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  It took over thirty minutes to reach the parking lot, and by then Chelsea’s shoulders ached from the uncomfortable position. She slid away from them and hobbled to her Toyota, where she opened the door and sank into the driver’s seat with a sigh. She closed her eyes for a minute, and when she opened them, Jeff was standing over her, frowning.

  “You can’t drive in that condition.”

  “Sure I can.”

  He shook his head. “You’re a safety hazard. Slide over. I’m taking you home.” He handed Beth the keys to his car and leaned in to nudge Chelsea out of the seat. “Come on. Over.”

  She was too tired and in too much discomfort to argue. She shifted awkwardly into the passenger seat and watched Jeff climb behind the wheel. He started the car, jerked it into gear, and headed out of the parking lot.

  “I’m sorry for putting you out,” she said once they were on the highway. “I guess I ruined your date.”

  “Date?”

  “With Beth. I’m really sorry.”

  “Oh.” He laughed. “Well, it’s not really what you’d call a date. Beth and I are just good friends.”

  “Oh.” Chelsea blinked. “Well, they say a good friendship is a solid basis for romance.”

  “Do they? Funny, I’ve never heard that. Beth and I enjoy each other’s company, but there’s not”—He frowned, searching for the right word—“well, our relationship is missing that special chemistry you need for romance.” He glanced at her, and she felt a shiver of alarm at his expression. As if he were telling her something very intimate with his eyes.

  She averted her head quickly to stare out at the roadside flying past.

  Chapter Thirteen

  At her apartment, Jeff helped Chelsea up the stairs and settled her onto the couch. He made her stretch out with her knee propped on a pillow while he located the two ice packs in her freezer and tied them around her injured joints with long strips of gauze.

  “I know it hurts,” he said, “but I want you to leave them on for ten minutes. Then I’ll wrap your wrist and knee for support. Do you have a couple of Ace bandages?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then I’ll use gauze temporarily. I’ll get some bandages to you before the day’s out.”

  “I can buy my own.”

  “There’s no need. I’ve got half a dozen in my car. I’ll give Beth a call, have her run them down to me.”

  Chelsea frowned as he picked up the phone, dialed quickly and spoke in a low voice into the receiver. Why on earth would he carry a bunch of Ace bandages around in his car? Wasn’t that a little overcautious? Was the man some kind of fitness freak?

  He hung up. “She can’t get away for a couple of hours. So I’m afraid I’m stuck here. Unless you’d like me to call a taxi.”

  “No, stay. Please.”

  He came back to the couch and squatted beside her, slid one finger gently under the ice pack and palpated her swollen knee. “I’m pretty sure you’ve only stretched the ligaments on the inside of your leg. But it wouldn’t hurt to get an X ray.”

  “No! I’ll be all right, I’m sure.”

  He looked at her. “What is it with you and hospitals anyway? Do they frighten you that much?”

  She shook her head. “It’s something you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Something softened inside her at his worried look. “It’s money,” she confessed. “I don’t have any health insurance and I can’t afford an X ray right now.” She felt the heat of embarrassment rise in her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. Look, I’d be happy to pay for it.”

  “No! Absolutely not!” She was instantly sorry when his eyes darkened at the rebuff. “At least not unless it doesn’t get better on its own in a couple of days,” she amended.

  “All right. That’s fair enough. But you’re going to have to stay off it for at least forty-eight hours. I’ll get you a set of crutches so you can manage things around the apartment. But don’t try the stairs.”

  “I can’t stay up here that long! I have work to do in the shop!”

  He straightened. “It can’t be helped. If you want the sprains to heal, you have to give your joints a chance to rest.” He pulled a chair over to the couch next to her and sat down. “Can’t your sister take up the slack for a couple of days?”

  Chelsea shook her head. “She’s already working too hard. She was so tired last night, she had to leave the reception before it was over.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. She needs to take care of herself at this stage of her pregnancy. She’s about eight months along, isn’t she?”

  “Yes, how did you know?”

  “Experience.”

  Chelsea’s eyes widened. “You have children?”

  He laughed. “No, I’m a physician.”

  “A physician? But I thought—”

  “You thought I was rich and idle.”

  She blushed. “Not exactly. I just assumed you were like Brandon—working on investment portfolios, taking long vacations in foreign countries, that sort of thing. You told me you were in Africa last year. . . .” Her voice drained away at the sight of his widening grin.

  “I was. For the last two years, as a matter of fact. I’m a doctor with Project HOPE.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A nonprofit organization that trains and educates local health-care workers all over the world. We teach them to assume responsibility for their country’s own health delivery systems. There’s an enormous need for that in Africa, where AIDS is epidemic.”

  She stared at him. “I had no idea you were a doctor.”

  “Well, actually I’m more of a teacher. At least when I’m working overseas.”

  “So why did you come back?”

  “Family reasons.” A shadow of pain flickered across his eyes.

  She could tell that he didn’t want to discuss it, but she somehow sensed it was his mother he was talking about. “I’m sorry. Are you planning on going back to Africa eventually?”

  “I don’t know.” He shifted in his chair and directed his gaze out the window. “I’ll just have to wait and see what develops.”

