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EVE PACED THE WAITING room at the hospital, wondering how Devlin's surgery was going. She'd gone into the cubicle with him when the nurses were setting up his IV, but then they'd sent her out to the waiting room. They'd said the surgery might take as long as two hours, and then he'd be in recovery for at least an hour before she could take him home.
Home.
This was just her third day in Ireland, yet so much had happened that Shauna's place already felt like home. Eve guessed that Devlin couldn't wait to be on his way, though, off on even more adventures with his camera in hand. Footloose and fancy free, as the old saying went. No ties. No responsibilities beyond his commitment to his book deadlines or commissions for his work.
What would it be like, to live that way year after year?
For a person like her, for whom strong ties and deep roots mattered deeply, it was impossible to imagine.
She laughed to herself, remembering the arrival of Devlin's octogenarian fan club yesterday morning. They fancied themselves matchmakers with a keen sixth sense about such matters, yet they'd prodded her to pursue Devlin because they were so sure "he was the one."
It only proved that they weren't as skilled at their "trade" as they imagined. Not that she'd ever mention it to the sweet old dears if they came back to the store someday, but they couldn't have been more wrong.
"Ms. Blake?"
Eve turned and found the surgeon standing in the waiting room doorway, a surgical cap still on his head and a mask hanging around his neck. He was young and fresh-faced, and looked like he was of an age to be worrying about his high school prom.
"Before the operation, Devlin asked me to give you the report. His surgery went fine and he's in recovery right now. He should be ready to take home in an hour or so."
"Thank you," she murmured. "I'm so relieved. Are there some going home instructions?"
"Definitely. The nurse will go over them with you both." The man shook his head and chuckled. "Good luck making him follow them, though. Just tell him that if he doesn't, and ends up taking another fall, he'll be right back in my surgical suite, and the next time around, the injury and the repair could be a lot worse. Any questions?"
"Just the part about making him take the recommendations to heart. I don't know him well enough to really take charge."
The surgeon smiled. "Independent sort, I can tell. But that and his artistic talent are why he's been able to develop such a name for himself. He travels the world and takes the risks; so we can sit back in our easy chairs and enjoy his travels with a nice mug of tea in hand."
Another member of his fan club, apparently...yet another surprise. With a brother as acclaimed as Devlin, why hadn't his sister ever mentioned him?
~*~
BACK AT THE BOOKSHOP, Devlin hobbled to his favorite chair at the back, settled with his leg propped up and eyed his white cast in disgust. "Two weeks with this thing," he growled. "I think he put this on out of spite."
Eve bit back a laugh. "I'm sure that isn't good reason to give you a cast. The nurse said you need to absolutely stay off of that leg for two weeks—no weight bearing whatsoever—and elevate it whenever you can because of the potential swelling. Just think—after two weeks he said you could switch to a removable walking cast. Isn't that great?"
He scowled. "For another twelve weeks. Most of which I'll still need to be on crutches."
She gave him her most cheerful smile. "But, you'll be able to take it off for a bath or shower, if you are really careful. And since your grandma installed grab bars in the bathrooms while she lived here, you'll be all set."
His narrowed gaze met hers. "Wonderful."
She tipped her head and looked back at him. "It isn't the doc's fault, you know. You were the one who...how did this happen?"
"Through sheer stupidity."
She fought back a smile at his frustrated expression. "And how was that?"
He sighed heavily. "I was starting to climb some cliffs overlooking the Atlantic, getting ready for some sunrise shots. Perfect weather—the fog was lifting just right. Perfect place. But I arrived a few minutes too late and needed to reach an outcropping in time to set up."
"So you hurried."
"And missed seeing a slick spot. Moss, wet with heavy dew. Slicker than the proverbial banana peel." He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, apparently reliving the moment. "Given the boulders below, I was lucky. I could have broken my neck."
"A wonderful outcome, given the possibilities. Right?" She beamed at him, feeling extraordinarily relieved.
"Right. So lucky," he said dryly. "If I ever need a cheerleader, I know exactly who to call."
She ignored his light sarcasm. "So tell me—what are you planning to do with your unexpected vacation? You don’t seem like a Solitaire, Sudoku or crosswords sort of guy."
He actually flinched at the thought.
"Read? Catch old movies on TV?"
"Work."
She felt a flicker of alarm. "You can't easily travel right now, though, and you need to see your doctor in two weeks to change out your cast. You need to keep weight entirely off of that leg."
"I'm staying put, for now. I've been needing to take a few weeks and go through photographs anyway, so I can begin planning the next book."
"They sure must be popular. You had quite a fan club stop by yesterday."
He cracked a weary smile. "Sweet old gals. I could've sworn they were trying to set me up with...someone."
"Sweet, but deluded." Embarrassment sent a warm flush into her cheeks. "They hit me up with their schemes, too."
"I'm sure they could guess I travel too much to have any real connections." He stared out the window for a long moment, his gaze pensive and tinged with sadness. "And it's true. Relationships don't last long when ye don't see someone for months at a time. Trying to make things work just becomes excess baggage after a while."
Perhaps the residual effects on the anesthetic were making him more open than he'd been. She guessed he might regret sharing so much, later on. "You should probably go lie down. The nurse said you'd likely sleep for hours this afternoon, and I don't know what I'd do with you if you fell out of this chair."
He lifted an eyebrow and their gazes met. "I can't believe some lad hasn't nabbed ye long ago. What are ye doing in our fine country all alone, Ms. Blake? Or is there a sharp young lad countin' the days til ye return?"
It had been two long years, but even now a comment, a headline or a fragment of memory from that horrible night could catch her unaware, sending a crushing landslide of grief and despair down on her that made it nearly impossible to breathe.
She forced a smile and hoped it would stave off further questions. "There has been someone, now and then. But not now."
He was clearly becoming more weary by the moment, so she retrieved his crutches from where they were leaning against the wall and offered him the crook of her elbow so she could help him stand. "We'd better get you off to where you can rest, O'Connor—where you should have gone in the first place. It won't help business if customers find you out here, laid out on the floor like a homeless person."
This time, he nodded and rose gingerly to his feet. She walked him slowly to his room and helped him get into bed, then lifted a silver bell on the nightstand. "I found this upstairs. If you need something, clang it a few times and I should hear it...or you could even call my cell."
"I still hope for some answers about who might be waitin' for you back home..."
Addled by the drugs still in his system, he'd apparently forgotten that she'd already given him a blithe answer. He yawned, settled back against the pillow and within minutes his deep, steady breathing told her that he'd drifted off to sleep.
She watched him for a moment, envious of the easy transition into oblivion that so often eluded her. "There's no one now," she whispered softly. "Because he died, and it was all my fault. So I'm not taking that chance ever again."
But if she could ever be tempted, this would be it. Devlin was a handsome, witty, intelligent guy who clearly wanted no attachments...who would soon soar off into the wild blue with his camera in hand and never look back.
So there would be no worries.
No tentative commitments, no heartbreak. No awkward goodbyes when she left Ireland, because the last farewells would have been in sight from the very beginning.
What would be the harm in a casual flirtation—a brief time to enjoy laughter and companionship with a talented and intriguing guy?
She felt the crushing grip of grief loosen around her heart, opening it to a new possibility that would be safe, free of risk...and then she laughed aloud at her assumptions.
She could think all she liked, but what would a man like him ever see in an ordinary librarian like her?
Probably not a thing.