By Barbara Delinsky
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Extra resources for T.L.C.
He tapped her bottom lip with the edge of the cup. Finish it. You need the liquid.? I have to go to the bathroom.? When you finish the water.? She finished the water because she was thirsty. Then wrapping the blankets securely over her shoulders, she gripped the edge of the sofa and tried to push herself up, only to lose her balance and sink right back down. She moaned but held up a hand to stop Brice when he would have lifted her. This time she made it to her feet and managed to weave halfway across the floor before wavering.
But rather than leaving his car and showing his disdain by stalking past her into the nursing home, he continued to watch. He couldn't understand what she was doing, why she didn't start her car if for no other reason than to turn on the heat. It was freezing. The windchill factor had tumbled the temperature to zero. Yet she simply sat there, leaning slightly forward, seemingly preoccupied with the dashboard. At last she settled back in the seat, inert for the space of a minute. Through the snow-studded glass, Brice could make out most of her profile, and what he couldn't make out he remembered.
32 JVaren didn't like that smile. She didn't like the tone of voice. She didn't like the man. True, he was Rowena's grandson, and she trusted that he wouldn't cause her harm, but there was harm and there was harm. It didn't take a genius to interpret that smile. Brice Carlin might not take a hand to her physically, but that smile said he wouldn't be averse to a little psychological torture. Karen wasn't sitting still for any kind of torture. Inching to the edge of the sofa, she took a breath and pushed herself to her feet.
T.L.C. by Barbara Delinsky