Four
Less than an hour later Tristan easily located social services on the first floor of the sprawling hospital complex. He saw no reason not to put his plan into motion sooner rather than later. Kara impressed him as a woman who might take a lot of persuasion.
Touching the brim of his Texas Rangers’ baseball cap to two passing nurses, he continued down the narrow hallway, looking for Kara’s office. The sharp-eyed receptionist said she was in her office. She wasn’t impressed with him. He didn’t mind, just as long as Kara was.
Locating her door, he knocked.
“Come in.”
Even through the door, he liked the sound of her slightly husky voice. He could well imagine it whispering in his ear, just before biting his earlobe. With that titillating thought on his mind, he opened the door.
She was sitting behind her neat wooden desk, a plain manila folder in front of her. The smile on her beautiful face faded. Slowly, she straightened and leaned back in her chair, her slim fingers clenched around the pen in her hand.
He was right. She was leery of him. Smart woman, but it wouldn’t do her any good. This might be your biggest challenge yet, Tristan thought, but he had no thought of not coming out victorious. He closed the door. “Good afternoon, Kara.”
Her eyebrow lifted imperiously. She certainly didn’t like him calling her by her first name. He planned that and more. “Mr. Landers.”
Tristan was undaunted by the frost in her voice. He had a feeling the pleasure of getting to know Kara was going to be well worth the effort. “Tristan, please, since, as I said, we’re going to be working together to help Dale.”
She closed the folder in front of her and placed her slender hands on top. “I wanted to talk to you about that. Please have a seat.”
She’d sidestepped that nicely. He always liked intelligent women, liked them even better when they had a figure that could make a man drool. Kara had both. Tristan took the straight-back padded chair in front of her desk and removed his cap. “He’s a good man who made some mistakes.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Five or six years,” he told her. “He’s right about being the best tile man in the business, or at least he once was. He worked for Zachary Holman, owner of Holman Construction Company. He did the tile on the project Zachary did for me.”
“Is Mr. Holman the man who continued to pay the insurance premiums after Mr. Bowler was fired?” she asked.
There was no sense evading the truth. “Yes. Zachary tried every way he could think of to keep Dale, including going by his house every morning to pick him up, direct deposit of his check, taking him to AA meetings. Dale balked at everything. In the end, Zachary had to let Dale go.”
“No one could get him to understand that he has a problem with alcohol?”
“Dale kept saying he’s just living his life the way he wants, so rehab or AA was out,” Tristan explained. “He was showing up late and, when he did get there, the work was shoddy. Zachary didn’t have a choice. His reputation was on the line.”
She braced both arms on the chair. “You and Mr. Holman are friends?”
“Yes. We hit it off when we were working together,” he explained, thankful she was relaxing more and more, and that Dale was more than a case number.
“If you don’t mind, what type of work are you in?” she asked, then rushed on. “I only ask because you offered to take care of things for Mr. Bowler. They have no financial resources. I assume you meant you’d help them financially.”
“You assumed right. I write for a magazine,” he told her, then laughed at the surprised expression on her face.
“You’re a writer?”
“Yep. Believe it or not.” He’d probably never get used to seeing the disbelief on people’s faces. His unexpected career had surprised him as well, but it allowed him to do what he wanted when he wanted and enjoy life.
A pensive expression on her beautiful face, she tilted her head to one side to study him. “I wouldn’t have pictured you as a writer.”
“Believe me, you aren’t the first.”
“I suppose,” she said. “I don’t want to invade your privacy, but dialysis is extremely expensive. If I can’t get Mr. Bowler into a free program, you could be looking at two thousand a week. I need to know if you can handle that much so I can plan for any eventualities.”
“That much, huh,” he said, rubbing his cheek. “Well, if that’s what it takes, we’ll come up with the money somehow.”
A frown darted across her dark brow. “We?”
“Zachary and his other friends,” Tristan explained, although he had no problem paying Dale’s entire medical bill. “Dale had a lot of friends in the construction business who’d want to be there for him. He’s helped a lot of people when he was up. Now it’s his turn.”
