“Whoa, mister!” Again the nurse caught his shoulder and pushed him back. “You’re recovering from a nasty brush with death. Your body needs time to heal and strengthen and—”
“But she’s out there alone! She has no money or car or—”
“Okay, calm down. We’ll do something to look for her, but first you have to lie back and take a deep breath.” The nurse, whom Justin estimated to be in her late forties, leveled an uncompromising stare on him. “Now, slow down and start at the beginning. Who is Tess, and why is she in trouble?”
Drawing a slow breath, he rubbed his face. His chin sported a short beard. “Tess is . . . my girlfriend. We were driving together and stopped for gas. Her car was stolen, a carjacking. I was held at knife point, and Tess was left stranded, without her purse or anywhere to go . . .”
He dragged a hand through his hair as more pieces of information flooded back to him. “She was on the run from her abusive husband. Except he wasn’t . . . I mean, he wasn’t her husband.”
“The plot thickens.” Cocking her head, the nurse widened her eyes.
“So, I was stabbed and left to die, and Tess is God knows where and in real danger of being found by the lunatic who already killed her sister.”
When the woman’s expression turned skeptical, Justin sighed.
“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” she asked.
“I know how it sounds, but I swear it’s true. Please, you’ve got to help me find Tess. She doesn’t know where I am and what happened to me and . . . oh, hell.”
Justin closed his eyes and groaned. He’d blown it again. He’d let his guard down, let those goons sneak up on him, and now Tess was alone or, even worse, with Randall Sinclair. He’d failed to keep her safe like he’d promised. She’d counted on him, and he’d let her down.
Just like he’d failed Rebecca.
Remorse and disgust wrenched inside him. If anything happened to Tess—
“Okay, handsome, let me get a pad of paper. I’ll write down all the information and see what I can find out for you.”
As the nurse headed out of his room, Justin called, “Wait a minute. What’s your name?”
“Kathy. But you can call me anything you want.” She gave him a flirtatious wink as she left.
Justin stared at the empty doorway, too concerned for Tess to see the humor in Kathy’s outrageous flirting.
When she returned, she held her pen and pad poised, ready to write. “Okay. First, who in your family do you want me to call about your condition?”
Twisting his lips, he considered his options. When he thought of the less-than-harmonious state of his relationship with his parents, he hated the idea of calling them. But if he had Kathy call Brian, he knew his parents would know about his situation within the hour anyway.
“Do you have to call anyone?” he asked.
“You don’t want to call your family?”
“I don’t want them worrying. If you call, they’ll fly up here to be with me. They can’t afford the plane ticket or the stress. My mom’s got a bad heart. Dad’s got a business to run. And Brian, well, he could afford the ticket, but he’s so busy with court, and—” Justin glanced up at Kathy as he realized he’d been thinking out loud. “I’m gonna live, right?”
“Better believe it. With a few days of rest and time for that gash to heal, you’ll be good as new.”
That settled it.
“Then don’t call my family. When I’m better, I’ll call them myself and tell them I’m okay. I want to concentrate on finding Tess, making sure she’s all right.” His head hurt worse, considering all that could have happened to Tess.
“When did you last see Tess? Where did you stop for gas?” Kathy sat down on the corner of the bed and balanced a clipboard on her lap.
“Just off the interstate outside of town. It was a small, independent kind of place. Not a national brand. Larry’s Stop and Save, I think.”
“And what does Tess look like? What was she wearing?”
“She’s beautiful.” His heart ached, seeing her face in his mind. He gave Tess’s description, and Kathy wrote down everything he said.
“What’s her last name?”
“Carpenter.” Then, as Kathy started to write, he added, “Or Sinclair. Carpenter was her maiden name, and the one she’s been using. Sinclair is her married name . . . sort of.”
Although she wasn’t legally married, Tess had used Randall’s last name at least part of the time.
“Mm-hm.” Kathy kept writing.
