Lost in Sensation
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Maureen Child
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17,8K
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12
One
No good deed goes unpunished.
Truer words were never spoken, Sam Holden thought. And he should have kept them in mind. Because he was even now living them.
He just couldn’t figure out how he could have done anything differently.
“I owe you, man,” Eric Wright said from the passenger seat. Then he reached down and rapped his knuckles against the plaster cast encasing his right leg from the knee down. “Actually, I owe you two. Saving my skin and driving me home for my wedding.”
“No, you don’t owe me.” Sam glanced at his friend. A purple and yellowing bruise smudged his forehead in stark contrast to his pale face. His dark red hair stood out in a weird sort of halo around his head. Lines of pain were drawn deep around his mouth, and his eyes were tired.
“You look like hell.”
“Hey,” Eric said with a small grin, “if not for you, I’d be looking cold and stiff right about now.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He brushed the latest round of thanks aside and narrowed his gaze. “You feeling okay?”
Eric grimaced. “You asking as my friend or as my doctor?”
“Which one will get me an honest answer?”
Laughing shortly, Eric shoved one hand through his hair, then scraped that hand across his eyes as if trying to wake himself up. “I’m okay. Just tired—” he looked at Sam again “—and grateful to be alive. Like I said, I owe you.”
At thirty-two, Sam was tall, leanly muscled and too impatient for his own good. A black-haired, blue-eyed doctor, he had more female patients than male but much to their dismay, Sam never noticed more about the women than the symptoms they were presenting. He had only a handful of close friends and Eric Wright was one of them.
But in the last couple of weeks, Eric had been acting more like a fan than a friend. Sam had never been good with gratitude. He didn’t like the slippery feel of someone’s admiration. Probably shouldn’t have become a doctor then, huh? But then, he’d had no choice. He’d been interested in nothing but medicine since he was a kid. At five, he’d borrowed his grandfather’s stethoscope, listened to his dog’s heart and found an irregular beat. Even the vet had been impressed. And that rush of discovery had pretty much sealed his future.
But having someone look at him with shining eyes and absolute trust made him want to run for the hills. Trust was a burden he didn’t want to carry…it was just too damn fragile. An odd thought for a doctor, he mused. But there it was.
“You don’t owe me, Eric.” He’d said the same thing he didn’t know how many times since the accident. Eric never seemed to hear him, though Sam continued to try. “Hell, I was in the car. What was I supposed to do, leave you in the wreck while I ran for it?”
Eric shrugged. “Most would. There aren’t many people who’ll climb into a burning car to drag somebody out.” He waved a hand at the bandage on Sam’s left forearm. “With a bum arm, no less.”
“Just a sprain.” The bandage was an irritation and, in his mind, not really necessary. But the ER doctors had insisted on it—at least for a few days. And the night of the wreck, he’d been too glassy-eyed from shock to argue.
It had all happened in seconds—and had felt, at the time, like they were moving in slow motion. A truck swerving into their lane. Eric ripping the wheel to one side. The scrape of metal against the guardrail. The long, eternity-filled seconds the car was airborne and the jarring slam when they hit the earth and rolled over. Sam had inched out of the broken side window, then crawled around to the driver’s side. Unconscious, Eric was oblivious to the flames already licking at the undercarriage. But Sam had felt the heat against his face and the cold rush of fear in his bones. Somehow, though, he’d managed to free Eric from the seat belt and drag him to safety before the fire erupted into a blaze.
Luck was with them both that night. If it hadn’t been, Eric’s family would have been planning his funeral instead of celebrating his wedding.
“Still…”
Sam sighed and gave up trying to convince his friend. “Fine. I’m a hero. Super Doc, that’s me.”
Besides, if they were going to talk about payments due, Eric had it backward. Eric Wright had been a good friend—especially the last couple of years. By choice, Sam had always been something of a loner. More so in the last two years. But whenever Sam began pulling away from the few friends he did have, Eric had refused to allow it.
And for that, Sam owed him.
So here he sat, outside Eric’s parents’ house, with two long weeks to fill before he could head back home to L.A. Ordinarily, he would have driven up for Eric’s wedding, then gone home the next day. But because of the accident and Eric’s inability to drive, Sam had somehow been suckered into a two-week vacation in northern California, specifically Sunrise Beach with Eric’s family.
