His Motherless Little Twins (9 page)

“You spotted that one pretty fast,” Eric said, stretching back out on an exam table.

“Experience. He was peeking at us when he thought we weren't looking.” She laughed. “The harder they scrunch their faces, the more they're faking.”

“You've used The Drop before?”

“In some variation. Threaten them with the big needle, and they'll confess every time.”

“For a math test,” Eric said, settling back.

“And to think you have two daughters who'll be conspiring together in deeds probably much more devious than anything poor little Henry's ever thought of.”

Groaning, Eric shut his eyes. “Maybe I can fake them out and pretend I have The Drop.” He raised his arm and dropped it to the table.

“Remember, that one gets the big needle.”

“Might be the preferable outcome. I mean, I'm not prepared, and I know they're probably making a list of all the ways they're going to pull things over on me when they're older.”

“Why wait until they're older?” Dinah asked, heading to the door. “I have an idea they've already started.”

“Not funny,” he called after her. “Not funny at all.”

She poked her head back in, smiling. “Wasn't meant to be.”

Eric's response was to groan again. And pull a pillow over his head.

 

Her night at the hospital had been good. Working with Eric again even better. On impulse, while Dinah was halfway into chopping the romaine for that night's Caesar, she called him. “You busy tonight?” she asked, not sure why she was doing this. But doing it all the same.

“I, um…no, I don't suppose I am,” he fumbled, sounding quite taken off guard. “Not unless there's an outbreak of The Drop.”

“Want to come to dinner at the lodge?”

No response, and she was on the verge of embarrassment, and regret, for being so impulsive. Was this a mistake? Maybe she should have left well enough alone. But something was compelling her… “Bring the girls?” she added quickly, to save face. “I'd love to see them, love to have them take a tour of my kitchen.” For a moment she considered adding his sister and niece to the guest list, but he agreed before she got that far with the invitation.

“Sure. We can come. I assume you're cooking?”

“Yes, but when I'm on a break…” What? What could she do with Eric and the twins on one of her fifteen-minute breaks? Or even on her thirty-minute meal break? Suddenly, what had seemed like a good idea didn't seem so good after all.

“You know they're going to want to wear their chef aprons,” he said. “You've made quite an impression on them, and I don't think they've had those aprons off since they had their baking lesson.”

“Well, maybe it's time to introduce them to the chef's hat.” The conversation had turned into something about the girls, and Dinah had the impression Eric was awkward about
this. No more than she was, probably. What a crazy thing to do, inviting him out this way, and when the conversation was over she was almost relieved. All awkwardness aside, though, they'd set a time, and she'd marked a reservation in the book for the best table in the house, which happened to be one of the closest to the kitchen. Then she continued chopping, taking care not let her mind wander too far lest she chop one of her fingers again.

“So, are you going to tell me what it's all about?” Angela asked her, thirty minutes later, when she was plopping down at the chef's table in the kitchen, trying, without much success, to make herself comfortable. “Because I recognize the mood. It's the pensive one.”

“It's the pensive one because I did something dumb again.”

“Does it have anything to do with Eric Ramsey?”

“I'm not interested in him the way you seem to think I am.”

“And I didn't say you were. But you're mighty quick to bring it up, so I was just thinking that if you were interested in him the way
you think
I think you are…”

“Look, why don't you waddle your pregnant self back to your office and let me get the dinner service prep finished. OK?”

Angela laughed. “You were never good at hiding things, Dinah. That's why Mom always knew what we were up to. You gave us away every time, without saying a word, because it's right there, in your eyes. The whole story.”

“Not the whole story,” she argued.

“This time I think it's the whole story. You're interested, don't want to be, fighting not to be, and losing the fight. Am I right?”

“You know what I'm in the mood for?” Dinah purposely changed the flow of the conversation while clearing away the last of the romaine pieces and getting herself ready to cut up several loaves of crusty bread, soak them in garlic butter and
bake them into croutons. She didn't want to talk about it, or think about it either. Didn't want it anywhere near her right now.

“I know what you're doing, changing the subject. But it won't work, Dinah. Not talking about it won't make it go away.”

Dinah shot a scowl at her sister. “Not changing the subject. It got worn out and I was moving on to something nicer.”

“What's nicer than talking about you falling for Eric Ramsey?”

Dinah reached out and patted her sister's belly. “This. I'm ready to become an aunt. So, how are you feeling? Any contractions? Any
anything?
”

“Actually, Gabby Evans came up to see me this morning. Bryce is still in the hospital in Salt Lake City, and he's doing remarkably well. She thinks he'll be home in another few days. But she came home to take care of a few things, and stopped by and had a look at me. She thinks I could go into labor any time. The baby's in position, and ready to come out and meet the world. In fact, if I haven't gone into labor in the next three or four days, she's going to induce me, or have someone else do it if she can't get here.”