She opened the folder. “Thank you for helping me to better understand Mr. Bowler. I spoke with his nurse just before you came. He should be discharged within the hour. Pharmacy is on this floor. I’m hoping to have a company lined up soon to pay for his medication. You can pick up his prescriptions on the way back to his room.”
Tristan shook his head and leaned back into his chair. It certainly didn’t take long for her to give him the boot. “Since we’re finished talking about Dale, I figure we can get on to the second reason I’m here.”
“And that would be?”
“I’d like to take you out.”
“No, thank you.” She came to her feet. “Good-bye, Mr. Landers.”
Good manners dictated he stand. He put his cap back on. “You mind telling me why?”
“I’m not interested.”
He stared at her, his disbelief plain on his face.
She glanced impatiently at her watch. “I have an appointment arriving shortly.”
“Could you answer one last question?” he asked.
“Mr. Landers,” she said, annoyance in her voice.
“What is it about me that you don’t trust?” he asked.
Her arresting brown eyes widened. Her full mouth, a dark berry color, gaped.
He liked the idea of taking Kara by surprise. It had been a long time since he’d met a woman whose emotions were so open and honest.
“Good-bye, Mr. Landers.”
“For now.” He turned to leave, trying to come up with his next move and saw the four oil paintings that framed the door. There were vivid slashes of color, power and restraint in the progression of a baby in her mother’s arms, to a toddler, next a young man ready to meet the world, and finally to a gray-haired man standing on a moon-draped cliff, the wistfulness in his gaze palpable.
Entranced, Tristan moved to the paintings and looked for the name of the artist. KMS was written in flowing script in the right corner. He whirled to stare at Kara, then looked back at the paintings. It was almost impossible to reconcile the demure woman in a white blouse and prim gray suit with the emotions swirling in the pictures. “You painted those?”
After the briefest hesitation, she said, “Yes.”
He glanced around the room looking for other paintings, and was disappointed to see none. Finally his gaze settled on her. “You’re very talented.” She shrugged the tiniest bit. It annoyed the hell out of him, that she had so little faith in herself or him. “Do you think I’m lying to get you to go out with me?”
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
“I don’t have to lie to get a woman to go out with me,” he told her, his annoyance growing. “Was Collins the first?”
“You were on your way out.”
He studied her a long time. He should walk, but he knew he wouldn’t. He’d already decided Kara was worth the extra effort. “Are they for sale?”
“Three thousand dollars.”
She’d tossed out the number carelessly, obviously thinking to get rid of him. He pulled out his billfold and removed a check. She’d learn he didn’t bluff. “Who shall I make it out to?”
“No!” she said, catching his arm when he started for her desk.
“Then you didn’t paint them?” he asked, disappointed.
“Of course I did, but they aren’t for sale. They’re of my late father,” she explained, glancing at the last painting, her face softening despite the sorrow he glimpsed in her eyes.
“You thought I was trying to con you?” he asked, and when she didn’t answer, he continued. “Some men can be trusted.”
“The trouble is finding them,” she said.
“No, the trouble is misjudging them when you find them.” He replaced the check and pulled a card from his billfold. “Call me if you ever want to discuss paintings or honest men.” Placing the card on the desk, he left.
He’d give her a week and then he was coming back. Kara was proving more interesting by the minute. He wanted to see, to feel, the passion beneath her cool exterior. One day, he promised himself, he would.
* * *
Kara picked up the ecru card with neat black lettering. TRISTAN LANDERS—FREELANCE WRITER. The words were elegant and simple. She looked at the blank backside. No free cards for him.
Kara lifted her gaze to the paintings she had done of her father the year before he died. She had come home from New Jersey for the weekend. That night after her mother had gone to bed, she and her father sat outside on the porch steps talking.
He’d looked so wistful talking about his dreams to own a big rig and travel the country, but he’d never done it. He said he’d never had the courage. Kara had understood he had courage in abundance; he’d sacrificed his dream to ensure that his wife and child were cared for.
After seeing the paintings she’d done to honor him, there had been tears in his eyes. He’d hugged her and then left her to go work his second job as a night watchman at a warehouse. As long as she could remember, her father had worked two or three jobs to give his wife all the things she said she needed to be happy.
