by Arlene James
That hand fell upon the covers blanketing his foot, his huge foot. That foot would make two of hers, and yet, she sensed that deep inside he was as lost and troubled as any little boy alone in the world. He might be a gladiator on the ice, but here and now he was a wounded patient in need of a kind, caring hand.
“Can I get you anything?”
He shook his head.
“Are you in pain?”
“No more than usual.” He flattened his mouth then said, “Not as much as earlier.”
Accepting that she could do nothing more for him at the moment, she nodded and moved toward the door, saying, “I’ll just take your breakfast tray down, then.” Pausing, she looked back at him. “I could bring you a book. The aunties have quite a library, you know.”
He lifted his eyebrows at that, but then he shrugged. Kaylie smiled and went out. She was halfway down the stairs, having left the tray in the dumbwaiter, when the new phone in her pocket dinged and vibrated. Surprised, she dug it out and peered at the screen.
It read, “Sports. Thrillers. Sci-fi. Westerns.”
She understood that he was telling her what sorts of books he preferred, most likely in the order that he preferred them. Awkwardly, she typed out a return message, pecking at the tiny keyboard with the tip of her forefinger. “See what I can find.”
She watched as the message went on its way, then she went on hers, shaking her head. How odd that Stephen seemed to find it easier to reveal his tastes in a text message rather than in person. That seemed to say something important about him, something sad.
As Kaylie had told Stephen, Hilda Worth and her husband, Chester, along with Hilda’s sister Carol Petty, had been taking care of Kaylie’s aunts and Chatam House for decades. The aunts considered them family, and since they lived in what had been the carriage house, they were ever-present fixtures about the estate, as much a part of it as the magnolia tree on the west lawn, the rose arbor on the east and the priceless antiques that comprised the majority of the furnishings. None of the family would treat the staff with less consideration than they would allow each other, which was why Kaylie went straight to the kitchen to clean up after her patient.
That was exactly where Aaron Doolin found her, up to her elbows in the enameled, cast-iron sink. She rinsed the last dish and set it in the folding wooden dish drainer next to the sink before drying her hands on a towel and turning to face him.
“I thought you left.”
“Yeah, I thought I had, too, then I remembered to do what I’m paid to do.” He waved a sheaf of papers at her.
“What are those?”
Doolin trained his practiced smile on her. “We never discussed salary and what all.” It was the “what all” that made her narrow her eyes. Aaron rubbed hands together. “How does a thousand dollars a day sound?”
She laughed, thinking it was a joke. “Ridiculous.”
He grimaced. “Okay, eleven hundred.”
Oh, now, this was absurd. No wonder Stephen had expected around-the-clock availability. She parked her hands at her waist. “You can’t be serious. What were you paying the last person?”
“Nine hundred,” Aaron said, poking a finger at her. “What? You think we’re trying to go on the cheap now, pay you less than the last guy? I can show you the canceled check, if you want.”
It took several seconds for her to conclude that he meant it, and when she did, she could only shake her head. “Wow, did he ever see you coming. You can hire a private nurse at half the cost from any agency in the Metroplex area.”
Aaron’s salt-and-pepper brows shot up, but then he rubbed his chin, watching her as if she was some alien life form. “Did I forget to mention the nondisclosure contract? You can’t talk about any of this, you know. Nada, nothing. Not a thing that has to do with Steve or his care.”
“All medical personnel are forbidden by law to discuss their patients. Didn’t they explain that to you at the hospital?”
Aaron looked perplexed. “Well, yeah, but the other guy said that only applied there.”
“The ‘other guy’ was unscrupulous, then,” she told him.
Doolin shrugged and declared, “Who knew! He came to me, said we’d need someone discreet. I’m no health professional. How was I supposed to figure out this stuff?”
Frowning, Kaylie folded her arms. “I’ll be glad to give you an address where you can report him, if you like. I’m sure the hospital would be eager to know that one of their employees is soliciting private jobs, too.”
Aaron cleared his throat and said, “Ah, maybe the less said there, the better. I mean, we’re the ones trying to keep a low profile, right? So, um, what would you consider a fair daily fee?”