“Three or four days?” Suddenly, everything felt good. The world became better. “She'll get here, Angela. If there's any possible way, you know she'll get here.”

“Well, if she doesn't, she doesn't. Bryce comes first for her, and I totally understand that.”

Was she seeing a little apprehension coming over her sister? Considering what Angela had watched Gabby go through, Dinah wouldn't be surprised if her sister was scared to death and doing a very good job of hiding it. And considering that Angela was another victim of a cheating husband… “You're going to have a normal delivery,” she said, sitting down next to her sister and pulling her into her arms. “Normal
delivery, beautiful, healthy baby. We'll get through this together. Just the two of us. I promise.”

“We'll get through it better if you tell me about your date tonight.”

Dinah stiffened up, wondering if she still had time to call Eric's sister and niece and invite them, too. The more people there, the less the illusion of a
date
. “It's not a date. He's bringing his twins.”

“Want to bet?” Angela struggled to a standing position, arched her back and headed back to her office, stopping before she was out of the kitchen. “It's OK to get involved, Dinah. I know I'm teasing you about it, and I'm probably the last person who should be giving anyone relationship advice seeing how my ex-husband is off on the slopes with a young ski bunny. But you know what? I want to be involved again. Brad hurt me, but he hasn't spoiled me because I know it's out there…true love, true happiness, all the things that make being involved with someone else good. It's there, and it
does
happen. And if it walked in the door right now, even in my condition, I'd give myself over to it in a heartbeat. So, don't reject it out of hand because you've had some bad experiences in the past. Maybe Eric isn't the one who'll be walking in your door someday. Maybe he is. But you'll never know if you don't leave that door open a crack.”

Dinah wanted to take those words to heart. She truly did. But it seemed that her door swung one way. Out. She wasn't sure she wanted it to swing back in because, inevitably, any time it did, it swung right back out. And hurt her in such deep ways.

Maybe Eric would walk through her door, but she wasn't sure if she could survive him walking back out. It didn't matter, though, because she'd already convinced herself that a shut door was the best door. Even if Eric was standing on the other side of it, knocking.

P
REPARING
a fresh salmon for the evening's sushi, Dinah was alternately slicing, discarding unusable pieces and reflecting on everything Angela had said. Her sister, so pregnant she could hardly move, with an ex-husband now flaunting his new relationship wherever he could, was still optimistic about love. That was the optimism Dinah wanted, the positive outlook that had eluded her for so long. Honestly, she envied her sister that. Wished she could be like her. Supposing Eric
did
want to get involved, not that she thought he would, but if, in some odd, twisted scheme of things that's what happened? What would be the worst outcome for her? A few weeks of something very nice with a man she found pleasant? She could do that for a few weeks. Go in with no expectations, come out unscathed.

See, that was her fundamental problem. She always had expectations. Even when she knew she shouldn't, she did. But what if she didn't? What if she could simply enter into something nice for a little while then walk away?

Yanking a piece of clear plastic from the roll, Dinah wrapped her fish in it then set about the task of removing scales from the second salmon. Thankless chore, smelly. Predictable outcome. People wouldn't care about the prep,
they'd care about the end results. And that's where she always went wrong in her life—the end results. She cared too much, tried to make more happen than could, or would.

But could she enter into something without expecting anything at the end?

Grabbing up the de-boner, she looked at it for a moment then set it back with the rest of her knives. Even if she could get to the end without an expectation, there was always the possibility that Eric would want more. Then what?

“It's not going to happen,” she muttered, totally disinterested in the whole salmon prep now. “Just not going to happen.”

Her sous chef, a nice little man named Oswaldo—half a head shorter than she, long hair pulled back by a red bandana, pencil-thin mustache—gave her a quizzical look but didn't comment. Rather, he went about his sauce prep while she turned her attention to an asparagus risotto. Her concentration was lacking so badly, though, she couldn't even decide whether to use only the tender asparagus tips or peel and chop the whole stalk. In fact, all she could think of was Eric, his missing wedding ring…her lapse in sanity.

“You've already salted that,” Oswaldo reminded her, trying to be discreet as he pushed the open salt container away from her.

“What?” she asked, trying to snap herself back into her work.

“Your risotto. Salted.”

Dinah looked at the salt she'd pinched between her fingers and had been ready to dump into the risotto. This was her job now. Food prep. Slicing and dicing.
Salting
. And if she wasn't careful, she'd make a mess of that, too. “Look, I'm going to go take a short break. Can you cover for about fifteen minutes?”

