The Texan's Business Proposition. Peggy Moreland

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      Sally spent the next eight hours in the hospital’s emergency room. Upon her arrival, she’d provided the desk clerk with what information she could about Vince, which proved enough to allow them to locate his records, as well as his doctor. Technically, she could have left then, and with a clear conscious. But some weird sense of duty made her stay. Since she knew of no family or friends of Vince’s to call to sit in her stead, she felt obligated to remain and await news of his condition.

      During her long vigil, she read every magazine in the waiting room, drank four cups of coffee, made numerous trips to the restroom, one to the snack machine, and all without receiving any word on Vince’s condition. Fearing the worst, she gathered her courage and approached the reception desk. The staff had changed at three o’clock, and a different woman now sat behind the desk, having replaced the clerk Sally had spoken to previously.

      “Excuse me,” she said, in order to get the clerk’s attention. “Is there any word on Vince Donnelly?”

      “Are you family?”

      She shook her head. “His secretary.”

      “The doctor’s still with Mr. Donnelly. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

      Sally murmured her thanks and returned to her seat. Desperate for something to help pass the time, she picked up a tattered paperback novel someone had left behind and began to read. As luck would have it, it was a mystery, her favorite genre, and two pages into the book, she was totally engrossed by the story.

      “Are you Sally?”

      She snapped up her head to find a doctor standing in front of her. Gulping, she set the book aside and slowly rose. “Y-yes. I’m Sally.”

      “I’m Dr. O’Connor, Vince’s physician.” He gestured toward a door. “If you’ll come with me.”

      Sally followed him through the door and down a short hall.

      Unsure what to expect, she asked uneasily, “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”

      “That depends on Vince.”

      Considering that a nonanswer, she followed the doctor into one of the curtained-off examining rooms, where Vince lay, his eyes closed, his hands folded over the hospital gown that covered his chest. An IV tube ran from the back of one hand to a bottle hanging from a hook at the head of the bed. A white plastic bracelet circled his left wrist. She stared hard at his hands and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath them.

      She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he was still alive and her job hopefully secure, then whispered to the doctor, “Why hasn’t he regained consciousness?”

      “He did. His current state is drug induced.”

      At her questioning look, he went on to explain, “Vince doesn’t make a very good patient. He regained consciousness shortly after arriving and pitched a fit when he realized where he was. I sedated him to calm him down.”

      Sally nodded, easily able to imagine the kind of ruckus her boss had kicked up. “Do you know what happened to him?”

      “Before, during or after his fall?”

      She shrugged. “All of it, I guess.”

      “He suffered a mild heart attack. The dizziness he experienced during the attack probably caused the fall. Unfortunately, on the way down he cracked his head on something and—”

      “The end table,” Sally interjected. “When I found him, the end table was lying next to him.”

      “Ah,” the doctor said, nodding. “Stainless steel, as I recall. That explains the bump on the back of his head.” He chuckled softly. “Too bad it didn’t knock any sense into that thick skull of his.”

      Sally looked at the doctor curiously, surprised that he was familiar with Vince’s home, as well as her boss’s stubborn streak. “Do you know Vince?”

      “Since we were kids.” He glanced over at Vince and gave his head a rueful shake. “The most stubborn person I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”

      Sally would have laughed at the doctor’s assessment of her boss, but she was too worried about her job to find anything amusing. “How long will he have to stay in the hospital?”

      “I’d like to keep him a week, at the very least.”

      “Like hell you will.”

      Sally and the doctor both glanced over to find Vince awake and struggling to sit up.

      The doctor quickly placed a hand against Vince’s chest. “Unless you want me to put another knot on your head, I’d advise you to stay put.”

      Obviously too weak to put up much of a fight, Vince sank back against the pillow and squeezed his forehead between his fingers. “What’d you give me? I feel like I’ve been on a three-day drunk.”

      “It was a cocktail, all right, but not the kind you might expect.”

      Judging by Vince’s weakened state, Sally had to believe whatever the doctor had given him was strong.

      “I’m getting out of here.”

      The doctor looked down his nose at Vince. “You’ll leave when I say you can.”

      Vince dropped his hand to scowl. “Don’t be a jerk, Pat. You know I hate hospitals. Cut me loose so I can go home.”

      “You’re in no condition to take care of yourself.”

      “I’ll be fine as soon as the drugs wear off.”

      “You had a heart attack,” the doctor reminded him. “Which is exactly what I’ve been telling you was going to happen if you didn’t cut back on your workload and get rid of some of the stress in your life.”

      “There’s nothing wrong with my heart,” Vince grumbled.

      “No, there’s not,” the doctor agreed. “Not this time, at least. The tests we ran indicated no damage was done to your heart. But you did suffer a concussion when you fell, which requires round-the-clock monitoring. Last I heard, you lived alone.”

      Vince СКАЧАТЬ