A Time to Heal

Everyone in Buffalo Creek, Texas, knows that Dr. Brooks Leland doesn’t date. After his harrowing loss, the widower focuses all his time on helping the sick. But when a mysterious newcomer with a heartbreaking secret becomes his patient, Brooks is drawn to Eva Russell. Suddenly, the blonde spitfire he can’t bear to fall for is working in his medical practice, living at Chatam House and challenging everything he knows about love. Now even the town’s triplet matchmakers have hope that these two battered hearts are on the way to healing.

“You’d do that for me?” Eva asked incredulously.

She stared at him and continued, “You’d ask family friends to take me in?”

Brooks nodded. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve asked the Chatam sisters to take in a pa––er, person.”

“No? What other patients have you asked these sisters to take in?” she asked, grinning at him.

Brooks looked her straight in the eye. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

Eva grinned and swayed toward him, her long pale hair glimmering. He had to admit that he’d never seen a more exotic, graceful, breathtaking sight. He hoped that she would refuse so he could wash his hands of her.

She did not.

“Okay. I guess I can stand a little antebellum mansion. Just until I can figure out what to do next.”

He gulped, disappointed and strangely pleased. “Let’s go then.” He walked her to the car, without releasing her arm, and handed her down into it.

He was bringing his best friend’s aunties another foundling, and he hoped that she wasn’t going to break all their hearts.

ARLENE JAMES has been publishing steadily for nearly four decades and is a charter member of RWA. She is married to an acclaimed artist, and together they have traveled extensively. After growing up in Oklahoma, Arlene lived thirty-four years in Texas and now abides in beautiful northwest Arkansas, near two of the world’s three loveliest, smartest, most talented granddaughters. She is heavily involved in her family, church and community.

The Doctor’s

Perfect Match

Arlene James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction,

faithful in prayer.

—Romans 12:12

For Erica,

who has made my son so very happy

and his mom forever grateful.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Even in Buffalo Creek, Texas, with the bright sunshine streaming down and the utter absence of wind, January meant chill temperatures. Still, the willowy blonde had found a unique way to gather a crowd for her sales demonstration. Beneath the awning that she’d erected beside her minivan, she chattered and joked, flipping her long, straight butter-yellow hair, winking her big catlike eyes at her laughing onlookers, the colorful scarves draped about her person waving languidly. All the while she worked, she pressed bits of string and wood, gravel and broken glass into a damp clay disk, which she would presumably then bake in a small microwave oven at her elbow.

As tired as he was, Dr. Brooks Leland would have liked to have paused and joined in the fun, but he’d promised his best friend, Morgan, that he wouldn’t be late to dinner. For once. Besides, since the untimely death of his pretty blonde wife, he avoided women—especially blondes—like the plague. Oh, he would do it again, go through all the pain and the grief, just for those two short years with Brigitte. He would not, however, risk that kind of loss for anyone else, let alone stand in the cold just to watch a lovely woman try to sell unusual objects of art created on the spot.

Hurrying past the crowd, he crossed the parking lot to the entrance of the grocery store. Once inside, he picked up the multigrain bread requested by his hostess and, on impulse, grabbed a bouquet of flowers.

He’d given up trying to make his old buddy jealous. Not that he’d ever had any real interest in Lyla Simone anyway, but it had taken a mighty shove to make the confirmed bachelor professor tumble into love with his comely graduate student, and Brooks had been only too glad to deliver the blow. Once he’d fallen, Morgan Chatam had fallen hard. He was not a man to give his heart lightly, as Brooks understood all too well. It did Brooks’s heart good to see his old friend so happy after all these years, and for that reason alone he would take Lyla Simone flowers forever. The joy of having a goddaughter—Lyla and Morgan’s child—suddenly thrust into his life only gave him more cause. They’d named her Brigitte Kay, after Brooks’s late wife and one of Morgan’s aunts. She was an adorable little thing, happily and unabashedly spoiled, and in truth, she was the one thing Brooks envied his old friend.

Brooks made it through the checkout line, but before he could take his change, a teenaged male by the name of Jason Crowel burst inside, yelling for him.

“Doc Leland! Doc Leland! She fell down, and blood’s all over!”

Leaving everything behind, Brooks bolted for the door. He saw the crowd as soon as he hit the parking lot. Brooks sighed inwardly. It would be the blonde. Jason caught up to him, bouquet and grocery bag clutched in his hands. The sides of Brooks’s overcoat flapped like wings as he sprinted across the pavement. Digging into the pockets of his dark slacks, he found his car keys and plucked them out as he drew near the van, Jason at his heels. He set off the car alarm so the young man knew which car to go to, then tossed the keys to Jason.

“Leave the groceries and flowers, grab the medical bag off the backseat.”

“Yessir.”

Elbowing his way into the crowd, Brooks asked, “What’s happened here?”

Several people began speaking at the same time.

“She started talking gibberish and just toppled over.”

“Hit her head on the pavement before anyone could catch her.”

“Splattered blood all over.”

The woman sat up, blinking at Brooks in confusion, blood streaking her pale hair. He checked her pulse, which was rapid and erratic, while speaking in a calm, reassuring tone.

“I’m Dr. Brooks Leland. You’ve taken a nasty blow to the head. Try not to move. Can you tell me your name?”

She lifted a hand toward her head. He caught it and gently pushed it down again, repeating his question.

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Tharestershestersaben,” she babbled.

Jason returned with the medical bag, and Brooks took out his penlight, instructing firmly, “If no one has already done so, please call an ambulance.”

He made a quick examination, determined that her pupils were unequally reactive and that she needed stitches in her scalp, at the very least. Moreover, she seemed painfully thin, despite a suspiciously shapely figure beneath a heavy black leotard and all those artfully draped scarves. After applying a compress to staunch the flow of blood from the laceration to her scalp, he glanced around him.

“Any idea who she is?”

Murmurs of denial went through the crowd before someone said, “License plate on the van is Missouri.”

Not a local girl, then, though even with Texas license plates, she might not be known. Texas was a big state, and the eight-million-strong Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex sprawled just thirty-five miles to the north of Buffalo Creek, which itself boasted some twenty thousand souls.

The ambulance arrived within five minutes, but in that time he managed to stop the bleeding from the scalp wound. His patient remained remarkably composed, though she said not a single coherent word. He suspected a stroke and feared that she might be bleeding inside her skull. He made a phone call.

“Morgan, I’m afraid I’m going to be late for dinner, after all.”

* * *

Eva recognized the tap-tap-tap of typing even before she opened her eyes. The room swam for a moment, refusing to come into focus and seeming much too bright. She automatically lifted a hand to shield her eyes, which ached with a ferocity that alarmed but also reassured her.

The light flickered out just as a pleasantly masculine voice said, “Welcome back. You’ve been sedated.”

She remembered all too well struggling to get up off the X-ray table and telling them over and over again that she categorically refused to have pictures made of her head, but of course they hadn’t understood a word she’d been saying. Still, the sedation had been a dirty trick. Reminding herself that they had merely been trying to help, she cleared her throat, swallowed and attempted to speak.

“That’s a relief.” The greater relief was that the words had come out clearly. Flush with success, she quipped, “For a minute I thought it was one of those deals where I’d had so much fun I’d forgotten.”

“Your speech has cleared. You experienced expressive aphasia. That’s a condition where—”

“My brain was speaking English, but my tongue was talking Martian. Yeah, I got that.”

“Is your head hurting?”

“On a scale of one to ten, if a plastic doll is a one and Marilyn Monroe in her prime is a ten, let’s go with Marilyn,” she gritted out, gingerly fingering the heavy bandage on the back of her head. At the same time, she realized that most of her clothes were gone, replaced by a hospital gown, though she still wore her leggings and socks. “So did I crack the bone?”

