“Any rules?” he asked.
“Nope. I have a suggestion, though. Your doctor in Texas said you have blackouts. Since you’re alone here, why don’t you give me a call every morning, any time. I know when I moved here, I didn’t want anything to do with anyone. Only wanted to crawl under a rock. So you just tell me to back off anytime you feel crowded. Okay?”
Clint nodded. “Why don’t you just rent this place?”
“It’s not mine,” he said. “Maybe on paper it is, but it was willed to me by a friend who died in Afghanistan. This is what he would have wanted, a refuge for vets. It was that for me. And that’s probably the last time I’ll talk about it.”
“I want to pay something.”
“I won’t take money, but you can build a dock down on the lake. I planned to do it but ran out of time.”
The headache was getting worse. “I can do that.”
Josh gave him a searching look. “Can I do anything before I leave?”
“No, thanks.”
“Call me or Doc Bradley if you need anything. Don’t forget about the food in the fridge.” After Josh left, Clint used the crutches to get to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and swallowed a pill. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, but he didn’t think he could eat anything now. Using only one crutch so he could carry the glass of water, he made his way to the bedroom and sat down on the bed. He fought the headache by reviewing the day. The ups and downs. The downs were definitely the bus ride and being kicked by a cow. The up was Stephanie, although she obviously didn’t consider him an “up.”
Was that part of the attraction? He was rarely rebuffed by women, and he definitely had been this afternoon. She had bristled almost immediately at the bus stop. Her gentleness with the cow and easy friendliness with the rancher contrasted with her brusque manner with him. Puzzling, especially since he’d liked her instantly. Maybe it was her slow, reluctant smile. Or the fire he suspected lay under the icy exterior.
Just as well she didn’t return the interest. He sure as hell wasn’t ready for a heavy-duty involvement. He had damn few assets. A vanished career, a brain that didn’t work right, a near-empty bank account and now a bruised foot...
He closed his eyes. He was dead-tired physically. He’d had damned little sleep since he’d left the hospital yesterday. But then again, he’d gone days without sleep as a chopper pilot...
The sun danced and shimmered on the pavement ahead. His foot lightened on the pedal as the road took a turn and mounted an incline. An old battered truck appeared from nowhere, turning into... He slammed on the brakes...
He woke suddenly. The end of the nightmare was always the same. It was the last thing he remembered before waking up days later in the hospital. One moment that changed his life. That haunted him.
For several seconds, Clint couldn’t remember where he was. He was in a strange room in a strange house in a strange town. The glowing numbers on the clock next to the bed told him it was three thirty in the morning. He had slept longer than usual.
He reached around in the dark and turned on the bedside lamp. He still wore yesterday’s clothes. The shirt still smelled of cow. The pounding headache was a memory, but a dullness remained.
Had yesterday really happened? The weird afternoon. The pretty veterinarian who intrigued him. Was it real? Or another of the crazy dreams that plagued him since the accident. The pain in his right foot told him it was, indeed, real.
It still throbbed, but he was damned thirsty and the water glass next to the clock was empty. He was also ravenous. He placed his good foot on the floor, then the injured one. He could put some weight on it now, but he had learned recently that caution was a good thing.
Clint grabbed the crutch and hobbled out of the bedroom and down the hall, turning on lights as he went. He entered the kitchen and looked in the fridge.
It was full as promised: a whole roasted chicken on a plate, a casserole dish probably filled with the chili, packages of cheese and ham, a quart of milk and veggies. A loaf of bread sat on the counter.
He opted for a ham and cheese sandwich, which was easier to handle than a whole chicken. With one hand, he made a fat sandwich and took it to a chair in the living room, then returned for a glass of milk.
He surveyed the cabin. He hadn’t noticed everything yesterday afternoon. He’d been too worried that the headache would spiral into a blackout. But he felt better now, and he looked around with interest. The walls were newly painted—a soft sand shade—and the wood floor was partly covered with a colorful Indian rug. Light from the moon filtered through the windows.
