Stargazer Page 3

  The irritating young voice had a point there. He had sort of promised. But at the time he'd considered it more a vow to himself than to anyone else. And he still wasn't sure why he'd felt so strongly about it, especially since the secret he'd sworn to keep had only existed inside his own mind.

  Or maybe not.

  You have to help her. She's depending on you.

  What was so new about that? People were always depending on him, pinning their hopes on him as if he were some kind of god instead of just a man with a medical degree. But that's all he was. And he didn't have any more saintly qualities, any more compassion or caring, than the next guy did. Maybe less. Show me a doctor who cares and I'll show you a basket case waiting to happen. That had always been his philosophy.

  But this is different. You have to care this time. Look at her.

  "Shut up," he muttered to the boyish voice in his mind. But it was too late. He was already looking at her, remembering the lost little girl, the fear in her eyes, the tears.

  Those same eyes opened now, blinked up at him, and he stopped walking for a second. She smiled slightly, lifted a hand to touch his face. "I knew you'd come, Thomas. I knew..." The hand fell again as her eyes fluttered closed.

  "Ah, hell," Thomas murmured, resuming the brisk pace.

  He emerged from the woods onto the grassy slope and picked up his pace a little more. He splashed through the stream and crossed the stubble-covered wheat field, no longer noticing the pokes in his feet. She stirred a little, moaned softly. One hand came up to clasp his neck and his hold on her tightened automatically.

  He crossed the lawn, kicked the front door opened and came face-to-face with Eugenia Overton and her endlessly curious eyes. Hands on her slender hips, she gaped at him, then at the woman in his arms.

  "Thomas Allan Duffy, what in the name of heaven are you up to?"

  Humphrey lunged out from under the table, barking and snarling in a way Thomas had never seen him do. The black-and-white fur on his haunches bristled and his teeth were bared. Janella's eyes flew wide and she screamed loud enough to wake a coma patient. Her arms snagged Thomas's neck. Cringing closer to him, damn near cutting off his airway, she screamed again, louder.

  "It's all right!" He turned, putting his back to Humphrey, but the dog kept barking and Janella kept screaming. "Dammit, Eugenia, grab the dog!"

  Eugenia had already done just that. She had Humphrey by his collar, smacking him repeatedly on the nose with her other hand, as she tugged him into the small pantry and shut the door. When she turned to face Thomas again she was breathless. One strand of copper-red hair hung down over her pinkened face.

  She blew the curl away with an exasperated puff. "Well? You going to tell me what's going on?”

  Janella still clung to him, shaking all over. Hot tears dampened his neck where her face was buried. So what? he asked himself. Hell, it wasn't as if he hadn't seen patients cry before.

  Yeah. You've seen her cry before. And it made your stomach churn then, too.

  Shut the hell up!

  But his hold on Janella tightened a little more, and one of his hands had apparently decided it was necessary to stroke her hair. He stopped it, glanced at Eugenia. "No, as a matter of fact, I'm not. So go home."

  Pushing past Eugenia, he carried Janella through the kitchen, into the living room and upstairs into his bedroom. He wondered briefly whether her clothes had given her away to his neighbor. Outside, he hadn't really noticed what she was wearing.

  Thank God, he thought, no silver foil. The blouse looked like silk, but felt a lot heavier, sturdier. It didn't appear all that unusual, full sleeves with tighter cuffs. A fitted waist. High, snug collar. The pants reminded him of Spandex, and both were black. She wore ankle-high boots of buttery-soft, leatherlike material.

  He tugged the covers back with one hand, then bent to lower her into the bed. She stared into his eyes, hers huge and frightened, her hands still clasped tight at the base of his neck. He reached behind him and gently tugged her hands away so he could straighten. She blinked in apparent confusion, but lay back on his pillows.

  A bang made her go stiff. Thomas whirled to see Eugenia standing by the window.

  "What the heck did you leave that open for? It's not exactly warm outside. And on a similar note, where's your shirt? You're a doctor, for crying out loud. Don't you know better than—''

  "Eugenia, what the hell are you doing in my bedroom at six in the morning?"

