Roxanne Rustand - A Man She Can Trust

She winced. “That’s so unfair. So totally cruel and unfair.”

“Unfair?” He bit out the word. “Would you have lost that baby if you’d listened to me? You always do what you want, no matter what anyone says. And as for this marriage? I think we know what’s left of it. If you’ve got to ask if I’ve cheated on you, then we are truly over.”

She glared at him, stunned by his attack. “I shouldn’t have to ask.”

“For what it’s worth, I haven’t.” Their eyes locked in anger. Then he took a step away. “I’ll be back tomorrow for my things.”

He grabbed his briefcase and headed for the entryway. The door crashed against the wall as he went out.

And just that fast, he was gone—but it wasn’t a surprise.

Earlier tonight, after talking to Phil, she’d been worried. Grant was lean, hard-muscled. He’d started running four miles a day and lifting weights after his father had his first heart attack at fifty, and was in superb condition. But as a physician, she knew even young, healthy males could keel over. And seeing sick people day after day made her all the more aware of the risks.

So she’d driven to town, expecting Grant had come back from Kendrick to put in some hours at his father’s law office. Wanting to check on him…though maybe that had just been an excuse.

On the way, she’d imagined that he might tear himself away from his work, so they could go to a quiet little restaurant for a late supper and a chance to visit, away from the battlefield of home.

A chance, perhaps, to heal their latest rift over her plans to remodel their old Victorian.

His car had been behind the office just as she’d thought. She’d gone to the back and tried the doorknob. And then she’d heard the voices. Grant’s laughter. The sultry voice of a woman.

The lights inside had dimmed.

And with them, her last hopes for her marriage died.

“YOU TWO MADE one hell of a mistake, Missy.” Warren waggled a gnarled forefinger under Dr. Jill Edwards’s nose, his faded blue eyes fixed on hers with steely resolve. “It isn’t too late.”

Jill smiled patiently as she finished checking the surgical site on his chest, listened to his heart sounds then draped the stethoscope around her neck. She pulled the covers up to his shoulders. “That’s the most optimistic thinking I’ve heard from you yet, Warren. Given that your son and I have been separated for four months and that he lives two hours away.”

“But you’re not divorced,” he countered triumphantly. “Now, why is that?”

“I’m sure we’ll get to it…soon. Very soon.”

“He’s a lawyer. Could have done it right away.”

Jill sighed with affectionate exasperation. Warren was a lawyer, too, and she knew he’d argue this case until doomsday, but it wouldn’t change a thing.

There were good reasons for the separation. Painful ones—none of which would ever change. Given some technicalities with their property ownership, there were also very impersonal reasons for the delay of those final papers.

“Let it rest, Warren. And while you’re at it, I want you to rest, too.” She frowned at him to mask her worry. “This was your second heart attack, and that congestive heart failure isn’t getting any better. You work too hard and you drink too much. And—no matter what you tell me—I know you’re still smoking those cigars.”

His expression grew thoughtful. “So I should take it easy.”

“Exactly.”

“And I shouldn’t work such long hours.”

“Not if you want to be around to see your first grandchild. Which,” she added quickly, “Phil and Sandra are working on at this very moment.” At the cagey gleam in Warren’s eyes, she knew what was coming before he even started to speak.

“I think I’ll take some time off. Tend my flowers. Give the old ticker a rest.” He nodded to himself, warming to the idea. “God knows, I’ve let the place go since Marie died.”

Warren lived and breathed the law. His office lights burned late into the night and he was there every morning by eight. The likelihood of him staying away for even a day was nearly impossible to imagine. Unless…

“And of course, I’ll need someone to cover the office. For a while, that is. Someone who knows the practice inside and out. Someone who can relate to the fine people here in Blackberry Hill. Someone who—”

“So you’re going to ask Grant to come back.” The weight of the past settled heavily on her shoulders. “Doesn’t his brother need him?”

“Phil covered our office in Kendrick for years before Grant joined him last fall.” He shrugged. “I’m sure he can manage a while longer.”

“But Grant must have a personal caseload there, now. He’s probably very busy.”

“It’s only two hours away. If he needs to, he can commute to his active cases there.”

“But—”

“I’m sure he won’t mind coming back here for a few months. Not when his dad is so ill and all…then you wouldn’t have to stop by my place every day to check on things.” Warren’s glance cut toward the bags hanging from the IV pole by his bed. “Of course, if you think I’m ready for discharge, then I probably wouldn’t be needing any help…” His voice trailed off, tinged with a hint of hopefulness.

“You are such a stinker,” Jill shot back, hiding a smile. “If you’re bargaining for a quicker discharge, the answer is no. That infection was a doozy, and you’ve still got eight more days of IV antibiotics. After that, you’ll need a week or so of rehab to build your strength.”

Harumph. Warren settled back against his pillow and regarded her through narrowed eyes. “You and Grant deserve each other.”

She laughed as she picked up the clipboard on the bedside table. “There, Warren, is where you are totally wrong.”

AFTER FINISHING HER rounds at Blackberry Hill Memorial, Jill crunched through the snow in the staff parking lot, thankful for her heavy down jacket and warm boots. Snowflakes swirled beneath the security lights overhead, glittering like crystals against the black sky.

You and Grant deserve each other. Despite all of his contacts in this small town, Warren really didn’t have a clue what had happened to his son’s marriage. Either that, or he thought an affair—especially an affair with a client—was not a big deal.

With one mittened hand, she swept away the snow on the driver’s side window of her Sable station wagon. Beneath the snow she felt a thick cobblestone layer of ice.

“Wind chill of minus-forty tonight. Wind’s going to get up to thirty miles an hour, I hear,” Grace Fisher called out from her own car another row over. The stocky older woman, director of nursing at the hospital, waved her ice scraper. “Need this?”

“Got one—but thanks.” Jill slapped her mittens together to knock the snow off, then slid behind the wheel of her car to start the motor. Retrieving her own scraper, she got out again and started on the windshield. “I’ll bet you aren’t going to miss these north-woods winters when you retire.”

Grace laughed. “If I’m not on some southern beach, I’ll at least stay by my fire with a good book.”

Jill waved goodbye to her as Grace drove away, then bent over the hood and continued chipping at the ice, her cheeks and fingers already numb.

As soon as she cleared most of the windshield, she climbed back into the car and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. She wished she had one of those remote car starters so it could have been warm and ready for her.

She drove out of the staff parking lot and took a left, heading down Main through the center of town.

Snow glistened beneath the street lamps, splashed with color where it reflected the neon lights of businesses along the three-block downtown area. In the summer, the shops bustled with the thousands of vacationers who swarmed to the beautiful lake district. Now, many of the upscale shops were closed until May, giving the street a rather melancholy air.