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“Any complaints other than that?” he persisted.
“Like what?” she frowned.”
“Dizziness, sharp pains, difficulty focusing her eyes.” Absently, Jonas listed the by-now-familiar possibilities, his attention absorbed in its study of Molly’s sleeping face.
“Nothing like that.” Bridget shook her head with certainty but felt faintly alarmed.
“Good,” he nodded. “I didn’t expect she would.”
“Should I … wake her?”
“There’s no need.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that implied weariness, and slid a disinterested sideways glance at Bridget. “You wouldn’t happen to have any coffee made, would you?”
“I think there’s still some from this afternoon—I had to get the taste of the vending machine coffee out of my mouth. But the pot I made is probably too strong by now,” she answered. Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. She didn’t quite want him to think that she’d been keeping some hot just in case he came over. Their closeness in the hospital had been fleeting, and their mutual wariness had returned. As far as she was concerned, they were back where they started from.
“I don’t mind. The stronger the better.” His mouth curved fleetingly into a smile. “I’d like a cup, if it’s no trouble.”
“It isn’t,” Bridget said. All these mixed emotions over a cup of coffee—she didn’t know what was the matter with her.
He followed her into the kitchen, taking a chair at the dinette table while she poured coffee into a stoneware mug. “Cream and sugar?” she offered, carrying the cup to the table.
“Both. Will you join me?”
How could she refuse? The only other alternative would be to stand around waiting for him to drink it, and that would only add to the vague sense of unease she was fighting.
“I think I will,” Bridget agreed with a stiff smile.
Filling a matching stoneware mug with black coffee, she took a chair opposite him at the table. She cupped her hands around the mug in an attempt to ward off the chill pervading her limbs.
Jonas sat motionless in his chair, an arm hooked over the back. He seemed withdrawn and distant, but she was going to wait for him to do the talking.
“I owe you an apology, Bridget,” he said at last.
His words caught Bridget by surprise. She looked at him, startled, but she couldn’t catch his eye. A faint furrow of concentration drew his brows together.
“Why?” she asked with a trace of confusion.
“Well, before the ambulance arrived, I was giving the orders.” He paused. “Am I wrong in saying that you didn’t like it?”
“It’s all right,” Bridget dismissed the need to apologize. “I didn’t know what to do. Believe it or not, that was the first time Molly ever fell off a horse. Considering how fearless she is, she’s been lucky. Anyway, I’m glad you were there.” So he wanted to know what was on her mind—well and good—but she suddenly didn’t want to have that kind of conversation.
“I could have been”—Jonas hemmed and hawed, searching for the right words—“more personal and less professional. I could have handled it differently.” He ran a hand through his already rumpled hair. “You know, when residents do rounds, our handling of different cases is critiqued—”
“You don’t have to second-guess yourself on this one. You did the right thing.” Bridget fell silent. There was no way she was going to explain the irrational resentment she felt during the agonizing minutes after Molly’s fall. As a single mother, she’d had to be everything to her daughter, but she couldn’t do it all the time. It wasn’t wise or healthy.
“Okay.” He let out a deep sigh. “I guess I’m worrying about something I don’t need to worry about.” Despite his words, his look at her was searching and worried.
She was grateful to him. He obviously needed a little reassurance and it was no big deal to give him that.
“Jonas, maybe you were brusque at first but you had to follow medical protocol or whatever it’s called at the scene of an accident.” Bridget attempted a shrug of indifference, knowing that he was likely to see right through it. He was incredibly perceptive to have picked up on what she’d felt at the time.
“So long as you’re okay with it,” Jonas refused to drop the subject.
“You put Molly first. I respect that,” she said levelly. “Could we talk about something else?”
“Sure we can. I just want to make sure that we understand each other. I mean, for a little while there it was like we were a family. Do you know what I mean?”
We. Family. Simple words that held poignant meaning. She wasn’t remotely ready to think of herself and Jonas as linked in any way. They were entirely separate individuals and she wasn’t at all sure they would ever understand each other.
