by Heather Hunt
Okay, so there hadn’t exactly been that many, she thought. If she were honest, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been on a date. She knew it had been during her undergraduate studies, but had it actually been over three years ago? Unbelievable! Pitiful was more like it.
Grace knew that if she were honest, she had only herself to blame. For years, she had begged off invitations to her parents’ dinner parties. After all, there had been more pressing things on her calendar...mainly getting through college and graduate school. She had also been involved in numerous mission projects through her young adult class at church. Sitting around with her parents and their friends had not been on her agenda.
But if she’d ever been given even the slightest of clues that someone like Jack had been lounging on one of her mother’s raw silk Queen Annes while she was spending the evenings with her face crammed in a textbook, she would have been at the family seat at the first ring of the dinner bell.
Grace had actually seen Jack’s name during her reviews of the Mansfield Park files, but the gray-haired Jackson Ellis she remembered from childhood in no way resembled the man sitting in the corner of her dingy emergency room cubicle with his jean-clad legs stretched out and his boots propped carelessly on the wheel of her stretcher.
Her hands itched to lean over and tap one of his biceps...just to gauge if it was as rock-hard as it looked encased in the faded chambray shirt. She glanced up and found him watching her with amusement.
Grace averted her gaze to a chart which explained the basics of Otitis Media in more detail than she cared to know. She cringed.
No wonder there were so many screaming kids in this place, she thought.
If her eardrum looked like that nasty, fluid-filled balloon on the poster, she would be screaming to high heaven herself. As a matter of fact, she was tempted to do it anyway! She had yet to receive any pain medication, and a temper tantrum was looking better with each and every annoying tick of the ancient wall clock.
A cluster of chill bumps, which had nothing to do with the freezing temperature of the room or the one-size-fits-all cotton smock the nurse had foisted on her within two minutes of her arrival, raised their traitorous heads. In a one-armed effort, she tucked the edges of the gown under her legs. She had already practically bared her scantily-clad backside to the entire local chapter of the AARP. She was determined not to disgrace herself further.
“Miss Woodhouse?” the doctor’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Do you understand about the X-rays?”
She answered his question with a blank stare. “Excuse me?”
“Are you sure she didn’t hit her head?” The doctor turned his attention, and his question, to Jack.
“I’m fine,” Grace answered the question herself. “I certainly don’t have a head injury.” She tossed her hair out of her eyes, and feeling a headache coming on, wondered if she’d been too hasty with her answer. Had she actually hit her head? Surely not.
“I think she’s okay on that note.” Jack’s words were an assurance to both Grace and the physician.
“Well, that’s great, then,” the doctor said with a smile. “Now, back to the films.”
What followed was an extensive, exhausting explanation of the structure of bones that would have been perfect for a college pre-med course. Unfortunately, Grace caught only bits and pieces of the conversation. As her dismay escalated with each and every word from the doctor’s mouth, so did her shock at the news. She had actually broken her left arm in the fall...or so Dr. Adonis had just informed her.
“You also have a sprained ankle, Miss Woodhouse,” the doctor continued. “Coupled with your radial head fracture...”
“My what kind of fracture?” she interrupted. Fracture she comprehended. She needed a little help with the rest of the diagnosis.
“Your radius is one of the bones in your lower arm. The radial head is part of your elbow joint. You’ve broken it. We’ve already discussed that.”
“But I thought you said just a fracture,” Grace whined.
“Fracture, break…they’re one in the same,” the doctor mumbled.
Grace frowned. Her doctor’s bedside manner was beginning to nosedive...at an alarming rate.
With a flick of his wrist, he proceeded to clip an X-ray film onto a wall-mounted screen and point to a white triangle that was a few millimeters away from the rest of the bones in her arm. Then he demonstrated what had happened by pointing to his own arm.
“So, that little triangle was part of my arm bone?” she asked. “And I’ve snapped it completely off?”
