12
“This is the girl?”
Marshall Wyatt studied Sheridan with his wise, old eyes, even though she suspected he couldn’t actually see her very well. According to Cain, his step-grandfather had a cataract removed a few months ago, but still suffered from a bad case of glaucoma.
“This is the girl.” Cain tossed the bag of pork rinds and the crossword puzzles he’d bought on the way over onto the old man’s bed. “She’s tough, eh?”
“She sure is.” Marshall reached out a shaky hand. “I hear you’ve had a rough time of it since you returned to town, young lady.”
Sitting in the wheelchair Cain had borrowed from the nursing home office, Sheridan pushed herself close enough to accept Wyatt’s hand. “It was horrific,” she said as he gave her fingers a brief squeeze. “If not for Cain, I wouldn’t have made it.”
“It’s amazing what this boy will do for a pretty lady,” Marshall said with a wink.
Earlier this afternoon, before Cain brought her to the nursing home, Sheridan had bathed in the pond again, only this time she’d worn Cain’s boxers and T-shirt into the water and managed to dress herself afterward, donning a cotton summer dress with a pair of sandals. She couldn’t raise her hands above her head for more than a few seconds, so Cain had helped blow dry her hair, but she’d washed her face and put on a little blush and lip-gloss. She didn’t feel pretty—not with the lingering scabs and bruises—but she felt healthier than she had in a long while.
“He’s turned out to be a very good friend,” she said but avoided Cain’s gaze. Ever since he’d put on that salve, she couldn’t look at him without feeling a rush of desire. He’d affected her that way when she was sixteen; he affected her the same way at twenty-eight. She couldn’t control the craving, so she was determined to hide it.
“You don’t know who did this to you?” Marshall asked.
“No.” When Cain had come into her room to suggest they take a short drive, Sheridan had jumped at the chance for a change of scenery. And she was glad she had. Although she’d never had any contact with Marshall Wyatt in the past, she already liked him.
“It’s a tragedy,” he said. “I can’t understand it.” Then he looked at Cain and waggled a finger. “And you. What’re you doing sending that tea of yours over here? I’m not drinking that nasty stuff. I’ve survived eighty years without it, and I figure I’ll take my chances from here on out.”
“I can be just as stubborn as you,” Cain told him.
For a moment, there was a standoff; then the old guy grinned. “I love this kid,” he told Sheridan. “Doesn’t matter that he’s not really my own. If that John of mine had half a brain he’d realize what he’s got here. What he’s always had. But he’s too big a fool, still livin’ in the past, mournin’ Jason. You can’t get close to him for all that pain.”
“We didn’t come here so you could bore her with family business,” Cain grumbled, but the glitter in his eye took the edge off his words and told Sheridan just how deeply he respected this man.
“So what did you come for?” Marshall said. “You’d better have more for me than those pork rinds and magazines. Where’re my cigarettes?”
Now Sheridan understood the real reason they’d stopped at the convenience store on the drive over.
“You tell John I’m supplying you with these and he’ll try to have me barred from visiting you.” Cain dug the pack out of his pocket and tossed it onto his grandfather’s bed with the other things. “You know that, don’t you?”
“John?” Marshall nearly shouted. “That’s what you call him now?”
“Come on. Don’t start,” Cain said. “Be happy that I smuggled in your contraband. I don’t like going against your doctor’s orders any more than he does.”
“I don’t care whether John likes it or not. You, neither. I’m an adult.” Marshall jabbed a thumb against his own chest. “I’ve earned the right to decide whether or not I want to smoke.”
Cain’s smile slanted to one side. “Which is why I buy them for you. That and the fact I can’t say no to you,” he added under his breath. “How’s that for tough love?”
“That’s the kind of love I like,” the old man replied, laughing. “How come I’m the only one who sees it?” he asked Sheridan.
“Sees what?”
“That this boy has the softest heart of all.” Recovering his pack of cigarettes, he placed them proudly in his front pocket. “Ah, that’s what I needed,” he said, giving them a satisfied pat.
“Fortunately, he likes having them more than he likes smoking them,” Cain muttered to Sheridan, and she couldn’t help grinning. This wasn’t about smoking. It was about Marshall defying the people who said he couldn’t, about asserting his will despite all the decisions that were being made for him.
“What’ll the nurses say when they catch you with those?” Sheridan asked.
“Oh, they’ll cluck and they’ll cackle, but I won’t let ’em give me too much trouble. They know who’s boss around here.” A noise drew their attention to the door. “Isn’t that right?” he said to the nurse who appeared there.
“Isn’t what right?” she repeated, coming into the room.
“That I’m the boss around here.”
She opened her mouth to answer, then spotted the telltale bulge in his front pocket and scowled. “What’s that you’ve got there?”
“You know what it is.”
“Shame on you,” she said to Cain. “How many times do I have to tell you? Cigarettes are against the rules here. Do you want him to die of lung cancer?”
“I want him to be happy for however long he lives,” Cain said.
She didn’t seem to have an argument for that, so she sighed. “You’re going to cost me my job someday.” She was obviously exasperated, but she didn’t really seem worried about losing her job, especially once she noticed Sheridan sitting quietly in the corner. “You didn’t tell me you have a new girlfriend, Cain. Who’s this?”
He didn’t respond to the “girlfriend” part of her comment. “Sheridan Kohl, meet Candy Bruster,” he said.