by Diana Palmer
“I’m beginning to believe it.”
They wheeled him into a cubicle and called for the resident physician who was covering the emergency room.
Jessica had had a long morning, and her calendar was full of return calls to make. McCallum had shaken her pretty badly about Baby Jennifer. She hadn’t been facing facts at all while she was spinning cozy daydreams about herself and the baby together in her cozy cottage.
Now she was looking into a cold, lonely future with nothing except old age at the end of it. From the bright, flaming promise of her good times with McCallum, all that was left were ashes.
She took off her glasses and rubbed her tired eyes. She’d just about given up wearing the contact lenses now that she wasn’t seeing McCallum anymore. She didn’t care how she looked, except in a business sense. She dressed for the job, but there was no reason to dress up for a man now. She couldn’t remember ever in her life feeling so low, and there had been plenty of heartaches before this one. It seemed as if nothing would go right for her.
The telephone in the outer office rang noisily, but Jessica paid it very little attention. She was halfheartedly going through her calendar when Bess suddenly opened Jessica’s office door and came in, pale and unsettled.
“Sterling McCallum’s been shot,” she blurted out, and was immediately sorry when she saw the impact the words had on Jessica, who stumbled to her feet, aghast.
“Shot?” she echoed helplessly. “McCallum? Is he all right?”
“That was Sandy. She’s a friend of mine who works at the hospital. She just went on duty. She said he was in the recovery room when she got to the hospital. Apparently it happened a couple of hours ago. Goodness, wouldn’t you think someone would have called us before now? Or that it would have been on the radio? Oh, what am I saying? We don’t even listen to the local station.”
“Does Sandy know how bad he is?” Jessica asked, shaken.
“She didn’t take time to find out. She called me first.” She didn’t add that it was because Sandy thought, like most people did, that McCallum and Bess were a couple. “All she knew was that he’d been shot and had just come out of emergency surgery.”
“Cancel my afternoon appointments,” Jessica said as she gathered up her purse. “I’ll finish this paperwork when I get back, but I don’t know when that will be.”
“Do you want me to drive you?” Bess offered.
Jessica was fumbling in her purse for the keys to her truck. “No. I can drive myself.”
Bess got in front of her in time to prevent her from rushing out the door. “I lied about Sterling and me,” she said bluntly, flushing. “It wasn’t true. He didn’t want anything to do with me and I was piqued, so I made up a lot of stuff. Don’t blame him. He didn’t even know I did it.”
Jessica hesitated. She wanted to believe it, oh, so much! But did she dare?
“Honest,” Bess said, and her eyes met Jessica’s evenly, with no trace of subterfuge. “Nothing happened.”
“Thanks,” Jessica said, and forced a smile. Then she was out the door, running. If he died…But she wouldn’t think about that. She had to remember that to stay calm, and that they hadn’t said he was in critical condition. She had to believe that he would be all right.
It seemed to take forever to get to the hospital, and when she did, she couldn’t find a parking space. She had to drive around, wasting precious time, until someone left the small parking area reserved for visitors. There had been a flu outbreak and the hospital was unusually crowded.
She ran, breathless, into the emergency room. She paused at the desk to ask the clerk where McCallum was.
“Deputy McCallum is in the recovery room three doors down,” the clerk told her. “Wait, you can’t go in there…!”
Jessica got past a nurse who tried to stop her and pushed into the room, stopping at the sight of a pale, drawn McCallum lying flat on his back, his chest bare and a thick bandage wrapped around his upper arm. There were tubes leading to both forearms, blood being pumped through one and some sort of clear liquid through the other.
The medical team looked up, surprised at Jessica’s sudden entrance and white face.
“Are you a relative?” one of them—probably the doctor—asked.
“No,” McCallum said drowsily.
“Yes,” Jessica said, at the same time.
The man blinked.
“He hasn’t got anyone else to look after him,” Jessica said stubbornly, moving to McCallum’s side. She put her hand over one of his on the table.