Clint hobbled to a window and peered out. There was enough light to see a backyard with a large stone barbecue pit, and behind that the lot steepened into woods.
Loneliness hit him like a sledgehammer. He’d lost his friends, his community, even his identity. He was used to being in a crowd, the life of any party. At the base, he’d shared a house with three other pilots, and in Afghanistan, he’d shared a large tent. He was used to noise, people coming and going, laughter, clowning, sharing harrowing stories, which made them less painful.
After learning he probably wouldn’t fly again, certainly not in the near future, he had assessed possibilities. He was good at mechanics. He had accrued credits at the University of Maryland in computer engineering, although he was about twenty hours short of a degree. People generally liked him. He had learned to compensate for the loneliness and rejection he’d felt as a boy by being gregarious. He wasn’t sure whether it was learned or natural, but he was usually comfortable with others, and they with him.
Dr. Stephanie Phillips was an exception. He pictured her in his mind: her deep blue eyes and copper hair tied back, the high cheekbones and full mouth. And grace. Despite her height, or maybe because of it, she moved with the grace of an athlete. She was a natural beauty who seemed totally unaware of it. Or even contemptuous of it.
He thought about looking her up on his laptop to see what he might find, then realized it wasn’t with him. He rarely forgot it, but he’d been distracted and left it tucked next to his seat in the van.
A good excuse to call her tomorrow.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_5b2d9a69-1660-5575-beb8-b2d5546e1cb6)
STEPHANIE WAS FEEDING her two canine boarders when the phone in her office rang. She glanced at her watch. Seven thirty. She looked down at the ID display.
She didn’t answer “Unavailable” or “Name unknown” or “Anonymous,” all tactics her ex-husband had used.
But it was none of those. Instead, the ID reported “C. Morgan.” She muttered an oath, disliking the treasonable reaction of her body, the sudden warmth that crept up her spine. She could ignore him, but doing so would give him power. She knew all about that kind of thing.
Stephanie had worked too hard to let anyone knowingly or unknowingly dictate what she would or would not do.
She picked up the phone. “Mr. Morgan.”
“Clint,” he insisted. “Surely, my adventure with Isobel elevates me above the ‘Mr.’ status.”
She couldn’t resist his self-deprecating charm, dang it. “Clint, then.”
“Next time, too,” he teased. “No more Mr. Morgan. I don’t answer to that.” Then his tone changed. “I hope I didn’t wake you, but I left my laptop in your truck, and right now, it’s my world. I figured a veterinarian would be up early.”
He’d figured right. In fact, she’d been up at six after a restless night. She couldn’t get him out of her mind. She’d gone over the afternoon a dozen times trying to find something out of kilter, something wrong, some sign of a major character flaw.
Maybe he was a stalker. She hadn’t given him her number.
But she certainly owed him a few minutes of time this morning. Beth would arrive at 8:30 a.m. Her first appointment was at nine. It would take her maybe fifteen minutes to deliver the laptop.
“Where is the laptop?” she asked.
“I left it down the side of the seat,” he said.
She had little choice. She owed him. She had practically thrown him out of her van yesterday.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She hung up before he could answer.
She looked at her clothes. Jeans and a blue shirt. Good enough.
She thought about lipstick, but discarded the idea. She hadn’t had time to refresh it yesterday before picking him up and if she wore some today, he might think it was for him.
Why on God’s earth was she even thinking about him? She finished feeding the boarders and found her keys. Her dogs, Sherry and her brother, Stryker, looked at her anxiously.
“Okay,” she said. “You both can go.”
Their entire bodies wagged with delight as they followed her out the back door, then through the fence gate to the driveway where she parked the van. The dogs jumped inside, Sherry taking the passenger seat and Stryker edging behind the seat. She found the laptop lodged tightly between the seats. No wonder she hadn’t noticed it.
