enough, Naomi’s intuition had come true. Scarlett had grown up beautiful, but too wild to tame. As she’d entered her teenage years she’d been reckless and defiant and from there her life had quickly gone downhill. By the time she was nineteen, she’d spent a short time in jail and eventually bore a son out of wedlock.
The responsibility of a child had been overwhelming to Scarlett and as quickly as she’d given birth, she’d handed the infant over to her parents and left the reservation and New Mexico behind. Four years later, they’d received word that she’d died in an alcohol-related car crash, making Naomi’s premonition come true. She’d lost a daughter, but a baby boy had come into her life.
“Bridget, is something wrong?”
Naomi’s weakly spoken question interrupted Bridget’s deep thoughts, and with a barely discernible sigh, she looked at the woman and smiled. “No. Everything is okay, Naomi. Why do you ask?”
“The sad look on your face. Maybe you don’t think I’ll get well.”
With a firm shake of her head, Bridget placed Naomi’s hand carefully back on the bedcover, then patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry I looked sad. I was just—thinking. About all the things I have to do today. That’s all. I promise you’re going to get well.” She stabbed the old woman with a pointed look. “You do want to get well, don’t you?”
Naomi grimaced. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Bridget studied her closely. “I don’t know. Some people get lazy when they get older. They get too lazy to fight for anything. I don’t want you to fall into that category.”
The old woman tried to snort, but only managed to make herself cough. When she eventually regained her breath, she said, “I’ve fought for some things. And I won’t stop now.”
“Good,” Bridget replied. “See that you don’t.”
After regulating the IV drip, Bridget gave Naomi several oral medications, then urged her patient to go to sleep.
Once the woman had closed her eyes, Bridget moved a few steps away from the bed to where Charlie sat in the same straight-back chair with a twine woven seat. The man looked tired and uncomfortable, but Bridget chose not to tell him so. He didn’t need a woman, not even a third of his age, telling him what to do and when to do it.
“Your wife should sleep now, Mr. Chino. And let’s pray the medicines will do the trick.”
“I pray all the time,” he said.
Bridget didn’t doubt his simply stated fact. The Chinos had always been spiritual people, including Johnny. At least, that’s the way it had been five years ago. Whether he’d held on to his faith, she didn’t know. Through snippets of information from Brady, she knew that Johnny’d more or less turned into a recluse and had turned his back on a job that had, at one time, garnered him fame and the reputation of being one of the best trackers in the West.
She was glancing toward the slow dripping IV, trying to mentally calculate when it might be finished, when she heard stirrings in the front part of the house. The sound of Johnny’s arrival set her heart to pounding and after only a split second of indecision, she decided to go meet him.
By the time she reached the kitchen, he was there easing a paper sack full of groceries onto the countertop. The moment he caught the sound of her footsteps, his head turned in her direction and for a moment they simply stared at each other. Or that’s what it felt like to Bridget. Maybe she was the one doing all the staring as she took in his black, black hair, broad shoulders and long lean legs encased in worn denim.
“Good morning,” she greeted him.
“Good morning,” he replied.
Forcing herself to breathe, she moved over to where he was standing and watched as he pulled out a jug of orange juice, several sports drinks, cans of condensed soup and a loaf of bread.
“You should have told me you needed those things,” she said. “I could have brought them with me this morning.”
“It isn’t your place to bring food.”
She was an outsider and he wasn’t about to let her into his world. After all this time, the notion shouldn’t hurt her. But it did.
“God forbid that you should accept anything from me,” she muttered with exasperation.
He slanted a sharp glance at her and she let out a weary sigh. “Sorry. I’ve not had breakfast this morning. I’m feeling a bit testy.”
“How is Grandmother?” he asked abruptly.
“Since her condition hasn’t worsened, I’ll say she’s holding her own. Which is a good thing, considering. I’ve started her IV drip and given her a few other medications. The drip should take a couple of hours. I’ll stay until it’s completed.”
His jaw tightened slightly and she knew he wasn’t happy about her being here, especially for such a lengthy period of time. But he also seemed to realize there was nothing either of them could do about it.
Turning his attention back to the groceries, he said, “Sit at the table and I’ll fix you something to eat.”
She didn’t want him to cook for her. She didn’t want him to do anything for her. No! That wasn’t true. She wanted him to do everything for her. Especially take her into his arms and tell her how much he loved her, wanted her, needed her. But since that was never going to happen, she might as well settle for a simple breakfast.
“All right.”
While he was putting away the groceries and gathering the things for her meal, Bridget tried to relax and rest. God only knew how exhausted she was, but being in Johnny’s presence made unwinding her coiled nerves impossible. In spite of her orders to look at the walls, the floor, the cabinets, her gaze insisted on fixing itself to him. With his back to her, it made it doubly easy for her to stare and measure the faint changes she could see against the vivid memories she’d carried with her for all these years.
Time had only made him more of a man, she recognized. Hard muscle now bulked his shoulders, arms and legs, while his bronze features were honed to lean, tough perfection. She didn’t think Johnny had ever been aware of just how potent his looks were to women. And even if he had known it, he’d never been the type who’d use those looks for his advantage. There was nothing pretentious or frivolous about the man and she supposed that quiet deepness about him was the very thing that had drawn her to him. And had never let her go.
Before long, the coffee began to perk and the rich aroma blended with the scents of frying chorizo. Bridget’s stomach was growling with hunger and though she wanted to cross the room and help herself to a cup and the granite coffeepot, she waited patiently for him to serve her. To do anything else would offend him. And that was something she’d never wanted to do to Johnny Chino.
Eventually, he switched off the burner beneath the iron skillet and filled a plate with the food he’d prepared. Once he carried it and a cup of coffee over to the table and placed it on the table in front of her, he said, “It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing.”
“It’s more than enough,” she assured him. “Thank you.”
While he went after a cup of coffee
