Karen Templeton - Fortune's Cinderella

Miguel looked up, hope and terror fighting for purchase in red-rimmed eyes. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Despite Emily’s warning, Scott had no choice but to confront the obviously frazzled nurse at the desk. “Yes?” she snapped, not looking at him.

“I’d like to see my parents. Virginia Alice and John Michael Fortune?”

“Rooms 1B and 1A,” she said, jabbing a pen over her shoulder, “right on the other side of the door—”

“And you have another patient who came in by ambulance around the same time, Christina Hastings? Can you tell me which room she’s in?”

“She a relative, too?”

“No, but—”

“Only family’s allowed to see the patients, sorry.”

“You’re not serious?”

She frowned up at him. “Do I look like I’m in the mood to kid around?”

Frankly, Scott guessed that was a mood she was never in. “Then can you at least tell me her condition?”

“No.”

Scott leaned over the counter, close enough to make the woman back up. “If it hadn’t been for my family,” he said in a low voice, “it’s highly unlikely Miss Hastings would even need to be here right now. So if you don’t mind—”

“Do you see all these people, Mr. Fortune? Do you also see how many more of them there are than us? Now, please, go see your parents and let us get on with what we’re supposed to be doing. Which includes taking care of Miss Hastings.”

When the woman turned her back on him to answer another staff member’s question, Scott realized he’d lost that round. Which did not sit well. But, he thought as he strode toward the exam rooms, damned if he’d lose the next one.

He heard Mike’s agitated voice before he entered their father’s cubicle. Sitting with his ankle crossed over his other knee, his brother was on his phone, conducting business as though his Gucci suit wasn’t filthy and ripped, his thousand-dollar loafers caked in mud. More than that, however, as though their father wasn’t dozing in a hospital bed six feet away, hooked up to an army of machines and looking more vulnerable—more human—than Scott had ever seen him.

Tearing his eyes from his father, he said to Mike, “Somebody’s gonna be all over your ass about that cell phone. If I were you I’d switch to text.”

Behind him John Michael snorted. “Took you long enough.”

Okay, strike the vulnerable part of that description.

“Been a little busy, Dad.” Scott glanced at his brother, getting to his feet and walking out of the cubicle, presumably to continue his conversation without interference. “And Mike’s been with you.”

Their father grunted, his eyes drifting back closed. “True,” he said, his breathing slightly labored. “I can always count on Mike.”

And some things never change , Scott thought, although frankly he was too worn out—and this was neither the time nor the place—to take umbrage. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better. But it’s nothing a good night’s sleep and some decent food won’t cure.”

“So the pain in your chest—?”

His eyes opened again. “Gone. For the most part. It’s nothing, don’t know why everybody’s making such a fuss. They want to keep me overnight. Can you imagine?”

“I think that’s called doing their job.”

John Michael pulled a face. “Sticking it to my insurance company, if you ask me. I intend to fly back tomorrow, though. You’ll make the arrangements, won’t you? Might as well fly out from San Antonio. No sense returning to Red Rock.”

Scott crossed his arms. “Don’t you think you should wait to hear what the doctors have to say?”

“Flight’s only two and a half hours. If need be, I’ll hire a nurse to go with us. Which reminds me, how’s your mother?”

That he should ask about her as an afterthought was no surprise. That it should irritate Scott so much now, when it never had before, was. “I’m about to go look in on her now. Victoria said she was pretty shaken up—”

“No surprise, there. Virginia always has been emotionally fragile.”

“Dad. She just spent the night trapped in a tornado-demolished building. I think she’s entitled to be a little shaken up.”

His father gave him an unreadable look, then said, “Go on, tell Virginia I said to get some rest, but we’re going to be on a plane tomorrow. We need to get home, dammit. And send Mike in, I need to talk to him …”

Moments later his mother greeted him with a slightly dreamy, “Oh, hello, dear,” when Scott walked into her room. Leaning against the side of her bed, Scott took her good hand.

“How are you doing?”

“Better, now.” She frowned at the cast on her wrist, as if not sure how it got there, then yawned. “Although whatever they gave me for the pain makes me very sleepy. And apparently—” she yawned again “—I also got a nasty bump on the back of my head. There goes next week’s hairdressing appointment,” she said on a sigh, then crinkled her pale forehead at Scott. “The doctor said your father and I are going to be moved upstairs, that we should stay overnight. As a precaution.”

“I think that’s very wise. Don’t you?”

“I suppose,” his mother said on another puff of air. “Although I’d rather be home. In my own bed.” Virginia Alice grimaced down at the hospital gown. “Wearing my own things … oh, dear!” Her gaze shot to Scott’s. “Our luggage! Whatever happened to it?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. Could be in the next county, for all I know.”

“I see.” She thought a moment, then said, “Well, then, I suppose someone will have to pick up something for me to wear on the trip home. Since I certainly can’t be seen in public in this!”

Scott smiled. “Not to worry, Victoria and I will take care of it.”

Her eyes lifted to his. “Do you suppose they have size twos in San Antonio?”

“If not, I’m sure we can find a box of safety pins somewhere.” When she pulled a face, Scott chuckled, then said, “And by the way, if Dad gets his way you’ll be back in your own bed by tomorrow night.”

Virginia smirked. “And since when has he ever not?” Then she sobered. “Any word from Jordana yet?”

“No.” He squeezed his mother’s hand. “Sorry.”

She nodded, then pressed Scott’s hand to her soft cheek. They’d gotten her cleaned up, but without makeup she looked even more frail. “Thank you for not spewing out some platitude, telling me not to worry. Worrying is what I do.”

“No kidding,” he said, and she softly laughed, then lowered their hands.

“You know why I do, don’t you? Because your father doesn’t. Or won’t let himself, in any case. So I have to do his worrying as well as my own.” She shrugged. “’Tis my cross to bear.”

Smiling, Scott leaned over and kissed her forehead, getting a faint whiff of her familiar perfume, as though after using it for so long it was permanently embedded in her skin. “Get some rest, and I’ll check in again later. As he turned to leave, however, Virginia called him back.

“Your father and I … I know how our relationship must seem to you kids at times—”

“Mom, this isn’t the time—”

“I watched a woman d-die in front of me, Scotty. I thought we were going to die. That has a way of making you … think about things. About what matters. And what matters to me, right now, is that you and your brothers and sisters understand that, for all the … stuff your father pulls, I love him. And I know he loves me. Yes, there are times I want to smack the man senseless, for taking me for granted, for making me feel I come in a distant second to the business …”

She struggled to sit up straighter. “But I knew who he was when I agreed to marry him. Just like he knew I was a tenderhearted fool who jumped at the sight of her own shadow,” she said with a smile. “I also see a side of him he refuses to show to you kids, for whatever reason. Yes, your father’s the most stubborn human being on God’s earth, but deep down, he’s a good man who’s always only wanted the best for his children. And don’t you ever forget it.”