by Judy Duarte - The Bachelor's Brighton Valley Bride (Return to Brighton Valley)
Did Clay need to perform CPR? He was medically trained. But Don appeared to be breathing. Would it be better to call to 911?
“Peyton,” Megan said, “help me lower him to the floor so he doesn’t fall.”
Realizing that was probably the best thing to do, Clay did as she asked. After Megan slipped her hand under her boss’s head, they maneuvered the man’s body to the floor.
Then, kneeling beside him, they tried to arrange him in a more comfortable position.
Since Don was still breathing, CPR wasn’t needed. But a call for paramedics definitely was.
Megan placed her left fingers on Don’s neck along with her right hand. She held them there for only a moment, then reached across to Clay’s waistline and unclipped his cell phone from his belt.
He nearly jumped as her fingers skimmed his stomach, but his adrenaline really shot through the roof when he realized that his smartphone, which she now held, contained all of his personal information—and nothing of Peyton Johnson’s.
He thought about snatching the phone out of her hands to make the call himself—before she was able to scroll through his files and find out who he really was. But Don’s moan reminded him that they were in an emergency situation and that a potentially dying man was a million times more important than his stupid secret identity.
“This is Megan Adams,” she said to the 911 operator, her voice calm and in control. “I’m at Zorba the Geek’s Computer Repair Shop at 293 Main Street in Brighton Valley. My boss just collapsed. We need an ambulance immediately.”
Don moaned again, and Clay spoke to him in a soft, steady voice. “You’re going to be okay, Don. Megan is calling an ambulance for you. We’ll make sure we get you to the hospital in no time.”
In what seemed like ages but was probably only a couple of minutes a siren sounded and grew louder. Clay had to give Brighton Valley’s first responders kudos for getting here so quickly.
Two paramedics and three firefighters came in through the front door and Megan waved the emergency personnel into the back room.
“He came into the shop about four minutes ago,” Megan said, impressing Clay with the way she’d kept her head and her senses during the emergency. “He was extremely pale and seemed kind of shaky. He made it to his desk chair and sat down about forty-five seconds before he collapsed.”
One of the paramedics began taking Don’s vital signs while the other fired off medical-history questions at Megan.
“I know he takes blood pressure medicine and has high cholesterol,” she said. “His family has a history of diabetes, but as far as I know, he’s never been checked.”
“Are you family?” one of the female firefighters asked Clay.
“Uh, no. I just work here. His wife is...” Clay looked again to Megan for direction. He knew the woman’s name was Cindy, but Megan would know more about how to get in touch with her and who should do it. This was probably the last thing anyone undergoing chemo should have to worry about.
Megan swooped in with the proper answer, just as he’d figured she would.
Again, he had to give her credit for keeping her head, for maintaining her control. She’d been a model of perfection—well, except for those two buttons that had come undone again. He didn’t blame her for not noticing, but the male paramedic kneeling down at eye level with her chest did.
The guy, who was probably in his early thirties and looked as if he could bench-press a gurney, flashed a smile at Megan—a smile that looked way more flirtatious than reassuring.
Clay didn’t like it.
“So are you going to ride along to the hospital with him?” the leering paramedic asked her as he stole another glance down her shirt.
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t leering, but he was definitely taking advantage of the beautiful display of womanhood. And while Clay hadn’t been able to help doing the same thing, he wasn’t going to cut the guy any slack when he was supposed to be a trained professional, which meant he was way out of line.
Megan looked at the clock, and Clay blurted out, “No, she can’t go. She has to pick up her kids from school. I’ll ride to the hospital with him.”
Megan looked at him in question, but hell. Clay had sat by idly for the past several minutes. It was time for him to take the situation into control. He hadn’t earned the right to be called boss or CEO for nothing.
“Close up the shop,” he told Megan. “And put a sign in the window saying we’ll reopen tomorrow. Then go get your kids. On your way, call Mrs. Carpenter and whoever else you need to notify. Let them know what happened and where he’s going. I’ll stay with him at the hospital until someone from his family can get there and take over. Call me if you have any problems.”
Megan, who’d taken charge just moments ago, nodded, passing on the leadership baton without question.
Clay then turned to the paramedics, who’d just secured Don onto the gurney. “Okay, let’s go.”
The firefighters left, no longer needed now that the paramedics had their patient secured. The good-looking male turned back to Megan as if to tell her goodbye.
Or maybe he’d been tempted to ask for her number. Who knew what handsome, muscle-bound guys like that did when it came to making moves on women like Megan?
Clay had struggled with self-confidence when he’d been a teenager. And while he’d ditched those old insecurities when he’d earned his first million and had finally grown up and filled out, being undercover in Brighton Valley seemed to have brought that scrawny, geeky side back in a rush.
That, of course, was another reason for him to get things worked out at the store, hire new employees if need be and then leave town for good.
As Clay followed the gurney to the front of the store, Megan had already scrawled out a note and was placing it on the front door, oblivious to the paramedic’s interest in her and her endowments.
But the guy was busy now, too, getting Don loaded into the ambulance. Once the gurney was secured in the back, Clay climbed in and took a seat near Don’s head.
