Kristin Hardy - Bad Influence

“Painkillers? What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing serious, we don’t think.” He had a nice voice, soothing. His eyes were hazel, she noticed. “He’s a little banged up. He’s complaining of chest pain. It’s okay,” Patterson assured her immediately. “I really don’t think it’s serious. Probably rib or cartilage damage from the accident, but we have to check it out. We’ll keep him overnight for observation.”

Head spinning, she listened to the litany. Broken wrist, sprained ankle, CT scan to rule out head injury. “He called me from here over an hour and a half ago and he seemed fine,” she protested. And she couldn’t understand why so far nothing had been done.

“He is fine, but we just need to be a little bit careful. He’s had to wait because we had a car flip on the highway with four kids,” he added as though he’d read her thoughts.

The families in the waiting room, she thought immediately.

“We’ve been busy trying to get them put back together. Now it’s Lyndon’s turn. This could take a while,” Patterson warned. “You might as well go out into the waiting room. It’s more comfortable.”

“I’ll stay here, thanks,” Paige said, taking her grandfather’s hand. He made a sleepy murmur, but his eyes stayed closed. You did for family, especially when you didn’t have much.

Abruptly she missed her mother as deeply as though she’d lost her the previous week instead of twenty-five years before. Pretty and light and full of fun, Caroline Favreau had been a woman who knew how to tease joy and excitement from life despite the constraints of her husband’s profession. A walk to the park turned into an adventure; Paige remembered sitting with her shoes off in a fountain while her mother charmed the Prague police officer out of disciplining them. With her natural exuberance, Caroline could always manage to get people to laugh and relax, even James.

Then had come the aneurysm and suddenly she’d been gone. Paige’s memories had largely blended into the images she’d seen again and again in photographs. An unexpected whiff of Shalimar, though, could still take her back to walking hand in hand with her mother through the museum in Vienna.

James loved her, Paige knew. And maybe life wasn’t as fun and full of the unexpected as when Caroline had been alive, but he’d kept Paige with him throughout the years—she had to give him credit for that. “We’re a family, you and me,” he always said to her. “We stick together.” And maybe that had meant nannies to help shoulder the load, maybe it had meant being lectured to behave, behave, behave during seemingly every minute of every day, but it had still mattered. They had stuck together, except when he’d gone on long trips or been posted to an unstable country. Her haven then had been Santa Barbara and the staunch, equally quiet affection of her grandparents.

It wasn’t true what Delaney said about her being afraid to live. She lived. She’d just been raised in a more measured life. The habits of thirty years didn’t get thrown off overnight—particularly when there was nothing wrong with them. Perhaps she’d never chased the wild bolt from the blue, but that was because she’d seen firsthand the kind of peace and happiness that came from mutual respect, shared goals, trust. So what if it didn’t work for Delaney? It had been something solid and wonderful for Paige’s grandparents and even her parents. And Paige believed it was out there for her.

She liked order, predictability. If she preferred guys like Rich Patterson to the Frito Bandito out in the lobby, it was because they were doing something with their lives. They were attempting to make a difference in the world. If she’d yet to find true love among the dry discussions, someone who made her pulse beat faster, that was her business, right?

And if somewhere deep down she wondered if she was going to be sorry at the end of her life that she’d lived so quietly, that was her business, too.

The time dragged by, with the orderlies bustling in to take her grandfather off for tests and then return, and the doctor coming back to put on the cast. When she saw the hot-pink roll of fiberglass in his hand, she stopped him. “Not that. He’d much rather have the clear kind, trust me.”

“Sorry. We’ve kind of had a run on casting material. Central Services hasn’t had a chance to restock.”

“Not even blue or green?” Though those would scarcely be the choice of her understated grandfather.

“How about pink or pink? I wish we had something else to offer, but we don’t right now. He picked a bad day to break something. He can put a sock over it, though.”

“Oh, trust me, he will,” she said.

Lyndon’s eyes fluttered but didn’t open, so Paige gave in.

And the doctor left and the waiting went on. Paige looked at her watch and yawned.

A nurse appeared. “We’ve got the results of the CT scan,” she said briskly.

“What are they?” Paige asked.

“Good news, just like we expected. The doc says he’s healthy as a horse, outside of being banged up. Everything came out negative.”

Relief had her feeling weak. For all that she’d been sure he hadn’t been seriously hurt, there had been that tiny bit of doubt nibbling at her. Now finally she could relax. “That’s great. So what happens now? Can I get him home?”

“We’re going to keep him overnight to monitor the chest pain. You can come get him in the morning.”

Lyndon opened his eyes and blinked sleepily at Paige. “I’m sorry about all the trouble,” he mumbled.

“Hush, Granddad.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s no trouble. I’m just sorry you’re hurt.”

“We’ll get him all fixed up,” the nurse soothed. “A nice snooze tonight and he’ll be raring to go tomorrow.” She turned to Paige. “We’ll need you to go out in the lobby and do the admitting paperwork. We’ve got his wallet and clothing set aside. You can come pick him up tomorrow morning about eleven.”

Paige leaned over to press a kiss on her grandfather’s forehead. “Take care,” she said softly. “I’ll be back for you tomorrow.”

“’Bye, sweetie,” he mumbled. “You have the key to the house, right?”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Sleep well.”

His eyes drifted closed and she walked away.

Pushing open the door to the lobby, she gave a jaw-creaking yawn. Her grandfather wasn’t the only one who was nodding off. Maybe it was the worrying or the drive, but despite the fact that it wasn’t even ten yet, she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was get to her grandfather’s house and tumble into bed.

It wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, though, she saw with a sinking heart. There was a line of people waiting for processing. A long line. Clearly getting through the emergency room required a Zenlike sense of calm and more endurance than she was entirely sure she possessed. She gave her name and went out to the seating area.

The families of the kids were gone, probably upstairs in the surgery unit, waiting for word. The Frito Bandito was there, though, in practically the same position as when she’d left, an open magazine in his hands. He glanced up, dark-eyed, as Paige walked toward the chairs. One black brow rose. “Still here?”

“Still here.” She sat with a sigh, wondering if the chairs were really as uncomfortable as they seemed or whether all chairs just felt that way after so many hours.

“I figure it’s medical research,” he said. “They’re trying to see how long they can keep us waiting around before we go nuts.” He grinned and she felt the flip in her stomach. She blinked. Dangerous, this one. When she’d first seen him, he’d merely looked disreputable. Now she saw the hollow cheeks, the dark eyes, the careless confidence that set something in her blood to simmering.