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Noah doesn’t answer. Just slaps a hand to his thigh and rises to his feet. “Gotta hit the head.” He leaves the room, and I let out a breath held high in my chest. My gaze moves around, locking on the large, wooden desk that sits beneath the only window. Before I consider my actions, I’m at the desk, yanking out one drawer after another, searching for . . . I don’t know.
Anything.
A smoking gun, perhaps?
I have to be quiet, have to be fast.
“Elizabeth?” Noah’s voice interrupts. He’s a few feet away, coming down the hall already. “Youwant another beer?” I slide the last drawer shut and mentally search for an excuse to be standing here because I don’t have time to move. In a panic, I yank my phone from my pocket, press it to my ear, and nod along like someone’s talking to me.
“I understand,” I say as he steps into the office. He stops, stares at me, eyes full of concern.
The hospital?he mouths. I nod and turn away, focused on the make-believe conversation while I stare out the window.
Before I pretend to disconnect, I give myself a second to consider the whole evening. Noah doesn’t seem to be questioning why I’m standing at the desk, doesn’t seem to know I just rifled through it. But it’s yet another too-close-for-comfort moment, and I think it’s best I leave—in a hurry, not leaving room for questions. Or room to wind up in another lip-lock, which I desperatelywantto do and think is an awful idea. Especiallyhere, in Mr. Sawyer’shouse. . .
“I have to go,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“Is your mom okay?”
I shake my head. “She’s not doing well.”
Noah frowns. It seems genuine. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to take you to the hospital? Maybe you shouldn’t drive when you’re so worried.”
God, he really is sweet. I’ve done nothing but play hot and cold with this man, and yet here he is concerned, offering to drive me. I force a smile. “I’ll be okay. But thank you.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
At my car, Noah cups my cheek. “I know how hard it is to lose your mother. Call me if you need anything, okay? I mean it.”
I nod. “Good night, Noah.”
A mile up the road, instead of taking the right turn for the hospital, I make the left turn home. Mentally, I berate myself—for almost getting caught, forenjoyinghim. As insane as it is, my body is still on fire for the man. Even if hiseyes do look just like Mr. Sawyer’s . . . God, what the hell is wrong with me that I’m attracted to him, knowing they’re related?
As soon as I’m inside the front door of Mom’s house, the stench of stale liquor and sickness hits my nose, and I realize I’ve forgotten my purse in the car. This may be a small town, but I’ve been living in New York City, and there, you don’t leave anything anywhere if it matters to you. So I walk back out the door, through the country-night darkness, and lean from the driver’s side to grab my purse from the passenger’s seat. As I’m climbing back out, a car whooshes by on the road behind me. I look up just in time to catch the taillights. The taillights of ared pickup.
CHAPTER
18
I’m fine all by myself.” Mom swats my hand away.
I push the walker in front of her again. “The doctor said you need to use it. You might be out of the woods for now, but it’s going to take some time to get your strength back.”
She reaches for it like she’s going to take it, then lifts and flings it across the hospital room.Guess he misjudged your strength.Whatever. The one thing my mother taught me that’s been valuable in my life is you can’t help people who don’t want to be helped. So instead of hovering as she makes her way to the bathroom, I decide to pack up her stuff. It’s been a long six days since she was admitted, four since she woke up.
The nurse comes in as I’m zipping the duffel. She looks around and smiles. “Mrs. Davis make an early escape?”
“She’s in the bathroom. Wouldn’t let me help her, of course.”
“She’s an independent woman with a beautiful soul.”
I have to turn away so the nice nurse won’t see me rolling my eyes. My mother swings open the bathroom door.
“Elizabeth, you better . . .” She stops short when she realizes someone else is in the room. God forbid anyone see how she treats her own flesh and blood.
The nurse rushes over and grabs Mom’s elbow. “Mrs. Davis, you shouldn’t be walkingunattended.”
Of course, my mother doesn’t tellherwhere to stick it. She even plays into the role of a dying woman. She hunches her back and shuffles her steps like she didn’t just have the strength to toss a piece of medical equipment across the room.