His Golden Heart

by Marcia King-Gamble

  “My name is Franco Santana,” he said, presenting a well-tended hand that was obviously used to manicure. Santana. She’d heard that name before. It clicked. She’d hit the jackpot.

  “Franco, how manly. What does it mean?”

  “In Eeeenglish it’s Frank. It means Frenchman.”

  “But you’re not?” With slightly parted lips she looked to him for further explanation.

  “I am as Italian as they come,” he said. “I am also heir to the Bell-eee-see-ma fortune. But I can tell you more about that over dinner.”

  A flash of white teeth indicated he was certain her answer would be favorable.

  She did not disappoint him. “What time will you be picking me up?”

  “My man will come for you in a black limousine. We will be dining at my vee-lla.”

  He took a Mont Blanc pen from his inner pocket, scribbled a note on a piece of paper, and turned it over. “My address.”

  Chandra quickly scanned the note. Address? A likely story. He’d written:

  Dress comfortably. Don’t make it difficult for me. Tonight we start something new.

  Chandra eyed him ruefully. Darn sure of himself, wasn’t he? Beau Hill was now a thing of her past. Franco Santana was her man. He could do something for her. Boy, could he do something for her.

  * * *

  “You’ve missed your curfew and tomorrow’s a school day,” Shayna said, as Reggie slunk in. “You’re grounded.”

  Reggie hung his leather jacket on the coatrack and muttered, “Sorry, something came up.”

  “Sorry isn’t good enough,” Shayna said, getting in his face and blocking his progress. She waved a hand, fanning her nose. “Wheeew. You’ve been drinking.”

  “Have not.”

  Shayna grabbed a fistful of Reggie’s designer shirt. “Don’t lie to me. I can smell the beer on your breath. You’re seventeen. You have no business drinking.”

  “Come on, sis, give it a rest.” Reggie yawned, clearly bored. He tried to get around her but she hung firmly on to his shirt. What did it take to get through to him?

  He was an all-right kid. He just didn’t exercise good judgment and was easily led. Lately he’d started hanging with the wrong crowd.

  Shayna tried another tact. “Look, you’ve got a court case pending. Till then it’s important you keep your nose clean. I can’t have you wandering the town, in and out of bars, involved in another scrape. I don’t want my brother in jail.”

  “Come on, Shayna, you know I was set up. I’d never break in to someone’s place and steal their stuff. I’d never hurt anyone. My lawyer believes me, why can’t you? He says I probably wouldn’t even have to do time. Maybe some community service but I have no past criminal record.”

  “He was making you feel good. We’re all worried. You aren’t exactly squeaky clean. There was the time you got caught red-handed with Mrs. Lewis’s purse…”

  “That was a prank. I didn’t steal the old lady’s money. I gave it back to her. Can I go to bed? I’m exhausted.” He belched loudly.

  Shayna sighed. What was the use in reasoning with him? Her parents had all but given up, washed their hands of Reggie. His antics had made them prematurely gray. They’d been delighted when she’d moved to Denver and taken him with her.

  “Fine,” Shayna said, moving aside. “But you’ll be up at six. The bus arrives promptly at seven. You’ll want breakfast and I want you on that bus.” She hoped to God he wasn’t cutting school, that he would graduate and go on to college.

  “Yeah, yeah. Right.” Brushing her aside, he raced up the stairs of the rented condominium and headed for his room.

  Shayna plopped down on the chocolate leather couch that had been the first piece of furniture she’d bought since moving to Denver. She rested her feet on the antique chest serving as both coffee table and storage. What was she to do with Reggie? Teenagers came with their own set of issues, and Reggie’s were no different. Her job, energy draining as it was, required compassion and patience. Playing parent to Reggie on top of that was wearing her down.

  She debated turning on the television, then decided against it, opting instead to light an aroma therapy candle. She picked up the scanned newspaper articles she’d brought home from the library, and began to peruse them.

