Page 31 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

“Every bite. You need your strength back, and toast alone won’t do it. You’ve got to eat something that will stick to your ribs.”

“I think this is going to stick to my throat.”

“Now, now, don’t insult the chef.” He picked up the spoon and ladled a big portion out of the bowl. Stubbornly and without a modicum of compassion, he held it in front of her mouth until she opened it. He shoved the mouthful inside. She had barely swallowed the gooey stuff when he was holding another spoonful for her. She laughed when he began opening and closing his mouth in the way he wanted hers to move.

“This is just like feeding a baby,” she managed to say before another bite was pushed into her mouth. “You’re very good at it.”

“I should be,” he said.

God! He’s married! she thought. That had never occurred to her. He was probably married and had a house full of children.

“I’ve been roped into feeding my sister’s kids too many times not to have learned a few tricks,” he was saying. “That’s why I knew about the crackers. Every time she was pregnant, my sister would go through boxes of soda crackers to control the nausea.”

“Do you have any children of your own?” She had been relieved to hear that he was referring to his nieces and/or nephews, but she still didn’t know his marital status. Before she could stop it, the question had popped out. The spoon with the next tasteless lump of cream of rice on it stopped on its journey to her mouth.

“No,” he said quietly. “I haven’t been married for ten years. The woman I married so ill-advisedly decided after two years of matrimony that I was stifling her and that she wanted a career. She left and filed for divorce.” His pragmatic explanation didn’t leave much room for discussion, so Erin didn’t pursue it. He wasn’t married and hadn’t been for a long time. For some reason that fact relieved her immensely and made her extremely happy.

After another few bites, she said, “I don’t think I want any more. Thank you.”

“You’ve probably had enough for now. For lunch you can have potato soup.”

“Vichyssoise?” she asked delightedly.

His light eyebrows lowered in derision and he said flatly, “No, just plain potato soup out of a can.” Then they both laughed.

“Tell me about your family,” Erin said as Lance removed the tray from her lap. She caught a whiff of shaving soap as he leaned over her. “You have a sister?”

“Yes. She and her husband have four children. When we all get together with Mom and Dad, it’s a madhouse.”

Erin felt a pang of jealousy. Gerald O’Shea hadn’t had any brothers or sisters living. Her mother only had the one sister in Louisiana who was childless and widowed. Erin had hoped she would find Ken with a large family. She longed for relatives. Bloodlines. Descendants. Family.

“I envy you your family,” she said. “I always wanted cousins, relatives to visit during the summer and holidays, things like that. I wish Ken and Melanie had children.” She sighed. Sometimes the simplest dreams were the most elusive.

Lance crossed the room and stood with his back to her, looking out the window. “We have a lead on Lyman,” he said unexpectedly.

She sat up instantly, her lethargy vanishing. “You do? Melanie said last night that she thought you might. What happened?”

“We found out that he rented a car. We had checked out that possibility immediately, of course, but someone missed a private rental firm. When the owner reported to the police that someone had used a phony driver’s license, they called us. The man confirmed Lyman’s identity when we showed him a picture.” He drew a deep breath. “So now we have a concrete lead. We know the kind of car he’s driving and the license plate number. We should find him in a matter of days.”

There was nothing to say. Erin lay back and closed her eyes, offering up a silent prayer that her brother would soon come to his senses and turn himself in or at least that he would be found.

“Dr. Joshua sent over a report for you to take back to your doctor in Houston. It’s downstairs.” Lance didn’t sound really interested in the subject and neither was she.

She answered mechanically, “Good. I’ll remember to pick it up before I go home.”

For the first time Erin noticed that it was raining. Quite hard, in fact. Large round drops were striking the windowpanes, and the eaves of the house were dripping heavily with a haunting percussion. The room was dim, encapsulating, intimate.

“I suppose you’ll have to go back to your business and… everything… after Lyman is found.” Lance’s voice was low and deep, like the rolling thunder that echoed from hillsides far away. He looked so large outlined against the gray light of the window. His forearm was braced against the window frame. As his head leaned into his fist, his thumb raked back and forth across the cleft in his chin.

“I suppose so,” Erin replied vaguely. Suddenly, going back to Houston was a dismal prospect. But she loved her life there! Her business. She was fond of Bart. However, none of that seemed very important any longer. Understanding this man, knowing his needs and meeting them took precedence over everything else. His happiness became essential to hers. Were she forced to choose, at this moment; she would rather be with Lance in this room than anywhere else in the world.

It was almost as if she loved him.

His uncanny knack for reading thoughts didn’t fail him. Without moving his body, he turned his head and pierced her with his cerulean eyes.

Her own eyes were wide with the confusion that swept over her. Unaware of what she was doing, she slowly shook her head in denial of the unpredicted emotions coursing through her. Her trembling lips formed his name, but no sound came out. A tear, crowded by the others that were flooding her eyes, slipped over the lower lid and rolled down her pale cheek.

Lance left the window and walked toward the bed. His eyes locked on hers. “Erin?” Her name was barely audible even in the still room.

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