him the rest, and she wouldnât risk him loathing her for the past anymore than he already did.
Able to tell how miserable she was as she wiped the tears from her cheeks, Chaseâs heart went out to her. He had always hated to see anyone in pain, and although he could alleviate her suffering easily enough, he wondered curiously what specific stress had brought the attack on this afternoon. Was it the accumulated effect of his renewed presence in her life? His motherâs attack on Hopeearlier in the day? Or just Hopeâs own guilt about the past catching up with her? God knew if everything Rosemary asserted about Hope was true, Hope should feel guilty about what sheâd done, but somehow Chase didnât feel that alone was it. Had something else happened? Something he should know about? he wondered, his mind moving ahead to a more plausible scenario. Had Rosemary and Hope had it out again, and if they had, was it even something he wanted to know about? He thought not. Heâd already been dragged too far into the middle of this tangled mess as it was. If the women were fighting again, and if that was the reason for Hopeâs migraine, they would just have to sort it out by themselves, without his intervention. That was the only way the situation would ever be resolved.
Forcing himself back to the medical aspects of her dilemma, Chase asked pragmatically, âDo you have anything stronger on hand than aspirin, Hope? Something prescription?â If she did, it was past time to take it.
She grimaced in regret, looking even more fragile and pale. âNothing.â
âDo you want me to give you something?â he asked gently, knowing a shot would provide the quickest relief.
âWill it help?â she asked in a trembling whisper. At that moment she looked as though she needed more than any physician could offer. She needed to be held, loved and taken care of. Not as his father had taken care of her, like a child bride who needed only to be coddled and protected, but as a flesh-and-blood adult woman, with adult needs and feelings and desires. Knowing, however, that he couldnât and shouldnât do that for her, even if she were to give her permission, he once again turned his thoughts back to his duties as a physician.
âI promise itâll help,â Chase said softly. He reached out to touch her hand in silent sympathy, letting his touch reassure her that he cared and that relief was on its way. At the moment, he didnât care what sheâd done in the past; no one deserved to suffer like this. He didnât care what Rosemary said or thought. He was going to help Hope as much as he was humanly able. If his mother felt he was a traitor to the family for doing so, so be it.
Hope sighed and permission was wrenched from her trembling lips. And in that instant, the die was cast. To her surprise, Chase insisted on staying with her while the medicine took effect. Extremely uncomfortable having him there in the intimacy of her bedroom with her, but in too much pain to get up and move elsewhere, she closed her eyes against his steady presence. Sometime in the next few minutes she fell asleep. When she awakened again, the disabling pain had disappeared, her vision was restored to normal and the blurring and darkness were gone. This should have been a reassuring thing, and it would have been, had Chase not been there with her, looking so handsome and empathetic and concerned about her all at once.
He had been reading, but he put his book down when he saw her stir. He sat forward in the chair he had drawn up beside her bed. âHow are you feeling?â His voice was gentle and tender. He was everything a patient would want a doctor to be. But he wasnât her doctor, she reminded herself, or even, really, a friend. He was her stepson. She couldnât take this as anything more than a professional courtesy on his part, especially when she knew how involved Chase got with
Able to tell how miserable she was as she wiped the tears from her cheeks, Chaseâs heart went out to her. He had always hated to see anyone in pain, and although he could alleviate her suffering easily enough, he wondered curiously what specific stress had brought the attack on this afternoon. Was it the accumulated effect of his renewed presence in her life? His motherâs attack on Hopeearlier in the day? Or just Hopeâs own guilt about the past catching up with her? God knew if everything Rosemary asserted about Hope was true, Hope should feel guilty about what sheâd done, but somehow Chase didnât feel that alone was it. Had something else happened? Something he should know about? he wondered, his mind moving ahead to a more plausible scenario. Had Rosemary and Hope had it out again, and if they had, was it even something he wanted to know about? He thought not. Heâd already been dragged too far into the middle of this tangled mess as it was. If the women were fighting again, and if that was the reason for Hopeâs migraine, they would just have to sort it out by themselves, without his intervention. That was the only way the situation would ever be resolved.
Forcing himself back to the medical aspects of her dilemma, Chase asked pragmatically, âDo you have anything stronger on hand than aspirin, Hope? Something prescription?â If she did, it was past time to take it.
She grimaced in regret, looking even more fragile and pale. âNothing.â
âDo you want me to give you something?â he asked gently, knowing a shot would provide the quickest relief.
âWill it help?â she asked in a trembling whisper. At that moment she looked as though she needed more than any physician could offer. She needed to be held, loved and taken care of. Not as his father had taken care of her, like a child bride who needed only to be coddled and protected, but as a flesh-and-blood adult woman, with adult needs and feelings and desires. Knowing, however, that he couldnât and shouldnât do that for her, even if she were to give her permission, he once again turned his thoughts back to his duties as a physician.
âI promise itâll help,â Chase said softly. He reached out to touch her hand in silent sympathy, letting his touch reassure her that he cared and that relief was on its way. At the moment, he didnât care what sheâd done in the past; no one deserved to suffer like this. He didnât care what Rosemary said or thought. He was going to help Hope as much as he was humanly able. If his mother felt he was a traitor to the family for doing so, so be it.
Hope sighed and permission was wrenched from her trembling lips. And in that instant, the die was cast. To her surprise, Chase insisted on staying with her while the medicine took effect. Extremely uncomfortable having him there in the intimacy of her bedroom with her, but in too much pain to get up and move elsewhere, she closed her eyes against his steady presence. Sometime in the next few minutes she fell asleep. When she awakened again, the disabling pain had disappeared, her vision was restored to normal and the blurring and darkness were gone. This should have been a reassuring thing, and it would have been, had Chase not been there with her, looking so handsome and empathetic and concerned about her all at once.
He had been reading, but he put his book down when he saw her stir. He sat forward in the chair he had drawn up beside her bed. âHow are you feeling?â His voice was gentle and tender. He was everything a patient would want a doctor to be. But he wasnât her doctor, she reminded herself, or even, really, a friend. He was her stepson. She couldnât take this as anything more than a professional courtesy on his part, especially when she knew how involved Chase got with
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