She couldn't help being impressed. As a nurse, Kaylie Chatam
had encountered many patients whose physical conditions
sadly diminished them, but not this time. Not even the bulk
of the casts protecting his broken bones deflected attention
from the big, commanding presence asleep on the high, half
tester bed. Tall and long-limbed yet brawny, with an air of
intensity about him even in sleep that his shaggy blond hair
and lean, chiseled face did nothing to diminish, he emitted
a potent force, a larger-than-life aura.
Kaylie lifted a petite hand to the heavy, sandy-red chignon
at the nape of her neck, wishing that she'd secured it more
firmly that morning when dressing for church. She'd have
preferred to conduct this interview in the shapeless scrubs
that she always wore when working, her long, straight hair
scraped back into a tight knot. Instead, here she stood,
wearing skimpy flat mules with big silver buckles on the
shallow toes, a straight knee-length skirt and a frothy
confection of a white blouse, her hair slipping and sliding,
tendrils hanging about her face.
Turning to the man crowded next to her in the doorway of the
bedchamber in one of the second-floor suites of Chatam
House, the antebellum mansion owned by her three delightful
aunties, Kaylie felt at a distinct disadvantage. Stocky,
blunt-featured and of medium height with short, prematurely
gray hair, a practiced smile and a pricey, light grayish
brown suit, Aaron Doolin had identified himself as the
patient's agent.
"Who is he exactly?"
"Who is he?" Doolin parroted, obviously shocked.
"Who is he? Why, that's the Hangman." At her blank
look, he went on. "Stephen Gallow. Starting goalie for the
Fort Worth Blades hockey team." He glanced at the bed,
muttering, "At least he was before the accident."
A hockey goalie? Here at Chatam House? She knew little about
the game beyond its reputation for violence, but that was
enough to make her wonder what the aunties had gotten
themselves into now. More to the point, what had they gotten
her into? Provided, of course, that she decided to
take on this patient, which she could not do in good
conscience without at least nominal approval from her father.
"What happened to the bed hangings?" she asked Doolin,
gesturing toward the massive headboard of the bed. One of
her aunts' prized English antiques, it stood a good seven
feet in height. Even the square footposts were taller than
Kaylie, though at a mere five feet in her stocking feet,
that wasn't saying too much.
Doolin just shrugged. "I don't know from hangings."
"The curtains at the sides of the front of the bed."
"Oh!" He waved a hand, the sapphire on his pinky flashing in
the midday light. The edges of his ever-present smile
frayed. "Well, during the excitement last night," he churned
his hands then shrugged sheepishly "they sort of came down
in the scrum. Your aunts thought it best to get them out of
the way."
Kaylie analyzed that and came to the conclusion that
whatever had happened the night before had involved a
certain amount of violence, which explained why the original
nurse had walked out and why she was here at Chatam House,
staring at an injured, sleeping hockey player. The
idea still did not quite compute. She tilted her head and
wondered what was so compelling about this particular patient.
That he was handsome could not be denied, despite the faint
slanting scars on his chin and high on his right cheek.
Thick, pale gold hair formed a shaggy frame for a
rectangular face with large, even features, the eyes set
deeply beneath the slashes of incongruently dark brows. The
sooty shadow of a beard that hadn't seen a razor in some
days colored his square jaws, cheeks and chin, calling
attention to wide, surprisingly soft lips that might have
looked feminine in a less aggressively masculine face.
How was she, a pediatric nurse, supposed to deal with a man
like this?
Kaylie almost turned around and walked away right then, but
her aunts would not have asked this of her if the need were
not acute. They had approached Kaylie immediately after
worship service that morning, asking her to stop by the
mansion at her earliest opportunity. Some tinge of
desperation in that request had made Kaylie drop off her
father at his,their,house and drive straight here.
Only then had she learned of the aunts' guest and his need
for nursing care. She had been shocked, to say the least.
Known for their good works, the Chatam sisters, triplets in
their seventies, often opened their historic antebellum
mansion to family and family connections, but this was the
first time in Kaylie's memory that they had ever taken in a
complete stranger. His situation must be desperate, indeed.
She turned to Aaron Doolin once more.
"What is his condition?"
"Drugged," he replied flippantly.
Kaylie just looked at the man. Of course Gallow was drugged.
Obviously so. It was nearly one o'clock in the afternoon,
and the man was sleeping as soundly as if two people were
not standing in his room talking. She understood that the
doctor had been called in during the night to sedate the
patient. Such a heavy dose indicated that the poor man had
been in great physical distress.
