Fiona felt herself being scooped up, pressed tight against James’s beating heart. “I won’t lose you,” he murmured in her ear. “We have not gone through so much only for it to end like this.”
“But I cannot come with you to your kingdom. I have matters to attend to here in Rubitania.”
“You can still see to them with me when we’re in Scotland. It will be different to what you’re used to, but it will still be most enjoyable, I assure you.”
She smelled his scent of bergamot, leather, and moss, and felt her defenses crumble. “I don’t know.”
“I do.”
Something about his supreme confidence niggled. Why must things be done to suit his pleasure, his purposes? Wasn’t her life and responsibilities of equal importance?
But such things drained away, as his mouth descended to meet hers, their lips touching in a holy embrace that soon turned to fervor. Her hands clutched at his shirt, then crept upwards to wind around his neck, as his hands caressed her cheeks, her jaw, her hair.
She dragged her lips away, desperate for breath, then eyed him between half closed lids, her chest rising with fervor. “I love—”
“Good morning!”
The overly bright voice flung her eyes open, heat filling her cheeks. Thank God there was no dream-reading medical instrument in this hospital, although judging from the look the nurse was giving her she might have some idea what had filled her thoughts.
“And how are you feeling today, Miss Everton?” Nurse Wilson checked her charts. “Any headaches? Blurred vision?”
“I feel much better.”
“It’s a good thing Dr. Wells was able to attend to you so promptly.”
“Um, yes.” Was that speculation in her eyes?
Nurse Wilson nodded. “Very fortunate indeed that he was on the scene.”
“Yes, I’m very thankful.”
Staci didn’t hear the rest of the comments, struck by the earlier words. She was very thankful for Dr. Wells, and for poor disgruntled Brandi, but most of all she was thankful that God had somehow led them to her. How had they known she needed help?
“…will be in shortly, so best eat it all up, then the doctor can talk about when to release you.”
“Okay.” Anticipation filled her. She really needed to thank James Wells properly, and only hoped he’d chosen to overlook her latest bout of rudeness when he visited today. The eagerness rode high as she wrangled her right wrist’s stiff splint to eat her basic breakfast: cornflakes, weak tea, and toast. It continued as she was greeted by a different nurse, who gave her the welcome news that Gran had woken up, had spoken for a few minutes, before drifting back to sleep. Thank God!
But when the white-coated doctor came in an hour later, it was not Dr. Wells at all. This doctor was female, spectacled, and in her fifties. “Hello, I’m Dr. Hines.”
“Um, hi.”
“I understand you’ve had a mild concussion, and a few other sprains and things.”
“Yes.” This disappointment crashing against her chest was stupid. Stupid! She wouldn’t ask. She wouldn’t! “Um, I thought Dr. Wells would see me.”
“Oh no. He’s at the clinic today.” She smiled gently. “Besides, we don’t tend to think it is good for doctors to treat their friends.”
“Oh, but I’m not…” Her voice drifted away as the smile being offered her suggested hospital gossip implied otherwise.
“Now, I see from your charts you’ve had some breakfast, yes? No more headaches, blurred vision?”
“No.”
“And while we ascertained that your ankle was sprained rather badly, you’re still waiting on the x-ray to see if your wrist is broken, yes?”
“Yep.”
“We’ll get that checked out as soon as possible. I’m sure it must be painful. Do you need more medication?”
Staci nodded as Dr. Hines glanced up from where she was taking notes.
“I imagine you would be eager to return home soon.”
Home. A funny kind of twinge streaked across her chest. Imagine if she’d really been at home in Chicago and this had happened. She could go days without real human contact. Even her editors and agent knew when she was on deadline she might ignore emails for days. Imagine if she hadn’t been found, hadn’t been helped, hadn’t had a strong, muscled someone to help her down the elevator and into the hospital. She shivered. Yesterday’s thoughts about her skeletal remains being found suddenly didn’t seem so funny after all.
“Miss Everton?”
“Yes?”
“I think I lost you for a moment there.” Dr. Hines’s brown eyes twinkled kindly. “I said you must be looking forward to going home.”