Kara was unaware her hand had closed over the card until she felt the edge of the paper dig into her palm. Her fingers uncurled and she stared down at the rumpled card.
Tristan Landers was trouble in designer blue jeans. Sexy, incredibly handsome with mesmerizing green eyes and café au lait complexion, he was tall with a trim, muscular build. He was dangerous to any woman breathing.
She’d known that the second she’d laid eyes on him. He was the kind of man that made a woman forget caution, the kind of man that, when it was over and it would be, made it impossible for a woman to forget.
She dropped the card in the wastebasket. She’d been down that road twice before. Never again.
No matter that she had been ridiculously pleased that he seemed so taken with her paintings. Tristan Landers was off-limits professionally and socially.
* * *
Friday afternoon, Cade worked his shoulders, lifted his hands over his head as he tried to get his stiff muscles to relax. The two-hour surgery he’d planned had turned out to be almost four. The tumor had been evasive and tenacious. He pushed open the door to the OR waiting room.
Mrs. Ward’s family rushed toward him. He didn’t realize he’d expected to see Sabrina until disappointment hit him when she wasn’t there.
“Is Ann all right?” Mr. Ward asked, his family surrounding him as if to give him support. At times like these, Cade occasionally let himself wonder what it would feel like to have a family, for someone to care about him for purely unselfish reasons. Patients and their families needed him, but when that need was past, he ceased to be important to them.
“Dr. Mathis?”
“She’s resting comfortably in the recovery room,” he told them. “She’s still a bit groggy from all the anesthesia, but coherent and all neuro signs are good.”
Mr. Ward blew out a relieved, shaky breath. “When can I see her?”
“The nurse will let you know. I’ll see her again before I leave.” Cade looked at his watch. “I have another surgery. Good-bye.” He turned to leave and felt a hand on his arm, and glanced around.
Mr. Ward extended his hand. “Thank you.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Cade said. Above all he was honest with his patients and their families.
The hand remained steady. “You told us about the risks, but you also gave us hope. No other doctor did that.”
Cade refused to let the words touch him in any way. The man had wanted to hit him yesterday. If things had gone differently, he might have done just that. People’s emotions were flighty and that’s why he preferred his own company. People said and did what benefitted them.
Cade finally took the man’s hand for one strong shake, then turned and headed back to the surgical suites to do what he did best.
* * *
Sabrina was waiting for Cade when he came out of his last surgery. It was almost five. He looked tired. No wonder. He’d been in surgery for over nine hours that day. After Ann’s surgery, he had done two spinal procedures.
He stopped when he saw her leaning against the wall, then slowly continued. “There can’t be a problem with Mrs. Ward.”
She held up a thermos. “Coffee, and not from the cafeteria. Kara is holding a table for us in the cafeteria. And don’t worry, it’s takeout.”
He didn’t move. She smiled into his frowning face. “Come on, doc. You’re been on your feet all day. What can it hurt to have a meal with your newest associate? Or you can have the leftover dried chicken I saw languishing in the warming tray in the cafeteria.”
“Let’s go.”
* * *
They’d barely reached the table in the cafeteria before Kara Simmons spoke briefly and then left. On the table were a woven picnic basket and one place setting with real flatware.
“You aren’t eating?” he asked, holding her chair.
“Late lunch. Please sit.” She removed the top of the picnic basket and served him veal cutlets and steamed vegetables, then poured him a cup of coffee. “Cream and sugar?”
“Black.” Cade took his seat, picked up his fork, and took a bite. “It’s good.”
Sabrina laughed. “I told you I didn’t cook the food.” Propping her arms on the table, she leaned over toward him.
He didn’t have to look around to be aware that probably every staff member was staring at them. He’d only eaten in the cafeteria a handful of times, and that was when he’d been desperate. The food was probably good when freshly prepared, but he’d always been late.
“You can’t cook?” he asked, enjoying in spite of his best efforts the way she seemed to enjoy life and being with him.
“I tried, but there were always more interesting things to do.” She grinned. “I was into a lot of extracurricular activities in high school. I went to college at home, but I was just as heavily involved.”
