McKettricks of Texas: Garrett (30 page)

Garrett shook his head, skirted the scene and headed for the elevators.

“That's some shiner, handsome,” purred Charlene Bishop, a freelancer who sold mainly to the tabloids, stepping directly into his path. He and Charlene had dated for a while, a few years back, nothing serious. Last he'd heard, she was married to a chiropractor and trying to get pregnant.

Garrett smiled, took the woman lightly by the shoulders
and eased her aside. “Nice to see you again, Charlene,” he said, moving on toward the elevators. “How's the husband?”

She kept pace, managed to slip into the elevator beside him, along with a guy wearing a backwards baseball cap and balancing a huge camera on one shoulder.

“Turn that thing on,” Garrett warned him, “and I'll shove it up your—nose.”

The guy grinned. “I've been threatened with a lot worse than that in my time,” he retorted.

“You want worse?” Garrett asked. “I can give you
worse.
”

“Testy,” sniped Baseball Cap.

“Shut up, Leroy,” Charlene said, elbowing the guy aside, shifting to stand toe-to-toe with Garrett, so her breasts pressed against his chest. “I need this story,” she confided, looking up at him with enormous powder-blue eyes.

Garrett raised an eyebrow. “You didn't notice Mandy Chante in the lobby?” he asked. “You're slipping.”

Charlene huffed in disgust. “All she's doing is blowing smoke up everybody's butt,” she said, dismissing the other woman with a slight wave of one hand. “Look, freelancing is a tough racket. You know that.” She stepped in close, so her breasts pressed into his chest, and wriggled slightly. “How about an exclusive, for old times' sake?”

Leroy crowed at that last part.

Garrett stepped back, irritated, but being careful not to let that show.

The elevator doors opened and he was the first one out.

Troy must have called ahead to let Nan know they'd arrived, because she appeared immediately, slipped her arm through Garrett's and rested her head against his upper arm for a moment.

Her silver hair was pulled back and secured with a
barrette, and instead of her trademark designer suit, she wore baggy brown corduroy pants and a heavy beige sweater.

Leroy aimed the camera.

Garrett glared him into retreat.

And Charlene clicked alongside Garrett and Nan, the pointy heels of her shoes tap-tap-tapping on the corridor floor.

“Mrs. Cox,” she said breathlessly, “is it true that the senator got a quickie divorce in Mexico and then turned right around and married Miss Chante? She—Miss Chante—says they were on their honeymoon when the accident happened—”

“Charlene,” Garrett broke in.

She blinked up at him. “What?”

“Shut up.”

“But—”

“Beat it, Charlene. I'll give you a statement later.”

Charlene's plump pink lower lip wobbled. “You promise?”

“I promise,” Garrett replied tightly.

A security guard was approaching, probably intending to eject Charlene and Leroy from the Intensive Care Unit.

“Where? When?” Charlene pressed, walking backward.

Garrett sighed, rattled off his cell number. “Call me in a couple of hours,” he said. “I won't talk to anyone else first. You have my word.”

Charlene scribbled down the number, rushed over in a last-minute burst of moxie and shoved a card at Garrett. “Here's my number,” she said. “
You
call
me.
”

Garrett nodded.

The security guard arrived, taking Charlene's elbow in one hand and the back of Leroy's T-shirt in the other and propelling them both into the elevator.

“Thank God you're here,” Nan said wearily.

“How's Morgan?” Garrett asked.

“He died five minutes ago,” Nan answered. “His…prospective bride wasn't with him at the time. She was too busy enjoying her fifteen minutes of fame downstairs, it would seem.” Her gaze was faraway, and a faint smile, sadder than tears, tugged at the corner of her mouth. “
I
was with him, though. I held Morgan's hand and I told him I understood, and he should just go if he was ready—the children and I would be all right.”

Garrett had to sit down. He found a chair over by the wall and dropped into it. “My God, Nan,” he rasped out. “I'm sorry.”

Nan's eyes swam with tears, but she managed a brave smile. “Me, too,” she said, taking the chair beside Garrett's. “The children will be devastated, of course.”

Garrett could only nod.