Staci nodded. Except she wasn’t. She didn’t want to return to big city anonymity, to big city unconcern. Something within longed for connection, with people who truly did care, with family, and friends. Even if the particular ‘friend’ Dr. Hines spoke of simply thought Staci a clumsy, vomit-prone woman, and possessed a girlfriend on the side. She might not want a connection with him, but this sense of finding assurance, finding a home, tantalized.
A few more instructions, which Staci promised to obey, then she was given into the charge of a nurse, who promised to take her to x-ray. She gritted her teeth. She had no desire to know how much all this was going to cost. Would an author’s medical insurance cover this much care?
Two hours later, having learned her wrist was definitely broken, Staci was finally wheeled back to the elevator, with the promise her arm would be cast this afternoon. “We’ll get you seen by a specialist soon. In the meantime, to avoid pain you’ll need to keep it as still as possible, which means no eating, or trying to dress yourself, or driving.”
Or writing.
Panic clambered up her throat. “But what am I going to do?” Her voice was definitely too high-pitched to not be mistaken for Hysterical Woman. She dropped it a notch. “Gran is still here in the hospital somewhere—I haven’t even seen her yet today—and there’s nobody at home to help me.”
The nurse gave her a sympathy-laden smile. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out. We have social workers who help with such things.”
But she didn’t want some stranger telling her what to do! And her book—how on earth would it get finished now? She’d have to tell Max and Bronwyn she’d need an extension. She groaned.
“I know this is not to your liking, but these things are sent to test us.”
What did that even mean? Test what, exactly? Her patience? Her fortitude? Was it a test sent by God, or did people mean some vague universal entity to help humans develop to be their best self? Or was that getting just a little too Oprah?
Wrist splinted for stabilization, she clutched the hospital gown to prevent gaping as she was wheeled inside the elevator. The nurse punched the button for upstairs—the hospital was so small it only had two floors—and Staci lowered her gaze to her lap. She had no desire for anyone to recognize today’s indignity.
“Hold the elevator!” a male voice called.
Against Staci’s silent protest the nurse blocked the closing door with her arm. The older man entered the small space, his gray dress pants rather formal for the usual visitor’s attire.
Staci glanced up. Met the dark eyes of the church minister whose name she couldn’t remember. They widened with surprise. “I know you.” His brow wrinkled for a moment then cleared. “Rose’s granddaughter, ah, Anastacia, right?”
“In the flesh.” She cringed. Reminding pastors of flesh was probably not what one was supposed to do.
Fortunately, he smiled. “I was here to see your grandmother, but it appears you have been in the wars, also. What’s happened?”
“Just me being clumsy. I tripped and managed to sprain my ankle and break my wrist at the same time. Apparently, I like to be efficient.”
“I’m very sorry to hear it.”
She gave him a smile she hoped appeared brave, but probably just looked pathetic.
The elevator door pinged open and the pastor exited first, allowing room for the wheelchair to be maneuvered to the corridor.
He remained standing, eyes filled with concern. “So, what will you do now?”
“Good question. One we were just discussing now,” Staci said, glancing at the nurse.
“Miss Everton was staying with her grandmother, and with no nearby family—”
“No other family,” Staci corrected.
“—she’s at something of a loss as to how to manage her recovery. I told her the hospital social worker will have some solutions, so we’ll just have to wait until then.”
Something of Staci’s apprehension must have flickered in her face, for the pastor caught her eyes again and gave a slow nod. “I’ll pray for a good solution, too.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, I suppose I should leave you now, if I’m going to see Rose.”
“Oh, please, would you mind if I came too?” Staci asked. “I haven’t seen her yet today, and I was told she had woken earlier.”
“Be more than happy to,” he said, glancing at the nurse. “Would you mind if I push Miss Everton?”
“Please. I’m afraid we’re a bit busy today, so that would be most helpful.”
“Thanks,” Staci said.
“Remember, keep your arm still,” the nurse cautioned.
