Race To The Altar

The more she read, the more questions she had—and the more intriguing he became.

Her interest didn’t please her, though. Instead, it left her uneasy. She wasn’t sure what unsettled her the most, his dangerous career or his flashy, high-profile life.

Either way, she had to get over that silly little…what? That little crush she’d developed?

No, it definitely wasn’t that.

She just found him interesting, that’s all. And God only knew why she did.

Chase Mayfield would be the worst person in the world for her to get involved with. And she’d best keep that in mind when she went back to work tomorrow.

The next morning, Molly kept busy with all of the patients she’d been assigned, so she wasn’t able to check on Chase as often as she had the day before.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She’d gone to see about him as often as necessary, but certainly not each time he’d crossed her mind.

And that was so not a good sign.

Neither was giving him her home address to use for his mother to mail him his checkbook, which he’d talked her into doing yesterday afternoon.

What had provoked her to agree to that? She was usually more guarded with her patients—and with most people, for that matter. But her sympathetic nature had run away with her.

Or had it been more than that?

Chase Mayfield, she had to admit, was a charming rogue who could be very persuasive.

During her lunch break she’d ridden her bike home, taking the side streets as usual. And sure enough, she’d found a package for Chase in her mailbox. She’d given it to him when she got back to the hospital.

“Thanks,” he’d said, taking it from her and opening it. “You’re the best, Nurse Molly.”

Was she?

His praise had made her smile, yet it left her a little uneasy, too.

She’d watched as he’d filled out the amount, then scratched out his signature. She’d wondered what a handwriting expert would have to say about the man who made such big, bold strokes.

While she waited for him to finish, she’d felt like an autograph-seeking groupie. So once she had the check in hand, she’d lifted it and fanned it in the air. “I’ll get this to the billing department.”

“Thanks, but before you go, I have a question for you. Where’ve you been hiding out? I’ve missed you.”

Had he? Or had he been playing with her? She feared that with Chase it would be hard to know which.

“I was letting you sleep so you can recover faster,” she told him. “I’m sure you’re eager to be discharged so you can get out of here.”

“Yeah, but there are a few perks.” His face was still battered, his eyes puffy and bruised, but he had a nice smile. A flirtatious smile.

Had he meant her?

Oh, for Pete’s sake, she scolded herself yet again for giving him and his playful comments so much thought.

Chase was a charmer, that’s all. And she was a fool for considering him to be anything else.

Molly went back to work, although her thoughts continued to drift back to Chase whenever there was a lull on the floor.

As the afternoon wore into evening and the sun dipped low on the Texas horizon, she sat at the nurses’ desk, keeping busy—and away from Chase’s bedside. Things were pretty quiet and peaceful on the floor now, which was good.

At the sound of shoes clicking on the tile floor, she looked up to see Betsy approaching the desk. The dedicated physician didn’t smile as much these days as she had when Molly first met her, but she appeared to be even more solemn than usual.

“Is something wrong?” Molly asked.

“No, not really. I just got back from a visit with Tommy Haines and his mother, Diana. I told them I was checking on his cast, but I’d also wanted to let Diana know that the medical bill had been paid. The other night, she seemed to be really stressing about it, and since they can’t afford a phone, the only way to do that was to stop by and tell her in person.”

“That was nice of you.”

“I suppose, but it nearly broke my heart to see the way they were living.”

“It was that bad?”

“Well, the kids were clean and happy, but their clothing was tattered from wear and too small for them. And when Tommy’s sister opened up the pantry in search of a snack, the shelves were pretty bare.”

It wasn’t unusual for the hospital staff to come into contact with poor families. They always had a list of social service agencies to which they could refer them. They couldn’t get personally involved with every case, but apparently, this particular situation had touched Betsy in a way some of the others hadn’t.

“I wish I had more to give them than the news that they didn’t owe money for Tommy’s bill,” Betsy said. “I gave Diana a hundred dollars, which she didn’t want to take. I had to insist that she spend it on the kids. But I have a feeling it isn’t going to stretch very far.”

From what Betsy had said in the past, and Molly had gathered, Betsy had some money from a trust fund her aunt had left her, and as a successful doctor, she’d managed to save quite a bit over the years. But those funds were no longer available to her.

Most people didn’t know it, but Betsy was one of the investors in BVMC. And while she certainly wasn’t one of the principals, she’d put the bulk of her money into the hospital investment.

Thank goodness she had. Otherwise her ex-husband would have cleaned her out completely before he’d disappeared six months ago, leaving her with a slew of bills to pay and an empty bank account.

Of course, that was another tidbit that most people didn’t know.

“On top of the financial troubles,” Betsy added, “Diana is taking care of her elderly grandfather, who’s clearly showing signs of dementia. He used to babysit for her so she could work part-time at the fabric store, but he’s at a stage where he needs almost as much care as the children do.”

“That’s too bad,” Molly said. “Has she considered putting him in a convalescent hospital?”

“Yes, but the man raised her, and she feels an obligation to keep him at home as long as she can.”

Molly could relate to that. She’d had to deal with her own grandfather’s health issues—not dementia, but a stroke. “Diana is in a tough spot.”

“I know.” Betsy blew out a weary sigh. “I gave her the contact number for a social worker who is a friend of mine, but I still felt…ineffective.”

Molly wasn’t sure how much help she could be, but she’d like to do something, especially since Chase had picked up the cost of the medical bill. “Would you mind giving me their address? Maybe I can take them something myself.”

“It’s a long ride on a bicycle,” Betsy said, “even for you. You’d have to take your car.”

Betsy was one of the few people at the hospital who knew that Molly preferred not to drive when she didn’t have to. Not that it was a big secret; she just didn’t think it was anyone’s business but her own.

“Do Diana and the kids live in Brighton Valley?” she asked Betsy.