the only man gutsy enough to join my mailing list!) For giving me a reason to write and the chance to find out how much I enjoy it.
With special thanks to:
My editor, Flo Nicoll, for your wonderful suggestions and fast turnaround times.
My agent, Michelle Grajkowski, for your fierce negotiating skills and answering my many questions.
My friend, Nas Dean, for helping me with promotion and all things requiring computer savvy,
Some special writing friends, Christine Glover, Joanne Coles, and Lacey Devlin, for your supportive e-mails and blog comments.
And, as always, to my family, for putting up with all the time I spend on the computer and accepting, without complaint, that I didn’t cook dinner. Again.
CHAPTER ONE
WITH a few adept keystrokes, 5E Head Nurse Victoria Forley shot next week’s schedule off to the nursing office and closed down her computer. Today she would leave on time. She straightened her already neat desk then scanned her tiny utilitarian office to make sure everything was in its place. The memory of her son’s tear-filled eyes made her heart ache. “Why am I always the last kid picked up from afterschool program?” Jake had asked last night at dinner. “My teacher gets so mad when you’re late.”
Mad enough to put Victoria on parental probation. Three more late pick-ups and Jake would be kicked out of the program. Then what would she do?
Victoria hated that the promotion she’d fought so hard for, a bullet-point in her ten-year plan to provide her son a future filled with opportunities rather than financial constraints, significantly impacted the wide-awake hours they spent together. Although, to be honest, it wasn’t actually the job that was the problem; it was her obsessive compulsive need to achieve perfection at it. To show everyone at Madrin Memorial Hospital who thought a twenty-five-year-old wasn’t experienced enough to be the hospital’s newest head nurse that she was up to the task.
She grabbed her lab coat from the hanger hooked to the back of her door and slipped it on. A final check of her H-shaped unit and she’d be ready to go. Exiting her office, Victoria inhaled the familiar, disinfectant fresh odor of pine and scanned the white walls and floors to assure they were in pristine condition. She closed the lid on a laundry hamper and rolled two unused IV pumps into the clean utility room.
When she crossed over to the hallway of odd-numbered rooms she saw it, sitting quietly outside room 517. A shedding, allergy-inducing, pee-whenever-the-urge-hits golden retriever with a bright red bandana tied around its neck.
So, the elusive Dr. K., oncology rehabilitation specialist extraordinaire, finally deigned to put in an appearance on 5E, two hours late for their scheduled meeting. Well, now he’d have to wait for her to make herself available. And she was in no hurry to listen to him spout the merits of his program and, she was sure, begin lobbying for her support to make his dog’s position permanent.
Not likely.
While she was all for an in-house staff member coordinating a multidisciplinary approach to the rehabilitation of cancer patients and administering daily bedside physical therapy to chemo patients too exhausted or too immunosuppressed to attend PT down in the department, she didn’t see why Dr. K. needed a four-legged companion to do it. Victoria walked past the animal, who didn’t budge from his position, the slight wag of his tail the only indication he’d noticed her. Okay. So it obviously wasn’t a threat to visitors. Still. She was not a fan of unsanitary animals besmirching her unit. Unless it benefited her patients, which was why she’d agreed to hold off on casting her negative vote until after the four-week trial.
“We’ll swing by tomorrow morning,” a male voice said from inside the room. The rich, deep timbre and his words “swing by” caused a jolt of recognition.
Unease sauntered up her spine. It couldn’t be. She looked into the room anyway, had to catch a glimpse to be sure.
A man stood at the foot of bed two. The blinds closed and the lights off, she could just make out was his height: Tall. Shoulders: Full. Arms: Big. Longish, dark hair curled haphazardly over the tops of his ears, reaching the collar of his lab coat in the back. As if he felt her eyes on him, he turned to face her. An unruly swag of bangs hung at an angle, obscuring part of his forehead. Despite his unkempt appearance he was handsome in a rugged, untamed sort of way.
Great. He’d caught her staring.
“Victoria?” the man asked, and started to walk toward her.
That voice. His stride. Please, God. Not him. Victoria felt flash frozen in place. When he emerged from the darkened room into the well-lit hallway, her eyes, the only body part capable of movement, met his. A blue so pale they’d look almost colorless if not for an outer ring of deep ocean blue. Eyes she’d loved and hated in equal measure, familiar eyes in an unfamiliar face, a man’s face with a slightly crooked nose, obviously broken at some point, and strong cheek bones. A scar bisected his right eyebrow, another spliced the center of his chin.
But she’d know him anywhere.
Kyle Karlinsky.
Before she could stop it, concern flitted across her mind. What’d happened to him in the nine years he’d been gone? She mentally slapped it back. It didn’t matter, couldn’t have been worse than what she’d been through because of his irresponsible carelessness. “Victoria?” he asked. “What are you doing here?” He scanned the nametag clipped to the breast pocket of her lab coat. “You’re a nurse?” He hesitated, digested his discovery and with narrowed, taunting eyes asked, “What happened? Couldn’t hack it at Harvard?”
He’d happened. She resisted the urge to lunge for his throat and squeeze until his lifeless body collapsed to the floor. Instead, she stood tall, well, as tall as a woman of five feet two inches could, threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m a head nurse. 5E is my floor.”
“You’re the 5E bitc—?” He held up both hands. “Sorry.”
He didn’t look sorry.
She knew what some members of the staff called her. She’d been the victim of name-calling since high school. Snob. Suck-up. It no longer bothered her. “Just because a woman is motivated to succeed and has high expectations for herself and those around her, people feel it necessary to call her demeaning names.” She waved it off. “There’s nothing I can do about it. But I’ll thank you to keep your profanity to yourself while in my presence.”
He looked her up and down. “Still dressing for success, I see.”
For as long as she could remember, up until the time he’d turned his back on her, her father had impressed, “If you want respect, dress and act like you deserve it.” Which was why, when she’d had little money to spare, she’d scoured consignment shops and tag sales to find quality designer pieces to complement the carefully selected clothing she’d been forced to purchase at a discount store.
Victoria took notice of Kyle’s black pocket T, faded blue jeans, and black leather biker boots. “Still dressing for a monster truck rally, I see.” Except his clothes were covered by a lab coat. Dr. Kyle Karlinsky’s lab coat.
Kyle was Dr. K.? No way! Not possible. Before she’d started tutoring him, she a tenth-grade honor student, him an unmotivated junior, his highest aspiration had been to snag a third-shift job at the frozen pizza manufacturing plant outside town, because the night shift received a $2.00 per hour pay differential.
“You’re a few months late for Halloween. What’s with the costume?” Victoria asked, trying to control her breathing. While she’d been stuck in the anti-metropolis of Madrin Falls, getting tormented by people more than happy to witness the demise of her seemingly perfect life and raising their child, he’d left town to pursue her dream, to steal her future.
“Calm down, honey. It’s not as big a deal as you’re making it out to be” had been the last words he’d spoken to her until today. And they’d been incorrect. To a sheltered, motherless teenager raised to believe sex before marriage was a sin, giving up her virginity to the boy she’d fallen in love with, the absolute wrong sort of boy who, just a few hours previously her father had forbidden her to see, had been a big deal.