  The soothing scent of eucalyptus relaxed her, and she slowly began to focus. She’d read everything she could about Beau Hill. His accident still didn’t make sense. Why had the man become an obsession? Some might even call him a worthy or unworthy pastime. She continued to read about Beau’s many accomplishments, the charities he’d donated to, his involvement in the community, and began to get a very different picture of the athlete. Would the real Beau Hill emerge eventually? How could she reach him?

  Shayna had heard from others, and now the newspapers confirmed, Beau had been an all-around nice guy. A down-to-earth type, friendly and open. He’d been referred to as charming. That description certainly didn’t fit the man she knew. Beau was belligerent, cantankerous, and determined to make the staff’s life hell.

  Shayna visualized that rare smile she’d been the beneficiary of. Could anyone who looked as good as Beau be all bad? She read on. Beau had been one of the more popular athletes, a certainty to bring home Olympic gold. An experienced skier, completely at home on the slopes. He’d been a shoo-in to win the downhill. Yet one fluke accident, a faulty binding or something like that, the papers speculated, had caused him to topple.

  Some reporters had alluded to sabotage. Many speculated that an envious teammate, or one of his competitors, might have tampered with his bindings. Some even fingered the winner of the downhill, a German man, allegedly a bigot, as the responsible party. That was as far as it had gone. There had been no formal investigation. No one named with certainty.

  Shayna rose to the challenge. She had a certain responsibility to put Beau back together mentally and physically. From experience she knew his healing could only come if he let go of his anger and focused on walking again. She’d hoped he’d read Turning Hurts Into Halos, knowing that would help.

  The ringing phone got her attention. Who would be calling this late? She reached for the receiver and said somewhat impatiently, “Hello.”

  “Hi, honey, how are you doing?”

  Her mother on the other end, thank God. Shayna cradled the receiver between chin and shoulder and made herself more comfortable on the couch. “Hi, Mom. I’m doing okay. Just tired. Reggie’s wearing me out.”

  “That boy needs discipline. I told you we should have sent him to military school. Can we talk about something else for a minute? Have you met anyone in Denver?”

  It was an old question, one her mother continued to ask. She’d been disappointed when Shayna broke up with Michael. Little did she know the scum had cheated on her.

  “I’ve told you I’m not looking for a relationship, Ma. I’m putting all of my efforts into my career.”

  “Oh, come now, every woman’s looking for a relationship. If you’re open to it, the right one will come along. You’re in a new city, forget about Michael and move on.”

  Shayna had dated Michael for two plus years. He’d been someone she thought she loved and might still love. Except Michael hadn’t been ready to commit. She’d found out she was one in a series of women he’d led on. Armed with that knowledge Shayna had tossed him to the curb. Moving to Denver was supposed to help put him behind her.

  “Michael’s my past, Mom,” she said, with some finality. “As I mentioned before, I’m focusing on work. Want to hear about my new patient? He’s a challenge.”

  “You’ve always liked a challenge,” Kara DaCosta answered. “I remember you at age three, eyes glued to the television, imitating everything those gymnasts did. You’d tumble. Do back flips. Scared us to death. We decided to enroll you in gymnastics school. You just loved it and we knew you were special.”

  “My patient’s an athlete,” Shayna said quickly, aborting the stroll down memory lane. “He’s extremely high profil
e and temperamental as all hell.”

  “Reminds me of the way you used to be,” Kara muttered.

  “I wasn’t,” Shayna protested, filling her mother in on Beau’s antics.

  “He sounds full of himself. A real egotist,” Kara said. “You’d have to have an abundance of patience to deal with that nonsense.”

  “But it’s a front. A facade to hide his pain.”

  “Whatever. Sounds to me like you’re more involved than you need to be.” Kara’s voice was heavy with skepticism. “Do you like him?”

  Did she like Beau? Was she more involved than she needed to be? Nah. She cared for her patients. Challenged them to give her their best. Beau was attractive but she had no desire to have a romantic involvement with a patient. Especially a patient as prickly and vulnerable as the skier could be.