“He wouldn't have wanted to live,” Nan went on quietly, resting her hands on her knees. Her spine was very straight, and she held her chin high. “He was much too badly hurt.”

Garrett put his arm around the woman's shoulders.

She trembled, allowed herself to lean against him, though just for a moment. “We'll have to make some kind of statement soon,” she said.

Garrett nodded again, at a loss for words.

Nan gave a teary smile and tilted her head to one side as she studied him.

“What?” Garrett asked.

“What happened to your eye?” Nan countered.

 

T
HE NEWS WAS ALL OVER THE
TV, all over the Internet.

Senator Morgan Cox was dead.

His grieving mistress, Mandy Chante, was already angling for her own reality show.

Julie stared at the TV, a cup of Esperanza's coffee raised to her lips. They were in the ranch-house kitchen, Calvin still sleeping, Esperanza watching the morning news as she started breakfast.

Julie felt a jolt of emotion, all of it unidentifiable, when Garrett's head and shoulders filled the screen. His hair was rumpled, his right eye was blackened and nearly swollen shut, his clothes more suited to the barn or the range than national TV. On top of all that, he needed a shave.

Her heart turned over inside her.

I love you,
she told him silently.

“Senator Cox passed away at 2:33 a.m.,” he said, into a cluster of microphones. He looked weary and grief-stricken and Julie longed to put her arms around him, and hold him, and chase away all the reporters.

All the demons.

“Madre de Dios,”
Esperanza muttered, pausing to cross herself.

Julie continued to watch Garrett, willing him to be strong.

“Mommy?” Calvin stood in the doorway to the guest suite. He was still wearing his pajamas, his hair was mussed and his cheeks were too pink by at least three shades.

Plus, he rarely called her “Mommy” these days.

She'd been demoted to “Mom” sometime after his fourth birthday.

“I don't feel good,” Calvin said. Then, to prove his point, he threw up.

Julie hurried to her son, and Esperanza switched off the TV set.

“He's burning up,” Julie told Esperanza, resting the backs of her fingers against Calvin's forehead.

Esperanza rushed to fill a bucket and grab a cleaning rag. “Back to bed,” she said. “There can be no going to school like this!”

Calvin vomited again.

“Oh, Calvin!” Julie cried, alarmed by the violence of his illness.

“Am I in trouble?” he asked desperately, blinking as he stared up at her.

“No,” Julie said, gathering him to her, mess and all. “
No,
sweetie. Come on, let's get you into some clean pajamas and back in bed.”

Calvin cried and then wailed.

Harry, ever sympathetic, whimpered his concern.

Julie swept her son up into her arms and carried him back to their bathroom. There, she quickly stripped him, sprayed him down in the bathtub and bundled him into fresh pajamas.

Calvin had quieted down by then, but Harry cried continuously, the poor thing. He seemed to think his little master was being punished for some horrible misdeed.

Julie had no more than tucked Calvin into bed when he threw up again, all over everything.

Because Audrey and Ava were still sick, and therefore in what amounted to quarantine, she'd planned to take the boy to town herself, drop him off for kindergarten before her first-period class, and bring him back to the high school until tryouts were over.

All that was clearly out of the question now.

While Esperanza changed Calvin, and the sheets and blankets on his bed, Julie showered and changed her own clothes, then made a quick call to Arthur Dulles. The prin
cipal wouldn't be happy, since the tasks of overseeing her classes, along with that day's phase of the tryouts for
Kiss Me Kate,
were sure to fall to him.

Julie was relieved to get her boss's voice mail, although she dutifully left her callback information.

Next, she called Calvin's pediatrician.

The office nurse told her to put him to bed, dose him with children's aspirin and bring him in if he got worse.

Discouraged, she got in touch with Paige next, describing Calvin's symptoms.

“I'm on my way,” her sister, the RN, responded.

“What about your job?” Julie asked, worried.

“I'm between one and the other,” Paige replied. “And this is
Calvin
we're talking about here.”

Julie let out her breath, relieved and grateful. “Thanks,” she murmured.

She sat with Calvin, who was fitful, until Paige arrived, looking a little frazzled, which was unlike her.

