Mae moved among the gabbling tourists, enjoying the music twining round her and the tourists’ obvious delight at being on holiday and having a dance to attend. Mae herself might not be able to afford resort living, but she could attend the Saturday-night dances held by the Pine Ridge Resort and vicariously enjoy the event for a few hours.
Both she and Sally were in their second best, which wasn’t near as nice as what many of the resort visitors were wearing, but Mae didn’t care. Her second best was so much finer than anything she’d ever worn as a girl, and it hadn’t come from the bottom of a charity barrel. She’d paid for it with her own money, earned by her own hands. What could be more becoming than that?
She clapped in time with the music, laughing at some sly remark of Sally’s about the gentlemen in attendance. She was still giddy from her conversation with Dr. Robinson this afternoon. Let that former fiancée of Mr. Obregon’s order her around—Mae didn’t care, not when she was about to have everything she’d ever wanted.
When she’d been called into the doctor’s office after delivering the tea, she’d been nearly sick with apprehension, her belly twisting each time she thought on that kiss with Mr. Obregon. She’d been certain she was about to be fired, that she would be forced leave the sanatorium in utter disgrace. When Dr. Robinson told her why he’d summoned her, it turned out she would be leaving the sanatorium.
In order to take up her new position at the teaching hospital in Los Angeles.
After thanking Dr. Robinson effusively, she’d danced back down the halls to the nurses’ parlor, practically singing the news to Sally.
And yet, even under the ebullience, there was an itch within her. An itch with the name of Joaquin Obregon. If only he hadn’t kissed her, she could be completely happy.
Instead, here she was worrying about what would happen to him when she left. Would he continue with his plans to leave and see himself into a new profession? Or, without her to goad him, would he lock himself back into his room?
Perhaps overweening of her to think she could influence him so, but look at his turnabout after their camping trip. She’d overheard him telling that woman about his plans to read the law, and she’d almost laughed aloud.
Mae had told him to do something about his lot in life and he was going to do it. If she were a lady prone to bossiness, she might have been gratified by his reaction. But of course she wasn’t—bossy or gratified.
Ah, well, let him do as he liked. He might kiss like a dream and be as handsome as the devil, but he was no concern of hers, at least not in three weeks.
When Sally had suggested coming to the dance tonight to celebrate her good news, Mae had agreed without a second thought. Mr. Obregon was certain to not be there, and she could enjoy her news entirely free of any concern for him. At least, that had been the plan.
But she’d found herself wondering how to tell him of her imminent departure. Would he even care? Or would he simply find a new nurse to kiss?
She clapped even harder, her palms stinging, in an effort to rid her mind of Mr. Obregon. It was working too, until she caught a glimpse of a familiar form that made her heart stop.
It couldn’t be him. Patients didn’t come to these things, which was why she and Sally felt free to attend. He wouldn’t dare to be here.
The figure turned, revealing that fashion plate face of his, and she wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. He looked straight at her, a smile playing at his mouth, a little naughty and a little nice. He looked like a prince in a fairy tale, even with his modern suit. Looking at him, so fine and tall, the light glinting off his gleaming black hair, she felt as deflated and wrinkled as an empty flour sack, just waiting for his boot to kick her aside.
She wasn’t for him. Guttersnipes from New York didn’t marry princes from California. He’d move on to his law practice, find a suitably ornamental wife—one very much like his former fiancée—and forget all about the little sanatorium nurse whom he’d kissed.
She swallowed hard and pursed her lips, telling herself that she didn’t care, that she was leaving soon anyway, and what did the opinion of one arrogant man matter? His opinion of her had never mattered before.
And then, horror of horrors, he was coming across the room toward her, that smile on his lips and the spark in his eyes promising something wicked.
Oh God, why had he come here?
He’d wanted Nurse McCallahan once Isabel had left.
Joaquin had searched the halls for her, wanting to… well, not apologize for the tea, since it really was her job, but to tell her something, anything. He was hurting and he wanted to kiss her. He couldn’t tell if the hurt was in his wound or only in his heart, but he didn’t care. He wanted Mae.
He didn’t find her.
Instead, he found Nurse Franklin, who informed him that Nurse McCallahan had the evening off. When he asked where she usually went on her evening off, Nurse Franklin’s eyes pinched with suspicion, but she answered anyway.
