Lisa Kleypas - Rainshadow Road

“Of course I am,” he snapped. “Have I ever pretended to be normal?”

Justine made a sound of disgust. “You know what? I’m sorry I asked. My mistake.”

Sam scowled as she turned away. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry about it. Not your problem.”

“Who are you calling?” he insisted.

“Duane. He and his friends will take care of her.”

Sam’s mouth fell open. “You’re going to give a wounded woman on medication to a biker gang?”

“They’re good guys. They have their own church.”

Instant fury sent hot blood to his face. “Having your own church doesn’t make you a good guy. It only makes you tax-exempt.”

“Don’t shout at me.”

“I’m not shouting.”

“I wouldn’t call that your inside voice, Sam.” Justine lifted her phone and tapped on the small screen.

“No,” he growled.

“No, what?”

Sam took a deep breath, yearning to put his fist through a wall. “I’ll—” He broke off and cleared his throat roughly, and gave her a wrathful glance. “I’ll take her.”

“To your house,” she clarified.

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Good. Thank you. My God, all this drama.” Shaking her head, Justine went to the vending machine and punched some buttons to get a drink.

* * *

Lucy blinked in bewilderment as Sam Nolan came through the curtain partitions. “What are you doing here?” she asked faintly.

“Justine called me.”

“She shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

His gaze slid over her, not missing a detail. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and gruff. “Are you in pain?”

“It’s not bad.” Lucy gestured to the IV bag. “They’ve got me on some kind of narcotic something-or-other.” Fretfully she added, “There’s a needle in my hand.”

“We’ll get you out of here soon.”

She focused on Sam’s T-shirt, dark blue with the printed white outlines of what looked like an old-fashioned telephone booth. “What is the phone booth for?”

“Police box. From Dr. Who.” Seeing her incomprehension, he explained, “It’s a time-traveling spacecraft.”

The shadow of a smile crossed her lips. “Geek,” she said, and blew her nose.

Drawing closer, Sam settled his hand on her hip, exploring the outlines of a polyurethane bandage, adjusting the drape of the hospital blanket over her splinted leg. There was something oddly proprietary about the way he touched her. Lucy stared at him in bewilderment, trying to fathom what was the matter with him. He had the air of a man who was facing an unpleasant duty.

“You look angry,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“You’re clenching your jaw.”

“That’s the way my jaw always looks.”

“Your eyes are glaring.”

“It’s the hospital lighting.”

“Something’s going on,” she insisted.

Sam took her icy hand in his, careful not to dislodge the pulse oximeter that had been clamped to her forefinger. His thumb rubbed lightly over the backs of her fingers. “For the next few days, you’re going to need someone to help you out. This is more than you can handle on your own.” A measured pause. “So I’m going to take you to Rainshadow Road with me.”

Lucy’s eyes widened, and she tugged her hand from his. “No. I … no, I won’t do that. Is that why Justine called you? God. I can’t go anywhere with you.”

Sam turned quietly ruthless. “Where are you planning to go, Lucy? The inn? Being closed off in a room by yourself with no one to help you? Even if Zoл and Justine didn’t have a big event going on this weekend, they’d still have a hard time getting you up and down all those stairs.”

Lucy pressed a clammy palm to her head, which had begun to ache fiercely. “I … I’ll call my parents.”

“They’re at least a thousand miles away.”

She was so worried and depleted that she felt her throat tighten against a new threat of tears. Appalled by her lack of control, she put her hand over her eyes and made a frustrated sound. “You’re too busy. The vineyard—”

“My crew will cover for me.”

“What about your brother and Holly?”

“They won’t mind. It’s a big house.”

As she began to comprehend the situation, Lucy realized that Sam would be helping her with bathing, eating, dressing—intimacies that would be embarrassing even with someone she had known for a long time. And he didn’t look any happier about the situation than she was.

“There’s got to be another solution,” Lucy said, trying desperately to think. She drew in an extra breath, and another, unable to get enough air into the tightening confines of her lungs.

“Damn it, don’t start hyperventilating.” Sam’s hand settled on her chest, rubbing a slow circle. The familiarity of the gesture caused her to gasp.

“I haven’t given you the right—” she began unsteadily.

