LITMIR.BIZ

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      “How are you feeling?”

      “Like I fell down a flight of stairs,” he retorted, shifting in an effort to ease the insistent throb in his shoulder. His voice sounded rusty and hoarse even to him.

      “You have a morphine pump attached to your IV,” she said, checking tubes, bags and monitors.

      “No morphine,” he stated flatly. He knew what the small cylinder lying in his lap was. The line snaking up to the blue box of the IV regulator promised instant relief, but he couldn’t afford the clouded mind and lassitude it would bring.

      “You can’t overdose,” she informed him briskly, pouring water into a blue plastic tumbler with a straw standing in it. “The machine won’t let you.” She lifted the straw to his mouth, and he gratefully sucked the small vessel dry.

      “No morphine,” he repeated with a satisfied sigh. “Not yet. I need to make a telephone call.”

      She ignored that. “Do you know where you are?”

      He tamped down his impatience. “In a hospital. Not sure which one.”

      “Big General,” she informed him, using the universal term for San Antonio’s hub hospital, the largest and most sophisticated in the city. “Room 18. I’m Nurse Gage.”

      A nurse. “You don’t look old enough to be a nurse.”

      She ignored that, too. “Do you remember how you got here?”

      He rolled his head side to side in the negative. “I remember being…falling down the stairs at the back of my house.”

      “You were brought in by ambulance,” she told him, reaching for the stethoscope draped about her neck. He noticed that her hands, though tiny, were long-fingered with short, oval nails. She listened to his chest, took his pulse, then asked matter-of-factly, “Do you need to empty your bladder? You dislodged the catheter in recovery, and it was decided to remove it.”

      Recovery? He pushed that aside, along with the sudden need to do as she suggested. Everything else could wait. “I need to make a call. Now.”

      “Your parents left their telephone number at the desk. If you want, I’ll give them a ring a soon as we’re finished here.”

      He closed his eyes, frustration mounting. He didn’t want to feel the resentment that surged through him, but he couldn’t help thinking that most parents would be standing anxiously at the bedside of an injured son. Only his supremely self-absorbed parents would have more important things to do. Shoving that old anger away, he marshaled his reason and reached down deep for his usual easygoing demeanor.

      “Listen, I don’t mean to be difficult, but this is important. If you could just hand me the receiver and dial a number for me, I’d be eternally grateful.” He opened his eyes, well aware of the impact those big, baby blues could have. He saw it in her face then, the full memory of that kiss. So it hadn’t been a dream, then. Damn. Suddenly the urge to empty his bladder became secondary to another.

      She stepped back, bumped into the table and IV pole and flushed bright red. Busily righting everything, she said over her shoulder, “You should rest.”

      “I can’t,” he pleaded, “until I make the call. Please.”

      She glanced at him then picked up the telephone receiver, bobbled it and, eyes averted, tucked it into the crook of his neck. Punching two buttons she asked, “What’s the number?”

      “Thank you,” he breathed, gratitude easing the physical need somewhat. He gave her the number and angled his head so he could hear the tones as she dialed. She moved out of sight, then appeared again at the foot of the bed, where she looked at his toes, which were all that the stiff cocoon of bandages encasing his right leg left visible.

      Dale’s secretary answered on the second ring, exclaiming at the sound of Royce’s voice. He made himself answer her questions of concern before saying urgently that he had to speak to her boss. Nurse Gage moved to examine the fingers that extended beyond the cast on his right arm and shoulder, and a moment later, Dale came on the line.

      “Royce? How are you?”

      “Still among the living.”

      “What the hell happened out there, man? I couldn’t believe it when Tammy called.”

      Everything in Royce went on alert. “Tammy called you?”

      “Yeah, right after she called 911. She probably saved your life, man.”

      Emotion swamped Royce. He closed his eyes, tears welling behind them. Poor Tammy, caught between warring parents, not knowing whom to trust, what was betrayal and what was not. Her mother had undoubtedly wanted him to die, yet, Tammy had saved him. The great love that he felt for his nine-year-old momentarily choked him. He cleared his throat and said as smoothly as he could manage, “She’s a good girl, always has been.”

      “Yeah. Must take after you,” which meant that they should all feel grateful that she didn’t take after her mother, Pamela.

      What his ex had put those two kids through was enough to break Royce’s heart. He’d been fighting her for full custody since he’d filed for divorce two years ago, and the case was finally coming to court soon, though Pamela had used every trick in the book to block it. If he’d believed for an instant that she really wanted, needed her kids with her, he’d have relented, but to Pamela those kids were nothing more than a weapon to use against him. She’d told them hideous lies in an attempt to make them hate him, even that the only reason he wanted custody was so he wouldn’t have to pay child support. He hadn’t realized just how far she was willing to go, though. Until now.

      “I’ve gotta see you, Dale. How quick can you get over here?”

      “How’s an hour sound? I’ve got a conference call on hold. Give me thirty minutes to wrap it up, and I’ll head over your way.”

      Weary to the bone, Royce figured he’d need that hour to regain his strength. “Thanks. I appreciate it, bud.”

      “No problem. Can I bring you anything?”

      “Just get over here.”

      “Sure thing. And, Royce?”

      “Yeah?”

      “You don’t know how good it is to hear your voice.”

      “Ditto.” He knew he didn’t have to say that he’d never expected to hear or speak to anyone ever again.

      As Merrily took the telephone receiver from his hand to replace it in its cradle, she noted that he did not wear a wedding ring. The fact that she couldn’t resist looking for one disturbed her. Only the conclusion that he obviously didn’t remember that kiss he’d planted on her earlier enabled her to do her job.

      “Your extremities look good. Full color, warm to the touch. Have you tried to move your toes?”

      The question seemed to surprise him. “No.” He looked down at the bare toes poking up at the end of the bed. The faint twinge was not what Merrily had hoped for, but she put a good face on it.

      “Don’t worry about it. The doctor will undoubtedly want to take a few more X rays, but given your condition they’ll probably bring the portable unit here.”

      “What is my condition exactly?”

      She looked straight into his eyes, noting the size of his pupils. “Good. The concussion worried them at first, but the CT scan was normal.”

      “I’ve had a CT scan?”

      “And an MRI, about a dozen X rays and surgery to set bones in your leg. They also put your shoulder back into its socket and set your arm.”

      His eyes widened. A surreal blue, they were easily the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen, as beautiful as his face. Handsome seemed a lame term for such male perfection. Four shades of blond, from brass to

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