  Jeff fixed a simple supper of tomato soup and peanut butter sandwiches, and brought it to Chelsea on a tray. The throbbing in her wrist had diminished and she was feeling reasonably comfortable. She was surprised at how easy it was to talk to him. Despite the occasional erotic flutter in her stomach and chest, she was able to relax. They talked about a host of different things: everything from sailing to politics. She found herself opening up to him in a way she rarely did with men other than Stuart. Something in Jeff made her relax at the very center of her being; it was as if his compassion and intelligence stimulated her own. They were soon laughing over the local town council’s latest antics.

  The discovery that Jeff was a doctor had a strange effect on Chelsea. It made him seem more likable, more human somehow. He obviously wasn’t in it for the money; with his credentials, he could easily have set up a lucrative practice in a wealthy Boston suburb. Instead, he’d chosen to work among the poorest of the poor, turning his back on the pampered world of Muriel Winter.

  When the phone rang just after seven, she felt it as an irritating intrusion. Jeff picked it up before she could reach it. He spoke briefly and handed it to her.

  “Your fiancé.”

  Chelsea took the phone. “Stuart?” She watched as Jeff withdrew to the kitchen, but even so, she was uncomfortably aware of his presence in the apartment as she spoke.

  “Who’s the dude?” Stuart’s tone was a mixture of cheerfulness and curiosity.

  “My doctor,” she said quickly. “I went hiking and sprained my knee and he happened along.”

  “Are you okay? Would you like me to come over?”

  “No, I’m fine. Or I will be in a couple of days.” She related the details of her accident.

  “I wondered what happened to you. I tried to call you at the shop earlier. I thought you wer
e going to be working all afternoon.”

  “It was a spur of the moment thing.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Call me if you change your mind. I love you, Chels.”

  “I love you too,” she said softly.

  The minute she hung up, the phone rang again. It was Beth Harmon for Jeff. He spoke only briefly before he dropped the receiver into its cradle.

  “She won’t be able to pick me up until ten at the earliest,” he informed Chelsea. “I told her to forget it. Mother’s having a bad day, and I don’t want her left alone.”

  Chelsea nodded. “Why don’t you take my car? It doesn’t look like I’ll be needing it.”

  “Thanks, but a taxi will be fine.” But instead of calling one, he sat down again and shifted his chair even closer to the couch. A moment later he had picked up their conversation where they left off, detailing a funny, socially-complicated circumstance he’d been involved in while teaching at a hospital in Zimbabwe.

  Chelsea listened with fascination, instantly caught up again in the story, and by the time she looked at the clock, it was almost eleven. He saw her glance.

  “I’m afraid I’m keeping you up.” He got to his feet.

  “No, I enjoyed it. Really. Your stories are riveting.” Suddenly, she didn’t want him to leave. She wanted to go on listening to his resonant voice for hours.

  “Thanks, but I think I’d better get you to bed.”

  “I can manage.” She sat up and started to swing her legs to the floor, but his arm stopped her.

  “No you don’t. This isn’t the right time to be reckless.” To her surprise, he bent and quickly lifted her into his arms. She was intensely aware of the heat of his body as he carried her into the bedroom and placed her gently on the bed. Then he went to her closet and pulled out the robe he’d given her. “Here, put this on.”

  “Now?”

  He nodded. “You’re going to need some help getting those shorts off over the swelling.”

  She propped herself against the headboard as she struggled to slip into the bathrobe. But even with its abundant folds concealing most of her body, she felt acutely aware of Jeff’s proximity as she reached under the robe and tugged her shorts down to her knees.

  “This may hurt a little,” he said as he squatted in front of her and started to gently ease the tight denim over her swollen knee. She saw at once that he was right; it wasn’t something she could have done easily on her own. Despite her flexibility, it would have been impossible to manage this smooth, sliding motion by herself.

  It took much longer than she expected, but finally the shorts were off. She tried to make her heart slow down. The sensation of his fingers on the bare skin of her legs had shocked her, leaving her whole body tingling with excitement. He palpated the swelling once again and settled her leg very gently on the bed.

  Despite the throbbing pain, Chelsea wanted him to touch her again. Not just her knee and wrist, but her whole body. She wanted to feel his fingers flow across her skin, caressing her tenderly. She caught his hand as he straightened.

  “Don’t go yet.”

  He frowned. “Is it the pain? Is it worse?”

  “No. I . . .” She released his hand. “It’s nothing. Thanks for your help.”

  But he had read her desire somehow, in that instant between his question and the separation of their hands. He sat beside her on the bed and, very slowly, without saying a word, slipped his right hand under the hair at the back of her neck and brought her face toward his.

  Her lips felt engorged, eager for his kiss, and when his mouth finally descended on hers, she gave a tiny moan of joy. His lips massaged hers and his tongue traced the tender membrane inside her mouth. He drew her closer, cradling her against him firmly. Then he was lowering himself onto the bed and stretching out beside her. She realized, with only a flicker of alarm, that she was on the verge of surrendering to him, that soon he could do anything with her that he wished. She had never felt this way before in her life, had never even imagined feeling such intense yearning. This is what they mean when they say making love, she thought. It isn’t just a euphemism for sex; it’s something entirely different. She felt his hand cup her breast outside the robe as his mouth moved from her lips to her neck. She moaned again and pressed herself against him.

