by Judy Duarte
“Yes, but it wasn’t so bad being here.”
She wanted to think that his reason for saying that had something to do with her being his nurse, with the chats they’d had, but she couldn’t allow herself to make that leap.
He’d probably been telling the truth when he’d told his mother that he was taking a break from the rat race. Maybe he’d wanted to hole up someplace where no one knew who he really was.
Where no one would bother him.
He hadn’t had any visitors, so apparently he’d kept his whereabouts, as well as his identity, a secret.
Why had he wanted to?
He’d certainly had plenty of women in his life, and not one of them had come to see him. Did that mean he was unattached?
She knew it shouldn’t matter to her. A guy like Chase probably liked playing the field. And if he didn’t? Well, he wouldn’t be interested in a quiet, stick-close-to-home nurse. And that was just as well. Molly had no business considering a relationship with a man who had a fast and reckless side.
“I’ll bet there are a lot of people wondering where you are and what you’re up to,” she said.
“Probably. People try to second-guess me all the time, which is fine with me. I never have liked being predictable.”
Unfortunately, Molly seemed to be far more curious than she ought to be. And she wasn’t comfortable thinking she had so many questions about him and so few answers.
After all the paperwork had been completed, and Chase was officially discharged from the hospital, he waited for someone to take him outside.
When he’d tried to insist on walking, Dr. Nielson had said, “I’m sorry, Chase. Hospital regulations don’t allow that.”
So now here he was, wearing clothes Molly had bought him—black jeans and a light blue shirt—and waiting for someone to pick him up in a wheelchair and give him a ride outside.
“Are you ready to go?” Molly asked, as she rolled in the chair.
“Yeah.” He took a seat, favoring his left knee, which the paramedics had thought he’d broken, but after X-rays, doctors had said no. “Are you my ride out of here?”
“Unless you’d rather have one of the orderlies do that.”
“Nope. I doubt he’d be as pretty as you.”
Her cheeks flushed, and he was glad that he’d put the color in them. He was going to miss her, he realized—a lot more than he’d expected.
“Who’s going to pick you up?” she asked.
“I called a taxi.”
She cocked her pretty head to the side, as though she found that odd. “Are you taking it all the way to Houston?”
“That’s where I live.”
“A two-hour cab ride is going to be expensive.”
“Probably.” But Chase wasn’t going to ask anyone else to pick him up. There’d be too many questions, and now he wasn’t exactly sure how he wanted news of his hospital experience and his generosity to unfold. When the story got out, he wanted to put his own spin on it, not someone else’s.
As Molly took him down the elevator to the lobby, he said, “Did I ever tell you how much I hate being a passenger?”
“Yes, you did. And I can relate to that, since I feel the same way. I’d much rather be in control of the car, but sometimes it can’t be helped.”
After pressing the handicap button on the automatic door, she pushed the wheelchair outside and to the curb that was for loading and unloading passengers.
“I’m even less happy about riding with women drivers,” he added, hoping to get a rise out of her. Damn, he was going to miss their banter, miss seeing her eyes light up when she dished it back to him.
“That’s too bad,” she said. “I could have left you in your room until one of the male orderlies was available.”
“That’s okay. At least you didn’t take any wild turns or apply lipstick while you were in control.”
“I’d never do that, especially in a car. When I’m driving, I’m very careful—hands on the wheel, eyes on the road. I don’t even listen to the radio.”
“If you ask me, that sounds a little too careful.”
“I don’t take chances, although I’m sure you do.”
Not if he wasn’t confident of his ability. “I’m not reckless, if that’s what you mean.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
The cab had yet to arrive, so they continued to wait curbside.
“How did you come to drive race cars?” she asked. “It would seem to me that if your family liked rodeos, that you would have chosen to be a bronc rider or that sort of thing.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m a pretty good cowboy.” He stretched out his left leg and rubbed the top of his knee, which still hurt. “But after my dad gave up the rodeo, he started hanging out at the stock car races. Eventually, Dan Holbrook, one of the drivers, asked him to work in the pit. So I guess you could say that my brothers and I pretty much grew up at the track.”
“Your mom, too?”
“It didn’t take long for her to become a fan.”
“When did you start driving?”
“Dan never had any kids of his own, and he took a liking to me. One day he let me drive his car, and said I was a natural. He talked my dad into letting me compete in the youth circuit.”
“I’ll bet your dad is proud of you,” Molly said.
“He claims he is.” By racking up wins on the track, Chase had finally been able to do what he’d been attempting to do ever since he’d been a kid trying to make a place for himself in the family: he’d proved himself worthy of respect.
But making his sponsors proud had been important, too—especially Gerald Barden.
When Chase had married Pamela—Gerald’s only child—the wealthy racing enthusiast had offered to buy a top-of-the-line stock car and round up some other sponsors, enabling Chase to finally make his mark in the racing world. It had also allowed him to pay for his dad’s current medical needs and to tell his brothers he didn’t need their help.
So in spite of what others might think, racing wasn’t just a matter of fun and games on his part.
“Here it comes,” Molly said, pointing toward the approaching taxi.
