Far Harbor (21 page)

She was going to get better. She was going to get strong.

Then she was going to kill that nurse.

But it wasn’t her nemesis. It was Henry, standing there with a sunshine yellow plant in his hands, looking about as uncomfortable as she’d ever seen him.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said gruffly. “I’ll just leave this and go.”

She shook her head. Once they’d explained to her that she had the head shaking and nodding mixed up, things had begun to get a bit easier. She lifted her hand—her right hand, which took an effort, but still felt more natural than her left—and waved him in.

“You’re looking real good, Ida.”

She pulled her lips tight, letting him know that her brain might have gotten a little scrambled, but she could still spot a lie when she heard one.

“Oh, you might not think you’re looking quite up to snuff,” he said when she shook her head. “But considering that you could have been lying on a slab down at Murphy’s funeral home, you’re looking damn fine.”

Ida frowned. She’d never liked thinking about her own mortality. Recent events hadn’t changed that.

He plunked the clay pot down on the table beside her bed.

She managed to lift her right brow. Or at least she thought she did. Sometimes it was hard to tell just how things were working.

“I figured it’s past time I got you a thank you gift for letting me stay in your house.”

She shook her head, pointing from herself to him. If it hadn’t been for Henry finding her and his quick response in calling 911, she might have been a lot worse off.

He read her meaning and shrugged. “Guess we’re even.”

She nodded.

“Hope you like mums.”

She nodded again. Emphatically this time.

“I was gonna get you some cut flowers, but the kid down at the Green Spot, that John Martin, said these would be better. They’ll last longer.”

Another nod. Ida was beginning to get a headache. Lord, it would be nice when she could talk again!

“I thought the color might sort of brighten the place up a bit…. You can quit shaking your head up and down,” he suggested. “No point in rattlin’ your brains more than they’ve already been rattled.”

Vastly relieved, she drew a smiley face in the air. Ida had always hated smiley faces, but sometimes a woman had to make do.

He smiled back. Ida realized that her memory hadn’t been all that good the past few months, but she was certain that she hadn’t seen the man smile since he’d moved into her house.

“There’s been some changes at the house,” he revealed. “The family wanted to surprise you, and I don’t want to ruin their fun when you come home tomorrow, but I’ve been thinkin’ that perhaps you’ve had enough surprises lately and mebbe I ought to fill you in on the details.”

She gestured again. This time toward the chair.

It was Henry’s turn to nod. “I figured as much.” He sat down and began to let her know what her daughter and granddaughters had been up to in her absence.

A
ll the hours she’d spent working on the remodeling seemed almost like a vacation as Savannah ran back and forth between the hospital and the house, visiting Ida and preparing for her homecoming. Despite her grandmother’s abbreviated vocabulary, Ida had made it clear that she didn’t want either Raine or Savannah to sacrifice their own busy lives for her. They tried to convince her that taking care of her wasn’t any sacrifice, but she’d been typically Ida-insistent.

Savannah called every rent-a-nurse agency in the phone book, but soon discovered that they weren’t set up to provide the services her grandmother would need: driving her to therapy sessions, running errands, taking her out to lunch, shopping, anything to keep her from spending all day, every day, in the house. She’d always been an active woman; it was important that that not change.

Savannah had been at her wits’ end when Lilith, who’d established a Coldwater Cove community theater group, had suggested a friend of hers. Martha Taylor was a widow who’d recently moved to town. Better yet, she was a former registered nurse, which, Lilith pointed out, could prove helpful. The fact that she’d won the Bette Davis part in the current production of
Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
had worried Savannah just a bit until they’d met.

Martha seemed to be blessed with an unrelentingly optimistic attitude. She was cheery enough to lift Ida’s spirits when they drooped, which they understandably did on occasion, and, having spent a two-year stint as a nurse in the King County jail, she had acquired enough toughness not to let Savannah’s headstrong grandmother steamroller over her.

The two women had hit it off right away, and Martha, who’d confessed to having joined the theater group in the first place because she’d been so lonely after her husband’s death, readily accepted Ida’s invitation to move into the house.

Savannah felt her presence also helped provide a somewhat stable home for Gwen, who, thanks to Dan, was declared an emancipated minor, which effectively took her out of the clutches of Social Services. Despite all the recent stress, Savannah felt that the teenager seemed much less tense. More secure.

She only wished she could say the same for herself. Savannah couldn’t remember when she’d been juggling so many balls. All of them breakable.

Fortunately, Raine was taking care of dealing with all the financial details. Accustomed to handling cases worth millions of dollars, even here in Coldwater Cove, since her software clients and businesses dealing in Asian Rim trade didn’t care where her office was located, she found a mere insurance company and hospital billing department to be no match at all for her.

