Saving Sara (Redemption #1) Page 8

  She knew that’s why she’d allowed Jake and Olly to stay. Saw it as a second chance. For both of them. From what she’d seen, Jake was right; Olly needed a female figure in his life and the way she’d bonded with the child so quickly made her feel useful in a way she hadn’t in a long time.

  As for Jake, she liked having him around. Liked his dry sense of humor, his ability to detect moods, his valuing quiet in the evenings when she wanted nothing more than to curl up with a good romance novel.

  But after almost a week of living under each other’s noses, it was time for a break and Cilla headed to her other favorite place in Redemption besides home: the hospital.

  Some people hated hospitals; feared them with a passion that bordered on phobia. She liked the antiseptic smell, the orderliness, the notion that people were being healed and helped. For her, death was an inescapable fact of life, sickness something she hoped to avoid but wouldn’t fear. She’d already spent half her life living in fear and she was done with that the moment she received news of Vernon’s suicide.

  She visited the hospital on a weekly basis. Read to the old people. Played games with the kids. Organized fundraisers for new equipment. It made her feel valued in a way she never had before. Today, she’d promised to play rummy with Sergio, an adorable eight-year-old battling leukemia. His parents were struggling, raising four kids eight and under, and the medical bills were adding to their stress.

  She’d already mentioned organizing a mini-fair to raise funds to help with Sergio’s bills and they’d been ecstatic. In the meantime, she had a date with one cute kid.

  Waving at the nurses as she headed for Sergio’s room, she didn’t notice Bryce until she almost trod on his toes as he rounded a corner.

  “You’re in a hurry,” he said, his hands shooting out to grab her upper arms, his deep voice sending a ripple of awareness through her.

  Damn the man and his too-good looks, his too-husky voice and his too-sexy bedroom eyes.

  “I’m visiting someone,” she said, stepping out of his grasp.

  “If it’s a patient, you can slow down. Odds are they’ll be in their bed waiting for you.” His eyes twinkled with mischief and she had no idea if there was an innuendo behind his comment or not.

  He took a step closer and leaned down to murmur in her ear. “Ready to have dinner with me yet?”

  “No,” she blurted, resisting the urge to shove him away. This close, she could see the laugh lines radiating from the corners of his eyes, the faint stubble covering his jaw, and could smell that fresh aftershave that gave the impression he’d just stepped out of the shower.

  “You’ll have to give in sometime, you know.” He straightened and Cilla inwardly cursed the unexpected craving to have him close again. “It’s inevitable.”

  She rolled her eyes, unwilling to admit she was enjoying their banter as much as he was, if his bemused smile was any indication.

  “Why don’t you go flirt with someone your own age?”

  “Is that what you think we’re doing? Flirting?” His smile broadened. The way he said flirting, he made it sound like they were doing something far naughtier.

  The thought alone had heat surging to her cheeks.

  “And here I was, thinking we’re just old friends getting reacquainted.” He lowered his voice. “By the way, you’re gorgeous when you blush.”

  Which of course, only served to make Cilla blush harder.

  The man was incorrigible and she needed to put him in his place before this went any further.

  “We were never friends. You were my daughter’s friend.” She scowled, hands on hips. “As for getting reacquainted, we weren’t acquainted in the first place. And the only old thing in this equation is me.”

  She finished on an outraged huff that made him laugh.

  “Are you done?”

  She compressed her lips into a mutinous line in response.

  “Did it ever occur to you that the only reason I hung out at your house with Tam was to see you?”

  Her jaw dropped, shock rendering her speechless when she wanted to give him a tongue-lashing for being so ridiculous.

  “I’m not ashamed to admit now that I was a horny seventeen-year-old who had a crush on his friend’s very hot mom,” he said, eyeballing her with frank admiration while she struggled to absorb the astounding news. “And now, twenty-five years later, I discover you’re just as beautiful. And single. So what’s a guy to do?”

  “Do?” It came out a screech and she lowered her voice when a passing nurse tittered. “I’ll tell you what you can do.”