Dwelling on such small details, explaining the situation in all its sordid intricacies chafed Justin’s raw nerves, wore on his short supply of patience. He needed to be doing something, looking for Tess, calling the police, going back to the gas station, talking to people . . . something besides lying on his ass in this hospital while Randall . . .
A sickening thought presented itself. Nausea gripped him at the notion, but he had to cover every possibility. “She was from San Antonio. The man she lived with, the one who claimed to be her husband, is Randall Sinclair. Could you call information and get her home phone number? I’ve got to know if he found her, if she’s back with him.”
“Will do, sweet cakes. First, I’ve got to get some insurance information from you. Who’s going to pay your bill, darlin’?” Moaning, he sank back in his pillows. Things just got worse and worse.
***
Randall Sinclair’s home phone number was unlisted, so Kathy called the number for Sinclair Industries that the phone company operator suggested she try. With an Oscar-worthy performance, Kathy managed to convince the switchboard operator that she was a relative of Randall’s and there’d been a family emergency. A little more coaxing convinced the operator to give Kathy the Sinclairs’ home number. Kathy dialed the residence, gloating over her success. On the third ring, a woman answered.
“Hello. May I speak to Tess Sinclair, please?”
“This is she.” The voice was weak, hesitant, and sounded frightened.
The woman’s soft gasp was followed by a loud, growling man’s voice. “Who is this?”
“I’m calling to arrange a free makeover for Mrs. Sinclair, courtesy of the cosmetics counter at—”
“She’s not interested,” the man barked and hung up.
Kathy stared at the phone for a few seconds before she hung up. Poor woman. Pursing her lips, she headed for Justin’s room to tell him the bad news.
***
Randall glared at Tess suspiciously. “Who was that?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to ask.”
“Stay off the phone,” he growled. “Or better yet.” He jerked hard on the phone cord and ripped it from the wall. “I want dinner ready no later than six.”
He left Tess standing in the kitchen. She felt her world shrinking, her life collapsing. Moving like an automaton, she took a package of frozen steaks out of the freezer.
While she peeled potatoes, a thought jumped into her mind from nowhere. She and Justin hadn’t used any form of protection during sex. Randall had had a vasectomy years ago, making birth control an unnecessary consideration. A dread so ominous it threatened to choke her clutched Tess.
The vegetable peeler in her hand clattered noisily into the sink, and her knees buckled. Mentally, she tried to calculate when she’d last had her period, and she prayed she hadn’t been fertile during the four days she’d spent with Justin. She couldn’t be pregnant. She’d never be able to explain it to Randall. For that matter, she’d never want to bring a child into the world to live the way she lived.
Please, God, she prayed. Please, no!
***
Justin’s chest constricted in horror. “You’re sure?”
“She answered the phone. At least, she said she was Tess Sinclair when I asked to speak to her. Then a man got on the phone, and I made up some cock-and-bull story about being from a cosmetics counter offering—”
“How did she sound?”
“Honestly? Ki
nd of scared. She spoke real softly, and, well, I don’t know what she sounds like most of the time, but—”
“Shit! I have to get out of here, Kathy. I don’t care what the doctors say. Tess needs me.” He threw back his covers and dragged his feet to the floor. The room spun, and he wobbled.
“Look, Sir Galahad, you’re not going to do her any good if you leave here before your body is ready, and you drop from exhaustion a few miles from the hospital.” Kathy blocked his path when he tried to climb out of the bed. “God didn’t let you die last time. Maybe so you could go after Tess. But do both yourself and her a favor and give yourself a little time to heal, first.”
Meeting Kathy’s gaze, he crumpled his brow in worry. “Tess may not have time. Don’t you get it? The guy’s a real bastard!”
“I can appreciate that, hon. But you lost a lot of blood. You can’t take off to San Antone to play hero until you can stand up by yourself.” She arched one eyebrow. “Which reminds me, it’s time for your shower.”
