Battling the Best Man: A Harmony Falls Novel, Book 2 (Crimson Romance) (10 page)

She tipped her head to one side, dragging the sunglasses off her head, catching a glistening wisp of bronze hair between her parted lips. With a hooked finger, she worked against a light breeze to tug the strand free. “That’s not important.” The wind picked up again and more hair whipped her cheek. Kory laced her fingers through the very top of her hair, raking it back, only to have the same errant strand land between her lips again.

Will wasn’t thinking straight, because the next thing he knew his left hand escaped his pocket, and his fingers brushed across her cheek while he picked the strand from her lips and tucked it behind her ear.

Wide-eyed shock registered on her face. She righted her head, closed her lips and swallowed hard, drawing his attention to her neck. God, he was in trouble. Big, fat, lust-driven trouble, the kind that told him to plant his mouth at the base of her throat, right here, right now, consequences be damned.

“I like it better when we fight,” she said. The words barely registered beyond the rush of blood in his ears.

“Me, too,” he said, staring at the damn intoxicating dip in her throat.

Several heartbeats echoed before anyone moved or spoke again.

“Money, Will. I need more money.” The dip undulated with every raspy word.

He managed to drag his attention back to her beautiful face, now mildly distorted with frustration. “There isn’t more money until the home starts making money.”

Kory furrowed her brow, wrinkling her nose. “I know how it works. I do. I just thought maybe you could make something happen. You’re Will Mitchell, you know?”

Yeah. He knew. The name came with a power that wasn’t always the picnic people made it out to be. Like now, when he’d like nothing better than to give Kory what she wanted. “I can’t make sweeping changes to an individual business’s budget without it being put to a vote. I can tell you right now, my mother will not agree. She’s already told me no more money is to be appropriated to the home. She wants it sold.”

“I understand that, Will, but a thriving home would bring a higher price,” Kory said, lifting her chin in challenge.

“In my opinion, a thriving home wouldn’t need to be sold.”

She bit into her bottom lip and quieted for a moment. “Then why can’t we do that? We hold every record of achievement this town has ever known. You have the business mind. I have the medical mind. Can you imagine what we’d be capable of if we banded together?” Her lips pressed shut.

Will could imagine it, because ever since the kiss in the coat closet, he’d been wondering why two people with so much physical chemistry had to be otherwise so far apart.

But maybe they were closer than he’d thought.

“I don’t want to see those women out of work, and I don’t want to be forced into a desperate deal,” he said. “I will support you as much as I can, but finding you more money is a longshot.” Which was an understatement considering his mother’s warning. There was no way she’d change her mind on that when she was already feeling usurped by Will not agreeing to an immediate sale.

Kory nodded, and then a smile lit her face. “I believe in your capabilities, Will, and you don’t know how much it pains high school me to say that. It’s just that historically speaking, you don’t fail. And once I have beds, I won’t fail, either. I’ll fill them. I have some ideas. If your mother needs to hear those, I’d be happy to put them into a formal presentation. I can sell her on you, if you can sell her on me.”

They stood there staring at each other, that same heightened awareness between them.

“This is weird,” he finally said, borrowing from the assessment she’d made while in his driveway. “I do believe you’re cheering me on, Ms. Flemming.”

“Dr. Flemming,” she corrected, and shrugged as she backed away, a crooked smile tilting her lips. “Because this time when you win, I win.”

Boy, he liked the sound of that. Impossible though it seemed, he was going to find her that money, because he wouldn’t let her down.

Until Will was able to provide the nursing home with a much-needed infusion of cash, Kory was going to have to improvise. Every day the home went unfilled was another day it didn’t make money, and at this point, it was the strongest way to determine her success or failure. Pouring over the budget with Fran produced barely enough money to buy one bed.
It’s a start
, Kory thought, temporarily shelving the idea to buy new furniture and heading for the junk room to take a second look. Maybe fixing what was already there could yield better results.

An hour later, she had her first open bed…but unfortunately not because of her efforts in the junk room. A code had summoned her to Mr. Martin’s room minutes before the man passed away.