  She jabbed a finger at his chest, not surprised it felt as hard as it looked. “You can quit badgering me and go find some nice young girl to take to dinner.”

  “Age is irrelevant to me,” he said, with a shrug.

  “It’s not to me, considering I’m sixty.” She jabbed him again for good measure. “And sexagenarians don’t date guys in their forties, no matter how handsome they are.”

  “You think I’m handsome?” That infuriating grin was back, devastatingly charming. “And you’re mentioning sex before we’ve even had dinner.”

  “God, you’re annoying,” she said, pushing past him and diving into Sergio’s room, trying to ignore Bryce’s taunting chuckles behind her.

  The curtain was drawn around Sergio’s bed and she was glad for the reprieve, so she could press her cool palms against her hot cheeks.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d flirted, let alone enjoyed it so much. As for Bryce’s declaration, she couldn’t fathom it. Back then, she’d been a frazzled thirty-five-year-old, dealing with a hormonal teenager who had never made a secret of the fact she was counting down the months until she left for college. Vernon’s moroseness had continued to spiral out of control as he alternated between verbally abusing her and dosing up on pills to anaesthetize his demons. And Cilla had been working as a paralegal secretary, trying to make ends meet and pretend like she had the best life in the world, when in fact her home life was in tatters.

  She remembered Bryce trying to talk to her back then, the usual polite small talk, and she’d never picked up any vibes. Then again, he’d been a teen and probably used to hiding his feelings, as most teens did.

  He’d had a crush on her. Hot damn.

  The curtain pulled back and a nurse stepped out, saw her, and beckoned her forward. “Hey Cilla. Your young man’s been waiting for you.”

  “Cilla, you came,” Sergio said, sitting up straighter in bed, his brown eyes fixed on her like she was his lifeline.

  Hospital boredom was the pits—she’d fractured her leg after falling in her garden three years ago, so she understood the yearning for visitors.

  “Of course I came. We’ve got a rummy tournament to play.”

  “You better teach me right then,” Sergio said, rubbing his bald head, an endearing habit. “I’m no good at card games.”

  The nurse smiled and slipped out of the room and Cilla pulled a chair up to the bed.

  “You’ll be the best by the time we’ve finished.” She took a pack of cards from her bag, slipped them out of the packet and started shuffling. “Besides, I’m tired of you beating me at checkers.”

  He grinned, his missing front tooth adding to his adorability. “You were bad.”

  “Is that bad in a good way? Like how kids say something’s wicked when it’s good?”

  He giggled. “You’re funny.”

  “And don’t you forget it,” she said, giving his tummy a light tickle, well aware he bruised easily and not wanting to add to his pain. “Now, let me explain the rules.”

  However, Cilla never got around to the rules: Bryce sauntered into the room. He now wore a white coat and had a stethoscope hanging around his neck, adding to his attractiveness, damn the man.

  “Hey, Sergio. I see you have a visitor.” Bryce held up his hand for Sergio to high-five it.

  “This is Cilla,” Sergio said. “She’s cool.”

  “I think so too.�
� Bryce grinned when Cilla shot him a death glare. “We’re old friends.”

  “Really?” Sergio’s curious gaze swung between her and Bryce. “Did you go to school together?”

  Cilla snorted. Maybe she should chat to Sergio’s parents about an eye test.

  “No,” Bryce said, amusement lacing his tone. “But we’ve known each other a long time.” He perched on the side of Sergio’s bed. “Haven’t seen each other for years though and I’m trying to make a time so we can catch up.”

  The ratbag. He was trying to use a child in coercing her to go out with him?

  “You should have lunch,” Sergio said, pronouncing it like the most natural thing in the world when the thought of dining with Bryce at any time of day or night let loose an entire species of butterfly in her gut.

  “Good idea, pal.” Bryce stroked his chin, pretending to think. “But I work all day.”

  “Then go out to dinner,” Sergio said, looking immensely proud of himself for coming up with a solution.

  “That sounds doable.” Bryce glanced at her with a faux innocence that would have made her laugh, if only she hadn’t wanted to slap him silly.

