The Dream Comes True Page 12

  “Dr. Caine?” Nina called weakly. She wanted to go to her home, not John’s. She didn’t want to owe him a thing. And she wanted to be free to work.

  “I’ll be back,” the doctor said from the door and disappeared.

  She took in a big breath and let it slowly out, sinking deeper into the pillows as she did.

  “You’re feeling tired, aren’t you?” John asked.

  She wanted to argue, but couldn’t. Silently she nodded.

  “Caine says it’ll be that way for a while.”

  She wanted to ask—indignantly—when John had spoken to Dr. Caine, but it was a foolish notion. John had brought her to the hospital on that nightmare of a night. He’d been the one to tell the doctor what she was feeling, since she was unconscious. He’d been the one in the waiting room while she was in surgery and the one in her room when she woke up. Of course, he’d spoken with the doctor. Naturally the doctor trusted him.

  So did she, but going to his house involved matters beyond trust. It involved an intrusion in his life that was different from the time she’d hitherto taken up. It involved meeting J.J.

  As though reading her mind, John carefully lowered himself by her side. “I’ve thought about this a lot, Nina. The idea of your coming home with me isn’t out of the blue. If you’re leaving the hospital, you need to be with someone who can take care of you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “Maybe in a few days. But not now. At least, not very well. You need to rest. You don’t need to be thinking about making a meal when you’re hungry or answering the door when the bell rings or doing work. Work will wait,” he said with subtle emphasis. “It’ll wait till you’re well.”

  In other circumstances, Nina would have argued up a blue streak about that. But either she was simply too weak to argue, or his slow, confident tone was too persuasive. So she let it go for the time being. At the moment, the issue of work didn’t seem quite as important as the one of John’s son.

  “What about J.J.?” she asked again, very softly. “If I were to stay at your place, what would you tell him?”

  “Just what I’ve been telling him all week, that you’re a friend who’s sick.”

  “I’ll be in the way there.”

  He shook his head. “You’re not demanding. You barely let me do things for you here. I can’t imagine you turning into a spoiled witch once we leave.”

  “But there’s J.J.”

  John’s eyes searched her. “You seem hung up on that. He’s just a child.”

  “Just a child? He’s your child, and he means the world to you. You didn’t want me to meet him—”

  “Whoa. You said that before. What makes you think it?”

  “You always get a sitter when you see me.”

  His lips grew wry. “Because what I’m thinking of doing when I see you isn’t exactly appropriate for a child, any child, to see.”

  “But that Sunday when you came by my office for the brochure, you could have brought him, still you didn’t. You left him with friends at the beach.”

  “Because he was having fun.”

  “If he’d started to cry when you left, would you have brought him?”

  John was contemplative for a minute. “Maybe.” Slowly he added, “But maybe you’re right, in a way. I want to protect J.J. from hurt, so I’ve kept our lives—his and mine—very simple. My job is perfect for that. I haven’t brought strangers around often, and in particular, I haven’t brought women. I haven’t wanted to confuse him.”

  “If you bring me home now, he will be confused.”

  He thought about that. “I can explain that you’re a friend.”

  “But I’ll be there, in your house, then when I’m better, I’ll be gone. Won’t that confuse him?”

  “I’ll explain that you’re better.”

  Nina wasn’t expressing herself well, and the more she tried, the more frustrated she grew. Closing her eyes, she sighed. “Oh, John.”

  “What?” he asked with such gentleness that the words, sounding fragile and meek, spilled out.

  “I’m awful with kids. I don’t know what to do, and J.J.’s not just any kid. He’s special. But what if I do something wrong? What if I say something wrong?” In the silence that followed, she dared open her eyes. John’s were every bit as gentle as his voice.

  “You’ll be at my place to rest, not to perform,” he said, and gave a sad smile. “Besides, you don’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing to J.J. He won’t hear you, anyway.”

  Feeling John’s sadness, she closed her eyes. From within that cocoon of darkness, she heard his low-spoken words. “I’d like you to meet him, Nina. I’d like him to meet you. It’s time.”

  She wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but somehow it didn’t seem important. If John wanted her, truly wanted her to recuperate at his home, she’d go. There was a danger in it. She would have to be careful not to compromise her own independence in any long-term way. But she was sick. And he was offering. And there was a small part of her—call it expediency or curiosity or just plain old selfishness—that wanted it, truly wanted it, too.

  7

  The doctor did his workup and was sufficiently satisfied with Nina’s condition to release her into John’s charge late that afternoon. Wearing the loose sundress and sandals that Lee had brought by earlier in the day, she walked slowly to the elevator, holding lightly to John’s arm.

  “Just your speed, eh?” she teased.

  “I’m not complaining.” He studied her face. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” But she wished it was true. Her legs felt weak, and since she refused to walk hunched over, her incision pulled. The doctor had promised that both the weakness and the pulling would get better each day, but she was impatient. She wasn’t used to being sick. The thought of being slowed down frustrated her.

  Nonetheless, by the time the elevator ride was done and they had crossed the parking lot, she was grateful to sit. Easing herself gingerly into the car, she put her head back against the seat and worked at regaining her breath.

