New York Doc To Blushing Bride. Janice Lynn
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shaking, with how utterly exhausted she appeared. He hadn’t slept much the past few days either, between covering his and Preston’s patients and his own grief. But at the moment he was the stronger of Cara and himself.
“Sorry I don’t have the top on.” He rarely kept the top on the Jeep because he liked the freedom of the air whipping about him. “It’ll be a bit windy.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, barely loud enough for him to make out her words. “My mind just wanted to get out of there, but my body didn’t seem to know how to leave. Or maybe it was my heart that didn’t want to go.”
“A normal stress reaction.”
“I’m not stressed,” she automatically argued, her shoulders stiff.
“Okay, you’re not stressed,” he agreed, not willing to debate with her since they both knew the truth. He started the Jeep and pulled out of the funeral parlor parking lot, heading down the highway toward the quiet neighborhood where Preston’s house was located.
About halfway to Maple Street he glanced toward where she sat, staring blankly out the open doorway. The wind tugged at her hair, pulling strands free from where she had it pinned back. Utter fatigue was etched on her face. He reached across the seat, put his hand over hers. That skin-to-skin electricity zapped him again.
Her head jerked toward him. Had she felt it, too?
Regardless, she looked ready to demand he take her back to Greenwood’s, that she’d only temporarily lost her mind in asking for his help. But whatever had sparked to life within her deflated just as quickly. Without a word, she went back to staring out the open doorway. Within seconds her body relaxed and her head slumped against the headrest.
Hand still tucked beneath his, she’d gone to sleep.
He parked the car in front of Preston’s gray-and-white Victorian-style home, jumped out and went to Cara’s side of the car.
Should he wake her or just carry her inside?
No doubt she’d not slept much, if at all, the night before. If he woke her, would she be able to go back to sleep or would she lie grieving through the long night hours?
Memories of her tearstained face from the day before decided it for him.
Digging his key ring out of his pocket, he unlocked the front door, went back to the Jeep and carefully scooped Cara into his arms.
She was as light as a feather.
And smelled of heaven.
Or as close to heaven as Sloan had ever smelled. Like the soft, sweet fragrance of cherry candy mixed with an amazing, almost addictive freshness that made him want to inhale deeply. Then there were those electric zings. His entire body sparked with excitement.
He held a woman who had fascinated him for months, long before he’d met her. As he’d dated and tried to make a life for himself in Bloomberg, he’d found himself comparing every woman to the woman Preston often spoke of, never satisfied, always feeling as if he was waiting for something more.
Waiting for her to come home perhaps?
Which made no sense.
He blamed Preston. Preston compared every woman Sloan dated to Cara so, of course, Sloan had done the same. The man’s dying words had been a request for Sloan to promise to take care of Cara.
A promise Sloan had given and meant.
But, much as he didn’t understand his interest in Cara, he couldn’t blame everything on Preston. Cara herself had captured his imagination with the various photos of her hanging on Preston’s office wall.
Sloan did his best to tamp down the awareness of her that his body couldn’t seem to prevent because he was positive that his all-too-male response wasn’t what his friend had meant regarding taking care of his daughter. Besides, she was exhausted, grieving for her father. He had no right to be thinking of her as a desirable woman, to be aware of her feminine attributes. He should only be seeing her as the grieving daughter of a man he’d loved.
He kept telling himself that as he carried her into her room, managed to get the covers pulled back, and gently placed her in her bed.
The glow from the hallway light illuminated her lovely face, free from anguish for the first time since he’d met her, with the exception of when she’d been caring for Mrs. Goines. Then her natural nurturing instinct had taken over. He ached to see the twinkle in her eyes that shone in Preston’s photos, to hear laughter spill from her full lips, to have her look at him with something other than disdain.
Unable to resist, he brushed a strand of hair away from her face, stroking his finger over the silky smoothness of her skin.
Based upon her reaction to meeting him, he doubted he’d ever experience any of the things he’d like to experience about Cara, which was a real shame because she fascinated him. Probably because of his love of Preston. Probably.
If only he could convince himself of that.
He turned to leave but her hand grabbed his.
“Don’t go.”
Sloan stood perfectly still. Was she even awake or just reaching out in her sleep? He turned, met her sleepy gaze. “Cara?”
“I don’t want to be alone in this lonely house. Not tonight.” Her voice was small, almost childlike in its plea. “Please, don’t go.”
Sloan knew staying shouldn’t be an option. Not in Bloomberg. His Jeep was parked outside. Everyone knew his Jeep. Bloomberg was a small town. Nothing would happen. Not when she was so distraught, but, still, the right thing for him to do would be to leave, to not give gossips anything to gnaw upon.
But walking away from her might take a much stronger man than he’d ever claimed to be.
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