His Private Nurse (7 page)

“Turn it the other way around, genius,” Royce rebutted dryly. “It's the snake who gets charmed.”

“Ah, well, that explains it, then.” Dale wagged his finger at Merrily, who found that she enjoyed their banter immensely. “No fair, Nurse Merrily. You have beguiled
the snake into drinking your nefarious brew. I'm thinking of crying foul.”

“Cry duck,” Royce advised dryly, “pressed duck.”

Merrily laughed, but Dale made a face. “Ha-ha. Our bet doesn't concern you, and the payoff doesn't, either.”

“Doesn't concern me?” Royce scoffed. “You know, if the horse wins the race he at least gets his oats.”

“Fine. I'll send you a box of oatmeal. Merrily can have pressed duck at Chung Pao's Garden with me.”

Royce's face immediately darkened, and Merrily knew what he must be thinking. Who would care for him if she went out? He was helpless alone. Tilting her head at Dale she reminded him, “The bet was carryout against home cooking, I believe.”

“So I'm offering a free upgrade.”

“And what about me?” Royce grumbled, confirming her assumption. “What're you going to do, lock me in a closet? Or maybe you were thinking of pushing me down the stairs yourself this time and finishing me for good?”

Merrily gasped, her pleasure evaporating. “You were
pushed!
”

Dale and Royce exchanged wary glances. Royce cleared his throat. “I didn't say that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“It was a joke,” Royce offered weakly.

Merrily stared at him, trying to imagine that anyone could hate him enough to push him down a flight of stairs. “What happened?”

“I-I'm not sure.” His gaze shifted away. “I don't really remember.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“Like I said, I don't remember very much.”

“Oh, please,” Dale said with blatant disgust. “We both know it was Pamela.”

“That's your theory,” Royce retorted. “Don't you think that if I knew for sure what happened that night I'd do something about it?”

“Not if it meant Tammy having to testify against her own mother,” Dale stated softly.

Royce looked away. Merrily's heart squeezed. That poor child. Had she actually seen her mother push her father down those stairs? If so, then Royce was protecting her by keeping quiet about what happened. Dale evidently thought that was the case.

“What about that therapist I asked you to find for her?” Royce asked.

Dale sighed. “Her pediatrician agreed to the recommendation, but Pamela's refusing to cooperate. We'll have to take it to the judge.”

“And in the meantime, Tammy suffers,” Royce said bitterly. He shoved his hand through his hair. “If I could just talk to her myself, I might be able to help.”

“I know,” Dale said, “but Pamela's keeping her under wraps. I called and went by there today, but first the housekeeper said they were all out buying school clothes, and later Pamela herself claimed Tammy was taking a nap.”

Royce snorted. “As if. Tammy last took a nap when she was about sixteen months old. How am I going to get her over here, Dale?”

“Wait until they miss the next scheduled visitation, then petition the court to enforce its order,” Dale said offhandedly.

“But they've already missed visitation.”

Dale spread his hands. “You were in the hospital. Pamela can say it was too traumatic for them or you or whomever. Just give it through the weekend.”

“And then wait for the court to act,” Royce added
bitterly. “I know how the farce plays out. Pam will stall for weeks while the paperwork wends its way through the courts, then at the last moment she'll comply, and her attorney will point out how cooperative she's been, making me out to be unreasonable and demanding.”

“Okay, we have one other option, then, but you're not going to like it,” Dale said. “I can petition the court on a hardship claim, maybe gain us a little sympathy, say that in your weakened state you need the solace of your children and plead for immediate compliance.”

Royce made a face. “Oh, that's classy, a grown man using his children like that.”

“You aren't using your children,” Dale pointed out calmly. “You would never use your children. You love them. That's allowed by the courts, you know, even preferred.”

Royce sighed tiredly. “Whatever works quickest,” he conceded.

“I'll see what I can do,” Dale said. Turning to Merrily, he smiled and pointed his finger. “You and I, Nurse Merrily, will talk later about pressed duck.”