  “You’re pale as a ghost,” John observed the instant he joined her. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back in there?”

  She shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to go back in there. She had places to go and things to do, and though she would rather be heading for her own home, given the doctor’s stubbornness, John’s home would have to do. At least she’d be able to sleep when she wanted to, then use the rest of the time to think. John might not allow her to spend hours on the phone, but she would be able to do some creative planning and write out instructions for Lee regarding Crosslyn Rise.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said in a thin voice. “I’m just not used to being upright for so long.”

  “Try this.” Gently he eased her down so that her head was braced in the fold of his groin. “Better?”

  She sighed against his thigh. “Much.”

  Putting the car in gear, he started off. “You were lying this way when I drove you in last Wednesday night. Do you remember?”

  “No. That whole time’s a blur.”

  He stroked her hair. “I was scared.”

  “Did you guess what was wrong?”

  “Uh-huh. That’s why I was scared. It used to be that once an appendix ruptured, the person was gone. I figured yours had ruptured, but I didn’t know when. It must have been right before you phoned me.”

  She shivered.

  “Cold?”

  He was already reaching to lower the air conditioning when she shook her head. “Just remembering. The pain was so awful. I’ve never felt anything like it.”

  “Thank goodness you knew to call me.”

  She thought about that, just as she’d done more than once while lying in her hospital bed. She could have called Lee. She could have called Martin. She could have called 911. But she’d called John. She hadn’t seriously considered any other option. And while one part of her—the part that had built a life on the
concepts of independence and self-sufficiency—resented it, she had to accept the practical fact that of all the people she knew, John had the coolest, calmest head on his shoulders.

  Reaching for his hand, she tucked it under her chin. “I haven’t thanked you. You came. You knew what to do and did it. You saved my life.”

  He cleared his throat. “All we need now are a few violins—”

  “I mean it, John. I’m very grateful.”

  “Good. Then you can show your gratitude by being a good girl over the next few days and staying in bed.”

  “Staying in bed?”

  “At least at the start.”

  She settled in against his thigh.

  After a short silence, he said, “What? No argument?”

  “I’m too tired,” she said in a feeble drone, answering the very question she kept asking herself. Going with John this way was against all she stood for, but the circumstances were mitigating. “I didn’t realize it at the hospital. I just wanted to get out.” After a minute, she said, “Now I just want to rest.”

  “Then rest. We’ll be there soon.”

  She let the hum of the car and the strength of John’s thigh lull her. “Get me up before we reach your street?”

  “Why?”

  “So your customers don’t see me drag my head from your lap and think awful things.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll get you up. But watch what you say, or you’ll get me up, too. Then the customers will really have a show.”

  Had she been feeling well, Nina would surely have marveled that the bookish John Sawyer was into double entendres. Had she been feeling well, she would have been turned on by it. But she wasn’t feeling well Sex was the last thing on her mind. Or nearly. She couldn’t resist a smile at the image of the proper bookseller, improperly aroused, escorting her across the front lawn.

  In no time it seemed, John was nudging her awake. “Rise and shine,” he whispered, and helped her sit up as he turned onto his street. Seconds later, he turned into his driveway and pulled directly up to the side door. Though Nina guessed that he normally parked by the garage that stood well behind the house, she didn’t argue. Walking through the hospital had exhausted her. She was still feeling the drain.

  With John’s help, she eased herself from the vehicle. As they walked toward the door, her heartbeat quickened. She wanted to attribute it to the weakness of her limbs, and that might in part have been true. But she was also nervous.

  “What will he be doing now?” she asked in a whisper. “Does he watch TV?”

  John didn’t have to ask who she was talking about. “Sometimes. But I think he’s out.” He pulled the door open.

  “Out?”

  “With the girls.”

  “Oh.” She was relieved, then again, disappointed. Starting up the stairs with John’s arm in light possession of her waist, she said, “I’m beginning to think he’s a phantom. He’s never around when I expect him to be.”

  “He’ll be back,” John said with certainty, and tightened his arm when she seemed to lag. “Maybe these stairs weren’t such a good idea,” he muttered.

  “I’d have had stairs at my place, too,” she said, huffing more with each step. “Once I get to the top, I’ll be fine.”

  “Once you lie down you’ll be fine.”

  She agreed with him there. With little more than a vague impression of lots of browns and blues, she let him guide her past the living room and down a hall to the very last room. It too was blue, blue and white, not quite masculine, not quite feminine, not quite decorated, but simple and sweet. The one thing that interested her most though was the bed. It was a double, had two fluffy pillows and was covered with a quilt that had already been turned back. Desperate to lie down, she crossed to it, sat on its edge and, bracing her stomach with an arm, carefully lowered her head to the pillow. John lifted her feet behind her.

  She sighed and close closed her eyes. “Ah, that’s better.”

  “You’re sweating.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Is there a nightshirt with the clothes Lee picked up?”

  “Should be.” She heard him take the bag from his shoulder and drop in onto a chair, then unfasten it and rummage through.

  “This is pretty,” he mused dryly.