Justin opened his mouth to protest, but something in her stance, her no-nonsense expression, told him it would be a waste of breath. He winced as he struggled to pull his body upright.
He knew it was silly to be embarrassed to have Kathy help him bathe. She was a nurse, after all. It was her job. But he’d bathed himself since he was five, and he shied from the idea of having a stranger helping him now.
Leaning on Kathy’s arm, he hobbled into the adjoining bathroom. He tried to keep his mind off the awkward bath awaiting him by concentrating on the bigger problem facing him. He had no way to get to San Antonio and no money. “Kathy?”
“Do you think you can shave yourself, or do you want me to do it? I’m pretty good.”
“I need money. How can I get some money?” He watched Kathy put a funny little plastic stool in the shower stall.
“Or did you plan to grow a beard?” She passed him the hand-held showerhead.
Justin scowled. “Did you hear me? I need money. Enough to buy a bus ticket to San Antonio.”
She glanced over her shoulder and turned to take a towel from a shelf over the toilet. “I heard you. Will you answer my question?”
“I can shave myself.”
“I’ll wait out here. Call if you need help, and I’ll think on the money problem.”
Justin thought about the money problem, too, as he turned on a warm spray and doused his head. Brian would lend him some, but he hated to ask. He didn’t even have his guitar to hock. In short, not a lot of options.
A pang of grief struck his heart. The guitar Becca had given him was gone, and though he’d have sold it to save Tess, losing it hurt. Another piece of Rebecca had slipped away. Another loss because of his incompetence. Why had he thought he could protect Tess? All his swaggering and big talk had been hot air.
The pain in his side paled in the shadow of the agony in his soul. A bitter taste rose in his throat, and he choked down the bile of regret and self-censure.
For Tess’s sake, he would have to set his pride aside and borrow from his brother. He sighed then squirted a small amount of the generic-looking shampoo onto his hand. As he worked up a lather, grimacing at the pungent floral scent, he tried to refocus his thoughts. But the sweet smell made him think of Tess, and he gave up any hope of a distraction from his grief.
He missed her. God, he missed her. He tried not to think about what Randall could be doing to her.
His helplessness to do anything for her drove him nuts.
Think of something else.
A song came to mind, and he sang. Music had always been a balm for him in the past, so he belted out the lyrics about a woman who walked out of his dreams and shined her light on his sleeping heart. While he rinsed soap out of his hair, he sang with a passion that was rooted in the ache of his own breaking heart.
“You finished yet, ‘John Michael’?” Kathy called.
Justin grinned a little and finished the John Michael Montgomery song, singing louder.
From outside the shower curtain, he heard Kathy applaud. “I think I have an idea how you can get some money, Justin Boyd, if you’re willing to take that act on the road.”
“Ready, willing and able, ma’am.”
***
“My heart is racing, and you’re drivin’ me wild. I should pull over, I can’t handle the ride. I’m running on empty, but here you come again. Oh, baby, fill ’er up! With your sweet, sweet love. Fill my life, fill my heart, fill my soul. Fill ’er up!” Justin sang, a song he’d written. He added a special flourish for the smiling girl who was hooked to multiple tubes and wires. He pulled out all the stops to entertain the little girl whose dark eyes touched a soft spot inside him.
When he cut a glance to the doorway where Kathy stood, she grinned like a proud parent—or an agent who’d just discovered the next Garth Brooks. Having spread the word to the other nurses that a singer of considerable talent was in their midst, Kathy had helped set up private performances for patients whose families would pay a small fee.
Responses trickled in slowly at first, but after Justin sang a birthday concert for a woman whose husband wanted a special way to lift his hospitalized wife’s spirits, business took off.
Word of the handsome, charismatic singer traveled like wildfire through the hospital, and Justin spent a large portion of his recovery time playing a borrowed guitar and singing from a wheelchair. His coffers grew along with his fame in the nurses’ stations. He became especially popular in the pediatric ward, where parents were desperate for ways to entertain and comfort their sick children.
