she, Jilly thought, wasn’t supposed to ask what Guy was talking about. “Pick him up to go where?” she said. They’d reached the bottom of the stairs.
“It wouldn’t be wise to tell you,” Guy said. “If that changes, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I hate it when you treat me like a child.”
“I’m not treating you like a child.” He fought to keep his voice down. “I’m protecting you, dammit. That’s my job.” Surely Cyrus would back him up.
“Protecting me? Whatever may be happening around here, and we could be imagining the whole thing, whatever happens I’m part of it. So back off with the protection and include me in everything. You got that?”
Guy looked to Cyrus, who turned away and started up the stairs. “You’re right,” Guy said to Jilly. “There’s probably absolutely nothing to worry about. Pack up your imagination, stop jumpin’ at your own shadow and get on with your life.”
“You condescending son of a bitch,” Jilly said, and enjoyed it. She left him and ran to catch up with Cyrus.
Guy closed the space between them and whispered, “Sorry for that.” This would be a bad moment to turn Jilly against him, not that there would ever be a good moment.
She led the way from the top of the stairs, to the right along a corridor. Guy noted there was a second corridor to the left. When she reached closed double doors, she tapped, turned the handle and peeked inside.
In she went, leaving the door open.
Cyrus and Guy followed her with Guy expecting to be thrown out at once.
“Jilly, darlin’,” a woman in the bed said, smiling wanly. “Come close so I can see you.” Frosted streaks probably covered gray in her long, thick hair. Just as Preston had said, she was beautiful with Jilly’s exotic air of mystery.
Jilly went to her and kissed her cheek. She smoothed mussed hair away from Edith Preston’s pure white face. “What’s happened?” she whispered.
The Pratts stood on the other side of the bed and Mr. Preston sat in an overstuffed gray chair, watching and chewing the skin around his nails. His face remained immobile, but his eyes shot fury at the group around the bed, then at Cyrus and Guy.
Guy could hear voices in a room that opened off the bedroom and presumed the medical personnel were gathered there. One male nurse remained nearby checking monitors and drips.
“Edith,” Jilly said, “this is my best friend, Guy Gautreaux. He drove me over and I’d like you to meet him.”
“This isn’t the time,” Preston snapped.
“Hello, Guy,” Edith said with what could only be described as a knowing smile. “Come closer and let me see you.”
Jumping to conclusions (he didn’t think he’d ever mention jumping the gun again) seemed to be a family problem. The lady had decided Guy and Jilly were an item, he could see it in her eyes.
Who knew? They might be heading in that direction—if they hadn’t actually arrived without knowing it.
He held the dry hand Edith offered and looked into a face that could only belong to someone closely related to Jilly. This was how Jilly would look in her late forties—and very beautiful she would be. He hoped life would be kinder to Jilly so she wouldn’t carry the fine lines of worry Edith had, or the darkness beneath her eyes that he thought would be there even if she hadn’t lost blood. She was too thin, although from what he could see of her beneath the covers, Edith remained very feminine.
“How do you do, Guy,” Edith said in a whisper. Her hand felt like a small bird in his own. She smiled up at him. “No wonder she’s fallen in love with you. You’ll be able to make sure she’s happy and no one spoils her life. I’m glad.”
He didn’t dare look at Jilly, but he felt squeezed inside. If he could, he’d do those things for Jilly. “How are you feeling?” he asked Edith. Regardless of what he thought of her, he felt sympathy for the frail woman.
Jilly felt so tense she ached. Guy’s jaw worked and she felt a strong connection between them.
Cyrus came to stand beside him. “Hello, Mrs. Preston,” he said. “Are you feeling better?”
“I’m not sure,” she told him.
Ken moved forward. He placed his bouquet on the foot of the bed and the nurse promptly removed it. Next Ken took Edith’s other hand, even though a taped-down catheter remained in a vein. He closed his eyes and grew quite still.
“Jilly’s the only one who should be here,” Preston said suddenly, getting to his feet.
“Hush,” Edith said, but she smiled at her husband. “This is good for me. They’re life and I need that. I don’t want to die.”
Instantly, heavy silence fell.
Ken’s eyes remained shut. “Bring me the tonic,” he murmured. He looked at Edith. “I made it myself and it will help you grow stronger.”
“Look here. I’ll get one of the docs,” the nurse said.
“You will not, thank you,” Edith told him. “These are friends of mine and I absolutely trust them.”
From the bag, Jolene removed a round plastic bowl with a lid, which she took off. She gave the bowl and a spoon to Ken, who stirred a thick brown mixture inside. “Just soup,” he said. “Made from good, natural foods.”
Laura joined them and once again Edith smiled. “This is my other daughter, Laura.” Then she let Ken feed her the soup. At first she swallowed tiny amounts, but gradually she speeded up, taking spoonful after spoonful until it was all gone. “So good,” she said. “Thank you.”
Ken gave the empty bowl and the spoon to Jolene, then placed his hands on Edith’s head.
He had to be wrong, but Guy could swear the faintest blush of color entered Edith’s cheeks.
“Mumbo jumbo,” Preston said. “If my wife gets sicker, you two will wind up in jail.”
“Hush, Sam,” Edith said. “Ken and Jolene wouldn’t hurt me.”
“She should rest now,” the nurse said.
“I’m going to sit with you, Edith,” Laura said. “Jilly has to get a ride back with Guy. She’s got to open her shop in the morning—and help with the baking, I should imagine.”
“Of course,” Edith said. “I love the shop. Pink door and all.” She smiled and looked younger.
“Did you try Jilly’s marzipan tarts?” Cyrus said. He kissed the tips of his fingers. “My mouth waters just thinkin’ about them.”
“Marzipan is my favorite,” Edith said. “You’d better get some rest, Jilly.”
“I’m not in a hurry,” Jilly said.
Ken began chafing Edith’s arms. First