The prospect of which was enough to make Sam want to throw the car into gear again and peel away from the curb at warp speed. Unfortunately, he was a man of his word and there was no backing out now.
He shot a look at the Wright house. Sitting far back from the street, it boasted a deep, dark green lawn, despite the simmering heat of summer. Neatly tended flower beds, awash in splashes of brilliant color, lined the front of the old bungalow and dangled from brightly painted window boxes. The wide front porch had pots of ferns hanging from the rafters and planters with yet more flowers spilling from them perched on the railing.
The house itself was painted sunshine yellow with a dark green trim on the shutters and eaves. It looked comfortable, cared-for and sturdy, like a self-satisfied old woman. The street was quiet, tree-lined and only blocks from the beach.
To anyone else, this might have seemed like a great place for a little vacation. To Sam…he felt as if he were going into battle unarmed and naked.
“Come on,” Eric said, opening the car door and taking Sam’s last chance at escape out of his hands. “My folks can’t wait to meet you.”
“You know,” Sam said, shifting his gaze past Eric to where people were already streaming out the front door like grade schoolers hearing the last bell before summer vacation, “maybe I should let you visit with your family first. I’ll go to the hotel, check in, then come back tomorrow.”
Or the next day, he thought wildly, watching the crowd of people pushing through the door grow and grow and grow. Just how many people were in the Wright family, anyway?
“Not a chance,” Eric said, easing his crutches from the back seat. “If you have too long to think about it, you’ll head back to L.A.”
The fact that his friend knew him that well was mildly irritating, but Sam swallowed it back and forced a smile for the first member of the Wright family to reach the car.
“God, Eric, your leg!” An older woman with graying blond hair and wide blue eyes crooned the words. Eric’s mother, probably, Sam thought as she reached into the car for her son.
“Look like hell, boy,”
“Thanks, Dad.” Eric laughed and handed out the crutches. “Give me a hand.”
The older man, burly with a square jaw, cautious eyes and a day or two’s worth of gray stubble on his jaw, said, “Step back, honey.” He waited until his wife was out of range, then took the crutches in one beefy fist and Eric’s arm with the other, effortlessly propelling his son out of the car.
Sam stayed right where he was. Out of the swirl of hugs and kisses and squeals. He had no doubt they’d get around to him eventually, but if he stayed quiet, he could put it off. The small mob tightened in some kind of group hug, with each of them trying to out-shout the other. Smiles, laughter, a few tears, and the family welcome celebration was in high gear. An old black Lab sat to one side and barked while a couple of kids, a boy about six and a girl even younger, danced around outside the circle of the jabbering adults, vying for attention.
It was like watching a greeting card commercial.
Outsider.
That’s what he was, and at no time had it ever been clearer than right at that moment. Of course, that’s how he wanted it, right? He didn’t want connections. Ties. He’d done it once—made the commitment, made plans—and it had fallen apart, nearly undoing him in the process.
He’d learned the hard way that connections only left you vulnerable to pain. So whether he got lonely sometimes or not, he wasn’t about to forget that lesson. He’d just sit here until the Wrights scrambled back into their storybook cottage and left him alone.
But that happy little thought lasted only moments. Until one of the women pulled away from the solid mass of humanity and leaned down to peer into the car at him.
“You must be Sam.”
“Must be,” he said and took one brief moment to appreciate her—objectively, of course, as an art lover would admire a beautiful painting. Her skin was smooth and the color of rich cream. Her eyes were big and blue like her mother’s. Her blond hair, pulled loosely back from her face into a ponytail, hung down on one side of her neck. The dark blue T-shirt and jeans she wore looked faded and comfortable.
“You’re…”
“Tricia,” she said, her lips curving as she studied him more closely. “Eric’s sister. Well,” she corrected a moment later, “one of them.” She glanced back at the still-gleeful crowd. “There’s the other one—Debbie.”
He looked at the shorter, rounder blonde, currently wrapping her arms around Eric’s neck tight enough to strangle.
“We’re easy to tell apart. She’s six months pregnant, I’m not.”
“I’ll remember,” Sam said, though he doubted that Tricia Wright would ever be easy to confuse with anyone else.
She cocked her head, smiled and asked, “So, are you getting out of the car anytime soon?”
