The Only Man Read online

  “How is he?”

  “He does have a name, Grandpa.”

  “Okay. How is Jeremy?”

  “He’s going to live.” Smiling, she pulled over a rattan chair, facing her grandfather.

  Gus returned her smile. The gesture took years off his face. “That’s good.”

  “Is it, Grandpa?”

  His smile vanished. “I’ve always liked Jeremy.”

  “You liked him, but not for me.”

  “I was trying to protect you, Tricia.”

  “Protect me from what or whom?” she asked, leaning forward on the cushioned seat.

  “I just didn’t want you to end up like your mother.”

  Gus had attempted to protect Tricia, but she did end up like her mother. She’d gotten pregnant and had become a teenage mother. But unlike Patricia, she had not abandoned her baby.

  “She could’ve aborted me, but she didn’t.”

  “I’m thankful she didn’t, because who else would I have in my old age.”

  “You’re not old, Grandpa.”

  Gus sucked his teeth. “I’m old and you know it. And what bothers me is that I’ve become an old fool. If I hadn’t interfered with you and Jeremy, I know the two of you would’ve married years ago. And there’s no doubt I would’ve had at least two or three great-grandchildren by now.”

  Tricia stared at the climbing roses on the trellis attached to the side of the house. The roses had been her grandmother’s pride and joy. “What’s done is done.”

  Gus stared at his granddaughter’s solemn expression. “You still love him, don’t you?”

  Turning her head, she looked directly at him. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Because I need you to tell me the truth, Tricia. When you called your grandmamma and me to tell us you were marrying that lawyer fellow neither of us could believe it because you never mentioned his name whenever you called us. And when we came up to New York to meet him, the first thing Olga said to me was that you didn’t love him. That’s why we never told anyone at the farm that you’d married. Olga knew it wasn’t going to last. But what hurt most was that a stranger had to tell us that you’d had our great-granddaughter.”

  “I told you why I did not want to tell you. At that point in my life I wasn’t equipped to listen to you preach about how I’d become my mother. What you failed and still fail to see is that I am who I am. I may look like my mother, but that’s where the similarity ends. Yes, I had a baby, but I did not desert my daughter.

  “Even though I was a full-time student, I got a job, saved my money, passed all my courses and made arrangements for child care before Juliet was born. I managed to hold everything together until the accident. Then, I didn’t care whether I lived or died. I’d lost my baby, and then Grandmamma died two years later. I carried a lot of guilt, Grandpa, because I kept telling myself that if I’d come back to the farm when I realized I was pregnant, my baby wouldn’t have died.”

  Leaning back on the rocker, Gus sighed. “But you didn’t come back, because you didn’t want to hear me say ‘I told you so.”’

  “That wasn’t the only thing, Grandpa. I wanted to see if I could make it on my own,” she half lied. What she had not wanted to do was use her child as a pawn to get Jeremy to come back to her.

  Gus shook his head. “Olga, God rest her soul, always told me that I was better with horses than human beings.”

  Tricia smiled. “That’s because horses don’t talk back.”

  “Amen, grandbaby girl.” He waved a gnarled hand. “Don’t you think it’s time you get back to your young man?”

  “He’s my patient, Grandpa, not my young man.” She stood up. “Did you eat lunch?” Even though her grandfather had retired at seventy-five he continued to live on the horse farm and rent the bungalow. The cost of meals was included in his monthly rental.

  Gus patted his flat belly over a pair of well-washed denim overalls. “I ate a big breakfast.”

  Leaning over, she kissed his cheek. “Don’t forget to eat dinner.”

  “I won’t.” He waved his hand again. “Go on!”

  * * *

  Tricia drove the short distance back to Jeremy’s house. She was surprised to find Sheldon instead of Ryan sitting in the club chair. He stood up.

  “I told Ryan I’d sit with him until you got back.”

  “I’ll take over now.”

  “Ryan also told me that you haven’t eaten, so I’ll have your lunch delivered.”

  “Thank you.”

