“Thank you, again. It seems I’m always thanking you.”
“Not necessary.” He scooted his chair back, then surprised her by reaching for her sprained ankle and moving it up onto his lap. Carefully he removed the thick sock and, with practiced fingers, he felt all over, noticing her slight wince as he pressed.
He had such strong fingers, Laura thought, yet he was so very careful not to hurt her. He took his time, feeling every which way, his touch soothing yet at the same time arousing. His hands kneading her foot sent sensual waves coursing up her leg. She felt the heat rise in her face and raised a hand to her brow so he wouldn’t notice.
“I think we’d better put an Ace bandage on this to give you some support.”
Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. “Whatever you think,” she said. “You’re the doctor.”
He gave her a pleased look. “I’m glad you finally think so.” He wrapped her ankle neatly, but not too tightly, replaced her sock and released her foot. “Would you like some breakfast? There’s some cereal or I could boil a couple of eggs.”
“This is fine for now, but thanks.” Her stomach wasn’t back to normal yet. He walked to the sink to wash his hands, and she angled a couple of sketches that lay on the table around to face her. They were all of the young boy in the larger drawing. She was curious and hoped he wouldn’t mind if she asked about him.
“The boy in the fireplace drawing and in these sketches, is he the Danny whose room I’m borrowing?” she asked, hoping she hadn’t overstepped some unseen boundary.
Sean topped off their coffee mugs, a muscle in the side of his cheek flexing for several moments before he answered. “Yes.”
“Your son?” The resemblance was too striking to be a coincidence.
He sat down heavily. “Yes.” He swallowed hot coffee and didn’t even feel the heat.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask and I should have. Your wife is…”
“Gone, and so’s the boy.” The screech of the captain’s chair being shoved back on the wood floor startled Laura as Sean rose. In several long strides, he was across the room and pulling on his boots.
Laura reached for her umbrella cane and trailed after him. She’d learned part of it and she wanted to know the rest, but hesitated to ask more. Had they divorced and the mother had custody? Is that why he was so upset at the mere mention of Danny? “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
His mouth grim, Sean yanked on his sheepskin jacket, his movements jerky. “I’ve got to chop more wood before we run out.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t mention them again,” she said quietly.
Sean tugged open the door and stood gazing out for several moments. “Dead. They’re both dead,” he said in a flat, emotionless tone. He walked out and slammed shut the door.
Laura stared after him, drenched in regret. You couldn’t let it be, could you? she admonished herself. Feeling rotten, she hobbled back to the table.
Using more energy than necessary, Sean tossed a shovelful of snow off the porch, then bent to gather another. He couldn’t chop wood until he’d cleared a path to the stacked logs at the side of the house. He didn’t mind. Physical labor was what he needed just now. He needed to tire himself out so he wouldn’t have the energy to think, to remember.
Crossing to the other side of the long porch, he began clearing off the newly accumulated snow. Damn stuff was still coming down, though with not quite the intensity of yesterday. Nevertheless, his experienced eye calculated that at least three feet was on the ground now and would probably reach four before the storm blew itself away. Had it been any other week, he’d have enjoyed the weather as a huge change from the endless sunshine of southern Arizona. But not now.
He was a contradiction, Sean realized. He deliberately came here to remember, yet he was getting annoyed every time Laura’s innocent questions were forcing him to recall. Maybe it was because, after four long years, he still found it very hard to talk about his son, even to his own mother and Jonah. And Laura, being a stranger, knew none of the circumstances. He didn’t want to go into all that, yet he wanted her to know, to explain things to her.
Odd, because he’d never before wanted to confide in an outsider. It had taken him months to tell those closest to him all the details. Perhaps he felt he might be able to talk with Laura because she, too, was troubled about something in her past. Misery loves company, or so they said.
Finished with the porch, Sean paused to catch his breath. Gazing up at the sky through the nearby evergreens, it seemed as if the cloud cover wasn’t as dense today. A good sign for the snow to end soon. If only the wind would die down, he thought as he narrowed his eyes against a blast of snow-laden breeze.
His eyes were drawn to the incline leading to the gully where Laura’s car had landed. He could picture all too clearly that last morning when he and Danny had dragged his new sled up to the top. He’d turned three the month before and was a regular chatterbox. Sean had zipped him into his blue snowsuit and pulled a warm knit cap onto his blond head. His mittens had been red with tiny reindeers on them.
The hill wasn’t all that big, so Sean wasn’t worried. At the top, he’d settled Danny on the sled, put the rope handles into his gloved hands and given a big push. The sled had zigzagged down the hill, not too fast, just enough to thrill a little boy. Danny had laughed and laughed, the sound echoing through the trees. Laughing himself, Sean had followed him down where the excited child had jumped off and into his arms.
“Do it again, Daddy,” he’d begged.
And they had until both of them, tired but happy, had gone into the cabin where Kim had hot chocolate waiting. They’d all had some, even Kim’s father. Danny had gone down for his nap then, almost too excited to sleep because later that day, they were going to fly to Denver where Grandpa lived for a vacation.
By nightfall, the sweet little boy with the infectious laugh was dead, gone forever.
Sean let out a shuddering sigh that sounded more like a sob. And it was his fault, all his fault. Perhaps that was why he felt the need to come up to the cabin, the last place he’d seen Danny alive and happy. It was an atonement, a penance like wearing a hair shirt, for being blind to what had been happening in his own home. Perhaps if he’d been more aware, his son would be alive today. Not that he ever felt better afterward, but then, he had no right to feel better while Danny lay dead in a snowy grave.
It would have been best if Laura Marshall had picked another week to run away. He wasn’t fit company, and she had problems of her own.
Almost viciously, he grabbed the shovel and made his way around back so he could clear a path for Max.
Standing at the window, Laura watched Sean disappear around the side of the house. He’d been shoveling the porch like a man driven, then he’d stopped and stared off into the distance for the longest time, not moving, probably thinking dark thoughts.
She shouldn’t have brought up his son and his wife. Gone, both dead, he’d said. Dear God, how awful. When had it happened? she wondered. And how had it happened? Probably not very long ago since the mere mention of them affected him so deeply. But then again, she supposed a person never quite got over something like that.
Stepping back, she wandered back to the table and looked again at the charcoal sketches he’d left there. A couple of scenes that looked as if they might have been sketched outside around the cabin in warmer weather—the stream that ran behind the Marshall property, as well, and a woodsy area where two horses grazed. The rest were all of the same little boy—on a swing hanging from a sturdy tree limb, on a sled in a snowsuit, at the same stream bending over, his hands in the clear water. There were more, head sketches, indoor scenes, one of him asleep on a striped rug on the floor in front of the fire. Sean’s drawings were very good, and she wondered why he hadn’t sold some of them. Perhaps they were too personal.