“Yes, ma’am,” Staci promised. Any slight movement only reminded her of the importance of obeying this medical instruction at least. No way did she want to run the risk of long-term injury to the wrist of her writing hand.
The pastor wheeled her to the room at the end, a different one from yesterday’s ICU. Gran’s room was filled with light, pouring in from the two windows facing either wall, light that spilled onto the three beds positioned to capture the views, two of which were occupied, one by a woman Staci loved more than life.
“Gran!”
The figure in the far bed turned, smiled. Well, smiled as best she could with an oxygen tube up her nose. “Annie. And Pastor McPherson. How wonderful to see you both.”
Staci’s eyes filled. How wonderful to see Gran looking so well. Remarkably well, considering her appearance on the last visit.
A crease crossed Gran’s features. “But Annie, whatever are you doing in a wheelchair?”
“I had a little accident.” She gestured to her bound foot. “I sprained my ankle again, the one that always gives me trouble, then managed to break my wrist. They’ve been waiting for the swelling to go down before putting on a cast.”
“Oh, precious girl! However did that happen?”
“It was just a dumb accident at home. I tripped, that’s all.”
Gran’s features softened with relief, before tightening once more. “But what does that mean for your writing?”
“An excellent question.”
“You’re a writer?” Pastor McPherson asked.
“She writes historical romances, but not the sort you or Angela probably read.”
“Oh?” He looked at Staci inquiringly.
“I write for the secular market.”
“Oh, I don’t mind some secular fiction,” he confided. “And I know that Angela enjoys Jodi Picoult’s books, though I’m not sure they’re quite my cup of tea.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure that Anastacia’s books would be your cup of tea either,” Gran said, “but never mind.”
Awkward vibes abounded. It was definitely time to change the subject. “It’s so good to see you looking so much better, Gran. You had us worried. You took the longest time to wake up.”
“So the doctor tells me. But I feel better, like I’ve had a really good, long sleep.”
“Praise the Lord,” said the pastor.
Amen, Staci echoed silently.
“Did they say what the problem was?” Pastor McPherson asked Gran.
“Oh, just a little heart trouble,” she said, dismissing his concern with a waved hand. “I’ve been told they want to keep me here a little while longer, until I get my strength back.” Gran’s face pinched into apprehension. “But staying here a tad longer doesn’t faze me. I’m far more concerned about what will happen for you, Annie dearest. If your wrist is broken, how ever will you take care of yourself?”
The million-dollar question. “I’ll be fine. I can get takeout. I can shower with my wrist in a plastic bag. I’m not the first person who’s had to cope with such things.”
“But your writing.”
“I’ll just have to ask for an extended deadline. I can dictate, and I’m not completely useless with my left hand.”
“Yes, but—”
“I’ll be fine, Gran. There’s nothing for you to worry about, I promise.”
The dear wrinkled face eased a fraction. “If you’re sure.”
She wasn’t, but there was no way she’d add to Gran’s concerns for the day.
“If you don’t mind me adding my two cents’ worth,” Pastor McPherson said, “I agree with Anastacia here. The hospital has someone who deals with situations like these, and I’m sure there’s something we can do at the church to help you both in these unfortunate circumstances. Some casseroles perhaps, and cleaning.”
“Oh, that would be very kind,” Gran said with a relieved smile.
Staci nodded, unwilling to express her reluctance at the sense of obligation this would put her under. She appreciated the thought, but she could feel the ties of indebtedness slowly winding around her, suffocating any sense of freedom.
“Now, if neither of you are opposed, this sounds like something we should pray about,” the pastor continued.
“Why should we object? We’d appreciate your prayers, wouldn’t we, Annie, dear?”
“Yes,” she mumbled.
The pastor bowed his head, as if unaware of the room’s other occupant who’d watched them during a very entertaining few minutes and prayed for both Staci and Gran.
“Amen,” they echoed.
“Now,” he said, eyes twinkling, “I feel certain a solution will present itself, young lady, and soon.”
It would need to. “Thank you.”