  Sheldon walked out, and Tricia sat down on the chair he’d vacated, watching the man she had fallen in love with so many years ago sleep.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jeremy woke up, his glazed gaze fixed on the ceiling. “Jump! Jump now, dammit!”

  Tricia sat up in a jerky motion like a marionette on a string, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She shot up from the chair and raced over to the bed. Jeremy’s right arm flailed wildly, his elbow striking her shoulder and knocking her backward. Recovering quickly, she lay over his chest, holding his arms at his sides.

  “Jeremy, Jeremy,” she said, crooning his name over and over. “It’s all right. You’re safe, darling.” The endearment had slipped out unbidden.

  He heard the voice, felt the comforting weight of a soft body and inhaled the familiar feminine fragrance that made him think of other times in his life when two motherless youngsters found comfort in each other’s embraces. The frightening images faded as quickly as they had come and Jeremy buried his face in the curly hair grazing his jaw.

  “Tricia?”

  “Go back to sleep.”

  “I…I…love…” His words trailed off.

  Tricia went completely still. Who was he talking about? Was there a woman who had captured Jeremy’s heart the way she’d done? He had come back to Blackstone Farms, but did he have a fiancée somewhere who awaited his return?

  Her fingertips massaged his temples in a circular motion. “It’s all right, Jeremy. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “You won’t leave me?”

  Tricia shook her head before she realized Jeremy couldn’t see her. Why did he sound so helpless, vulnerable? “No, Jeremy, I won’t leave you.”

  “Please, get into bed with me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not? You used to sleep with me.”

  “That was before and this is now. I’m your nurse and you’re my patient.”

  He gritted his teeth, slowly letting out his breath. He’d gripped her shoulder with his injured fingers. “Please stay with me until I go back to sleep.”

  Sleeping with a patient was unprofessional and unethical. The difference in having Jeremy Blackstone as a patient was that at one time she had slept with him.

  Easing out of his embrace, she lowered the railing and lay down on his right side. All the memories of her sharing a bed with him came rushing back as if it were yesterday instead of fourteen years before. She lay motionless as everything about her first lover enveloped her in a longing that she had forgotten.

  “Tricia?”

  She smiled. Why did he always make her name sound like a caress? “Yes, Jeremy.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was the second time he’d thanked her. “You’re welcome.”

  Waiting until she heard the soft snores indicating Jeremy had gone back to sleep, Tricia slipped off the bed. It’s not going to work. The five words slapped at her. How was she going to share a bedroom, touch her first lover’s body and not lose it? She’d had fourteen years to tell herself that she hated Jeremy for deserting her, but just coming face-to-face with him had made a liar of her.

  She’d done the very thing her grandfather had warned her against. She had given Jeremy her heart, her innocence and her love, for eternity.

  Making her way over to the daybed, she lay down, resting her head on folded arms. Now she knew why Sheldon wanted a private-duty nurse for Jeremy. They did not want him alone during his flashback episodes
. The expression on his face had been one of pure terror, and again she wondered if he had been held prisoner or tortured during his captivity.

  The attending doctor at the military hospital had written referrals for Jeremy to see an orthopedist and a psychiatrist, and there was no doubt his body would heal before his mind did.

  She remembered what Sheldon had said about Jeremy responding positively to treatment if he was in familiar surroundings. A knowing smile crinkled her eyes. She and Jeremy could not turn back the clock, but she could attempt to recapture some of the magic from their childhood.

  * * *

  Jeremy woke up for the first time, since he’d regained consciousness in the Washington, D.C., hospital, without the blinding pain in his head. He’d lost track of time but knew he was home when he heard the soothing strains of violins playing Mozart’s “Serenade in G Major.” It had been a long time since he’d heard that selection.

  Lifting his head off the pillows cradling his shoulders, he sniffed the air and smiled. He could smell brewing coffee. What he’d liked most about his South American missions had been the coffee. Colombian and Brazilian coffees were some of the best blends in the world. However, he couldn’t lie in bed savoring the smell of coffee or listening to music, because he had to use the bathroom. There was one problem: he couldn’t get out of the bed without help.

