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She didn’t bother adding that Johnny was equally special to her. The old man didn’t have to hear spoken words to see or understand things. She figured last night her feelings for his grandson had shown on her face and Charlie had read them clearly.
Charlie nodded and gestured toward the doorway leading to the back part of the house. As the two of them passed through the kitchen, Bridget was pleased to feel the house was somewhat warmer than it had been last night, which meant that Johnny was doing his best to follow the instructions she’d given him.
Glancing to her left, she noticed the table where she and Johnny had sat drinking their coffee was now cluttered with breakfast leftovers. Two plates smeared with congealed egg yolk sat among cups, jelly jars and other condiments. The sight reminded her that she’d not yet taken time for food. But apparently Johnny and his grandfather had already eaten.
She was wondering where he was and why he’d not met her at the door, when Charlie seemed to read her mind and answer her unspoken questions.
“Johnny went to Mescalero for things at the grocery store. He’ll be back soon.”
“I won’t be leaving before he gets back,” she assured the old man.
Inside Naomi’s bedroom, she quickly went to the woman’s side. After switching on the nearby lamp, she gathered her equipment together. As she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Naomi’s arm, she was relieved to see the woman’s eyes appeared a bit more clear this morning.
“How are you feeling, Naomi?” Bridget asked.
Naomi gave her a faint nod and Bridget finished noting the blood pressure reading before she asked, “Do you hurt anywhere?”
Naomi laid a hand on her chest and then slid the same hand slowly to her stomach.
“Have you had anything to drink or eat since last night?” Bridget continued with her questions.
“Cider. And a little goat’s milk.”
Bridget smiled softly at the woman. “Well, that’s better than nothing. By this afternoon I want you to try to eat something, though. Will you try?”
Naomi let out a weary sigh. “I’ll try.”
Bridget took the woman’s temperature, then got down to the all-important job of listening to her lungs. She didn’t hear the huge improvement she would have liked, but Naomi would need much more medication before Bridget expected to see a turnaround for the better. For now, the woman’s condition hadn’t worsened overnight and for that much Bridget was very thankful.
Once she put away her stethoscope, she explained to Naomi that she’d brought a bag of medicine for her and that she needed to fix a needle in her hand for her to receive it. Expecting the woman to put up a fuss and probably refuse the IV medications, she was pleasantly surprised when Johnny’s grandmother agreed.
“My hide is tough, Bridget. But you can try,” she acceded.
Not wasting any time, Bridget quickly gathered the needed paraphernalia from her bag. Thankfully, near the head of the bed, there was a hook on the wall holding Naomi’s housecoat. After removing the garment, she used it to hang the bag of medications, then went to work affixing a small shunt to the woman’s hand.
“This might sting a little,” Bridget warned as she plucked Naomi’s hand from atop the cover. “I’ll try to be as easy as I can.”
Starting an IV was something Bridget hadn’t done since way back in her intern days. Now that she had her own private practice, she had nurses to do such tasks for her and she couldn’t help but wish her sister Maura was here to do this one.
But fortunately she didn’t have any trouble finding an appropriate vein or positioning the needle. However, as she smoothed the medical tape across the top of Naomi’s fragile hand, Bridget had plenty of problems with the unbidden thoughts rushing to the forefront of her mind.
This woman hadn’t always been old, or wrinkled or ill, Bridget thought. At one time her bony hand had been plump and smooth, her face and figure full of youth. At the age of forty-three she’d given birth to her and Charlie’s only child, a daughter named Scarlett. A miracle in itself, considering they’d already passed two decades of a childless marriage.
Five years ago, in spite of Johnny’s misgivings, Bridget had made a few visits to the Chino home. She and Naomi were very different people, but that hadn’t stopped them from taking an instant liking to each other. Naomi had talked with her about many things, one of them being Johnny’s mother. She’d told Bridget that while she’d been pregnant, she’d had a premonition and it had told her the girl child she was carrying would never truly be hers, but that someday she would receive another child and it would be a boy.
Strangely enough, Naomi’s intuition had come true. Scarlett had grown up beautiful, but too wild to tame. As she’d entered her teenage years she’d been reckless and defiant and from there her life had quickly gone downhill. By the time she was nineteen, she’d spent a short time in jail and eventually bore a son out of wedlock.
The responsibility of a child had been overwhelming to Scarlett and as quickly as she’d given birth, she’d handed the infant over to her parents and left the reservation and New Mexico behind. Four years later, they’d received word that she’d died in an alcohol-related car crash, making Naomi’s premonition come true. She’d lost a daughter, but a baby boy had come into her life.
“Bridget, is something wrong?”
Naomi’s weakly spoken question interrupted Bridget’s deep thoughts, and with a barely discernible sigh, she looked at the woman and smiled. “No. Everything is okay, Naomi. Why do you ask?”
