by Loree Lough
He’d planned to take the ICU nurse’s advice and try to catch forty winks before returning to the hospital. Instead, he called his old college buddy-turned-lawyer, who over the years had drafted a couple dozen “Pay up!” notices to Hunter’s deadbeat customers. Harry promised to do some research and get right back to him. While waiting for the return call, Hunter made himself a triple-decker sandwich to round out the cheese and crackers he’d already consumed. “Who knew fighting city hall would stimulate a guy’s appetite this much,” he said around a mouthful.
When the phone rang, he nearly jumped out of his sneakers.
“With Brooke in the hospital—and facing months of physical therapy—you won’t have any trouble getting temporary guardianship of the kid,” Harry said, “providing his dad really did spill his guts in that DVD.”
“You have a copy of it. Didn’t you watch it?”
“Haven’t had time. But I’ll make some before I start the paperwork.” Harry paused. “You’re sure this is what you want to do? Because once this snowball starts rolling downhill, it’ll pick up speed. Child Protective Services will get involved, and if they don’t like what they see, they really could put the boy in foster care until his aunt is well enough to take him back. You need to be aware of the risk.”
“How big a risk?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say five, maybe ten percent.”
Funny how things turned out, Hunter thought. Before Brooke’s accident, he was champing at the bit to use the disc against her. Now he was gambling that it would protect her. And Connor, of course.
“So what’s our first move?”
“So you’re sure, then…you want to go ahead with this.”
“One hundred percent.”
As Harry outlined their strategy, Hunter made careful notes.
“I’ll have my secretary type up the petitions right now,” Harry said. “First chance you get, stop over here to sign them, and I’ll personally walk ’em over to the clerk of the court and schedule a hearing. Meantime, you know what to do, right?”
The minute he ended the call, Hunter dug out the DVD, slid it into his computer and made two copies of it, then typed a short memo, as dictated by Harry:
To: Mrs. Eloise Damian, Services Specialist
Child Protective Services for Howard County, Maryland
From: Hunter B. Stone
Re: Connor Kent Sheridan
*
Dear Mrs. Damian:
I hereby inform you that I have petitioned the court for temporary guardianship of the above-referenced minor child of Elizabeth Ann and Kent Alexander Sheridan. Absent a last will and testament, the accompanying DVD (copies available upon request) will show that I am the person they chose to care for their son in the event of their death.
Feel free to contact me in the event you require further documentation.
Respectfully,
Hunter B. Stone
He checked and rechecked for spelling and grammatical errors, because Mrs. Damian seemed the type who’d use something as trivial as a typo to keep him from protecting Connor from foster care, and protecting Brooke from losing the boy forever. Satisfied that the letter was perfect, he printed out two copies, folded each in four and tucked them into the DVDs’ clear plastic cases. On his way to Harry’s office, he’d stop by the county building and hand-deliver the padded manila envelope to the clerk.
He had a good feeling about this. So good that he believed tonight, as he slouched in the hideous pink chair beside Brooke’s hospital bed, he might actually sleep for a change.
Provided he didn’t dwell too long on the fact that to help Brooke, he’d have to hurt her first.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE DOCTOR HAD told her to expect some serious discomfort, and he hadn’t exaggerated.
Her physical therapist had said it would take hard work—lots of it—to regain her strength and rebuild her muscles, and she hadn’t been kidding, either.
A few times, the agony had been intense enough that Brooke had considered quitting. Weeks of stretching, lifting weights—more reps and heavier dumbbells every day—walking miles and miles on the treadmill….
Brooke understood the point of it all, but hauling the heavy cast around was exhausting, character-testing work that left her feeling frail, fragile and whiny.
About halfway through her program, Hunter took it upon himself to ignore her requests to keep Connor away from the rehab center. “It’ll be too scary for him,” she’d insisted. As it turned out, hearing Connor’s “happy to see you” squeals had been just the medicine she’d needed. And having to say goodbye provided all the incentive she needed to push through the pain so that she could go home and be with him all day every day instead of an hour here, an hour there.
