He shook his head.
She had no way to return the call, but she reminded herself that Emily was smart. She been clever enough to elude the man who’d tried to kill her. Smart enough to be alive.
Liza wanted to call Uncle Joe, but she couldn’t. Emily wouldn’t have used the name Mrs. Tremble if everything was okay. Mrs. Tremble was an old rag doll that had been Emily’s constant companion during her youth. She’d known Liza would recognize the name.
“What’s so important about that call?” Dr. Hathaway asked.
She beamed at him. “Important,” she repeated, nodding.
“So you’ll stay overnight?” he asked, watching her.
What could it hurt? She could get a good night’s rest and feel better tomorrow. And her mother probably wouldn’t call back at the hospital. She wouldn’t have to deal with her until she felt better.
That thought alone eased the tightness in her stomach. But most of all, it was Emily’s call that had her relaxing, letting her exhaustion creep in, sending her eyelids lower. Emily was still in trouble, but she was alive.
Liza tried to nod, to signify her agreement, but she wasn’t sure she made it. Blessed sleep was taking over.
Nick watched his patient fade into sleep, curiosity rampant in his head. When he’d read the message, her electric response told him it was important. Now, as he watched the tension leave her body, he knew whatever had been bothering her was easing, allowing sleep to take charge.
She should show a good improvement in the morning if she slept twelve or fourteen hours, after taking in some nourishment. He’d join her for breakfast, make sure she ate. Then, if she insisted on leaving he couldn’t legitimately hold her.
But he thought he’d drop by the hotel and personally question the operator who had taken the message from the mysterious Mrs. Tremble.
Liza Colton had caught his interest for a lot of different reasons, not least of which was the mystery that surrounded her.
He insisted it had nothing to do with her delicate beauty.
It was Saturday, and the hospital was quiet at seven in the morning. Most doctors, if they made rounds, did so at a later hour on the weekends. But Nick didn’t have family at home. Only his housekeeper. And he was used to the early hours.
At least that’s how he justified his 7:00 a.m. arrival to himself. He was sure it had nothing to do with the fact that he’d dreamed about Liza Colton last night.
He’d stopped by the hotel on his way home and spoken to the woman who’d taken the messages for Liza. She’d told him that Mrs. Tremble had been a woman, sounding fairly young, and definitely not Mrs. Colton. The lady had rolled her eyes and remembering his own conversations with Liza’s mother, Nick could understand that reaction.
That visit probably explained why he’d dreamed of his newest patient. It was the mystery. He read mysteries for relaxation. He loved the puzzle aspect, trying to figure out who the killer could be.
It couldn’t be Mrs. Colton, he decided with a grin. She was much too obvious. But he suspected she had something to do with his patient’s tension.
He stepped through the door of Liza’s room, after having checked at the nurse’s desk. Liza hadn’t called for a nurse all night.
No wonder, he decided. She was still sleeping. She must’ve been on the verge of a total collapse when she’d come to his office. Quietly he moved to her side, sliding cool fingers down her arm to feel her pulse.
Her eyes slowly opened and she stared at him, no recognition in her eyes.
“Good morning, Liza. It’s Dr. Hathaway. I seem to be in the habit of waking you up. How are you this morning?”
“F-fine,” she managed, her voice low, husky, but not as raw as the night before.
“Good. I think breakfast is on the way. Do you want to use the facilities before you eat?”
She nodded. He pulled back the covers and helped her to stand. She swayed and his arm shot around her.
“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said, sounding as if his assistance was non-negotiable and normal. Slowly they crossed the small space. When they reached the door, he asked, “Can you make it on your own? I can call a nurse.”
“Not necessary,” she said softly and closed the door.
He stood outside the door, leaning one shoulder against the wall, anxious to have her back in the bed. He worried that she might fall and hurt herself even more.
The nurse came in carrying the two trays he’d requested.
“Morning, Doctor. How’s the patient?”
“A little groggy.”
The nurse looked at the closed door. “Want me to check on her?”
The door opened, making her offer unnecessary. Liza stood there, holding on to the doorjamb. “Robe?” she asked, looking at the nurse.
“’Fraid we don’t have any. But don’t worry. We’ve all seen backsides before,” the nurse said cheerfully and put down the trays. “Call if you need me, Doctor.” Then she swept out the door.
Liza stood there, her cheeks red. He figured she wasn’t going to let him walk behind her to the bed, since her hospital gown tied in the back with revealing gaps. With a smile, he picked her up, holding her against his chest.
“This way, no one will see anything, including me,” he promised her. The distance to the bed was ridiculously short, and he laid her down on the mattress.
“Ready for breakfast?” he asked, busying himself with putting the tray on the bed table and rolling it to her, then raising the head of the bed. Anything to dispel the memory of holding her against him.
He thought her eyes seemed brighter this morning. She gave the appearance of being stronger, even though she’d been trembling when she’d walked to the bathroom.
Lifting the metal covering from the plate, he revealed scrambled eggs, bacon, a biscuit and orange slices. “Hey, it looks good, doesn’t it?”
She pointed to the second tray. “You eat, too.”
“With pleasure. I didn’t wake up my housekeeper this morning. I need coffee.”
Her tray had milk instead of coffee, but she didn’t complain.
He settled on the edge of the bed, a no-no as far as the nurses were concerned, but he wanted to be close to her. To observe her, of course. That was the only reason.
She needed no urging this morning to eat. But she filled up quickly. He noticed she hadn’t eaten any bacon when she lay back against the pillows.
“Try a bite or two of bacon, in between orange slices,” he suggested.
“I’m full.”