He was ninety-eight with a DNR, but the inevitability of the man’s death didn’t lessen the blow. Mr. Martin had been her piano teacher until the eighth grade. And while he wasn’t coherent during her time at the home, every time she lifted his translucent hand to take his pulse, she remembered those fingers flying maniacally across the keyboard. He played sixty-fourth notes like it was nobody’s business.

At the end of her shift, Kory had returned to his now-empty room, and sat on the end of the freshly-made bed, staring at the peach-colored cinderblock wall. Her throat burned from swallowing down tears she refused to shed.

It was, for all intents and purposes, her first patient loss. Oh, she’d been there when patients coded. She’d scrubbed in on surgeries that went awry. But she was part of a team then, surrounded by doctors more knowledgeable than her. Here, she was on her own. And here, she
knew
these people.

“You okay?”

Kory turned toward the sympathetic voice and blinked a few times when she saw Bev. Maybe it was an apparition brought on by extreme emotions. Bev wasn’t Kory’s biggest fan.

Kory nodded, more than a little embarrassed at being caught off her game, but she didn’t try to make up an excuse. She didn’t know what she could say to explain her behavior anyway.

Bev walked into the room and offered a small smile. “He was a nice man. Nice family, too.”

Oh, God.
That was supposed to make Kory feel better, wasn’t it? She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed, pushing out thoughts of the nice family, which included a daughter not far from Kory’s age, a daughter who was now mourning. The scenario hit a little too close to home. But it wasn’t the same as Kory’s father’s stroke. Mr. Martin’s time had simply come, and with a “do not resuscitate” in place, there was nothing anyone could do but make him comfortable.

“His daughter called a few minutes ago,” Bev continued. “She wanted to thank you for being there, for holding his hand.”

Had she done that? Kory couldn’t remember. It was all so hazy. She remembered Bev being there, and the way Mr. Martin’s final breaths rattled until Kory could feel them in her bones. Another first. In Chicago, nurses handled the details of dying; doctors simply called the time when a DNR expired. Until now, Kory had never known the hopelessness of watching someone die when she’d sworn an oath to heal.

She nodded, hoping the motion would unclog her throat.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here. I’ll listen.”

Now there was a novel idea. Talk about feelings? That was almost scarier than feeling in the first place.

“I’m good,” Kory said, standing and smoothing the front of her white coat.

A flash of understanding lit Bev’s eyes, and she smiled again. “Okay.”

Kory’s first few steps felt odd, like she wasn’t walking on solid ground. It might take a while for her to feel normal again. After all, she’d just held the hand of a dying man, and then found commiseration in the most unlikely place.

It was funny. She could remember scanning chapters on grief and loss in her university textbooks, a reading assignment that hadn’t even warranted any substantial class lecture time. Kory’s mouth twisted wryly. Fat lot of good the education she was so proud of had done her this week. Because the way she felt right now?

They didn’t teach this stuff in med school.

• • •

The next several days were a blur of getting Kory’s father admitted to Harmony Elder Care and then getting him settled. When she wasn’t seeing patients, dragging conversation out of her mother or trying to win over skeptical staff, she was working with Cliff to repair the salvageable furniture, because the money she’d hoped for hadn’t miraculously appeared.

Each night when Kory crawled exhausted into bed and dropped her head to the pink-cased pillow in her bedroom, satisfaction carried her off to sleep. She might not be preparing to present her research findings at the single biggest gathering of rehabilitation experts from around the world, but she was making a difference. It surprised her how similar the payoff felt.

Now, to get her father up and moving again… She could only imagine the satisfaction in that.

Determined to make this week her most productive week yet, Kory charged into Monday, despite her mother’s disapproving glance at the tool box Kory was loading into the bed of the pick-up truck.

“You could be carrying a fancy mocha coffee into a big hospital in Chicago right now.”

“I like my coffee and my chocolate separate,” Kory said, smiling, fighting hard not to let the chasm between them widen. But it wasn’t easy, especially when part of Kory wanted to prod for more answers. A nervous clench of her heart was the only thing keeping her from pushing the issue. Considering her father’s condition, they already had enough to deal with.

One family crisis at a time
, she reminded herself as she climbed into the pick-up truck and headed to work with her mother in tow.

A mile down the road, Kory couldn’t stand the quiet anymore, and since her father’s radio hadn’t worked since she was in undergrad, she glanced at her mother and spoke. “Do you have any questions about his care?” Maybe it would help to treat her like the family member of any other patient.