“For the next few days,” Sam said, his lashes lowering to conceal his expression, “you’ll have to get used to having my hands on you.” The circling motion continued, and Lucy subsided helplessly. To her mortification, a little coughing sob escaped her. She closed her eyes. “You’re going to let me take care of you,” she heard him say. “Don’t waste your breath arguing. The fact is, you’re coming home with me.”

It was early evening by the time Sam’s pickup turned onto Rainshadow Road and proceeded along the private drive. He had signed all of Lucy’s release forms, collected a sheaf of medical instructions and prescriptions, and had accompanied Lucy as an RN had taken her outside in a wheelchair. Justine had been there too, her manner gratingly cheerful.

“Well, kids,” she had chirped, “this is going to turn out fine. Sam, I owe you. Lucy, you’ll love Sam’s house—it’s a great place—and someday, I guarantee we’ll all look back on this and— What did you say, Sam?”

“I said, ‘Shove it, Justine,’” he muttered, gathering Lucy up from the wheelchair.

Unperturbed, Justine followed as Sam carried Lucy around the truck. “I put together an overnight bag for you, Luce. Zoл or I will drop off more of your stuff tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Lucy had wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck as he lifted her with astonishing ease. His shoulders were hard against her palms. The smell of his skin was delicious, clean with a hint of salt, like ocean air, and fresh like garden plants and green leaves.

Sam placed Lucy in the truck, adjusted her seat back, and buckled the seat belt. Every movement was deft and efficient, his manner impersonal. He kept glancing at her, taking measure. Unhappily she wondered what Justine had said to persuade him to take her. “He doesn’t want to do this,” she had whispered to Justine in the hospital, and Justine had whispered back, “He does. He’s just a little nervous about it.”

But Sam didn’t seem all that nervous to Lucy. He seemed quietly pissed off. The drive to the vineyard was silent. Although Sam’s truck had excellent suspension, there was an occasional bump in the road that caused Lucy to wince. She was sore and exhausted, and she had never felt like such a burden to anyone.

Eventually they turned onto a private drive that led to a Victorian house adorned with gables, balustrades, a central cupola, and a widow’s walk. A lazy sunset turned the white-painted house the color of Creamsicles. The foundation was skirted with a profusion of red shrub roses interspersed with white hydrangeas. Nearby, a stalwart gray barn chaperoned the vineyard rows, which frolicked across the terrain like children being let out for recess.

Lucy stared at the scene with bemused wonder. If San Juan Island was a world apart from the mainland, this was a world inside that one. The house waited with its windows open to catch sea breezes, moonlight, wandering spirits. It seemed to be waiting for her.

Taking in Lucy’s reaction with an astute glance, Sam pulled the truck to a stop beside the house. “Yes,” he said, as if she had asked a question. “That’s how I felt when I first saw it.” He got out of the truck and walked around to Lucy’s side, reaching in to unbuckle the seat belt. “Put your arms around my neck,” he said.

Hesitantly Lucy complied. He lifted her, mindful not to bump her splinted leg. As soon as his arms closed around her, Lucy was aware of a new, baffling feeling, a sense of yielding, something dissolving inside. Her head drooped heavily to his shoulder, and she struggled to lift it again. Sam murmured, “It’s okay,” and, “It’s fine,” which made her realize she was trembling.

They ascended the front steps to a wide covered porch with a light blue ceiling. “Haint blue,” Sam said, as he noticed Lucy looking upward. “We tried to match the original color as closely as possible. A lot of people around here used to paint their porch ceilings blue. Some say it’s to fake out birds and insects, make them think it’s the sky. But others say the real reason is to ward off ghosts.”

The rush of words made Lucy realize that Sam actually was a little nervous, just as Justine had said. It was an unusual situation for both of them.

“Does your family know that I’m visiting?” she asked.

He nodded. “I called them from the clinic.”

The front door opened, allowing a long rectangle of light to slide across the porch. A dark-haired man stood holding the door, while a blond girl and a bulldog came to the threshold. The man was a slightly older, more heavyset version of Sam, with the same roughcast handsomeness. And he had the same dazzling smile. “Welcome to Rainshadow,” he said to Lucy. “I’m Mark.”

“I’m sorry to impose. I—”

“Not a problem,” Mark said easily. His gaze flicked to Sam. “What can I do?”