“I don’t need looking after,” he muttered, hating having Jessica see him in such a vulnerable position. He was groggy from the aftereffects of the anesthetic they’d given him while they removed the bullet and repaired the damage it had done.
“Well, actually, you do, for twenty-four hours at least,” the doctor replied with a grin. “We’re going to admit him overnight,” he told Jessica. “He’s lost a lot of blood and he’s weak. We want to pump some antibiotics into him, too, to prevent infection in that wound. He’s going to have a sore arm and some fever for a few days.”
“And he can’t work, right?” she prompted.
McCallum muttered something.
“Right,” the doctor agreed.
“I’ll stay with him tonight in case he needs anything,” Jessica volunteered.
McCallum turned his head and looked up at her with narrow, drowsy dark eyes. “Sackcloth and ashes, is it?” he asked in a rough approximation of his usual forceful tones.
“I’m not doing penance,” she countered. “I’m helping out a friend.”
For the first time, his eyes focused enough to allow him to see her face clearly. She was shaken, and there was genuine fear in her eyes when she looked at him. Probably someone had mentioned the shooting without telling her that it was relatively minor. She looked as if she’d expected to find him dead or shot to pieces.
“I’m all right,” he told her. “I’ve been shot before, and worse than this. It’s nothing.”
“Nothing!” she scoffed.
“A little bitty flesh wound,” he agreed.
“Torn ligament, severed artery that we had to sew up, extensive loss of blood…” the doctor was saying.
“Compared to the last time I was shot, it’s nothing,” McCallum insisted drowsily. “God, what did you give me? I can’t keep my eyes open.”
“No need to,” the doctor agreed, patting him gently on his good shoulder. “You rest now, Deputy. You’ll sleep for a while and then you’ll have the great-grandfather of a painful arm. But we can give you something to counteract that.”
“Don’t need any more…painkillers.” He yawned and his eyes closed. “Go home, Jessica. I don’t need you, either.”
“Yes, you do,” she said stubbornly. She looked around her, realizing how crazy she’d been to push her way in. She flushed. “Sorry about this,” she said, backing toward the door. “I didn’t know how badly he was hurt. I was afraid it was a lot worse than this.”
“It’s all right,” the doctor said gently. He smiled. “We’ll take him to his room and you can sit with him there, if you like. He’ll be fine.”
She nodded gratefully, clutching her purse like a life jacket. She slipped out of the room and went to sit down heavily in a chair in the waiting room. Her heart was still racing and she felt sick. Just that quickly, McCallum could have been dead. She’d forgotten how uncertain life was, how risky his job was. Now she was face-to-face with her own insecurities and she was handling them badly.
When they wheeled him to a semiprivate room, she went along. The other half of the room was temporarily empty, so she wouldn’t have to contend with another patient and a roomful of visitors. That was a relief.
She noticed that there was a telephone, and when McCallum had been settled properly and the medical team had left, she dialed her office and told Candy his condition and that she wouldn’t be back, before asking to be transferred to Bess.
“Can I bring you
anything?” Bess offered.
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” She didn’t want Bess here. She wanted McCallum all to herself, with no intrusions. It was selfish, but she’d had a bad fright. She wanted time to reassure herself that he was all right, that he wasn’t going to die.
“Then call us if you need us,” Bess said. “I talked to Sandy again and told her the truth, so she won’t, well, say anything to you about me and Sterling McCallum. I’m glad he’s going to be okay, Jessica.”
“So am I,” she agreed. She hung up and pulled a chair near the bed. She’d noticed a strange look from one of the nurses earlier. That had probably been Bess’s friend.
McCallum was sleeping now, his expression clear of its usual scowl. He looked younger, vulnerable. She grimaced as she looked at his poor arm and thought how painful it must have been. She didn’t even know if they’d caught the man who’d shot him. Presumably they were combing the area for him.
