Karen Templeton - Fortune's Cinderella

Virginia sagged back against the pillows, her eyes fluttering. For a long moment Scott simply stood there, stunned, until her breathing slowed into a deep, easy rhythm—she was asleep.

Nurse Ratchet was still at her post at the nurse’s station, sparing Scott the merest glance as she handed off a folder to another nurse.

“Your parents are being moved upstairs in about a half hour—”

“Not why I’m here.”

She sighed. “Still can’t tell you about Miss Hastings—hospital policy.”

But before “Screw hospital policy” could leave Scott’s lips, another nurse strode past, calling out, “Dr. Karofsky says to call County General, tell ’em we’ve got an orthopedic transfer.”

“Name?” she barked to the other nurse as she snatched up the phone.

“Hastings. Christina.”

Scott lunged across the counter to grab the phone out of her hand.

“Mr. Fortune! Don’t make me call security, now—”

He waggled the phone. “I’d like to see you try,” he said, and she huffed out a breath. “Why are you transferring her?” His gut twisted. “Is she … does she need some kind of special care?”

“No! She’s—” Apparently realizing she’d stumbled right into his trap, the nurse sighed heavily. And held out her hand for the phone, which Scott relinquished. “She’s fine. Broken foot, some bumps and scrapes, that’s it. But she’s uninsured. And we’re a private hospital. Although we’ll treat anybody who comes through that door, once they’re stabilized we transfer them to a public facility. She’ll be well taken care of there, I assure you—”

“She’ll be taken care of right here,” Scott said, yanking his wallet out of his pants pocket and throwing down his American Express card. “Consider her bills paid.”

With a Mama told me there’d be days like this eyeroll, the nurse picked up the card, slammed it back onto the counter lip. “Then go settle it with Admitting. Right on the other side of those doors.”

“Thank you.” He snatched his card and stormed back to the E.R. lobby, barely stating his case to the gal behind the glass when he heard a shrieked, “Scott!” behind him. He spun around to see a breathless, disheveled Jordana rush across the lobby, an equally disheveled Tanner Redmond right on her heels, Jordana’s luggage in his hands.

“Jordy! Thank God!” Scott said, all the air punched out of his lungs when Jordana threw herself into his arms, then launched immediately into a disjointed narrative about her changing her mind at the last minute and Tanner giving her a ride, except the car ended up in a ditch when he swerved to avoid flying debris, something about a shed, and the weather, that the National Guard guys who’d helped them pull the car out of the ditch had been at the airport and knew the family was here.

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