“Ah, I’m afraid, Mrs. Everton, that I will have to ask your visitors to leave,” a nurse carrying an official looking clipboard said, nodding at Pastor McPherson. “We can’t have too much excitement for you.” She eyed Staci and the wheelchair with raised brows. “Although it looks like one of your visitors has had an interesting time of late.”
“This is my dear granddaughter, Anastacia,” Gran said. “She’s staying here, too.”
“Hopefully for not too long,” Staci murmured.
“Well, it might be best if you said goodbye now, and headed back to your room. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you the way to the exit, reverend?”
“Indeed you do not,” he said, far more graciously than Staci would have replied.
She eyed the rude nurse with her own upraised brows, but the nurse seemed impervious, turning away to fiddle with something next to Gran’s bed.
Staci rose carefully to press a kiss to Gran’s brow, trying not to wince at the jolt of pain as she accidentally bumped her right arm. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” she promised.
“I’ll look forward to it, dear,” Gran said, patting her good wrist tenderly. “You’ll be in my prayers.”
“And you’re in mine, too,” Staci whispered, heart catching at the sudden glow in Gran’s expression.
“Thank you, dear.”
Staci straightened, and carefully resumed her seated position. “I suppose I should go.” She glanced up at the pastor. “Is it okay—?”
“Of course. Just point me in the right direction,” he said, before smiling at Gran. “I’ll be praying for you, Rose. And you too, Nurse Kaminsky,” he added, his cheekiness earning him an eye-roll for the ages.
They were met at Staci’s room by another nurse who relieved Staci from the pastor’s charge and helped her into bed. “I’m not an invalid,” she grumbled.
“But neither are you to be traipsing about willy-nilly.”
“I was only seeing my grandmother.” She motioned to the pastor. “Pastor McPherson has been most helpful.”
“You need to rest and not get carried away with things.”
Staci was forced to wave goodbye to the pastor, who promised to think about how to help her situation, and the nurse resumed her spiel. “Now, I’ve been told the medical assessment team will be here in a jiffy to discuss your release, so you just relax and someone will be by shortly.”
“Thanks,” Staci murmured.
But relaxing was so hard. What was she to do? They didn’t seriously expect her to lie here staring at the ceiling doing nothing?
She drew in a breath, slowly released. That’s right. She would have to trust God to give direction. But it wasn’t likely He would send a message over the intercom, was it? She reached across for her phone, and then spent long painstaking minutes trying to type out an email to Max and Bronwyn requesting an extension for her submission, then scrolled through her social media feeds. Funny how much she hadn’t missed this in recent days. No dopamine-inducing highs at instant likes meant she’d had more time to ground herself, to consider what really mattered. And her world had boiled down to wanting likes from one person. A face flashed through her mind. Okay, maybe two.
Staci gave an eye-roll she reckoned Nurse Kaminsky would have been jealous of. Seriously? She wanted James to like her? Still? She had to be the vainest, most pathetic kind of fool. Hadn’t he made his non-interest perfectly plain by his non-attendance today?
But he had work at the clinic today, a tiny voice whispered.
So what, she told Pathetic Self. It didn’t matter, because she was definitely not interested in a missionary doctor from goodness knows where. Where exactly in Africa was Tanzania, anyway?
Thanking God for the marvels of modern technology—and the fact she had sufficient internet capability—Staci spent the next few minutes flicking through her phone to learn that Tanzania bordered the Indian Ocean to the east, and was sandwiched between Kenya, Zaire, and half a dozen other countries. Its former name, Tanganyika, hinted at its old German roots, which led to a search of other historical aspects, like the mystical city of Zanzibar. Her lips pushed to one side. You could try to take the novel out of the novelist, but the historical research skills would never be completely lost.
She was busy finding out what she could about the mission in Tanzania’s north when a cleared throat snared her attention. “Oh!”
“Hi,” Jenny Wells stood smiling at her. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Oh no,” Staci said, hiding the phone under the bedclothes. Heaven forbid Jenny discover Staci was Googling her son’s former work environment. “It’s nothing important.”
“Which is why it took me a good two minutes to get your attention.”
