A Family For Christmas

But he’d been granted temporary custody and would be given full custody in the event that his daughter’s body was found. Sara, Joy’s counselor, had felt that the sooner the little girl found security within her new family unit, the better. Especially since her father’s arrest.

Shawn Amos had been the last one seen with his wife. Beating her. Hauling her away from their house by her hair. The same day he’d beaten his sister to death. The man was in jail on charges of first-degree murder. His wife, Joy’s mother, Cara, was missing—and the man claimed to have no idea where she was. Police were actively searching for her, but many assumed the worst. That they were seeking a dead body, not a live one.

Especially after days had passed since Shawn Amos’s arrest and Cara hadn’t turned up. If she were able, she’d certainly have sought help. By all accounts, she’d lived for Joy. Nothing would stop her from getting back to her daughter. If she was able.

“I can hear the tension in your voice,” Lila said, having pulled the phone away only long enough to slide the beige turtleneck over her head and step into low-heeled brown shoes as she grabbed her jacket.

“I don’t know what to do,” Edward, a general practitioner from Florida, said. “I love this child more than I thought possible. I’m blowing it already...”

“If I can hear the tension in your voice, so can she,” Lila said, keys in hand. “Ask her if she wants to come back to The Lemonade Stand. Talk to her like she’s one of your young patients. I’ll hold.”

She could hear Edward call Joy’s name. Hear his impersonal yet kind tone as he did as Lila requested.

Lila heard no response. But no crying, either.

“She nodded.” Edward came back on the line.

“Don’t bother changing her out of her pajamas,” Lila said. “Wrap her in a blanket and carry her down to the lobby. Call for your car first. Talk to her. Doesn’t matter what about. Your voice will be reassurance. Your body warmth gives her a sense of security. Make sure she’s buckled up. Drive carefully and I’ll see you there.”

She didn’t have to go in. She could call Lynn Bishop, the full-time nurse who lived on the premises. Lynn would get Sara in. Lila could handle the rest in the morning. Any other time, with any other resident under these circumstances—no lives at risk—she would have done so.

But she didn’t. For the first time since she’d come to The Lemonade Stand she’d let something get personal.

Edward needed her.

And damn her for needing to be there for him.

CHAPTER FOUR (#uc61905c8-f0b6-58b4-b7cb-4fe4103705c8)

Prospector, Nevada

CARA SLEPT FOR two days. Two days in which Simon knew moments of peace, of pleasure, and moments when he sank into pure hell. Tending to a patient again—yeah, of course there’d be moments of pleasure. He was a doctor. Doctoring was all he’d ever wanted to do. From the time he was in junior high he’d known his course.

Peace...now, that had surprised him a bit. Sitting in that cabin in the evening, with the light down low and a book in his lap...and upon first waking in the morning, knowing that someone was in the next room, having to keep a schedule, having something to do at a particular time...had brought peace. He should have known. Should have been able to figure out that he needed structure. Human Nature 101.

And sinking into hell—well, that had pretty much been the rest of the time that he wasn’t climbing his way back out of it.

His patient, on the morning of her third day with him, woke him when she moved quietly through the body of the cabin to the restroom she’d visited a few times in the previous two days, with him right behind her in case she felt weak. On those occasions, he’d left her at the door. She’d called out to him when she was ready for him to come get her.

When he’d seen her underwear hanging wet and obviously cleaned on the far towel bar the previous morning, he’d taken it out to dry in the sunshine after he’d seen her back to bed. Everything had been right where she left it when she’d made her next trip, and had disappeared from the bar right after.

She’d consumed three cans of soup. Half a cracker. And a couple of glasses of orange juice. Along with more than a quart of water. The previous evening he’d removed the makeshift butterfly bandages he’d put on her face and was encouraged by the pink skin surrounding her worst abrasions. Her skin had been cool to the touch since day one. She was healing nicely with no sign of infection.

Pretending to remain asleep on the pullout as he listened to her cross the floor, move down the short hall and close the bathroom door behind her, Simon considered what the day would bring. She was able to get up, move about without any slowness of step or obvious signs of dizziness. It was time for her to resume minimal activity. Another full day in bed was not going to be good for her.

A woman up and about his cabin, needing another day or two of rest, but no longer requiring the direct supervision of a physician, was not good for him.

As a patient, she’d either been asleep, answering his questions or following his orders. He’d kept his questions strictly professional. And his orders—a couple more bites, deep breath, please—even more so.