She’d just finished a particularly grueling session when Deidre walked into the room waving a Hershey’s bar in the air. “Thanks, Gram,” she said, “but you shouldn’t have. Can’t eat chocolate yet, with these wires holding my jaw together.”
“Don’t be silly. The candy is mine, sweet cheeks,” her grandmother said. And producing a strawberry shake from her cavernous purse, she added, “This is for you.”
Brooke held one hand to her ribs, the other to her jaw and said, “Please, don’t make me laugh.”
“So is it true? You’re getting out of this place?”
“Day after tomorrow…if all my test results are, to quote Dr. Norris, ‘satisfactory.’”
“But that’s good news. Why so glum?”
“Not glum. Terrified. How will I ever maneuver stairs in this thing?” She knocked on her cast. “My luck, I’ll take a fall and end up right back in here.”
“Don’t worry—Hunter to the rescue.”
“What did he do, build ramps everywhere? Install an elevator in Beth’s house?”
Deidre slapped both palms to her thighs. “Well, I like that. I finally keep something to myself, and he spills the beans.”
“What beans? Wait…are you saying… Do you mean he actually built ramps and installed an elevator?”
“No elevator, but he built a ramp at Beth’s house, so you won’t have any trouble getting into and out of the front door.” She nodded toward the big cast. “And the ramp is removable, so when your leg heals, he can haul it away.”
“The house is finished?”
“Oh, dear. He’s going to be upset with me,” she muttered. “That was supposed to be a surprise, too. It looks like something out of a decorating magazine. You’re going to love it. But you have to act surprised. He had his crew over there working double shifts so it could be ready by the time you get out of here.”
“I am surprised.” She frowned, partly because talking made her still-healing jaw ache, partly because she wondered what hues a guy whose kitchen was bright yellow had chosen. But being cooped up in this tiny room, aching from head to toe, worrying that she might limp for the rest of her life, was no excuse to behave like a spoiled brat.
“Don’t worry, ” she said. “I’ll give myself a serious attitude adjustment before he gets here.”
“Attitude adjustment?” An enormous vase of flowers and five Mylar balloons floated into the room. Hunter peeked around them and said, “Bad day in physical therapy, huh?”
“I warned her that cramming two days’ worth of work into every session could do more harm than good,” Deidre said. “But did she listen? No.”
He put the flowers on Brooke’s bedside table and tied the balloons to the foot of her bed. “She’s anxious to get out of this place,” he told Deidre. “Four weeks is a long time to be cooped up in a hospital room. And she just finished her second week in rehab.”
Hunter met her eyes. “The nurse gave me the good news just now. Bet you can’t wait to get home tomorrow.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Deidre cringe.
“The flowers are gorgeous,” she said, smiling up at him. “And so are the balloons. Thanks.”
“I’m just glad that in here
you can decorate a little. That room in the ICU was like a…”
“Morgue?” she finished for him.
Hunter winced. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, but it was pretty stark.”
“Well,” Deidre inserted, “you know what they say….”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell us,” Brooke and Hunter said, together.
Deidre faked hurt feelings and indignance. “Just for that, my lips are zipped.”
“That’ll be the day,” Felix said, striding into the room. “Looking good, Brooke,” he said, putting a tiny African violet beside Hunter’s flowers.
Deidre took one look at him and shot to her feet. “This room is stifling.” She grabbed her purse and kissed Brooke’s cheek. “See you tomorrow, honey.” And with that, she was gone.
For a moment, all three stared into the hall. When Deidre didn’t return, Hunter looked at Felix. “What was that all about?”
Felix snorted. “Oh, don’t mind her. She’s been like that ever since I popped the question.”
Hunter and Brooke exchanged a puzzled glance.