Oswaldo nodded, and she didn't miss that little glint in his eyes. He'd be happy to take over forever. Or, at least until Angela was back. And he was about to get his shot at it if she didn't shape up.

Tossing off her apron, Dinah thought about going back to her room, locking the door and climbing into bed. But fifteen minutes wasn't enough for that, so she opted for a quick walk to the rear of the lodge, and fifteen minutes in an employee-only area set up with outdoor chairs and tables. At the moment she was the only employee there, which suited her fine. Being alone, with nothing but a mountain slope and pine trees behind her, was a relief. No pressures there. Not to think. Not to react. Not to remember. Not to question herself.

“What am I doing?” she asked a chipmunk scurrying its way across the opening, heading straight for a pile of downed branches. “It's crazy. I know better. Maybe I should crawl under that pile of branches with you.” Nice idea, except hiding never solved anything. Trouble was, she didn't know what did.

“So think of the moment,” she said, switching her attention to a lone figure hiking his or her way up from a ravine in the distance. It was odd, seeing someone out here alone at this time of the day. Usually, they were in pairs, or more. In fact, she didn't recall seeing a single hiker out here anywhere,
ever
, so she watched the progress of the one in the distance, and got herself so caught up in his slow gait that she didn't even notice his pronounced limp until he was crossing over the back patch of lawn. Where, when he saw her, he collapsed in a heap.

Immediately, Dinah leapt up and ran to the man…a young man, not more than twenty, she guessed. Dropping to her knees beside him, she gave him a little shake on the shoulder. “Hey,” she said, patting his cheeks, noticing the slight flutter
of his eyelids. “Stay with me, do you hear?” Was it exhaustion? Dehydration? Immediately her fingers went to his pulse. “Stay awake.”

He nodded in the affirmative, trying to speak, but a gash on his head, above his right eye, had been bleeding, substantially, and she wondered if he'd lost enough blood to make him woozy. Or was the head wound more serious than the superficial cut she could see?

“My brother…dad…” he whispered, his voice so low and raspy she was barely able to make out his words.

“We'll call them as soon as we get you taken care of.” Her fingers pulled back his shirt so she could have a look at the way he moved air in and out of his lungs. His pulse was too fast, his breathing too shallow. He could have been too pale underneath the layers of dirt and blood but she couldn't tell. So she did a quick assessment, felt his arms, his legs, probed his abdomen to see if it was distended or rigid. It was not. “Where do you hurt?” she finally asked him.

“Please, my dad and my brother, they…” His eyes fluttered shut, and he fought to open them again, but it was a losing battle as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Immediately, Dinah clicked on her cell phone and speed-dialed the first name at the top. By the time the first ring sounded, she was already going through the young man's pockets, looking for identification. First his jacket pockets, then his cargo pants…pants with numerous pockets, visible and hidden, everywhere.

“You having second thoughts about our date tonight?” Eric asked rather than saying hello.

“I have an unconscious young man, age approximately twenty, on the back lawn of the lodge. He walked here then collapsed when I got to him. Head wound, can't tell how serious, but he's done some extensive bleeding. Tachycardia,
shallow respirations. Eyes responding, but very sluggish.” She found his wallet in a zipper pocket midway down to his knee and pulled it out. “His belly's not rigid, there are no obvious breaks, at least nothing compound, and he stayed conscious only a few seconds before he went out on me so I don't have any idea what happened to him.” One glance at his driver's license, and she added, “He's not a local. According to his identification, he's from Canada…Ontario.”

“I'm on my way,” Eric said. “Get him as stable as possible, and I'll make the rest of the arrangements from here.”

“It's bad, Eric. I think it's really bad.” She clicked off with Eric and called the main desk at the lodge. “Hello, Redmond,” she said to the concierge who answered. “This is Dinah, from the kitchen. I have a critically injured young man out on the back lawn—”

“I'll call for help,” he interrupted.

“No, listen to me. I've already called. What I need from you are blankets and a couple of pillows. Immediately.” The boy was already shocky, but warming him up and elevating his legs could lessen the trauma, help keep him stable until Eric got there. “And I need someone to go and find his family. His last name is Dawson. This is Troy, and he asked for his brother and father.”

When she clicked off, she didn't have to wait for more than a minute before one of the lodge workers came running with an armload of blankets, followed by another one carrying pillows. Redmond followed up with a first-aid kit and several bottles of water, and he was flanked by two more workers who had come only in case more help was needed.

“We've got someone going up to his cabin now. According to the registration, they're staying in one of the family cabins. And they're a family of five—husband, wife, three children.”

Dinah had a sinking feeling that maybe Troy's brother and
father had been with him, that they might have been injured, too. But she didn't want to voice that opinion and cause a panic. Best to leave the search to Eric, should a search become necessary.

