She was smiling as she spoke. Her face was bare of makeup, her hair long and loose. She’d dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt and her feet were bare.
He stopped where he was just to look at her, to take in her radiance, to feel the life pulsing through her. Then he crossed the room, took the tray from her, put it on the coffee table and pulled her into his arms.
When they surfaced from the kiss, she continued to hang on to him. “You do have a way with greeting people. Not that I would encourage you to do that with the other women in the hospital. They would be throwing themselves at you constantly and that would make it hard to work.”
“Yes, it would.”
She laughed.
His cell phone rang.
He didn’t want to answer it. For once, he didn’t want to be called to the hospital for an emergency, didn’t want to help or heal or… He swore and pushed the talk button.
“Bradley.”
“You sound grumpy,” a cheerful Alistair said.
Simon relaxed. “I’m busy. Go away.”
Alistair chuckled. “Ah, yes, the ever present American overexuberance. Who is she?”
He glanced at Montana, who wasn’t bothering to pretend she wasn’t listening. “Someone special.”
“A girl?”
“A woman.”
“Better and better,” Alistair told him. “Would I like her?”
“Yes, but you can’t have her. I’m hanging up now.”
“Give her a kiss for me.”
“Not a chance.”
“A friend of yours?” Montana asked when he’d hung up.
“Yes. Alistair. I’ve known him for years. He’s a surgeon, as well. We’ll be in Peru together.”
He drew her close and kissed her. “He’s handsome, witty and British. You’d like him.”
“I like you better.”
He kissed her again, released her and reached for the wine. “Your mother came to see me earlier.”
Montana froze, her eyes wide. “Why?”
“She brought me food.”
“Oh. Good. She’s like that. You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“No.”
“Not that I mind her knowing. Sort of. I don’t know. The whole sex-parent-child situation confuses me. I don’t want to know if she’s doing it, and I suspect she feels the same way about me.”
“I didn’t tell your mother what we’d done.” He poured red wine into two glasses, then handed her one.
“I don’t usually drink wine at three in the afternoon.”
“I wish I could say the same,” he joked.
“Ha. I knew you were the bad boy type.”
“Not until I met you. I was pretty boring and studious as a kid.”
She sank onto the sofa. “I guess I need to tell you something.”
She sounded worried. That should have concerned him, but this was Montana. Nothing she could say would shock him.
He sat across from her and leaned forward. “Go ahead.”
“I know what happened to you. The scars, I mean. Someone told me.”
He’d been expecting some sort of confession, not this. His first reaction was embarrassment. No one liked admitting they had been so unlovable as a child that their own mother had set them on fire. Only there wasn’t a “them.” There was him.
“I was a smart kid. Scary smart. I never fit in. Skipping a lot of grades meant I was always the youngest in the class. That didn’t help either.”
He leaned back on the sofa. “My mother wasn’t one who enjoyed working for a living. She preferred to find a man to support her. Something that wasn’t so easy with a freaky kid around. When I was eleven, her boyfriend was kind of a weasel. I don’t know exactly what he did for a living, but I’m sure it was illegal.”
He took a sip of the wine, more as something to do than because he wanted to taste it. “He complained that I was always staring at him, which wasn’t true. When I was home I knew to keep my head down. One day they had a big fight and he walked out. On the way he said I was the main reason he was leaving. My mother was already drunk and she started screaming at me. Crying and screaming.”
He kept telling the story as if it belonged to someone else, as if relating a movie premise. He didn’t want to remember that this had happened to him.
“She threw a couple of things across the room. My schoolbooks, I think. I went to leave but she grabbed me by the front of my shirt and shoved me hard. She told the police that she didn’t mean for me to fall in the fire, but she did. There was no screen, nothing but burning logs.”
Despite his best intentions, the memories returned. The split second of disbelief followed by searing pain. Pain that exploded, pain that was unendurable. He remembered screaming and scrambling, trying to get away, begging her to make it stop. And when he managed to crawl out, she pushed him in again.
The rest of it was a blur. It was a cold day and when he managed to get outside, still screaming, he threw himself into a snowbank. But the cold didn’t help. Nothing helped. He screamed and screamed until the sirens came. He remembered men surrounding him, telling him he would be all right. Even then, he’d known they were lying.
“I was in the hospital for a long time,” he continued, sparing her the worst of the details.
“Did you ever see her again?”
“No, she went to prison. She died there.” He shrugged. “By then it didn’t matter. I lived at the hospital. The doctors and nurses were my family. I had a lot of surgeries. For reasons I can’t explain, my hands were untouched. Within the first year I realized I wanted to be a doctor. A surgeon. I wanted to help kids like me.”
Montana set down her wine and crossed to him. She knelt on the floor in front of him and put her hands on his thighs. “Didn’t the doctors and nurses always leave?”
“Don’t make it more than it was.”He knew where she was going. That because the people he cared about left, he left as well.
She stared into his eyes, as if searching for answers. He thought about telling her he wasn’t as deep as she imagined, but he doubted she would believe him. There had been plenty of people looking into his head while he’d been in the hospital. Therapists and psychiatrists. He knew the jargon, understood the theories.
“So somehow that all got twisted into the idea that if you sacrifice your personal needs, you can heal everyone?” she asked.
“You don’t understand. I love what I do. This is all I want to do.”
“What about belonging? What about loving and being loved?”
He put down his wine and stood. He should’ve seen this coming, he told himself. Montana was that kind of girl.
“Love doesn’t matter. I won’t say it doesn’t exist, because I’ve seen it on occasion.”
