The Heavenly Fugitive (3 page)

“Well, how was I to know he wasn’t bothering you!”

Her face pale, Rosa shook her head. “Quick, carry him into the house. I’ll have Daddy call a doctor.” She whirled and ran inside. Dom knelt down, stared at the bloody face, and shook his head. “You shouldn’t’ve put your hands on her.” He scooped Winslow up with barely a grunt and marched toward the house. He felt bad about the misunderstanding, but he knew he would not be in trouble for it. After all, he was there to protect the family of Big Tony Morino. He was just doing his job.

****

“Is he all right, Daddy?”

Morino had stepped into the drawing room to talk to Rosa and Maria. Rosa’s face was pale, and her hands were trembling. Tony could not stand to see his child in distress, and he put his hand on her shoulder, saying, “He’ll be all right. The doctor’s with him and will take good care of him. Now tell me once more what happened.” He listened as Rosa went over the story again and shook his head. “I wish you hadn’t made such a fuss over that horse, Rosa. We don’t need something like this.”

Rosa’s eyes filled with tears, and she whispered, “I’m sorry, Daddy.” She had a tender heart, despite being so spoiled, and
now the tears ran down her cheeks. “Dom hurt him so bad. I never saw him act like that before.”

Tony had hired Dom for his destructive ability, but Tony had always kept his business out of his home. Rosa had no idea how violent a man her father was, nor how violent were the men with whom he surrounded himself. She had grown up sheltered from all of this. Now Tony met Maria’s eyes and winced at the accusing glare in them. “He’ll be all right, sweetheart. The doc will fix him up.”

The three waited for what seemed like a long time, and finally Dr. Clarkson came striding into the drawing room. Instantly the three converged on him.

Rosa was the first to ask, “Is he all right, Dr. Clarkson?”

“No, he’s
not
all right, Rosa.” James Clarkson was a tall, rangy man with light blue eyes and reddish hair, whose speech carried the echoes of his boyhood home in the North Carolina hills. He had been Rosa’s doctor since she was born, but Clarkson now ignored her and glared at Tony. “You’re in trouble here, Tony,” the doctor snapped.

“Why, what’s wrong with him?”

“He’s got a broken nose, and those cuts around his eyes are going to leave scars. Besides that, he’s got several broken ribs. What was he trying to do—rob the house?”

“Well, no, he was just delivering a horse.”

“Why did Dom beat him up so badly?”

Rosa spoke up timidly. “He . . . he thought the man was bothering me.”

“Was he bothering you?” Clarkson demanded.

Rosa dropped her head. “No, sir, he wasn’t. I was being awful to him. He was trying to stop me from letting the horse out of the trailer.”

“Well, that’s not good, Tony. He may go straight to the police—maybe even sue you for this. If there’s a trial, I’ll have to be a witness against you. I won’t have any choice.”

“We’ll take care of it, Doc,” Tony assured him. “He’ll be okay.”

The doctor eyed Tony pointedly. “But he may
not
be, Tony. He could die—you understand? He needs to be in a hospital for observation. And you ought to get rid of Dom. He’s a dangerous man.”

Tony did not comment but instead asked the doctor, “Is he awake?”

“Yes, but I’ve sedated him, so he’s groggy. I tell you again, he needs to go to the hospital.”

“I’ll take care of that, Doc, and all the expenses. Don’t you worry.”

Clarkson stalked out of the room, indignation in every line of his body. As soon as he was out the front door, Tony said, “I’ll go see him.”

“I want to go with you, Daddy.”

“Better if you didn’t, sweetheart.”

“But I want to. It was my fault.”

Big Tony shrugged, and the two of them, along with Maria, made their way down the hall and into the bedroom where the young man rested.

As Tony walked in the door he was shocked to see the damage Dominic had done. The man’s face was puffy beyond recognition and badly discolored under both eyes. A bloody bandage covered his forehead where the doctor had stitched up the most serious wounds over the eyebrows. His lips were swollen, and his eyes stared steadily at Tony through narrow slits.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Tony said gruffly. “What’s your name?”

“Win . . . slow. Phil Winslow.” He could barely pronounce his own name.

