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“I have a suggestion.”
She grew still, silent. Again, that wariness. Was this a natural part of her personality or a result of her husband’s death?
“My sister is staying with me in a house down on the lake near Hideaway,” he said. “It’s a large house, so there’s plenty of room for you. When Preston gets out of the hospital, there will also be room for him to stay while he recuperates.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she were cold—or as if the bad dream continued to terrorize her. “How far do you live from this hospital?” she asked.
“It’s a bit of a drive, but—”
“No. I appreciate your concern, Dr. Vaughn—”
“It’s Graham, remember?”
She reached up with slender fingers and rubbed at her eyes again. At this moment she appeared closer to sixteen than thirty-six. “I prefer to stay close in case Preston needs me. Until I can get a new set of keys for my car, I’ll find a room nearby so I can walk.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Graham said. “I’ve already arranged for someone to make a set of keys for you. Everything’s being taken care of, but I wish you would—”
“I’m sorry, Graham,” she said gently as she edged past him and reached for the door. “It’s so kind of you to offer, but you have plenty to keep you busy. I can take care of myself.”
Without waiting for him to argue, she slipped through the door and let it swing shut behind her.
Willow stood by Preston’s bedside and watched the rise and fall of his chest. His mouth hung slack, and the fan of his long black lashes seemed unsinged. His eyebrows hadn’t fared so well, and a blister framed the left side of his face.
Unwilling to awaken him, she watched in silence. I know better than to ask why, Lord. I know I won’t get an answer. But how about a “when”? As in “When will it stop?”
A film of tears blurred her vision. She sniffed and dashed them away, and when she returned her attention to Preston, his eyes were open.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said.
He reached his right hand out to her. She took it gently, feeling the calloused ridge along the top of his palm from too many hours holding a hammer while working on one of his rental properties.
He looked down at the hand he held in his. “You’re shaking.”
“Do you blame me?” She attempted her usual dry, casual tone with him. It didn’t come out right.
His gaze went to her bandaged forearm. “How bad?”
“Not too.”
“Graham fix you up?”
“How did you know?”
“He told me, dummy.” His teasing grin didn’t quite reach his eyes, but she could see it through the oxygen mask. The eyes held only worry, deep worry.
She shrugged. “He’s good.”
He nodded, satisfied, then indicated her apparel with a look. “Did you get a job here?”
She grimaced as she glanced down at the green scrubs. “One of your renters took pity on me and found these for me.” She gestured toward Preston’s upper lip, also visible through the mask. “Your mustache is in awful shape.” It, too, had been singed.
Preston shifted as if he would try to sit up.
“Don’t even think about it,” Willow said, pressing a hand against his shoulder.
“He still around?”
“Who?”
He scowled at her. “Who fixed your arm?”
“I don’t know where he went. Would you just relax and focus on getting well? I’m sure he told you they’ve got the fire under control, and he seems capable of taking care of the renters.”
Preston gave an impatient shake of his head. “I need to talk to him about—”
“You don’t need to do a thing right now, my friend.” A familiar baritone voice came from behind Willow’s left shoulder. “I’ve got a handle on it all, and if I can’t deal with it I know someone who can.”
Willow turned and looked at Graham Vaughn, struck afresh by his solid, friendly appearance. He had that “smile with your eyes” trick down perfectly. There was a warmth in his expression that would, of course, serve to encourage his patients to trust him.
In spite of what she’d said to him earlier this morning, he did have a good bedside manner, and he did engender trust. Willow knew she tended to be a little grumpy when stressed, and she was working on that.
“Willow, there’s someone I want you to meet as soon as you finish visiting with Preston,” Graham said.
“Someone like who?” she asked.
“Someone who can take you shopping for some necessary items until you receive the keys to your car,” Graham said. “You’ll also want some cash, and the claims adjuster will have that to us later this morning. I’ve got surgery today, but my sister can—”
“His sister can speak for herself.” A new voice spoke from the doorway.
Willow turned to encounter a fresh, smiling, freckled face. The woman, possibly in her late forties, had short, graying red hair the color of antiqued copper. She wore blue jeans and a chambray shirt that suggested she might have been working outside when she received the call from her brother and hadn’t taken the time to change.