“She’s got this crazy notion that three’s the charm. Said in so many words that because husbands one and three are pushing up daisies—and for all she knows, so’s number two—she’ll be the end of me, too.” He waved the notion away. “Told her I didn’t go in for all that superstitious hogwash, but you know Deidre. She won’t hang it up. So I told her she was off her nut.” He snickered. “That she ain’t no spring chicken, and if she doesn’t want to sit all alone in those rockers on her porch, she’d better reconsider.”
“Wow,” Brooke said, wondering how could she have missed a growing romance between Deidre and Felix.
And Hunter said, “Sorry, pal.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Felix said. “She’ll come around.” He raised both hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But enough about me.” He smiled at Brooke. “How are you doing?”
“Better, especially now that I have all these pretty flowers to keep me company tonight. Thanks, Felix—that was really sweet of you.”
“Glad you like ’em. But I’d better go after her. In that kind of mood, there’s no telling which ditch she’ll drive into on the way home.”
Chuckling, the men walked into the hall, speaking in low tones and casting an occasional furtive glance in Brooke’s direction. They both had their backs to her when she rolled the wheelchair closer to the wall, mere inches from the door…and out of sight.
“Well,” Felix said, “things like that take time.”
What things? Her recovery? Or maybe Hunter hadn’t completed the ramp after all.
“Yeah,” Hunter agreed. “It’ll be worth all the aggravation and expense once things are legal.”
Legal?
She didn’t have to wonder about it for long.
“Will you change Connor’s last name to Stone? After the hearing, I mean?”
The men continued talking, but Brooke barely heard them. Her head throbbed and so did her leg, but not nearly as much as the ache in her heart. Because it seemed Hunter had started the adoption process while she’d been completely defenseless? Is that why he’d been so sweet, so accommodating?
“Chin up, pal,” he said to Felix. “Deidre’s all bark and no bite.”
Hunter was grinning when he came back into the room. “A marriage proposal. I didn’t see that coming, did you?”
Brooke couldn’t bear to look at him. Not yet. She needed time to sort things out. Hopefully, being physically and mentally exhausted, she’d misunderstood the conversation. Deidre’s eavesdropping had started Brooke on her race to beat Hunter to the adoption punch, which led to the accident that rendered her helpless…and incapable of taking care of Connor at all.
Irony, Brooke thought as a wave of dizziness overtook her. You’ve gotta love it.
“Hey, you okay?” Hunter knelt in front of her wheelchair and lifted her chin with the tip of his forefinger. “You look a little green around the gills. I’m calling a nurse.”
As he started to get up, she said, “Is there…is there anything you want to tell me, Hunter?”
Guilt colored his cheeks and shame glittered in his eyes. At least, that was the way it looked during the brief moment of eye contact.
“As a matter of fact,” he said, tucking a curl behind her ear, “there is something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
She was tempted to stop him, because she wasn’t sure she could handle hearing him admit straight out that hours of reading, chatting, straightening her pillow, making sure her toes weren’t constricted by too-tight bedsheets had been part of some grand scheme to take Connor away from her.
“Connor has been asking for you. I thought maybe after supper tonight, I’d bring him by again. Just for a couple of minutes.”
Why? So he can say goodbye?
Two faint worry lines formed between his eyebrows as he shook his head. “On second thought, I think Deidre was right. You pushed yourself too hard today.”
She had to get her strength back, get back to normal, as soon as possible so that she could fight for Connor.
Hunter walked over to her bed and turned back the covers and, after rolling her closer, gently lifted her from the wheelchair. “Get some rest,” he said, easing her onto the mattress.
Brooke settled back onto the pillow as Hunter leaned in close. “I’ll see you first thing in the morning,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
Nodding, she closed her eyes, felt him pull the sheets up and tidy them under her chin.
“Sweet dreams, little ballerina,” he said softly.
Little ballerina. Tomorrow, she’d ask why he kept calling her that.
