“The town seems nice enough.”
“We like to think we’re a friendly sort. Can I prove that by asking if you’d like to come over for dinner? I’m sure you’re getting tired of restaurant food. I have my grandmother’s recipe for fried chicken, and I make a mean berry pie.”
Long-term relationships were out of the question. Not only was he always moving from place to place, but he didn’t see the point. He wasn’t the sort of man who did forever. Still, when a woman indicated she was intrigued, he paid attention.
A companion for dinner and someone in his bed every now and then was all he wanted. All he required. Under other circumstances, he would accept Nora’s invitation to dinner. But he couldn’t.
Despite her easy smile and the hint there was more on the menu than dinner, he couldn’t say yes. When he looked at her all he saw was a woman who wasn’t Montana. Short hair instead of long. Blue eyes instead of brown. Until today he had considered women interchangeable. He might like one more than the other, but the difference wasn’t measurable or important.
“Thank you,” he said. “But I’m going to have to decline.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really?” She hesitated for a second. “Are you sure?”
Simon stood. “Very.”
Perhaps he should have said more. Offered some kind of explanation. But what was there to say? That he was obsessed with another woman? One he barely knew?
He stepped into the hallway and was relieved to see Kalinda’s mother walking toward him.
“She’s sleeping,” Fay said. “She’s resting more comfortably. That’s good, right?”
“She’s healing.” Simon hoped Fay wouldn’t notice he hadn’t answered the question. At this point in Kalinda’s recovery, staying alive was good. Everything else was negotiable. Kalinda could turn with no notice, no warning. That was the hell of what he did—there was never a sure thing. Alistair always said they did their best and that was enough. Simon didn’t agree.
“That little dog helped,” Fay continued. “Cece. Montana said she would bring her back whenever we wanted. Is it all right if I call her?”
Simon rarely had to choose between what he wanted and what a patient needed. Not that there was a choice. Kalinda would come first. “Of course,” he said with an ease he didn’t feel. “As long as your daughter is holding her own, the dog can visit. Whatever we can do to help her.”
Fay squeezed his arm. “Thank you,” she breathed. “I’ll call Montana right now.”
He watched her hurry away, already pulling her cell phone from her jeans pocket. In a few seconds she would hear Montana’s voice. Simon knew things were bad when he felt jealous of that.
He had to get a grip. He barely knew the woman. Maybe he needed vitamins.
Before he got any further in his self-diagnosis, one of the nurses came running toward him.
“We just got a call about an accident,” she said urgently. “A boy. He’s twelve. Fireworks. That’s all I know.”
Simon ran to the stairs and started down. The other woman was still talking but he wasn’t listening and soon he was out of earshot. His mind cleared.
He’d seen the damage fireworks could do to the human body. A familiar, cold rage returned. Other people might enjoy the Fourth of July, but he loathed the holiday. Parents who let children play with fireworks should all be shot. Or set on fire themselves.
He let himself experience the anger until he stepped out of the stairwell and onto the ground floor. As he ran toward the emergency room, he let all the feelings go. He allowed himself only concern and the knowledge he would do everything in his power to fix what had been broken.
“I KNOW WE’RE SUPPOSED to eat outside,” Montana’s mother said. “It’s tradition and all. But I feel like I’ve paid my dues. We ate in the backyard all the time when you were little. I dealt with the bugs and ants enough to last a lifetime. Besides, we’re all grown-ups.”
Montana did her best to keep her mother from seeing her amusement. They went through this every summer. For a woman who loved to garden, Denise was oddly reluctant to eat outdoors. Snacks were fine, but something about a meal eaten on the grass made her mother crazy.
“We’re not all adults,” she said just to tease. “Reese is only ten and Tyler just turned eleven. I won’t even mention Melissa, Abby and Hannah.”
Her mother sighed. “So you’re saying that if I was a good grandmother, I’d serve dinner outside?”
Montana laughed, then walked over to her mother and hugged her. “You’re an excellent grandmother. Nobody cares if we eat inside or outside. We’ll go out later.”