Life as she’d known it changed that night. And two weeks before his high-school graduation, Kyle Karlinsky had abandoned her to deal with the consequences on her own.
“Not bad.” He nodded in approval. “Marginally funny. Delivered with just the right amount of sneer. Looks like someone’s developed herself a sense of humor.”
“Is that what this is, some kind of prank?” He’d been famous for them back in high school. She glanced at the credentials sewn onto his lab coat beside his name. DPT. Okay, so he wasn’t a medical doctor. But still. A doctorate in physical therapy? “No way you made it to PhD.” The thought of him staying focused long enough to write a doctoral thesis was ludicrous. “And impersonating a physician is reprehensible.”
“Pulling out the big words, huh? Let’s see. Reprehensible. R-e-p-r-e-h-e-n-s-i-b-l-e.” He spelled it out like he was in a spelling bee. “Reprehensible. Deserving of blame or censure.” His smile widened at Victoria’s surprise. “Maybe I wasn’t as dumb as you thought. Maybe I only pretended so I could …”
Steal her virginity, as so eloquently bellowed by her enraged father.
“I never thought you were dumb, Kyle.” An underachiever? Yes. A slacker? Most definitely. Stupid? Absolutely not. “I tutored you. I knew what you were capable of if only you’d have put forth a little effort. But you wouldn’t.”
“Now that’s not entirely true. With the right incentive
I was an excellent student.” He mocked her, his eyes dark.
“I promise to study for my trigonometry test if you kiss me. Slip me some tongue, I’ll get a B.” Okay. So it wasn’t an approved method of teaching. But, at the time, it’d been the only thing that’d worked.
“I seem to remember,” he said, leaning close, invading her personal space. “I did a bit of tutoring myself.”
He sure had, with a hand under her skirt in their private study room, up against the cinderblock wall behind the gym, and in a secluded spot down by the lake. At the memory, an unwanted, excited tingle crept out of hiding deep in her core. She slammed it back, refused to acknowledge it, would not let him get to her. Not again.
“Help,” a woman cried out.
Victoria jerked her head in the direction of the panicked voice. A pale, middle-aged woman with dark hair ran into the hallway. “My father. He’s choking.”
Without hesitation, she ran to help. The morbidly obese patient she recognized as Mr. Schultz sat in an extra-wide chair beside his bed. Mentally she cued the information she’d obtained during morning rounds. Age seventy-two. Status post-CVA six days ago with residual right-sided hemiplegia, speech deficit, and difficulty swallowing.
“Are you able to breathe at all, Mr. Schultz?”
He slapped at his neck with his left hand and strained to inhale, a high-pitched wheezing sound the result.
Quick assessment: Face flushed. Diaphoretic. Eyes pleading. Inefficient air exchange. Victoria pushed his over-the-bed table out of the way, noticing an open bag of colorful hard sucking candies as she did. His daughter was going to get a stern talking to when this was all over. She inserted her hand behind his back and pushed him forward, giving four rapid blows between his shoulder blades.
Nothing.
“Papa. Don’t die, Papa,” the hysterical woman cried. “You have to save him.”
Victoria moved in front of the patient. “Open your mouth, Mr. Schultz.”
She could not see the obstruction. “What can I do to help?” Kyle asked.
“I need this bed out of the way.” So she could reach the suction apparatus on the wall behind the patient. “Then please accompany Mr. Schultz’s daughter and his roommate to the lounge.” As stressful as this situation was for her, a trained practitioner, it was worse for a family member/roommate to experience, especially if things didn’t turn out well.
“I’m going to help you, Mr. Schultz,” she said, surprised at how calm her voice sounded, knowing the man was probably past listening or understanding but needing to say it just in case.
“I don’t want to go. I want to stay with him,” the daughter yelled.
Kyle spoke to her in soothing yet persuasive tones.
Victoria focused on her task. She reached for the disposable suction container and snapped it into the plastic wall receptacle, thankful her exemplary staff made sure each room was fully stocked with all necessary equipment at all times. Her hands shook. It’d been a while since she’d been in any life-or-death situations. They were not her favorite part of nursing, too many variables outside her control.
“Almost done, Mr. Schultz.”
Kyle rushed back into the room. “Should I try the Heimlich?”
“Can you get your arms around him?”
“I think so.” Unable to squeeze behind the patient since she was back there setting up suction, Kyle moved the chair like Mr. Schultz was the size of a child rather than the three-hundred-plus-pounder he was.
“I think his belly is too large for your thrusts to be effective,” Victoria said. “Position your hands over his sternum instead. Pull straight back. Hard and fast.”
Kyle did as instructed with excellent technique but no positive result.
The patient’s skin took on a purplish reddish hue. They were running out of time.
Leaving Kyle to continue his attempts on his own, Victoria returned to the suction equipment, hooking the red vacuum tube to the container. She ripped open two sets of tubing, unraveled both. One she connected between the collection container and the wall gauge. The other she attached to the nozzle labeled “Patient”, then pulled apart the ends of the wrapper on the curved oral suctioning catheter, and, attaching it to the suction cable, was finally ready to proceed.
“Any luck?” Victoria pulled on a pair of latex gloves and turned back to the patient.
“No. He looks about to pass out.”
Yes, he did. If one attempt at suction didn’t work she’d call for the code team. Victoria removed the suction catheter from its packaging, turned on the suction device and cranked the knob to high. When she reached for Mr. Schultz’s chin, preparing to open his mouth, he grabbed her wrist. Hard.
Kyle intervened, prying the patient’s fingers off her. “She’s trying to help you, sir. Let her do her thing.”
Victoria placed her finger on the patient’s lower jaw to open it. “Open up for me, Mr. Schultz. I’m going to clear your airway.” Please, please, please let this work.
He allowed her to open his mouth.
Pressing down on his tongue with her thumb, Victoria slid the catheter deep until it tapped something hard that did not feel at all like the walls of the mouth or throat. She pressed her finger over the hole in the neck of the hard plastic catheter to concentrate the suction into the tip, pressed against the hard object very carefully, and gave a little tug. Like a cork had been released, Mr. Schultz sucked in a huge, gasping breath. Then another and another. A coarse but wonderful sound.
Relief made Victoria’s legs weak.
Tears streamed from Mr. Schultz’s eyes.
Careful to maintain full suction so the obstructing object did not loosen from the tip and fall back into the patient’s throat, Victoria eased back on the catheter. A bright red ball of candy stuck to the end.
Victoria blew out a breath.
“You did good,” Kyle said.
Mr. Schultz took her hand and held it to his cheek. She patted his shoulder with her other hand. “You’re very welcome.”
Victoria hit the button for the intercom to contact the unit secretary. “Nora, is Ali back on the floor?”
“She’s heading my way right now.”
“Tell her Mr. Schultz just choked on a hard candy. He’s okay. We’re going to get him into bed. She needs to call his physician and come take a set of vitals.
