My Kind of Christmas

Page 15

“Ange, I’m not going to want to leave you.” He dropped his chin, looking down. “And I have to.” He looked up. “Tell me you understand that.”
“Wow, another revelation in the emotional growth of Angela LaCroix. I thought men handled flings effortlessly.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Not necessarily,” he finally said. “So, a fling? That’s how you look at this?”
“Well, you’ve made it clear that you aren’t available for the long haul. You have your ‘commitments.’ But I’m a grown woman who happens to have really enjoyed our night together. I don’t see why it can’t continue on just like this.” She looked right into his eyes, hoping she could convince him—convince herself—that she could be nonchalant about all this.
“Listen,” Patrick said, his face a little red, “we should try to be discreet.”
“Are you embarrassed?”
“Not even slightly,” he replied quickly. “But there’s no point in upsetting or worrying people. I mean, I doubt anyone would be worried about me. But you…”
“Please, I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m a big girl.” She took a sip from her cup. “Hmm. You know, I think having fresh coffee delivered to me in the morning is almost better than sex.”
He smiled at her then. Relaxed again. “I’ll have to work on my technique.”
“I appreciate the gentlemanly overtures, but I believe it was consensual. I wasn’t ambushed.”
“I didn’t think that was likely to happen when we’d known each other for about two days. I thought maybe eventually, but…”
“I knew in the first five minutes. Besides, it was three days.” She ran a hand through her hair and it practically stood up, full of static electricity. “God, I must look like the wrath.”
“You look like dessert.”
“You’re not dumping me, then?”
He shook his head. “I think it would be easier to give up an arm. But, Angie, I have no choice about leaving. I already have my plane ticket. I booked round trip.”
“When will you go?”
“The twenty-third. My leave is up on the twenty-seventh. And I promised… Well, you know. I’m checking on Marie at Christmas. I promised.”
“You’re a good man, Patrick,” she said. And even though she thought she might be losing him to that woman, to Marie, she meant it from her heart.
“And do you realize your uncle Jack is going to kill me?”
“Patrick, let it go! Do you think I tricked you into sex to get some kind of promise out of you? Seriously?”
“I don’t know everything about you, Ange, but I’d bet my life there’s not an ounce of cunning in you. I’m having a little trouble getting over the fact that you’re… Well, you’re twenty-three.”
“And life is damn short, even for old guys like you,” she said, getting to her feet without dropping the quilt or spilling her coffee. “I promised to help in the clinic and I’m going to keep my promise. I’m headed for the shower.” Since she was naked, she dragged the quilt with her. At the door to her bedroom, she turned. “By the way, I’m free this evening.”
She loved that he grinned hugely. “Are you now?”
Alone in the shower, with the hot water washing away the scent of him around her, she let down her guard a little bit. Despite her bravado, she knew she had loved him almost instantly. She had been extremely curious and fiercely attracted. He was brave, she could see that. He was loyal—even planning to marry his best friend’s widow, believing he could make her happy, keep her and her son safe. Angie didn’t exactly like those plans, but she certainly admired them. There was something about a selfless, giving man…
But she was going to have to fake it from now on, since there was no way of knowing how a situation like this would play out. Her heart felt raw and open, but she wasn’t about to let him see that. When she stepped out of the shower, she listened. There wasn’t a sound coming from the little living room. She wasn’t surprised that he’d left. That’s how casual flings were meant to go. Now that they’d had their morning-after talk, cleared up a few things, he would go.
While she dried her hair and dressed, she couldn’t help but think about their night together. It drove her right up the mountain again—she’d never in her life had a night like that. In point of fact, she’d never even had a whole night. There had only been Alex, and he’d never actually slept with her. While Alex looked like a harmless nerd, he had been pretty impervious—he never once asked her if she was all right, for instance. He had gotten very excited, asked her if she was willing, boinked her and went home to his own campus apartment. She had accused him of needing her for chemistry—it was one of her degrees and he wasn’t that good at it. He had responded that it was far better than needing her for sex and she supposed that was probably as sensitive as he could be.
Well. Long ago and far away. It wouldn’t take much of a lover to surpass Alex. However, she suspected that Patrick was more lover than she would ever meet again, and that thought was chilling. But despite how perfectly they seemed to fit, it had been clear from the first time they talked that their lives weren’t meant to intersect beyond this vacation.
And yet, to her surprise, he was still there in the cabin when she emerged from her room, showered and dressed. He stood up from the chair, now wearing his shirt and boots, his jacket hanging on the kitchen chair. The small room was in order.
“I could make you breakfast,” he offered.
Angie thought, He’s not going to stay with me, I knew that. But Alex would have been gone by midnight, so this really is an improvement. “No, thank you, Patrick. I’m not much of a breakfast person.”
“Most important meal of the day,” he said.
