Free Minutes to Kill by Melinda Leigh Page A

is.”
    “All right.” Grant nodded. “Brody said he’ll be around all week.”
    There was something about Brody McNamara. Something she couldn’t quite define, but when they were in the same room, she was acutely aware of him in an irritating and consistent way that made her simultaneously want to avoid—and seek—his company. So what? She was attracted to him. She could fight that off. She’d been battling her feelings her whole life, though lately, her hold on them seemed tenuous.
    Her gaze drifted to the rural highway stretching out in front of the truck.
    She wasn’t staying in Scarlet Falls. She’d get that clearance from the neurologist. Next week she was off to London. Royce wouldn’t need to handle the Tate deal. She’d worked for it, and she was going to make sure it was hers.
    The sound of Grant shifting into park startled her. She looked through the windshield at the familiar one-story brick building of the nursing home where their father lived. Sunday afternoons were prime visiting hours, and the parking lot was full.
    They went through the lobby and signed in at the reception desk. Hannah’s heart slid into overdrive. Under her silk sweater, sweat broke out at the base of her spine. The hospital smell made her queasy.
    At the nurses’ station, a woman in lavender scrubs greeted them with a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Barrett.”
    “Morning, Maria.” Grant introduced Hannah. “How is he today?”
    Her smiled turned sad. “About the same.”
    “Thanks.” With his hand on her elbow, Grant steered Hannah down a long hall covered in flat-napped gray carpet. A tiny woman hunched over a walker shuffled toward them.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Henry,” Grant said.
    “Morning, handsome.” She flashed him a perfect set of dentures. “Did you come to break me out of this place?”
    “Name the day.” He grinned back at her.
    Hannah laughed, the humor easing her nerves. They turned left into the acute-care wing. If the Colonel had been ambulatory, his dementia would have put him in the secure Alzheimer’s ward. But his physical limitations ensured he couldn’t wander.
    Twenty feet from his open doorway, she stopped and took a deep breath. “Any advice?”
    “First of all, relax. It’ll be all right.” Grant reached out and rubbed her bicep.
    “The last time I was here, the visit didn’t go well. He got really angry.” Shame flooded her. She hadn’t known what to do when the Colonel’s temper had exploded.
    “I know,” he said. “I don’t want you to be shocked at his appearance. He’s fading. Honestly, I think it’s a blessing. A man like him shouldn’t have to live like this. If he wasn’t the toughest, most stubborn man on the planet, he wouldn’t still be here.”
    Hannah swallowed. The hallway smelled like death. Most of the residents of this wing were here to die, the Colonel included. No amount of disinfectant or air freshener could sugarcoat that hard fact. “How often do you see him?”
    “I try to get here at least twice a week.”
    “I didn’t come in September. I should have, but . . .”
    “It’s OK.” Grant shrugged. “He doesn’t know. His short-term memory is nonexistent. He doesn’t remember me. He has no idea I was here last Thursday. Every time I visit, he thinks I’m someone else.”
    “How do you deal with that?” Staring at the Colonel’s open doorway, horror and fear curled inside her, waiting to unfurl. The hospital bed, the IV, the air of hopelessness, all brought back the memory of sitting at her mother’s side with the sole goal of minimizing her pain while she died over the course of several months.
    “Coming here is for his benefit, not mine. My only goal is to give him a pleasant hour or two in the middle of what have become endless days of mental and physical misery. I let go of expecting him to know me. He doesn’t remember anything that happened over the last twenty-five years, but sometimes he surprises me with clear recollections of