California Girl (24 page)

He’d be fine for now. She understood that much. And look at
how long Mame had lived. If Elliot took good care of himself, he could live
that long as well. She didn’t need to live with him. She’d send Mame back to
him. Albuquerque was only a few hours away.

* * *

“Dr. Roth!” Entering the room in the early dawn, the nurse
looked appropriately shocked. “We have you scheduled for an echogram at ten.
You can’t leave now.”

“I know what the tests will show. It doesn’t matter. I’ll
see my specialist when I get home.” Or Albuquerque. Or Los Angeles. Whatever.
After he found Mame. After he kept Alys from running away. Elliot tucked in his
shirt and fastened his belt.

He was feeling far better than he should for a man with
congestive heart failure, and he knew who to thank for that.

“I’ll have to call the doctor. We can’t just let you check
out—”

“I’m a doctor. I’ll check myself out. I can tell you my
diagnosis without reading the charts. I can tell you what medication I need,
what tests I should run. I can also tell you I’ll be much better off once I
reach—”

They’d called her his wife. He might wish, but it wasn’t to
be, as last night had certainly proved. He corrected himself and finished,
“Alys. And my own doctors,” he added for good measure, because the nurse would
understand that better.

Even he didn’t understand what Alys had done last night.

She’d healed him. His heart had stopped functioning. He knew
the symptoms, knew the condition had been building up for a week. Knew his
chest cavity must be filled with fluids and that he needed rest and medication.
But he was up and moving as if all he’d needed was a good night’s sleep.

He was no doubt fooling himself, but it didn’t matter. He’d
rather fall over dead than let Alys run off on her own, and he knew damned well
that she would, and he’d never see her again if she did.

She finally had him thinking in terms of a future—of his
personal future and not some scientific advance he could discover before he
died. He could have years ahead, and he didn’t want those years to be empty.
Alys was probably the worst possible choice for him, but he couldn’t let her go
just yet.

The nurse ran off to make phone calls. Someone had brought
over his suitcase. That’s how he knew it was almost too late. He jerked on his
boots, found his hat in the closet. He was striding down the hall to the
nurse’s station to check himself out before the doctor on duty could arrive.
Elliot walked into an elevator just as a harried intern ran out of another.

He was out the door and hailing a cab before anyone could
stop him.

Now he knew how Mame had felt.

He wanted to tell the cab driver to hurry, to take the
yellow lights, to push the limit, but he balled his fingers into fists and
forced himself to be calm. He’d spent a lifetime pushing himself and it had
almost killed him. He wouldn’t do anyone any good if he keeled over.

While the taxi rolled through quiet city streets, Elliot
listened to his heartbeat, tested his pulse. Both sounded strong. Even the
heartburn was gone. He didn’t believe in miracles. He’d be happier once he had
time to order tests to prove he was fine.

But just knowing he was closer to Alys soothed a part of his
soul that he hadn’t known was restless, filled corners he hadn’t known were
empty. In many ways, Alys had been right and he’d been wrong. He could
accomplish more if he lived longer. He could live longer if he slowed down and
learned to enjoy the moment as she did. He wanted to relish whatever time he
had left—whether five years or fifty.

He almost panicked when the taxi pulled up at the hotel and
the pink Caddy wasn’t parked in front of the pink saloon front. She couldn’t
have left already!

On another day, in an earlier time, his chest might have
started burning, but it didn’t now. Peeling off dollar bills to hand to the
driver, he pictured Alys’s smile, steadied his frantic thoughts, and realized
the hotel would have moved her out of the room with the broken door. Now that
he was calmer, he could see the boards across the damaged panels.

Pulling his suitcase, he followed the sidewalk to the back
of the motel, and there sat Beulah, trunk lid gaping open.

Elliot flung his suitcase in beside Alys’s huge luggage. He
didn’t know how she’d lifted hers to get it in, but he’d give her credit for
doing anything she put her mind to. He sure in hell wouldn’t want to be a
target of one of her deadly kicks.

She didn’t need him. He needed her.

