The Artist's Healer - Regina Scott Page 0,45
been wrapped in another bandage, one that tied her to the spa.
She glanced across the room to where Eva was speaking to Linus. As always, he leaned slightly toward her, eyes on her face, and nodded as if in understanding and appreciation of what she was saying. She had never met a man so attentive to his patients, his colleagues. Her.
“I wonder, Abby,” Jess said. “I know you must have a great deal to do at the shop, but perhaps you might spare a few hours every day to help me.”
Her gaze snapped back to her friend. “Anything. What do you need?”
“There are a hundred details that must be settled regarding the Regatta. I’m not sure I can manage them and the spa too.”
Her smile was as sweet and engaging as ever, but Abigail had known her friend too many years to miss the light in those big blue eyes.
“You know I’m always delighted to help,” Abigail told her, “but you have managed the spa and events like the Regatta for years. Why is this time any different?”
“Because,” she said, “this time, I have a very important project to manage in addition to those.”
Project? Her friend was entirely able to take on the French army, let alone the three agents hiding among them, but she surely wouldn’t have heard about Linus’s kidnapping so soon.
“Oh?” Abigail asked with a frown. “What would that be?”
Jess’s smile widened. “I must make sure my dearest friend and our good physician live happily ever after. And you’re going to help me with that as well.”
Chapter Fourteen
Guilt pulled on Linus as he walked Ethan to the Archers the next day. He had always prided himself on clear, directive conversations with his patients. Bad news must be given with compassion, an opportunity for healing or comfort. Good news must be tempered with admonitions on how to maintain health. Never had he knowingly lied to a patient.
Until now.
He’d told himself it was from an abundance of caution. He was only considering Abigail’s profession, her willingness to take risks. The truth was that she was healed, and he had only delayed telling her because he didn’t want to stop seeing her.
No more. It wasn’t fair to her, and he was only darkening his character by such behavior. He must think of her first.
Even if he thought of her all the time.
So, he made a show of examining the wound one last time as she perched on the sofa and Ethan and her mother conversed in the dining room. Tiny dots showed where the stitches had been. A white line, like an arrow pointing toward her elbow, marked where the bullet had traveled. Her skin was pink and warm. Healthy. Soft.
He drew in a breath and released her. “Lift your arm for me.”
She did so, palm down.
“Any pain?” he asked.
“No,” she admitted, holding it steady in mid-air. “But it feels heavier than normal.”
“A little weakness is only to be expected,” Linus allowed. “Go easy on it, and the strength will return with time.”
She lowered her arm. “Then it’s done? I can resume my work, my painting?”
Linus leaned back. “I see no reason why not.”
She launched herself at him.
Linus caught her, held her close, breathed in the scent of ripe peaches. The silk of her hair brushed his cheek. Her arms hugged him tight. He didn’t want to move.
“Oh, thank you, Linus,” she said. “I’m so relieved. It’s felt like forever.”
And only a day. He made himself smile as she disengaged. “I’m glad the outcome was what we hoped for.”
Yet, now he found himself hoping for more.
~~~
Abigail couldn’t wait to return to her painting. Besides, Jess was playing matchmaker, and her friend was rather famous for her skills in that area. What was it, more than a dozen marriages in the last four years alone? Well, she was fair and far off this time. She was fully capable of managing the spa this morning, and the Regatta too. After giving her mother the good news, Abigail hurried down the corridor for her studio.
The light, the quiet, wrapped around her as she stepped through the door. She could almost feel her darlings crying for her attention. Was that dust gathering on her canvasses? It was not to be borne! She set to cleaning with a will. If her arm protested a little, it was only to be expected.
Her mother found her there later that morning.
“Ethan and I are going to the shore to watch the fishermen come in with their catches,” she