“Would you help me … ?” When Victoria turned back to the patient Kyle already had him sitting on the side of the bed. She rushed over to lift his swollen feet and together they pulled him up in bed, although Kyle did most of the work. Then she raised the head of the bed.
“I’m going to talk to your daughter, Mr. Schultz.” She put up all four side rails and put the patient’s call-bell in his left hand. “Push this button …” she demonstrated “ … if you need anything before I get back.”
He nodded and gave her a small half-smile using the facial muscles not affected by his stroke.
“Thank you for your help, Kyle.” He followed her to the door.
“Still perfect in everything you do, huh?”
“Hardly.”
He took her by the arm. She turned to face him. He leaned in until his mouth grazed her ear. “For the record, my thrusts are always effective. And hard and fast suits me just fine.”
Typical. He’d taken her Heimlich instruction and turned it into something sexual. She didn’t respond, would not be provoked. She simply looked down at his hand on her arm. He released her and she walked out of the room.
After discussing the prescribed dietary restrictions with Mr. Schultz’s daughter and supervising the removal of all the remaining hard candies, Victoria left the patient in her best friend and Mr. Schultz’s nurse Ali’s capable hands, surprised to see Kyle waiting for her in the hallway.
His eyes seemed softer somehow, not as antagonistic as they’d been. But she refused to let down her guard until she found out why he’d come back to town.
“Nothing better to do with your time?” she asked.
“He okay?” Kyle tossed his chin in the direction of Mr. Schultz’s room.
“Much better.”
“You?”
“Fine.” For a split second she appreciated his concern. Until a suspicion he was up to something pushed its way in. Why was he being so nice all of a sudden?
Nora called down the hallway, “Victoria, if you don’t leave in the next five minutes, you’ll be late to pick up Jake.”
She cringed at the sound of her son’s name blurted out in Kyle’s presence. The less he knew about Jake the better. She glanced at her watch. “Fudge.”
“Still can’t say what’s really on your mind,” Kyle taunted.
“Lucky for you,” Victoria replied, then yelled to Nora, “Thanks.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Kyle offered, falling into step beside her, his dog beside him.
“Don’t bother.” She hurried up the hallway. “I’ve been walking since I was a child and am perfectly capable of doing it on my own.” Apparently that didn’t matter. She ducked into her office, grabbed her purse, briefcase, already packed with work she needed to do at home, and coat. Kyle stood propped up against the wall beside her door. She ignored him and headed for the stairs.
“I think I’m allergic to your dog.” She pushed out what she hoped were a few convincing coughs. “Would you mind keeping your distance?” Why was he back now, after all these years, when she’d finally regained control of her life? Dread balled in her gut.
She yanked open the heavy metal door, his hand landed a few feet above hers and suddenly the door weighed nothing.
“Since we’re going to be working together I think there’re a few things we need to work through,” he said.
Victoria hurried down the first flight of metal stairs, each pounding step echoing in the empty stairwell. She did not want to work through anything with him, could not get away from him quick enough … or fast enough.
He jogged a few steps behind her.
“To start with,” he proceeded despite her silence, “why did you tell that crooked sheriff I raped you?”
Raped her? She stumbled, glanced over her shoulder. “Are you insane? I never …” The words died in her throat as she missed a step. Maybe two. Her right foot hit hard. Her ankle twisted at an awkward angle, her knee buckled. She grabbed for the railing, missed, screamed out as her forward momentum sent her diving toward the fourth-floor landing.
Tori barked in warning.
Kyle lunged forward, caught Victoria by the back of her lab coat and, thank you, God, slowed her fall just enough so he could hook an arm around her waist milliseconds before she face-planted onto cement. Sitting on the bottom step, breathing heavily, part exertion, part fear, she could have been seriously injured. He cradled her on his lap and rested his chin on her silky curls, giving his pulse a chance to slow. As much as she deserved to pay for what she’d done, Kyle had no desire to see her physically hurt.
“You’re okay,” he said to reassure himself as much as to reassure her.
There were names for men like him, and they weren’t ones Victoria would want uttered within her hearing. Why, after that terrifying choking incident and when she was obviously in a rush, did he have to lob the question that’d been dragging down his subconscious for nine long years at her back, where she couldn’t see it coming? And within minutes of their meeting up again.
She tried to scoot off his lap.
“Sit for a minute,” he said, inhaling the scent of melon, sweet cantaloupe grown in the warm sun, picked from the vine at peak ripeness. She’d always smelled good. Clean. Fresh. Different from the beer-drinking, cigarette-smoking, heavy-perfume-wearing girls he’d been used to.
The feel of her, light and soft, brought back memories of innocent times, holding hands, walks in the woods, the sheer pleasure of having her close, of touching her to confirm she was real and not a dream. Because girls like Victoria didn’t fall for guys like him. And yet, in some fluke blip of altered reality, she had.
For a time, Victoria had been the only good thing in his life. She’d made him believe in hope and possibility, until she’d betrayed him in the worst possible way.
She’d been destined for great things, had been all but formally accepted into Harvard, the alma mater of her father and brother. Pre-med. She’d talked of specializing in neurosurgery or maybe going into research to find cures for cancer, multiple sclerosis, diabetes, and a dozen other medical conditions. With her tenacity, he’d had no doubt, if there were cures to be found, Victoria would have been the one to find them. So what was she doing still in Madrin Falls, working as a nurse?
She tried to wriggle out of his arms again. He tightened his hold, not ready to give her up. And what was that all about? He despised her. But damn if she didn’t have him thinking about working off his mad in a few rounds of angry sex.
Because she looked good, better than he remembered. Hotter. Pixie cute, but with class. Her black hair short and perfectly mussed. Minimal makeup. Slender figure. Her fashionable tan slacks and cream-colored blouse covered by an immaculate, wrinkle-free lab coat, high-end shoes on her tiny feet. She liked her fancy clothes, that’s for sure.
“You’re squeezing me too tight.” She started to struggle in earnest. “I don’t like being restrained.”
He let her go.
She slid off his lap to the other side of the step. “You are a jinx.” She fluffed her hair. “Bad things happen to me when you’re around.” Using the railing to pull herself up, she stood and winced when she attempted to bear weight on her right foot.
He reached out to support her.
“Don’t touch me.” She swatted his hand away and tried to take a step, quickly relieving the pressure on her right foot. She looked up to the ceiling. “I don’t need this right now.” Her frustrated yell echoed off the walls.
Kyle thought he may have seen a tear form in the corner of her eye, which sent him flashing back nine years to the last time he’d seen her. Hysterical crying as the sheriff had helped her into the front passenger seat of his patrol car. To spare her the embarrassment of anyone knowing exactly what’d transpired between them, Kyle picked up her panties, used them to clean up the small smear of blood from the loss of her virginity, and stuffed them in his pocket, where the deputy had found them a short time later.
Spending the night in jail had given him plenty of time to think about what they’d done. And she’d come to him willingly with her little moans of pleasure, her desperate pleas for more. Anger worked its way in as he pondered the other possibility that’d plagued him. Had she made the accusation to escape her father’s wrath, to save herself from punishment and penance with a total disregard for what may happen to him as a result?