Doolin cleared his throat and got serious. "You want to know
about his injuries. Uh, let's see. Stevie broke his leg and
arm. The arm was pretty bad. That and the ribs is why
they've strapped it to his chest that way, and naturally it
had to be his left arm because he is left-handed." Doolin
grinned and added proudly, "One of the few truly left-handed
goalies in the league."
"Is that good?"
The agent goggled at her. "Good?" Shaking his head at her
obvious ignorance of all things hockey, he sent her a
pitying look. "That, Miss Chatam, is a very good thing,
indeed. Especially if said lefty is a big brute with
reflexes quick as a cat and the eyesight of an eagle."
A brute. His own agent called him a brute. She could just
imagine how her father, a retired pastor, would feel about
that. Hub Chatam considered his youngest son's participation
in pro rodeo barbaric. Chatam men, he asserted firmly and
often, were called to higher purposes than mere sport.
Chatam men were lawyers and pastors, doctors and professors,
bankers and titans of industry who used their wealth and
talents for the good of others in the name of Christ. That
Chandler chose to dismiss his father's convictions was a
great bone of contention within the family. No doubt, Hub
would hold an even less favorable opinion of a pro hockey
player, though of course a boarder and patient wasn't the
same thing as a son.
"Sorry," she muttered to the agent. "Not much of a sports
fan. My field is medicine."
"Medicine. Right. Gotcha. About his condition… Let's
see. Broken bones. Two in the right leg, two in the left
arm, four ribs, collarbone. I think that's it. Internally,
there was a lacerated liver, a bruised pancreas, busted
spleen…" Doolin tsked and shook his head. "I don't
know what all."
Kaylie nodded in understanding. "Concussion?"
"Um, unofficially, he got conked pretty good."
Unofficially? "Was there brain damage?"
Aaron Doolin reared back. "No way! He's sharp as ever!" The
agent smiled. "Mouth certainly works. He's singeing my ears
regular again, but hey, that's what I get paid for. Right?"
He chuckled, only to sober when it became obvious that she
wouldn't join in with anything more than a weak smile.
Stephen Gallow sounded like both a brute and a bully, but
who was she to judge such things? Her one concern should be
the health of the patient. "What about his lungs?" she
asked. "Were they punctured?"
"Nothing said about it."
"They would have mentioned something like that," Kaylie told
him. "Trust me."
Nodding, Aaron looked to the bed. "Kid's got plenty to deal
with as it is."
No doubt about that, Kaylie mused, thinking of her
father, who had suffered a heart attack some six months
earlier. Compared to all this man had been through, that
seemed almost minor, though Hub continued to behave as if
his life remained in immediate danger. She wandered closer
to the bed.
Stephen Gallow moaned and twitched, muttering what sounded
like, "Nig-nig."
Doolin slid his hands into his pants pockets. "Must think
he's talking to Nick."
"Nick? Who's that?"
"Uh, old buddy."
"He's dreaming, then."
"Yeah, yeah. Does a lot of that since the accident." Doolin
churned his hands again, in what seemed to be a habitual
gesture. "The trauma of it all, I guess."
"He's suffered some very serious injuries," Kaylie murmured.
"You're telling me! Man, I thought he'd bought it, you know?"
"How long ago was the accident?"
"Nine, ten days." He looked at his client, and for the first
time the mask of beaming bonhomie slipped, showing genuine
concern. "Ask me, he oughta be in the hospital still."
Kaylie smiled to herself. Patients and family were often of
that opinion, but home could be a safer, more restful
environment than the hospital.
"But you know how it is," Doolin went on. "A big sports star
draws attention that hospitals don't particularly
appreciate, and when said sports star is trying to keep a
low profile… Well, that's why we're here, obviously."
Kaylie furrowed her brow at that. "You mean he's hiding out
here at Chatam House?"
The agent licked his lips warily before admitting, "You
could say that."
"From who?"
"The press, mostly."
"But why Chatam House? How did he wind up here?"
"Oh, that." The pinky ring flashed again. "Brooksy arranged it."
Brooksy? "You mean Brooks Leland? Doctor Brooks
Leland?"
Doolin's gray head bobbed. "Yeah, yeah. Me and Brooksy, we
went to college together. We were fraternity brothers, and
hey, once a frat bro, always a frat bro. Right?"