  That shut her up. She pursed her pretty lips and frowned, and he took a second to notice that no matter when you saw Eugenia she was perfectly made up and beautiful. Single, too. Sumac's own Miss Kitty. All she needed was some big strong Marshal Dillon to come along and sweep her off her feet. Then she'd stop worrying so much about his chronic bachelorhood. Maybe.

  "So?" He prodded, wishing like hell she'd take her good intentions and leave. "What did you bring this time? A carrot cake or another prospective wife for me?"

  She pulled herself up taller, obviously insulted. "I saw an explosion. Or at least it looked like one. There didn't seem to be any noise along with it. It seemed to be coming from this way, so naturally I had to come over and make sure you were all right"

  "Naturally."

  "Don't try that nasty attitude on me, Thomas. You know I'm the only one in town who doesn't buy it."

  "Are you, now?" He turned back to his patient, pushed her hair away from her face and saw the swollen, rapidly bruising spot just above her temple. "You know I am. Everyone else shakes in their boots when you glower at them that way. But I'm not scared of you. Not one bit."

  "Maybe you ought to be." He leaned closer to Janella, touched the spot gently, decided she might have a slight concussion at the most. It ought to be all right.

  "Don't you forget, Thomas, I knew you before you went away. You weren't so intimidating when you were in my ninth-grade English class.''

  "People change." He turned, intending to go downstairs for his medical bag. But Eugenia had apparently grabbed it on the way up. She slung it hard into his chest.

  "Not really," she muttered.

  Thomas snapped open the bag, took out a cold pack and crushed it in his hand to activate it. When he felt the chill working into his palm, he laid the pack carefully over the lump on Janella's head. She only watched him, wide-eyed, glancing every few seconds at Eugenia. Thomas reached down, clasping her wrist in gentle fingers, feeling her pulse, glancing at the second hand on the clock beside the bed, wondering why the hell he bothered when he had no idea what would be normal for her. Still, the strong, steady thrum against his fingers reassured him.

  "This lady was in some kind of accident, I take it. That must have been what I saw."

  Damn woman wouldn't be put off easily. "I guess so," he agreed.

  "What about her car? Did you find that?"

  "No sign of it." Thomas licked his lips. "She said she was alone, though, so we don't need to be in a big rush to go looking for it. No chance of any other victims."

  "Couldn't be much left of it anyway, after an explosion like that," Eugenia added. She tilted her head, perusing the woman on the bed as she circled it, stopping on the opposite side. "Well, someone ought to call her folks. She must have family." She leaned over Janella, who seemed to cringe deeper into the sheets. "What's your name, hon? Where are you from?"

  Janella's eyes widened, her gaze darting from Eugenia back to Thomas.

  "Look, Eugenia, you came to check things out. You've done that. Now, if you don't mind, I have a patient to tend to. One who's not in any shape for the third degree. Okay?"

  Eugenia sniffed indignantly, tossed her coppery head. "You don't scare me, Thomas Duffy." Her gaze moved back to Janella, and softened. "I'll come back tomorrow. Maybe she'll want some company by then." She turned and hurried out the door, down the stairs. He heard her car start up and move away a few seconds later, and sighed in relief.

  "Thomas..."

  He turned quickly, scanning Janella's face. She touched
her forearm lightly. "I have pain," she whispered.

  Ah, hell. The wall, dammit. Bring down the wall.

  He schooled his expression to remain blank and dipped into the bag for a pair of scissors. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he lifted her arm, his touch impersonal, while she watched him, eyes wide, curious, but not frightened. Holding the cuff of her sleeve, he slipped the scissor blade inside and began to cut it away. Only, the stuff didn't cut. Frowning, he tried again, until her hand closed over his, and she shook her head. "Very strong." She touched the blouse as she said it. "It will not tear."

  Right. Okay, so I'm treating an alien with an injured arm, and she's wearing some material that can't be cut. No big deal. Just quit thinking about it and concentrate on the job.

  She sat up, lifting one hand to the front of the blouse where there was no visible seam or button or zipper. She hooked a forefinger inside the neck and easily pulled the blouse open down the front.