“Just your scalp, thankfully.”

“How many stitches did I wind up with?”

“About twenty.”

“Yowza. Did they have to shave my head?”

“We did,” he answered.

“But your hair’s so thick it will cover up the bald spot nicely,” said a reassuring female voice. At the same time, movement to Eva’s left drew her attention to a nurse adjusting the drip on a saline bag.

“That’s good,” she muttered. Wouldn’t want to leave an ugly corpse.

“You almost certainly have a concussion,” the doctor went on smoothly. “Your pupils are not equally reactive. I really did not want to have to sedate you.”

The nurse added, “You gave us no other option. Doctor hasn’t left your side since, though.”

Eva closed her eyes and carefully turned her head in his direction, gasping despite her best efforts to deny the pain. “It’s the ICP,” she murmured.

“Intracranial pressure,” he said. “Yes, that would be my guess. Are you a medical professional? You seem familiar with the terminology.”

“Worked as a transcriptionist.”

“I see. Well, I’ve already administered IV medication that will reduce the swelling,” he told her, “and now that you’re awake, I can give you something to help with the pain. Are you allergic to any drugs?”

“Nope. None I’ve ever tried, that is. Hey, that’s not a confession, by the way, just in case you’re a DEA agent in deep cover.”

She heard him chuckle as he tapped. Then he moved around, supposedly injecting something into the IV line as he spoke. “Not a DEA agent. Just a doctor. That should take effect soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

“I’ve ordered an EEG, and—”

“No,” she said.

“An EEG will tell us—”

“It won’t tell you anything of significance,” she said, forcing open her eyes.

After the first flash of pain, her vision cleared and the pounding inside her skull settled to a survivable throb. He was even more handsome than she remembered, ridiculously so. She tried to focus on the black slacks, white shirt and black tie worn beneath an immaculately white lab coat, but she couldn’t ignore the tall, fit, broad-shouldered man inside them.

Coal black hair brushed straight back from a high forehead with strokes of silver at the temples looked very distinguished on a square-jawed face. A perfect nose, wide, spare mouth that showed a decided tendency to smile and a healthy tan added up to the ideal masculine blend. The eyes were what did it, though. Tawny-gold to go with the silver streaks, they all but shouted, “Treasure! This man is a treasure!” They declared his intelligence and a depth of character that seemed out of place in a man well shy of fifty. She’d be surprised, in fact, if he was much past forty, despite the threads of sliver at his temples.

Regardless of those eyes and all they proclaimed, she frowned. She disliked handsome men on principle, especially those who knew they were handsome. And he knew it. As if challenging her to deny it, he grinned, displaying rascally dimples, a double set, twin grooves that slashed deeply into his cheeks on either side of his mouth and bracketed his even, white smile.

Turning away from the computer terminal mounted on the wall beside the bed, he pulled over a rolling stool with his foot and sat. He was a tall one; at least three inches over six feet, she judged. Being a tall woman—five feet nine-inches—she appreciated a tall man, especially one tall enough that she didn’t have to wear flats as a sop to his vanity. She liked heels, spike heels that showed off her long legs, not that it mattered anymore. Not much did.

“I introduced myself before,” he said, putting out a square-palmed, long-fingered hand, “but it may need repeating. Dr. Brooks Leland. I was in the grocery store when you collapsed.”

“Lucky me,” she said, shaking his hand.

“If you believe in luck,” he returned, inclining his head.

“You don’t?”

“No.”

She lifted an eyebrow, her hand still in his. “What, then? Fate?”

“No. And you still haven’t told me your name.”

The medication was beginning to work and work well, so she inched closer, as if prepared to confide in him. “Don’t you know that all the most attractive women are mysterious by nature?” she whispered. The nurse snorted and tried to cover it with a cough.

He bent closer still and said, “The most attractive women eat healthy diets. When was the last time you ate?”

As if to remind her that it had been far too long, her stomach rumbled loudly. She hid her embarrassment behind a sultry smile and a smoky tone of voice. “Complaining about my figure, Doc?” she asked, squeezing his hand.

He let go of her, sat back and said to the nurse, “Bring her a full meal tray, please. Right away.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

The nurse swept instantly from the room, his word apparently being law.

The door hadn’t bumped closed before he leaned his elbows on the bed rail, looked down at Eva and bluntly stated, “The breast implants do not hide the fact that you are much too thin. I don’t see signs of bulimia or anorexia, so I have to conclude that you simply haven’t been able to eat regularly. Now, I ask you again, when was the last time you ate?”

She sighed and looked at the peaks of her toes beneath the blanket. “It’s been a day or two.” She could feel his unrelenting gaze boring into her. “Okay, it was day before yesterday.”

“Because?”

“Duh. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get good caviar?” she cracked sarcastically. When he didn’t laugh, she added, “I’m broke, all right?”

Her money had been running short even before the van had broken down. Thankfully, they’d gassed it after making the repairs in Lancaster. Considering what they’d charged her, they should have done that and more. She’d be out of here shortly, though where she’d go she had no idea. The old jalopy ought to have enough juice to get her to Waco, though.

“That explains the art show in January,” the doctor muttered.

A male technician pushed a cart into the room just then, announcing, “EEG.”

“I’ve already told you, no EEG,” Eva insisted.

“Why not?” Dr. Leland wanted to know. “The machine’s already here. Doesn’t take long. You can be done before your dinner arrives.”

“What part of broke don’t you get?” she demanded, rolling her eyes at him. “I can’t afford it. Okay? Besides, it’s not going to tell you diddly. Anyone who knows me can attest that my brain function has never been normal. Trust me.”

“And where would I find these people who can attest to your abnormal brain function?” he asked lightly.

She opened her mouth to tell him, realizing only at the last moment what she’d be giving away. “Ah, ah, ah,” she scolded, wagging a finger. “I hate to stiff you, Doc. I really do. But a billing address won’t do you a bit of good. You can’t get blood out of a turnip, as the saying goes. Besides, I didn’t ask to be brought here.”

He just smiled. “You weren’t in any condition to ask, and this hospital takes all patients, regardless of their ability to pay.”

“Oh. Cool. Well, I’m on my way out of here as soon as I eat and change, anyway. I appreciate the tailoring.” She waved a hand at the bandage. “But I’ve got places to go, Doc, things to do.”

He held up his hands, waved away the technician and said, “I’ll cancel the order.”

The tech shrugged and wheeled the cart out of the room.

“You are a very stubborn young lady,” he said, getting up and going back to the computer.

“Thank you!” she chirped, grinning. “I haven’t been called a young lady in ages.”

He chuckled. “Just how old are you anyway?”

She didn’t see any reason not to tell him. “Thirty-four.”

“You look younger.”

“Sweet. How old are you?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Forty-four.”

That, she decided, worked perfectly. “You look forty-four.”

He laughed. “Thanks. I think.”

“What’s wrong with looking forty-four if you are forty-four?” she asked. “Especially if you’re a gorgeous forty-four.”

There was something freeing about losing the ability to filter what you said, freeing and frightening. Dr. Leland cleared his throat and said nothing, just pecked away at the computer keyboard. He finished and went out. A few minutes later, her meal arrived.

It consisted of a cold sandwich, a bag of chips, a banana, a cup of gelatin, a piece of carrot cake and a carton of milk. She chugged the milk and ate the cake, then went after the gelatin, saving the banana, chips and sandwich for later. Just a few minutes after pledging to save the banana for breakfast, though, she scarfed that down, too. She’d just laid aside the peel, feeling pleasantly stuffed, when Dr. Leland walked back into the room, accompanied by the nurse.

