“Your dad really is tryin’ to turn you into a nun, isn’t he?”
“Because I’m not out at the bars on a Friday night?”
“Because he’s got you believin’ that a beautiful, single woman shouldn’t mind grocery shopping alone on a Friday night.”
Carolyn closed her eyes. “You don’t understand.”
“I think I do. You’re expected to take care of your family when you’re home. No shame in steppin’ up to your responsibilities and takin’ pride in what you do. But the fact you’re here tonight shows me you’ve carved out at least a little free time.” He stroked her cheek. “And I want you to spend that free time with me.”
“Carson—”
“Think on it. Please.”
He didn’t move until she gave him a grudging, “Okay.”
Then he forced himself to walk away from her. He’d give her a week to make a decision. After that, he was going after her.
“Mr. McKay?”
He’d been so deep in the memory he hadn’t heard Nurse Lissa approach. “Yes?”
“Let’s get you suited up.” As she helped him dress she detailed the protective outwear he’d have to put on every time, even for a five minute visit.
“You’ll have a few minutes alone with your wife before the twenty-four-hour isolation begins.”
Carson approached the bed, his stomach in knots, his heart so heavy he swore that it was what made his feet move so slowly and not this hazardous materials suit he wore.
He clasped her hand in both of his, hating how cold her skin was, hating the layer of latex between them. His gaze encompassed her beautiful face. He wanted to kiss her. Or at least put his lips on her forehead and bathe his lungs in her scent. Or press his mouth to the side of her throat, hoping to feel that familiar way her pulse leapt whenever he kissed her there—even after almost fifty years together.
But he settled for a light stroke on her cheek. “Sugar, don’t leave me. I can’t live without you—I ain’t even gonna try.” Emotion choked him so his words were barely above a whisper. But she needed to hear him, because he had no doubt she could hear him. The plastic face shield covering the lower half of his face required him to speak louder. “I’m here. Right here, right beside you where I’ve always been and where I’m always gonna be. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I love you. Come back to me. Please.”
He forced himself to move before his tears fell. Wouldn’t want to give her an infection. He probably had rust in his tear ducts.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried.
Chapter Three
Carolyn
Come back to me. Please.
God. The man sounded so forlorn.
Why? Carson McKay never sounded like that.
Carson, honey, I’m right here.
Wait. Where was here? Where was she?
And why couldn’t she see anything?
Wake up, wake up, wake up. You’re in a dream.
But her eyes wouldn’t open.
Come back to me. Please.
Come back…from this dream?
She listened but couldn’t hear his voice.
Carson?
A loud click echoed.
Was that the sound of a door closing? Where was it coming from?
Carolyn followed the sound and floated down the pathways of her mind. Doors of all sizes loomed before her.
One of these doors had to lead back to her current reality. She shouldn’t have retreated when they started jamming tubes in her nose and throat. But it was loud and painful—surely she wasn’t dead if she could still feel pain?—and she’d hidden in the shadows of her mind.
But now, the deeper into her mind she traveled, the lighter it’d become.
So many doors.
Then she noticed one door was ajar.
Maybe it was the exit? Could she escape her subconscious?
The door made no noise when she opened it.
She found herself in her mother’s bedroom, sucked back in time to early summer the year she’d graduated from high school.
The morning after the night she’d met Carson McKay…
“Don’t hover in the doorway, child, come in.” Her mother scooted over and patted the bed. “Sit. Tell me about the dance last night.”
Carolyn settled on the twin bed and reached for her mother’s hand. The arthritis had gotten so bad in the last couple of years her fingers were claw-like and almost useless. It killed her to see her mother bedridden, to see the listlessness in her eyes from the amount of medicine she took to deal with the pain.
But her stoic mother wouldn’t complain.
“Liebchen,” she said softly. “Talk to me.”
Liebchen. Her mother had always called Carolyn her little sweetheart—it was one of the few German words her mother still used.
She forced a smile. “Beverly took off with Michael about half an hour after we got there.”
Her mother clucked her tongue. “That girl is fast. Michael will get what he wants from her and move on.”
“Oh, I don’t know. He leaves for basic training at the end of the summer and as soon as he’s done they’re getting married.”
“Ach. She’s too young.” She shifted on the bed. “Did Beverly introduce you to anyone?”
The image of Carson McKay’s perfect face flashed in her mind and she felt her cheeks heat. His good looks aside, he was so much…more than the boys she’d gone to school with. The only trace of boyishness in him was in that dimpled smile and the devilry twinkling in his dark blue eyes. The rest of him was all man—wide shoulders, broad chest, strong arms, rough-skinned hands. An earthy mix of sun and soil and soap emanated from him; an irresistible musk that tempted her to rest her face in the crook of his neck and just breathe him in.