“I know. Since the accident, my mother’s been shoveling it into me as if it might prevent future accidents. I’m more a midmorning snack kind of person. Is there anything I can get you?” She flashed the best flings-are-easy smile she could muster, though it felt fake, even to her.
“I’ll shower at home, since you’re headed for the clinic. I waited for a reason,” he said. Then he came to her, put his arms around her and kissed her. He had perfected that kissing thing. In fact, she thought he perfected everything.
“Hmm. If I didn’t have commitments…”
“But you do,” he reminded her, breaking away from the kiss.
“So I guess I’ll see you later?” she asked.
“Definitely. How about my place tonight. Is noon too early?”
She loved that. “I’ll be there at six. Lay in some food.”
Chapter Seven
When Angie arrived at the clinic, Cameron was just leaving, medical bag in hand, off to make a house call. He was standing in the reception area with Mel. “Good morning,” Angie said. “I’m ready to help out. What would you like me to do first?”
“Cameron’s leaving so let’s plan the day over a cup of coffee.”
“Excellent,” she said, heading for the kitchen to start a pot brewing.
A few minutes later, Angie sat at the kitchen table with a pen poised over a yellow pad, ready to take down her instructions.
Meg poured them each a steaming mug and handed one to Angie. “Okay, kiddo—how do you feel about what happened last night?”
Angie’s cheeks flamed as her eyes widened in shock. Had news already spread about Patrick spending the night? “Huh?” she asked, dumbfounded.
Mel frowned as she pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “The injury, Angie. Megan’s injury and the emergency. Did it upset you?”
Oh, way to be discreet, Angie, she thought, looking down and taking a deep breath to pull herself together. “I’m only upset for Megan—that scar. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“If she were to get plastic surgery, what would the procedure entail? Just how complicated would it be?”
“Probably removal of the scar by incision, re-joining by an expert, possibly a very minor graft. Maybe something to lift that lower lid. I don’t really know—but I did a little internet reading on it. She would very likely end up with a thin, barely visible scar that wouldn’t contract or distort her facial features. Something she could conceal with a touch of makeup.”
“Not extensive?”
“I wouldn’t think so, but before you ask—it would still be very expensive for the Thickson family. It would require pre-op blood work and exam, an O.R., anesthesia, a nurse and O.R. tech. I don’t think it would be a long surgery, but nonetheless…”
“I know, I get it. Has anyone asked around for donations?”
“I’m pretty sure the pastor, Noah Kincaid, has a fund started, but he has a fund for many things in this town, as does Jack. There are plenty of people around here who live comfortably but far more who barely squeak by. Everyone pulls together admirably and there’s no question that a surgery for Megan is a good cause, but so is medication for Adie Clemens, who lives on social security, or Burt Jackson, who’s losing the farm that’s been in his family for generations. There’s a whole flock of women who can’t afford mammograms and we’ve managed to get a nonprofit organization in here now and then to do free ones. Cam and I do wellness exams for the cost of lab work in an effort to keep people healthy. We do what we can. We can’t do it all.”
“But you don’t mind if I look into it? Research a little bit?”
“In fact, I’d appreciate it,” Mel said. “You have a good heart, Angie.”
“I just wish I could leave here knowing Megan’s scar is going to be fixed.”
“Well, my advice is that everything seems to boil down to knowing who to call. I’ve tried a lot of agencies and foundations on this one with very little positive feedback. Having someone else take over the computer and phone will be helpful.”
“I’ll bring my laptop with me tomorrow. I might have a few people I can ask that you haven’t thought of yet.”
“I would love that. Now…is there anything else you’d like to talk about? Asking about last night seemed to get a pretty strong reaction.”
“I think I’ll take a rain check,” Angie said, but she couldn’t seem to help coloring up again.
Mel smiled. “I just want to be here for you if you ever have anything on your mind that you want to talk about. I’m not going to make judgments and I promise not to give advice unless asked.”
“That’s not very Sheridan of you,” Angie said with a laugh.
“I’m a transplant. I don’t carry all the Sheridan traits. Plus, it helps that you’re not my daughter. We all tend to lose objectivity when it comes down to someone we desperately feel we have to protect.”
“That would explain my mother’s behavior,” she said.
“And your uncle’s, to some degree.”
“But…how did you know there was something…?” She couldn’t say it. In case any part of her night was still a secret, she wouldn’t go out of her way to reveal it.
“Well, either you’ve been snowmobiling or you have yourself a little whisker burn there.” Mel raised her eyebrows, giving Angie a pointed look.
Angie’s hands went to her cheeks before she could stop herself. She laughed. Okay—no secrets. Except the details. Delicious, wonderful, mind-blowing details.
* * *
Patrick knew that comparing the women he’d had intimate experiences with, even when done secretly, was not gentlemanly. And Patrick was, if nothing else, a gentleman. However…