He glanced knowingly at the wrapped sandwich and chips cradled in her lap but said only, “I have some papers for you to sign.”

“Sure,” she agreed happily.

He produced the papers, a pen and a clipboard. She scrawled. He studied. After a moment, he lifted an eyebrow at her.

“Calamity Jane?”

She just shrugged, grinning. She should have known that if anyone could decipher her purposefully illegible penmanship, it would be a doctor.

“All right, Calamity, let’s have a look.”

The nurse turned on the overhead light. Eva smiled to let him know that the twinge of pain she felt was entirely manageable. While he listened to her heart, the nurse took a blood pressure cuff from a wire basket on the wall and wrapped it around Eva’s upper arm. Then she took Eva’s blood pressure while he checked her pupils. Next, he let down the side of the bed, took her by the wrist and had her sit up, swing her legs to the side and eventually stand. Finally he had her walk around. She felt perfectly steady on her feet, and while her head throbbed, it wasn’t fierce.

Holding up the sandwich and the bag of chips, she looked back over her shoulder at him and said, “Guess I shouldn’t skip quite so many meals, huh?”

He sent her an implacable look, saying nothing. Then he reached behind him and snagged a plastic bag from a chair against the wall.

Tossing the bag onto the foot of the bed, he said, “Get dressed. When you’re ready, I’ll drive you back to your vehicle.”

“Yea!” she exclaimed in a small, comical voice. “Or put another way...” She inclined her head regally, feeling just a twinge of pain. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I really must be going now.”

Shaking his head, he left the room again, opening the door for the nurse to leave ahead of him. Eva’s relief evaporated instantly. Sighing, she plopped down on the foot of the bed, with all that currently stood between her and starvation clutched to her chest. She looked at the cold wrapped sandwich in one hand and the bag of chips in the other then tossed them onto the pillow. What did it matter? What did any of it matter?

For a moment she entertained the notion of staying where she was and letting that too-handsome doctor tend her. But, no, she couldn’t do that. Eventually he’d figure out who she was and, if she couldn’t prevent it, how to contact those she’d left behind, which meant that Ricky would be put through the same horrific ordeal that she’d had to endure. That she could not allow.

Nope, better just to carry on to the bitter end. She’d heard there were some lovely spots in south Texas where she could winter. She’d get some money together, find a remote place where she could hide. With luck they wouldn’t find her until spring or even summer. By then Ricky would be well adjusted to her absence. Poor kid. He’d had some tough breaks, but this was the best of a bad lot of options that she could see. She hoped he could forgive her, but if not, so be it.

Shoving aside such maudlin thoughts, she got dressed. After pulling her black long-sleeved knit top over her head, she tied three shawls about her waist to make a skirt then draped a triangular scarf diagonally over one shoulder and knotted that at her waist. A second scarf went over the opposite shoulder, crisscrossing the other. She tied a third about her neck and tucked the point into the waistband of her leggings, letting the top drape loosely. Stacking up the final three colorful, silky shawls, she tossed them about her shoulders. They were amazingly warm, as generations of women throughout history well knew.

Her leather clogs were in the bottom of the bag with her cell phone. She dropped them to the floor and slipped her feet into them, adding over two inches to her height.

Taking the plastic bag, she dropped the sandwich and the chips into it. Then she helped herself to a pair of latex gloves and a small box of tissues on the counter before sitting down on the edge of the bed to wait. Barely had she parked herself before a knock sounded lightly, and the door cracked open.

“Are you decent?”

“Well, I’m dressed,” she drawled. “Beyond that I make no promises.”

Dr. Leland backed into the room, wearing a suit beneath a long overcoat and rolling a wheelchair behind him. “What are you, a stand-up comedienne?”

“If the shoe fits,” she retorted cheerfully, holding up one foot.

“Ha-ha.”

She eyed the wheelchair reluctantly. “Do I really need that?”

“Depends. Do you want to walk back to that grocery store parking lot or ride?”

Sighing melodramatically, she got up and plopped down in the wheelchair. “And you say I’m stubborn.”

“If the other shoe fits...”

“Well, we know you are no stand-up comedian,” she quipped.

He rolled her out of the room. As they moved through the area, Eva couldn’t help noticing that nurses rushed to open doors, move carts and just generally smooth the way, always flashing smiles and coy looks at the doctor. Eva could stand it just so long before waving her arms and singing at the top of her lungs, “Hel-lo! Patient coming through. Doctor Luscious is just half the parade.”

“Will you behave?” he growled. “Or can you not help yourself?”

“Why should I?”

Then again, why shouldn’t she? After all, what did she care if all the nurses in the hospital cast lures at the man? He was someone else’s problem. Poor woman. She probably didn’t have a moment’s peace. Of course there would be someone, probably several someones. A man as good-looking as he, and a doctor no less, could have his pick. He could even be married, though she had noticed no wedding ring—and hated that she had noticed. Apparently impending doom did not produce wisdom any more than did hard experience.

He wheeled her through a waiting room and then a pair of automatic glass doors onto a covered sidewalk. A luxury sedan sat waiting at the curb. A uniformed security guard, female, slid out from behind the steering wheel and walked around to take the chair after Eva vacated it. Leland opened the passenger door for Eva, kissed the security guard on the cheek, reducing the hefty woman to giggles, and rushed around the front of the car to the driver’s side, his overcoat flapping with the force of his strides.

Eva was buckling up when he dropped down behind the steering wheel. He followed suit, tossed a wave at the still-tittering security guard and put the car in gear. Eva shook her head.

“You have no shame, do you?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You kissed the security guard! It’s not enough the nurses are all in love with you? You must have the security guard, too?”

He rolled his eyes. “For your information, she’s family.”

Eva blinked at that. “Oh. Well, in my defense, everyone’s wrong sometimes.”

Starting the engine, he shook his head. “She’s my late wife’s cousin, actually, and she’s married. And she has two grown children. And her husband is disabled.”

Those two words, late wife, rang inside Eva’s skull like a bell, reverberating repeatedly. Late wife, late wife, late wife...

“All right already,” Eva cried melodramatically. “I was wrong. So shoot me.”

“I’m just saying.” He hunched his shoulders.

Eva trained her gaze on the scenery passing by her window. Okay, she conceded silently, so he really was rather likable, when he wasn’t being all handsome and knowing and authoritative.

Several minutes passed before he spoke again. “And the nurses are not all in love with me. Actually, none of them are in love with me.”

She chanced a glance at him and found him scowling. “How do you know?”

“I just do.”

“O-kay.” A smile almost surprised her. She had to work at keeping it away. She got very interested in the scenery again.

A few minutes later he said, “You’ll need to have those stitches removed in about a week.”

“Will do.”

He pulled an envelope from inside his coat and tossed it into her lap. “Give that to the doctor who does it.”

She looked at the envelope but not at him. “All righty.”

Shifting in his seat, he added, “I suggest you get a good night’s sleep before you drive.”

Turning back to the window, she gave him a noncommittal answer. “Very well.”

After a few more blocks, he said, “Don’t throw that envelope away.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it.”

She finally looked at him again. “I said I wouldn’t. What’s with you?”

“I tucked a few bucks in there, if that’s all right with you,” he snapped. Then, more mildly, he added, “You said you were broke.”

“Oh.” Surprised and truly chastened, she looked down at the envelope. “That’s very kind. Thank you.”

“No problem,” he muttered, staring straight ahead.

A few seconds later the comfortable car turned into the grocery store parking lot and stopped.

Eva looked around. So did Leland. Then they looked at each other.

“Uh-oh,” he said.

She chose a more colorful word. “Crud.”

Her van was gone.