  “If Reggie gets to be too much,” Kara said, changing the topic, “send him back to us after the hearing, provided he gets off free.” Her voice caught. “We’d take him now, but he’s not supposed to leave the state. God, Shayna, what will we do if they lock him up?”

  “We’ll deal with that if it happens,” Shayna said firmly.

  Colin Johnson, the attorney they’d picked, had come highly recommended. Shayna hoped Reggie had told him the truth about what went on that night. She made a mental note to see Colin and get an update. She’d find out if he’d come up with a witness that might help their side. As it was, he was costing them a bundle. But difficult as Reggie was, she wasn’t a quitter. Never had been. Giving up on Reggie would mean admitting defeat. She didn’t plan on sending him home.

  “You and Dad are still coming for the trial, right?” Shayna asked.

  “Yes. We won’t miss it.”

  “I’ll send you airplane tickets.”

  “No need to. Your dad’s got that covered.”

  “I want to. That’s the least I can do.”

  “Shayna! Shayna! Come up here.” Reggie’s shouts interrupted, putting her instantly on alert.

  “Got to go, Mom,” Shayna said. “I love you.”

  She hung up and took off, her heart racing. “What’s wrong, Reggie?” She called, taking the stairs two at a time.

  “Edward Anderson’s on TV. Just look at that mean son of a bitch.”

  Shayna entered her brother’s room to see Edward Anderson’s face plastered across the TV screen. He looked huge and intimidating, definitely not someone you wanted to mess with. Shayna’s heart sank.

  Could Colin Johnson take this fierce looking man on?

  Chapter Six

  Edward Anderson spoke into the microphone the reporter held under his nose.

  “There’s a whole new breed of thug out there. Millennials who come in every color, class, shape, and size. They’re unconscionable and downright evil. Their primary focus is themselves.”

  “Don’t you have millennials, Mr. Anderson?” the television reporter asked.

  “Three of them. And they’re all law-abiding citizens. Victoria and I raised them right”

  “All of them?”

  There was a pause before Anderson smoothly interjected, “All of them. My youngest went through the usual growing pains, but he turned out all right. Made a name for himself.”

  “Mr. Anderson, are you’re saying this seventeen-year old kid that beat up your client should be tried as an adult?”

  “What do you think? People of Denver, what do you think?”

  The smooth operator that he was, Edward Anderson spread both arms wide. He peered over half-moon glasses at the television audience. Shayna’s heart sank to her stomach. In a few weeks Reggie and his attorney were about to come up against this man. This tough adversary, from the old school, rigid and unbending. At least he didn’t appear to be a bigot. He’d admitted that the criminal element encompassed all colors and classes. Even so, Ed’s physical appearance intimidated. He was a huge, ferocious-looking man with a ruddy complexion, and a balding dome for a head. He’d scowled his way through the interview, peering over those half-moon glasses. His speech patterns shouted upper crust White Bread.

  Reggie’s eyes were fixated on the screen. Shayna sensed, though he would never admit it, he was scared. His jaw was clamped so tight she feared he would crush his molars. She ached for him and, though he was innocent, hoped that this was a lesson he would never forget. Reggie would face serious jail time if he was convicted. He’d done some pretty stupid things in the past but she couldn’t imagine him hurting another human being.

  Shayna had read up on the crime. The victim had been found tied to a chair, bludgeoned and bloody, her house ransacked and valuables taken. When the cops were called, Reggie and a carload of his buddies were picked up on a surrounding block. During a lineup the woman had picked out Reggie and the driver. Both boys had sworn up and down that they’d never even been on her block. They’d stuck to their story relentlessly and even though they had an alibi, they’d been taken in and arraigned. Would that have happened if they weren’t black?

  The DaCostas had paid big bucks to bail Reggie out and get him the kind of lawyer he needed. They’d been forced to take out a second mortgage on their home. Even now, Shayna couldn’t control the anger and outrage that surfaced when she thought of the injustice of it all. Why were her folks forced to come up with money they didn’t have? Reggie had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and for that he had suffered.

