“I know you’d like to find a way for him to stay at home,” John said, his hand still resting on her arm, his body heat warming her to the bone. “But I think he’ll fight you on that, honey.”
His understanding of the emotions running through her heart, as well as the friendship that had developed between her and her mentor, surprised her. And as a result, she didn’t know what to say.
“Doc has accepted the limitations his age has brought about,” John added.
“And you’re saying that I need to accept it, too?”
He nodded. “That’s about the size of it. And I’m sorry.”
She took a deep breath, acknowledging the truth of his words, of Doc’s situation, then slowly blew it out. “There’s an intermediate care facility located right next to the Shady Glen apartments.”
“So Doc will be close to your parents, and they can visit him often.”
That was true. And the nurses and the staff at Shady Glen were exceptionally kind and loving to the residents. They never let a holiday go by without decorating and planning various outings and activities to honor that particular day or season.
In fact, the day after Thanksgiving, they put up that big Christmas tree in the lobby. But thoughts of the holidays at Shady Glen took a sad turn.
Last year, Betsy had brought her mom and dad to Doc’s house for the day. They’d had a special dinner together, complete with homemade pies from Caroline’s. But this year, she wouldn’t be cooking. Not if Doc wasn’t at home.
There’d be no more Christmas mornings at the ranch, sitting around the tree, enjoying a cozy fire in the hearth, laughing with the three people she loved most in the world.
Betsy, more than anyone, knew that time marched on and that change was inevitable, but she wasn’t ready for it. And she wasn’t just getting nostalgic about Christmas, either.
If Doc was going to sell the ranch, she’d have to move, which shouldn’t be that big of a deal for a woman who spent so little time there. But the little guesthouse had become home to her, a quiet little corner of the world where she could let down her hair and just be herself.
She would have the memories of living on the ranch, of course, but since she’d spent so much of her life burning the candle at both ends, she wouldn’t have as many of them as she could have-if she’d stopped long enough to smell the roses.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she struggled to blink them back. But it was too late. They filled her eyes to the brim and began to roll down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” John said again, as he lifted his hand and brushed his thumb under her eyes, wiping away her tears.
She managed a smile. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”
They sat like that for a while, wrapped in an emotional cocoon and connected in a way that went beyond the physical-the stolen glances, the good-night kisses. Somehow, over the past couple of weeks, they’d become friends-and more.
When one of the licensed vocational nurses came into the break room and removed a yogurt she’d left in the fridge, she froze in her tracks.
“I’m sorry,” she said, apparently picking up on the vibes Betsy and John must have been putting out. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No, not at all.” Betsy pushed her chair back, got to her feet and, addressing John, said, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to check with Dr. Kelso and get a prognosis.”
At least, that’s the excuse she came up with for gathering up her heart before she threw it at the man, hoping he’d catch it.
And hoping that he’d cherish the gift Doug had taken for granted.
After Betsy had talked to Jim Kelso and learned that Doc’s situation seemed a little more promising than it had appeared to be when he’d been brought into the E.R., she’d relayed the prognosis to John.
“Thank God,” he’d said, relieved to know the retired doctor would probably recover-with time and physical therapy.
“They’ll be taking him to Intensive Care for a day or so,” she’d added, “but that’s routine. They want to monitor him closely.”
At that point, John could have taken off and gone back to the ranch, he supposed. But the elderly man didn’t have any family to speak of, and John figured he could use a friend about now. So he’d waited until Doc was settled in the ICU, then stopped by to see him.
Doc had opened his eyes long enough to acknowledge John’s visit. His lips quirked in what might have been a smile, then he’d dozed off.
John stood at his bedside for a while, then told the nurse in charge that he would be back in the morning.
Yet he still didn’t leave the hospital. Instead, he called Betsy and told her he was going to wait in the lobby until she was free to leave.
“You’ve got to be hungry,” he told her. “And I’m starving. Let’s go out to dinner.”
“All right.”
He hoped she didn’t give him a hard time about picking up the tab tonight. The local bank, where Doc had an account, had allowed him to cash his paycheck without any ID. He’d already made a small payment to the hospital, as well as one to Dr. Kelso. He would pay them more next week, but he’d kept enough to spring for dinner tonight. And that felt good.
At a few minutes after seven, Betsy met John in the lobby. She was wearing her street clothes-black slacks and a pink sweater. She’d also let her hair down-soft curls a man longed to touch.
“You look nice,” he told her. She also looked as sexy as hell, but he kept that thought to himself.
“Thanks. I keep a change of clothes in the locker room and decided to wear them tonight. I’ve been spending most of my waking hours in scrubs.”
“Where do you want to eat?” he asked, as they headed for the lobby doors.
“There’s an Italian restaurant that just opened up a month or so ago. I’ve never eaten there before, but I’ve heard that it’s good. What do you think?”
He really didn’t have a preference. He’d eat just about anything right now, as long as they offered quick service. “Italian’s great.”
“We can walk,” she said. “It’s not very far.”
She was right. Cara Mia was located just a couple of blocks down the street. Other than a black awning over the door, the eatery didn’t look anything out of the ordinary on the outside. But the inside, with its polished hardwood floors and white walls, was warm and inviting.
Each table, which was draped in crisp white linen, was adorned with a single red rose in a glass bud vase and several lit votives. A stone fireplace in the back, with flames licking over real logs, added to the ambience. And so did a Christmas tree that had been decorated with a variety of colorful ornaments and blinking lights.
Everyone in Brighton Valley seemed to be ready for the holiday, and John realized he was going to have to get with the program. He didn’t have much money to spend or more than a couple of gifts to buy, but he wanted to give Betsy something special.
The waiter pointed out the wine list. After a brief perusal, Betsy asked for a glass of sauvignon blanc, and John chose one of his favorite Napa Valley merlots.
When John realized that he’d just remembered yet another inconsequential fact, he kept the news to himself. Why put a damper on the evening by reminding Betsy that he still had no real memory of the life he’d once led?
While the waiter served their drinks, they looked over their menus. Betsy decided on the vegetarian lasagna, and John asked for the chicken marsala.
The prices weren’t as steep as John was used to-another tidbit of information that he would have to tuck away-yet even so, the bill would take the bulk of his remaining cash. But he didn’t care about that. He wanted the evening to be memorable.
He also wanted to carry his own weight, which had always been important to him.
It was odd, though. There were some things he just seemed to know about himself. And he tried to take comfort in the fact that he had a sense of honor, that he liked the finer things in life and that he paid his own
