Chapter 8
Grace Wyatt didn’t like him, Noah reflected ruefully as he took the tray of soup and sandwiches from Isaiah, who withdrew very quickly, clearly wanting to give them privacy, and set it on the desk.
Why didn’t she? He’d saved her life after all, and that of her son.
He certainly wasn’t expecting her to fall all over herself in gratitude, but the slight edge of animosity to everything she said as well as to each darkly pointed look she gave was both irritating and intriguing.
Was it simply because she was embarrassed that he’d had to undress her, he wondered, or was something else going on?
Isaiah had said she was from New York. Her clothes were all expensive and designer brands.
It was not impossible, and maybe even likely, that their paths had crossed during his time in the city…
a prospect that made Noah more than a little uncomfortable.
Did Grace know him from his past life? He thought he would have remembered her, but maybe not.
Did she remember him? Had he done something back then, when he knew he’d been unbearably arrogant and often obnoxious, that she hadn’t liked?
He hated the thought, but he had to accept that it was at least a possibility.
“I hope you like grilled cheese and tomato soup,” he remarked as he turned to face her. “They’ve always been favorites of mine.”
“There was no need to go to so much trouble,” Grace replied stiffly.
“It’s past suppertime, and you’ve been out in the cold,” Noah replied, keeping his voice mild. Was she going to fight against even this? “I thought you’d be hungry.” He turned to face her with a small smile, while she hung back, looking torn.
“Thank you,” she finally said, with just as much reluctance as she’d shown earlier. What, Noah wondered in exasperation, was going on with her? And why did he care? He’d been living like a hermit for a year and a half. He didn’t need some random woman to like him.
Even if her son reminded him of Jem.
Noah cleared a table by the bookshelves and set their bowls and plates out while Grace watched, one hand holding up the waistband of the sweatpants.
“Sorry those don’t fit very well,” he remarked. “I’m afraid there’s not much here.”
She shook her head, her golden hair tumbling about her shoulders. “It’s all right. You’ve been very generous… about everything.”
His lips twitched. “Something, I can’t help but notice, that seems to annoy you,” he remarked mildly, and she flushed, shooting an uncertain glance at her son, who was still immersed in his game.
“No, not at all,” she said quickly. “I’m… I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful.”
“I’m not looking for gratitude,” Noah replied as he gestured to her to sit down. “I suppose I just wasn’t expecting hostility.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. She glanced once more at her son, and he decided to leave it for now.
Clearly she didn’t want to talk honestly about whatever was bothering her in front of Jacob.
Noah watched as she walked over to him, resting one hand on his thin shoulder.
“J?” she called gently. “You want to come eat?” she asked softly.
After a few seconds, Jacob turned away from the chessboard, sliding his hand into his mother’s as they both came to the table.
Isaiah had said he thought Grace Wyatt and her son were damaged, Noah recalled, and looking at them now, he could believe it.
He didn’t think it was just their near-brush with death, although that had surely been frightening enough, that had Grace acting so tenderly and protectively toward her son, or edgy and uncertain with him.
Or why Jacob hadn’t said a single word since Noah had taken him from that rock.
Was he just shy and still recovering from their experience, or was his quietness an indication of something deeper?
Noah was used to silence; he’d been living alone for eighteen months, after all, and even when he and Jem had been living together, his brother had been far from a talker.
Noah would rather someone be quiet than a chatterbox, and yet Jacob’s silence seemed more than just natural shyness.
What, Noah wondered, had happened to Jacob and Grace? Whatever it was, it was likely the reason why they’d escaped to Lighthouse Cove Island, a million miles from anywhere… which, like him, might have been exactly what they’d wanted.
Jacob slipped onto a chair and reached for his spoon, his hair sliding into his eyes as he bent his head toward his meal.
“We really are grateful to you,” Grace murmured, and Noah had the sense that she was trying to speak for her son.
“I don’t need any more thanks,” he told her lightly. “It was what anyone would have done.”
“Still…” she murmured, nibbling her lip. She reached for her own spoon, her gaze lowered.
Noah realized he was intensely curious about her and how she came to be here, and yet he also suspected that Grace Wyatt would not welcome many—or even any—questions. And he knew he had to respect that, because he wouldn’t welcome any, either.
So they ate in silence, which felt a little strange but also surprisingly companionable, considering her earlier animosity, the only sound the crackle of the fire as the logs settled into the grate with a shower of sparks.
Having had only a few spoonfuls of soup and a nibble of her grilled cheese, Grace glanced up at him with wide eyes. “Do you live here all year round?” she asked, and Noah jerked back a little, because it seemed she was okay with asking questions, if maybe not answering them.
“I do now,” he replied, and then realized that answer revealed more than he’d wanted it to. It had been a long time since he’d had to interact with anyone besides Isaiah.
Grace nodded, her soft gray gaze sweeping over him slowly, but she didn’t ask any more questions, and weirdly, Noah was almost disappointed.
He really didn’t want to go into the details of his private life, but some small part of him had still welcomed her interest. Maybe he was a little lonely, the way Isaiah seemed to think.
A soft knock sounded on the door, and then it opened and Isaiah himself slipped into the room, his expression impassive although Noah thought he saw a gleam of speculative interest in the caretaker’s eyes. No doubt he was pleased Noah had some company.
“Isaiah…” Grace said, sounding surprised to see him there, and he gave her a small, swift smile before turning to Noah.
“The doctor has arrived.”
“That was fast,” Noah remarked. He glanced at Grace. “He had to come all the way from Eastport.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble…” Now she sounded distressed, and Noah wondered what made her so apologetic for everything. It was a strange mix, the veiled antagonism and fretful apology, like she couldn’t decide whether she was angry or afraid.