She told him, and he seemed dumbfounded for a moment. “Really?” he asked weakly.
“Really. Just don’t expect more than eight hours a day from me. As I’ve already explained to Stephen, I won’t be spending nights here.”
Doolin frowned warily. “Are you sure he’ll be okay?”
“As long as he behaves sensibly.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Look, I’m not a babysitter. I’m a nurse.” He opened his mouth to argue the point, but she cut him off. “All right, all right. That’ll work itself out. Let’s concentrate on one issue at a time. How about we do it this way? How about you pay me by the hour, then if the job requires more time than I think it will, we’re all happy.”
Doolin nodded. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll keep track by phone. You send a text when you arrive and when you leave. I’ll verify it with Stevie and write the check. What hourly rate were you thinking of?”
She told him, and the deal was at last struck. Evidently pleased with himself, Aaron beamed then scowled very sternly. “But you still have to sign the nondisclosure agreement. That’s just how we roll on this.”
Kaylie fought a smile. She could almost see him trying to negotiate a multimillion-dollar contract, all steely-eyed and tough one minute, happy as a puppy with a new ball the next. The man was less agent than actor. She quite liked him, and she liked Stephen Gallow for employing him.
“Whatever you say.”
He went back to beaming, and she went back to trying to keep a straight face.
“Great! Don’t mean to pressure you, but I have to protect my boy,” Aaron prattled, clearly relishing the act. “He’s got enough problems with the team as it is. We can’t have anyone blabbing to the press.”
“I don’t blab to the press or anyone else, Mr. Doolin.”
“Aaron,” he corrected. “A woman of few words. I knew I liked you.” He plopped the papers down on the enormous butcher-block work island in the center of the homey, brick-and-plaster room and produced an ink pen. “Now, if I can just get your John Henry…”
She dutifully signed the documents, which Aaron witnessed and dated. Stowing the ink pen with one hand, he gathered up the papers with the other, kissed them and stuffed them into a pocket of his coat. “Now I can get home to the missus.”
“I, uh, just have one question for you,” Kaylie said quickly, surprised at herself, though not for the first time that day.
“Sure. What’s that?”
“What sort of problems does Stephen have with his team exactly?”
Aaron clapped a hand to the nape of his neck uneasily. “Why do you ask?”
The answer came to her only as it was falling out of her mouth. “So I can pray for him. An informed prayer is often more powerful than a vague one.”
“Huh. I wondered just how that worked,” Aaron said. “I mean, isn’t God supposed to know everything already?”
“Absolutely, He does. Prayer is not for His sake. It’s not as if we have to remind Him about what’s going on in this world,” she explained. “Prayer is for us. It’s a tool for our benefit.”
Aaron Doolin nodded his head, his lips curling up at one corner. “Okay, I can get behind that. So, lay it on the Big Guy, if you want. Most specifically, you can ask Him not to let the team cut or trade our boy. Not that I
think they will for sure. It’s just that there’s this good-conduct clause in his contract, see, and, well, if they wanted to be sticklers about it…” He sighed, braced himself with a hand placed flat atop the work island and crossed his feet at the ankles. “It’s like this, see.
About five years ago, when he first came into the league, there was this drunk-driving accident.”
“Oh, dear,” Kaylie said, dismayed. She almost wished she hadn’t asked.
“Hey, Stevie was young and celebrating the fact that he’d finally made the big league. Anyway, he learned his lesson, a stiff one. Truly. Only the club insisted on the clause, and technically…”
“He was drunk when he drove his car through his house,” she surmised softly.
“Technically,” Aaron repeated with some force. “I mean, he was drinking, but he had a couple of buddies drive him home that night, which was the responsible thing to do. Right? If they hadn’t left the car out with the top down and a storm hadn’t blown up all of sudden it wouldn’t have happened.” Aaron spread his hands. “Steve was just parking the car in the garage, not driving. Not really driving.”