Chapter Two

“There were only four payments left!” Eva Belle Russell squawked. “And I just had it repaired.”

Brooks dropped the small cell phone into his coat pocket, sighing deeply. “According to the police, you were four payments behind. They had no choice but to impound the vehicle.”

What a mess. At least he had learned her name and that the vehicle had been financed through a bank in the Kansas City area, though what good that information did him, he wasn’t sure, especially if she continued to refuse treatment.

“Well,” she drawled, employing that broad wit of hers, “my aunt always said I’d wind up a streetwalker. Looks like she was right. Literally.”

She reached for the door handle, but of course he couldn’t let her just get out and walk away, not in her condition. Objecting would undoubtedly cost him, though; in fact, he had to make himself do it. She actually got the door open and one foot out before he could speak.

“Eva, wait.”

She looked around at him. “Got my name, did you?”

“Eva Belle Russell.”

She wilted, sinking back into the seat as if defeated by the simple fact of being known. “What are you going to do?” she asked warily.

“Depends. How much trouble are you in?”

Some of her spunk returned. “My head’s cracked. I’m broke. I’m stranded. My car’s been repossessed! Is that enough for you?”

“Are you in legal trouble?” he demanded.

“No!” She folded her arms, muttering, “Other than the repossession thing. And I guess that’s taken care of now.”

“I mean, criminal trouble,” he clarified.

She gaped at him. “You think I’d be going without meals if I didn’t have scruples?”

That made a certain sense. A criminal would have simply shoplifted her next meal or walked out on an unpaid bill. He supposed the threat of repossession could be reason enough to want to keep her identity a secret, though with the original license plate hanging out there for all the world to see, such secrecy felt pointless. On the other hand, given her physical condition, who was to say that she was even thinking clearly? He wished she’d let him take the EEG. That, however, was not the immediate problem.

“Is there anyone you can call?” He knew she had a cell phone on her and that it contained no preprogrammed numbers and not one iota of personal information.

“No.”

“Where are you headed? Maybe I can take you there.”

She pulled in a deep breath. “Um, what’s the next town of any size down the road? Waco?”

Obviously she had no real destination in mind. The woman was a gypsy, a free spirit, peddling her artwork wherever she could. A free spirit with very real problems.

“I’ll take you back to the hospital.”

“Forget that.” She shook her head, rippling her blond locks and making her eyeballs roll with pain so that she clasped the bandage beneath her hair gingerly.

“Look,” he said, tiring of the game, the situation and the whole endless day. “I know about the brain tumor. We did a non-contrast CT while you were unconscious. It’s standard proce—”

She all but leaped out of the car. It was nearly dark and the middle of January, but the fool woman actually got out of the car and headed off as if she had someplace to go.

“Eva!”

“Thanks, Doc. I’ve had fun. So long, now.”

“Eva Belle Russell,” he hollered, at the end of his tether, “you get back in this car!”

She walked off toward the grocery store. Grinding his teeth, Brooks got out and went after her.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Where it’s warm.”

“You can’t sleep in the grocery store.”

She swirled in a circle, her scarves whirling around her, but she kept walking. “I’ll have you know that I once slept all night in a lawn chair. I’ll be fine.”

“The grocery store closes at ten.”

She lifted both hands. “You must have a homeless shelter around here somewhere.”

They did, but they wouldn’t take her with that bandage on the back of her head. She might sneak it past them, but he doubted it. Besides, she belonged in a hospital, at least until he knew exactly with what she was dealing.

“Have you ever spent the night in a homeless shelter?” he demanded, stopping in his tracks.

She stopped, too, and turned to face him. “I’m not going back to the hospital.”

“Do you even know what type of tumor it is?”

“Oligodendroglioma.”

Not good, but not necessarily fatal, and he noted that the medical term rolled off her tongue with the ease of familiarity.

“Temporal, obviously,” he noted to himself. “Grade?”

“Three.”

“For sure?”

“Sure enough.”

“Anaplastic?”

“I haven’t had a biopsy, but it’s assumed.”

“Other than the language issues, which are transient, and some impulse control, are you having any other symptoms? Seizures, perhaps?”

She shrugged.

Exasperated, he demanded, “How can you not know if you’re having seizures?”

She parked her hands at her waist. “Well, I haven’t exactly been eating regularly, as you’ve pointed out.”

The anger caught him entirely off guard. “In other words, you don’t know if you’ve been getting dizzy and passing out from hunger or from seizures?” She shrugged again, and it was all he could do not to shake her by her too slender shoulders. “You belong in a hospital.”

“I’m not going to the hospital,” she stated flatly. Then she added in a silly singsong, “and you can’t make me.” She actually stuck out her tongue.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or tear out his hair, so he did neither, instead saying with admirable coolness, “I won’t dignify that with a reply. Just tell me why you won’t go back to the hospital.”

She folded her arms. “I have my reasons. That’s all you need to know.”

He closed his eyes. God, why would You do this to me? But that didn’t really matter. He’d dealt with brain tumors before, quite a few of them. Besides, she was not his wife, and just because she was refusing treatment didn’t mean that her case was anything like Brigitte’s. He really had no choice about what to do with her, though.

“I’ll take you somewhere else.”

The thought had been hovering in the back of his mind since he’d realized her van was gone, but he knew that it would mean prolonged interaction with her, and he really didn’t want that. Yet, he was a doctor. He would do what he had to do to take care of her until she left his realm of influence.

“Where?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

He had to make himself say it. “I know some older ladies who routinely open their home to those in need of a place to stay. It’s a large, antebellum mansion called Chatam House, so there’s plenty of room.”

“Antebellum,” she echoed. “That means pre–Civil War.”

“Yes.”

Interest kindled in her mottled-green eyes. “Cool. But what makes you so sure I can crash there?”

“They’re very generous. I’ve never known them to turn away anyone. Besides, they’re family friends.”

She tilted her head. “You’d do that for me? Ask family friends to take me in?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve asked the Chatam sisters to take in a pa—er—person.”

“No? What other patients have you asked these sisters to take in?” she asked, grinning at him.

Brooks looked her straight in the eye. “You know I cannot tell you that.” Though the Chatam sisters probably would. One of the patients had married their niece Kaylie. Morgan’s wife, Lyla Simone—whom he should have been sitting with at the dinner table just then—had been another.

Eva grinned and swayed toward him, scarves wafting, long pale hair glimmering. Even knowing about her medical and financial troubles, he had to admit that he’d never seen a more exotic, graceful, breathtaking sight. He prayed that she would refuse so he could wash his hands of her.

She did not.

“Okay. I guess I can stand a little antebellum mansion. Just until I can figure out what to do next.”

He gulped, disappointed and strangely, horrifyingly pleased. “Let’s say at least until your stitches come out, shall we?” he suggested, catching her by the arm as she made to walk past him.

After a moment more of consideration, she agreed. “That ought to do it.”

“Do I have your word on that?”

At least she didn’t give her word lightly; she actually thought it over before nodding. “You have my word.”

“Let’s go, then.” He walked her to the car, without releasing her arm, and handed her down into it.

“What about my things? My van is stuffed with my things.”

“We’ll have to get them tomorrow.”

She sat back with a huff, her plastic bag in her lap. He closed the door and walked around the rear of the car. On the way, he took out his phone and called Chatam House. He was bringing his best friend’s aunties another foundling, and he hoped that she wasn’t going to break all their hearts.