“It wasn’t any trouble,” he stated firmly. “And you certainly need to get that bump checked out.” He turned back to Isaiah. “You can send him up, Isaiah. Thank you.”
Isaiah’s eyebrows rose slightly and belatedly Noah realized he wasn’t sounding quite as churlish as he often did. No doubt the old salt was pleased about that. See, he didn’t need some therapy app to act like a normal human being, at least for a few minutes.
“I’m sure I’m fine,” Grace told Noah once Isaiah had left.
She felt anxious in a way she couldn’t completely explain, about everything regarding this situation—the unfamiliarity of this gloomy, looming house, the pain in her head, and most of all, Noah Lawrence, looking so casual and yet in command, his arm draped around the back of the empty chair next to him, his blue eyes narrowed in a friendly yet assessing way, like he was trying to figure her out, and no wonder.
She was acting like a lunatic, veering from one emotion to another, all of them jumbled up inside her.
Grace hated feeling so helpless, and yet she knew her pathetic attempts to assert some kind of control just came across as petty and ungrateful. Which was probably why she kept alternately thanking and apologizing to Noah Lawrence, even when all she wanted to do was leave.
“I’m sure you are, too,” Noah replied equably, yet with that hint of iron underneath that made panic clutch at Grace’s throat, so it was hard to breathe.
She did not want another man telling her what to do, especially when he was doing it under the guise of kindly consideration.
She knew how that went. “But it can’t hurt to make sure, right?
” He raised his eyebrows in query and she stared miserably back.
She knew she was overreacting, understood that Noah wasn’t anything like Brad—at least she didn’t know that he was like him—and yet the instinctive reaction of fear and fighting against those velvet-covered, iron-clad directives, no matter how futilely, was impossible to ignore or resist. She would not let herself become passive and helplessly compliant again, ever.
She’d made that vow the day she’d finally worked up the courage to leave Brad, and she didn’t want to let go of it, just a few months later.
“I suppose so,” she whispered. But as soon as the doctor left, Grace told herself, she was going to leave too.
As much as she didn’t want memories to form her future, they were certainly crowding in right now. She looked away from Noah, biting her lip in anxiety as she waited for the doctor to arrive.
A tap on the door sounded just a minute or two later, much to Grace’s relief.
“Come in,” Noah called, and the doctor entered, a tall man in his mid-forties with thinning, sandy hair and a friendly expression. “Good evening,” he greeted them. “I hear someone hit their head on a rock?”
“That would be me,” Grace replied with a small smile, and at Noah’s suggestion she and the doctor repaired to the room where she’d woken up, the chaise acting as an examining table.
Instinctively, Grace had looked to Jacob, expecting him to accompany her, but her son had gone back to his chess game and with a small smile, Noah had assured her, “I’ll look after him.”
As uneasy as that made her—for the last six months Jacob had barely been out of her sight—Grace felt she had no choice but to agree, and she was glad at least that her son seemed so interested in his game, and hardly anxious at all.
Unlike her.
“You’ve had a bad bump,” the doctor told her as he examined the bruise on her temple. “And you might very well be concussed, considering the length of time you were unconscious… Mr. Lawrence said at least a minute?”
Grace shrugged unhappily. “It’s all kind of a blur, but I remember a few things.”
He nodded. “Well, if the pain doesn’t go away within a week, I’d suggest coming to the medical center in Machias for a CT scan.”
Grace already knew she didn’t want to do that. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said firmly.
“Head injuries need to be taken seriously,” the doctor told her with a rather stern smile. “I advise that you be under observation for the first forty-eight hours, including at night.”
“What!” Grace stared at him in dismay. Right then, forty-eight hours felt like a very long time. “What do you mean, under observation?”
“Not alone,” the doctor explained patiently. “So someone can monitor you for any worsening symptoms.” He cocked his head, seeming bemused by her reaction. “But that shouldn’t be a problem, if your husband is willing to do it?”
Grace’s startled gaze flew to his compassionate one. “Noah Lawrence is not my husband,” she stated quickly. “I only met him today.”
“Oh…” The doctor frowned. “I’m sorry, I just assumed. In that case, is there someone else who could stay with you?”
Grace almost laughed. Who, she wanted to ask, would be willing to do that for someone who moved all of three days ago to a place with a population of six?
“My neighbor, maybe,” she said hesitantly, wondering if she could possibly ask Bab for something like that considering they’d only met once, and also whether she even wanted to, and the doctor nodded.
“All right, I should talk to your neighbor, then, and make sure they understand what to look for, and check on you every few hours—”
“Oh, I…” Grace shook her head helplessly, which made her head hurt all the more. She was pretty sure she didn’t know Bab well enough for all that. “Look, I really think I’ll be fine—” she began, only to fall silent at the doctor’s stern look.
“You might feel that way now, but I’m afraid, Miss…?”
“Wyatt. Grace Wyatt,” she informed him wearily. She was already losing the will to fight this battle, especially if this doctor was going to insist upon it the way he seemed to be.
“Miss Wyatt, potential traumatic brain injuries are not to be taken lightly,” he told her in a scolding tone.
“I strongly advise, and even insist, that someone keep you under observation for at least twenty-four hours, preferably forty-eight. If there’s no one here who is able to do that for you, you can accompany me back to Eastport and spend the night at the community hospital near there, although considering your injury, I think it would be better if you stayed exactly where you are. ”
“I can’t go to the hospital,” Grace said. What would she do with Jacob then? She rubbed her forehead and then winced with pain. All right, maybe the doctor had a point. Unfortunately.
“Then I really think you should stay here,” he stated firmly. “I know Isaiah Hawksworth, and he is entirely trustworthy. You’re in good hands, Miss Wyatt, whether you realize it or not.”