The Man Behind The Mask: How to Melt a Frozen Heart / The Man Behind the Pinstripes / Falling for Mr Mysterious. Melissa McClone
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how the name of the on-call doctor had been surrendered to him with a token protest only.
She took in his confidence as he dialed another number. “Greg? Sorry to wake you. Becky’s grandmother is not well.”
Becky? She’d thought it was his grandmother!
“Who’s Becky?” she asked Deedee.
“My granddaughter. Brendan’s her husband.”
Married. Why would that feel the way it did? Like some kind of loss? Why didn’t he wear a ring? Nora hated married men who didn’t wear rings. They were sneaky, they were looking for—
“She died,” Deedee said tiredly.
“I’m so sorry,” Nora said, and thought of what she was sure she had seen in his eyes when he’d first leaned over her. The common ground. Now she understood it. Sorrow.
“In a car accident,” Deedee went on. She was talking too loudly, the way people who are hard of hearing did. “Brendan doesn’t talk about her. I need someone to cry with sometimes. But he never will. He didn’t even cry at the funeral.”
It was said like an accusation, and so loudly the man in the front seat could not miss it. Nora watched his face in the light coming from the dash. He didn’t even flinch. It was as if he was cast in stone.
But she had seen the pain spilling into his eyes in that first unguarded moment when he had stood over her in the paddock.
“People all grieve in their own way,” Nora said, and saw him cast her a quick glance in the rearview mirror before he reached for his phone again. “And it seems to me maybe he’s there for you in other ways that are just as important.”
Not everyone would be chauffeuring an elderly woman and her sick cat around the country in the middle of the night!
“Of course, you’re right,” Deedee murmured, and leaned her head on Nora’s shoulder. Nora had her hand on the woman’s wrist and noticed, gratefully, the pulse was slowing to normal.
She listened to the deep gravel of Brendan’s voice as he spoke on the phone.
“And I have a head injury, too. I think mild concussion, but a confirmation would be good. See you there. We’re five minutes out.”
He clicked the phone shut and stepped on the gas. The night was wet and the roads had to be slippery, but he oozed calm confidence as he navigated the twisty, mist-shrouded road into Hansen. The powerful car responded as if it were a living thing.
The way a man handled a powerful car told you a lot about him. The way a man handled an emergency told you a lot as well. Not that they were tests, but had they been, Brendan Grant would have passed with flying colors.
His calm never flagged. Not on the wet roads, not as they pulled into Emergency, not as he helped his grandmother out of the back of the car. There were obviously benefits to being emotionally shut down.
“What about Charlie?” Deedee wailed again.
“I’ll stay with him,” Luke said. “Out here. I’m not going in there.”
Nora doubted that he was ever going to get over the thing he had about hospitals. He’d spent too much time in one while his mother was sick. He hated them now.
Brendan didn’t question why, just flipped a set of keys at Luke. “Her house is three blocks that way. The address is on the chain. I presume you have your cell phone with you and that your aunt has the number?”
“Why can’t I stay here?”
“Because if that cat pees in my car,” he said in a low tone that Deedee didn’t hear, “it really isn’t going to survive the night.”
Nora was appalled, but it was a guy thing, because Luke chuckled. Then he sobered. “You’re trusting me to go into her house?”
Brendan’s eyes locked on his. “Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”
Luke ducked his head and didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know how long we’ll be here. Get some rest. Let the cat out of that purse, near his litter box if you can locate it. If your aunt is released, you’re going to have to look after her for the rest of the night.”
Luke glanced at the address on the key chain. “I hope none of my friends see me with this dorky thing,” he muttered, but Nora did not miss the fact that he looked pleased—if somewhat guilty—about Brendan’s trust.
“I could drive him,” she said tentatively, “and come back. I really don’t need—”
Brendan gave her a look that was so don’tmess-with-me it made her stomach feel as if it was doing a free fall from ten thousand feet. She just didn’t have the energy to take him on.
In the hospital, she had that same sense that you could tell a lot about a man by the way he handled an emergency. Again he passed. He handled the nurse with confidence that was palatable, not the least intimidated by her officiousness. In fact, the exact opposite might have been true. He was obviously well-known in the community, and respected. The nurse treated Brendan as if he was part of that inner circle of the emergency ward.
Interestingly, Vance had been terrible at emergencies. He became so flustered if a badly injured animal was brought in that he could not inspire confidence in anyone. You would have thought with practice he would have gotten better, but he never did. He liked catering to the pudgy poodle set, doing routine checkups and giving shots, neutering, and cleaning teeth.
In fact, he’d opted for regular hours only and hired a young vet to handle the nighttime emergencies, and finally any emergency at all.
A few weeks ago, Nora had heard he was engaged to that young vet. Up until then she had nursed a secret fantasy that he was going to show up on her doorstep, confess the error of his ways and beg her to take him back.
She shook it off. For whatever the reason—she suspected because Brendan Grant made things happen—she found herself ushered into an examination room in record time.
In short order, a young doctor was in, a nurse at his side.
“How’s Mrs. Ashton?” Nora asked.
“Old,” he said with a resigned smile. “We’re going to keep her for observation. So, Brendan says a bump on the head? Maybe knocked out?”
“Maybe,” Nora admitted.
“How do you know Brendan?” he asked.
“It’s a long story.”
The doctor laughed. “That’s what he said. He designed our house and supervised the build. He’s an amazing architect.”
Great! In her weakened state, Nora just had to know Brendan Grant was an all-around phenomenal guy.
The doctor repeated some of the questions Brendan had asked her earlier, shone a light in her eye, got her to follow the movement of his finger.
“I should keep you for observation, too.”
“I can’t!” she said. “I have animals that will need feeding in—” her eyes flew to a nearby clock “—two hours.”
The doctor sighed. “He said you’d say that. I’m going to send you home, but with strict instructions what to watch for. And what to do for the next few hours. Any dizziness, any nausea, any loss of consciousness, you come right back in. I’ll give you a handout with symptoms you need to watch for over the next few days. Sometimes even weeks later symptoms can come up.”
After having the nurse go over the sheet with her, they let her go. Brendan was in the waiting room.
“You didn’t have to wait.”
“Uh-huh. How were you going to get home? And collect your nephew?”
“Taxi, I guess.”
“And