And maybe you’ll wake up and realize this was nothing but a bad, bad dream.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
NOW THAT THE big clunky cast had come off, Brooke didn’t understand the need for Maureen, the nurse who stopped by once a day to help her shower and dress.
“I’m tired of being waited on hand and foot,” Brooke said. “I’ll have to do things for myself eventually. Why not start now?”
Maureen cocked an eyebrow and gave her a quick once-over. “Maybe…”
The nurse was tall and blonde, and might have been intimidating…if not for her gentle voice.
Brooke smiled, and because her jaw didn’t hurt the way it had when it was wired shut, she smiled wider. The accident had taught her many things about herself, among them, the necessity of being grateful for the little joys in life. “So, I can try?”
“Oh, you’re just like my daughter, aren’t you? Give her an inch, she takes a football field. I haven’t said yes yet, remember.”
“I’m a nurse, too, so I know how lucky I am to be home. I’ll be careful. You have my word on it.”
“It wasn’t luck that got you here. It was hard work.” Maureen sighed. “Well, all right, then. Since you’ve already showered, I guess it won’t hurt you to try getting dressed by yourself. But take your time. And don’t be afraid to ask for help. I’ll be right outside this door.”
“You’re a bighearted, understanding woman, Maureen Carter.”
She chuckled as Brooke closed the door. When she was finished in here, she’d see how the nurse felt about letting her try the stairs next. And if that didn’t kill her, maybe she could make the trip every night. If she succeeded, Connor would miss the hospital bed, because he loved having an indoor trampoline.
The bed had certainly served its purpose during her first weeks home from the hospital, allowing her to be near Connor and saving Hunter from carrying her upstairs. But she was anxious to get everything back to normal, and that meant putting the furniture back where it belonged, too.
Brooke sat on the bench beside the tub to pull on her white pants. It hadn’t been in the bathroom before the accident, and she knew Hunter must have added it, along with the recliner in the living room and the padded stool beside the kitchen sink, to give her places to stop and rest when she was up and
about. Where he’d found the time to think up all these little niceties—let alone put them into place—she didn’t know. But Brooke thought she knew why: guilt.
Wincing, she stood and tightened the drawstring on her pants. “How can anything so routine be such a struggle!” Before the accident, Brooke hadn’t fully appreciated the day-to-day things she accomplished without so much as a second thought, like brushing her teeth or putting on makeup.
“Look on the bright side,” she said, easing her arms into a matching white T-shirt. “It’s easier today than it was yesterday.”
Maureen rapped on the door. “You okay in there?”
“Sure am.”
“Okay…just checking.”
But Maureen sounded suspicious.
That’s what you get for talking to yourself.
When Brooke leaned against the vanity to catch her breath, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. The chin-length bob would take some getting used to, but Deidre’s hairdresser had been right. “The hair they shaved will never catch up with the rest of it,” he’d said. “Besides, think how much easier this will be to take care of while you’re recovering!”
Right now anything that made life easier seemed like a blessing. She opened the medicine cabinet and withdrew her toothbrush. How odd, she thought, looking around the room, that Hunter had chosen the same shade of green that she’d painted her powder room in Richmond. He’d given every room a fresh new coat of paint, and Brooke thought it was downright uncanny that he’d selected all of her favorite colors. But as her grandfather used to say, a man can’t pull the wool over your eyes without first gaining your trust. And Hunter had done exactly that, by being her sidekick from the morning she had learned of Beth’s death. Now, he’d taken responsibility for cooking, cleaning, doing laundry. Made appointments with the rehab facility, drove her to physical therapy sessions twice a week, helped her get through the grueling at-home exercises. He’d become so good at anticipating Connor’s needs the boy rarely had a chance, let alone a reason, to fuss or cry. She heard voices and stopped brushing. The television? Brooke didn’t think so. Maureen wasn’t big on daytime TV. Inching closer to the door, she strained her ears.