"I'm just trying to be polite. The doc is obviously bushed."
"What nonsense would you be talkin' now? The doctor is no bush."
"I didn't say he was a bush. He's bushed as in tired. Look, Erina, I don't want to argue with you."
"Well, I don't want a fight either, but I'll thank you to leave my son's care to me."
Grant felt himself bristle at the suggestion that she'd done a good job so far. "Why, so you can ignore his heart problem another two months, drag him around on a night like this, then depend on the kindness of strangers to pay for his medical bills?"
"I did no such draggin' about! I did everything I could. The doctors would not help me!"
"I find that hard to believe. Any county or city general hospital would have treated your son, even if you didn't have a penny."
"And I'm tellin' you they would not!"
"Am I interrupting?"
Dr. Cook stood in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee and looking just as tired as he did before.
"We're just discussing Colin's previous medical care--or lack of it," Grant explained.
Erina turned to the doctor. "Where I came from, the doctors told me that they could not fix his heart. They said I had to accept that he would not . . ."
She whirled away, covering her face with trembling hands.
"Oh, hell," Grant murmured, recognizing her pain in spite of the fact she was lying through her teeth. She wasn't from 1896. Her claims made no sense. Still, he placed an arm around her shoulder and offered her his shoulder to cry on.
Dr. Cook sat down in a chair. "Where are you from, Ms. O'Shea?" the doctor asked.
Grant urged Erina down to the couch, keeping his arm around her for support.
"County Kildare, Ireland," she replied with a sniff, "although now I live--"
"With me," Grant finished, knowing he couldn't have her spouting wild stories. They'd have her in the psychiatric ward while Colin was in PDICU. He couldn't allow that to happen, not until he understood the real reason she was here--and his reaction to her. "At the Galvestonian on East Beach."
"How long have you been here?"
"Here?" Erina said, sweeping her arm wide to indicate the hospital.
"No, in Galveston. I mean, was Colin born here?"
"Not exactly," Grant said, interrupting her answer.
"So he didn't get any medical care until now?"
"No, the doctors said they couldn't help him, like I've said," Erina answered.
"What difference does it make? I mean, he's here now, and he needs medical care," Grant asked, perturbed by this continued inquisition.
"Oh, he'll get the best care we can offer, Mr. Kirby. But you've got to understand that denying a child medical attention is tantamount to child abuse. Unless there's a good reason Ms. O'Shea hasn't had her son treated, then I'm afraid I'll have to notify our social workers to do an evaluation."
"What does that mean?" Erina asked, turning her frightened gaze to Grant.
"That means that they might take Colin away from you." He felt like he'd just kicked a puppy. She looked so shocked, so afraid. And he also realized that he didn't want Colin taken away, not put in some foster home or warehoused in a state facility. He was just a little baby.
"No," she whispered. "Not my Colin. He's all I have. I love him with all my heart."
"Ms. O'Shea, I find it hard to believe that any doctor told you there was nothing that could be done for your son's condition."
"Just exactly what is his condition, doctor?" Grant asked, turning the conversation away from Erina's maternal deficits to a more concrete topic. After all, no one was going to believe her story. There was no sense exposing her to more ridicule or possible confinement as a mental case.
"It's known as Tetralogy of Fallot. There is an obstruction in the right ventricular outflow. This causes hypoxia, or a lack of oxygen, which is why he doesn't have normal color. Hypoxic babies usually have a gray skin tone, with tinges of blue around their fingers, toes, and mouth. When he's in distress, the blue color intensifies."
"Can the obstruction be removed?" Grant asked.
"Oh, yes. Surgery is very successful in these cases. After the procedure, his heart should be fine."
"You'd be performin' surgery on his heart?" Erina asked, her tone skeptical.
"Yes. Like I said, it's a fairly common procedure. Within a week, he'll seem like a different child."
"Holy Mother of God," Erina whispered.