* * *

Homeless. She had gotten used to the idea of having no permanent address, no brick-and-mortar residence, but Eva couldn’t shake the feeling that she had truly hit bottom now that the van was gone. She’d felt strangely connected to home, if not particularly comfortable or safe—whatever that meant now—sleeping in the van. One of the reasons she’d decided to hit the road after her diagnosis was the ease with which she could customize the interior of the old minivan. She’d simply pulled out the rear seats and installed a cot, along with her art supplies and the little clothing that she owned. It didn’t take much wardrobe to work from home transcribing recorded medical notes, and when money was tight, why bother buying clothes no one would see?

For some reason, her homelessness felt particularly acute when she caught sight of Chatam House. The large, Greek Revival–style, white-painted brick house sat atop a slight rise at the apex of a long, looping drive. With a deep front porch, a fancy kind of carport on its western side, rose arbor and one of the tallest magnolia trees that Eva had ever seen, the place presented a kind of elegance and gentility that belonged to a past era. From the instant the sedan turned through the fat brick columns and drove past the ornate wrought iron gate at the bottom of the hill, Eva felt a sense of peace and serenity, something that had been in short supply in her life even before she’d received her diagnosis. She also felt out of place, disconnected.

“About my things. How can I be sure the bank won’t take the van before I can get my clothes and all my other stuff out of there?”

Sighing, Leland brought the car to a halt and pulled out his cell phone to make a phone call. She listened to his end of the conversation with some satisfaction and no little envy.

“Nothing like cl-out,” she quipped, giving the last word two syllables.

“The van will be there when we go to pick up your things tomorrow,” Leland assured her dryly.

“Thank you,” she returned crisply, turning her gaze to the side. “And you’re sure this is a private home? I mean, how many houses have names?”

He chuckled. “It’s a private home, occupied by four older people in their seventies. One of the triplets is married. They have a live-in staff of three as well, but they have quarters out back in the carriage house.”

“Triplets?” Eva echoed, laughing.

“Didn’t I say? The three sisters are triplets.”

“They aren’t identical, are they?”

He grinned. “Don’t worry. You’ll have no problem telling them apart.”

The car moved on up the hill and came to a stop in front of a red brick walkway. Leland killed the engine and got out, hurrying around the front of the car. The headlamps had not shut off yet, and Eva was struck again by the strength of the doctor’s physical attraction. Instinctively, she understood that he expected to get the door for her, and suddenly she dared not allow it. Yanking on the door handle, she literally bailed out—and nearly planted her face in his collar.

“Hang on,” he yelped as she slipped and slid in the deep gravel of the drive.

She found herself seized by the upper arms and steadied against the solid wall of his chest. The headlamps shut off abruptly, leaving them frozen, nose-to-nose, in the silent dark.

After a moment, his grip loosened, then he calmly asked, “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” she muttered. “Stupid shoes.” Nodding, he stepped away. “I have some smart ones in the van,” she quipped lightly.

He just turned toward the house, one hand fastened to her upper arm as if she couldn’t be trusted to find her own way. After escorting her up a trio of steps, he ushered her across the gray-painted floor of the porch to the bright yellow door. A fanlight of bubbly glass over the door offered a cheery glow. Leland knocked, and the door opened only moments later. A balding, roundish, middle-aged fellow wearing black slacks and a white shirt buttoned to the chin smiled in welcome.

“Doctor Brooks.”

“Chester. This is Ms. Russell. I believe the aunties are expecting us.”

“Yes, sir. I just left the tea tray with them in the front parlor. May I take your coat?”

“Thank you.”

“Tea tray?” Eva mused, as Leland divested himself of the overcoat and handed it over.

“Our hostesses enjoy a good cup of tea,” he informed her.

She lifted her eyebrows at that, glancing around the expansive foyer with its golden marble, red mahogany, sweeping staircase and...

“Oh, my. Will you look at that.” The ceiling had been painted in sunny shades of blue and yellow and white, a vision of billowing clouds and wafting feathers. “As if ducks have just collided out of sight.”

“Ducks colliding?” Leland asked, looking up. “That’s what you see?”

“Well, ducks are white,” she pointed out lamely. “Some ducks.” She had a comical picture of two clumsy ducks crashing together just out of sight and feathers fluttering down.

The doctor shook his head.

Chester cleared his throat. “May I take your, um, wraps, miss?”

“Miss. Oooh. I like it. Miss and young lady all in one day.” She folded her shawls tight. “No, thank you. I think I’ll hang on to these. In case I have to make a quick getaway.”

Chester’s eyebrows leaped all the way up to his nonexistent hairline. Sighing, the doctor clamped a hand around her elbow and tugged her toward a wide doorway.

“We’ll show ourselves in, Chester. Give my love to Hilda.”

The balding head nodded. Leland towed her into a large room filled with antiques and flowers. Eva glanced around. “Wow. It’s like a museum in here.”

“I’m afraid that includes the occupants, as well,” said an amused, cultured voice.

Eva turned her smile on the speaker, a silver-haired woman peering around the wing of a high-backed, gold-striped chair. The doctor rushed to make the introductions.

“Ladies and gentleman, allow me to present Eva Belle Russell. Eva, Miss Hypatia Kay Chatam.”

“Silk and pearls,” Eva said, nodding at the dignified lady with the silver chignon and sensible pumps.

“Miss Magnolia Faye Chatam,” Leland went on.

“Cardigans and penny loafers,” Eva announced, grinning at the wiry woman, her steel gray braid hanging over her shoulder.

“And this is their sister, Odelia May, or more properly, Mrs. Kent Monroe.”

Eva laughed aloud, taking in the flamboyant woman’s purple turban, fluffy white curls winging out beneath it, the carved parrots swinging from her earlobes and the colorful caftan that clashed so violently with the gold brocade of the love seat where she sat.

“Kindred spirit!” Eva exclaimed, whipping off her shawls and pointing at Odelia, who clapped and stood, holding out both arms to show off the caftan, which had been painted to look like a parrot’s chest and wings. “Turn around! Turn around!” Eva urged. Odelia did so, and sure enough, there was the parrot’s tail painted onto the silk. “I love it.”

Odelia and her husband laughed approvingly. He lumbered to his feet, showing off his pale yellow shirt, turquoise vest and dark purple suit. Beside her Brooks Leland pinched his temples between the thumb and pinky of one hand before saying, “And this, of course, is Mr. Kent Monroe.”

“Do me. Describe me,” urged Kent. “You’re very perspicacious. What do you see?”

Eva swept him with her gaze. Dared she say it? Of course she did. “An Easter egg in a suit.”

He and his wife gasped at each other then collapsed with laughter. “Very good! I almost wore a robin’s egg blue shirt with this, but as the darling wife pointed out, robins are not parrots.”

“And Easter eggs are?” Eva asked, puzzled.

“No, but they’re more colorful,” the missus said.

“So they are,” Eva agreed, winking. “Clever.”

“My word, there are two of them now,” observed Penny Loafers dryly from the armchair at the end of the low, oblong table before the love seat.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Russell?” asked Silk-and-Pearls.

“Sure, why not?” she replied, taking a seat in one of a pair of armless chairs placed at the opposite end of the tea table from...Magnolia?

Silk-and-Pearls reached for the heavy silver teapot. “Brooks, dear?”

“Please,” he said, taking the chair beside Eva, “and thank you, Hypatia. I seem to have missed my dinner.”

“Hypatia,” Eva mused, “wasn’t she a Greek mathematician?”

“Why, yes,” the current Hypatia said, passing Eva a cup of tea, “as well as a philosopher and astronomer, though very few people seem to know it. How is it that you know about her?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Eva admitted. “I remember some things and forget others.” She helped herself to several spoonfuls of sugar and looked to the wiry one. “Magnolia is self-explanatory, but I find that names often portend personality and outcomes, so what’s your story?”

“Oh, Magnolia grows things,” the flamboyant one supplied. “Flowers especially.”