If her own grandmother hadn’t been the subject of these turf wars, Savannah would almost have felt sorry for the clerk who’d tried—unsuccessfully—to deny Ida out-patient rehabilitation services.

During Ida’s hospitalization, what seemed like the entire population of Coldwater Cove dropped by the house bearing casseroles, which Gwen and Henry were especially grateful for, since there were soon enough Pyrex dishes in the freezer to save them from meatloaf, in the event the occupational therapist managed to get Ida cooking again anytime soon.

The day before her grandmother was to be discharged, Savannah was in the front parlor, marking things off her checklist as activity hummed around her. For the past week the house had resembled a beehive: volunteer carpenters built ramps to the front porch and outside kitchen door, and removed moldings and widened doorways to accommodate the wheelchair Savannah hoped Ida would not need for very long.

Thresholds had been beveled, a safety rail was installed in the shower, and a second handrail had been put on the wall side of the stairs in anticipation of the day that her grandmother would be walking again.

Even the plumber who’d taken so long to install the Jacuzzi at her lighthouse showed up, accompanied by his wife, who was bearing a “Southwestern taco surprise” casserole. He took one look at the faucets in Ida’s bathroom, went out to his truck, and returned with a single lever, which, he explained, would require less wrist and finger motion than the current round knobs.

“Put the same in my dad’s bathroom when he had his stroke,” the man informed Savannah cheerfully, as if he’d never received that stern lawyer letter Dan had written for her. “He said it made a world of difference.”

He’d no sooner left when Dottie and Doris Anderson, twin owners of the Dancing Deer Dress Shoppe, showed up at the door.

“We know how Ida loves her jeans,” Doris said as she took the lid off a box and revealed an olive green jogging outfit. “But this will be easier for her to get on and off.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

“Mother Anderson had a stroke five years ago.” Dottie pulled a scarlet garment from a shopping bag bearing the store’s dancing deer logo. While the elderly twins dressed alike, Doris, the elder by ten minutes, preferred earth tones while her sister opted for brighter colors. “We found that putting on a terry cloth robe after her shower was often easier than toweling dry.”

“I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“It’s a difficult time,” Dottie said sympathetically. “But the important thing is that you’re not alone, dear.”

“That’s nice to know.” Savannah also knew from experience how difficult it was to break off a conversation with the Anderson twins, most notably the loquacious Dottie.

“You haven’t been in the shop lately,” Doris noted.

“I’ve been a little busy.”

“Well, that’s certainly understandable.” Dottie patted Savannah’s hand. “But you must steal a little time to drop in some day soon. We’ve opened up a bridal boutique since the last time you were in.” Her round pink cheeks dimpled. “Our slogan is You Bring the Groom, We’ve Got the Gown.”

“That’s certainly catchy,” Savannah said with a quick glance toward Raine, who’d just come from upstairs, where she’d been supervising the installation of the rented stair glide.

At first the plan had been to move Ida into the sunroom, which was on the first floor and was the cheeriest room in the house. But knowing how she valued her privacy, and wanting to keep things as normal as possible during this transitional time, the family had finally decided to put in the chairlift that would allow Ida to return to the bedroom she’d slept in for the past forty-five years.

“It was Doris who thought the slogan up,” Dottie allowed. “Of course we don’t really need any advertising these days, since your mother’s and sister’s wedding has gotten us business from all over the peninsula.”

She skimmed a quick, professional gaze over Savannah that suggested she was taking mental measurements. “We’ve several models that would look lovely on you.”

“I’m not really in the market for a wedding dress,” Savannah murmured.

“Not yet, perhaps.” Doris shot a pointed look out the front window toward Dan, who was walking up the front sidewalk.

Savannah was getting much too accustomed to seeing him at the end of the day. It wasn’t just that the sight of him caused that little jolt to her heart. It was that it was beginning to feel so right.

“Do keep us in mind, dear,” Dottie chirped.

The sisters left, pausing to exchange a few words with Dan.

The problem with a small town was, of course, that everyone knew everyone else’s business. Then again, Savannah thought, as she watched Henry rubbing paste wax into the furniture and Martha washing the windows with vinegar and crumpled newspapers, people truly cared for one another.

Ida Lindstrom had always taken care of the people of Coldwater Cove. Now it was their turn to take care of her.

Dan knew every inch of Savannah’s body intimately. He’d touched it, tasted it, dreamed of it. He could also tell, yesterday afternoon during a hurried coupling between her morning visit to the hospital and the afternoon courthouse appearance for Gwen, that there was less of it than when they’d first made love. Along with her obvious weight loss, there were deep shadows beneath her eyes and she was too pale. Dan still thought her beautiful.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ryan,” he greeted Lilith cheerfully. “I’ve come to steal your lovely daughter.”

Lilith glanced up from arranging issues of the AMA journal on a table next to her mother’s favorite chair. “I do hope you mean Savannah, since I don’t believe Jack would take well to his pregnant wife being kidnapped.”