  Suddenly, he released her and sat up. It was such an abrupt, unexpected movement, that Chelsea gasped. And then she was flooded with a horrible, drenching sense of loss as he shook his head and raked his hand through his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” he said tightly. “That was inexcusable.” He stood up quickly. “I’ll call a taxi and let myself out.”

  He left the room before she could say anything, and moments later she heard the front door open and close, followed by the muted sound of his feet going down the stairs to the street.

  Chelsea slept fitfully that night, and in the morning she called Lori to explain why she couldn’t meet her at the fish market in Portland as they’d planned.

  “Don’t worry,” Lori reassured her. “I’ll take care of everything. Paul’s free today; he can give me a hand. You just rest and get well.”

  “If you could get the materials to me, I can work on place settings.”

  “Sure, no problem. So Jeff Blaine had to rescue you again? This is starting to sound redundant, Chels.”

  Chelsea groaned. “I know! It seems like whenever I do something that makes me feel like a total idiot, he’s there to notice. Just my luck!”

  “Maybe it’s not luck. Maybe it’s karma. Maybe you and Jeff are being drawn together for a reason.”

  “Lori, cut it out! How many times do I have to point out to you that I’m getting married to Stuart?”

  “Maybe until you convince me you’re in love with him.”

  “I am in love with him!”

  “You’re leaning on him like a crutch, Chelsea. You’re using him to avoid taking risks. That’s what you’ve done from the very beginning.”

  “Look, I didn’t propose to him! He was the one who wanted to get married.”

  “Of course he did. I never said he wasn’t in love with you. You’re the one who’s not playing fair. Cut him loose, Chelsea. The longer you let things go on this way, the more hurt he’s going to be when he realizes the truth.”

  “I can’t believe you’re saying these horrible things!”

  “There’s nothing horrible about suggesting you should be honest with him. And yourself.”

  Tears stung the corners of Chelsea’s eyes. She took a deep breath to steady her voice. “You don’t understand the first thing about my relationship with Stuart! Maybe if you weren’t so determined to tell me how to live my life, you’d see how good we are for each other.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lori’s tone was instantly contrite. “I know you have to live your own life. It’s just that I don’t want you to miss out on the best part. I love you too much. Think about what I said. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Chelsea hung up, feeling strangely depleted: Maybe it was her lack of sleep. Or the pain in her knee. Or maybe it was because Lori’s advice had hit much too close to home.

  Stuart called in mid-morning offering to help in the shop.

  “Oh thanks.” She laughed. “It isn’t enough that I’m injured; you want to ruin Strawberry Lace’s reputation too. We both know what the paté would taste like if you mixed it. Besides, don’t you have to haul today?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t like the idea of being out on the water while you’re lying in bed, racked with pain.”

  She laughed again. “I’m not racked with pain, Stuart. Honestly. I’m feeling much better today. You go catch your lobsters and then give me a call.”

  “Okay. I’ll just do a short run, though, so I can be done by noon. Tell, you what—I’ll bring you lunch. Takeout from the Lobster Pot. How does that sound?”

  “Great! But you don’t have to, Stuart. I’ve got plenty of food here.”


  “Hey, I want to see you anyway. We have a lot of stuff to talk about.”

  “Such as?”

  “Our wedding date, for one thing.”

  She groaned. “I’m sorry. I know I promised to find a date, but everything’s just been too crazy. Couldn’t we wait for a month or two, until things calm down?”

  He was silent for a minute. “Are you getting cold feet or something?”

  “No, not at all. You know how I feel about you. It’s just that I just have so much to do lately, I can’t think straight. You know how it is in this business. It’ll ease off in a couple of months.”

  He sounded only slightly mollified by the time he hung up, and Chelsea felt vaguely guilty for putting him off. She soothed her feelings by concentrating on calligraphy for the rest of the morning.

  When she heard the knock on the door at eleven, she was completely absorbed in her work. Sitting in bed, wearing the teal-blue bathrobe, her calligraphy pens and small parchment place cards spread out before her on the small lap desk she’d had since childhood, she was inscribing name after name with flawless precision. She loved doing calligraphy, and had developed a local reputation for hand-lettered documents. Before she and Lori and Holly started Strawberry Lace, she’d made a fair amount of money penning wedding announcements and congratulatory certificates.

  The sound of the knock brought her to automatic attention, and she started to her feet before the pain in her knee reminded her of her sprain. “Come in!” she called, hoping her voice was loud enough to carry through the bedroom, the living room, and the thick front door. It was probably Stuart, coming early. When she heard the door open and shut, she went back to her work. It wasn’t until she caught the sound of a deeply resonant chuckle that she looked up to see Jeff Blaine standing in her bedroom doorway. He was holding a pair of crutches in one hand and a doctor’s bag in the other.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he said, the laughter still in his voice. “Nothing even slows you down, does it?”

  She was dismayed to feel the color rise in her cheeks. “I can’t afford to waste any time. Your party’s only three days away.”