It took Julie a moment to realize that her sister must have encountered Austin when she entered the house.

Paige's expression transformed in a twinkling, though, as she focused her attention on Calvin. “Hey, little buddy,” she greeted her nephew, “what's the deal?”

“I spewed,” Calvin said miserably.
“Everywhere.”

“It happens,” Paige answered matter-of-factly, tossing a wan grin in Julie's direction. “Hi, sis. How about getting me a cup of coffee? I didn't get a chance to grab my usual caffeine fix this morning.”

Julie nodded, reluctant to leave Calvin even long enough to pour Paige's coffee, but she knew he couldn't have been in better hands.

When she reached the kitchen, Austin was there, leaning
against a counter and sipping coffee from a mug while Esperanza tried to persuade him to sit down and have a good breakfast before he went off to spend the day “playing cowboy.”

Disreputably handsome in his work clothes and scuffed boots, Austin hadn't shaved, and if he'd combed his hair at all, he'd used his fingers. He looked pale and deeply weary, Julie thought, and even in her agitation over Calvin, it gave her pause.

Of course there had been an encounter between him and Paige, she concluded, both intrigued and saddened.

He'd been just as rattled by it as Paige.

“You heard about the senator, I guess,” Austin said, his voice rough as sandpaper, cocking his head toward the TV. “Garrett will be taking this hard.”

Julie nodded. She got a mug and filled it with coffee for Paige. “It's awful.”

“Esperanza says your boy is under the weather,” Austin said, watching Julie. “Is there anything I can do? Drive to town to fetch a prescription at the drugstore or something?”

Julie smiled, touching Austin's arm to let him know she was grateful for the offer. “Thanks,” she said. “Now that Paige is here, I think we'll be all right.”

The change in his face was barely perceptible, and he looked away quickly, but Julie saw it and recognized it for what it was.

He still cared for Paige—and he didn't like it.

“I've got my cell phone,” he said, glancing briefly at Esperanza before turning his gaze back to Julie. There was a sort of unfolding in the way he moved, getting ready to leave, spend a day outdoors, working hard. “The number's over there on the message board. Call if you need anything.”

“I will,” Julie promised.

Remembering her errand, she hurried off then, with Paige's already cooling coffee.

 

“T
OOK YOU LONG ENOUGH
,” Paige said, dropping her stethoscope back into her big purse. She was still sitting on the edge of Calvin's bed, and Harry stood with his muzzle resting on the mattress, soulful eyes rolling slowly between Julie and her son.

Do
something, the dog's expression seemed to say.

Calvin lay with a thermometer jutting out of his mouth.

He was flushed, and his hair was all spiky, and Julie thought if she loved the child any more than she already did, she'd burst with it.

She handed Paige the coffee.

Paige took a sip, her eyes skirting Julie's.

Julie sat down in the one chair in the room, knotted her hands together.

“So,” she said.

“So,” Paige agreed, looking down at her watch, then back at Calvin.

Julie waited.

Presently, Paige took the thermometer from Calvin's mouth and checked the numbers.

“One-o-one,” she said, ruffling her nephew's hair gently and setting the thermometer aside. “No skydiving for you, bud. And I'm afraid running with the bulls and spacewalking are out of the question, too.”

Calvin blinked. He wasn't wearing his glasses, so Paige and Julie were probably blurry. “What about school?” he asked, very seriously.

“No school, either,” Paige said, smoothing his covers.

Calvin's lower lip jutted out slightly, and he folded his arms.

Harry made the leap and snuggled up next to him.

“It's my turn to be class monitor,” Calvin protested. “The monitor gets to pass out papers and everything.”

“Sorry about that,” Paige answered, patting his little shoulder. “Try to get some shuteye, big guy. The more you sleep, the faster you're going to recover.”

“Read me a story?” Calvin wheedled.

Julie handed over his favorite book, and Paige took it.

Calvin wriggled down into his pillows, pleased.

Within five minutes, he was asleep.

Paige closed the book and she and Julie crept out of Calvin's room, Julie shutting the door softly behind them.