Fortune's Cinderella (6 page)

“Damn…” Scott felt as though someone had put a stake through his chest. “You need me to make any calls—?”

“No, I already talked to Marcos. He’ll get in touch with everybody else.” He looked at Scott, obviously fighting tears. “I found him, right after the twister hit. I could tell he was in bad shape, but there wasn’t a damn thing I could do—couldn’t call 911 because the cell service was down, couldn’t go get help because the roads were trashed. Best I could do was keep the worst of the rain off him, but…” Shaking his head, he looked away, a tear tracking down his filthy, stubbled cheek.

“Hey…” Scott laid his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. He made it through the night. That’s got to count for something—”

“I can’t stop thinking,” Miguel went on, his left leg bouncing, clearly not hearing any voices except the nasty ones in his own head, “what if he didn’t get help in time—?”

“And you’re only going to make yourself crazy, worrying like that,” Scott said, even though his own voices, making him worry and wonder about Christina, weren’t doing him any favors, either. When he spotted Blake, he waved him over. “I need to go check on my folks, but Blake will stay with you until your family arrives. And listen,” he added as he stood, “you know we’ll help in any way we can. Whatever Javier needs, it’s his. Got that?”

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.”

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.

“Is everyone okay?” she now asked, shoving a hank of loose, stringy hair behind her ear. She was flushed and dirty and a mess and, strangely, the look suited her. An appraisal he’d keep to himself.

He quickly filled her in, then pushed out a breath. “Javier, though…”

She sucked in a breath. “He’s not…?”

“He’s alive, but unconscious. According to Miguel, it doesn’t look good.”

“Oh, Scotty, no…” Jordana’s eyes filled with tears. “Is his family here yet?”

“On their way, I gather. And Mom’s been worried sick about you.”

“Oh, Lord, I can imagine. I’d better go see her…well—” Smiling, she turned to Tanner, her hand extended. “Thank you…so much. For everything.”

Setting down the larger bag, Tanner frowned. “Um…you’re welcome. You sure you don’t need me to stick around?”

“No, really,” she said, relieving him of her carry-on and grabbing the roller case’s handle, jerking it up. “I’m fine. But thanks.

Again.”

A second later she and her luggage were gone. Scott turned to Tanner, standing with his hands in his pockets, his expression pensive but otherwise unreadable. “Thanks for looking out for my sister,” Scott said. “Appreciate it.”

Green eyes glanced off his. “No problem,” Tanner muttered, then turned and stalked back out the door.

“Sir?” the woman behind the glass called. “I’m ready to finish up here if you are.”

“Yes, of course,” Scott said, returning to the window, hardly able to believe all his family obligations—for the moment, at least—

were taken care of and he could finally attend to the one item on his never-ending checklist that didn’t feel like an obligation at all.

In fact, what he felt as the admissions lady buzzed him back inside the E.R., was something that felt an awful lot like…

anticipation.

What a rush.

Her foot splinted and Ace-bandaged within an inch of its life, Christina frowned at the nurse bustling around her. “What do you mean, you’re getting me ready to go up to orthopedics? I thought I was being transferred?”

“Change of plans,” she said with a bright grin.

“I don’t understand, I can’t afford…” She blinked back hot tears. It wasn’t being poor that bothered her, it was having to tell people she was. “I know what the deal is, that y’all are only supposed to make sure I’m not bleeding to death or anything—”