“Sorry.” Staci offered an apologetic smile. “And sorry about all the drama yesterday. I understand you’ve been forced into looking after Penny. I hope she’s been behaving.”
“Oh, she’s been fine. And don’t worry about it at all. Mitch has enjoyed trying to teach that little girl some manners. Well, I don’t know if enjoy is quite the right word, but it’s definitely been entertaining to watch them.”
Staci chuckled. “I can imagine.”
“And from what my son says it seems that you scarcely had any choice in the matter. He was most insistent that you not have any of this to worry about.”
“That was kind of him.”
“He is a kind boy,” his mom said fondly. “Although I don’t think he’d take too kindly to me referring to him as such.”
Probably not, thought Staci, though she could see him patiently putting up with his doting parent without complaint.
“I’m here to see how you are going, and to ask you a small favor.”
“Well, I’m doing better than yesterday,” Staci admitted.
“How is your arm?”
Staci held up the stiff splint. “My wrist is broken but should get a cast soon.”
“You poor thing.”
Jenny’s sympathy stabbed behind Staci’s eyes. “Thank you again for staying here with Gran.” She smiled sheepishly. “I certainly didn’t plan to add to all the drama with my little clumsy moment yesterday afternoon.”
“I don’t think these are things anyone ever plans for, are they?”
“Still, I think my debt to the Wells family is ever increasing. I feel like saying thanks is all I’m ever saying to you, Mitch, and, um, James.”
“We’re happy to help.”
“I’m glad, but I still feel like I’ve burdened you with all this unnecessary bother. I’m sure you’re all so busy. I hate to think I’ve been keeping anyone from their duties.”
“Now, now, my dear, don’t think such things. Mitch and I are retired, and as for James, well, I know he can be a tad over-responsible at times, but don’t for one minute think he hasn’t the wherewithal to request assistance if given a task he has little liking for.”
Staci eyed her but said nothing. Did Jenny’s cryptic comment and little smile mean James had liked helping her? Why?
“Um,” Jenny’s disconcerting smile meant Staci had to change the subject, fast. “You mentioned you had a favor?” Whatever it was she’d do it. She owed them so much already.
“Well, you might think this a little peculiar, but I was at home this morning catching up on some ironing, when I felt a little prompting to see if you have a plan of recuperation for when you’re released. Obviously with poor Rose being here and unlikely to be released for some time, it will be hard for you to manage at home for a little while yet, so I was hoping you might consider coming to stay with me.”
Staci almost choked. “That’s the favor? You want me to stay with you?”
“With us, naturally. Mitch and James would be delighted to have another female to fuss over.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I couldn’t, I don’t need—want—any fuss…”
“Oh, but it would be good for them, James especially. I don’t think you know just how much that boy wants a wife, and it would do him good to be encouraged to spend time with a smart, attractive Christian girl like you.”
“Mrs. Wells, Jenny, I really don’t think James will appreciate you saying this. Thank you for the offer, but I cannot accept.”
“Can’t you?” Jenny said, almost wistfully.
“No. I’m sorry, but no.”
“Please?”
Staci stared at her. “Why? Don’t you think James will be upset when he finds out what his mother has done?”
“Then don’t tell him.”
“But he would have to know, sooner or later. I couldn’t very well just show up without explanation. Besides, what about Brandi?” Staci persisted. “You can hardly think she’ll take too well to having another girl on her territory.”
Jenny’s brow pleated. “What does Brandi have to do with anything?”
A finger of doubt stole across her heart. “She’s James’s girlfriend, isn’t she?”
“Brandi?” Jenny looked shocked. “No.”
“Yes,” Staci insisted.
“No. He couldn’t. They wouldn’t. She’s not his type at all.”
Sorely tempted to ask just what exactly his type was, Staci pressed her lips together instead, and forced herself to meet Jenny’s gaze evenly and give a tiny nod.
“I don’t believe it,” Jenny said, real worry in her eyes.
Yes, but not believing things didn’t mean they weren’t true. Staci kept that thought to herself. “Well, you should ask him. I’m just not convinced either of them would be thrilled at the thought of my staying with you.”