He could believe it. She was probably very popular. His cell phone rang. He pulled it from his waist. “Dr. Mathis.” He came to his feet. “I’m on my way. Mrs. Ward is asking for me.”
Sabrina came to her feet. “Let’s go.”
Standing, he glanced at the picnic basket, her dinnerware. “What about your things?”
“She’s more important. Let’s go.” She reached for his arm.
* * *
Less than three minutes later, Cade entered Mrs. Ward’s cubicle with Sabrina on his heels. Sitting by her bedside, her husband held her hand. He rose on seeing them. “Baby, the doctor’s here with Sabrina.”
Cade went to the other side of the bed. “Mrs. Ward, what is it?”
Her lashes fluttered open. She blinked. “Dr. Mathis.”
“Yes, are you feeling all right?”
A slow smile spread across her face. “I woke up.”
“That was the plan,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Your plan, but His might have been different.”
“His?” Cade questioned, looking across the bed at her husband.
“God,” he explained.
“You—you gave me a chance to see Clarissa grow up. Thank you. Sabrina was right. Thanks to both of you,” she murmured, her eyes closing again.
“She needs to rest,” Dr. Mathis told her husband. “You can stay for another five minutes. I want her to be moved to ICU just as a precaution for the night.”
Fear flashed in her husband’s eyes again. “You said everything was all right.”
“It is. She can be monitored more closely there.”
“What if she needs you?” he questioned.
“The nurses will call. Five minutes.” Taking Sabrina’s arm he left the room. “Thanks for the meal. I won’t keep you. Good-bye.”
He was dismissing her. She’d let him … for now. “Good night, Dr. Mathis.”
* * *
Kara went to bed, but she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about Tristan, second-guessing herself about throwing away his card.
Three thousand dollars.
Did he really think they were worth that much? What kind of freelance writer was he that he could write out that kind of check as if it were for three dollars? She needed to talk to someone.
At 7:56 A.M., the longest she could stand it, Kara rang Sabrina’s doorbell, then rang again, hoping she hadn’t gone to the hospital or for a donut run as she occasionally did on weekends.
The door opened. Sabrina, in a lacy pink silk robe and matching short nightgown, yawned. “What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you.” She held up a bag. “I have food.”
Sabrina’s eyes widened. She reached for the bag, digging inside as she headed for the kitchen. Then she stopped. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
Sabrina continued to the modern kitchen in the back of her house. The Viking appliances were seldom used, but as Sabrina often said, it looked pretty. She grabbed the orange juice from the refrigerator while Kara got the plates and napkins. In less than half a minute, they were sitting down to French toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon.
Sabrina blessed the food and took a bite. “Talk.”
“I met a man.”
Sabrina blinked, grinned. “Hot dog. When?”
“Yesterday,” Kara explained and told her about Tristan. “He liked my paintings.”
“And you liked him?” Sabrina said, licking the powdered sugar from the French toast off her finger.
“What woman wouldn’t?” Kara twisted in her seat. “What I want to know is about my paintings. He was prepared to pay a lot of money for them. I can’t get it out of my mind that I might be able to make money from my paintings.”
“About time you believed someone.”
Kara put her hand on Sabrina’s arm. “You’re my friend. I haven’t let many people know I paint. Even the people in my office. They think they’re nice, but nothing special.”
“Believe me, they are.” Sabrina pulled her leg under her. “I gave one to Mom and Dad for their wedding anniversary. They both love it.”
Kara smiled indulgently. “Again, because you gave it to them.”
“If I didn’t love you, I’d hit you.” Sabrina folded her arms. “So, you have to decide if you want to see Tristan because he turns you on or because he might be able to help you market your paintings. I think you should consider both.”
Kara shook her head. “Paintings only. With the extra money, Mama could do some things she wants. Maybe take a trip.” And stop blaming me for losing Burt.
“What about you?” Sabrina asked, her eyes narrow, her tone a bit sharp. “You mother has a new car, new clothes, regular trips to the beauty salon. You, on the other hand, make do with a ten-year-old car, haven’t purchased anything new to wear in months, and do your own nails and hair. Shall I go on?”