He even performed a complimentary concert for a little boy Kathy told him about, who’d lost both of his parents in the same boating accident that had landed the child in the hospital. The pediatric staff extolled his kindness, and he became nothing short of a hero to the moony-eyed nurses.
After a couple of days, his doctors reluctantly released him, ordering him to take it easy and drink lots of fluids. He’d earned enough cash to buy a bus ticket to San Antonio. Plus, a little extra for food.
Now at his last performance, another free concert for a little girl dying of leukemia, Kathy hovered nearby, waiting to tell Justin good-bye.
“Sing another one!” the girl begged, the excitement in her eyes making up for the weakness of her voice.
“Okay.” He cast a look over his shoulder to the girl’s parents who seemed tremendously relieved to see their daughter’s response to the musician. “But only because I have a secret weakness for little girls with freckles.” Justin reached out and tapped the girl on her nose. She beamed, and her smile filled his heart with a special warmth, like sunbeams streaming into a cold, dark room. He played again, another upbeat tune, while the girl watched him with stars in her eyes.
“All right, that’s all. You need to rest now, sweetie.” The girl’s mother brushed past him and pulled a blanket up over the child’s arms.
As he turned to set aside the borrowed guitar, the girl’s father extended a hand to him. “Thank you, Mr. Boyd. I haven’t seen my girl smile this much in weeks. I don’t think you can ever appreciate how much this means to us.”
Justin shook the man’s hand. “I’m glad I could help.”
“You’re quite talented. Do you sing professionally?” the silver-haired man asked.
Justin shook his head. “Not yet.”
The man nodded thoughtfully but said nothing more.
Facing the little girl again, Justin leaned close enough to kiss her cheek. “Hang in there, sweetheart. I’m pulling for you.”
He gazed at the freckled face of the young girl, and his chest tightened with a bittersweet ache. She was too young to die. So young. A lump swelled in his throat as he headed out of the room, and he locked the memory of that little girl’s smile in the dark recesses of his battered soul. Knowing his music had brought her just a few minutes of pleasure lightened the burden of guilt and despair he bore. By sharing his music with her, he’d eased her suffering a little bit. He’d
finally done something right, something that helped, something that made a difference. He wouldn’t soon forget the joy that seeped through the darkness inside him as he walked away from the girl’s bedside. It was his first taste of real success.
“Thanks, Justin,” Kathy said softly as they walked back out to the wide corridor.
“Thank you, lady.” He startled her by giving her a hug. “I’ll always appreciate what you’ve done for me.”
“I’ll keep one ear on the radio, waiting to hear you there.”
“You’ve got front row seats at my first appearance at the Grand Ole Opry, pretty lady.”
He handed Kathy the guitar that she had borrowed from a friend, and her face became serious.
“Be careful, Justin. Take care of yourself.”
Backing away from her, he gave her a quick nod. Then striding confidently toward the elevators, he left the hospital and headed out to the bus station to begin his trek back to south Texas. To find Tess.
***
“I received an interesting phone call at work today, Tess.” Randall stabbed a bite of chicken and turned his gaze toward her.
Over the past few days, she’d endured the pretense of a marriage that Randall insisted on. His manner remained cool and authoritative, but as long as she humbly submitted to his demands and played her part of the dutiful wife, he’d left her alone. After her refusal to have sex with him her first night back, he’d played the role of the wounded lover, too proud to try again until his hurt ego healed. Many nights he came home smelling of cigarettes and cheap perfume. His sideline trysts were a relief. As long as he found satisfaction elsewhere, he wouldn’t bother her. But how long would it last?
Now, she raised her eyes to him, wary of what he had to tell her. Normally, they didn’t speak at dinner, and she preferred the silence to a tense guise of conversation.
“An Officer James Holton of the Memphis Police Department called. He asked for you. When I told him I was your husband, he informed me that your truck has been found. You’ll never guess what was inside.”
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