“If you kidnapped my mommy, Daddy would put you in jail, Uncle Dan,” Amy said. She was sitting on the floor with a box of crayons, coloring a picture for her great-grandmother.

“Good point. Then it’s a lucky thing for me that I’ve come for your aunt Savannah.”

“Oh, Dan.” Savannah’s face fell. He recognized the look. He’d seen it a lot since she’d come back to town. More since Ida’s stroke. “I’m sorry, but I’ve still got so much left to do.”

“Oh, go with the man, darling,” Lilith said. “We’ve got everything under control.”

Knowing that he was taking unfair advantage, Dan drew Savannah into his arms. “I had this sudden yearning for fried chicken and potato salad. But it’s no fun to go on a picnic alone.”

“A picnic?” He could feel her softening, fitting her curves to his body.

“I have it on good authority that the Lindstrom women are suckers for picnics.” He shot a grin over the top of Savannah’s head toward Raine, who, amazingly for a woman who entered a courtroom looking as if she had ice water in her veins, actually blushed.

“My husband and I are going to have to have a little chat about sharing when I get home,” she murmured.

“Jack never said a thing,” Dan assured her. But he remembered the look on his cousin’s face the day after his spring picnic with Raine in the woods. It was the first time Dan had realized that it was possible for a guy to look poleaxed and smug at the same time.

He turned his attention back to Savannah. “So, how about it? I also happen to have picked up a Bordeaux at the mercantile, which Olivia Brown assures me is voluptuous without being too bold, and nicely complex while remaining user friendly.” He grinned. “Sort of like someone I know.”

When he felt her wavering, he coaxed her out the front door onto the porch to escape their audience. “I just want to steal a little time alone with you, sweetheart. Before Ida comes home and things get really hectic.”

“We were alone yesterday.”

“I enjoyed every minute of our little tryst parked out on the skid road,” he assured her. “But I have to admit that I’d just as soon tumble you without having to keep an eye out for logging trucks.”

“I’m disappointed.” He watched a bit of laughter spark beneath the fatigue in her eyes. “Here I thought you were a man who enjoyed adventure.”

“You’re all the adventure I need.” It was the absolute truth. He rubbed his palms over her shoulders, soothing muscles that were as rigid as boulders. “Have pity on me, Savannah. I’ve spent all day thinking about you.” He moved his stroking fingers up her neck.

“I’ve thought about you, too.” She practically purred as the tension slowly slid away.

“Then come with me.” He touched his mouth to hers and felt her lips soften. Yield.

She lifted her arms and linked her fingers behind his neck. “How can we have a picnic? It’s going to be dark soon. And cold.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” he promised.

“You keep me hot,” she corrected as she brushed a kiss against his jaw. “All I have to do is think about you and it’s as if I’m burning up with fever.” He felt her soft sigh against his cheek and was encouraged again when she didn’t pull away.

“I know the feeling. Very well.” He touched a fingertip to her chin and brought her lips to his. The kiss was light and brief, but still, as always, packed a helluva punch. “As for the dark part, I’ve got that covered. You just have to trust me.”

She leaned her head back and looked up at him, her eyes more sober than he’d ever seen them. Even more sober than that night on the Ferris wheel when she’d told him about her failed marriage.

“I do.”

“That’s a good start.” Deluged by feelings, by her, he pulled her tight. “We can work from there.”

Dan had known women who made him ache. Women who’d made him burn. Even women who could, on a particularly satisfying occasion, make him tremble. But Savannah was the first woman who had him willing to crawl.

If he thought that might do the trick, if there was even a chance that it would tear down that last defensive barrier she’d constructed around her heart, he’d do just that, without a second thought, on his hands and knees across shattered glass. Through burning flames. Through hell.

Through no fault of her own, Ida had thrown a monkey wrench into all their lives. Into his plans. Understandably, the aftermath of her stroke was taking up a great deal of Savannah’s attention. He’d just have to be patient a while longer.

As she walked with him back down the sidewalk to the SUV, he decided to have John order some greenery. A holiday wedding at the lighthouse would be a nice touch. Christmas was a little more than a month away. Plenty of time, Dan decided with a renewed burst of optimism.

“When did you do all this?” Savannah stared around the lantern room.

“I got some of it done this morning before I went into the office.”

He’d unearthed the blue and white blanket spread over the hardwood floor at the bottom of the linen closet his mother had filled when he’d first come back to town. She had been appalled to find her only son living, in her words, “like a hobo.” He’d tried to tell her that he’d bought the house for the view and that the sleeping bag he’d thrown on the bed was sufficient for the time being, but that hadn’t stopped her from showing up at his door with more sheets and towels than he’d figured he’d use in this lifetime.