  Shayna’s attention returned to the television screen. Edward Anderson was no longer on camera but the reporter continued to pontificate.

  “There you have it, folks. Our very own Edward Anderson, encouraging us to rid our Denver streets of crime. To take a hard line and put the riffraff that continues to move to Denver behind bars.”

  Shayna viewed that comment as a direct dig against Reggie. What had happened to objective reporting?

  “Time to turn in,” she said to her brother. “You need to be up at six.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he grumbled.

  “I want you on that bus,” Shayna admonished, closing the door firmly behind her.

  * * *

  “I got a call from the Sports Authority’s attorneys,” David Mandel, Beau’s agent, said, flexing and unflexing his hands, a sure sign he was agitated.

  Beau focused his attention on the TV’s remote, continuing to channel-surf, listening with one ear, wishing the dull pain in his gut would go away. “Yeah?”

  “They’re angling to get out of their contract. They’re claiming that your, uh…incapacitation held up the film shoot and print ads they had hoped to run.”

  “That’s bull. We weren’t supposed to do anything with them until the fall.”

  “You and I know that”

  “What’s our attorney say?”

  Beau’s father had made him retain a sports and entertainment attorney, familiar with exactly this sort of thing. She was supposedly one of the best.

  “Laura’s fighting with them, arguing that they’ve acted prematurely. She’s told them your prognosis is good, and you could make a full recovery.”

  Beau settled on a channel and lied back on his bed, trying to get comfortable. “Even I don’t know that.”

  “You’ve given up?” David said, shaking his head. “Where’s that fighting spirit gone? You’re content to lie back or sit in that stinking wheelchair all day.” He pointed to the empty chair. “For Christ’s sake, man, don’t give in to this thing. You’ll walk again, maybe even ski.”

  How could he not give in when he felt so hopeless? When even wiggling his big toe was an effort. He wouldn’t admit that he was scared to death, that the tingling in his toes made him wonder what else was wrong. He’d been afraid to ask the doctor what that meant. He wasn’t up to more bad news.

  “You and my physical therapist are a pair,” Beau joked. “You’re starting to sound the same.”

  “Maybe we both believe in you. Your energies should be focused on finding out the real reason you fell. Everyone thinks the whole incident smells, Beau. That gold
medal should have been yours. Why are you willing to let whoever did this to you get away scot-free?”

  Beau didn’t want to think about that right now.

  “It’s all speculation,” he said. “Why would someone do this to me?”

  “Because they’re jealous. Plain old envious.”

  “You’re speculating.”

  “Didn’t one of the guys claim he saw someone nosing around your equipment hours before the race?”

  “I don’t remember. How come he hasn’t come forward?” Beau raised his eyebrows, skeptically.

  “He might have been uncomfortable. Nervous about saying anything.”

  “Right”

  Immaculata chose that moment to stick her blond head through the doorway and say, “You’ve got physical therapy in exactly ten minutes, Beau-Beau. Do you need me to take you down?”

  “No, I don’t need you to take me down. I’m perfectly capable.”

  Immaculata’s eyebrows rose to the ceiling. Her smile was miles wide. “Good. It’s what I like to hear. If you change your mind, buzz me.”

  “Who’s that?” David asked when she’d left. “I like her style. Is she single or married?”

  “One of the nurses, and I don’t know whether she’s available or not.” Beau didn’t have a clue, nor had he thought to ask.

  He’d been totally self-absorbed, focused solely on his problems. So focused in fact, that he’d never viewed Mary Jane Coppola as a person. She’d become a necessary evil, someone to endure. While she’d grown on him, and he’d come to accept the fact she took care of him, he still viewed her as his keeper.

  “I’m going to shove off,” David said. “Think about what we talked about and do a little investigating for me. Find out if that nurse is available.”

  “Right”

  After David had left, Beau heaved himself into his wheelchair. He didn’t want to think about the implications if what his agent said was true. How could anyone be that vindictive, that evil? It was only a competition.