Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,59
her husband would become my next target.
“No.” I shook my head, moving in a tight circle around David, who turned with me like a wrestling opponent anticipating my next move. “You want to say the same thing--” I stole a glance at Diane “--don’t you?”
She bit down on her lower lip, shot a quick look at David, then shook her head.
“Yes, you do.” I nodded, hot determination ready to spill out of my every pore. “Don’t you think that if I had backed Ryan against the wall a time or two and told him to go to hell, he might still be around?”
Diane and David’s faces scrunched into matching frowns.
“We’re all too polite.” I gestured wildly above my head. David ducked then moved behind Diane’s IV stand for protection.
“We stuff what we feel until we don’t feel anything at all.” I jabbed a finger in David’s direction. “Tell him what you really want to say.”
Diane’s face grew paler, if that were possible. “Well.” She bit her lip again and winced, as if she thought herself despicable simply for thinking whatever it was she was thinking.
“Tell him,” I repeated.
David glared at me. “Just because you screwed up your own marriage is no reason for you to screw up mine.”
“Oh, shut up.” The uncharacteristic sternness of Diane’s voice silenced David. It silenced me. Hell, a hush fell over the entire unit.
She pushed herself up on one elbow and turned her head to meet David’s shocked stare. “David. Go to hell.”
o0o
For the first time since they opened the ice rink four years earlier, David let the doors remain locked during Diane’s second day in the hospital.
Dr. Platt put Diane on magnesium sulfate, a nasty drug that slows everything in your body. It succeeded as far as her labor went, but poor Diane looked like hell. Her nurse kept a large box fan pointed directly at her and David kept the cold washcloths coming.
I saw a side of him during those two days I’d never seen. Maybe he’d finally come to his senses, or maybe Diane’s outburst had been enough to anchor him to what really mattered.
His family.
We all slept there the first night--David, Ashley and me. A bit before noon the next day, I raced home to take care of Poindexter. I’d been home once during the night, but the poor dog couldn’t be expected to hold it forever.
Number Thirty-Six was out front walking his cat when I pulled into my drive. Did the man never do anything else?
“What do you do for a living?” I blurted out the second I cleared my driver’s door.
“Good morning to you, too.” He grinned, sending my insides tilting sideways. “Rough night?”
“You enjoy asking me that, don’t you?”
He shrugged. “Well? Was it?”
I nodded. “A friend of mine went into pre-term labor.”
His grin faded instantly. “Sorry. Damn. Give me a second while I pull my boot out of my mouth.”
“It’s okay.” I rubbed my eyes. “I need to let poor Poindexter out before I head back to the hospital.”
“Tell you what--” he stepped close and his cat rubbed her face against my shin “--let me take Fluffy home and I’ll come back for Poindexter. I’ll take him for a run. He can spend the day with me. Hell, he can spend the night with me too.”
Lucky dog.
I shoved that errant thought out of my mind and focused on the truly important part of what Number Thirty-Six had said.
“You named your cat Fluffy?”
“Don’t worry.” He smiled. “I’m secure in my masculinity.”
Oh, I wasn’t worried. I was merely amused.
“And what is it you do for a living?” I repeated my question.
Amusement glimmered in his dark gaze. “I keep an eye on you.”
Embarrassment burned in my face as I pushed open my house’s front door. Poindexter looked up from his spot at the top of the steps. Apparently he’d been standing guard. Either that, or he’d barely made it off the bed once he heard my key in the lock.
I bustled him toward the kitchen and out the back door. The poor thing made it to the edge of the patio and not an inch farther before he lifted his leg.
The drone of an airplane sounded overhead. Poindexter wrapped things up and took off, sprinting across the yard, barking like a maniac, racing back and forth. Back and forth.
When a hand brushed my shoulder, I shrieked, jumping at least a foot into the air.
“Sorry.” The rich rumble of Number Thirty-Six’s voice assured me I wasn’t under attack by an axe-murderer, but