Kaylie sighed. If her father ever got wind of this…She didn’t even want to think about it. One of his chief complaints about her brother Chandler’s chosen occupation was the abundance of alcohol surrounding the sport of rodeo. Still, she didn’t want to have to defend Stephen Gallow to her father or even to discuss him at all if she could help it. She didn’t want to have to choose between her father’s approval and taking care of Stephen—mostly because she didn’t know, at this point, which she would, should, choose.
She managed a smile for Aaron. “I understand.”
“Hey, it’s like I keep telling Stevie. As long as the press doesn’t make a big deal of this, it’ll blow over. In the meantime, I’ll be there reminding management just who it was that got the team to the playoffs in the first place.” He smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt, apparently forgetting that he wasn’t wearing a tie, and added, “Little insurance wouldn’t hurt, though. I mean, he could use somebody up there looking out for him, you know?”
She knew. Oh, yes, she knew. But she doubted that Stephen did.
“Thank you for confiding in me, Aaron.”
“Aw, you’re part of the team now, right? The Gallow team.”
Kaylie let her smile speak for her. Flipping her a wave, Aaron sauntered away. Kaylie’s smile faded to a frown of concern as he disappeared from sight.
The Gallow team. What neither Stephen nor Aaron seemed to understand was that it was much more important that they were all on God’s team.
She heard a ding and felt a vibration. Rolling her eyes, she dug into her pocket for the new phone. This time the message read, “Where r u?”
Shaking her head, she typed a simple reply. “Kitchen. You ok?”
“Bored,” read the message he sent back. “Hurry.”
Electing to simply drop the phone into her pocket, she went to find a few books that might, hopefully, appeal to him. Technically, entertaining him was not her job, but representing Christ to him certainly was. She just hoped that she didn’t regret letting him foist this phone on her.
Being in constant contact with Stephen Gallow was bound to turn her world upside down.
The stack of books stood almost a foot tall. Some hard-backs, some paperbacks, Kaylie had chosen them with as much care as her patient’s incessant texting had allowed. Using his one good hand, Stephen went through the offerings skeptically. They included a baseball biography, a mystery, a couple of lawyer/suspense novels—he pointedly yawned at those—a nonfiction account of the historical exploits of a fellow named Joseph Walker and four books from a fiction series about the Second Coming of Christ.
“Those ought to keep you busy,” Kaylie said in a satisfied tone.
“Or put me in a coma,” Stephen grumbled, dumping the last book on top of what was now a jumble on the bedside table. As soon as she’d entered the room, he’d announced that he’d already checked the hockey news via the Internet on his new phone and scoped out some interesting downloads. Apparently, several games were being installed on the amazing little contraption as they conversed. He checked the progress of the installation and sighed.
“Oh, come on,” she cajoled, waving a hand at the heap of books, “something there has to interest you.”
He glanced once more at the bedside table before determinedly turning his head away. “I’m too tired to read right now.”
“Then sleep for an hour or two,” she suggested lightly.
His pale gray eyes instantly turned to ice. “Why? So you can disappear on me?”
Kaylie ignored that, making every effort to retain her patience. The man, after all, was in pain. As opposed to just being a pain. Glancing pointedly at her utilitarian wristwatch, she noted the time.
“I’ll leave a few minutes before eleven to make Dad his lunch. Be back here just after noon to help with yours. You might want to clean up after that. Then I thought we might wrap your ribs, give you a little more stabilization in your torso so you can move more easily. The jacket sling helps, but it’s not the best thing for your ribs.” Aware of his deepening glower, she forged on. “By that time, you’ll probably be needing another rest. I have some errands to run later this afternoon, but I’ll return in time to give you dinner and meds. Can I bring you anything? Maybe some puzzles or a—”
He rolled his eyes, but before either could say more on the subject, they were interrupted.
“Yoo-hoo!”
Recognizing the voice, Kaylie turned toward the door. “Aunt Odelia?”
Footsteps clattered across the sitting room, then Odelia’s stark white head, topped with a big floppy yellow bow, appeared around the edge of the doorway. Wearing too much rouge and pale orange lipstick, she beamed a smile before hopping out from behind the door and fully showing herself with a happy “Ta-da!”