“I’m Ginger Carpenter,” the woman said, stepping forward with an outstretched hand.
Willow took the hand, appreciating the firm grip. “Willow Traynor. I take it you’re the sister Graham mentioned?”
“Guilty as charged. Graham offered me the opportunity to help someone else spend money. That’s like a dream come true for me. We need to get you fixed up with some clothes, a place to stay until we can find something more permanent, and we’ve got some money to spend, courtesy of my brother’s bank account until the checks arrive later.”
“But I don’t—”
“Insurance money,” Ginger said. “I’ve turned shopping on a shoestring into an art form. You’d be surprised at the bargains I’ve learned to dig up in the Branson shops in the past few weeks. I could open your world to a new way of shopping.”
Willow gave her borrowed scrubs another perusal. “I wouldn’t mind a couple of pairs of jeans.”
Ginger patted her own well-endowed fanny. “Honey, I’d give you some of mine, but you’d float around in them. Let’s go paint the town green, okay? Looks like Preston’s in great hands.” To Willow’s surprise, Ginger leaned over the bed and gave Preston a quick, sisterly kiss on the cheek. “Loan Willow to me for a few hours, okay?”
Preston nodded. “You’ve got her. I’ll take a nap.”
Graham couldn’t help observing Preston’s watchful silence as Ginger cajoled Willow from the room. It was a foregone conclusion, at least to Graham, that no one but Ginger could have pulled off this feat. Willow tended to skitter away from people like a half-wild kitten. The woman was intriguing.
At this point, so was her brother. What was up with these two? Yes, they had been through quite an ordeal tonight, but Graham had noticed Preston’s body language when he’d spoken of Willow recently. He was worried about her. Preston didn’t worry about much, so when something concerned him, Graham homed in on it like a beacon.
With a final glance over her shoulder at Preston, Willow disappeared down the hallway with Ginger.
“I need your help,” Preston said quietly the moment the women were out of earshot.
Graham returned his attention to his friend. “You’ve got it, you know that. Don’t worry about a thing. Ginger can help with the renters until—”
Preston gave an impatient wave. “Not that. We can deal with the renters later. I’ve kept an off-site set of computer records for months now, so that’s no problem.” His voice grew raspy, and he raised his hand to his throat. “I need help with Willow.”
Graham reached for a couple of ice chips and gave them to Preston. “Sorry I can’t do any better than that, but you can’t have anything else so soon after surgery. Why don’t you stop trying to talk? You inhaled a lot of smoke, and you need to rest your voice.”
Preston took the chips, coughed, shook his head. “I need you to know some things about Willow.”
“You mean you haven’t already told me everything there is to tell?” He had heard Preston talk about his sister for several months. Obviously Preston cared a great deal about her.
“I haven’t told you everything,” Preston said quietly. “She’s afraid, Graham.”
“Of what?”
“That’s what we need to talk about. It’s complicated.” Preston placed the small ice chips in his mouth.
Graham pulled a chair over to the bed and slumped into it. Last night had been a hard one, and it didn’t look as if he’d be getting much rest before his first patient today. “Tell me.”
Preston closed his eyes. “Just remember, in my drugged state I may tell you more than Willow would approve of. Don’t let this get back to her.”
Graham shook off his drowsiness. “What’s going on?”
Willow stepped into the hospital parking lot behind Ginger and immediately spotted a sign that advertised lodging.
“Are there several hotels or motels near here?”
“Are you kidding?” Ginger gave a snort that was barely ladylike. “Honey, you’ve got hundreds of rooms within walking distance, depending on how fast you walk and what kind of shape you’re in.” The freckled redhead gave Willow an appraising look over the top of her glasses, then nodded with satisfaction. “From the looks of it, you could walk a few miles to get here if need be, but Graham was hoping you’d stay with us at the house, and I’d love—”
“He didn’t tell you that I’m planning to stay near the hospital to be with Preston as much as possible?” Willow asked.
“He did mention that, but since Graham drives into town every day you could easily come in with him.”
“I like to be able to come and go in my own car. Graham says you live in Hideaway.”
