Luke(44)

Gasping, she sagged back. She was okay.

Except she hadn't realized how badly her head hurt, or how shaky she really was. The lack of dinner combined with the candy bars from the night before really had gotten to her. She should have taken a sugar pill, which she kept with her in her purse for her low-sugar days. If she could pop one in her mouth now, within a minute she'd feel better, good enough to get home and feed herself. And if she managed that without killing herself on the road, she promised herself right there and then, in a solemn vow, she'd never, ever, screw up her diet again. Reaching for the passenger seat and her purse—

It wasn't there. She'd left her purse at the restaurant.

The light turned green, and she decided she was closer to home, that she'd call the restaurant when she got there to tell them she'd left her purse, and again hit the gas. The rain continued to hit the car hard, bouncing up off the trunk, so that she could hardly hear herself think. The swish, swish of the windshield wipers added to the mix, joining the pounding in her head.

God, she was so very tired, but finally, finally, she pulled onto her street. She waited for the overwhelming relief, she was almost there, safe and sound no less, but it was all she could do to get the car into the driveway.

Shaking like a leaf, she turned off the engine—and put her forehead to the steering wheel. She just felt so … damn … tired…





* * *





Chapter 13


? ^ ?

Luke drove home from his late meeting on autopilot. In his driveway, engine still running, windshield wipers whisking away the drumming rain as fast as it hit the window, he stared out into the night at his house.

It was dark. Probably cold.

No doubt Carmen had the entire place clean as a whistle, but the warm, sweet touches of a real home wouldn't be there. They never had been. There were no flowers on the table, freshly picked from the yard, with specific scents for specific needs. There was no fresh tea brewing that would act as a soother, an antibiotic or a mood lifter. There would be no pink toothbrush with a smiley face on the handle sitting on the bathroom counter next to a wide and baffling array of pots and bottles, all of which would smell like Faith.

Mesmerized by the movement from the windshield wipers and the headlights reflecting off the windows of the front of his house, all of which were dark with no life behind them, he let out a long sigh.

He felt … strange. As if he was searching for something in his life, something just out of reach. He couldn't go on without this … this thing, and he couldn't quite figure out what it was.

No, wait. That wasn't true. It wasn't a thing he was missing, but a person. A small, curvy, beautiful redheaded person nearly as stubborn as himself, and that was quite a feat, as he was pretty damn stubborn.

Faith.

With her name on his lips, he suddenly knew what it was. He'd fallen in love with her. And damn it, instead of facing that, instead of telling her, he'd tried to ignore it, tried to let it pass. After all, he had work, he had a meeting, he had … nothing, absolutely nothing as important as this.

Since when did he take the easy way out? Never. And he wasn't going to now either. Shoving the car in reverse, he craned his neck around and maneuvered himself out of the driveway and back into the dark, stormy night.

This wouldn't—couldn't—wait, and though it was nearly one in the morning, and the roads were a mess, he drove toward Faith's house. Not wanting to scare her with a knock this late, he grabbed his cell phone to call ahead and warn her. He was coming over, and they were going to face this.

But unbelievably, she didn't answer. He stared down at his cell phone, but he'd dialed correctly.

So … where was she? Had someone come to the clinic late, needing assistance? Yeah, that was probably it, and he sped up a little, hating the thought of her alone in that place with someone she didn't know. She thought she was invincible, that since all she wanted to do was help people, no one would hurt her.

Unsettled, he pulled into the driveway, right behind her car. Her headlights were still on, and so were the windshield wipers, which had him all the more worried. Her car was stilling running and it'd been parked at an odd angle, as if she'd been so exhausted—

Then he saw the dark figure slumped over the wheel and his heart jerked to a halt. Racing through the rain, he whipped open her car door. "Faith," he said hoarsely, and hunkered beside her, ignoring the rain deluging him, running down his face, soaking into his clothes. With one hand on her body, which was warm enough at least, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1 for an ambulance.

She lifted her head, and through her streaming hair, blinked at him. "Luke?"

"Just me." He finished with dispatch, pocketed the phone and took a deep breath to steady himself. He was a doctor, a damned good one, so there was no logical reason for all his medical training to fly out the window simply because the woman he'd fallen in love with was in her car in a semiconscious state, confused, and looking like death warmed over. "You passed out, do you remember?"

She closed her eyes and put a hand to her head. "I'm fine now, if you'll just move, I could get out."

Right. And she'd crumple to the ground. "You're slurring your words," he said as calmly as he could. "You've bottomed out, haven't you."