“You,” Royce said forcefully, “will leave my nurse alone. Now get out of here, you ambulance chaser, and let me get some rest.”

“Is he always this sweet?” Dale asked Merrily gaily.

“Oh, sweeter,” Merrily said with a smile.

Dale parked his hands at his hips and slid a look at Royce. “I'll bet.”

Royce looked at Merrily and commented dryly, “Slow learner.”

“Oh, really?” Dale countered. “I'm the one having dinner with our Merrily.”

“Why don't
you
take a little fall,” Royce suggested.
“If you break enough bones, maybe you can have several meals with her.”

“That's your thing, pal of mine. I've never stolen pages from your book before, so don't look for me to start now.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Always.” Dale turned to Merrily with a wink. “Until later, dear nurse. Call if you need me.”

Royce snorted, and Merrily laughed. “I will. Good night.”

“I'd say the same to you, but you're stuck here with him,” Dale quipped, “so I'll just say, ‘later.'” With that he started for the door.

“Not later enough,” Royce called, but he was smiling ruefully.

“Is he always such a tease?” Merrily asked after Dale was gone.

“Yes.”

“Well, he's a good friend to you.”

Royce nodded. “I don't know what I'd do without him—or you.”

“Me you can replace at any employment agency,” she told him, rising to her feet. “A real friend is irreplaceable.”

“Are you not my friend as well as my nurse, then, Merrily?” he asked softly as she moved around behind his recliner to retrieve the wheelchair.

“Of course I am.”

“Of course you are,” he said, releasing the footrest and sliding to the edge of the recliner, “which is precisely why I can't imagine letting anyone else do for me what you do.”

“I don't do anything any other nurse couldn't or
wouldn't,” she told him, positioning the wheelchair and setting the brake.

Leaving the packet of herbal tea on the arm of the recliner, Royce pushed up to his left foot and hopped around until he could sit. “Right. I can just see Nurse Disjointer climbing into that bathtub with me.”

Merrily giggled at the thought. Lydia Joiner was built like a brick wall, wide and sturdy, and she always wore white stockings and an old-fashioned skirted uniform. Releasing the brake, Merrily pushed the chair toward the door.

“Would you like me to bring the books Dale brought to your room?”

“No, I'm too tired to read tonight—even though I slept most of the day. Again.”

“You'll get stronger,” she promised as they moved into the hall. “Just be patient.”

Merrily didn't know what else to say, but it didn't really matter as they had reached the ramp up to the bedroom hall, and it required all of her strength to get him and the chair up it. They were almost to the second incline when Royce suddenly asked, “Are you going to start dating my best friend?”

She stopped, the chair giving a little lurch. “What?”

He put his head back so he could look up at her and said, “He's a bit of a ladies' man, our Dale. I don't see it myself, but women seem to like him. Even Pamela liked him at first, but he never flirted with her the way he flirts with you.”

Heat washed into Merrily's cheeks. “Oh, I don't think he
flirts,
really. It's just teasing.” She bent to the task of pushing his chair up that second ramp, and within seconds they were on level floor again.

“You didn't answer my question,” Royce pointed out at once. “Are you going to start dating Dale?”

“I…I don't know. I…no,” she decided abruptly, just then realizing that she'd be horribly uncomfortable on a date with Dale Boyd. “No, I'm not going to start dating him, and I can't think why you'd even ask.”

“I ask because he's obviously interested in you.”

“It's not obvious to me.”

“Well, I know him better than you do, and it's
very
obvious to me.”

She shook her head, figuring that she knew what this was really about. “Look,” she told him. “I would never neglect my duties here.”

“I didn't suggest you would. I'm only trying to ascertain if you have any romantic interest in a certain attorney.”

“And I just told you that I do not.”

“Why not? He's single, successful, charming, fun, a good, reliable friend.”

Was he trying to sell her on the idea? She let the chair roll to a natural stop at the foot of the last ramp. “I'm sure he's all those things,” she began, “unfortunately he's just not…”
You.
Shaken by the utter foolishness of that thought, she gripped the handles of his chair and shoved it up the ramp in one mighty heave.

