Catherine Spencer - Passion's Baby

“Just over two years.”

He stared into his mug. “What you said, about understanding how I feel in this chair, was your husband…?”

“Yes, for the better part of the last three years of his life.”

He averted his gaze, but not before she saw the grimace he couldn’t control. “I’d go mad if I was facing that length of time,” he said.

“It’s amazing what people come to accept when they don’t have any other choices.”

“Not me,” he said. “I’m not handing over control of my life to anything or anyone else, especially not a bunch of doctors who don’t know what they’re talking about. According to them, I should settle for being alive with both legs still attached, and never mind expecting to walk again. But I’ll show them! It’ll take more structural failure at the bottom of an offshore oil rig to keep me tied to a wheelchair for the rest of my life.”

Good grief, the man lived dangerously! She’d seen news reports and documentaries about offshore drilling for oil. The rigs had struck her as frighteningly inhospitable, even those parts above the water. She couldn’t imagine how much worse they’d be fathoms deep in the ocean. “I gather,” she said, treading delicately, “that you had an accident of some kind?”

“You could put it like that, yeah. I found myself pinned under a steel beam and had a bit of trouble getting free.”

Since he was so determined to dismiss what had clearly been a life-threatening incident as something of no great consequence, she deemed it wise to respond in like fashion. Tilting one shoulder in a faint shrug, she said, “Well, there’s no doubt that, given the will and a reasonable amount of luck, some people do make remarkable recoveries. May I pour you more coffee before I leave?”

“You’re leaving already? Why? Where’s the fire?”

If he hadn’t already gone to such lengths to try to get rid of her, she’d have thought he wanted her to stay a bit longer. But, Wishful thinking, Jane, she told herself. You’re just dazzled by those beautiful sea-green eyes.

“No fire,” she said, as much to refute her own foolishness as to answer his remark. “Just the opposite, in fact. I want to take Bounder down for a swim before the tide turns.”

At the mention of his name, the dog reared up in excitement, a running shoe clamped in his mouth.

“He needs a few lessons in obedience, if you ask me,” Liam said, grabbing the shoe and flinging it under the table, then seizing his coffee cup before it was swept on the floor by Bounder’s thrashing tail. “He’s out of control. Settle down, idiot!”

“He’s not much more than a puppy,” Jane said defensively. “He’s still learning and I have to be patient.”

“Patient, my eye! He’s already mastered one lesson and that’s how to control you! If you were as dedicated to making him behave and keeping his teeth off other people’s property, as you are to nosing around in business that doesn’t concern you, you’d be a sight better off and so would he. He’s too damned big to be galumphing around like this.”

She swallowed a laugh. “Well, the truce was nice while it lasted, but it’s clearly over so I’ll get us both out of your hair before you start tearing it out by the roots. Thanks for the coffee. Come on, Bounder.”

“Yeah, well…thanks. For what you did. With the shutters, and all.”

He might have been having all his teeth pulled without benefit of anesthetic, he sounded so pained! But she made allowances because she knew that his pride was injured at least as badly as his leg. Anyone could see that Liam McGuire wasn’t accustomed to being helpless and that it particularly went against the grain for him to have to watch a woman take on what he considered to be a man’s job.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“It’s the only way I could think of to get rid of you.”

The smile which accompanied his remark, though meager, transformed his face. Charmed more than she cared to admit, Jane smiled back and said, “I’ll make a deal with you. I promise not to bother you again, provided you agree to call on me if you need help.”

“And how do you propose I do that, Goldilocks?”

“Tie a towel or something to the post at the end of the porch railing so I can see it from my place.”

He chewed the corner of his lip thoughtfully, then shrugged and extended his hand. “Sounds like a one-sided deal to me, but if that’s what it’ll take to keep the peace….”

Since he’d shown a near-aversion to touching her any more than was absolutely necessary, she expected his handshake would be brief and businesslike. But, noticing her raw knuckles, he stroked his thumb carefully across her fingers and said, “You’ve chewed yourself up pretty badly. Do you have something you can put on these to prevent infection?”

“Yes.” His concern, though impersonal, left her foolishly misty-eyed.

He noticed that, too. Misinterpreting the reason for her distress, he said, “Are they hurting that badly, Jane?”

“Uh-uh.” She swallowed and shook her head. “It’s just that I’m not used to having someone be concerned about me. It’s usually the other way around.”

Raising his eyes, he subjected her to a brief, intense scrutiny before dropping her hand and turning the wheelchair toward the door. “Then go put some salve on your scrapes and look after yourself for a change. You’ve wasted enough time on me for one day.”

She felt his gaze following her all the way along the path. Before climbing the steps to her own front porch, she looked back and sure enough, he’d stationed himself beside the post at the edge of the porch. When he saw her turn, he lifted his hand in a salute. She did the same and, fanciful though it might be, it was as if a small flame sprang alive in the cold, empty wasteland which for so long had been her heart.

That simple gesture set the pattern for the days which followed. Whenever they happened to see one another from a distance, they’d mark the occasion with a wave, an acknowledgment which, though wordless, nevertheless conveyed a sense of cautious awareness of each other.

Once, she saw him seated at the wheel of Steve’s eighteen-foot runabout and heading across the stretch of water separating Bell Island from Clara’s Cove on Regis Island. Another time she caught sight of him hauling driftwood up the ramp from the beach. But though her every instinct screamed for her to go over and make sure he was coping by himself, she honored their pact and kept her distance.

The heat wave softened to the more typically temperate warmth of early July, with cool, refreshing nights and mornings cloaked in milky haze. The leisurely days worked their magic and Jane found the healing, the sense of contentment and peace within herself, which had for so long evaded her.

She spent evenings sitting on the porch in one of the wooden Adirondack chairs her grandfather had made years before, and watching the first stars come out. Early each morning she left a trail of footprints along the newly-washed sand at the water’s edge. She swam in the sun-warmed waters of the cove, and hiked the lower slopes of Bell Mountain to pick wild blueberries. She taught Bounder to sit and stay on command.

Her skin took on a sun glow and she gained a pound or two because her arms and legs no longer seemed quite so scrawny. She slept like a child—deeply, dreamlessly—and rediscovered a serenity of spirit she’d thought she’d lost forever.

Sometimes, she thought she could live like that indefinitely, hidden away with only Bounder for company and the bald eagles and killer whales to witness her comings and goings. But nothing stayed the same for very long. Time, life—they moved forward. Change occurred.