  Thomas knew he ought to be really amazed at this new, invisible fastener that seemed to seal the material together like magic. But he was too busy noticing the creamy swell of her breasts where the shirt fell open. He was a doctor, for crying out loud. He did not notice breasts unless there was something wrong with them.

  She shrugged out of the blouse, completely unembarrassed, it seemed. She very carefully peeled it from her injured arm and lay back, fully revealed from the waist up.

  No, there was definitely nothing wrong with them. And he was noticing them anyway, and wondering where the hell his damned professional disinterest had hidden itself.

  She frowned and held up her injured arm. "It hurts."

  Her voice had an air of command he didn't much like. Ah, terrific, something about her he didn't like. Aside from her being from outer space, of course. He closed his eyes and gave his head a shake. He'd just about given up the idea that he'd wake up in the morning to find none of this had been real. Maybe he ought to try to wake up now, though, just for the hell of it. He focused on lucidity, on full awareness, and popped his eyes open.

  No good. She still lay on his bed, and her breasts were still perfect and firm and entirely exposed, right to their dark centers and puckering nipples.

  Thomas swallowed hard and pulled the covers over her distractions for the time being. He took the slingshot from around her neck and put it in its old spot—the drawer beside the bed. "I can't believe you kept it all this time."

  She blinked at him. "Why? You kept the amulet, did you not?"

  "Yeah, but—"

  "I knew we would meet again. It was fate, Thomas."

  Wondering what she meant by that pronouncement made him uncomfortable, so he changed the subject back to the matter at hand. He examined the forearm. "It’s broken. I'll have to put a cast on it."

  She tilted her head. "Cast?"

  "It's all right. It will feel better when I'm finished." He reached for his bag, fished out the soft gauze and then the plaster bandages, setting them on the nightstand. Then he went to the bathroom and ran a basin of hot water. He brought it back to the bedside, dropped the plaster rolls into it.

  He had to set the bone first. Taking hold of her arm in both hands, he met her gaze, and his stomach clenched a little at the thought of hurting her. That shouldn't have happened. He shouldn't have let it happen. "This is going to hurt, Janella. But only for a second."

  "Pain is not good, Thomas. I do not like it."

  "I have to do it, or the arm won't heal."

  She frowned. "You are a healer?"

  "Yes."

  "You are certain?"

  For crying out loud. Did she want to see his license to practice? "I'm certain."

  She stared at him for a moment, some kind of wonder in her eyes. Then her jaw firmed up, and she repeated, "I dislike pain." Nonetheless she closed her eyes, braced herself.

  Thomas snapped the bone into place and she screamed. Her eyes squeezed tighter and moisture seeped onto her thick lashes. He grated his teeth and refused to look at her face. "I'm sorry. It'll be better soon, I promise." She opened her eyes, glared at him for a second, then relaxed against the pillows as if resigned.

  He began wrapping the soft cotton around her forearm, then the gauze. "Can you tell me where you come from, Janella?" He finished with the gauze and fished a roll of plaster out of the warm water.

  She glanced toward his window, toward the sky. "Far away. I do not know how to say the name in your language." Her eyes seemed sad.

  "How do you even know my language?"

  She brought her gaze back to his. "We know all your languages." She had to think about it before she finished. "We have always known."

  Thomas nodded, deciding all of the sudden that he didn't really want to hear this. His brain had taken in enough insanity tonight to put it on overload. "I could not stay there," she muttered, as if to herself.

  He frowned, pausing in his ministrations to search her face, then wished he hadn't. She was hurting, and not just physically. "Why not?" Ah, hell, hadn't he just decided he didn't want to know?

  She only shook her head.

  Okay, so she got into some kind of trouble up there on Krypton or wherever the hell she came from, and she'd swiped a handy UFO—the glowing green model was hot this season—and made a getaway to planet Earth.

  Yup, and the moon is made of green cheese, too. Come on, next do you suppose she'll ask you to take her to your leader?

  "Earth is better for me."

  Uh-huh, makes perfect sense. You're having a breakdown, Duffy. A major one.