He needed her gone so he could get back to the business of getting back to his life. Getting back out in the woods. Challenging himself more than closing one eye indoors would do. He hadn’t worn the eye patch since he’d found her.

She had no idea she was dealing with a one-eyed man, and he had every intention of having that state of affairs remain just as it was. But with that, his right eye could grow weaker, letting the left eye do all of its work. Not wanting to leave her alone in the cabin—not completely sure she wouldn’t bolt on him—he’d had to settle for closing his left eye and watching the old television set that worked only with the DVD player attached. He’d kept the sound low, so as not to disturb his patient, and was pretty sure that the time he’d thought he’d seen a shadow move across the screen had not been a brain trick brought on by the fact that a female voice in the movie had just said come here. He was pretty sure he’d seen that shadow.

And was antsy to get outside in the daylight and test himself.

Just as antsy as he was to have the woman out of his house.

Wanting to no longer have a patient to care for...well, with his usual self-honesty, he had to admit that he wasn’t eager for that part of this little time warp to end.

Simon was sitting up, in the sweats and flannel shirt he kept by the couch to put on when he had to tend to his patient during the night, with the bed already folded away by the time Cara came back through the front room. He’d been keeping the place toastier at night, in deference to his patient, but even if he hadn’t been, he was a sleep-in-the-buff guy.

She’d dressed herself. That first day, he’d washed her clothes. Left them on top of the wooden trunk at the end of the bed. Her long dark hair was in a ponytail. He didn’t know where she’d found the rubber band. The first morning she’d woken in his cabin, he’d offered her a spare comb and toothbrush. She’d brushed but had been too weak, or in pain, to shower. She’d obviously taken care of that this morning.

“You found your clothes.” What did you say to a woman you barely knew when she was standing in the middle of your remote hideaway cabin before you’d even been to the bathroom in the morning?

“Yes.” Her body faced the bedroom, but she stood halfway between it and the bathroom, looking at him. Sort of. Her gaze wandered toward the floor.

She appeared to have no curiosity about her surroundings. But then, she’d had two days’ worth of trips back and forth to the bathroom to check it out. He hadn’t noticed her looking around then, either.

“Uh, thank you. For washing them.” She glanced at him, held his gaze and then wavered again.

He couldn’t figure her out. The more she recovered, the more docile she seemed to become. Why would a woman have more fight in her when she was physically weak than when her strength had started to return?

“You’re welcome,” her said after a moment of studying her. “I’m fixing oatmeal and toast for breakfast. You should eat at the table this morning.” Because she couldn’t spend another full day in bed.

His thoughts were repeating themselves. She had to be up and about. He didn’t want her about. She was too weak to hike out of there on her own. And neither of them relished the idea of visitors. All things they had to talk about.

She didn’t seem to have anything to say. With a nod, she turned away, entered her room and the cabin grew silent. She hadn’t closed the door. He could go look in and see what she was doing.

He made oatmeal, instead.

* * *

CARA WASN’T AFRAID. If she’d ever in a million years imagined herself in her current position, she’d have figured herself for terrified, but she wasn’t. Her heart was calm. Resigned. At peace. Karma had been fulfilled, and life and death would be what they were.

Fate had led her to this path. Her way was clear. She was completely, utterly alone now.

No one to miss her, either, which made it all easier. Except Mary. But Mary would be much happier now. Shawn loved his sister. Looked out for her. The two had formed a blessed bond during their difficult upbringing. Shawn never spoke harshly to Mary, never lifted a hand to her except when she was interceding on Cara’s behalf. Without Cara there...

Shawn. A vision of her husband’s smiling sun-drenched face, windblown hair, came to mind. She’d met him on the beach in Florida. His confidence and joy in living had captivated her...

No. These last minutes, last hours, last day or two at the most, were hers. They were days to find her essence. To cling to it. To slide away with her heart firmly attached to its goal and get to those waiting for her on the other side.

If she got there—where they were. Surely she was paying her price here. Bowing her head, she prayed to all that was, to angels and stars and heavens, begging to let her earthly life be the penance. The thought of being anywhere in eternity but with those she’d loved with all her heart who’d gone before her...

Clang! It sounded like a pan had dropped on the old linoleum floor in the kitchen. Picturing the scarred red pattern in her mind, she imagined the doctor picking up whatever he’d dropped. And paused to wonder whether those unsteady fingers had cause him to lose a life.

Staring ahead, she straightened. She couldn’t control the future. Or what would happen to her when she passed. She could only have faith. Keep her mind on what must be. She’d escaped Shawn. That had been answer enough for her. She was meant to die out here.