She rose to her feet and faced him. “Love is the only thing that matters.”
He knew that wasn’t true. He’d gone his whole life without feeling love and he was fine. It was easier to stay distant, to be an observer. Cleaner.
“Everyone wants to belong,” she insisted.
“No. You want to belong. I have to leave and take care of other people.”
“Want to or have to?”
“Does it matter?” he asked.
He saw the sadness in her eyes and knew she understood now. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he was leaving. In some ways he’d never really been here at all.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“Too late.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
VISITING THE FOOL’S GOLD nursing home was usually the highlight of Montana’s day. She loved bringing a vanload of happy dogs to the residents, enjoyed taking them around, watching them work their magic. By now she knew nearly every person at the facility by name, remembered who preferred a small dog to cuddle and who wanted to throw a ball for a bigger dog. She’d seen those who barely responded to their environment at all smile when nudged by a grinning service dog.
But today, as she parked and got out of Max’s van, she felt as if she were moving through water. She hurt all over, but not in a physical way. She hurt on the inside.
Simon wasn’t staying. Yes, he’d always said that and, yes, she’d understood the words, but this was different. This was her realizing that she was falling for a man who had no intention of sticking around even if he’d found something here he’d never find anywhere else. Whatever she felt for him, they would have no future. Even if he was willing to travel back and forth to Fool’s Gold, or if she was willing to travel to visit him every now and then, that wouldn’t be much of a relationship.
Deep inside, she’d always wanted a happy ending. True love, like her parents had. A long, successful marriage, kids. Sure, she wasn’t perfect, but the guy didn’t have to be, either. Unfortunately, the man she was very close to falling in love with would never be that guy. He wasn’t interested in marriage or kids or forever. He wanted to keep moving.
Telling herself he had the right to his own dreams wasn’t helping. She couldn’t seem to be rational about the situation, which meant she had to be extra careful when she was around him. Protect herself. While not seeing him at all was probably the most intelligent course, she couldn’t bring herself to simply walk away. So, for now, she would do her best to make sure she didn’t get hurt more than she already was.
She walked around to the back of the van and opened the door. The dogs were all staring at her, anticipation bright in their doggie eyes, but not one of them made a run for it. They waited until she’d snapped on their leashes, then one by one they politely jumped down. She had to help two of the smaller dogs, including Cece.
After closing the van’s rear door, she started toward the nursing home. The dogs led the way, passing through the automatic door. At the main desk, she greeted the receptionist and signed in.
“Everyone is looking forward to your visit,” the woman said with a laugh. “Just for the dogs’ entertainment, they’re going to be dancing.”
“I can’t wait.”
She went by the nurses’ station, to let them know she was here, then began the process of spreading around the dogs. Buddy and two others were given to the attendants in the main recreation room. The three medium-size dogs went to physical therapy. Cece and an equally small Yorkie named Samson would go bed to bed, visiting those who couldn’t get up.
“There’s my girl,” the first of the bedridden residents called as Montana walked into the room.
“Hello, Mrs. Lee. Cece’s very excited to see you.”
“And I’m excited to see her.”
Montana set the poodle on the bed. Cece immediately raced up to Mrs. Lee and put her tiny paws on the woman’s shoulders, then gently licked her cheek.
“I’ve missed you, too, sweet, sweet girl.”
“There you are.”
Montana turned and saw Bella Gionni, one of the salon owners in town. Mondays, when her business was closed, she volunteered at the nursing home.
“Hey, Bella. How are things?”
“Good. I’ve been hearing rumors about you and a certain doctor.”
Bella was a forty-something woman with dark hair and gorgeous eyes. She and her sister Julia owned competing salons in town. The sisters had been feuding for more than twenty years and no one knew why. To be loyal to one was to make an enemy of the other. Most people got around the problem by alternating between them. It was generally considered a much safer policy.
“I’m showing Simon around town because Mayor Marsha asked me to,” she said firmly.
“That’s a good story and I would encourage you to stick to it. Maybe someone will believe you.”
Montana laughed. “You’re impossible.”
“But in a good way, right?” She approached the bed. “Hey, Mrs. Lee, I see your favorite visitor is back.”
“She is.”
Bella petted the poodle, then glanced at Montana. “I have the list. Go deliver Samson to his fans.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Cece would spend about fifteen minutes with each of her “regular” residents. Bella would take care of delivering her where she was supposed to go, and kept track of time. Samson visited in the men’s wing. Another volunteer would meet Bella there and take charge of Samson. Having the help left Montana free to make sure the bigger dogs circulated evenly in the main recreation room.
Her visits usually lasted about three hours. She knew that by the time she left, close to noon, she would be feeling much better about herself and her life. It was impossible to watch the dogs in action and not be reminded how much good there was in the world.
She made a quick stop by physical therapy to check on her charges, then walked back to the front of the facility. As she approached the recreation room, she heard the sound of music and knew the dancing had begun.
Some of the residents simply swayed in their chairs. A few sang along with the music. But what Montana liked best were the old couples who still danced.
She made sure her dogs were behaving and paying attention to each resident individually, then let her awareness return to those in the center of the room. As always, her gaze settled on the Spangles.
They’d been married seventy-one years. She knew—there’d been a cake for their anniversary last month. Despite the lines on their faces and the frailness of their bones, they were as much in love today as they had been all those years ago.
The facility had allowed them to room together, twin hospital beds pushed together. One of the nurses had told Montana that they fell asleep holding hands.