He emerged from his memories, the residual mix of guilt and lingering animosity not quite abated. “You know I didn’t force you into doing anything you didn’t want to do.” So why the hysterics afterwards? It didn’t make sense.
“I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.” She put her hand up to the juncture of her left lateral neck and shoulder, swiveled her head, trying to work out a kink, and locked eyes with him. “I never told anyone you raped me. Look, we had sex. It was my first time. You’re huge. I’m not. I panicked. So what? No permanent harm done.”
He didn’t like the way she turned away when she said, “No permanent harm done.”
Aside from the euphoria of experiencing the best sex of his young life with a girl he’d managed to fall in love with, and the rage of having to choose between standing trial and possibly spending years in prison or leaving town for good and never contacting her again, he held little recollection of the specific details of that fateful night. Except for the sublime feel of her, which he’d never managed to duplicate with any other woman.
“Did I hurt you, Tori?” The thought he might have made him sick.
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “Any physical discomfort went away a lot sooner than the pain of you leaving me without a word as to why.”
She had no idea what he’d gone through after she’d been taken home? “The sheriff told me you accused me of rape. He dragged me off to jail, let me sit in that stinking cell for hours.” While he’d summarized the evidence against him and recounted stories of what prison inmates did to rapists.
To her credit, Victoria looked genuinely surprised.
“It scared the hell out of me.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Well, it did.”
“If you’d known me at all,” she said. “If you’d loved me as much as you said you did, if you’d trusted me at all, you should have known in your heart I’d never have done such a thing.”
But she’d been inconsolable, wouldn’t talk to him. She’d pushed him away when he’d tried to hold her and comfort her, fought her way out of the car—just as the sheriff had pulled up beside them. He’d had no idea what was going through her mind.
“At the very least,” she added, “I deserved the benefit of the doubt and a phone call to clue me in to what was happening.”
“How was I supposed to call you?” Didn’t she get it? “I was in jail. And a seventeen-year-old boy with no parents to stand up for him and a twenty-year-old sister too busy partying to care what happened to him didn’t get the proverbial one phone call in this town. I was given two choices. Take my chances with a trial or leave town.” A kid like him with a bad reputation and no one reputable to stand up for him would never have won a court battle against a family from the upper echelon of Madrin Falls. “I didn’t see any way out but to leave. When I was released from custody, a deputy followed me home. I had ten minutes to pack and he escorted me out of town.” And followed him another hour after that.
“You haven’t been near a phone any time since?” Victoria asked. “Weren’t you at all interested in how my father reacted to finding out his only daughter had tumbled, half-dressed, from the back seat of your car when she was supposed to be studying at the library?”
Honestly, as angry as he’d been, he’d still suffered twinges of guilt, wondering. Her uber-strict father was not a nice man. Kyle had thought about calling her. But never had, lowlife loser that he’d been, too busy, working to survive by day, boozing it up and releasing his rage in bar fights at night. Too intent on cultivating his hatred of the establishment, the haves who controlled the have nots, to realize until now that if the sheriff truly believed him guilty there’s no way he would have let him leave town. Idiot.
“I loved you,” she said. “I believed you when you said you loved me.”
“I did.”
“You did not. Or you would have found a way to get in touch with me to make sure I was okay.” The hurt in her eyes coaxed him forward. The familiar urge to soothe her and make her smile kicked in. She held up a hand between them. “Don’t. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m over it. So there’s nothing more to discuss.”
She looked at her watch, inhaled deeply, exhaled, then pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and dialed. Keeping her eyes closed, she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Hello, it’s—” she said into the phone.
A woman yelled back at her.
She held the phone away from her ear. “I know. Strike one. I’m sorry.”
More yelling.
“I’ll get there as soon as I can.” With a press of a button she cut off the irate voice in mid-rant.
“I’ve got to go,” she said to Kyle. Balancing on her left foot, with one hand on the railing, she bent to pick up her purse and briefcase with the other. She looked so sad he actually felt bad for her. “Let me help you,” he offered, reaching for her briefcase.
She clutched the strap to her shoulder. “I don’t need your help.” She mumbled something under her breath that sounded like “Not anymore.”
“At least let me examine your ankle. You may need an X-ray.”
“I don’t.”
He watched her limp to the door leading to the fourth floor. “It’s unsafe for you to drive.”
“Go back to work, Kyle.”
“I’m done for the day. How are you going to press on the gas and brake pedals? Let me take you where you need to go.” Give him a chance to make amends.
The little color that remained in her cheeks drained out. “No.” Her voice cracked. “Really, I’m fine.”
They entered the half-full elevator.
Looking straight ahead, Victoria asked, “Shouldn’t your dog be wearing a vest or something to make him look … more … ?”
“Service dogs wear vests,” Kyle explained. “She’s …” he reached down to pat Tori’s head “ … a therapy dog. Therapy dogs are meant to be petted and cuddled. A vest interferes with that.”
When the doors opened, Kyle and Tori followed Victoria out. As she hobbled through the lobby, Kyle noticed she didn’t acknowledge one person she passed, and no one went out of their way to acknowledge her.
In the parking lot she stopped next to an old black Camry that looked a lot like the one her Aunt Livi had bought a few weeks before he’d left town.
He made one last attempt to convince her not to drive. “So, who’s this Jake and why’s he so important you’d risk your life to pick him up rather than accept a ride from me?”
CHAPTER TWO
OKAY. That’s it.
Victoria tossed her briefcase on the back seat of her car, slammed the door shut and waited to the count of five before turning on Kyle. She spoke slowly, fought to maintain an even tone. “Jake is none of your business. My life is not your concern and I’ll thank you, in advance, to stay away from me for the short time you’ll be in town.”
“Like it or not, most of my patients are on your floor and, once my therapy dog program is approved, I plan to accept the full-time staff position I’ve been offered.” He leaned toward her. Challenging. “The next time I leave town it will be on my terms.”
“You make it sound like approval for you to bring your dog to work is a given. It’s not. We’re firm at three for and four against. I’m against.” As was her mentor, the director of nursing.
“We have four weeks to change your mind.” He patted his dog’s head, looking unconcerned.
“No one can be as good as the two of you are touted to be. The patient outcomes and lengths of stay will speak for themselves.”
“Oh, we are that good, honey,” he said confidently.
“Don’t call me …”
“Come on, Tori,” he said as he turned to walk away. His dog trailed after him.
She sucked in an affronted breath. “You named your dog after me?” she called out.
He glanced over his shoulder. “She was a stubborn little thing when I started working with her. Reminded me of a girl I used to know.”
Victoria resisted the urge to scream. Having Kyle Karlinsky around was going to be an exercise in self-control. And secrecy. At least until she decided whether to inform Jake that his father, who she’d promised to help him search for when he turned sixteen, had returned to town eight years ahead of schedule.
Using the utmost care not to bang her now throbbing foot, Victoria slid onto the cold leather driver’s seat.