Frat bro. A smile wiggled across Kaylie's lips. She'd
remember that and give her older brother's best friend, that
was, Brooksya hard time about it later. Obviously,
Doolin had called Brooks about his patient's need to keep a
low profile while recovering from his accident and Brooks
had contacted the aunts, apparently Aunt Odelia
specifically. Finally, this situation was beginning to make
some sort of sense.
"So what do you think?" Aaron Doolin asked. "Can you do it?
He just mainly needs someone to help him get around and
manage his pain, meds and meals." He eyed her warily. "You
think you can make him take his medicine?"
Make him? Kaylie lifted a slender eyebrow at that. She
thought of her father again. At seventy-six, Hub Chatam was
twice widowed and a retired minister. As the youngest of his
four children and the only daughter, she'd taken a leave of
absence from her job after his heart attack in order to move
into his house, take care of him and help him adjust to the
new lifestyle necessitated by his health realities. Six
months later, he still wouldn't take a pill that didn't come
from her hand. He claimed that he couldn't keep them
straight, but let ten minutes pass the appointed time for
one of his meds and he was demanding to know when she was
going to dispense it.
Before she could answer the agent's question, Gallow's eyes
popped open. Startled by their palenessthey were like
marbles of gray ice, Kaylie registered the panic in them.
She instinctively started forward just a heartbeat before he
bolted up into a sitting position. Roaring in pain, he
dropped back onto the pillow. A blue streak of profanity
rent the air, then he gasped and began to writhe.
Though taken aback, Kaylie instantly realized that he was
doing himself damage. Stepping up to his bedside, she bent
over him and calmly advised, "Be still. Take slow breaths.
Slow, shallow breaths." For the first time he looked at her.
Confusion, anger and pain poured out of those eerily pale
eyes, but as he stopped moving and gradually controlled his
breathing, lucidity took hold of him. Impulsively, Kaylie
brushed a pale gold lock from his brow, smiling
encouragingly. "Slow…slow… That's it."
His pale gaze skimmed over her with acute curiosity even as
he followed her instructions. After a moment, he swallowed
and rasped, "Who are you?"
"Kaylie Chatam. Hypatia, Odelia and Magnolia Chatam are my
aunts."
"Kaylie's a nurse," Aaron Doolin put in helpfully. "How
about that? The old biddies, er, our hostesses had
one in the family. Go figure."
Gallow's gaze abruptly shifted to his agent. Kaylie
shivered. Had she been the recipient of that suddenly
furious, frigid, accusatory glare, she'd have ducked. Doolin
just ratcheted up his grin and spread his hands.
"Hey, Stevie! That's my boy. How you feeling there, huh?"
"How do you think I feel?" Gallow gritted out. "And don't
call me Stevie."
"Sure. Sure. Doc says you reinjured those ribs last night.
Must be killing you."
Literally baring his teeth, Gallow revealed a pair of spaces
on the right side where his upper and lower second molars
should be. Something about those empty spaces pricked
Kaylie's heart. He was no longer the impossibly handsome
sports figure or the angry brute but a mere man at the mercy
of his own injuries. Until he snarled.
"Reinjured my ribs? You think? That ba," He slid a gaze over
Kaylie. "That bozo ball of lard you hired to take care of me
threw himself on top of me! That's what reinjured
my ribs."
Doolin lifted his hands as if to ward off a blow. "Hey, calm
down, will you? How was I to know the guy would do that? I
mean, he's a nurse, right? He said you were all over the
place and that he was trying to pin you down so you wouldn't
fall off the bed."
"He was trying to pin me down, all right, and enjoyed every
second of it, until I kicked him in the," Gallow broke off
there and gave Kaylie an irritated look.
Doolin chuckled. "You gave him an anatomy lesson he didn't
get in nursing school, that's for sure."
Kaylie stepped back and folded her arms, appalled. This man
was a powerhouse of lithe physical strength and jagged
emotion that ranged far beyond her personal experience.
Stephen Gallow sent her a cool, challenging look. She felt
frozen and singed at the same time. A sense of foreboding
shivered through her as she watched him take his agent to
task with little more than a glare and growl.
"Where's the bozo now?"
"Fired him last night."
"And you think he's going to keep his mouth shut after this?"
"He signed a nondisclosure, and I sent the attorney to
remind him of that in person this morning, along with a
check for his trouble."
In other words, Kaylie thought, shocked, they'd
paid off the man! Whether to keep him quiet or
forestall a lawsuit, she didn't know. Most likely both.
Obviously she had stumbled into a situation that was well
beyond her depth.