Cara Colter – The Man Behind The Mask: How to Melt a Frozen Heart / The Man Behind the Pinstripes / Falling for Mr Mysterious (страница 8)
“That was quite a hit to your head. Do you think you were knocked out?” Brendan moved close, brushed her hair away from the rapidly growing bump.
Every part of her seemed to be either wet or covered with mud. How was it her hair felt like silk?
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he said mildly.
“I don’t think I was knocked out.” She offered this grumpily.
“But you can’t say for sure?”
She didn’t want to admit it, but Brendan could tell she didn’t remember, which was probably not a good sign.
Nora knew what date it was, her full name and her birthday. He noted that she was twenty-six, though she looked younger. He also noted, annoyed, that he was interested in her age.
And apparently her marital status. There was no ring on her finger, no signs—large shoes, men’s magazines, messes—that would indicate there was any male besides the boy in residence.
Brendan hated that he was awake enough to notice those things, to wonder at her history, what had brought her and her nephew to this remote corner of British Columbia.
Doing his best to detach, he asked more questions. She remembered what had happened right before she was knocked down and right after, though she did not remember precisely what had knocked her down. She could follow the movement of his finger with her eyes.
“You seem fine,” he finally decided, but he felt uneasy. A concussion really was nothing to fool around with.
“She is fine,” Deedee snapped. “Meanwhile, Charlie could be expiring.”
“I’ll just have a quick look at the cat,” Nora said.
“He’s lasted this long. I’m sure he can wait another five minutes. you need to go have a shower and put on something dry.”
“Are you always this bossy?”
He ignored her. “If you feel dizzy or if you vomit, or feel like you’re going to be sick, you need to tell me right away. Or Luke after I leave. You may have to get to the hospital yet tonight.”
She looked as if she was going to protest. And then she glanced down at herself, and surprised him by giving in without a fight.
“All right. Luke, come with me for a minute. You can see if you can find a shirt that will fit Mr. Grant. He’s soaked.”
That explained her easy acquiescence. She was going to go talk it over with the kid. They were going to get their stories straight and figure out who had done what.
Brendan already knew precisely what she was going to do. She had already started to set it up when she’d said the money had been taken by accident, mistaken for a donation. She was going to take the blame.
Personally, Brendan was strongly leaning toward the conclusion her nephew had done it. How could she possibly think that not letting him accept responsibility was going to do the boy any good?
“Brendan?”
He turned to Deedee, impatient. Was she really going to insist that cat come first again? She did love to have her own way, largely oblivious to the larger picture.
“I’m not feeling well,” she said.
He scanned her face. she loved to be the center of attention. But the fear he saw was real.
“My heart’s beating too fast,” she whispered.
He crossed the room and lifted her frail wrist. Her pulse was going crazy. She searched his face, ready to panic, and he forced himself to smile.
“Let’s make it a double header,” he said. “We’ll take you to the hospital and they can check out Nora at the same time.”
He cast Nora a look.
Her protest died on her lips as she read his face and then glanced at Deedee.
“You’re right,” she said. “I think I need to go to the hospital.”
AT HIS AUNT’S declaration, panic twisted the boy’s features, but only for a second. He took in the situation in the room, his gaze lingering on Deedee. Brendan saw calm come to him, almost as if he had breathed in the truth.
“What about Charlie?” Deedee half whispered, half sobbed. “I can’t leave him! Not when he’s—”
The steadiness remained in the boy’s eyes as he looked to Brendan and then his aunt. “I got the cat,” he said, and Deedee relaxed noticeably, slumped against Brendan.
Ninety-two. Deedee could die right now. She could go before the cat. Life liked to put ironic little twists in the story line.
Becky, young and healthy, gone at twenty-six. To this day, it seemed impossible.
A week before she had died, she had said to him, out of the blue, “If I die first, I’ll come back and let you know I’m all right.”
“You won’t be all right,” he’d said, uncomfortable with the conversation, pragmatic to a fault. “You’ll be dead.”
So far, she hadn’t been back to let him know anything, even how to keep on living. So he’d been right. Dead was dead.
And he’d been prepared to deal with it tonight with Charlie. Not Deedee. Not on his watch. With a sense of urgency he was trying to disguise, and feeling somewhat like the ringmaster at a three-ring circus, Brendan pulled his cell phone from his pocket and herded all his charges back out the door into the rain.
“Can you get in the back with her?” he asked in an undertone. “Kick my seat if anything changes. You know how to monitor her pulse?”
Nora nodded and climbed in the backseat of the car with Deedee. Luke and the cat got in the front with Brendan. The car smelled of new leather and luxury. It screamed a man who had arrived.
The type of man who would never see anything in the slightly eccentric owner of a struggling animal shelter.
Not that she cared who found her attractive and who didn’t! Good grief! The lady beside her could be having a heart attack. This was not the time or place!
Starting the car, Brendan never lost focus. He tucked the phone under his ear. “Hansen Emergency? It’s Brendan Grant here. I’m on my way in. I have a ninetytwo-year-old woman who has a very fast pulse. No history of heart problems. No chest pain. I also have a young woman who has had a head injury. Who’s the doctor on call tonight? I know you’re not supposed to tell me, but I want to know.”
Nora took it all in. How his name had been recognized, how the name of the on-call doctor had been surrendered to him with a token protest only.
She took in his confidence as he dialed another number. “Greg? Sorry to wake you. Becky’s grandmother is not well.”
Becky? She’d thought it was
“Who’s Becky?” she asked Deedee.
“My granddaughter. Brendan’s her husband.”
“She died,” Deedee said tiredly.
“I’m so sorry,” Nora said, and thought of what she was sure she had seen in his eyes when he’d first leaned over her. The common ground. Now she understood it. Sorrow.
“In a car accident,” Deedee went on. She was talking too loudly, the way people who are hard of hearing did. “Brendan doesn’t talk about her. I need someone to cry with sometimes. But he never will. He didn’t even cry at the funeral.”
It was said like an accusation, and so loudly the man in the front seat could not miss it. Nora watched his face in the light coming from the dash. He didn’t even flinch. It was as if he was cast in stone.
But she had seen the pain spilling into his eyes in that first unguarded moment when he had stood over her in the paddock.
“People all grieve in their own way,” Nora said, and saw him cast her a quick glance in the rearview mirror before he reached for his phone again. “And it seems to me maybe he’s there for you in other ways that are just as important.”
Not everyone would be chauffeuring an elderly woman and her sick cat around the country in the middle of the night!
“Of course, you’re right,” Deedee murmured, and leaned her head on Nora’s shoulder. Nora had her hand on the woman’s wrist and noticed, gratefully, the pulse was slowing to normal.
She listened to the deep gravel of Brendan’s voice as he spoke on the phone.
“And I have a head injury, too. I think mild concussion, but a confirmation would be good. See you there. We’re five minutes out.”
He clicked the phone shut and stepped on the gas. The night was wet and the roads had to be slippery, but he oozed calm confidence as he navigated the twisty, mist-shrouded road into Hansen. The powerful car responded as if it were a living thing.
The way a man handled a powerful car told you a lot about him. The way a man handled an emergency told you a lot as well. Not that they were tests, but had they been, Brendan Grant would have passed with flying colors.