No Greater Love - Eris Field Page 0,14
quick burst of speed, she passed a slow moving truck. “I told you that I had worked there for a short time. I know the usual procedures. I know the time lapse, and I saw you wince when you got into the car.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said with icy formality, looking straight ahead. Then with a barely suppressed grin, he asked, “Do you really think I am a, er, whatever it was you said?”
Janan kept her eyes on the road while a soft blush stained her cheeks. “I think you’re a trooper.” She added, “That means. . . .”
“I know what it means,” he interrupted her. “Thank you.”
As she took the exit that would take them to her home, she said without looking at him, “Carl suggested that we go to my home where it’s quiet. There is a bedroom on the first floor where you can lie down for a little while.”
“You can just drop me at the Inn. I’ll be fine.”
“I say we follow Carl’s suggestions.” She gave him one of her rare smiles. “He may have retired from medicine but he still knows what’s best for you.” She stopped the car in front of a bungalow very similar to Carl’s but with a neatly shoveled walk.
“There’s a ‘For Sale’ sign on the lawn.” Pieter turned toward her in surprise.
“Yes. It’s been on the market for a while.” She unlocked the front door and motioned for him to enter.
“You are selling your home?” Pieter struggled to understand as he thought of the old homes in The Netherlands that stayed in the family for generations.
“Technically it is more the bank’s than mine,” she said over her shoulder as she hung his coat in the small hall closet. “When my parents were living, we could afford it with my father’s pension and my salary but now I can’t afford the mortgage, taxes, heating, maintenance . . .” She faced him squarely. “So I am selling it or trying to.”
“What will you do then?”
“I’ll take Carl home.” She spoke in a matter-of-fact manner as she led the way along the hallway that led to a surprisingly large bedroom at the back of the house. Before he could ask any more questions, she waved to the bed that took up most of the space. “My father was a tall man.” She glanced up at Pieter. “Almost as tall as you. I think you’ll be comfortable here.”
“Damn it,” he snarled. “I don’t need to be put to bed like an invalid. Just take me back to the Inn.”
“This is how it is going to be,” she said as she advanced toward him and he stepped backward toward the bed. “You are going to lie down on your side.” She placed a slender hand firmly in the middle of his chest. “And I’m going to put an ice pack on your hip. You’re going to rest for 2 hours and then I’ll take you back to the Inn.” She gave him a slight push toward the bed. “After that, I don’t care what you do.”
By the time she returned with an ice pack in one hand and a frosty glass in the other, he had taken off his jacket and shoes and was sitting on the edge of the bed. He considered the glass in her hand and asked mildly, “Do I smell mint?”
“Yes.” She handed him the glass. “It’s Ayran—yogurt mixed with water, ice cubes, a dash of salt, and topped with mint.” She met his skeptical look. “It’ll help you rest.”
“It’s very refreshing.” He handed her the empty glass. “I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.” He shot her a teasing look. “An old family recipe?”
“A centuries’ old recipe from the Caucasus.” She smiled shyly. “It’s used in Anatolia for everything.” She stared at the empty glass. “My mother made it for us when we were sick. She believed it could cure anything.”
“Now”—she turned slightly away from him to hide a sense of embarrassment that she did not understand. She had taken care of male patients for years. Why was she blushing now? —“If you’d loosen your belt please and lie down on your side, I’ll put this ice bag on your hip.”
She slid the ice bag into place on top of his crisply pressed blue cotton shorts and straightened up quickly. “There, now rest. You’ve had a strenuous day.”
He caught her hand as she turned to leave. “It was a hard day for you too. I won’t be able to