“I don’t need much, and those things help her feel better,” Kara said, trying not to squirm. “I’d be in the beauty shop for hours waiting for this head to dry.”
Sabrina grunted.
Kara rushed on. “Then you think I should try to find him?”
“Yes. Sadly the janitors are on it when emptying trash, if nothing else. His card is probably long gone, but there are other ways.” Rising from the table, Sabrina went to the computer workstation in the kitchen and turned it on. “We’ll Google him.”
Kara peeked over her shoulder and chewed her lower lip. “Don’t you think that’s being a bit invasive?”
“Being invasive is using Google Earth to find a picture of his house.”
Sabrina typed in his name. TRISTAN LANDERS WRITER popped up.
“Wow.” Sabrina grinned and looked over her shoulder at a hovering Kara. “You can pick them. That is one gorgeous man.”
Kara didn’t like the strange motion in her stomach on seeing his picture. “I’m only interested in what he can do for me with my paintings.”
“He asked you out, didn’t he?”
Kara frowned and continued reading his stats. “Yes, but he understands I’m not going out with him.”
“From looking at his picture and his accomplishments, he doesn’t strike me as a man who gives up easily. He’s written for some of the top magazines in the country, including Luxury. That took perseverance,” Sabrina mused.
“I said no and I meant it.”
“Whatever you say. From all of these awards and accolades, he might be connected to a lot of influential people in the arts.”
“That’s all I care about,” Kara said, trying and failing to not let the picture of Tristan with two beautiful women in tiny bikinis bother her.
Sabrina leaned back in her chair and grinned. “If you change your mind later on, I won’t blame you.”
Straightening, Kara quickly shook her head. “I won’t.”
Holding up both hands, Sabrina stood. “Just saying. You can jot down his information and call him while I clean up the kitchen.”
“Now?” Kara squeaked.
Sabrina picked up the cordless phone with one hand and gently guided Kara to the chair with her other. “The sooner you call, the sooner you two can meet and get your new career rolling.”
Kara’s stomach knotted. “What if he was just bluffing? What—”
Sabrina dialed the phone number listed on the Web site. “Yes, I’m calling for Kara Simmons, please have Mr. Landers call her at 999-287-5555. He’ll know what the call is about. Thank you.”
Kara just stared at her best friend as she replaced the phone and went to the kitchen. When she didn’t say anything, Kara followed. “Well?” Kara asked.
Picking up their plates, Sabrina went to the sink and emptied the fragments into the sink disposal. “His answering service, and not a girlfriend.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Kara said. At least in that she was being truthful with herself.
“It would if you’d let it. If you’d start living your life and not factor in your mother,” Sabrina said gently.
Kara picked up their glasses and flatware. “I promised Daddy I’d take care of her just like he did, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.”
“What about what you want?” Sabrina asked.
“She’s my mother,” Kara answered, aware from the knowing look on Sabrina’s face that she recognized duty not love in her response, and that made Kara ashamed. Maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough. Her mother loved other people, why didn’t she love her own daughter?
“All right.” Sabrina turned on the faucet and rinsed the dishes. “One thing I’m not letting go is that, if you have an opening for your paintings, you’re getting a sinfully sexy gown. People will be talking about the beautiful artist and her paintings.”
Relieved that Sabrina had intentionally changed the subject so as not to embarrass her further, Kara tried to smile. “And you’ll be there to support me, with Dr. Mathis at your side.”
Sabrina leaned against the edge of the counter. “He needs me, Kara. He needs to relax and enjoy life. I don’t think he does.”
“I’d tell you to be careful, but it’s obviously too late,” Kara said.
Sabrina grinned and opened the dishwasher. “Yep. After yesterday I’m even more determined. He could have blown me off about going to the cafeteria. He didn’t. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to. He feels something. He might not even be aware of it himself, but he’s going to. I’m going after him, and he’s going to like it.”
Kara didn’t doubt Sabrina’s determination. She just wasn’t sure about the results. Sabrina always went after what she wanted. Kara had tried that—twice—and had her pride kicked in. Never again.