Grant felt as though a weight had been lifted from his own heart. He didn't understand why Colin's health and Erina's happiness seemed so important to him. Hell, he'd known them for less than three hours. But the fact was, he felt responsible, both for their physical and emotional well-being. "When can the surgery be performed?"
"I'd like to treat him with antibiotics for his lungs for a few days. Like I said, he should be off the ventilator tomorrow. If there are no complications, then we should be able to do the surgery in two or three days."
"And he'll be well?"
"Yes. He should be fine. Normally, children recover within a week or two. Of course, he'll need checkups even after he leaves the hospital, but there should be no long term effects of the procedure."
"It is a miracle," Erina said softly.
"No, just medicine. Which brings me back to my original questions: Why didn't you seek another opinion? You obviously knew something was seriously wrong with your son." Dr. Cook was frowning again, which wasn't a good sign, in Grant's opinion.
He stepped in before Erina could say anything crazy. "I think that as long as there is a question of his previous care, Ms. O'Shea should talk to my attorney before answering any more of your inquiries. Nothing personal, Dr. Cook, but I think she should be protected from saying anything that may sound a bit, well, odd, to you. After all," Grant said, looking at Erina, "Colin is a Kirby. He deserves legal protection as much as he needs medical attention."
"All I want is a truthful explanation," the doctor said, clearly irritated.
"But I already told you--" Erina said.
"Yes, she did, and you said you didn't believe her. Let's just leave it at that for now. We'll be glad to answer any other questions later."
"I'm too tired to argue with you right now. Obviously, these other issues will need to be addressed--soon." Dr. Cook finished his coffee in a big gulp. "I'll take you upstairs now to see Colin, Ms. O'Shea. He's been given a sedative to help him relax, so don't be surprised that he's sleeping."
"All right," she said. She looked up at Grant with big, searching eyes. "Will you go with me?"
Something inside of him performed a little flip at her raw emotions--fear, confusion, and love of her child. The force of her feelings overwhelmed him. "Of course," he said hoarsely.
They followed the doctor down the hall to the elevators, then upstairs to PDICU.
#
"Erina, you're exhausted. Let's go get some breakfast and sleep for a few hours. Colin is doing fine."
Erina looked up from the bed where her son lay. His little chest rose and fell with the regularity of deep sleep, but she suspected that was caused more by that ventilator, as the doctor called it. Since she'd been sitting beside him, Colin had barely moved.
"What?"
"I said we should get some breakfast."
"What if he wakes up and cries? What if he needs me?"
"The doctor explained that he's sedated. He'll sleep peacefully for quite a while."
"But how will he eat?"
"I'm not sure. Let's ask Dr. Cook."
Mr. Kirby--she couldn't be so familiar as to use his first name, although he'd insisted--helped her up from the chair. She felt very tired, despite the brief nap earlier, and her body ached with weariness. And her breasts hurt terribly. If she didn't get to feed Colin soon, she would be in much more pain, she was afraid.
They walked to the central desk, where nurses and doctors congregated. Dr. Cook bent over some paperwork, writing with one of those pens that didn't need inkwells.
The doctor looked up.
"Erina has some questions."
"Yes, Ms. O'Shea?"
"Well, I was wonderin' how you feed a baby with his little mouth filled with the . . . the ventilator."
"I meant to ask you about what he's been taking--formula or breast milk."
Erina felt herself blush. "Doctor, could I speak with you privately," she managed to whisper.
"Of course."
They left Mr. Kirby standing beside the desk, looking slightly irritated. She couldn't worry about him right now; she had more pressing concerns.
She and the doctor stood in a small alcove where supplies seemed to be stored.
"I don't know what you mean by 'formula,' but Colin is being fed the natural way."
"Okay. So I'll get you a breast pump and we'll insert a feeding tube so he can get what he's used to. I suppose your milk agrees with him. He seems a little underweight but generally healthy."
Erina couldn't meet the doctor's eyes. She felt so embarrassed to discuss such issues with a man, especially a young man, even though he was a doctor. "I'm not sure what you mean by a . . . a . . ."