A few minutes later, Sheriff Hensley and one of the other deputies stopped by the room to see him. Hensley had gone by McCallum’s house to feed Mack and get McCallum a change of clothing. The shirt he’d been wearing earlier was torn and covered in blood. McCallum was still sleeping off the anesthesia.
“Have you caught the man who did it?” Jessica asked.
Hensley shook his head irritably. “Not yet. But we will,” he said gruffly. “I wouldn’t have had this happen for the world. McCallum’s a good man. On the salary the job pays, we don’t get a lot of men of his caliber.”
Jessica had never questioned a man of McCallum’s education and background working in such a notoriously low-paying job. “I wonder why he does a lot of things,” she mused, watching the still, quiet face of the unconscious man. “He’s very secretive.”
“So are you.”
She grimaced. “Well, everyone’s entitled to a skeleton or two,” she reminded him.
He shrugged. “Plenty of us have them. Tell him I fed his dog, and brought those things by for him. I’ll be back tomorrow. Are they going to try to keep him overnight?”
“Yes,” she said definitely. “I’ll stay with him. He won’t leave unless he knocks me out.”
“Harris here can stay with you if you think you’ll need him,” Hensley said with a rare smile.
Jessica glanced at the pleasant young deputy. “Thanks, but the doctor has this big hypodermic syringe….”
“Good point.” Hensley took another look at McCallum, who was sleeping peacefully. “Tell him we’re on the trail of his assailant. We’re pretty sure who it is, from the description. We’re watching the suspect’s grandmother’s house. It’s the one place he’s sure to run when he thinks it’s safe.”
Jessica nodded. “That’s one advantage of small towns, isn’t it?” she mused. “At least we generally know who the scoundrels are and where to find them.”
“It makes police work a little easier. The police are helping us. McCallum’s well liked.”
“Yes.” She looked up. “Thanks for getting Sam Jackson off my back.”
He smiled. “Neighbors help each other. Maybe you’ll do me a favor one day.”
“You just ask.”
“Well, a loaf of that homemade raisin bread wouldn’t exactly insult me,” he volunteered.
“When I get McCallum out of here, raisin bread will be my first priority,” she promised him.
The way she worded it amused him, but it shocked her that she should feel proprietorial about McCallum, who’d given her no rights over him at all. She’d simply walked in and taken charge, and he wasn’t going to like it. But she knew what he’d do if she left—go home this very night and back to work in the morning. He didn’t believe in mollycoddling himself. No, she couldn’t leave. She had to keep him here overnight and then make sure that he rested as the doctor had told him to. But how was she going to accomplish that?
She was still worrying about the problem when he woke up, after dark, and winced when he tried to stretch. They had a hospital gown on him, and the touch of the soft cotton fabric seemed to irritate him. He tried to pull it off.
Jessica got up and restrained his hand. They still had tubes in him, the steady drips going at a lazy speed.
“No, you mustn’t,” she said gently, bending over him.
His eyes opened. He stared at her and then looked around and frowned. “I’m still here?”
She nodded. “They want you to stay until tomorrow. You’re very weak and they haven’t finished the transfusion.”
He let out a long, drowsy breath. “I feel terrible. What have they done to me?”
“They stitched you up, I think,” she said. “Then they gave you something to make you rest.”
He looked up at her again, puzzled. “What are you doing here? It’s dark.”
“I’m staying tonight, too,” she said flatly. Her eyes dared him to argue with her.
“What for?”
“In case you need anything. Especially in case you try to leave,” she added. “You’re staying right there, McCallum. If you make one move to get up, I’ll call the nurse and she’ll call the doctor, and they’ll fill you so full of painkillers that you’ll sleep until Sunday.”
He glared at her. “Threats,” he said, “will not affect me.”
“These aren’t threats,” she replied calmly. “I asked the doctor, and he said he’d be glad to knock you out anytime I asked him to if you tried to leave.”
“Damn!” He lifted both hands and glared at the needles. “How did I get into this mess?”
“You let a man shoot you,” she reminded him.
