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Authors: Carol Marinelli
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guys shut safely in the kitchen.”
He might as well have been speaking Punjabi. Madge promptly plonked her butt down on the floor, and the growl Chocolate Girl’s dog gave him told Noah that unless he wanted to dress yet another wound on his arm, he’d better leave well enough alone.
“Kitchen,” Noah roared with even less effect. He could have sworn Georgina shook her head.
“Okay, you can stay, but if one of you even thinks of coming near me while I’m stitching her, I swear…” His voice trailed off. The momentary anger that had welled in him abated as he saw the concern in the eyes of the animals, all watching, all staring at the sleeping beauty that lay on his couch.
Who was she?
As he gently soaked her cheek, aligned the edges of the gash, sutured it with the finest thread he had in the clinic, the question taunted him.
His first assessment of her back at the gas station had been right. She really was beautiful. High, impossibly sculptured cheekbones were shadowed by long dark eyelashes. Gorgeous bee-stung lips were returning to their natural dark crimson as the space blanket he had wrapped her in slowly raised her temperature to normal. On he worked, taking his time to suture her, achingly aware that this was a human face he was working on. She would have to live with the legacy of his repair.
The lights finally gave one final flicker and died. A grinding stillness fell as everything stopped around them—the clock, the DVD, the fridge. Only the howling storm outside screamed loudly as it drew closer, yet still he didn’t move her. Instead, after taking a few moments to stretch his aching arms, he tossed some logs into the fire and positioned flashlights for adequate light. He washed his hands again and pulled on some new gloves, then resumed his delicate task, only pausing every now and again to try to rouse her with his voice, to check her breathing and her pulse, which was slowly strengthening.
Little details that hadn’t even merited a thought on the drama of the rescue were making themselves known at the fringes of his attention. Who was this woman? Surely someone was missing her by now, wondering where she’d gotten to.
No wedding ring.
Relief flooded him. Why should it matter? He wondered, yet somehow it did. Simple diamond studs decorated her ears. In fact, everything about her screamed simple elegance, right down to her well-manicured fingernails. Yet nothing about her added up. Nothing in the clothes she wore or the Jeep she drove jibed with this sophisticated woman who lay before him.
Snipping the last stitch, he placed the scissors to one side and took a moment to admire his own handiwork, The deep catgut stitches he had used to close the wound inside would dissolve unnoticed, and if the tiny nylon sutures he had used to stitch her skin were removedwithin the next four or five days, the scar would barely be noticeable in a few weeks.
She was becoming more restless now, her arms moving out of the blankets. Occasionally she tossed her beautiful head on the pillow as if having a bad dream. Tucking her arm back into the space blanket, he noticed that the face of her watch was broken. Not wanting her to cut herself with the jagged edge, he fiddled with the clasp, then loosened the silver chain and slid the watch over her slender hand. Turning it over, he carefully read the neat inscription:
So proud of you, Cheryl
Much love
Mom
So the mystery lady had a name.
“Cheryl,” he gently called her, repeating her name several times and getting only minimal response. But at least her breathing was more even now, and her responses appropriate. Her eyes had flickered when he shone his penlight to test the reaction of her pupils, and she had raised her hand to push his away as he finished cleaning her cheek. He dabbed at the area now with some antiseptic. No doubt the anesthetic he had used was starting to wear off, since her hands again tried to push him away.
“Hey, Cheryl.” Pulling the
He might as well have been speaking Punjabi. Madge promptly plonked her butt down on the floor, and the growl Chocolate Girl’s dog gave him told Noah that unless he wanted to dress yet another wound on his arm, he’d better leave well enough alone.
“Kitchen,” Noah roared with even less effect. He could have sworn Georgina shook her head.
“Okay, you can stay, but if one of you even thinks of coming near me while I’m stitching her, I swear…” His voice trailed off. The momentary anger that had welled in him abated as he saw the concern in the eyes of the animals, all watching, all staring at the sleeping beauty that lay on his couch.
Who was she?
As he gently soaked her cheek, aligned the edges of the gash, sutured it with the finest thread he had in the clinic, the question taunted him.
His first assessment of her back at the gas station had been right. She really was beautiful. High, impossibly sculptured cheekbones were shadowed by long dark eyelashes. Gorgeous bee-stung lips were returning to their natural dark crimson as the space blanket he had wrapped her in slowly raised her temperature to normal. On he worked, taking his time to suture her, achingly aware that this was a human face he was working on. She would have to live with the legacy of his repair.
The lights finally gave one final flicker and died. A grinding stillness fell as everything stopped around them—the clock, the DVD, the fridge. Only the howling storm outside screamed loudly as it drew closer, yet still he didn’t move her. Instead, after taking a few moments to stretch his aching arms, he tossed some logs into the fire and positioned flashlights for adequate light. He washed his hands again and pulled on some new gloves, then resumed his delicate task, only pausing every now and again to try to rouse her with his voice, to check her breathing and her pulse, which was slowly strengthening.
Little details that hadn’t even merited a thought on the drama of the rescue were making themselves known at the fringes of his attention. Who was this woman? Surely someone was missing her by now, wondering where she’d gotten to.
No wedding ring.
Relief flooded him. Why should it matter? He wondered, yet somehow it did. Simple diamond studs decorated her ears. In fact, everything about her screamed simple elegance, right down to her well-manicured fingernails. Yet nothing about her added up. Nothing in the clothes she wore or the Jeep she drove jibed with this sophisticated woman who lay before him.
Snipping the last stitch, he placed the scissors to one side and took a moment to admire his own handiwork, The deep catgut stitches he had used to close the wound inside would dissolve unnoticed, and if the tiny nylon sutures he had used to stitch her skin were removedwithin the next four or five days, the scar would barely be noticeable in a few weeks.
She was becoming more restless now, her arms moving out of the blankets. Occasionally she tossed her beautiful head on the pillow as if having a bad dream. Tucking her arm back into the space blanket, he noticed that the face of her watch was broken. Not wanting her to cut herself with the jagged edge, he fiddled with the clasp, then loosened the silver chain and slid the watch over her slender hand. Turning it over, he carefully read the neat inscription:
So proud of you, Cheryl
Much love
Mom
So the mystery lady had a name.
“Cheryl,” he gently called her, repeating her name several times and getting only minimal response. But at least her breathing was more even now, and her responses appropriate. Her eyes had flickered when he shone his penlight to test the reaction of her pupils, and she had raised her hand to push his away as he finished cleaning her cheek. He dabbed at the area now with some antiseptic. No doubt the anesthetic he had used was starting to wear off, since her hands again tried to push him away.
“Hey, Cheryl.” Pulling the
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