"Feeding tube?"
"No, the other."
"A breast pump?"
"Yes, that one."
"It's just a device to relieve you of milk so it can either be fed to the baby later or, like in Colin's case, where he needs a feeding tube."
"Oh." She frowned. "I don't know how to use this . . . thing."
"I'll get one of the nurses to help you."
Erina sighed in relief. "Thank you."
She and the doctor walked back to the desk.
"Well?"
"I'll be seein' a nurse before I leave," Erina announced.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothin' that you need to concern yourself with," she said, looking away from him. Just the idea of explaining her "problem" caused another round of embarrassment.
Dr. Cook smiled. "This won't take too long. Why don't you go into the ICU waiting room, Mr. Kirby?"
Erina could tell he was anxious to know what was going on. Well, she wouldn't tell him. The man was entirely too bossy and put his nose into other people's business way too often. She held her head as high as possible and walked beside the doctor. Even though they walked farther and farther from the desk, she could still feel Mr. Kirby's blue-green eyes burn a hole in her back.
Of course, having him take charge when Colin needed him was wonderful. Mr. Kirby had been wonderful, sweeping her to the hospital in that--what did he call it? A Cherokee?--had been miraculous. At the time, she'd been terrified, and she hoped that the Cherokee didn't always travel so fast. She wasn't looking forward to another trip in such a vehicle. She much preferred slow but predicable electric trolleys on Broadway.
Dr. Cook showed her into a room. She heard him talk softly to a nurse at the doorway, then the nurse was inside the room with a strange device.
"If you'll just unbutton your bodice, Ms. O'Shea, I'll show you how to operate the breast pump. You can take this with you to relieve the pressure whenever you need to. The milk can be stored in the refrigerator and brought to the hospital later."
Erina had no idea what a refrigerator was, but she wasn't going to ask this woman. Besides, she would probably be at the hospital all the time, so that wouldn't be necessary. She had no place to stay, or to work, so perhaps she could just nap in the chairs when she wasn't with Colin. She wasn't sure what she would do for money, but she'd ask about that later, she thought as she finished with the buttons on her dress.
The Holy Mother wouldn't have sent her to this time and then abandon her. She would provide . . .
"Now, the slip."
"The what?"
The woman pointed to the chemise.
Erina blushed and undid the ribbon ties. She'd never been unclothed around another woman except Mrs. Abernathy, who had assisted with Colin's birth, and even then she'd kept on her night gown.
She jumped when the nurse placed the pump over her naked breast.
"This is what you do," the woman said, and Erina blushed all over again.
#
Over Erina's objections that she should stay inside with her sleeping son, Grant managed to guide her outside just as the sun came up, peeking through the palm trees along Harborside Drive. The cold front must have pushed through while they were in the hospital, because the clouds were gray and broken, showing the deep rose sky behind them. Grant rubbed his arms against the chill. He knew that Galveston's high humidity made it feel at least ten degrees cooler than the surface temperature, but his morning seemed especially frigid. He should have grabbed a jacket before he left the condo, but he'd been a little occupied with saving Colin's life.
At least Erina had that long, ugly cloak. He wondered where she'd gotten it. Maybe in a thrift store.
She stopped and looked around the parking lot, her eyes wide as they paused to stare at each car, at the Ramada Inn across the street, at the power lines. She looked shocked at the skyline. "And where would we be goin' to get breakfast?" she asked softly.
"I could use a real breakfast. You know, bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns. How about you?"
"I usually have tea and a scone."
He smiled down at her. "No wonder you're so tiny."
She looked at him as though he'd insulted her. Most women would simply say, "thank you."
"Are you sayin' we're goin' to a restaurant?"
"Of course. I'm not up for cooking this early in the morning. Besides, I'd have to go to the grocery first. There's not much in the 'fridge."
"What is a 'fridge?'"
"A refrigerator."
"Oh. You have one of those?"
