Rainshadow Road (Friday Harbor #2)(42)

“Justine called me.”

“She shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

His gaze slid over her, not missing a detail. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and gruff. “Are you in pain?”

“It’s not bad.” Lucy gestured to the IV bag. “They’ve got me on some kind of narcotic something-or-other.” Fretfully she added, “There’s a needle in my hand.”

“We’ll get you out of here soon.”

She focused on Sam’s T-shirt, dark blue with the printed white outlines of what looked like an old-fashioned telephone booth. “What is the phone booth for?”

“Police box. From Dr. Who.” Seeing her incomprehension, he explained, “It’s a time-traveling spacecraft.”

The shadow of a smile crossed her lips. “Geek,” she said, and blew her nose.

Drawing closer, Sam settled his hand on her hip, exploring the outlines of a polyurethane bandage, adjusting the drape of the hospital blanket over her splinted leg. There was something oddly proprietary about the way he touched her. Lucy stared at him in bewilderment, trying to fathom what was the matter with him. He had the air of a man who was facing an unpleasant duty.

“You look angry,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“You’re clenching your jaw.”

“That’s the way my jaw always looks.”

“Your eyes are glaring.”

“It’s the hospital lighting.”

“Something’s going on,” she insisted.

Sam took her icy hand in his, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter that had been clamped to her forefinger. His thumb rubbed lightly over the backs of her fingers. “For the next few days, you’re going to need someone to help you out. This is more than you can handle on your own.” A measured pause. “So I’m going to take you to Rainshadow Road with me.”

Lucy’s eyes widened, and she tugged her hand from his. “No. I … no, I won’t do that. Is that why Justine called you? God. I can’t go anywhere with you.”

Sam turned quietly ruthless. “Where are you planning to go, Lucy? The inn? Being closed off in a room by yourself with no one to help you? Even if Zoë and Justine didn’t have a big event going on this weekend, they’d still have a hard time getting you up and down all those stairs.”

Lucy pressed a clammy palm to her head, which had begun to ache fiercely. “I … I’ll call my parents.”

“They’re at least a thousand miles away.”

She was so worried and depleted that she felt her throat tighten against a new threat of tears. Appalled by her lack of control, she put her hand over her eyes and made a frustrated sound. “You’re too busy. The vineyard—”

“My crew will cover for me.”

“What about your brother and Holly?”

“They won’t mind. It’s a big house.”

As she began to comprehend the situation, Lucy realized that Sam would be helping her with bathing, eating, dressing—intimacies that would be embarrassing even with someone she had known for a long time. And he didn’t look any happier about the situation than she was.

“There’s got to be another solution,” Lucy said, trying desperately to think. She drew in an extra breath, and another, unable to get enough air into the tightening confines of her lungs.

“Damn it, don’t start hyperventilating.” Sam’s hand settled on her chest, rubbing a slow circle. The familiarity of the gesture caused her to gasp.

“I haven’t given you the right—” she began unsteadily.

“For the next few days,” Sam said, his lashes lowering to conceal his expression, “you’ll have to get used to having my hands on you.” The circling motion continued, and Lucy subsided helplessly. To her mortification, a little coughing sob escaped her. She closed her eyes. “You’re going to let me take care of you,” she heard him say. “Don’t waste your breath arguing. The fact is, you’re coming home with me.”

Thirteen

It was early evening by the time Sam’s pickup turned onto Rainshadow Road and proceeded along the private drive. He had signed all of Lucy’s release forms, collected a sheaf of medical instructions and prescriptions, and had accompanied Lucy as an RN had taken her outside in a wheelchair. Justine had been there too, her manner gratingly cheerful.

“Well, kids,” she had chirped, “this is going to turn out fine. Sam, I owe you. Lucy, you’ll love Sam’s house—it’s a great place—and someday, I guarantee we’ll all look back on this and— What did you say, Sam?”

“I said, ‘Shove it, Justine,’” he muttered, gathering Lucy up from the wheelchair.

Unperturbed, Justine followed as Sam carried Lucy around the truck. “I put together an overnight bag for you, Luce. Zoë or I will drop off more of your stuff tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Lucy had wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck as he lifted her with astonishing ease. His shoulders were hard against her palms. The smell of his skin was delicious, clean with a hint of salt, like ocean air, and fresh like garden plants and green leaves.

Sam placed Lucy in the truck, adjusted her seat back, and buckled the seat belt. Every movement was deft and efficient, his manner impersonal. He kept glancing at her, taking measure. Unhappily she wondered what Justine had said to persuade him to take her. “He doesn’t want to do this,” she had whispered to Justine in the hospital, and Justine had whispered back, “He does. He’s just a little nervous about it.”