The ambulance took off, the shrill sound of the siren letting the other cars on the road know they needed to pull over.
“I’m going to get an IV started on him,” the female paramedic said. “He’s dehydrated. Besides, they might need to administer meds when we get him to the hospital, so this will speed things up.”
Clay nodded, glad that the stud muffin was the one driving so Clay wouldn’t be forced to put him in his place. There wasn’t anything professional about checking out single mothers when a man ought to be doing his job.
Heck, maybe Clay would even benefit from that conversation. He knew he’d been guilty of the exact same thing, but that was different.
The ride to the medical center took less than five minutes, and as the hospital personnel rushed into action, Clay was handed a plastic bag with Don’s personal effects and then told to take a seat in the waiting room.
He’d hardly had a chance to find an empty chair when a tall woman with a headful of tiny braids, a pearly-white smile and Mickey Mouse scrubs introduced herself as LaRonda, the admissions clerk. Clay followed her to a small desk. After taking a seat, he opened up Don’s wallet to get the man’s driver’s license and insurance card.
As LaRonda keyed in the needed information Clay was able to now provide, Clay noticed a few pictures tucked into the wallet. He felt like a voyeur looking at someone else’s personal effects, but what else was he supposed to do while he sat there?
“I just love Don,” LaRonda said as she continued to enter data into the computer.
The medical center probably taught their personnel to make small talk with scared family members, but Clay couldn’t really respond. In fact, he felt like a fraud sitting here because he really didn’t know the man at all.
“His wife Cindy is in here all the time,” LaRonda
continued. “And you’ll never see a more loving husband. My stars, how he dotes on his wife.”
As Clay glanced at Don’s wallet, looking for anything that should be reported to the doctors or the staff, he spotted a picture of what appeared to be a wedding photo of a much younger, much thinner Don and a smiling bride he assumed was Cindy. The next picture was a shot of the two of them on the beach, arms wrapped around each other, with three little kids playing in the sand. The third picture was definitely more recent and showed Cindy holding a sign that said Happy 65th Birthday! Let’s Drive into Our Retirement Sunset! She was standing in front of a motor home that was decorated with a bright red bow.
The next slot didn’t hold a picture. It held a business card for a local oncologist that had Cindy’s name written on the front along with the time of her next chemo appointment.
A sense of dread settled into Clay’s stomach. Instead of embarking on their retirement dream, Don was nursing his wife through cancer. He wondered if the couple had ever had time to embark on any trips in that new motor home. Judging by the birth date listing Don as four months past his sixty-fifth birthday, Clay doubted it.
“Uh-oh.” LaRonda squinted at her screen and moved her reading glasses to the top of her braided hair.
“What?” Clay didn’t like where this was heading.
“It looks like the Carpenters have exhausted their insurance limits for the year because of Cindy’s treatments. That chemo can get real expensive.”
“So you’re saying the insurance won’t cover Don’s medical bills?” Clay wondered what kind of low-budget rinky-dink insurance policy the Carpenters had. “Who’s their insurance provider?”
LaRonda told Clay the name of his own insurance company and added, “It looks like his employer only provides the basics.”
Clay cringed at the implication. Geekon was a multibillion-dollar industry, and while Clay knew he couldn’t be held accountable for every HR decision, he found it appalling that his company hadn’t provided better for its employees. Some heads back at corporate were going to roll when Clay got done with them.
“Don’t worry about the extra cost,” he told LaRonda. “I’m a corporate accountant for Zorba the Geek’s, and the company will pick up the costs of Mr. Carpenter’s hospital bill. We’ll pick up the excess of Cindy’s treatments, too.”
He reached for his phone. He had to tell Zoe to expect a call from the Brighton Valley Medical Center and to set up a meeting with whoever was responsible for purchasing the company’s health-care policy. But his phone wasn’t clipped to his belt. Where had he used it last?
Then he realized Megan must still have it since she’d used it to call 911.
Dammit. He needed to get it back before his whole undercover identity got blown to pieces.
Chapter Six
Megan found a parking spot near the entrance to the emergency room and pulled her car into the tight space. Before climbing out and locking the doors, she grabbed a lightweight navy blue cardigan she’d intended to drop off at the dry cleaner and slipped it on, buttoning it up as she walked toward the hospital entrance.
There was no way she’d run around town in the green shirt that kept popping buttons, but she hadn’t wanted to take time to go home and change clothes, especially since Sam and Caroline had offered to drive Lisa to the house, where Tyler was, and watch both kids there.
She knew that she probably wasn’t needed at the hospital, but she couldn’t help worrying about Don. Besides, Peyton was going to need a ride back to the shop. And besides that, she had to give him back his cell phone, which had been vibrating almost nonstop since he’d left without it.
Amid all the chaos surrounding the 911 call, she’d neglected to return it before he’d taken off with Don in the ambulance. And judging by the way the display screen kept lighting up with “Call From Zoe,” she feared he was missing some pretty important calls.
As she entered the medical center through the automatic doors, she again checked to make sure her cardigan was buttoned to the very top. After the display of lace and skin she’d been showing off all day, she was tempted to stay covered up until winter.