“I didn’t let him,” he said gruffly. “I walked in without looking while he was trying to rob the store. I didn’t even see the gun until the bullet hit me. A police special, no less!” he added furiously. “It was a .38. No wonder it did so much damage!”
“I’m very glad he can’t shoot straight,” she said.
“Yes. So am I. He was scared—that’s probably why he missed any vital areas. He fired wildly.” His eyes closed and his face tightened as he moved. “I hope I get five minutes alone with him when they catch him. Have you heard from Hensley?”
“He and Deputy Harris came by to see you while you were asleep. They think they know who it was. They’re staking out one of his relative’s houses.”
“Good.”
“Didn’t you know the place was being robbed? Wasn’t that why you went in?” she persisted.
“I went in because I wanted a cup of coffee,” he said with a rueful smile. “I don’t think I’ll ever want another one after this. Or if I do, I’ll make it at home.”
“I could ask the nurse if you can have one now,” she offered.
“No, thanks. I’ll manage.” He hesitated. “Do they have a male nurse on this floor?”
“Yes.”
“Could you ask him to step in here, please?”
She didn’t have to ask why. She went out to find the nurse and sent him in. She waited until she saw him come out again before she rejoined McCallum.
“Damned tubes and poles and machines,” he was muttering. He looked exhausted, lying there among the paraphernalia around the bed. He turned his head and looked at her, seeing the lines in her face, the lack of makeup, the pallor. “Go home.”
“I won’t,” she said firmly. She sat back down in the chair beside his bed. “I’ll leave the hospital when you do. Not before.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Have I asked you to be responsible for me?” he asked irritably.
“Somebody has to,” she told him. “You don’t have anybody else.”
“Hensley would sit with me if I asked him, or any of the deputies.”
“But you wouldn’t ask them,” she replied. “And the minute I walk out the door, you’ll discharge yourself and go home.”
“I need to go home. What about Mack?” He groaned. “He’ll have to go without his supper.”
“Sheriff Hensley has already fed him. He also brought you a change of clothing.”
That seemed to relax him. “Nice of him,” he commented. “Who’ll feed Mack tomorrow morning and let him out?”
“I guess we’ll have to ask the sheriff to go again. I’d offer, but that dog doesn’t like women. I don’t really want to go into your house when you aren’t there. He growls at me.”
“Your cat growls at me. It didn’t stop me from going to your house.”
“Meriwether couldn’t do too much damage to you. But Mack is a big dog with very sharp teeth.”
His eyes searched hers. “Afraid of him?”
“I guess maybe I’m afraid of being chewed up,” she said evasively.
“Okay. Hand me the phone.”
She did, and helped him push the right buttons. He phoned Hensley and thanked him, then asked him about feeding Mack in the morning. Hensley already knew McCallum kept a spare key in his desk and had used it once already. He readily agreed to take care of Mack.
“That’s a load off my mind,” McCallum said when he finished and lay back against the pillows. He flexed his shoulder and then frowned. “Do I smell something?”
As he said that, the door opened and a nurse came in bearing two trays. “Dinnertime,” she said cheerfully, arranging them on the table. “I brought one for you, too, Miss Larson,” she added. “You haven’t even had coffee since you’ve been here.”
“That’s so nice of you!” Jessica said. “Thank you!”
“It’s our pleasure. Make sure he eats,” she added to Jessica on her way out. “He’ll need all the protein he can get to help replenish that lost blood.”
“I’ll do that,” Jessica promised.
She lifted the tops off the dishes on one tray while McCallum made terrible faces.
“I hate liver,” he told her. “I’m not eating it.”
She didn’t answer him. She cut the meat into small, bite-sized pieces and proceeded to present them at his lips. He glared at her, but after a minute of stubborn resistance, opened his mouth and let her put the morsels in, one at a time.
“Outrageous, treating a grown man like this,” he muttered. But she noticed that he didn’t refuse to eat, as he easily could have. In fact, he didn’t lodge a single protest even when she followed the liver with vegetables and, finally, vanilla pudding.