Pat Warren - Doctor And The Debutante

Just then, all the lamps went out, the furnace clicked off and the only light came from the soft glow of the fireplace clear across the room, the only sound that of their labored breathing.

“Oh, no,” Laura muttered. What a time for a power outage.

“Just wait a minute,” Sean said, holding on to her. In seconds, there was a shuddering sound, then a large click. The lights blinked back on, and the furnace made a whooshing noise before resuming. “The generator kicked in,” he explained. “I have it as a backup since these winter storms often knock out our power.” He carried her back to the couch, easing her down carefully. “I’m sorry I had to hurt you.”

Laura held her injured arm close to her body, hugging it. “Had to be done.” She licked her lips, struggling with a sudden wave of nausea. Swallowing hard, she looked up at him, beginning to panic. “Where’s your bathroom? I think I’m going to be sick.”

She did look a little greenish. “Not far. Let me help you.” He slipped an arm around her and half-carried, half-supported her to a door off the kitchen. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me,” he said, directing her inside, leaving the door slightly ajar so he could hear. He didn’t want her passing out on him.

Poor kid, Sean thought, walking away, giving her some privacy. Shock often brought on nausea. The jolt of repositioning her shoulder had likely been the last straw for her battered system. He wandered over to the front window. It was still coming down just as hard as ever. At this rate, her Bronco would be all but hidden by morning.

Sean walked over to the phone, picked it up to check. Sure enough, it was out, and would be for God only knew how long. Hands in his pockets, he slowly paced the perimeter of the large room, reluctantly admitting that he was stuck with his uninvited guest for quite some time.

Lousy timing. He wasn’t an uncharitable person, and it wasn’t that he didn’t want to help someone hurt and stranded. But he’d had a purpose in coming to the cabin at this particular time, and her arrival messed up his plans. Maybe it was for the best, he thought with a shrug. His partner had repeatedly told Sean what he thought of his annual pilgrimages, that they did more harm than good, and perhaps Jonah was right. Yet each year, as the fifteenth of February approached, Sean would feel compelled to return.

Glancing toward the bathroom door, he wondered how she was doing in there. And how she’d handle being marooned in a strange place with a melancholy man.

Laura splashed cold water on her face, then grabbed a hand towel to dry off. Standing with most of her weight on one foot, she leaned into the sink and stared at her image in the wall mirror. Oh, Lord, was that a black eye? Just what she needed. Hair a mess, face pale, eyes reflecting fatigue and remnants of fear. She wasn’t a beauty to begin with, and now this.

What on earth was she doing here in the house of a sexy stranger who, although he’d been kind, looked as if he wished she’d stayed home? Laura wished she had, too, except for a lingering uneasiness about the home she’d left behind so hastily. How had her life turned into such a chaotic mess in such a short time?

She finger-combed her hair back off her face, realizing that her head hurt too much just now to try to figure things out. She checked the medicine chest and found no new toothbrushes. Mostly shaving stuff, toothpaste, a bottle of aspirin and mouthwash. And a packet of birth control pills. Now that was odd for a man living alone.

Then again, maybe he didn’t live alone some of the time.

She used the mouthwash and felt fresher, but she wished she didn’t have to go out and face Sean. How embarrassing, to get sick like that. She reminded herself he was a doctor, but the reminder didn’t help. He simply didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a doctor. She would never choose a doctor so young and handsome, let him poke and prod her with her wearing only a skimpy gown.

Grimacing, she hobbled to the door and opened it.

He was standing at the window watching the snow and probably wishing he hadn’t gone out and found her. Yet when he turned to look at her, his face registered what seemed to be genuine concern as he walked over to her.

“Are you feeling better?” Sean asked, noticing the bruised look about her huge blue eyes. The right eye was definitely turning black.

Involuntarily, her face flushed. “Yes. I’m so sorry. I never get sick like that, but…”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, slipping a supportive arm around her before she lost her balance. “Shock does that to people. How’s your shoulder?”

“Sore,” she answered, allowing him to help her back to the couch where she sat down gratefully. She’d give anything if he’d go about his business and just let her lie here. A short nap and she was sure she’d feel all right again.

“Can I get you something to eat?”

The mere mention had her stomach churning. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” She hated this feeling of helplessness, of not being able to remember, of needing assistance. Her ankle was throbbing, but she wouldn’t let on. Doctor or not, the man would soon tire of her aches and pains, her complaints, if he hadn’t already.

Sean ignored her polite refusal of food. She needed something in her stomach if he was to give her a pain pill or she might get sick again. “I’d been about to warm some soup before I heard the crash and went out. I could make a sandwich. There’s tuna salad and…”

“Tuna? Oh, heavens!” Laura’s voice was agitated.

“What is it?” he asked. How could the mention of tuna upset her?

“Max, my cat. He was in the Bronco with me.”

Sean frowned. “Are you sure? I looked into the back seat and I didn’t see anything but a large handbag and an old blanket on the floor.”

“That’s Max’s blanket. He was probably hiding under it.” Panic colored her voice. “What if he’s hurt? Or if he got out? He’ll freeze to death in this storm.”

“I’ll go look.” Reluctant resignation tinged every word. A cat. She would have a cat.

“I…I hate to ask you, but he’s ten years old. He’s not used to fending for himself and…”

“Don’t worry.” Sean was already pulling on his boots. “If he’s out there, I’ll find him.” Macho man, taking on the world. Was he nuts, making such a promise? He shouldered into his jacket. “You’re absolutely certain he was in the Bronco with you?” After all, her memory was spotty at best.

“Yes, positively.” She remembered grabbing her purse and scooping Max into her arms, then hurrying to the Bronco, her need to get away uppermost in her mind. She’d been afraid of…of what? Damn, why couldn’t she remember the rest? “You’re awfully nice to go back out there.”

That he was, a truly nice guy. Wordlessly, Sean zipped up and went out. He didn’t even like cats. Dogs were more his thing. One day, he’d get a dog, when he could be home more. He didn’t feel it was fair to coop up an animal all day, not with the hours Sean worked. Head bent against the wind and blowing snow, he made his way toward the incline.

From the couch, Laura twisted about, gazing out the window across the room. The snowflakes were so thick she could scarcely make out anything. She couldn’t blame Sean for being annoyed at going back out in that. But they couldn’t let Max die, which he surely would if he wasn’t found soon.

With no small effort, she shifted painfully until she was lying down on the couch, then pulled the afghan over herself. She ached so much she couldn’t even define where it hurt most. To distract herself, Laura gazed around the room.

It was big with large, comfortable furniture, the couch she was on and two deep chairs facing the bricked hearth and the crackling fire. For the first time, she noticed a framed drawing hanging above the fieldstone fireplace. Laura’s studio in Scottsdale was next to an art gallery, and she recognized that this drawing had been done in pastel chalks.