No doubt Jake would be thrilled to finally meet the man whose picture sat on his night table. He deserved a chance to get to know his dad. At some point. Was now, when he was so young and impressionable, the best time? Until she could learn a bit more about Kyle, where he’d been, why he was back, and maybe gauge his reaction to having a son, she would not risk Jake getting hurt.
Although the drive to school turned out to be a bit more difficult than anticipated, Victoria avoided any major problems. Thank the Lord two pedestrians crossing at Third Street saw her in time to jump out of the way.
The second she got out of the car and set her right foot on the ground for balance, pain exploded in her ankle, the intensity on a par with labor contractions. She eyed the distance from her parking spot to the door of the cafeteria. It may as well have been the length of a football field rather than the twenty or thirty feet it actually was.
Eleven minutes late, she couldn’t afford to be any later. Clenching her teeth hard enough to crack a filling, she made a limping dash towards the school. Halfway there Jake exited the building, in the process of pulling on his hat, and without looking at her walked directly to the car.
The afterschool program teacher—Mrs. Smythe—followed.
The temperature dropped a few degrees.
“I had to take care of a choking patient. Then I twisted my ankle rushing to leave,” Victoria explained.
“If it wasn’t that it would have been something else,” the evil woman replied. “I have a life outside my job, you know.”
Was it common knowledge that, aside from Jake, Victoria didn’t? “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she said as she, too, walked past Victoria without looking at her. “Be on time.”
She would do better, Victoria decided when she climbed into the car, glimpsed into the back seat and saw the unhappy pout on her son’s precious face. Jake, the most important thing in her world. “I love you,” she said.
He stared out the window.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Victoria started the car and changed the radio to Jake’s favorite station.
He lunged over the front seat and turned it off.
Except for the heat blasting from the vents, a tense silence filled the car.
She looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Put on your seat belt.”
He didn’t.
“Jake, I said I was sorry. You understand why Mommy has to work so hard, don’t you?”
Nothing.
It was going to be a long night.
“I’m talking to you, Jake Forley. And we will not leave this parking lot until you answer my question.”
“Because it’s just the two of us,” he said, still looking out the window. “And you need money to pay bills and send me to a good college.”
“And so you can play baseball in the spring.”
He jerked his head, his eyes went wide. “Really?” He scooted to the front edge of his seat. “You’re going to let me play?”
An impromptu, anything-to-cheer-him-up decision she would likely live to regret but, “Yes. And you’re going to need baseball pants, a bat and glove, and shoes.”
“Cleats, Mom,” he said with an eye roll and an air of eight-year-old disgust at her ignorance of sports lingo. “Baseball players wear cleats.”
“After dinner we’ll go online and do some research.” To figure out what cleats were. “Sound good?”
“Sounds great! Thanks, Mom!” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “I love you, too.”
“I know.” But she’d never tire of hearing him say it.
The next morning, her purplish, swollen right ankle elevated on an overturned garbage can and propped up on a pile of folded towels, her neck stiff, and her right knee almost twice its normal size, Victoria felt like she’d been selectively beaten by one of the dozens of baseball bats she’d viewed on the Internet the night before. With everything she needed to consider—barrel, taper and grip size, length and weight, as well as material makeup: wood, aluminum, or composite—choosing the correct bat was more complicated than calculating a biochemical equation. On the plus side, she now knew baseball cleats were little more than fancy sneakers with molded rubber studs to increase traction on the field.
She smiled. After a difficult start, she and Jake had had a super-terrific—his words, not hers—evening together. He was now an officially registered little-leaguer assigned to a team in the Madrin Falls Baseball League, practices to start next week, the season opener three weeks after that.
It would require creative scheduling, but she’d find a way to squeeze in everything. Work. Jake’s school. Her school. Religious school. And now baseball. Her stress level spiked up a notch just thinking about it.
“Knock, knock,” a familiar male voice said from her office doorway. “How’s the ankle?”
Victoria turned her head in that direction, forgetting her neck felt fine as long as she didn’t try to move it. “Go away.” She lifted her hand to the stabbing pain and tried to work out the cramp.
Kyle walked in, towered over her, filled her tiny office. He set two cups of coffee on the desk, and squeezed into the small space behind her. His body pressed against her back, pushing her ribs into the desk. She couldn’t move. “Wait.”
As if his fingers had the ability to shoot potent muscle-relaxer beams deep into her screaming elastic tissues, the spasm lessened with the contact of his big, warm hands on her skin. A pleasant tingle danced along her nerve endings, made her wish he’d branch out a bit. Lower.
Heaven help her, she still loved the feel of his hands on her. Strong. Knowing.
She forced her eyes open. This had to stop. But it felt so good. She let them drift closed, again. One more minute. Maybe two.
But, on the cusp of total relaxation, Victoria’s memory kicked in and transported her back in time. Something had her wedged in place. Confined. Squished. She couldn’t expand her chest. Couldn’t breathe. Could not pull air into her lungs. Please. Not again. She needed to get away. Escape this place. She was an adult, refused to be imprisoned. Never again.
“What’s wrong?” Kyle’s concerned voice sounded far away. His face appeared in front of hers. Kind. Searching.
She returned to the present standing on both feet, the garbage pail lying on its side. She shifted her weight to relieve the pressure on her right ankle, the move so quick she lost her balance and grabbed on to the desk for support. Her chest constricted, floaters dotted her vision, a wave of dizziness threatened to tip her over.
“You’re okay.” A strong arm wrapped around her upper arms and basically held her up. “Come on. Breathe. In and out. Move my hand.” Which he’d placed over her diaphragm. “That’s it.”
“I need …” She tried to push away from him.
“You need to sit down for a minute.”
Not again. Not now. It’d been nine years, for heaven’s sake. Why was his voice, his touch, sending her back in time?
He guided her into her chair. “Here.” He handed her one of the cups of coffee he’d brought. “Drink this.”
In a daze she lifted a cup to her mouth.
“Careful. It’s hot.” He removed the lid and blew on it like a parent cooling his child’s hot cocoa. Like he would have done for Jake had he been around for the past eight years. Clarity returned.
“I’m fine.” She took the cup from him, even though she didn’t drink coffee. “Thank you.”
He picked up the other cup, took a careful sip and watched her. “What just happened?”
Rather than answer, she countered with a question of her own. “Where’s your dog?”
“In with a patient.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be with her at all times?” Per hospital protocol developed specifically for his and Tori’s probationary period.
“Patients open up to Tori. Part of what makes me so good at my job is knowing when I’m in the way.”
“Typical man,” she said, feeling back to normal, “letting the woman do the work while you go for coffee.”
“I brought the coffee up with us. Do you have panic attacks often?”
Not recently. She took a sip of coffee. “It wasn’t a panic attack,” she lied. “More like an allergic reaction to a new irritant in my life.”
He smiled, unperturbed by her verbal jab. “Guess I’d better start carrying around some antihistamines in my pocket.”
“I have things to do. Did you come here for a reason?”
“To check your ankle.” He squatted down, picked up her right foot in his hand, and slid off her shoe.