The thought triggered a wave of nausea. Jack reached for one of the blue emesis bags hanging from a dispenser on the wall, but Grace waved it away. She had already surpassed her embarrassment quotient. She would hold in whatever was left of her veggie wrap if it killed her!
“So, what do you do for it?” Jack piped in from his corner.
Dr. Adams, according to the name on his badge, looked toward Jack. “I know that you’ve been present for most of the exam, but you are?”
“Jack Ellis.” Jack crossed his muscular arms and raised his right brow as if the simple mention of his name would shred the confidentiality red tape with a single swooping slash.
Grace rolled her eyes. Trust the male territorial instinct to raise its ugly head in the middle of her medical crisis. At least the show of propriety took her mind off the fact that her completely digested lunch was still trying to rear its ugly head.
“It’s okay, Doctor,” Grace finally assured him. She was ready to get the show on the road...literally. “Jack is a friend.”
“Well, many times, surgery...”
“No way! There’s gotta’ be another option.” She shook her head, an action which sent her flyaway curls back in front of her eyes. This time, she didn’t have to struggle to reach her face because Jack leaned over to tuck the strands back for her. Grace’s heart practically melted with the action.
“As I was saying,” Dr. Adams acted as if he’d never even noticed Jack’s chivalry. “Many times surgery is required, but some orthopedists recommend a short period of immobilization followed by physical therapy. Of course, you will have a greater risk for developing arthritis in the joint later in life.”
“Compared to surgery, arthritis sounds like the best option,” she interrupted. “So, does that mean a cast?”
“Just a sling.” The doctor continued his brief exam as he spoke. “Now, with regards to the cane, most people with a bad sprain use crutches for a few days. With your arm injury, you won’t be able to do that. A walker is out of the question, as well.”
“A walker! Spare me the humiliation!” She raked her good hand through her hair. “Although, I might fit in better with the residents at Mansfield Park,” she giggled.
This comment earned her a laugh from Jack. She met his blue gaze and smiled in return.
“It’s either a cane or staying off your feet completely,” the doctor said as he attempted a smile. Unfortunately, he didn’t quite manage one. Grace was not surprised. She had already determined that he had about as much of a sense of humor as a kid with one of those ear infections shown on the chart.
“Bring on the cane,” she finally conceded.
“That’s a good sport.” Dr. Adams finally grinned.
Maybe there is hope for him, Grace thought.
“By the way,” he draped his stethoscope around his neck. “You mentioned Mansfield Park. I take it you’re the new girl?”
“That’s right,” she nodded. “As of this morning, I am the new director. I sure made a grand entrance, didn’t I?”
“I have to say that you’re a lot easier on the eyes than Mr. Watson. I take call for Dr. Sinclair every once in a while, so I’m a familiar face there.”
“Well, I hope that my residents won’t have need of your services, Doctor.” She finally graced him with her true smile, the one secured through four years of painful orthodontia.
Grace noticed both men staring
at her then. She self-consciously crossed her feet then held in an amused grin as both Dr. Adams and Jack turned their gazes to her freshly manicured toes. She wasn’t sure if it was the fire-engine red polish she had painstakingly applied the night before or the diamond firefly toe-ring that, thanks to her new slingbacks, had begun to rub a blister on her toe…but something had done the trick. She had finally captured their undivided attention.
Wow! Good job, Grace. And you didn’t even need Charm School. You had it in you all along!
Although she enjoyed the attention, her need for pharmaceuticals was quickly eclipsing her newfound status as a femme fatale.
“So,” she raised her voice in order to break through the testosterone fog clouding the room. “Do you guys carry any painkillers in this place?”
•∞•∞•
An hour later, Grace found herself tucked safely in the passenger seat of Jack’s macho truck, her left ankle trussed up like a Cornish hen in some sort of Velcro splint and her left arm similarly secured in a sling. Her head swam from the effects of the painkiller a nurse had not-so-gently injected in her right hip.