“Your type,” Royce concluded for her.

“Yes.”

He nodded, but as he was looking forward, it was impossible to discern exactly what that nod meant. “You'd better tell him, then.”

“Tell him! That seems rather presumptuous, don't you think?”

“Nope.”

“But he hasn't even asked me out.”

“Hasn't he?”

“I think I'd know if he had.”

“I don't.”

Both irritated and perplexed, she shoved the chair through the door to his room, then walked around it to stare down at him. “Where is this coming from?”

He just looked at her for a moment, then he gripped the wheel of his chair with his left hand and propelled it forward. “Observation,” he said, “and envy.”

“Envy?” she parroted.

He stopped the chair and said roughly, “Dale is healthy, unencumbered, completely free to do as he pleases.”

“And you're not?”

“And I'm not,” he confirmed.

“Surely you don't begrudge him a date because of your own temporary circumstances,” she scoffed.

“No. I'd begrudge him a date with
you,
though,” Royce confessed bluntly.

Merrily's heart turned a cartwheel. With her pulse beating so hard she could barely get a breath, she moved in front of his chair again and licked her lips. “You'll be healthy a-and…”

“Healthy, yes,” he interrupted, looking away. “Unencumbered, no. That's not a temporary situation. I'll never be free of Pamela, not completely.”

“I…I don't understand. You're divorced.”

“Legally.” He turned his head then, pinning her with a brutally frank look. “But don't kid yourself that Pamela will ever be completely or even substantially out of my life.”

Merrily's hopes plummeted. Did he still love his ex-wife then? Could he still love the woman who had pushed
him down the stairs? Was that why he wouldn't admit she had done it?

“Pamela is…well, emotionally and mentally, she's…needy in the extreme. I don't know how to be free of that. I want to be, but…”

“She's the mother of your children,” Merrily whispered.

“Yes, but it's more than that. Once Pamela gets her hooks into you, then you stay hooked. For life. Whether you want to or not.”

Merrily sighed, knowing all too well what he meant. How many times had she wanted to stop caring about her selfish, immature brothers? Yet even now she wondered and worried how they were doing, even though every time she called home they made her angry all over again. Yes, she comprehended perfectly what Royce was telling her. He was attracted to her, but he loved his ex-wife and always would, however foolish that might be, however much he didn't want to.

“I understand,” she said, determined not to let her disappointment show. “Thank you for telling me. Now let's get you to bed, shall we?”

Sighing, he nodded, and she went back to doing her job, her aching heart tucked away carefully.

“Y
our parents are here.”

The midday news report had just begun. Royce used the remote to switch off the television before he leaned to the left and twisted around to find exactly what Merrily's announcement had warned him he would, his parents standing bracketed in the wide opening between breakfast room and den. Merrily hovered just to one side, sympathy glowing in her soft green eyes.

The days they had spent alone here, except for a short trip to the doctor's office, occasional visits by Dale and the unobtrusive attentions of his housekeeper and yard man, had been unexpectedly pleasant. Merrily's natural serenity and quiet sensitivity created an island of peace and rest in the maelstrom that was his life. If not for his worry concerning Tammy and Cory, he might have been happy, despite the great inconvenience of his injuries and
the simmering sexual attraction that continued to erupt into boiling intensity at the oddest moments.

Just the night before, in that limbo time after the lights have been turned out and sleep actually settles in, a tickle in his throat had made him begin to cough. A mere moment later, Merrily had slipped into his room. With only the light from the hallway to guide her, she'd padded on bare feet to his bedside and offered him a lozenge. Her thick, heavy hair had hung past her shoulders. Except for those bare feet and that loose hair, all else had been as usual. The whole episode hadn't lasted five seconds, and yet he'd lain awake well into the night, rigid with helpless desire.

And now there she stood offering him silent understanding at the long-expected arrival of his parents. He could've kissed her. Then again, most any time of the day or night, he could gladly kiss that sweet Cupid's bow of a mouth.

“Thank you, Merrily.”