“Actually, I don’t think so,” Sam told her, suddenly looking forward more than ever to a nice, quiet night at the hotel. Give the Wrights time to enjoy their reunion. “I was just dropping Eric and his stuff off. I’ll be going to the hotel until—”
“Oh, that’s not gonna fly,” she said, and slid into the passenger seat. “Aah, that’s better, was getting a crick in my neck.”
Sam just stared at her, then shifted his gaze to where her family had calmed down enough to let the kids into the inner circle. Eric had the little girl balanced on one hip as he ruffled the boy’s hair.
Family.
A part of him admired the strength in them. The bond that held them so closely. Yet, another part of him thought of those ties as binding chains that, once shattered, left a man suddenly, shockingly adrift. Better to avoid the ties altogether then, wasn’t it?
“Nice car,” Tricia said.
“Thanks.” How to get her out of the car so he could turn on the engine and get gone?
She hit the eject button on the CD player so she could inspect the disc inside. Nodding in approval, she glanced at him. “Rock and roll, but not heavy metal. I like a man who can appreciate the classics.”
Apparently, she’d settled in for the long haul. He scowled at her deliberately. That scowl had been used successfully to keep people at bay for most of his life. Apparently though, Tricia Wright hadn’t gotten the memo on that one. She laughed. Not one of those dainty, musical, little wind chime laughs, either. It was full and loud and rattled around inside him until he was forced to shift uncomfortably.
“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Was that your ‘scary’ look?”
What was he supposed to say to that?
“Hey, Sam,” Eric called out, “hit the trunk latch, will ya?”
Hallelujah. Anything to get this done so he could head to the hotel. He reached down by the side of the driver’s seat, pulled the latch and heard the trunk spring open. Glancing into the rearview mirror, Sam saw what looked like the entire herd of Wrights assemble behind his car.
“So,” Tricia said from beside him, “you’re a doctor.”
“Yeah.” He kept his gaze fixed on the crowd behind his car. There seemed to be a hell of a lot of activity back there just to pick up Eric’s two bags.
“What kind? Eric’s never said, really.”
He shot her an exasperated look. Those wide blue eyes were fixed on him. “Medical.”
“Funny.”
Sam sighed as she continued to stare at him. There was a steady patience about her that told him she wasn’t going anywhere. Until he could make his escape, it looked as though he was going to be in a conversation whether he wanted one or not. “I’m a G.P.”
“Good.” She slid the CD back into its slot in the dash. “I hate specialists.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, smiling. “Maybe I watch too much TV, but specialists seem more concerned with the disease than the patient and that’s not good.”
“They’re not all—”
She leaned back in the seat, flipped the visor down and checked her hair in the mirror. “I really do watch too much TV, you know. Comes from not having a life.”
Way too much information, Sam thought and threw another look at the back of the car. Why weren’t they finished yet?
“You’re ignoring me, hoping I’ll go away, aren’t you?”
A pinprick of guilt stabbed at Sam, but he ignored it more successfully than he had Tricia. “Not really. I’m just…”
“Crabby?”
He scowled at her one more time. “No.”
“There’s that scary face again,” she pointed out. “You should have noticed already that it doesn’t work on me.”
“What will?” Sam asked, desperate enough to try anything.
She chuckled and shook her head until her blond ponytail swung off her left shoulder to settle on her right. “Ah, that you’ll have to figure out for yourself.”
Trying to decipher Tricia Wright would take years, Sam thought. And he wouldn’t be here that long. Two weeks, he reminded himself. Two weeks until Eric’s wedding and then he could get back to L.A. Back to his practice. Back to the blessed stillness of his condo.
The trunk lid slammed closed and he smiled to himself. Couldn’t go home yet, but he could escape to the tranquility of a hotel room all to himself. And right now, that looked like a close enough second-best.
“Sounds like they’ve got it all,” Tricia said and swung her legs out the passenger side door. Then she looked back over her shoulder at him and grinned. “You might as well give it up and come along quietly.”
“What?” He was hardly listening. Instead, he stared past her as the group of Wrights hauled luggage—Eric’s and Sam’s—toward the house.
“Hey!” He shouted it, but no one paid any attention. With no one left to ask, he glared at Tricia. “Where’re they going with—”
“You didn’t really think the folks would let the man who saved their son’s life stay in a hotel, did you?”
He shifted his gaze to hers and saw the glint of humor sparkling at him. She knew damn well that he felt trapped. And it didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.
“So, Doc Crabapple,” she asked, “you coming quietly or will I have to get rough?”