  “Hello,” he called out.

  Seconds later Tricia appeared. She looked different from before. She’d exchanged her blouse and slacks for a sunny-yellow sundress with a squared neckline that skimmed her lush body. Other than her short hair, it had been the changes to her body that had caught his immediate attention. When he’d left Tricia, her body hadn’t claimed the womanly curves she now flaunted shamelessly. The pressure in the lower portion of his body increased, and Jeremy knew it had nothing to do with his need to relieve himself.

  “Hi.”

  She flashed a shy smile, her expression reminiscent of one she’d offered him what now seemed so long ago. “Good morning, Jeremy.” She looked at her watch. “It’s six-twenty.”

  He scratched his cheek with his right hand at the same time his stomach grumbled. He had been asleep for more than fifteen hours. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  Nodding, Tricia picked up a pair of crutches. She moved over to the bed, lowered a side rail and handed him the crutches. He took them with his uninjured hand while she gently swung his legs over the side of the mattress.

  “Put your left arm around my neck and pull yourself up with your right hand, using the crutches for support.”

  He completed the task without difficulty, but had to anchor the thumb and forefinger of his left hand over the rubber-covered handgrip. It would be some time before he’d be able to make a fist with that hand.

  “Steady, hotshot,” Tricia cautioned softly.

  Jeremy took several halting steps before he regained his balance. “I’ve got it.”

  She looked up at him, her dark gaze fusing with his. “Do you need me to help you?”

  His gaze grew wider as he took in everything about her in one sweeping glance. They had lost so much. It had taken them a long time to reunite, but now they were different people. It was as if they’d become polite strangers.

  “No, thank you. I believe I have everything under control.”

  Lowering her gaze, she nodded. “Call me when you’re finished.” He nodded and hobbled slowly to the bathroom.

  * * *

  Tricia stripped the bed and remade it with clean linens while she waited for Jeremy to call her. She’d gotten up earlier that morning and had taken a tour of his home. It was an exact replica of the one where he’d grown up, except on a smaller scale. The three-bedroom house was constructed with enough room for a family of four to live comfortably without bumping into one another. She’d stood in the middle of the master bedroom suite, wondering if she had come back once her pregnancy was confirmed whether she would have slept beside Jeremy in the king-size wrought-iron bed or sat in the sitting room nursing their daughter.

  She’d dismissed those thoughts as soon as they’d entered her head because she could not afford to think of what would’ve been. And the reality of the present was that she would give Jeremy the next four weeks of her life. No more than that.

  The last disc on the CD player ended, filling the space with silence. She glanced at her watch. Jeremy had been in the bathroom for more than a quarter of an hour.

  Tricia made her way to the bathroom and knocked on the door. “Jeremy?”

  “Come in.” His voice was muffled.

  She pushed open the door and found him sitting on a stool in front of a generous serpentine-marble washbasin, peering into a marble-rimmed oval mirror anchored to a length of wall mirrors. The mirrors made the space appear twice its size. His jaw was covered with shaving cream as he attempted to shave himself with his right hand. The day before he hadn’t wanted to get out of bed, and now he was attempting to groom himself.

  Closing the distance between them, she took the razor from his grasp. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Jeremy’s head came up, and he saw the frown marring Tricia’s smooth forehead. “I wanted to see if I could shave myself. I did manage to brush my teeth.”

  “Brushing your teeth is safer than shaving. What if you’d cut yourself?”

  He lifted a thick, curving black eyebrow. “If I cut my throat, then that would let you off the hook.”

  Her frown deepened. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’d bleed to death, then you wouldn’t have to take care of me.”

  Her fingers tightened on the handle of razor. “Did I say I didn’t want to take care of you?”

  “I know you don’t want to be here with me. You’re only doing it because my father asked you.”

  Tricia crossed her arms under her breasts. “Let’s clear the air about something. I’m here because you’re my patient, so don’t read more into our association than that.”