“The sad look on your face. Maybe you don’t think I’ll get well.”
With a firm shake of her head, Bridget placed Naomi’s hand carefully back on the bedcover, then patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry I looked sad. I was just—thinking. About all the things I have to do today. That’s all. I promise you’re going to get well.” She stabbed the old woman with a pointed look. “You do want to get well, don’t you?”
Naomi grimaced. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Bridget studied her closely. “I don’t know. Some people get lazy when they get older. They get too lazy to fight for anything. I don’t want you to fall into that category.”
The old woman tried to snort, but only managed to make herself cough. When she eventually regained her breath, she said, “I’ve fought for some things. And I won’t stop now.”
“Good,” Bridget replied. “See that you don’t.”
After regulating the IV drip, Bridget gave Naomi several oral medications, then urged her patient to go to sleep.
Once the woman had closed her eyes, Bridget moved a few steps away from the bed to where Charlie sat in the same straight-back chair with a twine woven seat. The man looked tired and uncomfortable, but Bridget chose not to tell him so. He didn’t need a woman, not even a third of his age, telling him what to do and when to do it.
“Your wife should sleep now, Mr. Chino. And let’s pray the medicines will do the trick.”
“I pray all the time,” he said.
Bridget didn’t doubt his simply stated fact. The Chinos had always been spiritual people, including Johnny. At least, that’s the way it had been five years ago. Whether he’d held on to his faith, she didn’t know. Through snippets of information from Brady, she knew that Johnny’d more or less turned into a recluse and had turned his back on a job that had, at one time, garnered him fame and the reputation of being one of the best trackers in the West.
She was glancing toward the slow dripping IV, trying to mentally calculate when it might be finished, when she heard stirrings in the front part of the house. The sound of Johnny’s arrival set her heart to pounding and after only a split second of indecision, she decided to go meet him.
By the time she reached the kitchen, he was there easing a paper sack full of groceries onto the countertop. The moment he caught the sound of her footsteps, his head turned in her direction and for a moment they simply stared at each other. Or that’s what it felt like to Bridget. Maybe she was the one doing all the staring as she took in his black, black hair, broad shoulders and long lean legs encased in worn denim.
“Good morning,” she greeted him.
“Good morning,” he replied.
Forcing herself to breathe, she moved over to where he was standing and watched as he pulled out a jug of orange juice, several sports drinks, cans of condensed soup and a loaf of bread.
“You should have told me you needed those things,” she said. “I could have brought them with me this morning.”
“It isn’t your place to bring food.”
She was an outsider and he wasn’t about to let her into his world. After all this time, the notion shouldn’t hurt her. But it did.
“God forbid that you should accept anything from me,” she muttered with exasperation.
He slanted a sharp glance at her and she let out a weary sigh. “Sorry. I’ve not had breakfast this morning. I’m feeling a bit testy.”
“How is Grandmother?” he asked abruptly.
“Since her condition hasn’t worsened, I’ll say she’s holding her own. Which is a good thing, considering. I’ve started her IV drip and given her a few other medications. The drip should take a couple of hours. I’ll stay until it’s completed.”
His jaw tightened slightly and she knew he wasn’t happy about her being here, especially for such a lengthy period of time. But he also seemed to realize there was nothing either of them could do about it.
Turning his attention back to the groceries, he said, “Sit at the table and I’ll fix you something to eat.”
She didn’t want him to cook for her. She didn’t want him to do anything for her. No! That wasn’t true. She wanted him to do everything for her. Especially take her into his arms and tell her how much he loved her, wanted her, needed her. But since that was never going to happen, she might as well settle for a simple breakfast.
“All right.”
While he was putting away the groceries and gathering the things for her meal, Bridget tried to relax and rest. God only knew how exhausted she was, but being in Johnny’s presence made unwinding her coiled nerves impossible. In spite of her orders to look at the walls, the floor, the cabinets, her gaze insisted on fixing itself to him. With his back to her, it made it doubly easy for her to stare and measure the faint changes she could see against the vivid memories she’d carried with her for all these years.
Time had only made him more of a man, she recognized. Hard muscle now bulked his shoulders, arms and legs, while his bronze features were honed to lean, tough perfection. She didn’t think Johnny had ever been aware of just how potent his looks were to women. And even if he had known it, he’d never been the type who’d use those looks for his advantage. There was nothing pretentious or frivolous about the man and she supposed that quiet deepness about him was the very thing that had drawn her to him. And had never let her go.
Before long, the coffee began to perk and the rich aroma blended with the scents of frying chorizo. Bridget’s stomach was growling with hunger and though she wanted to cross the room and help herself to a cup and the granite coffeepot, she waited patiently for him to serve her. To do anything else would offend him. And that was something she’d never wanted to do to Johnny Chino.
