A Match Made in Texas- By Arlene James Page 0,33
have,” Hypatia said with a sniff, waving her teacup at the other occupants of the sunroom. “That’s what hospitals—and nurses—are for, and I understand that you have professional limitations, dear. My question is about his nightmares. Do you have any idea what is behind them?”
Kaylie shifted uncomfortably on the round seat of the high-backed, barrel-shaped rattan chair. “Ah, it’s possible that the cause relates to his medical care.”
Actually, inducing nightmares was a known side effect of at least one of Stephen’s—Mr. Gallow’s—pain medications. She probably should have mentioned that possibility to the doctors today, but it hadn’t seemed as important as making sure that Stephen received the proper diagnosis and treatment for his injuries. If she had stayed, she most definitely would have asked that a notation to that effect be put in his chart, but tomorrow would surely be soon enough to mention it. The staff at the hospital, who had a complete list of his medications, would not give him the suspect drug while he was using intravenous painkillers anyway, so she really had no reason to feel guilty for leaving him. Yet, she did.
Hypatia set aside her teacup, making an uncharacteristically unladylike snort. “The cause relates to some trauma in that young man’s past.”
“Rooted in an unhappy childhood, no doubt,” Odelia said, clasping her hands together, a lace hanky caught between them. “Oh, that poor dear boy.” She was dressed almost solemnly today in a double-breasted, royal-blue pantsuit with gold buttons and earrings the size of small saucers. Kaylie could imagine demitasse cups sitting in their centers. Still, for Odelia, this was positively funereal, especially as compared to the backdrop.
The sunroom at the rear of the house was a large, glassed-in space right next to the kitchen. Filled with pieces of bamboo and wicker furniture upholstered in a vivid floral pattern, it was a bright, restful space. A ceiling fan rotating lazily overhead stirred the fronds of palms and ferns scattered artfully about the room in large pots.
“There is more,” Magnolia pronounced thoughtfully, munching on a gingersnap, “to our young Stephen than meets the eye.”
Smiling wanly, Kaylie said nothing, glad that professional strictures prevented her from mentioning to her aunts what Stephen had said in the ambulance. It would only confirm their assumptions. On the other hand, their concern for him was genuine.
Hypatia sighed. “We’ll just have to continue praying for him as best we can.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” Kaylie said, rising to her feet. “Now I’d better get home. Dad is probably anxious. I just wanted to check in with you.”
“And when will you see Stephen again?” Odelia wanted to know.
“Sometime tomorrow.”
“Give him our very best wishes,” Magnolia said.
“And tell him,” Odelia chirped, “that his room here is waiting for him.”
“I will. It shouldn’t be long before he’s back,” Kaylie assured her. “Day after tomorrow at the latest, I imagine.”
“Yes, they don’t keep anyone in the hospital very long these days,” Hypatia said disapprovingly.
Kaylie let that go and passed out farewell kisses. “In case I haven’t told you,” she said, on her way out of the room, “I admire what you’re doing for Stephen.”
“Oh, we’re thrilled to do it,” Odelia trilled, causing her sisters to aim very pointed looks at her. Subsiding into a meager smile, she waved her hanky at Kaylie, who went out mentally chuckling to herself.
She marveled that the sisters had agreed to take in an injured professional hockey player who was a complete stranger to them, but surely the whole thing had been directed by the caring hands of God.
“This is no good to me!”
Kaylie heard Stephen’s voice raised in anger even before she pushed through the heavy door to his room early the next morning. A dark-haired nurse in violet scrubs straightened from a bent position and turned. She had a folded newspaper in her hands and an exasperated expression on her face, a face that Kaylie knew well.
“Hi, Linda. Problems?”
Linda Shocklea was an old schoolmate and a fine nurse. She rolled her eyes at the bed, flourishing the newspaper. “His Highness asked for a newspaper. I brought him a newspaper.”
“There are no hockey scores in that local rag!” Stephen snapped. “I need a real newspaper.”
Linda slapped the offending paper under her arm, saying, “I have explained that the local paper is all we get delivered up here and I cannot leave my post to go downstairs to find him a Fort Worth or Dallas paper.”
Stephen ignored her, gesturing heatedly toward the television mounted high in one corner of the