Lightning Game (GhostWalkers #17) -Christine Feehan Page 0,62

I won’t be offended if you say no. I’m just learning and haven’t gotten to Rubin’s level at all yet.”

“You have to learn somewhere,” Patricia said briskly. “Rubin is family. If you’re his woman, then you’re going to be family as well. We best do this before the boys get home. Once they come, the noise will be deafening. Especially with Diego here.”

Diego flashed a grin at them. “Sure, blame me. I can start dinner for us after I take a look around, Mama Patricia.”

“I knew you were coming, Diego. I made your favorite. There’s enough for everyone. The boys will fire up the grill and throw some fish and corn on it. They’re real proud of their grillin’ these days.”

She got up, pushing off the wood arms of the rocker. This time Jonquille noticed one side was stronger than the other. Rubin picked up the tray and indicated to Jonquille to precede him into the house. She wanted to look around as she followed Patricia down a hall into a bedroom, but she’d caught on to the way Rubin and Diego worked. She was aware Diego was taking the opportunity to sweep the area around the cabin for signs of intruders. The brothers were rarely idle.

8

Jonquille forced her mind away from everything but what she was actually supposed to focus on. Rubin was giving her an unprecedented opportunity. Not only had she been close to becoming a doctor, but she had a healing gift and yearned to use it. That talent was often so strong that when she was at the laboratory and others were too near, there were times she could feel something not quite right with their bodies. The compulsion to do her best to heal them was terrifyingly intense at times, depending on the degree of the problem, yet she didn’t dare, nor did she really know how to use that talent correctly. She’d never had the opportunity to develop it.

Jonquille observed Patricia as she walked. Her gait. The way she favored one side of her body just slightly. It was almost as if she protected her right side. In fact, twice she caught her right wrist with her left, as if just having the arm swinging free bothered her, yet she’d told Rubin it didn’t hurt. No, she hadn’t actually said that in so many words, she’d just acted stoic and laughed and said she was getting up there in age.

Rubin and Diego had gently steered the conversation without seeming to do so. They talked about family and the various times of year. The winter, how difficult it was, focusing first on her sons, asking her how they had fared. What they did. What it was like having them home. They asked about her absent children. Throughout the conversation they exchanged stories with her, getting her comfortable telling little details even about herself. What happened in the fall? The spring? The summer? They didn’t ever act impatient, and had clearly come prepared to spend the rest of the day with her. Their secret, she realized, was that they were truly enjoying themselves. Jonquille wondered if that was what they did with every one of the patients in the mountains, or if Patricia was that special to them.

“Patricia is going to lie on the bed for us,” Rubin said. “Jonquille, if you would just stand here beside me, I can show you what you’re looking for.”

Don’t touch her physically. Don’t ask her to remove her clothing. Do or say something to put her at ease.

For the first time in a long while, Jonquille was grateful for her smaller size. She knew she appeared nonthreatening as she moved close to Rubin, almost beneath his shoulder but still trying to give him room. She wasn’t certain what to expect. How could he examine Patricia if he wasn’t going to physically touch her? That didn’t make sense. Excitement set in, but she forced it down, knowing the predator in him would hear her elevated heartbeat. The healer needed to be present, not the hunter.

“Mama Patricia, did you make this quilt?” She didn’t have to make up the awe in her voice. The quilt covering the bed was handsewn. Stitch by tiny stitch. Each block was detailed, the pieces cut out of old material that had been used until it was faded and worn. She was certain those pieces had been material from her children’s clothing when they were young, and others from her husband’s clothing. This was a masterpiece.