She made her way to the information desk and told the volunteer that she was looking for Don Carpenter.
The older woman clicked away on her computer before turning to Megan with a smile. “He’s on the second floor—in room two eighteen.”
That meant he’d been admitted. But at least he wasn’t in the ICU. That was good, wasn’t it?
Megan thanked the woman, then headed toward the elevator just as Peyton’s cell phone again buzzed in her pants pocket.
Up until now, she’d been trying her best to ignore it, but on the outside chance that the call was a work-related emergency, she thought it might be a good idea to check and see. After all, she was a Zorba’s employee, too. Maybe the powers that be in the corporate office would realize that the people working at the Brighton Valley store were able to handle a crisis.
She pulled out the cell phone and glanced at the lighted display, noting that instead of a phone call, he’d received a text from someone named Collette. She meant to ignore it, but her finger slipped on the touch screen, and the white text box shot to life.
I’ll be flying in tonight. Dinner? Drinks? Or something else...?
Okay, so that certainly wasn’t a work-related message.
As the elevator doors sprung open, her stomach tightened, and heat spread up her neck and cheeks. The last thing she needed was for Peyton to catch her reading his private messages. So she thrust the offending cell phone back into her pocket.
Yet the warmth in her face didn’t disperse—nor did the knot that had formed in her tummy the moment she realized a woman wanted Peyton to join her for dinner or drinks—or whatever.
Surely her reaction had nothing to do with jealousy. After all, what did she care if he was seeing a woman who sounded like a...a...French bimbo?
Okay, so maybe there was a small smidgen of green-eyed something or other going on inside. But there certainly shouldn’t be.
Two nurses rushed by, pushing a cart holding an array of computerized medical equipment, which reminded her of where she was and why she was here. She’d come to check on Don. Nothing else mattered.
As she rounded the corner toward room 218, she pulled up short when she spotted Peyton standing outside talking to a pregnant woman in a white lab coat. Megan recognized her as Dr. Betsy Nielson, the E.R. doctor who’d treated Tyler’s broken arm when he’d fallen from the peach tree last summer.
Dr. Nielson was married to Jason Alvarez, although she’d kept her own name.
Peyton ran a hand through his hair, and as much as Megan hated to admit it, he looked just as sexy as ever, causing a tingle to start in her core.
Wait. That wasn’t a tingle. It was a vibrating phone.
She pulled the ringing cell from her pocket, then crossed the hall and joined him and the doctor. “Excuse me,” she said, as she thrust the phone at him, wanting to get rid of it.
And maybe to get rid of him, too.
As Peyton excused himself and stepped aside to take the call, Megan asked the doctor, “How’s Don Carpenter doing?”
“He’s resting. We have him hooked up to an IV, and I’ve run some preliminary tests.”
“Was it a heart attack or a stroke?”
“I don’t think so. But we’re still evaluating him.”
“Will he be all right?”
“He’s stable.”
“Good.” Megan shot a glance at Peyton, watched him scan his missed-calls list. At least he was polite enough not to take that phone call in the middle of a busy hospital wing.
“The EKG doesn’t show signs of trauma,” Dr. Nielson said, “but we’re still waiting for his blood work.”
“Have you talked to his wife?” Mega
n had called Cindy earlier to let her know what was going on, but there hadn’t been an answer. She assumed the woman was resting and knew she was too ill to drive to the hospital on her own.
“Yes, Mr. Johnson got her number from the patient when he was a bit more lucid. I spoke to her and let her know what was going on. I also called her oncologist just so he’d know what she was dealing with. She plans to have her neighbor bring her over first thing in the morning. Plus, when Mr. Carpenter wakes up tonight, his assigned nurse can help him call home. In the meantime, it’s best if we let him get all the rest he can.”
“Thank you so much, Dr. Nielson.”
“According to Mr. Johnson, Don should be thanking you. He said you acted very quickly and were in control of the situation the entire time. Don is lucky he has someone like you working for him at the shop. Oh, and speaking of Zorba’s, Mayor Mendez told my husband about the one-day sale you’re having on laptops. My husband stopped by the shop, but it was closed. Now I realize why. But is the deal still available online? I wanted to get one as a gift for my niece. She’ll be going off to college in the fall.”
“I’m not sure, but Peyton has a contact in the corporate office. Her name is Zoe. She’s the one who approved of the initial sale. While I had his cell phone, her number popped up numerous times today, so I have it memorized.”
After Megan provided Zoe’s contact information, Dr. Nielson thanked her and headed back to the E.R. just as Peyton returned from scanning his phone and checking his messages.
Megan couldn’t help but wonder if he’d texted Collette—and if so, what he’d told her.
Peyton merely stared at her. By the way he was biting on the inside of his cheek, he looked as though he wanted to say something.
“So it appears that Don is okay,” Megan said. “At least for now.”
“Um. Yeah.”
Why was he looking at her that way? Was he upset that she’d accidentally kept his cell phone? Did he realize she’d read Collette’s text?
“They’re going to keep him here for a couple of days,” Peyton added. “Then he’ll have to be off for at least a week so he can recuperate at home. But I’ll stick around and help out. I’d hate to leave you to man the shop all on your own.”