  “You should go, Cilla.” Sergio tugged on her sleeve. “Doc Madden is your friend and you should have dinner with him. He’s nice and you’re nice. Dinner would be fun.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  “I don’t like maybe,” Sergio said, with surprising vehemence. “I hear that stupid word all the time. Maybe I’ll get out of here by the end of summer vacation. Maybe I’ll get a new room when I get home. Maybe my new medicine will fix me.” He mimicked his mom’s tone. “Maybe is dumb.”

  This time when Bryce met her gaze, he looked suitably chastised. So he should, roping Sergio into his underhanded plot to get her to agree. Which she now basically had to, if she didn’t want to upset Sergio.

  “Cilla, you need to pinkie-promise Doc Madden that you’ll have dinner with him,” Sergio said, his solemn expression tugging at her heartstrings. “Now.”

  With a resigned sigh, Cilla held up her little finger and glared at Bryce when he intertwined it with his.

  “Yay.” Sergio clapped. “You two will have dinner and tell me what you ate.” His eyes brightened. “If you go to that cool burger place on Main Street, do you think you could bring me some fries? And a banana split? And one of those giant brownies?”

  “I’m not sure where we’re going yet, pal, but you know that stuff isn’t good for you at the moment,” Bryce said.

  Sergio rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know, because maybe I’ll vomit.”

  Cilla knew Sergio enjoyed her plain butter cookies and they didn’t disagree with his stomach, which was fragile from the chemo drugs. “How about I bring in some of those cookies you like instead?”

  “You’re the best,” Sergio said, his grin infectious.

  “I agree,” Bryce said, and when their gazes locked, it was her stomach that roiled and tumbled and flipped.

  She was going to have dinner with Bryce Madden.

  She wasn’t just crazy.

  She was certifiably insane.

  14.

  Jake hadn’t stayed long, thank goodness.

  They’d had coffee on the back deck overlooking the garden that sloped away toward the back of the property. Made small talk mostly. Trivial stuff about the town and the weather.

  Sara liked that he hadn’t delved further. He hadn’t asked about Lucy or her old job or her past. While curiosity had urged her to ask him about why he’d taken custody of Olly, and how he could take a few months off work to care for him, she hadn’t.

  If she wasn’t willing to talk about her life, why should she expect that of him?

  It had been oddly comfortable, sitting with him on the back porch. While their chatter had been inconsequential, his presence made her feel safe, in a way she hadn’t in a long time.

  She didn’t need a guy to complete her life. Wouldn’t go down the marriage path again. But for a brief time, allowing Jake’s deep voice to wash over her, savoring his spontaneous laughter, she’d felt good having a man around.

  As for the way he’d comforted her when she’d broken down over Olly’s card, that had felt beyond good. She’d been mortified at first, but when her sobs had petered out, she’d become more aware of something more disturbing.

  How good it felt to have a guy hold her.

  His body had been hard. Strong. Muscular. And as he’d pulled away, she was pretty sure she felt his erection pressed against her hip.

  Surprisingly, her body had reacted on a visceral level, a low persistent throb reminding her that while her head and heart weren’t interested in anything remotely sexual, her body was having a hard time sticking with the program.

  Ignoring the way her pulse raced at the memory of being pressed against him, she headed back inside, rinsed the coffee cups and stacked them on the sideboard.

  Her gaze fell on Olly’s card and she was instantly ashamed.

  Olly was a kid and she’d hurt him. Not intentionally, but if he felt like he was responsible for making her sad and had made an apology card, she’d done wrong by him.

  She had to get a better grip on her emotions. Had to be able to control her grief. It had been over twelve months since Lucy had gone and while she’d never get over it, she had to ensure that her emotional fragility didn’t impact those around her. Especially other kids.

  Maybe she’d done the wrong thing, deliberately shunning anything to do with children. And with Olly next door for the next few months, she couldn’t keep avoiding him.

