She reminded herself he was a doctor, but the reminder didn’t help. He simply didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a doctor. She would never choose a doctor so young and handsome, let him poke and prod her with her wearing only a skimpy gown.
Grimacing, she hobbled to the door and opened it.
He was standing at the window watching the snow and probably wishing he hadn’t gone out and found her. Yet when he turned to look at her, his face registered what seemed to be genuine concern as he walked over to her.
“Are you feeling better?” Sean asked, noticing the bruised look about her huge blue eyes. The right eye was definitely turning black.
Involuntarily, her face flushed. “Yes. I’m so sorry. I never get sick like that, but…”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, slipping a supportive arm around her before she lost her balance. “Shock does that to people. How’s your shoulder?”
“Sore,” she answered, allowing him to help her back to the couch where she sat down gratefully. She’d give anything if he’d go about his business and just let her lie here. A short nap and she was sure she’d feel all right again.
“Can I get you something to eat?”
The mere mention had her stomach churning. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” She hated this feeling of helplessness, of not being able to remember, of needing assistance. Her ankle was throbbing, but she wouldn’t let on. Doctor or not, the man would soon tire of her aches and pains, her complaints, if he hadn’t already.
Sean ignored her polite refusal of food. She needed something in her stomach if he was to give her a pain pill or she might get sick again. “I’d been about to warm some soup before I heard the crash and went out. I could make a sandwich. There’s tuna salad and…”
“Tuna? Oh, heavens!” Laura’s voice was agitated.
“What is it?” he asked. How could the mention of tuna upset her?
“Max, my cat. He was in the Bronco with me.”
Sean frowned. “Are you sure? I looked into the back seat and I didn’t see anything but a large handbag and an old blanket on the floor.”
“That’s Max’s blanket. He was probably hiding under it.” Panic colored her voice. “What if he’s hurt? Or if he got out? He’ll freeze to death in this storm.”
“I’ll go look.” Reluctant resignation tinged every word. A cat. She would have a cat.
“I…I hate to ask you, but he’s ten years old. He’s not used to fending for himself and…”
“Don’t worry.” Sean was already pulling on his boots. “If he’s out there, I’ll find him.” Macho man, taking on the world. Was he nuts, making such a promise? He shouldered into his jacket. “You’re absolutely certain he was in the Bronco with you?” After all, her memory was spotty at best.
“Yes, positively.” She remembered grabbing her purse and scooping Max into her arms, then hurrying to the Bronco, her need to get away uppermost in her mind. She’d been afraid of…of what? Damn, why couldn’t she remember the rest? “You’re awfully nice to go back out there.”
That he was, a truly nice guy. Wordlessly, Sean zipped up and went out. He didn’t even like cats. Dogs were more his thing. One day, he’d get a dog, when he could be home more. He didn’t feel it was fair to coop up an animal all day, not with the hours Sean worked. Head bent against the wind and blowing snow, he made his way toward the incline.
From the couch, Laura twisted about, gazing out the window across the room. The snowflakes were so thick she could scarcely make out anything. She couldn’t blame Sean for being annoyed at going back out in that. But they couldn’t let Max die, which he surely would if he wasn’t found soon.
With no small effort, she shifted painfully until she was lying down on the couch, then pulled the afghan over herself. She ached so much she couldn’t even define where it hurt most. To distract herself, Laura gazed around the room.
It was big with large, comfortable furniture, the couch she was on and two deep chairs facing the bricked hearth and the crackling fire. For the first time, she noticed a framed drawing hanging above the fieldstone fireplace. Laura’s studio in Scottsdale was next to an art gallery, and she recognized that this drawing had been done in pastel chalks.
A young boy no more than three years old was standing alongside a gnarled tree. His hair was blond and his smile mischievous. From one small hand dangled a bedraggled brown bunny with one ear missing. An old-fashioned red wagon sat off to the side. She was no expert, but the picture was well done, seemingly drawn by someone who loved the boy. Laura wondered if the subject was Sean as a child.
Her gaze swept to the far left where a serviceable kitchen was set off by a counter with two high-backed stools and, off to the side, a maple table with four captain’s chairs. There were three closed doors off the kitchen, the middle one the bathroom she’d used, the other two probably leading to bedrooms. A nice compact cabin, the walnut-paneled walls lending a cozy warmth. It lacked a woman’s touch, though, with no curtains on the windows, no photos on the end tables, no cloth on the sturdy oak table. The half dozen pillows on the couch were the only hint of softness.
Definitely a man’s retreat, Laura decided, struggling with a yawn. Leaning back, she spotted an easel facing away from her in front of an overstuffed bookcase off to the right. Was Sean the artist or perhaps someone who visited him? None of her business, she decided, closing her eyes.
What was keeping Sean?
Darkness had settled in, but the whiteness of the snow allowed Sean to see. The drifts were thigh high, however, which made the going very slow. And treacherous, he thought as he slid down the embankment and stopped just short of the almost buried Bronco.
Cursing under his breath, he scrambled to his feet, feeling cold, impatient and annoyed. He didn’t even want to think about what he’d do if Max wasn’t in the vehicle. If the animal had gotten out, his paw prints would have been covered over by now. The thought of tramping about in this storm looking for some old cat that could be anywhere didn’t thrill him.
With gloved hands, he scraped accumulated snow from the passenger door and managed to wedge it open again. Ducking inside, he knelt on the front seat and looked around. He picked up the large leather shoulder bag thinking Laura might need it. No luggage anywhere, but then she’d said she’d left in a hurry. On the floor he noticed a box of assorted tiles. On the back seat were material remnants and three large books of wallpaper samples. Sean remembered what she’d said about the blanket and gingerly picked up one end, whipping it to the side.
He heard a hissing sound, then a paw lashed out at him, the claws digging into his leather gloves. Yellow eyes peered up at him, looking unfriendly and combative. Max was shorthaired, yellow and beige, kind of skinny and obviously frightened. “Okay, shhh. You’re okay,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. The cat hissed again, louder.
“Look, Max, I’m a friend, honest.” Feeling foolish trying to pacify a stubborn cat in a tangled wreck of a vehicle in a raging snowstorm, Sean leaned forward and grabbed Max under his front legs, maneuvering him into a body hug, sharp claws pointed away from him. Pushing back, he ignored the cat’s protests as he backed out of the Bronco and shoved the door shut with his hip. The strap of Laura’s shoulder bag dangled from one arm.
Max