He frowned. "Of course. Everyone has at least one refrigerator." His mother had four, if you counted the freezer in the garage. Where in the world had Erina lived that she didn't have such modern conveniences?
Ah, yes. 1896. She was still sticking to her story.
He unlocked the door of the Cherokee, which he'd moved to a restricted parking spot earlier. At least he hadn't been blocking the emergency entrance the whole time.
"I'm glad you have a refrigerator."
He raised his eyebrows. "I'll show it to you when we get back to the condo. I didn't realize you'd be so impressed by my appliances."
"I'll not be goin' back to your home, or to your condo, with you alone, Mr. Kirby," she said indignantly.
He helped her into the seat and slammed the door. Dammit, he hadn't offered his condo so he could take advantage of her. He hadn't even planned to invite her to stay with him, although he was pretty sure there wasn't any place else for her to go.
He eased behind the wheel and started the engine. "Put on your seat belt," he reminded her.
She fiddled with it. She looked at it. But she didn't slip the end into the latch.
"Here, let me help you," he said finally. He showed her what to do, how to release the catch, before putting his on.
"Texas has a mandatory seat belt law."
"Oh," she said, staring straight ahead, her hands clenched on the armrests. "I'm hopin' you won't be drivin' this Cherokee quite as fast."
"Of course not. Breakfast isn't an emergency." He put the Jeep into gear. "You're not a back seat driver, are you?"
She looked at him as he backed out of the parking space. "I'm not any kind of driver, except for a pony cart. We had one in Ireland."
"I'm glad to hear that. My mother got her back-seat-driver's license at the same time I got a learner's permit."
Erina shook her head as though he was speaking a foreign language.
"Never mind," he said. "It's not nice to speak ill of one's own mother."
"That's the truth of it," Erina said. "I barely remember my own mum. She died when I was seven, back in County Kildare."
"I'm sorry. It must have been tough growing up without a mother."
"My da was a good parent."
"That's great." G
rant felt a shaft of pain at the thought of a "good father." His own had been a drunk, someone who got by on a few sober hours each day before lunch. Then he could do deals like no one else. Everyone in the real estate business knew that Randolph Kirby was a force to be reckoned with--as long as you caught him at the right time. After a three martini lunch, he'd sell you a piece of prime commercial property for the price of a four-rental-unit in a depressed neighborhood. Without Brian Abbot around to repair the damage, Kirby Investments would have been bankrupt years ago. Instead, the family business now had holdings worth upwards of 400 million dollars. Grant was proud of his own accomplishment in turning the company around, but he never forgot that Brian had been there when the real possibility of disaster loomed daily.
Grant turned onto Seawall and headed west. Few cars were on the road this early. He made good time to one of his favorite breakfast spots.
Erina watched as he unbuckled his seat belt. She did the same, smiling when she was successful. Despite the exhaustion that was etched on her features, she looked beautiful as the soft, pink light of dawn bathed her pale skin.
Their gazes met and held. Grant lost himself in the dark depths of her eyes, in the emotions she revealed. She seemed so vulnerable. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, protect her from the world, and show her that he cared for more than the welfare of her son.
Before he could stop himself, he reached toward her, ran a finger along her satiny cheek, and watched her lips part in response.
He was going to kiss her. Despite her lies, despite whatever plan she'd concocted, he wanted her.
He leaned near, watching her eyelids lower, hearing the soft sigh that escaped her parted lips. She smelled of lemons and wool, nothing seductive, yet even her scent aroused him.
And just as his lips were about to touch hers, she let out a shriek and slammed herself against the door.
"Ahh, you're a smooth one too," she said breathlessly, her eyes wide and frightened, "but I'll not be seduced by another Kirby man." She thrust her chin in the air. "I'm not the breakfast you'll be havin'."
Grant blinked, shook his head, and eased back into his seat. He was going mad. There was no other explanation. He'd almost kissed a woman who claimed to be from 1896, who said she was here because of a miracle!
Miracle of Love Page 4