“Impressive colors. But look at these.” He pointed to depressions in her edema. “Your shoe is too tight.”
“No, it’s not.” But, boy, it felt good to have it off.
He gently rotated her foot watching her face as he did. “Decent range of motion. Moderate discomfort. How’d you sleep?”
Woke up every time she’d changed position. “Like a baby.”
“Keeping it elevated?”
She pointed to the garbage can. “As much as I can. I’m a nurse, I know how to treat a sprained ankle, Kyle.”
“You’re sure that’s all it is?”
She hoped. “Yes.”
A loud bang followed by frantic dog barking echoed through the hallway.
Without a word, Kyle placed her foot on the floor and ran from the office.
Victoria slipped on her shoe and followed.
Kyle slammed into room 514 where he’d left Tori with Mrs. Teeton, a fifty-four-year-old female, ten days post-op radical abdominal hysterectomy for treatment of stage II cervical cancer. Undergoing combination chemotherapy and radiation. Suffering from severe adjustment reaction to her diagnosis, debilitating fatigue, and deconditioning. Completely dependent for all ADLs—activities of daily living.
The balding woman sat with her bare legs on the cold hospital floor, her upper torso, arms, and head draped over Tori’s back. “Mrs. Teeton. Are you okay?” he asked, dropping to the floor beside her.
“I’m so weak,” she said quietly, her cheeks wet with tears. “Can’t even sit up by myself.”
Kyle handed her a tissue from the bedside table. “You are going to get through this phase of treatment, and I’m going to show up every day, several times a day, to help.”
“What happened?” Victoria asked as she half ran, half hopped into the room, and, ignoring the bits of food spattered on the floor from the overturned meal tray, got right down on her knees next to Kyle. “What hurts, Mrs. Teeton?”
The pale, sickly woman tried to lift her head, couldn’t, and set it on Tori’s fur. “My pride.”
“Before we get you back into bed I want to check you for injury,” Kyle said. “Can you move your arms and legs for me?”
“I’m crushing poor Tori,” Mrs. Teeton worried.
“A dainty little thing like you?” Kyle asked. “I think she’s mistaken you for a blanket. She looks about ready to fall asleep.”
Victoria smiled, a bright, encouraging smile he remembered from the hours she’d spent tutoring him. The one that used to make him feel all warm inside. And you know what? Still did.
“He’s right,” Victoria said.
Kyle patted the dog’s head. “Good girl.” She opened a sleepy eye.
With his assistance, Mrs. Teeton moved her arms, legs, and head without a report of physical discomfort. “I’m going to lift you into bed.” She felt like a child in his arms. A small woman, like Victoria, Mrs. Teeton had all but stopped eating since her diagnosis three weeks ago, losing an estimated eleven desperately needed pounds. Too weak to participate in her own care and refusing psychological counseling, she had the highest acuity ranking of any patient on Kyle’s roster.
Once in bed, Victoria took over, checking the patient’s abdominal incision and taking her blood pressure before tucking her into bed. “The incision looks good. Your blood pressure is low. Before I put a call in to your doctor, tell us what happened.”
“I’m so tired.”
“It’s important.” Kyle put his hand on her lower leg, touch a big part of his therapy.
“I wanted to give Tori a treat from my breakfast,” Mrs. Teeton said, her eyes closed.
“That breakfast is for you to eat, not Tori. And I told you, she’s trained not to accept food from patients.”
A hint of a smile curved her lips. “Wanted to see. Sat up but so dizzy.” She sounded about to drift off to sleep. “Started to roll forward. Tori caught me.” She mumbled something ending with, “Good dog.”
“That’s the most I’ve heard her say since admission. And I visit her every day,” Victoria said quietly, looking at Mrs. Teeton’s sleeping form.
“Tori gets them talking.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” She looked up at him, her beautiful blue eyes soft and warm. “You were great with her. So gentle and kind.”
The hint of disbelief he detected bothered him. Before he could call her on it she headed for the door. “I’ll call Dr. Starzi. Would you please put up all four bedrails and make sure her call-bell is within reach?”
As he was in the process of raising the last bed rail, someone walked into the room. A nurse, dressed in what he’d recently learned were 5E’s trademark lavender scrubs. Brown hair up in a messy knot, girl-next-door pretty. Even with the surprise of her pregnant belly, Kyle recognized her instantly. His friend Ali Forshay, who Victoria had befriended back in tenth grade, as unlikely a pair as he and Victoria had been. Some kids had accused Victoria of slumming, others had called Ali and Kyle her charity projects.
Maybe they had been.
Good, a friendly face. He clicked the railing into place. One of the two he’d hoped to see while back in town. At least he’d thought so until he noticed her scowl.
She observed the patient then pulled the cord to turn off the overhead light. With narrowed eyes and pursed lips she pointed at him and then the window.
Did she expect him to jump?
A second later she grabbed him by the lab coat and pulled him deeper into the room, yanking the curtain partition into place as she did. The second bed lay flat, empty and raised to the highest position with the covers folded down at the foot of the bed, likely waiting for the occupant to return from the OR.
“Why did you come back?” she whispered curtly.
Because Dr. Starzi was the best oncologist around and Kyle refused to pass up the opportunity to work with him simply because of where he had to do it. And what reformed degenerate wouldn’t want to ride the success train back into his hometown? Show everyone who’d labeled him worthless and turned a blind eye in his direction except to blame him for things he hadn’t done and threaten him away from their daughters that they’d made a mistake in writing him off.
“No hug?” he asked, half teasing. In anticipation of seeing Ali he’d visualized their happy reunion. They’d been pals, both with difficult home lives. They’d looked out for one another. It’d been Ali who’d suggested Victoria tutor him when the thought of failing out of high school hadn’t bothered him all that much. He owed her, planned to help her out if she needed it. But from the looks of her, and the size of the diamond engagement ring on her finger, she’d turned out okay, too.
“You’re lucky I don’t scratch your eyes out after what you did,” she said.
And she looked ready to do it. He took a step back, kind of glad to have Tori in the room. “Exactly what did I do?”
“You stay away from Victoria.” Again the pointing, this time at his chest. “Better yet, go back to where you came from.”
“Hey,” he said quietly, cupping her bent elbow. “We were friends. What happened?”
She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of sadness and hurt. “You’re not the person I thought you were. I’m sorry I ever encouraged Victoria to give you a chance.”
Ali had been one of three people to see something good in him, something of value, at a time when he had been unable to see it himself. Victoria and her Aunt Livi had rounded out the triumvirate.
The intercom in the room sounded. “Recovery Room on line two, Ali.”
“Be right there,” she responded without taking her eyes off of him. “Do the right thing, Kyle. Leave. And don’t come back. Victoria’s worked so hard to put her life back together. She’s interested in a man for the first time since you …”
What? Since he what?
“You are the last thing she needs right now.”
With that parting shot, Ali, at one time his closest friend, turned and left.