A dance at the resort.
Had it been two weeks ago, he would have thought it too far to walk and would have quailed at being publicly exposed, dozens of tourists staring at him and his limp.
But now, thanks to that camping disaster—and the walking stick—he knew he could make the distance. All those tourists still made him uneasy, but it would be worth it to see her.
In the privacy of his room, he washed and dressed, pulling on a suit that had once been his favorite, one he hadn’t worn in over a year. As he’d taken the suit from his wardrobe, his gun belt had come along with it, landing at his feet with a soft thump.
He stared at it for a moment as it sat at his feet, that thing he hadn’t seen in months but had once worn every day. The weight of it was unexpectedly light without the pistol, once he’d summoned the nerve to pick it up. God only knew where the gun was; like the belt itself, he’d had no need of it after the attack.
He looped it round his palm, the fine leather supple, twining easily round his hand. Set back in the wardrobe, the belt coiled round on itself like a sleeping snake. He let his hand rest on it for a moment, then went back to donning his suit.
Now here he was at the ballroom of the Pine Ridge Resort, surrounded by holidayers. The walk over, while not easy, had been manageable, and his left hip was only slightly tingling.
He looked through the crowd of partygoers, searching for the flash of pale that would be Nurse McCallahan. When he found that flash, it coalesced into her, sitting in a corner, out of her uniform, her cap left off to reveal her hair. She looked like an angel from a Baroque painting, all soft curves and pale, almost heavenly, glow lit by the electric chandelier.
When had he begun to see her as she truly was—lovely, stubborn, passionate—rather than what he’d once assumed she was? Likely it was that camping trip. He smiled at the memory. He’d no desire to relive such a thing, but it had been beneficial. Only not quite in the manner Dr. Robinson had hoped.
He’d found her and now he was going to claim her. She wore an odd mix of horror and disbelief on her face, as if she could not quite believe he was here in front of her. He would show her how corporeal he was once he’d snared her.
He stopped before her and sketched a little bow, unable to keep from smirking.
The horror drained from her expression as annoyance took its place.
“What are you doing here?” Even with all the noise surrounding them, she whispered as if they hadn’t left the halls of the sanatorium.
He paused. I wanted to see you seemed suddenly a queer reason to traipse all this way.
“I… enjoy dancing.” But that hadn’t been true in his other lifetime, and he couldn’t master the steps now even if he wanted to.
Her whole face pinched up with suspicion. It was well that he enjoyed her company since she looked distinctly unlovely with her face like that.
“You’ve never come to one of these dances before. Because if you had, I would have never come again.”
Well, that was unkind. He let the smile fall from his mouth. “Never again?”
“It’s not anything specific to you.” One more hit to his pride there. “I’m not to socialize with the patients, as I keep telling you. This is one social event patients don’t attend.” She looked him up and down. “Or at least, they didn’t used to.”
“Should Dr. Young see us together, I will take all the blame upon myself,” he announced. “I shall tell him I pursued you mercilessly.”
“How kind.” The words were caustic. “I’m sure Dr. Young will let a patient take all the blame rather than the lowly nurse.”
Against his will, a smile tugged at his mouth. He found he liked even her bitter words, now he was used to her. It seemed she was an acquired taste, much like black coffee.
She searched his face, her mouth pursed as if she disapproved of his smile. “It’s no matter now, I suppose.” She looked away as if searching the crowd for someone. “I’m leaving in three weeks’ time.”
That awful hum started within him, and instinctively his hand went to his wound. Yet there was no pain there. He massaged at it anyway.
“Three weeks?” Such a short period of time.
She turned back to him, and for the first time he could remember, her blue eyes weren’t clear. They were clouded with something he could not quite name. “Yes. Dr. Robinson has offered me a post at the university hospital. In Los Angeles.”
She watched him steadily, something sparking between them in that moment. He knew this should be the moment when he congratulated her, but all he could think was, How will I kiss you then?
Speaking of kissing…
He slid a hand under her elbow and leaned toward her ear, taking a moment to admire the delicacy of it before whispering, “Let’s get some fresh air.”
He steered her unresisting self to the door leading outside. She hadn’t left yet, and he was going to take full advantage of the three weeks remaining to him.