Eventually, he switched off the burner beneath the iron skillet and filled a plate with the food he’d prepared. Once he carried it and a cup of coffee over to the table and placed it on the table in front of her, he said, “It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing.”
“It’s more than enough,” she assured him. “Thank you.”
While he went after a cup of coffee for himself, Bridget dug into chorizo and scrambled eggs wrapped in tortillas.
“I should have picked up something for breakfast before I left town,” she commented between bites, “but I didn’t want to waste the time.”
The coffee was scalding hot and very strong, forcing her to take one careful sip at a time. The jolt of it helped to push away her fatigue.
He took a seat across from her, yet he didn’t turn his gaze in her direction. Instead, he focused on the nearby window. In some ways it was a relief not to have him staring at her with those all-consuming brown eyes of his. Yet a part of her missed the connection, missed the words his eyes spoke that his lips would not.
“What about your clinic?” he questioned. “Do you normally see patients at this time in the morning?”
Bridget glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Usually. But there are days when I have emergencies to tend to at the hospital or urgent house calls to make. My staff knows how to handle things. The patients I miss this morning, I’ll work in later in the week. Except for the ones with more serious issues, and those I’ll remain at the clinic late this evening to see.”
As she sipped her coffee, she could see a faint grimace pull at the corners of his mouth. Clearly he didn’t like the idea that he and his family were causing such an upheaval in her schedule. Or maybe he didn’t like the idea that she was still willing to do so much for him.
“Will you need to see Grandmother tonight?” he asked.
“That depends on you.”
That brought his head around and he stared at her with misgivings. “What do you mean?”
“I’m going to call you later on this evening and have you report on how she appears. You will tell me the truth, won’t you?”
His features tightened. “I have always told you the truth. Why would that change?”
Her eyes still clinging to his face, she lowered her cup to the tabletop. “Because I think you’d do most anything to keep me away from here—from you.”
Chapter Three
His brown gaze broke connection with hers and dropped to the tabletop. “Not at my grandmother’s expense,” he said flatly. “I want her to get well. My feelings about you don’t matter.”
Bridget was suddenly choked with all the emotions she’d been trying to stem since last night when she first laid eyes on him. “I wasn’t aware that you still had any feelings about me,” she said in a low, strained voice.
“Bridget.”
Her name came out more like a warning than anything and the whole idea that he wanted to keep everything tamped down, all the hurt wrapped up and locked away on a shelf, sent a shaft of anger ripping right through her.
“You don’t have to scold me, Johnny. I understand that you don’t want to talk about us.”
His jaws clamped tightly. “There is no us. There never was.”
He was like an unmoving piece of iron and Bridget wondered what it would take to push the right buttons to make him react, to force him to expose the emotions hidden behind his dark face.
“A moment ago you said you would never lie to me,” she pointed out. “Yet you’re doing it now.”
His nostrils flared. “I’m not lying. Yes, we were together. But not in the fairy-tale way you want to imagine.”
Before he could guess her intentions, she reached across the table and snared his wrist with her thumb and fingers. The pressure of her grip apparently surprised him because he glanced at the hold she had on his wrist before he finally lifted his gaze to her face.
“I can’t speak for you, Johnny. But nothing about our time together felt like make-believe to me. When you kissed me, touched me—made love to me, it felt very real.”
His stoic features didn’t flinch, but deep in his eyes she saw something flicker and knew that her words had reached him, perhaps even hurt him.
She hoped it wasn’t the latter. She didn’t want to hurt this man. Far, far from it. She wanted to jar him, shake him into admitting that he’d been wrong to put a wall between them.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked bluntly. “It’s been five years. All of that ended back then.”
“Not for me.”
As she watched his lips harden to a thin line, her fingers unconsciously tightened around his wrist.
“Little fool,” he muttered.
Jerking her hand free of his wrist, she stood so abruptly she swayed. Before she could latch a steadying grip on the back of her chair, Johnny was instantly at her side, sliding a bracing arm around her shoulders.
Sucking in a harsh breath, she dared to glance at his dark face. “You don’t have to bother yourself,” she said tightly. “I’m all right.”
He cursed under his breath. “You’re exhausted.”
“I’ll get over it.”
But I’ll never get over you.
The unspoken words hung between them like a charged atmosphere on a stormy night. And then slowly, achingly, his gaze drifted downward to settle on her lips.
“Do you know what this is doing to me?”
Even though his question was spoken in a clipped whisper, she could hear agony and desire coating his words, twisting his voice.
“Yes,” she answered simply.
For one split second she thought he was going to drop his arm and move away. But then a groan sounded deep in his throat and before Bridget could anticipate his next move, she found his lips hovering over hers, his warm breath caressing her cheeks.