Back in town for two days and Kyle had more questions than answers. If Victoria hadn’t cried rape, where had the accusation come from? What was she doing in Madrin Falls, working as a nurse? A caring, competent nurse from what he’d heard and seen, but why hadn’t she gone to Harvard to become a physician as planned? Why was Ali warning him off? Why did Victoria’s life need putting back together? The most stable, together person he knew, why was she suffering panic attacks? Who was Jake and how serious was their relationship?
Sensitive to turmoil, Tori nuzzled his thigh. He petted her soft head. “We’ll find out, girl.” And since Victoria and Ali didn’t seem eager to enlighten him, after work he’d visit Aunt Livi.
The small raised ranch-style home looked better than he could ever recall seeing it. Neater. Prettier. The white siding could have passed for new, the once-dingy black shutters gleamed and a bright red door matched what looked like a freshly painted version of the heavy, antique planters he’d lugged out of the garage every spring and back every fall, which sat at either side of the front porch steps.
The gravel driveway he’d shoveled every winter for years looked newly paved, and the grass he’d mowed summer after summer, while sodden from the winter thaw, seemed fuller, healthier.
Odds were Livi had finally snagged herself a man with an interest in home maintenance. Good for her. Only knowing she had a man inside made him feel a bit guilty showing up at dinnertime, with an apple pie and an empty stomach.
The woman knew how to cook, and had never passed up an opportunity to invite Kyle in for a meal. Something he used to thank his lucky stars for, daily.
A boy responded to his knock. That was unexpected. He looked familiar. Probably because he shared Livi’s kinky red hair.
“I thought you were the UPS man,” he said with disappointment. “Mom,” he yelled over his shoulder. “There’s a man at the door.”
The kid looked up at him, got an odd look on his face. Kyle noticed his eyes, the same eyes that stared back at him every time he looked in the mirror.
“Jake Forley, you know better than to open the door when you don’t know who it is,” a familiar female voice said from the top of the stairs.
Over the kid’s shoulder Kyle caught a glimpse of Victoria, heading toward the door, looking very at home in pink warm-up pants and a white V-neck T.
This was Jake? Kyle shifted so Victoria couldn’t see him. “Is that your mom?” Kyle asked quietly.
The boy nodded.
“How old are you?”
“Eight.”
Holy hell!
CHAPTER THREE
VICTORIA struggled down the steps to the front door to see who Jake was talking to, stopping short at the sight of Kyle, holding a pie box, his expression a disturbing mix of suspicion and loathing.
“Go downstairs, Jake,” she said, needing a few minutes to talk to Kyle, to diffuse his anger before making any formal introductions. Although, based on the way they studied each other, Kyle had a pretty good idea who Jake was. And vice versa.
Her son turned to her, looking hopeful and excited. Of course he’d recognized his father, whose picture he spoke to every night before bed. “But it’s …”
“I know. Go downstairs and give us a few minutes to talk.”
“I don’t—”
“Now.” She flashed him the look that said she meant business then moved her gaze to Kyle. “What are you doing here?”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He glared at her, dared her to refuse him.
Every instinct she had screamed: Slam the door in his face, grab your son, and run. She needed time to talk to an attorney to find out Kyle’s rights. Her rights.
To talk to Jake about his expectations and set limits on the time he’d spend with his dad, if any. To prepare her son for the possibility Kyle might not be in town long and might not be interested in playing an active role in his son’s life. And most important, she needed time to figure out how to protect herself, both personally and professionally. He’d almost ruined her life once. She would not give him the chance to do it again.
“No,” she answered, hoping he’d leave, sure he wouldn’t.
“But, Mom …” Jake whined.
She pointed to the door of his playroom. “Down. Stairs.”
“Can I take the dog?” Jake asked.
For the first time she noticed Tori sitting quietly, looking up at her, watching her life unravel. “No,” she said.
At the same time Kyle said, “Yes.”
Discord, two minutes into co-parenting.
Victoria tilted her head and shot Kyle her best evil eye, the one guaranteed to make most people squirm. Kyle was not most people. He simply shrugged. “Livi loves animals. I came to see her.”
“Aunt Livi is dead,” Jake said matter-of-factly, and walked downstairs into his playroom. With a flick of the wrist from Kyle, his dog followed.
“Close the door,” she said to her son.
Jake did.
Except for pictures and the many stories Victoria had repeated through the years, Jake had little memory of his grandaunt who’d died a few weeks before his third birthday, leaving Victoria alone to care for her son. Not that Aunt Livi had been much help the last year of her life, but she’d tried.
Kyle paled, clutched the storm door, his knuckles white. “When?” The word came out hoarse.
His upset did not surprise her. Kyle and Aunt Livi had had a special bond. “Despite his upbringing he’s a good boy. There’s something special inside him. We can’t let it go to waste.”
She’d sure changed her tune when Victoria wound up pregnant, and Kyle wound up gone.
“Five years ago,” she answered. “Heart attack.” Victoria still harbored guilt that taking in her pregnant niece against her brother’s wishes, dealing with his threats and harassment, and helping a distraught teenager care for her infant son had been too much for Aunt Livi’s fragile heart. That Victoria had been at least partially responsible for the death of the woman who’d loved her like a daughter and, in return, she’d loved like a mother.
Tears threatened.
Not a day went by that she didn’t think of Aunt Livi.
“And you live here now.”
“She left everything to me and Jake.” The house and second mortgage. The car and car loan. Unpaid taxes. Credit-card debt.
The news about Aunt Livi seemed to neutralize Kyle’s anger, leaving him weary. “May I please come in?” Even though he could have pushed right past her, he stood on the porch and waited for an invitation. “Looks like there’s something more we need to discuss after all.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong,” she said, ignoring the cold air chilling her exposed skin, not wanting him inside her home. “We needed to talk eight years and eight months ago, when I learned I was pregnant. Or maybe eight years and six months ago when my father figured it out and issued his ultimatum: �Get an abortion or get out.’”
“That sanctimonious bastard wanted you to kill our baby?” The usually calm Kyle did a convincing impression of someone ready to do a little killing himself.
“Shhh. Keep your voice down. And watch your language.” She glanced downstairs to make sure Jake wasn’t eavesdropping. Then she pulled the front door to her back, partially closing it to give them some privacy. “In dad’s mind,” she said quietly, “it was preferable to people finding out his perfect daughter had succumbed to temptation and gotten herself knocked up by the town’s teenage Lothario.”
“I wasn’t …”
He stopped before he spat out a lie.
“Okay. Maybe before I met you,” he relented. “But for the year we were together I didn’t touch another woman. I swear on my parents’ graves.”
“I know.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered.
“This is ridiculous. You’re freezing. Come on, Tori. Let me in.”
Come on, Tori. One quick feel. Under your bra this time. I swear I’ll be the perfect student for the rest of the hour … Come on, Tori. Live a little. Just strip down and jump in. I promise I won’t look … Come on, Tori. I want to show you how much I love you. Let me love you …
She shook her head to clear it. This flip-flopping between past and present had to stop. “The girl you knew as Tori died the day you left town,” she said.
