Roz Fox - Family Fortune

Cale’s laughter died. “Thanks, man. What’s this all about?” He indicated the wheelchair.

“Didn’t Doc Forsythe tell you?”

Cale frowned. “Tell me what? He hasn’t been in today.”

“He signed an order for physical therapy.” The other man eyed Cale’s traction apparatus. “Maybe there’s been a mistake. Although I only pick ‘em up and transport ’em,” he said. “Normally guys don’t start therapy until they’re unhitched from traction.”

Caleb reached for the top pulley. “It’s simple enough to unhook. I’ve been champing at the bit waiting to start therapy.”

“Should you call someone?” Crystal asked the orderly.

He glanced at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Are you Tanner’s wife? That’d be a good idea, ma’am. I’ll phone the physical-therapy office right now.” He crossed to the phone on Caleb’s nightstand.

“I’m not Mrs. Tanner,” Crystal declared at the same time as Caleb said loudly, “I’m not married.”

He wasn’t? Crystal’s pulse gave a peculiar little hop and her breath caught in her throat. By the time she swallowed and managed to breathe, she realized the news that he was single had no bearing on anything. He’d honeyed, darlin’d and sweetied some woman with a sultry Southern drawl. Definitely someone who had the inside track to Tanner’s heart. That was supposing he had a heart and didn’t have a woman in every city the Sinners played.

The rattle and clank of metal on metal dragged her attention from her thoughts. Because Cale had unsnapped and dropped all the ropes and crossbars to his traction setup, the orderly had detoured from his mission to call the physical therapy department.

It wasn’t any of her business, but judging by the agony creasing Caleb’s face as he attempted to swing his leg off the bed, somebody should intervene. Crystal set her things aside and rushed to the bed. She picked up the phone. “What’s the extension for your department?” she asked the orderly. She definitely didn’t like the fact that he was listening to Caleb. Rather than phone for clarification, he’d rolled the chair over to the bed.

“Uh...171. We’re two floors down.”

Not knowing what that had to do with anything, Crystal nodded and punched in the numbers. Caleb caught her eye and glared.

“You have a football to deliver to some kid down the hall, don’t you?”

But she’d tuned him out, suddenly hearing a woman’s voice saying urgently, “Hello. Hello? I’m trying to reach Caleb Tanner. Is this room 306?”

Crystal shushed the men in the room with a brisk wave of her hand. “This is Mr. Tanner’s room. Is this the secretary in physical therapy? No? Oh, your name is Gracie. Ah...I understand. I must have picked up the phone to dial out just as the switchboard transferred your call in.” Covering the mouthpiece, Crystal turned to Caleb, who, although he grimaced in pain, now sat in the wheelchair. “It’s Gracie,” she said.

She expected him not to take the call. To ask her to say he was indisposed. Instead, he spun the chair’s wheels with his powerful arms, and before Crystal could let out her breath, he’d yanked the phone from her hand.

“Gracie, darlin’. This is a treat. Listen, shortcake, can I phone you back? What? Your watch quit and you found one at Nieman’s you like better? It’s yours, sweetheart. And a new suit? Gray pinstripe. A power suit, huh? I thought those were red. Why not red? I think you look pretty snazzy in red.” Caleb glanced up. He sucked in his breath and gritted his teeth as Crystal edged past him, accidentally bumping his tender knee.

“Where in hell are you going?” He clapped a hand over the receiver, then moved it back to his mouth and slid his fingers away. “I didn’t mean you, dumplin’. It’s kind of nutty here, Gracie. Forgive my swearing, shortcake.”

Crystal scooped up her things again and strode out the door with a quick backward glance. More of a glare, really. She hoped it conveyed how she felt about his laying it on so thick to the second woman in one day. How many others would there be? “You’re a cockroach, Tanner,” she said in a voice she hoped was loud enough for poor snookered Gracie to hear. “Slime. Please do rip up André’s letter. If you’re too weak after therapy, the nurses down the hall have a paper shredder.”

She sped out the door too fast to see the baffled expression shared by the men.

“What? Yes, Gracie, the lady did call me names. I know it’s hard to believe, darlin’. But not everybody thinks your brother hung the moon and stars.”

“And you might not, either,” he muttered glumly after they hung up. “If this leg doesn’t heal, and if I can’t bring myself to say no to you three girls, your stupendous fantastic brother may end up in debtor’s prison.”

The orderly chuckled. “I think those went out with the guillotine, man.” His face was still wreathed in smiles as he phoned downstairs to verify that Tanner was indeed scheduled to begin physical therapy.

CHAPTER FOUR

CRYSTAL PUT TANNER and his collection of women out of her mind as she headed down the hall to the kids’ ward. She saw Nurse Pam, who acknowledged her by waving a full oversize syringe. Crystal was awfully glad Pam sped past the boys’ room on her mission of mercy.

“Knock, knock. Incoming adult,” she warned before she invaded the boys’ space. “Hide the stash of peanuts, candy and bubble gum, guys.” All six occupants burst into giggles.

“You’re early.” Skipper punched the mute button on his TV remote control, which garnered loud complaints from his roommates.

“Early, and I come bearing gifts.” Crystal produced the signed football from the depths of her handbag and handed it to Skipper with a brief “Ta-da!” Then she hauled out the signed action shots of Tanner. After counting out one for each child, she discovered she had two left. Maybe she’d give one to André’s son, Andy-Paul. She didn’t have a clue what she’d do with the other. Paste it on a dartboard, perhaps.

“This is so cool, Crystal,” Skip said. “Look, Randy. Cale wrote, ‘To Skip. Kick ’em high, throw ‘em true. Caleb Tanner.”’

Crystal leaned over to look. “I thought he only wrote, ‘To Skip from Caleb.’ I can’t figure out why he’d give such off-the-wall advice. I explained about your accident.”

“I’m gonna play football again, Crystal. Cale knows that.”

“Yeah,” his friends chorused enthusiastically.

She gazed into uncompromising green eyes, realizing for the first time how closely Skipper’s eye color resembled Caleb Tanner’s. Both pairs were indecently dark-lashed, too. The resemblance ended there. Skip had sandy red hair, pale skin and freckles. Tanner’s hair was hard to describe. Full and thick, it seemed to have variegated hues from light blond to toffee. His skin was evenly tanned. Today, she’d noticed his jaw was shadowed by a slight stubble. Based on her limited visits, she judged him to be a man who shaved regularly. Except for the earring, he seemed conventional. And even the earring was pedestrian compared to those worn by some of her jazz compatriots.

Gracious. Why had her mind wandered so far afield? Crystal had barely shaken herself out of her stupor than the orderly she’d encountered in Tanner’s room strode through the door.

“You get around,” he said, grinning at her.

She didn’t respond to that, but asked, “You’re here for Pablo?” Of the six in the room, he alone had progressed to the point of physical therapy.

The orderly, whose name tag read Gibson, checked the top sheet on his clipboard. “Nope. The patient I want is West Skip West. Or if you want to get technical, Sinclair West.”

“Yuck!” Skip rolled his eyes as the other boys made rude gagging noises.