  He angled his head, studying her gaze for a hint of guile. “Okay, Tricia, if that’s what you want.”

  “It is,” she said quickly.

  Shifting, she stood directly in front of him. Cradling his chin in her hand, she lifted his face. Dots of blood showed through the layer of cream. “You’ve already cut yourself.” Turning on the hot water faucet, she rinsed the blade, then began scraping away the wiry black whiskers. His face was leaner, cheekbones more pronounced. He’d lost weight.

  Jeremy was hard-pressed not to laugh. Tricia’s breasts were level with his gaze. Mesmerized, he watched the gentle swell of dark brown flesh rise and fall above the revealing décolletage.

  “Did you bring any uniforms with you?”

  Her hand halted under his chin. “No. Why?”

  A knowing smile crinkled the network of lines around his eyes—lines that were the result of squinting in the tropical sun. “I’m getting quite an eyeful of certain part of your anatomy with you in that dress.”

  Her gaze lowered as heat suffused her cheeks. She moved the blade closer to his brown throat. “Don’t you know it’s risky to mess with a woman who’s holding a sharp razor at your throat?”

  His eyes darkened until they appeared as black as his pupils. “No more risky than my falling in love with you fourteen years ago.”

  Her hand trembled slightly. “No, Jeremy,” she whispered.

  Vertical lines appeared between his eyes. “No! No what?”

  “Let’s not talk about the past.”

  Reaching up, he wrested the razor from her fingers. “Yes, Tricia, let’s talk about it. Let’s clear the air so we can move on.”

  She flinched at the tone of his voice. “I’ve moved on.”

  “Well, I haven’t.”

  “Whose problem is that?”

  “It’s our problem, Tricia.” His voice was noticeably softer. “Every time I came back I’d ask your grandfather how you were doing, and he always had a pat answer. ‘Tricia’s doing well,’ or ‘she loves living
in New York.’ You loved New York so well that you moved to Baltimore?”

  She nodded. “I moved to Baltimore after my divorce.”

  He went completely still. Her grandfather never mentioned her marrying. His chest rose and fell as his pulse raced uncontrollably. “You were married?”

  “Yes.”

  Jeremy sucked in a lungful of breath, held it as long as he could before letting it out, feeling himself relaxing, albeit slowly. When he’d least expected it, memories of what they’d shared crept under the barrier he’d erected to keep other women out of his life and his bed. Each nameless face had become Tricia’s. Their voices her voice. After a while he gave up altogether and succumbed to prolonged periods of celibacy.

  “How long were you married?”

  Tricia retrieved the razor and resumed the task of scraping away the coarse black whiskers from his chin and jaw. “Not long.” Her voice was as neutral as her touch.

  “How long is not long?”

  Smoothly they’d slipped back into the comfortable familiarity of confiding in each other, because they’d been friends longer than they’d been lovers.

  “It was over before we celebrated our first anniversary.”

  “What happened?”

  “We were not compatible.”

  “Didn’t you know that before you married him?” She nodded. “Why did you marry him, anyway?”

  “I was very vulnerable at the time.”

  “Which meant he took advantage of you.”

  She shook her head. “No, Jeremy, he did not take advantage of me. I knew what I was doing. It was a period in my life when I did not want to be alone.” She put the razor in the basin.

  Reaching for a damp towel on the nearby counter-top, Jeremy wiped away dots of shaving cream. “Why didn’t you come back to live with your grandfather if you didn’t want to be alone?”

  Tricia took the towel from his loose grip and dabbed at the nicks. “I couldn’t come back—at least not to stay.”

  He curved his right arm around her waist, pulling her closer. For several moments they fed on each other, offering strength and comfort. Resting her chin on the top of his head, Tricia closed her eyes. It was so easy to slip back in time—a time when they could talk about any and everything, a time when they weren’t afraid to tell the other their most heartfelt secrets and a time when they were young, fearless and hopelessly in love with life and each other.