“I forgot to ask at the hospital, Grace,” Jack’s voice filtered through the haze that seemed to envelope her. “Where are you staying?”
“The Hilton.” She tried to smile, but her lips were so numb that she ended up looking like a drunken idiot. Wow! Those were some strong painkillers!
“There’s no Hilton in Manhattan,” Jack told her.
As he brought the truck to a stop, Grace looked up to find three sets of traffic lights suspended in front of the vehicle.
“Cool!” she drawled. “Where did you get a stained glass windshield? And Jack,” she slurred as she reached across her injured arm to give his shoulder a playful punch. “Of course there’s a Hilton in Manhattan. Ith wight on the corner of...”
“Manhattan, Georgia, Grace.” He raised her chin and looked into her cloudy eyes. “Does the Willow Mountain Lodge ring a bell? It’s the closest thing to a motel in town.”
“Willow Mountain,” she repeated. For some reason, a computer image of a beautiful yellow Victorian trimmed in white entered her mind. “Sounds good to me,” she mumbled as her eyelids drifted shut.
“Grace, we’re here,” Jack announced a few minutes later.
Grace’s dream was interrupted by a voice and the less than subtle scratch of sandpaper on her cheek. She opened her eyes and found herself looking into a pair of blue eyes. She blinked and finally remembered. Jack Ellis.
She turned her head and discovered that it wasn’t sandpaper that had awakened her, either. It was the calloused tips of Jack’s fingers caressing her in an action he had probably assumed was gentle. Whatever sensation it evoked, Grace decided right there on the spot that it was loads better than even the smoothest of satin pillowcases. Jack Ellis’s working man’s hand on her face? She’d take that any day of the week!
Jack stood patiently with the passenger door of the truck open as he waited for Grace’s response. He seemed to sense her confusion, her uneasiness in his presence. He brushed a lock of curly brown hair out of her face and nudged her chin up.
“Grace?”
She blinked her pale green eyes and looked around.
“We’re at Willow Mountain Lodge. You know, the bed-and-breakfast,” he explained. “I checked with Mrs. Elderman, the owner, and she confirmed that you’re staying here. I tried to reach your Dad, but he was tied up in a meeting.”
“Where’s my car?” Grace finally asked in a sleepy voice.
“Magnolia Manor, or rather, Mansfield Park,” he amended. “I figured you’d stay in bed for a couple of days. If you’ll give me your keys, I’ll get one of the guys to drive it over for you.”
“What about Mr. Knightley?”
“Mr. Knightley?” Jack’s eyes held a look of confusion. “Who’s that?”
“My dog,” she told him.
“Oh, yeah, the overweight English Bulldog.” He nodded his head, all the while ignoring the annoyed look his comment had sparked in Grace. “The scout girl said that she would take him home with her. She left a number where you could reach her.” He patted the pocket of his shirt.
As Grace turned in the seat, she felt the weight of a thousand-pound hammer on her elbow. Although she tried to disguise her groan with a cough, her pain must have been broadcast on her face.
“Let’s get you inside,” Jack offered before swinging her gently into his arms.
Having been in the safety of Jack’s arms before, Grace closed her eyes and gave in to the pull of medication. She snuggled against his shoulder as he carefully carried her to her room. Once inside, he sat her down onto a plush chaise lounge.
Grace opened her eyes and breathed in a sigh of relief. How she was going to deal with things was another issue altogether. Jack walked across the room and lowered the Roman shade.
“I spoke with Mrs. Elderman, Grace,” Jack said as he knelt down beside her chair. “She’s planning on helping you with your bath tonight. Since you don’t have a cast, it shouldn’t be too hard, just a bit awkward. Here’s your cane, and I’ll leave your medication on the nightstand. I’ll leave your luggage when we bring your car over. Is that okay?”