Purple sat forlornly in his cage on the backseat beside
Lucia’s red backpack. Alys had strapped the orchid into the front passenger seat.
Elliot scratched the kitten’s head, then going to the back of the Caddy to slam
the trunk, he stalked toward the open motel room door.

“I’m not Fred.”

Walking in the door she’d left open while she carried out
luggage, Elliot pitched his Stetson on the bed, and Alys nearly fell backward
in surprise.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he continued. “Do me a
favor, though, and let me know when you’re leaving next time.”

He looked glorious standing there with the rising sun at his
back, throwing his face into shadow. He stood with booted feet akimbo, his
shoulders filling the doorway, a picture postcard of health. It might be easier
on her if he wore bandages and carried a cane, so she wouldn’t be so easily
deceived.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Shocked, she sat down on
the mattress. She didn’t think her knees would hold her up. Maybe last night
had been a mistake? She’d dreamed it? She’d almost rather believe she was
hallucinating than know last night was for real.

“You gave me your energy, remember? Where’s Lucia?” He
glanced around until Lucia peeked out from behind the dresser.

“I didn’t cure you of heart failure,” Alys scoffed. “They
must have miracle drugs.”

Elliot hefted Lucia into his arms as if he hadn’t been lying
pale and cold on a stretcher the night before. Now that he was inside, she
could see his healthy tan and the glitter of his dark eyes. He was furious with
her.

Good. She was furious with him. Jamming the bologna and
cheese she’d bought into the ice chest, Alys turned her back on him. “What am I
supposed to do when you die next time? Leave your body on the side of the
road?”

“I didn’t die. I’ll take medication. We’ll stop by Wal-Mart
to pick up Lucia’s pictures and fill a prescription. Give me credit for knowing
what I can or can’t do.”

She admired Elliot’s strength and courage far more than she
wanted to, but making himself ill was a damned strange way of surviving.

Alys shoved the top on the ice chest, lifted it, and glared
at him. “I should give credit to a man who thinks he can walk on water? Mame
collapsed just like you did and you raised holy Cain when she walked out. What
makes you think you’re any different?”

“I’m not over sixty, for one thing.” Scanning the room to be
certain she hadn’t left anything, Elliot scooped up his hat and put it on
Lucia’s head. “And I’m a doctor. I’d know if I were suffering any symptoms of
imminent death.”

He was doing his best to keep from shouting at her, Alys
could tell, but his sarcasm stabbed just as deeply. She wanted to feel guilty
for abandoning him, but she didn’t. Life was about survival, and she damned
well didn’t intend to lose herself again.

“I did what I had to do,” she informed him, following him
out to the car. “I’m not a nurse. I don’t even know CPR. I couldn’t make you better.
My priority was to find Mame and send her back to you and to deliver Lucia. You
would have done the same.”

That shut him up. He didn’t look any happier at
acknowledging her accuracy. Now that they were out in the light of day, Alys
could see lines of strain around Elliot’s eyes, and read the shadows in his
gaze. He was grappling with mortality as ferociously as she was. That didn’t
make her happier either.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she murmured. She couldn’t
imagine hurting a man as self-sufficient as Elliot, but she thought her apology
eased some of his strain. She might not owe him anything, but his friendship
was worth preserving.

“Have you eaten?” He changed the subject rather than argue
further in front of a child who listened far too intently.

“I’ve been to the store. We had juice and cereal and milk.
I’m not a complete airhead,” she answered stiffly. She also didn’t have much
cash on her and knew how to conserve what she had. Guilt finally struck her
when she realized he probably hadn’t eaten. “There’s more in the ice chest.”
She set it down and opened it. “And bananas in the back seat. I didn’t know if
Lucia was old enough to eat grapes without swallowing them whole, and I didn’t
have a knife sharp enough to cut up apples.”

“She has a whole mouth full of teeth and can eat anything
you give her.” He settled Lucia into the backseat and fastened her seat belt.
“Do we need a child seat for her?”

“I checked the guide book. She’s old enough for seat belts
here.”

“Fine. I’ll munch some cereal dry and have one of those
bananas. Give me the keys.”

“You can’t drive!” she cried. “I’ll not have you passing out
while we’re driving down the road at seventy miles per hour.”