“Oh. Yes, thank you,” his mother offered belatedly, moving forward into the room.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you, Merrily,” he answered for all three of them, “not just now.” He'd be hanged if he'd allow his thoughtless parents to make work for her.

“I'll just take a pass at the liquor cabinet,” his father said, immediately getting a rise out of his wife.

“You haven't even had your lunch yet,” Katherine objected.

Marvin Lawler glanced at his expensive wristwatch and retorted decisively, “Call it the appetizer then.” Katherine huffed and deposited her tiny envelope bag on the sofa opposite Royce's recliner as Marvin helped himself to a
shot of bourbon from the wet bar in the corner, asking, “In the mood for a nip, Royce?”

“No, thanks. Alcohol doesn't mix well with the medication I'm taking.”

“Ah. Of course.”

Katherine folded her arms. “About that girl, Royce. Don't you think she's too young to be living here with you?”

Royce smiled grimly. “Why, thank you, Mother. I'm bearing up, and how are you?”

“Don't be facetious,” Katherine Lawler snapped. “A man can get into trouble with a girl like that.”

“Merrily is twenty-six years old.”

“Hmph. And just exactly what does she have to recommend her besides that pretty, girlish face?”

“Oh, I assure you, Merrily is much more than a very pretty face,” he said, unaware that he'd raised his voice until he heard the satisfying clatter of a pan in the kitchen.

“What on earth was that?”

“Merrily starting lunch, I'd imagine,” he answered smoothly. Then he dropped his voice and added, “She's quite a good cook, actually.”

“Maybe we should consider hiring her, then,” his father said, refilling his glass. “Our girl can't cook more than rice and beans and the occasional flank steak.”

Their “girl,” as Royce well knew, was fifty if she was a day and had been hired away from one of the city's finest restaurants.

“Merrily isn't a professional cook, Father. She's a college graduate with a degree in nursing, and I wouldn't know what to do without her. Now I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh? Something your little Mary can't do, then?” his mother said archly.

“Merrily. Her name is Merrily, and believe me, Mother, if she could do it, I would never ask it of you.”

“Humph.”

“What'd you have in mind, Royce?” Marvin asked, finally leaving the liquor cabinet with his third “appetizer” in hand.

“Bring the kids to see me. It's been nearly two weeks.” Royce knew perfectly well that his parents saw their grandchildren regularly. He wouldn't go so far as to say that they got along with Pamela, whose mercurial nature made her a problematic prospect for inclusion within the social circles in which they functioned, but that same social status assured them of entree into Pamela's warped world.

Marvin and Katherine had the rare grace to look uncomfortable, glancing first at one another and then at odd points about the room. Finally his mother cleared her throat. “We, um, we would, Royce, but…well, frankly, Tammy refuses to see you.”

“Dale actually suggested we broach the subject a few days ago,” Marvin went on. “Naturally he blames Pamela, but it was Tammy herself who exclaimed she didn't want to come back here to this house.”

Royce closed his eyes, grief and concern welling up in him. “Poor baby,” he whispered. “If she could only see that I'm going to be all right.”

“I suppose it's the shock of finding you at the bottom of those stairs,” Marvin concurred.

“Poor child's probably afraid of falling herself,” Katherine put in righteously.

“I've had a gate installed at the top of those stairs,” Royce informed them, all too aware that they blamed him for his fall. Then again, they routinely blamed him for everything that made them unhappy.

According to Dale that was why he had accepted Pamela's recriminations for so long. On some level it had seemed natural to him, no matter whether her complaints were just or not. His parents had assigned him the role of scapegoat in childhood, and he'd still be playing it if he and his field superintendent Mark Cherry hadn't walked in on Pamela having sex with Claude Campo on the living room sofa. To his shame, Royce knew that it wasn't so much that the wife he could no longer love had cheated on him as it was that his friend and employee had such painfully firsthand knowledge of it. He couldn't maintain the fiction of his marriage after that.