“S’okay,” Grace managed, trying to stem the flow of tears. Since her fall, she had become nothing short of a watering pot. In fact, she could not recall ever feeling this helpless.
“I’ll check on you later tonight,” he assured her as he brushed a stray tear off her cheek with his thumb. “If you’re anything like I’ve heard, you’ll try to do too much. Just take it easy, alright?”
“Um, okay, Jack,” Grace finally answered. “And thank you for everything you did today. You barely know me, and you really went out of your way to help.”
“No problem, Princess Grace,” he grinned before heading toward the door. The click of the latch echoed his final words.
•∞•∞•
Later that evening, Grace had just settled in the chaise behind a small table Mrs. Elderman had arranged when she heard a knock at the door.
“It’s open,” she called.
Jack Ellis stuck his head through the crack in the door.
“You decent?” he asked, the humor of the situation apparent in the tone of his voice.
Considering her less than graceful nose dive at the center and her generic-gowned-glory at the hospital, she figured that her pajama pants and tank top were modest enough for a visitor. Especially since the visitor in question had been privy to her exhibition earlier in the day.
“Of course,” she rolled her eyes.
“Touchy, touchy,” he mumbled as he ambled into the room. “What’s hurting the most?”
“Elbow,” she answered. “It’s pretty easy to keep my foot still as long as it’s propped up.” She motioned to the stack of cushions she was using to elevate her foot. “It’s a lot harder to keep my arm from moving. Even with the sling, I forget. It hurts like the dickens.”
“Have you taken a pain pill?”
“I took one after my bath, but they make me so drowsy that I wanted to wait to take another one with my dinner.” She waved her right hand over the impressive dinner Mrs. Elderman had delivered to her room only moments before, then, as if to make a point, popped one of the pills into her mouth and followed it with half a glass of water. “There’s plenty of food here. If you haven’t eaten, you’re welcome to join me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” she told him.
Even during the midst of a PMS binge, Grace could have never eaten everything Mrs. Elderman had prepared. Roast beef with potatoes and carrots, homemade sourdough bread, and a huge helping of apple cobbler were arranged on the table. Just the steaming aromas had already added five pounds to Grace’s ample figure.
“This looks great.”
She had already filled her dinner plate, so Jack sat down and filled the dessert plate to overflowing. As he ate, Grace watched him unashamedly, unable to take her eyes
from the sight of him so intent upon his meal. He seemed to savor every bite, and before she knew it, his plate was empty.
“Are you not hungry?” he asked and nodded toward her full plate.
“Of course,” she answered and took a bite of bread to prove her point. “I just don’t want to overdo it. I’d hate to make myself sick on top of everything else.”
“Sounds safe. So, tell me how Paul Woodhouse’s little princess ended up in our little town,” Jack asked, changing the subject.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Come on, Grace.” He watched her as she tried to think of the best way to look appalled. “I’ve known your Dad for years now, and this is the last place I would have expected him to put you.”
“And why is that?” She squinted her eyes into what she hoped was a withering stare.
“I know he respects your opinions about the business, but I figured that you’d be happier going shopping or playing tennis with your sorority sisters. I didn’t think you actually planned on working once you graduated.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“That’s not a very flattering opinion.” She scrunched up her brow. “I have to admit that I was surprised by the assignment, but I am more than qualified to handle it.”
“Really,” he drawled.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
She flashed him an indignant glance before taking a sip of water. The conversation seemed to be headed toward long and ugly, and she needed the fortification. The pain medication was doing the trick for her pain, and she had yet to feel the drowsiness the label had warned about. She was primed for some serious verbal warfare!
“I have an MBA, you know. And while I love shopping, my sporting interests lie more along the lines of contact sports. I play tennis, but I’m also pretty decent at basketball and soccer.” She gave him a smug grin. “And for your information, Jack Ellis, I wasn’t in a sorority. The only organization I am a member of is Phi Beta Kappa, although I doubt you would even know what that is.”
