Restorations (Book One Oregon In Love) (3 page)

Hattie clucked her tongue. “Just listen to
yourself. You’re still shocked. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
She gently pushed Sara down into the chair next to the bed. “Get as
much rest as you can, and call me if you need anything.”

Sara offered a wan smile. “Thanks, Aunt
Hattie.”

After bussing her on the cheek, Hattie went
out the door. When Sara heard her drive away, she looked at her
patient with all the reluctance of coming face to face with a
lethal snake.

After a moment, she decided she might as
well get comfortable. Seeing several blankets shoved down at the
end of the bed, Sara gently pulled one off and draped it loosely
over herself. Settling onto a hard wooden chair, she noticed the
subtle hint of Brian’s cologne on the fabric. It was the same he
wore when...

Quickly averting her mind from the following
thought, Sara squirmed in the chair. She closed her eyes, then
realized she wasn’t sleepy. She checked her watch. Barely eight.
Too early for sleep. Sara clambered out of the chair, fighting a
sensation of claustrophobia.

She prowled around the room for something to
get her mind off the current situation and, for the first time,
really perceived her surroundings.

The cottage appeared fairly
tidy for a bachelor. At least she assumed Brian was unmarried. He
wore no ring and so far no concerned female materialized except
herself.
Not concerned, just
dutiful
.

Outside the bedroom door was the combined
kitchen-living area. The bathroom made up the third room of the
cottage. On the table in the kitchen she saw a laptop next to a
stack of paperwork.

Sara resisted the urge to start snooping.
The less she became involved in this unlucky situation, the better.
In the bedroom, however, she took in every detail. A bookshelf
across the room housed a small TV, piled high with building
magazines. A loaded tool belt hung from the back of another chair.
As her gaze came full circle around the room, she saw a small
picture frame on the nightstand near the bed next to the chair.
Sara picked up the frame.

The photo showed Brian with a beautiful
young woman by his side. He appeared to be much younger and stood
next to an upright surfboard. He had his arm slung around the
girl’s shoulders. The girl had waist long blonde hair and wore a
halter top with shorts. For some reason she seemed vaguely
familiar.

Probably one of his many
girlfriends, Sara thought, biting her lip.
Just another one of the many he dated on the sly when we were
together
. Of course, she didn’t find out
about that side of him until much later. The couple stood hip to
hip in front of the ocean, probably someplace in Southern
California.

Sara replaced the frame with a click. From
the bookcase, she picked up one of the building magazines. Plunking
back in the chair, she read a thoroughly boring article comparing
different brands of saw blades.

***

Sara forced her eyes open at the sound of a
low groan. The magazine slid to the floor when she sat up. She went
to Brian’s side, finding him asleep, but restless. His bed looked
like a site of a wrestling match and the sheets felt damp. Worry
replaced her latent anger.

Not sure what to do, she gently straightened
his blankets, praying he wouldn’t succumb to whatever ailed him.
She pulled the chair closer to the bed and took his hand. His skin
felt almost too hot to touch. Sara patted his hand and in a low
voice, spoke nonsense until he stilled. When his breathing became
deep and even, she watched the rise and fall of his chest until her
eyes grew heavy.

The sound of violent coughing jarred her
awake. Sara glanced at the clock. Two hours had passed since the
first time he awakened her. It felt like two minutes. Disentangling
from the blanket, and leaning on the side of the bed for support,
Sara blearily checked on her patient. When Brian’s coughing
subsided, she felt his forehead with the back of her hand and noted
it was still hot.

“You should really use your lips for that.
They’re more sensitive to temperature.”

Now fully awake, Sara frowned as she pulled
her hand away. “What are you talking about?”

“Your lips can sense a fever better than
your hand,” he said in a froggy voice.

“I think you’re delirious.” From the pitcher
on the nightstand, she poured a glass of water, spilling a little,
and coaxed him to sit up and take a sip.