“You make it sound like I suddenly decided, hey, let me run out on my girlfriend today. I’ve got nothing better to do. Why don’t I pick up and leave everything I know behind? Oh, and while I’m at it, I can rip out my heart and smash hers to bits in the process.” He leaned in, his eyes locked on hers. “If you’d known me at all,” he said, “if you’d loved me as much as you said you did, if you’d trusted me at all, you should have known in your heart I’d never have done such a thing.”
He threw her words back in her face. Maybe he was right. “But you did leave. And since I haven’t heard from you for almost nine years, I had absolutely no idea why. You knew where I was. At any time you could have called me to explain why you left, to ask me what I’d said to the sheriff. If you couldn’t reach me, you could have asked Aunt Livi or Ali to get me a message. But you chose not to.”
Victoria inhaled deeply, tired from a long day at work, drained and ready to be finished with this conversation. “None of this matters anymore.”
“It sure as hell does matter.” The sound of the storm door banging into the side of the house made her jump. “I’ve had a son for eight years and no one thought it necessary to tell me?”
“How was I supposed to tell you? I had no idea where you were.”
“You were a very resourceful girl who has no doubt grown into a very resourceful woman.” His voice turned cold. “If you wanted to find me you could have.”
She’d thought about trying, many times. Early on when she’d been so scared about the pregnancy and childbirth, then again, after Aunt Livi’s death, when she’d been desperate for help, for a break from Jake’s incessant crying, for protection from the creditors who’d called night and day. But she’d convinced herself if he didn’t want her, then she didn’t want him. And as much as it pained her to admit it, a part of her had been relieved to not have to deal with the issue of sex between them.
As if during her silence he’d come to some realization, he lifted his hand and ran a gentle finger down the side of her face. “We have a son.”
She didn’t want his tenderness. Not now. “I know we have a son,” she snapped. “I carried him inside my body for nine months. I logged hundreds of miles walking him up and down these hallways when he suffered from colic. I stayed awake night after night because he’d only sleep propped up on my chest and I was scared to fall asleep with him in my bed. I’ve bathed him, bandaged his scrapes and cuddled him when he’s had nightmares. I have taken care of him, loved him, and provided for him as best I could every single day since he was born.”
“If I was here I would have—”
“What you would have done doesn’t matter. It’s what you actually did that matters. And you left. Without a care for me or Jake.”
“If I’d known about Jake I never would have left.”
“So I didn’t matter but a son would have? My father was right about you all along.” She took on a husky man-voice and repeated her father’s harsh words. “A boy like that will ruin your life, Victoria. He’ll find a way to latch onto you and drag you down.” She glared at Kyle and asked the question that’d haunted her for years. “Did you even wear a condom that night? Or were you trying to get me pregnant?”
He recoiled like she’d taken a swing at him.
Years of suppressed hurt, anger, and resentment surged to the surface with a force she couldn’t contain. “Don’t pretend the thought never crossed your mind. My father told me about his visit to the garage to warn you to stay away from me, and his threat that if you didn’t he’d see to it that you did. Is it pure coincidence that very evening you surprised me at the library, took me to a secluded spot, and made it impossible for me to say no?”
“This is insane. I never set out to get you pregnant. You’re turning a beautiful memory into something tawdry.”
“Beautiful memory? You’re joking, right? We were crammed into the back seat of your car. I felt crushed beneath you. I couldn’t move, could barely breathe.”
He looked physically ill. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
At first, she hadn’t spoken up because he’d aroused her to the point she had to know what came next. She’d loved Kyle, had wanted to be with him, wanted him to find pleasure in her body. But as the car heated and the windows steamed up, as his passion increased and his body covered hers, panic had taken over, transporting her back to that terrifying day in the closet.
Not thinking clearly, she’d allowed her father’s words to seep in and take hold. If you don’t keep quiet you’ll have to endure it another half-hour. Keep quiet, she’d instructed herself over and over, just like she’d done all those years before. And using the coping mechanism she’d mastered as a child, she’d imagined she was somewhere else.
After he’d left town, she couldn’t help wondering if he’d been able to tell. If he’d found her so inadequate and disappointing that he couldn’t bring himself to face her.
“Look. I knew your father meant business,” he said. “I thought that night might be the last time we’d be together. I wanted to be your first. I wanted you to always remember it. I wanted you to remember me.”
Oh, she remembered him all right, but not in the way he’d intended. “What about what I wanted? Did you give any thought to that? Because I sure didn’t want to be pregnant at seventeen. I didn’t want to be joked about and ostracized by the kids at school. I didn’t want to miss out on my senior year, senior prom and giving my valedictorian speech. I didn’t want to forego Harvard to get stuck in this small town, going to community college, and owing years of my life to the hospital that paid my tuition. I didn’t want a baby. I didn’t want to lose my father’s love. I didn’t want any of it!”
“You didn’t want me?” a small voice said.
Her son’s voice.
Victoria stiffened, her carefully constructed world crumbling under her feet. Slowly she turned to see Jake standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Honey, I …”
With hurt, wet eyes and a look of complete devastation and utter betrayal he turned and ran. The door to the garage slammed, followed by the side door leading outside. Victoria took off after him, the pain in her right ankle and knee nothing compared to the lacerated walls of her heart. The guilt and shame of her admission squeezed her chest. How could she have been so heartless, so careless and cruel?
On the third step down, Kyle grabbed her from behind. “Give him a few minutes.”
“I can’t. He’ll run into the woods and get lost. He doesn’t have his coat.” He’s upset and alone and thinking his mother didn’t want him, doesn’t love him.
“You’re not wearing any shoes.”
“I don’t care.” She fought against his hold, didn’t care if he was bigger or stronger. Her son needed her and nothing would keep her away. “I have to find him. Explain. Oh, God. What have I done? Let go of me.” She bit his arm.
“Hell.” He yanked one arm away, but held her firmly around the ribs with the other. “Calm down. Tori’s with him.”
“He doesn’t need a dog, he needs his mother,” Victoria screamed.
“What he needs is time to blow off some emotion.”
“You’ve been a father for all of, what, fifteen minutes? You don’t know the first thing about being a parent.”
“Maybe not,” Kyle said calmly. “But I know plenty about being a hurt, angry eight-year-old boy.” He turned her, lifted her chin, and forced her to look into his eyes, to see his concern, his caring. “Trust me. Five minutes and I’ll go after him.”
“I’ll go with you. Let me get my—”
“No.” Kyle stood firm between her and the coat tree. “I’ll bring him back. It’s past time he had his father to look out for him.”
A father.
At twenty-six years of age, Kyle Karlinsky was father to an eight-year-old boy he’d had no idea existed until today. What the hell did he know about raising a kid? His father was certainly no one to emulate. Didn’t matter. He had a son, who was currently trudging through the thick, dank woods behind his home in need of rescue. At least, according to Victoria.
Victoria, who dogged his psyche on a regular basis, his own personal super-ego, despite repeated attempts to purge her with booze and women. Victoria, who’d failed to tell him about his son, denied him the opportunity to know his child from birth, yet had stood up to her father, probably for the first time in her life, to keep their child safe, and had given up her dreams to raise him, virtually on her own.
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