Elliot grimaced, and Alys regretted her comment instantly.
That was how his parents had died.

Not acknowledging any hint of weakness, he took a swig of
juice straight from the carton. Then he stored the ice chest on the floor of
the backseat. “As soon as we find Mame and deliver Lucia, I’ll check into a
hospital. Until then, I’m sorry we can’t do this last stretch slowly. The keys,
Alys.”

His gaze was implacable as he stood up and held out his
hand.

She studied him warily, but he didn’t look as if he was
about to pass out. He looked stronger than he had this whole trip. He wasn’t
even rubbing his middle. If she trusted Mame to know what was best, shouldn’t
she trust Elliot? He was at least a doctor and ought to know what he was doing.

“I liked Doc Nice better,” she muttered, slapping the keys
on his palm. “At least he attempted to be reasonable.”

“Doc Nice was attacked by thugs and abandoned in the
hospital by a woman he thought was his friend. You’ll have to live with Doc
Roth.” In his heeled boots and tight jeans, he strode around the Caddy to climb
into the driver’s seat.

“Wal-Mart,” she reminded him curtly, crossing her arms and
glaring out the windshield while he started the car.

Maybe she wouldn’t like this side of him. Maybe she could
despise the domineering, unreasonable Doc Roth. That would make it far easier
to leave him. She could find a waitress job in Albuquerque, and he could go
hang.

How the devil had he managed to get so completely under her
skin in a few days?

They stopped at the shopping center, and Elliot climbed out.
Lucia had released Purple from her cage, so Alys stayed in the car with the cat
and child, nervously trying not to think. Denial was a nice state if she could
pull it off.

But her protective instincts beat denial into submission and
activated all her defense systems. Last night’s intruders had robbed her of any
sense of security.

She studied every person who wandered too close to the car.
It was early. The lot wasn’t crowded. Two police cars had parked in front of a
nearby café. A semi hauling produce had followed them into the parking lot and
now idled in front of the grocery store. Employees were parking at the far end
of the lot, heading into work for the day. Traffic had picked up on the
highway, and a few more cars rolled in before Elliot returned.

As he emerged from the store, she could see the bruise
beneath the stubble of his beard. She hadn’t left him time to shave. Last
night, he’d savagely defended them against at least three intruders.
Understanding the ferocity lurking beneath the Doc Nice image, she saw a man
this morning who looked almost menacing in his open-necked cowboy shirt and
unshaven jaw.

This man had glared at her and shouted. He still didn’t look
happy with her.

But he climbed in and handed a shopping sack to Lucia, and
Alys knew Doc Nice hadn’t gone away.

Lucia withdrew a doll with dark curls, a shimmering gown,
and tiny accessories to match and emitted a cry of happiness. Purple sniffed
the toy and leaped into the back window in disapproval. Alys wanted to weep at
the pang of longing the child’s happiness stirred. She swiftly turned back to
face the windshield.

If she was really stupid, she could pretend they were a
happy, healthy family on vacation. She had a good imagination. She could
pretend Mame had left Lucia with them so she could go off and play, and that
thieves hadn’t oddly chosen to break into their hotel room for no reason.
Pretending Elliot hadn’t almost died and that they could all live happily ever
after was even easier, and more dangerous to her mental health.

“Did you get your medicine?” she asked, determined to be
practical.

Elliot tapped a slight bulge in his shirt pocket. “Grab the
steering wheel and poke a pill between my lips if I collapse before we get
there.”

She shot him a disapproving look at his unfunny joke. “You
didn’t want Mame to drive.”

“Let’s not start this again. Little pitchers, and all that.”
He jerked his head in the direction of Lucia whose happy coos had halted the
instant they’d started arguing.

“How do you propose we talk about what happened last night?”
Doing her best to sound happy, Alys smiled over her shoulder to reassure Lucia.

“We could forget last night happened,” he growled, not
starting the ignition. “It could have been drunks or some scorned lover who
picked the wrong room.”

Alys watched the child root through the bags Elliot had
given her and pull out an envelope of photos. “May I see the pictures?” she
asked, curiosity getting the better of her.