  Thomas began winding the warm, wet plaster wrap around her arm, smoothing it very slowly. She closed her eyes, and he knew the warmth was soothing her pain a little.

  "But my ship failed, and I could not regain control."

  "And you crashed. You must have been thrown clear before—"

  "The ship is gone." Her eyes squeezed tighter and she cleared her throat. "I can not change my mind now. I can never go back."

  "Was there anyone else with you?" He immediately thought of going back out, searching the area for other survivors. It was ludicrous, but...

  "I am alone," she whispered.

  His heart twisted a little in his chest. Thomas ordered it to freeze in place and stay the hell out of this. "You're not alone, Janella. You have a friend. One from your childhood, hmm?"

  She sniffled and stared at him, smiling just a little. "Yes. One friend. One trusted friend who will keep our secret." Her eyes took on a determined gleam. "No one must know about me, Thomas. Not ever." Again that air of command.

  "Hell, no one would believe me if I told them." Finished with the cast, he rinsed his hands in the water. It felt real, wet the way water should. Wouldn't things be more distorted if this were a mental crisis of some kind? "But don't worry, I'm not going to tell. You can trust me." After wiping his hands on a towel, he took her chin in his hand, fought a brief battle with his own eyes, which seemed inclined to linger on her mouth, and turned her head slightly. "Now, let me take a look at your head."

  In the secret air base in Groom Lake, Nevada, alarms went off and lights flashed. An alien vessel had entered Earth's atmosphere, and apparently crashed in the U.S.A. The tracking systems went into action, putting the crash site somewhere in the state of Iowa. That was all they got before the vessel apparently disintegrated. Still, a team was dispatched. UFO sightings from that area would get immediate attention, and they would track down and recover any bodies or wreckage before too many people asked too many questions. They would put the locals' minds to rest with cover stories of weather balloons or Air Force test flights. They would bring any evidence that was found back to Groom Lake, where it would be analyzed, studied and then stored under armed guard in hangar thirty-five. The entire investigation and the cover-up would go off like clockwork. They always did.

  Thomas's hands were soothing and gentle on her arm, as he administered the ancient remedy for a broken bone. And soft again when he examined the painful bump on her head. He remained
bare chested, and she studied him openly and well, not nearly as afraid now as she had been earlier.

  She cringed inwardly when she thought of the fear she had displayed so openly in front of him. What must he think of her, giving vent to her emotions that way? But then she reminded herself that things were different here. And that this was why she had come. She was unworthy of the life laid out for her at home. And she had often wondered if the blood of the ruling class truly ran in her veins, or if there had been some mix-up to explain her parentage. She was nothing like them. Nothing. She felt things. Many things. So many, she envisioned a cauldron somewhere inside her, one bubbling over with emotions and passions. All the things forbidden to her, the things no true ruler was supposed to feel.

  "Emotions make you weak, Janella." How many times had her mother whispered those words to her? "They interfere with one's ability to think clearly, make practical decisions. Look at the wars and turmoil on Earth. That is where emotions will get you."

  Janella shook her head, remembering. Her father had traces of emotion—to her mother's constant chagrin. Nothing like Janella's explosive feelings, of course. But when his own father had grown feeble and old, and the women of the ruling house had added the old man's name to the list of those to be euthanized at the annual ceremony, he had defied them all. Janella was secretly proud of that. Her father, Matalin, had smuggled Grandfather aboard what was supposed to be a routine reconnaissance ship. And Janella, the only person who knew his plans, had sneaked aboard, as well.

  It had been a wonderful adventure, orbiting Earth, searching for the perfect place for Grandfather to live out his waning years. Until he had died. He succumbed just as they had landed in the woods behind this place. And as Matalin had buried him there, Janella, overcome with grief, had run off into the trees. When her grief was spent, she had been unable to find her way back to her father and the ship.

  And then Thomas had found her.

  She closed her eyes, remembering that night as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Thomas had been young, but so strong and confident. He had reminded her of the heroes in the old stories, the men from days gone by. Men of courage and honor, in the times before the ruling house had taken control of the planet. She had fallen in love with Thomas that night. She had known then that she would hold his image in her heart forever.