Two
Kaylie Chatam walked around the bed and gathered up the other pillow, saying, “You’ll need to sit up a bit in order to eat.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stephen muttered on a sigh, grateful for something to think about besides his predicament. He began struggling up onto his right elbow again.
Kaylie swiftly moved back around the bed, her flats slapping lightly against the gleaming hardwood floor. She reached his side and wedged the pillow beneath his head and shoulders, but it still wasn’t enough to allow him to eat without decorating himself with his food.
“Let me help you move up on the pillows a little more.”
Leaning across him, she slid her hands into the crevices between his torso and arms. He was surprised at the wiry strength that allowed her to actually be of help. After he got settled again, she briskly straightened his T-shirt so that it didn’t bind his shoulders and neck. Next, she spread the towel across his chest. Embarrassed by his helplessness, Stephen mumbled, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Her soft, rather husky voice sent an odd shiver through him.
“Would you like for me to examine your incisions?”
He shook his head, his right hand going to the spot on his right side where they’d opened him up. “The doctor took a look last night. Said everything seemed fine.”
Nodding, she seemed to cast about the room for something more to do. Stephen’s gaze followed her.
Despite the lack of certain amenities, he decided that this was really a very elegant room. The cool creams and warm golds, set against a milky brown background, showed off the expensive antiques, rich brocades and matching stripes to perfection.
From where he lay, he could look straight through the open doorway to the gracefully proportioned, brown velvet sofa, placed squarely in the center of a large, truly beautiful cream-on-gold rug positioned in front of an ornate plastered fireplace. He recalled an armchair upholstered in striped satin and a writing desk of some sort, as well as crystal lamps and gold-framed paintings.
It was all a little Victorian for his personal taste, but he couldn’t deny the beauty of it. His own home was as sleek and modern as it was possible to be, all shiny blacks and bright colors. It seemed rather cold and pedestrian in comparison. Maybe he ought to rethink that. Be easy enough to make some changes while they were rebuilding the place. Just the thought of what had to be done to make his house on the west side of Fort Worth habitable again—and how it had come to be in need of repair—pained and exhausted him, so he shoved it out of mind.
Thankfully, Aaron returned just then with a laden tray, announcing gaily, “Hey, they got a dumbwaiter. Imagine that. Comes up out there on the landing. It’s like an elevator for food, but Hilda says she sends the laundry up that way, too. Pretty slick, huh?”
Stephen nodded and shrugged. “There’s one in my stepfather’s flat in Amsterdam, where the houses are very old. It works on a pulley.”
Kaylie took the tray and placed it on Stephen’s lap, asking, “Older than this place? Chatam House is almost a hundred and fifty years old, you know.”
He smirked at this. “My stepfather’s flat is in a converted herenhuis built in 1632.”
She blinked. “My, that is old.”
“Sixty percent of the houses in Amsterdam were built before the eighteenth century,” he muttered, mentally cataloging the contents of the tray. He identified orange juice; eggs scrambled with parsley and diced onion; toast with butter and strawberry jelly; four slices of crisp bacon; a baked apple sprinkled with cinnamon and swimming in cream; and what appeared to be a cup of strong black coffee.
“Mmm,” he said, inhaling appreciatively.
Kaylie smiled. “You’ll find the fare at Chatam House on an entirely different plane than that of most hospital food.”
“No kidding.”
He picked up the ridiculously delicate china cup from its matching saucer and touched it to his lips for a quick sample, then made a face. Hot tea. Yuck. He’d never developed a taste for it, and his mother had not pressed him to. He set the cup back onto the saucer and reached for the orange juice instead.
Kaylie chuckled and said to Aaron, “There’s a chain coffee shop down on North Main, about a block south of the highway. They have a drive-through window, but I’m sure that if you pick up his favorite grind, Hilda will be happy to make it for him.”
“All right,” Aaron said, digging into his pocket for his keys. “Be right back.”
“I have to be going, too,” Kaylie said, swinging toward the door.
Both Aaron and Stephen spoke at the same time.
“What?”
“Where are you going?”
“Home,” she answered, turning to face them.
“B-but what about Steve?” Aaron asked, waving a hand toward the bed.
“I don’t know. Who stayed with him last night after you fired the nurse?”
“I did,” Aaron answered.
“Well, then…”
“I’ve got a brand-new wife at home!” he exclaimed, twisting to throw Stephen a pleading look.
Kaylie’s eyebrows rose at that, but she said only, “I’m sorry, but I’m not prepared to stay at this point. Aren’t there any family—”
“None close,” Stephen interrupted tersely, frowning.
“Mom’s in Holland,” Aaron explained. “Dad’s in Lubbock. No siblings.”
“Friends?”
Stephen sighed richly. Yeah, like his hard-partying friends would take turns sitting at his bedside. Besides, the team was busy. This was their first year to make the playoffs, and the last thing he wanted was to become more of a distraction to them than he already was.
Aaron rubbed his chin. “Cherie, maybe.”
“Who’s Cherie?” Kaylie asked.
Aaron waved a hand. “Aw, that’s Stephen’s girlfriend-of-the-moment.”
“Aaron,” Stephen scolded, glaring a warning that his agent completely missed.
“The female du jour,” the social lummox blathered on, “flavor of the month. Matter of fact, unlike you, she’s a not-so-natural red—”
“Aaron!” Stephen shouted forcefully enough that Aaron actually closed his mouth. Finally. Stephen muttered, “Cherie’s just a team secretary.” A team secretary who liked to style herself as his girlfriend whenever it seemed convenient for her.
A shop-made redhead, with a store-bought figure and trendy “bee-stung” lips, the only things real about Cherie were her hands