“Well, it was all a misunderstanding, Phil,” Tony said quickly. “Now, listen, we’re going to put you in the hospital—and I’m going to take care of all the doctor bills—”

“No,” Phil said, his tone firm this time.

Tony halted and looked at him, surprised. “Look, young man, you need to go to the hospital.”

“Gotta . . . take . . . truck back.”

“I’ll take care of all that. I’ll have one of my men drive it back. I’m going to have another one take you to the hospital.”

Phil found it difficult to move, but he struggled to his feet. Rosa stepped forward to help him and said, “I’m sorry. It was all my fault.”

Phil glared at her. “Forget it,” he whispered. “Now . . . I wanna go home.”

“Sure,” Tony said quickly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. “Here, you’ll be off from work awhile. This will take care of that.”

Phil stared at the bills but could not even shake his head he was in such pain. “No . . .” His voice was barely audible. “Just . . . home.”

Tony argued briefly, but finally Maria said, “You’ll have to let him have his own way. He’s going to pass out.”

“Okay. We’ll get you home. Don’t worry about a thing.” Tony rushed out quickly and came back almost at once with Dominic behind him. “Dom will take you home. He’s sorry about what happened—wants to make it up to you. Anywhere you say, and we’ll be in touch. I still think you ought to go to the hospital, though.”

Phil did not answer. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the man who had beat him senseless, but he was too weak to argue. He shuffled across the floor like a very old man, moving on willpower alone. Dom reached out to steady him, but Phil deliberately pulled his arm back.

When the door closed behind the two, Rosa began to cry. “He’s hurt so bad, and it’s all my fault. Why wouldn’t he go to the hospital?”

Tony’s eyes were fastened on the door. “He wouldn’t take money, either. Not a very smart kid turning down dough. He’ll learn better someday,” he murmured. Then he turned to Rosa and put his arms around her. “It’s all right, sweetheart. He’ll be okay. Don’t worry about him.”

“But, Daddy, it was all my fault, and he’s hurt so bad.”

“People get hurt bad, Rosa,” Big Tony Morino said. “You’ll learn that as you get older.”

CHAPTER TWO

“I’ll Give It All I’ve Got!”

A can of chicken soup was on the first shelf of the upper kitchen cabinet, but when Phil lifted his arm to pull it down, a blinding pain struck him in his left side. It was like being stabbed with a red-hot knife, and he leaned forward gasping, biting his still-swollen lip to keep from crying out. He rested his palms on the counter and waited for the waves of pain to recede before he straightened up carefully. He had been out of the hospital for four days now, and while his face was healing rapidly, the cracked ribs were more painful than anything he had ever experienced. Although he’d insisted on going straight home that day he was hurt at the Morino estate, Tony had surreptitiously ordered his bodyguard to take Phil to the hospital instead. Phil had tried to resist but had found it was no use. The doctors and nurses at the hospital had given him excellent care, and he had been grateful after all. When they released him he was worried at the prospect of taking care of himself in his lonely apartment. Now, as he drew a ragged breath, he muttered to himself, “If cracked ribs hurt like this, I’d hate to know what broken ribs feel like!”

He looked up at the soup can on the shelf and shuddered at the thought of building a fire to cook a meal. Unable to bend over and feed the coal stove with the large chunks, he had let the fire go out and the room was freezing. He had awakened shivering and had delayed getting out of bed as long as possible. Even putting on his robe was painful, for he had difficulty getting his arms behind him.

I didn’t know a few cracked ribs could be this much trouble. I’m like an old man creeping around! Can’t do anything for myself—not even tie my shoes.

Simple survival had become a grim matter for Phil. He discovered that once he lay down on the bed, he could not roll over without waves of pain flooding him. And getting out of bed was a nightmare. Lifting himself up and twisting, trying to throw his feet over the edge, brought agonizing pains to his side. He had not shaved since coming home and knew he looked terrible.

He stared at the elusive soup can, wondering how he could possibly build a fire in his condition. He had eaten nothing the day before, and now hunger pangs gnawed at him. “It’s cold soup or nothing,” he grumbled. Turning, he stepped to the table and slowly pulled a kitchen chair over to the cabinet. Grasping the back of the chair, he put his left foot up on it and then gritted his teeth. “Should I do it slow and easy—or should I do it all in one motion?” He decided on slow and easy, but even that was hard. Finally, standing upright and trembling from the exertion, he reached out, grasped the soup can, and tried to step down. He lost his balance when a searing pain struck him, and he made a wild grab for the back of the chair, which he missed. He fell to the floor and almost passed out. He lay on his back moaning and holding his side, waiting for the pain to pass.