“Really?” She waved a spoon at the large, colorful arrangement standing on a small table in the center of the room. “Did you do that?”

Magnolia inclined her head. “I do all the flowers around here.”

“Excellent balance and composition. I’m sort of an artist, I know these things.”

“Why, thank you.”

Eva sipped her tea, made a face and looked to the third sister. “Odelia means wealthy.”

“It does,” said Odelia, beaming wide enough to set the parrots swinging from her earlobes.

“And are you? Wealthy, I mean.”

Odelia glanced around helplessly for a moment, but then she blinked and said, “I think we’re all wealthy, really.”

Eva wagged a finger. “But you’re the real deal, aren’t you? You’re all quite comfortable, I imagine, but you...” She lifted an eyebrow at Kent. “You married deep pockets there, didn’t you? Eh? Mr. Money Bags?”

Hypatia and her sister gaped at the Easter egg, who flushed a deep red, cleared his throat and said, “I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’ve done quite well. I paid for the wedding, the remodeling of the upstairs, the pool...” He patted Odelia’s hand, where an enormous diamond rested. “Whatever my darling desires.”

Odelia giggled like a girl.

“Awww,” Eva crooned, “that’s so sweet. At your ages people are usually sick of the sight of each other.”

Beside her, Dr. Leland choked on a swallow of his own tea. “Tell them,” he croaked.

“What?”

“Tell them or I will.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Eva has a medical condition,” Leland said, “and if she’s going to stay here you need to know about it.”

Hypatia handed cups to her sisters. “We assumed that was the case.”

“Duh,” muttered Eva. “The doctor calls—someone’s sick.” Brooks sent her a stern, almost sullen glare. “Just saying.”

“One of the symptoms of her condition seems to be a lack of an internal monitor.”

“That’s a nasty thing to say!” Eva squawked. “It’s not like I blurt inappropriate words or things that don’t make sense. I’m just honest. What’s wrong with that?”

“Not all honesty is socially acceptable,” he snapped. “If you were thinking normally, you would recognize that fact.”

“I’m perfectly normal,” she shot back, “except for the brain tumor!”

Three cups hit three saucers. She heard a gasp and a tiny moan. Looking around, she saw that the Chatam sisters were all staring at the doctor with looks of utter dismay.

“Oh, Brooks,” Hypatia said.

He shook his head. “It’s not like Brigitte’s situation.”

Brigitte? Eva glanced around. Who was Brigitte?

“I deal with things like this all the time,” he went on. “You’re not to worry about me.”

Him? They were worried about him?

“What is it with you?” Eva asked, slumping. “I’m the one with the brain tumor, and they’re all worried about you? What’s a girl got to do to catch a break around you?”

“You don’t understand,” Brooks began.

At the same time, Hypatia said, “Oh, my dear, we’re concerned for you, of course. We’ll be praying for you diligently.”

“Swell,” Eva drawled.

Odelia sighed, a hand going to her cheek. “You’re not a believer?”

“No way. I’ve had that church stuff thrown at me my whole life, and what good has it ever done? None.”

The doctor bowed his head, murmuring, “Ladies, I’m so sorry. Our acquaintance has been short. She’s my patient. I never dreamed she’d be so difficult. I just didn’t know what else to do with her.”

They all started talking at once.

“No, no.”

“It’s all right.”

“You always do what’s best, dear boy.”

“It’ll be fine. You’ll see. God has a purpose.”

“It’s just that she hit her head while I was in the grocery store and while I was stitching her up her van was repossessed, and she’s so broke that she hasn’t even been eating.” He shook his head. “She won’t stay in the hospital. She wouldn’t even tell me her name. I had to find out from the police.”

“Are you done?” Eva demanded indignantly.

“I am,” Leland retorted, shooting to his feet. “I absolutely am.” Bending, he placed his teacup and saucer on the large ornate silver tray and straightened. “Hypatia, Magnolia, Odelia, Kent, my apologies, but I’m leaving now.”

Hypatia came to her feet. She might have reached Eva’s shoulder, but her dignity stood very tall indeed, regally so. “I’ll walk you out.”

Odelia and Kent looked at each other and hauled themselves up.

“We’ll just make sure Hilda is aware we’ll be adding another place for meals,” Kent said.

“The, um, bed-sit should be ready,” Odelia said to her sister.

Magnolia smiled a slow, challenging smile. “I’ll show up our guest.”

The Monroes beat a hasty, if colorful, retreat.

Eva smiled at her remaining hostess, quipping, “I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be staying.”

Magnolia rose, still smiling, and said, “Oh, you’re perfectly welcome. Unless you hurt our beloved Brooks. If that happens, I’ll put you out myself.” With that, she turned and walked across the room.

After a moment, Eva rose and followed.

Chapter Three

“I won’t even ask,” Morgan said, handing Brooks a steaming mug of something hot, “because you wouldn’t tell me anyway.”

“Medical emergencies,” Brooks murmured, sniffing the mug suspiciously, “cannot be discussed.”

“My point exactly,” said Morgan, saluting Brooks with his own drink before sipping delicately.

“What is it this time?” Morgan asked, unable to identify the dark liquid in his mug.

“Cranberry punch. I like it.”

“You liked the birch bark tea.”

Morgan liked anything his lovely, feverishly domestic wife invented.

“Bri loves the stuff,” Morgan said in his own defense.

Morgan’s thirteen-month-old daughter Brigitte, named for Brooks’s late wife, had a cast-iron stomach, a hearty constitution and a wonderfully cheerful disposition. Brooks adored her, and would have even if Morgan and Lyla hadn’t named her after his Brigitte. He sipped the cranberry punch and found it palatable.

Bri came into the wood-paneled room perched on her mother’s slim hip. After her cancer, Lyla Simone had barely had enough hair to cover her head, but now her light reddish brown hair had grown to chin length, sleekly framing her oval face with its big, gray eyes. Nearly two decades his wife’s senior, Morgan’s nut-brown hair showed specks of silver, and he had the distinctive cinnamon brown Chatam eyes, as well as the Chatam cleft chin. Bri’s thin, pale blond hair and bright blue eyes contrasted with the coloring of both of her parents, but then Bri was adopted, the biological child of a teenager whom Lyla had rescued from an abusive relationship.

The thought struck Brooks that Bri looked more like Eva Belle Russell than Morgan and Lyla. Just the thought of his difficult patient irritated him.

“I’m sorry I missed dinner,” he told Lyla, pushing away thoughts of Eva.

Chuckling, Lyla bent and placed a plate on the coffee table between the comfy leather sofa where he sat and the overstuffed armchair where her husband lounged. “No worries. Bri and I went ahead and ate. Now you and Morgan can enjoy yourselves.” She handed Bri to her father, and left the library.

“God bless that woman,” Brooks said with heartfelt gratitude, helping himself to a thick ham and cheese sandwich.

“Your mommy is a wonder,” Morgan told his daughter in a silly voice. “Uncle Brooks is a jealous man.”

“Green with envy,” Brooks admitted, biting into the sandwich. The time had been when it was the other way around, but Brooks was happy to see his friend happy now, and he loved Lyla and Bri for being the agents of that happiness. He prayed that Morgan’s happiness would last many, many years longer than his own had.

Lyla returned to take up her daughter again and cart her off to bed. Bri roused but didn’t protest, a child so well loved that she felt no reason to fear. This, too, made Brooks smile. As soon as mother and daughter left the room, however, he frowned, knowing that he had to speak of a subject he’d rather not broach.

“I have imposed upon your aunts again.”

Morgan sat up straight in his chair and leaned forward. “Oh? How so? Another celebrity patient?”