After he took a deep drink, she helped him
settle back against the pillows. Sara could sense him surveying her
through half-closed lids. She did her best to ignore his scrutiny
while she straightened his blankets. Stifling a yawn, she checked
the bedside clock. Eleven-thirty. Wincing at the pain of her
cramped muscles, she resumed her seat and closed her eyes.

“Sara?”

She suppressed a groan and sank lower in the
chair. “You really should rest.”

Several minutes of silence passed. Assuming
he’d drifted off to sleep, she closed her eyes.

“I dreamed about the first time I saw
you.”

Sara flinched at the sound of his voice.

“It was in that poetry class we had together
at the university. I remember thinking how appropriate it was that
you quoted Robbie Burns.” He paused as if still reminiscing. “With
your coal black hair, silvery eyes, and cheeks like damask roses,
you looked so much like a Highland beauty I was surprised to hear
you speak without a Scottish burr in your voice.”

“Do you even know what damask means?”

“Sure. I was in a poetry class, remember? I
learned all kinds of flowery talk.”

Definitely
delirious
. Sara was thankful for the
dimness of the room. Her so-called damask cheeks were in full bloom
now. She held her breath, wondering if he would say more. When she
heard a faint snore, she went limp with relief. Sara had no desire
to hear the ravings of an ill man. At the same time, she found it
hard to ignore the treacherous little glow spreading within
her.

Silvery eyes indeed.

Sara thought back to that
day in her poetry class. She’d recited the Robert Burns poem
Ye Flowery Banks
in front
of a group of bored students. She whispered the last stanza from
memory.

Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose

Frae aff its thorny tree,

And my fause luver staw my rose,

But left the thorn wi’ me.

She glanced at Brian’s
sleeping form and had a sudden urge to kick him. In the class, he'd
sat with several male friends who let it be known they only signed
up to ogle the girls. Sara recalled being in the emotional throes
of the poem when she noticed one of the students give her a slow
wink.
Brian
. She’d
stumbled over the rest of the words as a result, longing for
something to throw at his smug expression.

Besides being embarrassed, Sara had no
patience with students who didn’t take their studies seriously. She
was there on scholarship and needed to make every grade count.
Besides, she knew Brian wasn’t interested in her as a person. He
undoubtedly saw her as another female to toy with.

When he started waiting for her after class
to walk with her, Sara maintained a chilly demeanor, hoping he
would go pick on some more willing victim—the buxom cheerleader
type she suspected he preferred. Soon, however, his charm melted
her disdain. A girl could sustain only so much onslaught.

She came to believe he was interested in
her. That’s what hurt so much. Brian made her care for him, and she
resented him for it.

Hot tears pricked her eyelids. Sara angrily
blinked them away. She’d cried enough over this man. He didn’t
deserve her tears.

Looking around for something to take her
mind off the past, Sara saw a shine of light on the dark TV screen.
She turned it on and set the volume low. With six channels to
choose from, she finally settled on an old rerun of Perry Mason,
preferring pretend drama over the real thing.

Chapter Three

Sara slowly awakened, becoming cognizant of
sunlight streaming through the windows. She bit back a cry of pain
when she tried to sit up. Her back and leg muscles were in knots
after her vigil in the chair. Glancing over at Brian’s bed, Sara
saw only a tangle of blankets. She jerked to her feet, ignoring the
burst of pain. “Brian?”

The patient poked his head through the
bedroom door. “I wondered when you’d wake up.” He smiled
disarmingly.

Sara stared at him, unable to believe anyone
could look so disgustingly healthy after such an obvious illness.
Although he appeared scruffy from his ordeal, his green eyes glowed
clear and his face held good color.

“My fever broke sometime in the night. I’m
starved and just about to eat. Want anything?”

Sara shook her head and watched dumbly as he
went back to the stove. She considered ordering him back to bed,
knowing he shouldn’t be up and about, but decided against it. Brian
Farris long ago proved he did things his way, regardless of whom he
hurt in the process.

