really going to help?”
“I’m hoping it will. Nothing in medicine is a certainty.”
“Nothing in life is a certainty,” Dylan muttered.
The staff was pleasant and friendly, but Dylan wished he was anywhere but here.
That was especially so a half hour later when Shaye peeked into the cubicle. “How are you doing?” she asked.
They’d just removed the paraphernalia needed to withdraw his blood. He was glad Shaye hadn’t stopped in five minutes sooner when he’d been flat on his back. He didn’t like the idea of her seeing him as anything but strong.
“I’m fine. The toughest part of this is signing all the paperwork,” he joked. “There’s more red tape in giving blood than in applying for a visa.”
Coming into the room, she shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that. I’ve never been out of the U.S.”
Rolling down the sleeve of his flannel shirt, he buttoned the cuff. “Did you ever want to see the rest of the world?”
“Not really.” She came a few steps closer. “I went to a conference in New York City once and hated it. Too much hustle and bustle. I’ve also been to California, and that was okay. There’s some pretty scenery there, especially around Big Sur. But I love the mountains and the plains and the hot springs, the cactus and sage. I love the old-fashioned flavor of this town and its history.” She shrugged again. “I’m happy here.”
Her hair brushing against her cheek distracted Dylan. So did the pretty amber of her eyes. “I guess that’s the difference between us. I was never happy here. I always wanted more. I wanted to run free, stopping when I pleased, moving on when I liked.”
“Like the wild mustangs,” she remarked softly.
A nurse bustled in, bringing Dylan a glass of juice. He drank it quickly, handing the glass back with a thank-you.
She’d disappeared when Shaye said, “Julia didn’t feel like that at all. She didn’t want to wander, either. Maybe it’s a woman thing. I’ve met other men who seem to be searching for something.”
The way she said it, wandering was a dirty word. “I don’t think needing space and wanting to travel has anything to do with being male or female,” he protested, reading an underlying message in what Shaye had said…a possible story in her background.
As he stood, he felt almost exhausted.
She was by his side in an instant. “You’re looking kind of gray. Are you okay?”
“Just tired. I’m going to bunk on the sofa upstairs in the waiting room.”
Still gazing at him with those beautiful, soft, golden-brown eyes, she asked, “When was the last time you ate?”
Before he could answer, a tall, husky, bearded man in a parka appeared in the doorway. “I could ask you the same question.”
Shaye turned at the sound of an obviously familiar voice. “Randall! What are you doing here?”
“Barb sent me. She said I should hogtie you if I had to and drag you back to our place for a decent meal. You can’t live here twenty-four hours a day. Those are her words and mine. What are you doing down here, anyway? One of the nurses pointed me in this direction.”
As Shaye studied the older of her two brothers, she realized he looked as if he should work in a logging camp. Instead, he was an X-ray technician and had probably just gotten off duty.
Turning to Dylan, Shaye said, “Dylan, this is my brother, Randall. Randall, this is Julia’s brother, Dylan Malloy. He just gave blood for Timmy.”
“I see.” After he extended his condolences and Dylan thanked him, Randall glanced at Shaye thoughtfully, then back at Dylan. “You are looking a bit gray around the gills. Why don’t you come along with us? My wife always has a refrigerator full of leftovers.”
“I’ll grab something in the cafeteria,” Dylan answered, looking uncomfortable.
“The cafeteria is closed,” Shaye told him. “You’d have to get one of those dry sandwiches out of the vending machines. Come with us. We don’t have to be gone long. You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten.”
As soon as Shaye said the words, she knew they weren’t true. Nothing could help the way Dylan was feeling. But the food would help keep his body strong…and hers, too.
Dylan mulled over her advice. “I want to go upstairs first and talk to Dr. Carrera.”
“We can do that. Randall, if you don’t want to wait, I can drive us over.”
“I want to know how Timmy’s doing, too. I can wait, then I can drive you back.”
Unsettled by her reaction to Julia’s brother, Shaye watched him carefully as they all got into the elevator and went upstairs, grateful Randall was along. With a chaperone of sorts, she didn’t have to worry so much about the increase of her pulse or the excitement that tingled through her when she was close to Dylan. However, when Randall gave her an interested glance, she knew that might not be true. In the close quarters of the elevator, she could feel a pull toward Dylan that shocked her. If she had to admit it, she’d felt that same pull at Julia’s graduation when she’d met him, and had run from it.
She’d known what Dylan Malloy did for a living and she’d wanted no part of an involvement with a man like him.
A half hour later Dylan found himself seated at Barb and Randall Bartholomew’s kitchen table, enjoying a dinner of warmed-up barbecued back ribs, parsley potatoes and green beans. Shaye was daintily cutting meat off her ribs with a knife and fork while he just picked up a portion. Maybe he’d become less civilized in his travels, not in tune with the needs of humans but rather in tune with the animals he photographed.
“We’re ready for bed, Mommy,” came a childish girl’s voice from the upstairs of the old Victorian house. Dylan had met Barb and Randall’s kids briefly when he’d come in. They were six and seven, and as soon as they’d found out he photographed animals, they’d been full of questions until Randall had shooed them off to get ready for bed.
“I’ll be up in a minute,” Barb called.
“I’ll go with you.” Randall pointed to the chocolate-chip brownies sitting on a dish on the counter. “Help yourselves,” he said with a wink as he and Barb left the kitchen and went to put their kids to bed.
Left alone with Shaye, uncomfortable silence fell between them. “They’re nice people,” Dylan commented.
“My brother used to be a real bug when we were growing up. He pushed the limits as far as he could to see if I could handle him or if I had to bring Dad in on it. But he’s mellowing with age.”
“Or maybe you are,” Dylan responded, recognizing changes in himself…in his way of thinking as he’d gotten older.
She gave a little laugh. “I guess that’s true.”
After Dylan finished his potatoes, he kept the conversation rolling, not only to fill the silence but because