The effect was…Well, it was daffodils. Odelia had dressed, head to toe, in daffodils, including heavy gold-and-enamel daffodil earrings that looked as if they weighed a ton and a white, daffodil-dotted dress worn over an equally voluminous orange shift. Backless yellow shoes with plastic daffodils standing two inches high on the toes completed the outrageous ensemble.
It was all so breathtakingly Odelia.
Refusing to be embarrassed for her dear aunt, Kaylie embraced Odelia and affectionately declared, “You look positively floral today, Auntie.”
Odelia giggled as happily as any girl. “Thank you, dear. I love your penguins.” She waved a lacy handkerchief in Stephen’s direction, saying, “Looks like we both dressed in honor of our guest today.”
Kaylie shot Stephen a desperate, pleading look. A moment passed, during which he gaped, before he realized what she wanted from him.
Proving that he had manners enough to be nice, he said to Odelia, “Uh, thanks. Very…clever.”
“That outfit certainly puts you in mind of Holland,”
Kaylie supplied helpfully, “which is so well-known for its beautiful flowers.”
“Oh, right,” he managed, “especially tulips.”
“Well, daffodils aren’t tulips,” Odelia said with a laugh, holding out her filmy white skirt, “as Magnolia pointed out to me at breakfast. And she would know.” Leaning closer, the daffodil-clad Odelia confided to their guest, “She’s a self-trained horticulturist, my sister is, almost a botanist, really. Loves her garden and greenhouse.” Odelia smiled and turned to show off her finery. “But they’re almost tulips, aren’t they? Very like. And it’s not as if there’s a tulip dress in every closet, is it?”
Stephen opened his mouth but apparently found nothing to say in reply to that and so wound up simply shaking his head.
“Can we help you with something, Aunt Odelia?” Kaylie asked quickly.
“Oh, no, dear, not at all. Just checking on our Mr. Gallow. How is the dear boy?”
Biting her lip, Kaylie telegraphed an apologetic look to him then indulgen
tly said to her aunt, “As well as can be expected. How kind of you to see about him.”
“Kind,” Stephen echoed, but he didn’t fool Kaylie. She knew exactly what he was thinking. Kind of weird. Kind of ridiculous. Maybe even kind of loony.
“I’m going to be out later this afternoon,” Kaylie said to Odelia, telling Stephen with her eyes that this was payback. “Maybe you could check in on him then.”
Even while Stephen glared daggers at Kaylie, Odelia clapped her hands, hanky fluttering. “I have a lovely idea! Perhaps we’ll take tea here with Mr. Gallow this afternoon.”
Jerking, he looked for a moment as if he would spring off the bed and flee. Kaylie indulged in a smirk. As if he could outrun Odelia, even in her flip-flop daffodil shoes. Kaylie did have some pity for him, though. She knew how much he hated tea, and he was recovering from serious wounds, so she let him off the hook.
“I think the tea will have to wait until he’s stronger.”
“Oh, of course. Of course. Poor thing.”
He did look terribly weary.
“I think we ought to let him rest now,” she told her aunt.
“Well, I’ll leave you then,” Odelia said, turning away. “Just sing out if you need anything, Mr. Gallow.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Thanks. But it’s Stephen, please. Or Steve, if you prefer.”
Looking back at him over her shoulder, Odelia batted her eyelashes at him. “Stephen. Such an elegant name.”
Elegantly named Stephen appeared to have a touch of dyspepsia. Odelia frilled her hanky at him in a coquettish wave and clacked away in her daffodil shoes.
Stephen and Kaylie looked at each other in silence until the clattering faded, at which point Stephen drolly observed, “There’s a word for her in Dutch. It’s ‘kooky.’”
Kaylie flattened her lips in a flat, scolding line to keep from laughing. “That’s not very nice.”
“How about zonderling, then?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Meaning?”
“Eccentric.”
Zonderling. Kaylie had to bite her lip to hold back a smile. “Why do you think we call her Auntie Od?” she said softly.