The last “celebrity patient” had been the goalie for a professional Fort Worth hockey team injured in an accident and needing to recuperate away from the limelight. He was now Morgan’s brother-in-law.

“Just the opposite, I’m afraid,” Brooks admitted. “This one is something of an itinerant, too broke to eat, let alone provide shelter for herself until she’s healed, so...”

“So it’s the aunties to the rescue once again.”

“What would we do without them?” Brooks asked.

“I shudder to think.”

“Just thought I should let you know,” Brooks said, realizing the time had come to go. Lyla would be waiting for her husband to join her.

He got up from the sofa and reached for his overcoat. Morgan didn’t try to stop him. He rose, too, and walked around the coffee table, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

“What’s her name?” he asked. “This itinerant patient of yours.”

“Eva Belle Russell.”

They walked together out of the library and across the terra cotta tile floor of the expansive living room of Morgan’s graceful 1928 house.

“Older lady?” he mused. “Eva Belle.”

“Not particularly,” Brooks hedged.

“No? How old is she then?” Morgan wanted to know.

Brooks shrugged into his coat. “Oh, mid-thirties.”

“Really?” Morgan tilted his head. “What does she look like?”

Brooks fiddled with his collar. “Tall, thin.”

They reached the small foyer and went down the two steps to the arched front door.

“Blonde, brunette, redhead?” Morgan ventured dryly.

Brooks sighed. “She has blond hair.”

“Long? Short?”

“Long.”

“Blue eyes?”

He considered pretending that he hadn’t noticed, but a doctor would have looked into his patient’s eyes. Instead, he chose a nonchalant tone. “Green hazelish.”

“Pretty, is she?” Morgan pressed, rocking back on his heels.

Brooks tamped down his irritation. Any attempt at prevarication would catch up with Brooks in short order. Might as well face the facts head on. “Stunning, if you must know.”

Morgan grinned. It was funny how a little domestic bliss made matchmakers of even the most stalwart former bachelors. Brooks shook his head grimly.

“Don’t get any ideas. She’s the very last woman on the face of the earth I’d get involved with.”

“And why is that?”

Brooks looked his friend in the eye and tossed aside his medical ethics. “She has a brain tumor.”

The nascent spark of hope there swiftly died. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry.”

“She’s not Brigitte,” Brooks said softly. “It’s not like that. Well, Eva is refusing treatment for some reason, but it’s not my problem, and it’s not going to be.”

“No, of course, it isn’t,” Morgan rushed to say. “No one would expect—”

“She’s just passing through,” Brooks broke in. “She’s not my problem.”

“That’s right,” Morgan agreed, frowning uncertainly.

Brooks nodded. “Well, I have a busy day tomorrow. Give Lyla my thanks, and kiss Bri good-night for me.”

“Sure,” Morgan said, opening the door, “but, Brooks...”

“Yeah?”

“You could kiss Bri good-night yourself.”

He could, but he wouldn’t. That was a dad’s job. Brooks clapped his friend on the upper arm as he slid through the door. “Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

Brooks flashed Morgan a wave as he hurried to his waiting car. He thought of the cold, dark house waiting for him, and as he drove away from Morgan’s warm, comfortable home, he tried not to feel sorry for himself. He’d had his time in the sun. He’d won the girl and made the most of what they’d been given. He had no regrets on that score. But now, sixteen years later, he could be forgiven for a touch of melancholy, couldn’t he?

It would pass. Somehow, he couldn’t help thinking that it would pass just as soon as Eva Russell left town. Somehow he knew he’d feel better again once she had gone on her way. Then things could get back to normal.

Why normal had recently begun to feel less than satisfactory, he did not know or want to.

* * *

The room, if it could be called that, was downright luxurious, from the thick, cream-colored carpet underfoot to the royal blue velvet sofa and chairs in the sitting area and the cream-painted wood paneling. The bed furniture looked to be Empire-style, unless Eva missed her guess. Whatever the period, it was the real deal—no reproductions here. Sky-blue velvet curtains trimmed in heavy gold cording and fringe adorned the windows, with white on cream in the bathroom, gold fittings and sea-green towels. Vases of vibrant coral roses shocked the senses and perfumed the air, their color picked up in the subtle paintings on the walls. Over the stately fireplace hung a thoroughly modern flat-screen television.

Magnolia Chatam invited Eva to run a hot bath in the jetted tub and went out to find an extra nightgown for her. Deciding to take her up on the offer, Eva gingerly pulled up her hair and piled it atop her head. The blood had been rinsed out of it when the wound had been cleansed, but it could use a good scrubbing. That, however, would have to wait until her stitches came out. She began to disrobe, removing her scarves one by one and folding them carefully. Who knew how long she would have to wear the things?

She was down to her leggings and turtleneck when Magnolia returned with a voluminous cotton gown and a flannel robe that might have been fashionable in the 1920s.

“So you’ve always tried to look hideous,” Eva surmised, realizing she’d spoken aloud only when she heard the other woman’s gasp. “Oh, I said that, didn’t I? Maybe I do need the speech police.” She folded the flannel robe against her and made a face. “Sorry.”

Magnolia rolled her eyes, but then a reluctant smile tugged at her pursed lips. “Convenient thing, this brain tumor of yours. I’ve often wished for an unassailable reason to speak my mind.”

“Always has to be an up side,” Eva said. “That’s what I told my ex when I caught him in bed with another woman.”

Magnolia drew back, obviously horrified. “Oh, my. What possible ‘up side’ could there be to that?”

Eva almost said, “No custody battle.” Instead she quipped, “The prenup was nullified, for one thing.”

Magnolia blinked. “Well, I guess that was something.”

“Would’ve been if he hadn’t blown everything on bad investments,” Eva told her offhandedly. “Anyway, thanks for the nightclothes. Doc says we’ll get my own things from the van tomorrow.”

“The, ah, robe was my father’s,” Magnolia confessed.

“Yeah?” Eva held up the striped flannel garment and really looked at it.

“I often wear his things,” Magnola said, lifting her chin. “I hate waste, and they suit me far better than silks and bows.”

Eva smiled at the older woman. “Okay. I can get with that.” She glanced at the nightgown and said, “I don’t suppose you have any of his pajamas, do you?”

Magnolia chuckled. “I’ll fetch you a pair.”

“You’re a peach,” Eva told her. “Just leave them on the bed. I’m getting in that tub.”

“Fine,” Magnolia agreed. “I’ve had the kitchen send up a tray for you. You’ll find it in the dumbwaiter out on the landing when you’re ready for it.”

“You’re kidding,” Eva gushed. “That’s super! Thanks.” She wrinkled her nose and asked, “Tea?”

“Apple cider,” Magnolia assured her.

Eva threw back her head in grateful glee, then grabbed it as a sharp pain burned her scalp. “That’s wonderful. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Her hostess stilled, hands folded. “That, my dear, is something we need to discuss.”

Eva heaved out a deep breath. “Look,” she said, letting her hands fall to her sides, “I’ve heard it all before. Christ on the cross. God is love, answering our prayers, if we’re good little girls. It’s all malarkey.”

Magnolia shook her wizened head. “Oh, child, what has happened to make you think such things?”

“Hmm, let’s see.” Eva ticked off the issues on her fingers. “A father I never knew. A mother and a sister who both died of cancer. A lying cheat of a husband. Oh, and a tumor in my head slowly killing me. Let’s see, did I forget the aunt who took a strap to my backside every time I turned around then gave our food money to the church? Yeah, give me some more of that.”

Magnolia looked positively stricken. For a moment, Eva thought the old woman might cry, but then she blinked, stiffened her already straight spine and said, “I blame your mother for your brain tumor.”

Eva literally reeled backward. “What?”