Retreating to the bathroom, she splashed
cold water on her face, hoping it would help clear her mind. Why
should she be surprised Brian saw nothing odd about her presence in
his bedroom? Maybe he considered waking up alone the more peculiar
circumstance.

Sara squeezed her eyes shut
against the pain clenching her heart. Leaning her forehead against
the medicine cabinet mirror over the sink, she took a deep
breath.
Don’t think about
it
. Remembering his manipulation and
infidelity served no purpose whatsoever.

When the worst of the angst passed, Sara
brushed her hair with a comb from her purse. The cold water lent
some color to her otherwise pale skin, but as she regarded herself
in the mirror, she swallowed a lump in her throat. What on earth
would she say to him? How should she act? Was this whole episode a
kind of surreal dream?

Sara made her way into the living area,
attempting to smooth the wrinkles out of her pink rayon dress. To
make sure there would be no repeat of this awkward situation, she
needed to be certain Brian recovered completely. He must rest.

She found him stirring something in a
saucepan on the stove, wearing only a blue T-shirt and shorts. Her
memory of him was obviously altered by time and anger. She forgot
how his sheer physical presence alone affected her. Her gaze
traveled along the length of his well-muscled frame. Willing her
gaze to the ceiling, Sara noisily cleared her throat.

Brian turned at the sound. Sara crossed her
arms over her chest and leveled a stare at him. His smile
faded.

“Sit down,” she said. “You shouldn’t be up
so soon.”

“But I feel so much better.” He sat
carefully at the kitchen table and coughed several times, belying
his words.

Sara searched through the cupboards and
located the dishes. She filled a glass with apple juice from a
pitcher on the counter, and placed it on the table before him.
“Drink this first or Hattie will hear about it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sara bit back a smile and turned around.
Although she knew his cowed expression was contrived, she wasn’t
immune to it. A feeling of giddiness assailed her as her emotions
seesawed from one extreme to the other.

She put a bowl of chicken noodle soup on the
table and ordered him to eat. Not wanting to sit with him and
attempt small talk, Sara went back into his room and stripped the
bed. She found clean sheets and blankets and soon had the bed
neatly made. After filling a pitcher with fresh water for the
nightstand, she made sure nothing of hers remained behind.

Sara went back into the kitchen and found
Brian helping himself to a second bowl of soup. She pleated the
folds of her skirt with her fingers. “Don’t you think you should be
back in bed by now?”

“After I eat, I’ll stay down for the rest of
the day, okay?”

She shrugged, not wanting to appear overly
concerned. “You should have everything you need. Please rest as
much as possible or you could have some kind of relapse.”

He looked up at her, apparently bemused.
“You want me well so I’ll leave.”

“That’s right.”

“What if I told you I have no intention of
leaving?”

She gripped the back of the chair next to
him. “Where you live is no concern of mine, as long as it’s not in
this particular cottage.”

“Your grandfather told me I could stay here
as long as I wished.”

“Do you have that in writing?”

“As a matter of fact I do.”

Brian started to stand but Sara held up her
hand. “Regardless of any arrangement you and my grandfather may
have had, I’m sure under the circumstances, you won’t want to, um,
press the issue.”

“What can I say, Sara? I like it here. It
fits my needs and you have guaranteed income on this property.”

“Only until it sells.”

He paled. “You plan to sell the house?”

“Of course! I don’t have the time or
inclination to do anything with it. My life is back in northern
California.”

He took a deep breath. “Were you aware of
the plans Eli had for this place?”

“No. But if those plans were so important, I
don’t know why he’d leave the house to me, knowing full well I
wouldn’t be interested in such an undertaking. Maybe you’re aware
of some codicil? Or perhaps you’d like to contest the will for
possession?”

“Sara,” Brian growled. “That’s unfair and
you know it.”

“My experience has been that any dealings
with you are unfair.”

He shot up from the chair. “What’s that
supposed to mean?” He gave an owlish blink before sinking back onto
the chair with a bump. “Head rush,” he muttered.