Mom shook her head, clutching her purse in her lap, locking her eyes on the rural scene beyond the windshield.

Kory nodded, knowing her best intentions to avoid the topic of their argument in the kitchen wouldn’t matter if this kept up much longer.

“Alice and Justin come home soon,” Kory said, trying a different approach. “Alice married? That’s going to be weird.”

Mom nodded again and this time a small smile lit her face. “Talk about weird. She’s going to be First Lady of Harmony Falls.”

Kory smiled, too. “Well, Justin hasn’t won the election yet.”

“He will. The Mitchells win everything.”

How many times had Kory heard those words? Said those words? Especially where Will was concerned? This time, she didn’t bristle. She only hoped to God when it came to money for the nursing home he would be victorious again.

The rest of the drive was painfully quiet.

Once Kory parked in her official spot under the sign labeled “Medical Director,” she retrieved the toolbox from the back of the truck. She would round on patients first, and then get to work on furniture repair.

Mom didn’t wait. She walked ahead, disappearing inside the home.

The cold shoulder routine twisted Kory’s lips, but she refused to let her mother’s puzzling behavior negatively impact the day.

“Morning, Jane,” Kory called to the woman behind the reception desk.

“Morning.” Jane’s normally indifferent greeting was punctuated by an almost-sneer as her eyes shifted in the direction of the main hall.

Apparently, there was something in the hall Jane wanted Kory to see. With a breath into her mouth, Kory made the turn, coming face to face with giant boxes and a sweaty, red-faced Fran.

“What’s this?” Kory asked, placing a hand on the nearest box.

“You asked for beds, didn’t you?”

“Thank you, God,” Kory said, glancing at the ceiling.

Fran rolled her eyes. “Don’t you mean, ‘Thank you, Will Mitchell?' I told you not to bother him,” she added, leaning closer and lowering her voice.

“I didn’t
bother
him. I just…” But Fran walked away.

Kory followed. “I asked for more money for beds. What’s wrong with that?”

“That’s not the way to run a business. Budgets are set and followed for a reason.”

“Of course, but I don’t see how this is a bad thing. If Will added more money to the budget…”

Fran stopped and faced Kory. “He didn’t
add
more money to the budget. Business doesn’t work like that. And the invoice says, ‘Sold to Will Mitchell.’ He must have purchased the beds with his own money.”

“No.” Hospital beds were easily a thousand dollars each. Kory counted twenty boxes. That was an awful lot of personal money to invest in this place when it was underperforming. “Why would he…” The words caught in her throat on memories of their conversation.

I believe in your capabilities.
She’d told him that. Had he taken the challenge too far?

Fran shot a glance at Gertrude who was eavesdropping from the corner. “Well, since you’re asking me, I’d say it’s because you either badgered and guilted him into it or he did it as a personal favor.” She hit the word
favor
hard with a twist to her lips. “You know, if Valley comes back around, looking to buy again, which is what Margaret Mitchell is hoping for, and this is a full, thriving nursing home, all you’ll have done is driven up the price of this place and ensured almost fifty people will be displaced. But who cares, right? You’ll be long gone by then. You got your beds. You proved you could fill them. You win.”

When it was put that way, it didn’t sound like winning.

The beds and Fran’s assertion Kory “guilted” Will into spending personal money he might not be able to recoup bothered her all day. He’d gone out on a limb for her at her request, and it felt like an incredibly intimate thing to do. The pressure to succeed so his investment didn’t fail was alarming. But what exactly constituted as success? Fran’s perspective seemed aligned with Mrs. Mitchell’s and contrary to Will’s. Which one was right?

If Kory really wanted to know, then she was going to have to ask Will.

After dinner, Kory stayed home with the dogs while her mother and Aunt Jeanie took the evening shift with her father. She settled into an Adirondack chair on the patio and nursed an oversized glass of red wine, thinking of Will. Again. She thought about calling him to get to the bottom of this, to ask point blank if he invested personal money in the nursing home, and why he thought it was a good idea. Then she needed to know what she had to do to make his investment viable. Again, it felt too intimate, like a line of propriety had been crossed.
A personal favor
, Fran had said. Was it because of the kiss?