“But you have to do something. How are you going to manage by yourself?”
Great question. “The hospital is apparently sending someone to talk to me about possible arrangements.”
“Oh, but you don’t want them. Can you imagine a stranger dressing you, taking care of you?”
“It might be less embarrassing than someone I know,” Staci said wryly.
“But could they help you with writing your story?”
Probably not, but it didn’t change what needed to be said. “Jenny, thank you, but I must decline your kind offer.”
“Oh.” Jenny’s deflating features suddenly perked up again, as she excused herself to go visit Rose. “I need to see her before visiting hours close for lunch.”
“Of course,” Staci said. “Thanks again for visiting. And for your kind offer. I do appreciate it, you know.”
“I know,” Jenny said, with a wave.
She departed, and Staci was suddenly struck by the possible subject of Jenny’s upcoming conversation with Gran. Would she be so underhanded as to make the same request to Rose, knowing Staci would be hard pressed to refuse Gran’s request? Or was such a thing mere foolishness and fancy?
Before she could wonder too much more about this, the door opened and a lanyard-wearing woman in her late twenties drew near. “Hi, Staci, my name is Deanna Parker. I’m the medical outpatient’s assessment team.”
Staci shifted irritably. Why did strangers assume they had a right to use a patient’s first name in some guise of false friendliness? And didn’t these people know the word ‘team’ implied more than one person, usually three or more? Were such attitudes a sign she was getting old? But honestly, some people had no clue. “Hi.”
Ms. Parker went on to talk about Staci’s medical discharge, then possible at-home care options, none of which held much appeal. Again the scent of money wafted through the air. How much would all of this cost? She posed the question to the woman, unsurprised when she was met with a great deal of hmming and hedging.
“I’m afraid, Miss Everton,” so Staci was Miss Everton now, “that I cannot say precisely.”
“Then I suspect I will not need such services. As soon as my wrist is dealt with I plan to leave and return home.”
Ms. Parker looked up from her clipboard. “Have you thought about how you’ll manage, given your injuries?”
Not yet.
“Would you like to speak to a case manager or social worker?”
“No thanks. I will manage on my own.” Somehow. Maybe she could get someone to help her. Surely she had one friend from Chicago who would like to spend some time in a sleepy village like Muskoka Shores.
“Are you sure?” The hospital worker’s tone was laced with doubt.
“Yes!” She gritted out a smile to compensate for her raised voice.
“Now, now, Miss Everton, there is no need to get upset.”
Heat crossed her chest at Ms. Parker’s patronizing tone. Honestly, the woman was younger than Staci. She swallowed her first reaction with an effort. “I am not getting upset,” she said, clutching at her last dregs of patience. “I know you’re just doing your job, but I really would prefer you to leave now.”
“Miss Everton, I’m simply concerned for you, and want to know once you’re discharged that you’ll have someone looking after you who has sufficient skill.”
“Would a doctor be considered to have sufficient skill?” a deep voice said from the doorway.
James glanced at the patient, then at the hospital officer. He’d learned in his short time here that Ms. Parker’s reputation for meddlesomeness had put more than one nurse off-side. “You must excuse me, ladies, but your conversation could be heard halfway up the hall.”
He caught the way Staci winced, and nodded sympathetically to her, then turned his attention to Ms. Parker fully. “I understand your concern, but you can be assured that Miss Everton will be cared for.”
“But—”
He gave a small smile. “It’s not as if she’s without friends in the medical community.”
Ms. Parker eyed him suspiciously. “Do you mean to say you will be caring for her?”
He swallowed the spike of irritation, willing his tone to evenness as he studied her. “Are you accusing me of unprofessionalism?”
Her cheeks pinked. “Well, no.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said softly. “I understand Miss Everton has received an offer from my mother to stay until she is feeling suitably able to return to her own premises. Isn’t that right, Miss Everton?”
He turned to Staci and caught her panicked look. He smiled and nodded gently.
“Is this true, Miss Everton?” Ms. Parker demanded.