  As she opened the card and glimpsed the sea pictures he’d drawn, her heart contracted. While the drawings were crude and rudimentary, he’d taken his time, painstakingly choosing colors and spacing.

  He’d done this for her.

  To cheer her up. To make her feel better. To apologize.

  That was exactly what she would do for him.

  Taking a seat at the table, she propped the open card against the box, chose a piece of beech wood and fired up her tool.

  She hadn’t touched it since replicating the photo of Lucy. It had been emotionally draining yet exhilarating to discover she could create again, but she’d wanted to treasure her first pyrography piece in years before continuing. So she’d hung it over the mirror in her bedroom, ensuring it was the first thing she saw every morning and the last thing each night.

  Etching Olly’s drawings into the beech would make a great present and hopefully reassure him that he hadn’t upset her. No kid deserved to feel bad or to blame for an adult’s pain.

  It took an hour to complete and when she’d finished the last fin on the shark, Sara sat back and eyed her work critically. She’d always been able to do that, even as a teen—objectively assess and find room for improvement.

  This piece, like the one she’d done of Lucy, appeared flawless. Better than anything she’d ever done before. But how was that possible, when she hadn’t picked up a tool or touched a piece of wood creatively for so many years?

  She should be rusty, tentative. Instead, when she scorched designs into the wood now, it felt natural, like she should’ve been doing this her entire life.

  She found herself smiling at the thought of Greg trying to accept this as her career in the past. He’d been so driven to make partner at his firm and so proud to have a wife equally as motivated in the corporate world.

  Not that Sara hadn’t enjoyed her work. She had. But it was nothing compared to the rightness she felt when she etched strokes into wood.

  Thankfully, she didn’t have to worry about Greg’s opinions anymore. The divorce papers had been finalized. They were no longer a couple, officially.

  She should’ve been devastated. Disheartened. Yet all she felt was bone-deep sorrow that they hadn’t been able to make their marriage work. In the end, Lucy had been the proverbial glue that held their marriage together and when she’d died, they had fallen apart.

  Selling their home had been gut-wrenching, however, b
ecause it was where she’d brought Lucy home from the hospital, where they’d shared so many memories. Odd that Greg hadn’t put up even a token protest when she’d moved out not long after the funeral, yet he’d made a last-ditch effort to save the marriage before the divorce went through.

  He’d done as she’d asked and hadn’t contacted her following that last videoconference call. It had saddened her, the way he’d asked her to come back more because they were a good “fit” than anything else.

  He hadn’t said he’d missed her or loved her or any other sentimental declarations. For him, having a second chance for their marriage would’ve been about appearances, maybe even prestige at his firm.

  Whatever his rationale, she’d put it behind her. For a marriage that had held so much promise at the start, it had ended with an unimpressive fizzle.

  But she didn’t want to think about that now. She couldn’t wait to see Olly’s reaction when he saw his drawings embossed onto the beech wood. However, when she stood and picked up the piece, a momentary panic flared to life, fluttering in her chest like a caged bird.

  Did she really want to seek out contact with a child? To potentially be exposed to that unique, addictive smell kids had? To hear his adorable chatter? To maybe receive a thank-you hug?

  A hug from a child would undo her completely. Then again, hadn’t she come to the realization after Jake left that she needed to get a grip and better handle her emotions around other people?

  “You can do this,” she muttered, cradling the piece in her hands as she headed for the door.

  She didn’t have to stay. She would deliver her work to Olly as a peace offering and cite some excuse to make a quick escape.

  But that turned to crap when Olly spied her walking up Cilla’s front path, flung open the door, raced out to meet her, and flung his arms around her waist.

  She couldn’t breathe, the memory of Lucy doing the same when she picked her up from preschool every day making her lungs seize.

  But Sara took deep, steadying breaths, forcing the air down into her lungs. She wouldn’t disappoint this child again. It wouldn’t be right.

  He squeezed tight for a second before stepping back. “Sara, did you like my card? Wasn’t that shark the best ever? Are you happy now?” The questions tumbled out of Olly’s mouth one after another and she swallowed the lump in her throat and forced a smile.