The linoleum was ice-cold, but that was the least of his problems. Getting up from such a position was agony. He would have to roll over on his right side, shove himself up-right, get on his knees, then hold on to the cabinet and pull himself to a standing position. He dreaded the thought and wished he were safely back in bed. For a long time he lay there, listening to the ticking of the clock up on the table. He knew it must be some time around ten in the morning, but from where he lay he could not see the clock face. He was summoning up his will to endure the pain when suddenly a knock came from the door. He whispered, “Come in.” No
answer and then another knock sounded, more insistent this time. He rasped out as loudly as he could, “Come in. The door’s open.”

The exertion strained his ribs, and he lay panting as he heard the door open and a familiar voice cry out, “Phil, what is it? What’s happened?”

Lifting his head, he saw his sister, Amelia, standing framed in the doorway. The sunlight from the kitchen window caught her hair, bringing out the auburn of the rich brown, and her eyes were wide open, her lips parted in shock.

“Hi, sis. Good morning to you.”

Amelia Winslow dropped her purse and came flying across the room. She knelt down by her brother’s side and put her hands on his cheeks. “What happened? Was it a burglar?”

Phil tried to smile, but the effort hurt his bruised cheekbones. Nonetheless, he was delighted to see a familiar face. “I tripped over a matchstick, sis.”

Amelia stared at him. She looked around the kitchen and took in the open cupboard door and the fallen chair. She studied his face. “You’ve been beaten,” she said. “Who did this to you?”

“Just a guy. Help me up, will you, sis? I got some cracked ribs.”

She moved behind him and put her hands under his armpits, asking, “You ready? Careful now.”

“Ready.”

As Amelia straightened up, Phil gasped in pain. Anger flooded through her. She did not know what had happened to him, but she intended to find out. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed,” she said, supporting him as he walked painfully into the bedroom.

When he sat down he shook his head. “Lying down’s the hardest part. Ribs hurt like blazes.”

“Are they broken?”

“No. Just cracked. Help me down, will you, sis?”

Amelia eased the upper part of his body down, noting
that his puffy lips were drawn tight, then lifted his legs up onto the bed and stood over him. She studied his face, noting the yellow-and-purple bruises around both eyes and the stitches over his eyebrows. She shook her head. “When did this happen?”

“About a week ago.”

“Was it a burglar?”

“No—would you believe it happened while I was delivering a horse? Perils of the job!”

Amelia raised a questioning eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were in such a dangerous profession, Phil. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Well, I was in the hospital part of that time, and then when I got home I thought I could handle it myself.”

“I’d like to take a switch to you! You should have called!”

Phil grinned faintly. “I guess I should’ve. I’m not as tough as I thought.”

“What were you doing on the floor?”

“I was trying to get a can of soup. I can’t reach up very high, so I got on a chair, but when I came down I didn’t make it.”

“You lie there. I’ll fix you something better than soup,” she said, taking off her coat and flinging it over a chair.

Phil looked up at her with both gratitude and admiration. As she stood with her hands on her hips, he thought she looked stunning in her drop-waisted pink frock of silk and wool. Phil was amazed that Amelia could look so good even in this unshapely style. The flat-chested straight look was popular with many women, but it was impossible for Amelia to hide her womanly curves in the new styles. She was taller than average and quite strong. Her hair was cut short in the fashionable new bob, and she had curled it with curling tongs.

“Thanks, sis,” Phil said, smiling. “You look great.”

“So do you. Just peachy!”

“Come on, now. Don’t preach at me. I feel bad enough.”

Amelia reached out and brushed his hair back from his forehead. A great pity welled up in her as she realized how
very much she loved her younger brother. They did not talk about their feelings much and were not given to emotional statements, but now she bit her lip and wanted to cry. “I’ll get you something to eat,” she said quietly. “You just lie there.”

A thought struck her, and she said, “Do you have anything for the pain?”

“Yeah, I had some pills, but I took ’em all.”