“That’s right.”
“It’s a long way to Hideaway from here.” Willow wasn’t in the mood to move in with complete strangers, even if those strangers seemed trustworthy.
She’d trusted before—trusted that as long as she and Travis were doing God’s will, they would not have to worry about enduring any of the shocking tragedies that so often took people by surprise. She now felt foolish for holding that irrational belief.
“As the crow flies, Hideaway isn’t terribly far from here,” Ginger said.
“I’m not a crow.”
“The drive isn’t that bad. You could get to the hospital from Hideaway in forty minutes—thirty if you catch the traffic right. Believe me, you’d be more than welcome to stay with us.”
The woman was a bit pushy. Willow slowed her steps and fixed Ginger with a look. “You need to understand that I won’t be doing that. While I appreciate the offer, my answer is no. Please don’t argue with me.” With some people it was necessary to establish her boundaries in the beginning. If they didn’t like it, they could move on and rescue someone else.
To her surprise, Ginger chuckled. “Well, I see you’re a lady who knows her own mind. Good. But as my brother reminds me often enough, I’m a nag. I’ll try to keep it to a minimum. Now let’s enjoy the morning.”
Willow caught sight of a motel marquee down the street that announced vacancies. “I think I’ll see if I can get a room over there. At least for a while.” She refused to think of the multiple reasons she should accept Ginger’s offer.
As she’d told Graham and the fireman that had interviewed her earlier, those streaks of flame she’d seen rushing toward the house—like fuses racing to a bomb—had definitely raised her suspicions and already found their way into her nightmare.
Those weren’t just naturally occurring phenomena. They had a direction, an object of attack. She had seen headlights in the forest beyond the apartment complex. Someone else had been out there. She didn’t need any further investigation to tell her that much.
She didn’t want to be alone right now, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to move in with strangers. The fireman had informed her that there had been two other fires last night, and theirs had most likely been a random attack. As soon as they found the perpetrator, all would be settled.
Too bad she couldn’t convince herself of that. She wasn’t up to being logical this early in the morning with so little sleep after barely escaping with her life.
But she was a grown woman, able to take care of herself. She didn’t need keepers.
She would go shopping with Ginger, enjoy the female company and buy some things she desperately needed. Then she would rent a room and settle in.
Graham listened to Preston’s worries with growing concern. “Willow’s husband was murdered?”
Preston shifted in his bed and took another ice chip. “He was killed in the line of duty during a drug raid, but Willow isn’t convinced his death had anything to do with the drug raid.”
“What does she think happened?”
“She’s convinced of some kind of conspiracy, either within the department or from an old enemy from another case. The trajectory of the bullet was wrong, and the bullet didn’t match any of the firearms confiscated after the raid.”
“I’m sure there was an investigation, right?” Graham asked.
“Of course. No other shooter was found. It was decided that one of the perpetrators must have gotten away. End of case. But Willow can’t accept it. Ever since Travis’s death, she hasn’t been herself.”
Graham could tell the poor guy was miserable, but his heightened concern for Willow kept him vigilant even now, with the aftereffects of the surgery. “You’re saying she still has some major emotional issues connected to her husband’s death?”
“To put it mildly.” Preston’s eyes closed, and he grimaced with pain. “And that’s not the only problem.”
“We need to see about getting you some more medication,” Graham said.
Preston sighed and nodded. “Okay, but please, please watch Willow for any signs of trouble.” He caught his breath, then moaned softly.
“I’ll make sure she’s safe, though I don’t have to tell you how independent she can be.” Graham motioned for the surgical ICU nurse.
Preston opened his eyes again, and this time Graham could plainly see the fear in them. “Everyone knows that when a person is having some kind of emotional problem, they try to make sure that the last thing it affects is their job. Well, Willow lost her job six months ago.”
“She was fired?”
“No, she quit. She hasn’t worked as a nurse since. After her husband’s death she started talking about these…bad dreams. She insists her husband’s murderer is after her, and believe me, after what just happened, she’s even got me spooked, and I should know better.”
The nurse joined them and made note of Preston’s vitals, then looked at Graham expectantly. “You wanted to see me, Doctor?”
