A Match Made in Texas- By Arlene James Page 0,34

room. “They don’t even have a sports channel on the TV!”

Kaylie smiled apologetically at the other nurse. “I’ve been hired to care for Mr. Gallow. Leave this to me.”

Heaving a relieved sigh, Linda pulled open the door. “Gladly.”

Obviously, Stephen had been making a nuisance of himself. Kaylie turned to face her employer, her hands linked together at her waist. For a long moment, he would not meet her gaze, just sat there in the bed fuming.

And to think, Kaylie mused, that I had such a difficult time staying away last night.

It hadn’t helped that her father had been in such a surly mood. He had started out sounding concerned and solicitous, his earlier pique ameliorated by his delight that she had returned home in time to see to his lunch. He had even asked about Stephen’s condition. She had answered as well as she was able, mindful of Stephen’s privacy concerns. The problem had come when her father’s queries had turned to Stephen himself, or, more to the point, when she had answered them, particularly the question about Stephen’s age.

“So young?” her father had said, frowning. “I thought Mr. Gallow to be an elderly individual.”

She had been somewhat taken aback by that, but even more so by her father’s rapidly darkening mood. By dinner, she had resorted to keeping out of her father’s way, and she had quickly found herself thinking that she could serve better at the hospital. But she had stayed at home, judging it the wiser action. Evidently, she had been right to come this morning, however, rather than wait until the afternoon.

“I’ll go down and get you a paper,” she told Stephen quietly.

He folded his arms mulishly. The gesture lost something due to the fact that his left arm was already bent at the elbow, set in a cast and strapped to his chest. She disciplined a smile. Suddenly his hand shot out.

“Forget the paper. Give me your phone. I’ll look up the scores on the Internet.”

“No,” she said calmly, “you can’t.”

His face, already shadowed with two days’ growth of beard, darkened. “Why not? I bought that phone. I can use it if I want.”

“Cell phone use is strictly forbidden in patient and treatment areas, no matter who owns the phone.”

He glared at her, slapped the heel of his hand against his forehead and literally growled. “Raaaaagggh!”

“I’ll go now so I can get back before the doctors make their rounds,” she said.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Go. Go! You’re good at that.”

That hit home. Obviously, he had missed her yesterday. She didn’t know whether to be pleased or troubled. Ducking her head, she quietly slipped from the room. Hurrying down to the gift shop, she picked up both the Dallas and the Fort Worth papers, then swiftly returned to Stephen’s room. He seemed somewhat mollified when she handed over the newspapers. At least he didn’t bite her hand.

Digging through the pile, he found the sports section of one paper and clumsily began spreading it out on the bed. Kaylie stepped in and turned the pages for him until he found what he wanted. Then she folded the paper, with the story exposed, and placed it in his good hand. He read earnestly for several minutes. Finally, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow.

“You’re pleased,” she said, smiling as a warm glow filled her chest. It seemed ridiculous to feel so delighted at evidence of his pleasure, but she couldn’t help herself. He thrust the paper at her. Taking that as an order to read it, she did so.

From what she could gather, the team had lost the first game of a series, despite some excellent penalty killing and other things she didn’t understand. Finally, she hit upon the paragraph that she thought might have so pleased Stephen.

“Most said it would be enough for this young team to make it to the playoffs for the first time in their short history,” she read aloud. “Today, despite this loss out of the starting gate, expectations are building. The one flaw in that scenario is the position of goalie. Abel Kapimsky, 24, is a promising young goaltender and shows flashes of pure brilliance, but he’s no Stephen Gallow. Then again, who in this conference is?”

She went on to read in silence how Gallow’s goaltending had lifted the general level of play for the whole team and been instrumental in winning that first playoff berth. The writer noted that the mysterious injury which had taken Gallow