When it pulled to the curb, Chase got out of the wheelchair, wincing when he put his weight on that left knee. But rather than climbing into the backseat, he took a moment to turn and look at Molly, to study her face, to memorize the bluebonnet color of her eyes, the way a light scatter of freckles dusted her slightly turned-up nose.
He was happy to be coming home—and a little disappointed that he wouldn’t see her on a day-to-day basis any longer.
“Say,” he said, running the back of his knuckles along her cheek. “How about going out to dinner with me sometime? I could pick you up and drive you into the city. We could make a night of it.”
“Not unless you let me drive,” she said.
“I don’t know about that,” he said, chuckling.
She didn’t respond, and he figured she was giving the whole date-a-patient idea some thought.
What would it hurt if they saw each other again on a social level and took a let’s-see-how-it-works-out approach?
She still seemed to be thinking it over, which didn’t happen very often. Most women jumped at the chance to date Chase. But he knew how to make things happen. And in this case, he’d just give her a little push by making a surprise visit to 162 Johnston Lane.
He couldn’t help tossing her a playful smile. “I’ll see you around, Nurse Molly.”
Then he climbed into the back of the cab and closed the door.
“Where are we going?” the driver asked.
“To the Lone Oak trailer park. I heard it was on the outskirts of town.”
“I know where it is.”
As the driver pulled away from the curb, Chase glanced back at Molly, who hadn’t moved. She continued to stand at the curb, holding the back handles of the wheelchair and watching him go.
Chase knew when a woman was attracted to him.
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And when it came to Nurse Molly, he fully intended to do something about it.
The Lone Oak trailer park, which was on the outskirts of Brighton Valley, was little more than a mobile home graveyard—at least, it seemed that way to Chase.
“This is it,” the cabdriver said. “You want me to wait?”
“Yeah.” Chase whipped out a ten-dollar bill. “I’ll just be five minutes or so.”
“Excuse me for asking,” the guy said, “but what happened to you? You look like someone beat the hell out of you.”
Chase had forgotten about that. He’d hate to scare one of the kids. He craned his neck to take a peek in the cab’s rearview mirror, and while his eyes were both open, they bore shiners. And the scar across his brow looked a bit nasty and piratelike.
So now what?
Hell, he could always play it by ear.
“Wait here,” he told the cabbie, not deigning to answer. “I’ll be right back.”
He wandered into the park, where he spotted two old men sitting in the shade provided by the dusty, red-and-white-striped awning of an old fifth wheel travel trailer. “Hey, guys. Do you know where I can find Diana Haines?”
He’d caught her name on the local news broadcast the day after the accident.
“Why do you want to know?” a slender, silver-haired man with a handlebar mustache asked.
“My name is Chase Mayfield. The other night, I was involved in a car accident down the street. Her kids saw it happen and called the paramedics.”
“You the fellow who was driving what used to be a snazzy Corvette?” the heavyset man wearing red suspenders asked.
“That was me.”
“You’re not the race car driver, are you?” Slim asked.
“Actually, I am.”
“No kidding?” The stocky fellow sat up straight, appearing to be impressed.
“I’ve got ID I can show you,” Chase said.
Both men peered at him as though they were trying to look beyond the fading bruises on his face.
“I think he’s telling the truth,” Slim said. “And now it all makes sense. Clyde Crowley lives on Third Street, and he saw it all happen. But he didn’t know who was involved, just that the sports car driver did some fancy steering and managed to avoid both kids.”
Chase didn’t respond. He just let them come to their own conclusions.
“What do you want with Diana?” Slim asked.
“I thought I’d stop by and check on the kids. I heard that she’d been having a tough time lately, and I wanted to see if there was something I could do to help her out.”
“That’s right nice of you,” the heavyset man said, getting to his feet. “I can take you to her trailer.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“My name is Howard Laughton,” Slim said, leaning forward to stand up. “And this is Sudsy McClean.”
“Sudsy?” Chase asked the heavyset man.
“I used to own a car wash,” he said. “And that’s a nickname some of my poker buddies gave me. Real name is Josh Douglas, but nobody calls me that anymore.”
They headed down a graveled lane that stretched through rows of mobile homes, each one unique, until they came to a faded turquoise-and-white single-wide.
“This is it,” Sudsy said. “The Haines place.”
A beat-up old Chrysler was parked in the front, and a pair of Rollerblades lay on a small patch of dried-out lawn that needed to be mowed. Potted plants and a couple of pink geraniums lined the wooden steps to the front door.
Chase figured he’d be on his own from here on out, but both men hung back, waiting and watching. He wasn’t sure if they remained out of curiosity or as protection for the single mom.
Either way, he didn’t mind. They’d make the perfect witnesses and would put the right spin on the story, which would be yesterday’s news in no time at all.
Sudsy and Slim—or rather, Howard—followed Chase up the steps and waited as he knocked on the door.
A small girl answered, her eyes wide as she studied Chase’s injured face.
“Is your mommy home?” he asked.
The little girl nodded, but didn’t move.
“Can you please get her?” he asked.
Again, she nodded. Then, after taking one last gander at him, she dashed off, calling her mother.