“Dr. Ramsey called us. His ETA is two minutes,” Redmond informed her.

“How?” she said, then looked up as Redmond pointed to the helicopter coming into view.

By the time it had landed on the east lawn, which had been cleared of guests by another one of the lodge workers, Dinah had Troy's feet propped up, and had him well tucked into his blankets. His pulse was still too fast, too thready, and he wasn't responding at all to her attempts to rouse him by calling his name or by pinching him. It was a serious head injury, possible fracture, with bleeding and swelling. She was convinced of it.

“Any change?” Eric shouted. He was running hard in her direction, carrying a medical bag.

“No response.”

He dropped to his knees, and handed his medical bag over to her. Immediately she went for the blood-pressure cuff. Thirty seconds later, she looked over at him. “It's ninety over sixty.” Too low.

“Pupils are responsive, but very slow,” Eric said.

Bad sign. But not the worst-case scenario by a long shot.

“So was he coherent when you found him?”

“He was walking…more like staggering up the trail.” She pointed to the south end of the lawn. “I watched him for a while because he seemed to be moving so slowly. But I didn't know he was injured. Then as he made the clearing, even though I couldn't tell, I had the feeling that something wasn't right. So I ran down there, and he…he collapsed. Wanted me to tell his brother and dad. At least that's what I thought he
wanted. But, Eric, I might be wrong. I have this hunch that his dad and brother are out there somewhere, and he was the one who was coming for help.”

“Damn,” Eric muttered. He looked up at Redmond. “Does anyone here know for sure? Has anyone seen his family?”

“We're tracking them down now. Nobody's at the cabin, but one of our guests saw the mother and daughter go off together earlier. Didn't see the father and sons, though. So I've got my people knocking on doors right now.”

“Then they could be out there?” Dinah asked, looking out to the vast expanse of woods around her, and the never-ending mountains beyond that.

“I'm going to send him down to the hospital right now, go down there with him, then I'm coming back, getting Neil up here with me, and we're going to start a search and rescue, unless I hear something different in the meantime.” He motioned over two of the hotel workers, instructed them to retrieve the stretcher from the helicopter then he made a phone call to the hospital. Two minutes later Troy Dawson, who'd yet to regain consciousness, was on his way to the helicopter, while Eric lagged behind for a moment. “I think I may have to take a rain check on that dinner later on,” he said, grabbing his medical bag and spinning away.

“I want to do this,” Dinah said, practically running to keep up with him. She was tall, but her strides didn't come close to matching Eric's, especially when he was in a hurry.

“What?” he shouted, the noise of the helicopter getting louder the closer they got.

“Help with the rescue,” she shouted back. “I want to be part of it.” Because she felt obligated. Because Troy had been trying to tell her something and she hadn't been able to keep him conscious long enough to find out what. Hadn't been able to hold on to Molly long enough…

“Can you find the trail he came up on?” he yelled, then motioned her away as he climbed into the helicopter. “That could get us off to a faster start if we know where to start looking.”

She was still nodding when the helicopter lifted off, watching it disappear over the older Sister in a matter of seconds. She had to find the trail… First thing she did was run to the kitchen to tell Oswaldo he would be in charge of the cooking. Next, she phoned Angela to let her know what was going on, and make sure she wasn't in labor. Then she changed into hiking boots, put on a comfortable pair of jeans and layered on a couple of shirts with a green sweater, tied her hair up in a bandana and scrounged for anything that might be of help in a mountain rescue, even though she'd never been on one before. She had her medical bag…bandages, scissors, stethoscope. More bulk than she wanted to carry, but…

Out the door in a blink, she ran to the gift shop and grabbed up a souvenir backpack.

“You can't take that!” the teenage clerk exclaimed while Dinah was dumping her med supplies inside, totally ignoring the girl's protests. After her own supplies, she added a lightweight blanket she found on one of the gift-shop shelves, as well as a flashlight, a small travel pillow, and several plastic bottles of water. On impulse, she scooped up a handful of candy bars and several pairs of fluorescent pink shoelaces popular with children. She had no idea what she'd need them for, but she felt better with a full pack.

“I said, you can't take that!” The clerk was now yelling. “I'm calling Security.” Which she did. But the kindly old security officer, a man called Wallace Gilpin, who'd been perched on a chair almost outside the door, reading a magazine, scooped some packages of premade crackers with
peanut butter from the gift shop shelf and handed them to Dinah.

“Protein,” he said. “Not much, but it could help.” Next, he dug a gold cigarette lighter from his pocket and handed it to her. “You might be needing this, too. But, please, take care of it. It belonged to my father.” With the lighter, he handed her his magazine. “And this, just in case you need a fire starter.”