  She managed to lift her head and open an eye, but what she saw didn’t please her. Lee had packed her skimpiest nightie. She couldn’t possibly wear it, not with a little boy running around.

  With a moan, she returned her head to the pillow. “I’m okay like this for now.” She’d worry about nightwear later.

  But John had other ideas. Without a word, he left the room, returning moments later with a shirt of his own. “Assuming this reaches your knees, it’ll be loose and soft and decent,” he said, and began to unbutton it.

  Nina was too weak to protest when he helped her off with the sundress and on with the shirt. She managed some of the buttons while he did the others, then, while she lay down again, he rolled up the sleeves. After surveying his work and judging it acceptable, he flipped a switch on the wall. A soft whir of air drew Nina’s notice to the ceiling, where a fan had gently started to turn.

  “Nice,” she said with a small smile, but what was nicer was the clean way she felt in John’s shirt, the way the mattress molded to her body as the hospital one had never done, the freshness of the linen by her cheek. “I think I’ll just rest awhile now,” she murmured and, within minutes, dozed off.

  * * *

  When she awoke, she was disoriented. At first she thought she was at the hospital, but the smell wasn’t right, too pleasant, not antiseptic at all. Then she thought she was at home, but the sound wasn’t right, too smooth, almost a hum, like the fan she had always wanted but didn’t yet have. Then she remembered where she was and slowly opened her eyes.

  Before her, standing nearly at eye level little more than an arm’s length away, was J.J. Sawyer. He had thick shiny hair that was a shade lighter in color than his father’s dark brown and fell over his forehead in full bangs, skin that was smooth and gently tanned, a small nose and serious mouth. Barefoot, he was wearing a faded T-shirt over denim shorts. His limbs were slender though not skinny. In fact, while she had expected him to look frail, that wasn’t the case. Had it not been for the thick glasses he wore and the hearing aids on each ear, he’d have looked like anyone’s rough-and-tumble, normal healthy four-year-old son.

  Feeling an unexpected tug at her heartstrings, Nina smiled. “Hi,” she said. She didn’t move other than to lift a hand and flex it in a small wave.

  He waved back, but, with the movement of her hand, his attention had been drawn to her wrist. She followed the line of his gaze to the identification band the hospital had put there. She hadn’t thought to take it off. Holding her arm out, she let J.J. take a closer look.

  He turned the band slowly, first one way, then the next.

  Had she been able, Nina would have slipped it off and given it to him, but by design it was too small to slip off. Shooting for second best, she mimed cutting through the band with scissors. She pointed to him, then to the door, then repeated the cutting motion.

  J.J.’s eyes, magnified by the glasses, rose to hers. She raised her brows in invitation, smiled, nodded and made the cutting motion again. Without a sound, he turned and scampered from the room.

  Only then aware of the quickening of her pulse, Nina took a deep, steadying breath. Either she’d gotten her point across, or she’d sent J.J. off to his father with reports of a real weirdo in the spare room. But, what the hell, how was she supposed to know what a four-year-old did? All kids used scissors, didn’t they? Or was it only ones older than four? She tried to remember what she’d been doing at that age, then decided against it. Nothing about her childhood had been normal.

  Before she could give it another thought, J.J. ran back into the room, carrying a pair of small, blunt-tipped scissors. Feeling victorious that she had made herself understood, Nina held out her wrist. “Can you do it?
” she asked, pointing from him to the bank, to the scissors and back.

  Opening the scissors, he slipped them under the band and tried to cut, but the plastic resisted the dull blades.

  “Try again,” Nina coaxed. Giving him a thumbs-up sign in encouragement, she pushed the band deeper into the jaws of the scissors. He made another single slash with the scissors, but to no avail. His brows came down, his small mouth thinned.

  Feeling his frustration, Nina held up a finger to tell him to wait, then pushed the band even deeper into the scissors and made a series of repeated movements with her fingers. He took the hint. Using smaller cuts, he finally managed to pierce the plastic. Once that initial piercing was done, the split grew longer with each cut.

  Though he was the one making the effort, Nina was the one who had worked herself into a cold sweat of determination by the time the scissors finally made it all the way through. “Good boy!” she said with a grin.

  J.J., too, was grinning when he looked up at her.

  “Thank you,” she mouthed, and his grin widened, then his eyes followed suit when she offered him the band. “It’s yours if you want it. You earned it.”

  He couldn’t have heard her words, wasn’t even looking at her face at the moment she said them, so he couldn’t possibly have read her lips, but the excitement she saw in his eyes was an eloquent as could be.

  Nudging the band into his hand, she nodded. He took it, turned and ran from the room.

  Again Nina felt the race of her heart and concentrated on slowing down. J.J. had done the work, but she was exhausted. Pathetic as it was, it was a fact of life, for this day at least. If she rested today, surely she’d feel stronger tomorrow.

  But she had barely closed her eyes when the patter of small running feet returned. J.J was back, one hand holding her band, the other closed into a fist. Squatting down by the side of the bed, he put the band between his feet, opened his fist, rearranged its contents, then stood and offered her the five jelly beans that lay carefully cupped inside.