Moments later, Diana Haines, a petite brunette, came to the door. She appeared to be concerned, leery. And Chase couldn’t blame her.
“Yes?” she asked.
“Mrs. Haines, I’m Chase Mayfield, the guy who was in the accident the other night.”
Her expression softened, making her appear almost attractive in a girl-next-door sort of way. “I’d wanted to talk to you. First of all, to apologize for my kids being out in the street. And secondly, to thank you for paying Tommy’s medical bill.”
“There’s no need to apologize or thank me.” Chase refrained from looking over his shoulder to make sure Sudsy and Howard had heard what she said. He knew they had.
“Come on in,” she said. “I’m sorry about the mess.”
“Don’t be.” Chase stepped into the small living room. “I grew up in a family with four boys. I know how kids are.”
Diana continued to hold open the door, allowing the old men inside, too.
“How’s Sam doing today?” Sudsy asked.
“He’s all right.”
Chase spotted a balding man in his late seventies seated in a black vinyl recliner, the newspaper spread out around him. He recognized the old men, and they both greeted him before returning their attention to Chase and Diana.
“How about Tommy?” Chase asked the mother. “How is he?”
“The broken wrist hurt him quite a bit for the first couple of days, but it’s been a week now, and he seems to be feeling much better.”
“And the cat?” Chase asked. “I’d heard it ran off and that they were looking for it.”
“She…uh…” Diana scanned the small living area, noting the child who stood near a small television set with a rabbit-ears antenna. “She hasn’t come home yet.” Diana addressed her daughter. “Missy, would you please go get your brother?”
When the girl took off, Sudsy lowered his voice. “The coyotes are bad out here, and they were howling up a storm that night. None of us figure that cat’s coming home.”
Chase nodded. Maybe he ought to see what he could do about getting the kids a kitten as a replacement pet. He supposed he’d have to ask Diana first, though.
When a scruffy-haired boy entered the room, sporting a blue cast on his hand and forearm, Chase offered him a smile. “How are you doing, Tommy?”
“Okay.”
“This is the man who crashed his car into that truck,” his mother said. “The man who paid our medical bill.”
“Thanks for not killing us,” the boy said. “And for paying that bill. My mom was really worried about it.”
Chase suspected she’d been worried about a lot of bills, and he was determined to do what he could to help. And, admittedly, it wasn’t just because his generosity would help his own plight.
He thought of Molly, of her obvious concern for this family, and it made him feel connected to her—a part of something bigger than him. He pulled out his checkbook from his back hip pocket. Then he wrote Mrs. Haines a check for two thousand dollars.
And while he hoped the media got wind of what he’d just done, as well as Gerald Barden and his other sponsors, none of that seemed important right now.
The one person he really wanted to share it with was Nurse Molly.
Chapter Five
“What in the hell happened to you?” Gerald Barden, who stood in the doorway of his sprawling ranch house as if his six-foot, two-inch frame had been rooted to the ground, gawked at Chase.
Apparently, he didn’t intend to open the door wider, which was okay. Chase was eager to get home and lie down for a while, but he thought it was best if he talked to Gerald privately—and face-to-face. He was eager t
o set a few ground rules from his side of the negotiating table.
“What’d you do? Get in a bar fight with a gang of bikers?” Gerald, who was also Chase’s former father-in-law, swore under his breath. “Apparently you didn’t take that little chat we had seriously.”
Actually, Chase had been giving that little chat a whole lot of thought since he’d missed the turnoff and headed into Brighton Valley by mistake last week.
And the words had replayed over and over in his mind while he’d recovered in the hospital.
We realize you’re single and that women flock around you, Gerald had said, as he gave a sweeping glance to the other men gathered in his study. Lord knows we’re not so old that we don’t remember what it’s like to have a little fun. But what we don’t want to see is that kiss-my-ass attitude you’ve been displaying lately.
Chase had wanted to blow off the wealthy businessmen, as well as their conservative values, but he couldn’t afford to alienate any of them, especially Gerald, who’d clearly been the ringleader of the so-called meeting.
At that point, Gerald had settled his bulky frame into a tufted leather chair in his study and lifted his index finger in a move Chase had always found aggressive and threatening. You’re a hell of a driver, and we’d hate to lose you. But don’t underestimate us.
Chase would never underestimate Gerald, but he wouldn’t be intimidated by him, either. And now that they were alone, it was best they got a few things straight.
“Damn,” Gerald said, scrunching his nose as he studied Chase’s battered face. “I hope those bikers got it worse than you did.”
“Actually,” Chase said, “I wasn’t in a bar fight. I was in a car accident.”
“Oh, yeah?” Gerald stepped aside, allowing Chase into the house.
“I’m not going to stay very long,” Chase said. “The cabdriver has the meter running, and I’ve got things to do at home.”
“So what’s this surprise visit all about?” the gentleman rancher asked, as he led Chase into his living room.
“I wanted to tell you that I didn’t appreciate the way you laid out your agenda the other night.”
“That chat we had wasn’t personal,” Gerald said. “You know that. If it had been, I would have cut you off as soon as I learned that you and Pamela had separated.”