“Well, yes,” Staci said slowly. “Mrs. Wells was just in here.”
“And you’ve agreed to be in her care until the appropriate time?”
“I… I’ve agreed for her to help me, yes.”
He smoothed his grin as Ms. Parker turned with an expression bordering on suspicion, gazing back blandly. “Now, is that all, Ms. Parker?”
“Well, yes.”
“Good. Then you can release Miss Everton to the rest she needs.”
He ignored the bristling Staci, pretending interest in his folder as they waited for Ms. Parker to finish her discontented mutterings and finally depart. Then he turned to Staci, one eyebrow aloft. “Was there something you wished to say to me?”
“Yes, yes, there very well is,” she sputtered. “I don’t know what possessed you to say all that—”
He held up a finger for silence. “I don’t think you should talk in such a loud voice.” He gestured to the partially opened high windows facing the corridor. “Sound tends to travel remarkably well here.”
“Maybe,” she continued in a loud whisper, “you could consider whether I actually want to be included in your schemes.”
“A scheme? Here I was just thinking I was offering Christian charity, being a Good Samaritan as it were, and instead I’m being accused of having ulterior motives.” He grinned and lifted his eyebrows. “I wonder what ulterior motives you think I have.”
She sucked in a breath, then exhaled loudly. “Have you always been this cocky?”
“What, you’re accusing me of being cocky now? Miss Everton, Staci, please, I thought we were becoming friends.”
She huffed out another breath. “I don’t understand you at all.”
“The feeling is becoming mutual.”
She eyed him narrowly. Then shook her head. “I suppose I should thank you for saving me from Ms. Parker’s clutches.”
“Yes, I think you should.”
She gave a sudden chuckle then demanded, “Have you spoken to your mother at all?”
“About what?”
“About my staying with you?”
Heaven forbid Ms. Parker hear this part of their conversation. “I rather believe that you would be staying with my parents, at whose house I merely reside for a while.”
“I’d rather stay at my Gran’s house. Not that I don’t appreciate your mother’s offer, but I hate feeling like I’m constantly inconveniencing them.”
“Perhaps that can be arranged.”
“Really?”
“If you agree to my mother checking in on you regularly, that is.”
“That would be far more preferable.”
“Indeed.” He continued to watch her, enjoying the sight of the indignant red curls that spilled across the pillow. “I suppose I should go speak with Mom—”
“About what?” a familiar voice said from the door. “About how we’re going to convince my star student to stay with us so we can care for her while she recuperates?”
“I doubt she’ll need too much convincing to agree to being cared for by you,” he murmured.
“Don’t tell me you managed to convince her?”
“Rather I think it was the hospital’s outpatient adviser who did.”
“Well, I don’t care who did, I’m just thankful you are,” Jenny said, with a fond glance at Staci.
Staci bit her lip. “Jenny, just to be clear, I said to James that I’d actually prefer to stay at Gran’s. Not because I don’t appreciate your very kind offer, but because I hate feeling like I’m putting you to so much trouble when I’ve already done that so many times already.”
“Oh, but it’s no trouble at all.”
Ms. Parker returned, and, spying his mom, spoke to her most seriously about patient care while Staci glowered at him. He fought the amusement, fought for his expression to appear neutral, so that any thought of unethical behavior would be banished from the air.
“Miss Everton?” he asked. “Do you have a headache?”
“No.”
“Ah, I just wondered, because you looked rather in pain.”
“Thank you, Doctor, but I’m sure I’ll be well enough very soon, probably as soon as the rest of my fate has been quite decided.”
“Oh, we are keeping you from your rest, aren’t we?” his mom said, worriedly. “I’m sorry it’s taken a while, but look, as Ms. Parker should know by now, we have things under control.”
“Well, thank you, Mrs. Wells. It’s good to know our patients will be with someone responsible,” Ms. Parker said, with a sidelong look at James that made him wonder if she doubted his responsibilities. Or his professional interest in these matters.
And made him wonder just what was being whispered around the hospital about these matters at all.