A Man of Means. Diana Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ and a flaming pink feather boa. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders and she was wearing enough makeup to do justice to a ballet recital. She winced, hoping she hadn’t been noticed. She’d gone to the party as a burlesque dancer. Sadly she looked more like a professional hooker in her garb.

      She rounded a corner and saw two shadowy figures bending over what looked like a man on the ground.

      ‘‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing there?!’’ she yelled, making as much noise as possible. Then she started running toward them and waving her arms, yelling threats as she went.

      As she expected, the surprise of her aggressive presence shocked them into retreat. They jumped up and ran away, without even looking back. The best defense, she thought with faint amusement, was always a good offense. It was a calculated bluff, but she’d seen it work for women smaller in stature than she was.

      She ran to the downed man and examined him the best she could in the dim glow of the streetlights.

      Concussion, she thought, feeling his head and encountering a metallic smelling wetness. Blood. He’d been hit on the head by his assailants, and probably robbed as well. She felt around under the jacket he was wearing and her hand touched something small and square on his belt. She pulled it out.

      ‘‘Aha,’’ she said with a triumphant grin. A man dressed as well as he was could be expected to have a cell phone. She dialed 911 and gave the operator her location and the condition of her patient, staying on the line while the dispatcher got an ambulance en route.

      While she waited for it, she sat down on the pavement beside the man and held his hand.

      He groaned and tried to move.

      ‘‘Don’t do that,’’ she said firmly. ‘‘You’ll be okay. You mustn’t move until the EMTs get here. I haven’t got anything to treat you with.’’

      ‘‘Head…hurts.’’

      ‘‘I imagine it does. You’ve got a heck of a bump. Just lie still. Feel sick, sleepy…?’’

      ‘‘Sick,’’ he managed weakly.

      ‘‘Lie still.’’ She lifted her head to listen for the ambulance, and sure enough, a siren sounded nearby. The hospital was less than two blocks from her home, maybe four from here. Lucky for this guy, whoever he was. Head injuries could be fatal.

      ‘‘My…brothers,’’ the man was whispering brokenly. ‘‘Hart…Ranch. Jacobsville, Texas.’’

      ‘‘I’ll make sure they’re contacted,’’ she promised.

      He gripped her hand, hard, as he fought not to lose consciousness. ‘‘Don’t…leave me,’’ he ground out.

      ‘‘I won’t. I promise.’’

      ‘‘Angel,’’ he whispered. He took a long, shaky breath, and went back into the oblivion he’d left so briefly. That wasn’t a good sign.

      The ambulance rounded the corner, and the headlights spilled out onto Meredith and her patient. She got to her feet as two EMTs, one male and one female, piled out the doors and rushed to the downed man.

      ‘‘Head wound,’’ she told them. ‘‘Pulse is slow, but steady. He’s coherent, some nausea, his skin is cold and clammy. Blunt force trauma, probably mild concussion…’’

      ‘‘Don’t I know you?’’ the female EMT asked. Her face brightened. ‘‘Got you! You’re Johns!’’

      ‘‘That’s me,’’ Meredith said with a grin. ‘‘I must be famous!’’

      ‘‘Sorry, not you—your dad.’’ She winced at the look on Meredith’s face.

      Meredith sighed. ‘‘Yes, he spends a lot of time on ambulances these days.’’

      ‘‘What happened here?’’ the woman asked quickly, changing the subject. ‘‘Did you see anything?’’

      ‘‘I yelled and scared off two guys who were bending over him,’’ she volunteered. ‘‘I don’t know if they were the ones who hit him or not. What do you think?’’ she added as the woman gave him a professional once-over.

      ‘‘Concussion, definitely,’’ she agreed. ‘‘Nothing broken, but he’s got a lump the size of the national debt here on his head. We’ll transport him. Coming along?’’

      ‘‘I guess I should,’’ Meredith said, waiting until they loaded him onto the gurney. He was still unconscious. ‘‘But I’m not exactly dressed for visiting a hospital.’’

      The EMT gave her a speaking glance. ‘‘Should I ask why you’re dressed like that? And does your boss know you’re moonlighting?’’ she added wickedly.

      ‘‘Jill Baxley had a Halloween party. She thought I should come.’’

      The other woman’s eyebrows levered up. ‘‘Jill’s parties are notorious for getting out of control. I’ve never even seen you take a drink.’’

      ‘‘My father drinks enough for both of us,’’ came the reply. ‘‘I don’t drink or use drugs, and I need my head examined for going to that party. I escaped early, which is how I found this guy.’’

      ‘‘Lucky for him,’’ the woman murmured as they loaded him into the back of the ambulance. ‘‘Judging by his condition, he could have died if he hadn’t been found in time.’’

      Meredith climbed up into the back and sat down on the bench while the driver got in under the wheel and the female EMT called the hospital emergency room for orders. It was going to be a long night, Meredith thought worriedly, and her father was going to be very upset when she got home. He and her mother had been really close, but her mother had been fond of going to parties and staying out until the early morning; sometimes with other men. Recent events had made him dwell on that behavior. Her father seemed to have transferred that old contempt to her. It made her uneasy to think of arriving home in the wee hours. Anything could happen. On the other hand, how could she leave this man? She was the only person who knew who to contact for him. She’d promised to stay with him. She couldn’t let him down.

      He was examined by the resident on duty in the emergency room, who diagnosed concussion. He’d been unconscious most of the way to the hospital, but he’d come out of it just once to look up at Meredith and smile, tightening his big hand around the fingers that were holding it.

      His family had to be notified, and Meredith was coaxed into making the call to Jacobsville for the harassed and overworked emergency room staff.

      She was given a phone and a telephone directory which also listed Jacobs County, of which Jacobsville was the county seat. She looked through it until she found a listing for Hart Ranch Properties, Inc. That had to be it.

      She dialed the number and waited. A deep, drawling voice answered, ‘‘Hart Ranch.’’

      ‘‘Uh, I’m calling for a Mr. Leo Hart,’’ she said, having found his driver’s license in the wallet his assailants hadn’t had time to steal. ‘‘He’s at Houston General…’’

      ‘‘What СКАЧАТЬ