“I blame her for your terrible taste in men.”

Gaping, Eva sputtered, “H-how dare you!”

“I could even blame her for your sister’s cancer. It’s often hereditary, after all.”

Blazingly angry, Eva fisted her hands, a vein throbbing painfully in her head. “That’s not fair! You take that back!”

“But you blame God for the failures of His children and the problems of a fallen world,” Magnolia pointed out, shrugging.

Eva’s eyes narrowed, and some of her anger waned as she caught on to Magnolia’s game. “That’s different,” Eva grated out. “My mother was human. God is all-powerful.”

“Is He?” Magnolia returned. “All-powerful but stupid, I take it.”

“Of course not. I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then, cruel.”

“Yes!” she crowed triumphantly. “Absolutely.”

“Cruel enough to let Himself be crucified to pay the sin debt for the whole of humanity,” Magnolia said. “Cruel enough to give that same humanity the free will to reject His sacrifice.” She clucked her tongue. “You have a funny definition of cruel, Ms. Russell. I suspect your definition of cruel is simply not getting what you want when and how you want it.”

Eva was still grasping for a reply when the door closed behind her hostess. She was still standing there several moments later, clutching that old flannel robe, when the thought occurred that Magnolia Chatam didn’t need the excuse of a brain tumor to speak her mind, and as hard as she tried to be angry about that, Eva couldn’t help admiring the old girl.

She made sure that she was in the tub when Magnolia returned with the pajamas, and she stayed there until her skin puckered and pruned. Then, dressed in the Chatam sisters’ father’s nightclothes, she stuck her head out of the door to her room and made sure that the landing was deserted before she padded on bare feet to the dumbwaiter and fetched the tray laden with a steaming pot of apple cider, the most scrumptious muffins imaginable and a selection of cheeses and fruit.

Pigging out, she ate as much as she possibly could. After all, she assumed that there would be more where this came from, but after she left here, who knew when she’d eat again? She lay back on the bed, utterly replete, and contemplated her next move.

The medication she’d received earlier had relieved the pressure inside her skull and probably bought her some time. Otherwise, her language would still be messed up. It had frightened her to hear herself speaking gibberish again. She’d known it was a possibility, of course, but because she’d been getting dizzy and even blacking out, she’d assumed that she’d simply continue on that path until she just wouldn’t wake up one day. She supposed she’d have to find a way to fill her prescriptions again, at least until she found a permanent place to crash, but she could make that decision later. First she had to think about transportation—and decide whether or not to call Ricky.

She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t, not until she’d found a permanent place to let it end, but without the van, that place might be closer than she’d anticipated. She checked the time, saw that it was fairly late, and told herself to let it go another day, but somehow she found herself with her phone in hand, her thumbs punching in the familiar numbers.

Ricky himself answered on the second ring.

“Allenson residence.”

He wouldn’t know it was her because she’d blocked the number, but she imagined that she heard a hopeful tone in his voice.

“Hey, Ricky. How’s it going, big guy?”

“Mom! I knew it was you. I knew it.”

She tried not to choke up. “You sound good. How’s it going, hon?”

“When are you coming home?” he demanded, ignoring her question. “I hate it here. I want to go home.”

His complaints hit her like blows to her chest. She closed her eyes and fought to keep her tone light. “Ricky, your dad would be crushed to hear you say that.”

“I don’t care. I hate Tiffany. She treats me like a five-year-old.”

“That’s because she’s a mental five-year-old,” Eva muttered. Louder she said, “Give her a break, Ricky. She’s never been a mom, and she’s still learning.”

“You say that like she can learn. Mom, I want to go with you.”

Eva’s throat clogged, but she cleared it and said, “Son, you’re better off with your father now.”

“He’s never here! Neither of them are.”

Eva sat up. “They’re leaving you unsupervised?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly. “Donita’s here.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Eva slumped back onto the bed. Donita was the housekeeper that she and Rick, her ex, had employed before their marriage had ended so ingloriously. If Donita was there then Rick must have recouped some of his financial losses.

“That’s good,” Eva said. “That’s very good.” Donita was trustworthy and loyal. She would look after Ricky. She had kept in touch when Eva had struggled to keep a roof over their heads and study, too. “You do what Donita tells you,” Eva instructed, “and tell her that I said ‘Thanks.’ Will you do that?”

“I wish you’d just come home,” he whined.

“I know,” Eva told him. “I would if I could, son.”

“But why can’t you?” he asked.

“I just can’t. It’s best for you that I don’t.”

“Adults always say that when they just don’t want to explain,” he complained.

She chuckled, trying to sound carefree. “You think so, do you? Well, you’ll figure it out one of these days. You just remember that everything I do, I do to spare you misery. Okay?”

“Making me live with Tiffany isn’t sparing me misery,” he told her grumpily.

She laughed. It was either that or sob. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he groused, but then he muttered, “I love you, too.”

She could barely speak again after that. Managing to squeak out a “Good night,” she broke the connection, clutched the phone to her chest and wept until sleep at last overcame her.

* * *

“Poor girl,” Odelia opined, tears glistening in her eyes. She glanced longingly at the door that connected the sisters’ sitting room to the suite she shared with Kent. Strangely, marriage had somehow enlarged Odelia. She was no less scatterbrained or flamboyant—indeed, she seemed rather more so, as Kent encouraged her shamelessly—yet, she had somehow grown more confident and knowing.

“Poor Brooks,” Hypatia said. “The last thing he needs, with Morgan now happily married, is a reminder of all he has lost.”

“This is true,” Magnolia admitted, “and yet, if we’ve learned anything over the years, we’ve learned that God has plans and reasons for what and whom He brings into this house.”

Her sisters murmured their agreement, nodding.

“Our first concern,” Magnolia went on, “must be Eva herself. Perhaps my fear that she is dying is unfounded, but her spiritual condition is not. She blatantly admitted her lack of faith.”

“Brooks originally stated that she would be staying only until her stitches could be removed,” Hypatia revealed, “so our time with her is limited, regardless of the true state of her health.”

“Then, there’s no time to lose,” Magnolia decided. “She won’t like it, but we need to get her to prayer meeting tomorrow night.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Hypatia asked, sounding tired. She tugged the collar of her navy blue silk robe closer about her throat. Magnolia noted idly that its white piping looked very like her skin, which seemed unusually pale tonight.

“Leave Eva to me,” Magnolia said, waving a hand. “Are you cold, sister?”

“This winter has seemed interminable,” Hypatia complained. “I’m off to my warm bed.” She heaved herself out of the armchair where she customarily sat for these late evening chats. The sisters routinely spoke and prayed together at the end of the day, and Magnolia was glad that hadn’t changed with Odelia’s marriage a couple years ago.

“Good night, dear,” Odelia said, uncurling from the corner of the sofa.

“Good night.”

“Kent thinks she needs a good multivitamin,” Odelia whispered as soon as the door closed behind their sister’s back.

Magnolia blinked. She hadn’t noticed that Hypatia needed anything, though perhaps she had seemed to suffer more from the cold this winter than in years past. Kent, being a pharmacist, would know about these things, though.

“Getting her the vitamins and getting her to take them are two different things,” Magnolia murmured. “Maybe we should speak to Brooks about it.”

“Hmm,” Odelia considered. “Perhaps so, though perhaps not just now.”

Magnolia smiled. “I suspect the right time will come.”

“It always does,” Odelia said with a giggle, hurrying toward her private suite and her waiting husband.

Magnolia sighed and shook her head. It had come for Odelia after fifty years, and the result seemed to be one long honeymoon. She prayed that Eva Russell’s time for joy would come before it was too late. Hers and dear Brooks’s.

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