In his parents' eyes, however, he would always be to blame for the failure of his marriage, and perhaps they weren't so far wrong this time. He had chosen Pamela, after all, and to compound his mistake he had stayed with her far too long, hoping that a child would settle her and satisfy her. By the time he'd accepted that a true marriage was unsustainable, Pam was pregnant with Cory, and no amount of resignation or determination could have healed the relationship. Still, he'd convinced himself that he could endure the coldness, the scenes, the constant criticism for the sake of his children. If only Mark hadn't been with him that day, he'd have turned around and walked away without a word. He hadn't cared for a very long time what Pamela did, so long as he had his children to come home to every day. Now he couldn't even get his little girl to speak to him on the telephone.

“Perhaps if you changed your will?” his mother had the nerve to suggest.

Anger roared through him. “To favor Pamela, you mean. Well, that ought to lengthen my life span.”

Katherine gasped. “You don't really believe—” She broke off, her gaze traveling past him, and Royce became
aware of Merrily's presence. Marvin shifted uncomfortably just before she spoke. “Excuse me.”

Royce craned around in his chair. “What is it, Merrily?”

“I was wondering if Mr. and Mrs. Lawler would like to stay to lunch. It wouldn't be any trouble to make four portions instead of two.”

“No, thank you,” Katherine refused primly, shooting up from the couch. “We have reservations.”

Marvin set aside his drink and climbed to his feet, mumbling, “I'm sure you understand.”

“Oh, I understand,” Royce replied pointedly. People like them might gossip about murderous tendencies but they didn't have them or acknowledge them within their own family. On the other hand, his parents probably did have reservations for lunch. Hell, they probably made reservations for breakfast.

Bobbing from the waist, Katherine kissed the air next to his cheek. “Do try to behave yourself until those bones mend,” she admonished, heading for the exit.

Following, Marvin clapped a hand on Royce's uninjured shoulder and growled, “Good bourbon,” he pronounced. High praise, indeed.

“I'll show you out,” Merrily offered, but Marvin waved her off.

“Never mind, young lady. We know the way.”

“All right, then.”

“Thanks for coming,” Royce called wryly behind them.

“Lunch in ten minutes,” Merrily said quietly.

“That's longer than my parents' duty visit,” he cracked. Then he reached for the remote control. He still had time to catch the market report and the weather forecast, but the television screen might as well have been
blank and the newsman speaking in Latin for all the attention Royce gave the program. His concern for his daughter was growing. Tammy had to know that he was all right. She had to be made to see that all would be well. It probably wouldn't do any good, but he had to try again. His hand went to the telephone receiver. Holding it in the cradle of his fingers and palm, he began to laboriously punch in the numbers with his thumb.

 

“Pamela, please don't hang up!”

Merrily balanced the tray in her hands and stood behind his recliner, listening unabashedly. It wasn't the first time since she'd been here that Royce had called his ex-wife, but always before Merrily had politely excused herself or silently walked away. This time, however, she couldn't quite bring herself to leave.

“I have to talk to you, for Tammy's sake. I'm trying to put my daughter's needs ahead of my own now.”

Merrily bit her lip, disliking the desperation in his tone.

“If Tammy doesn't want to come on her own,” he implored, “then come with her, but for God's sake, have a little pity, if not for me then for her.”

Merrily bowed her head. As much as she wanted to believe that this was about his daughter, he definitely had the sound of a man who would do or say anything to see a woman.

“Can't we just forget the past and do what's best for our children?” Royce pleaded. “They need a father as well as a mother. For their sake, I beg you. Please come.”

Merrily closed her eyes. Well, he had warned her. No matter what she had done, he still loved the woman and was hurting over the breakup of his marriage and family. He might have a certain yen for her as his nurse, but that
was no doubt just a product of their enforced proximity coupled with his lost love.

“Pamela, please don't force me to take you to court,” he was saying. “That's not how I want to do this, but you know I will if I must. Just have a little compassion, can't you? Pam—” Abruptly he broke off. Then he threw the phone as hard as he could. Fortunately it hit the sofa and bounced harmlessly onto the rug. He beat his fist against the arm of the recliner. “Damn! Damn! Damn!”

Calmly, Merrily walked around him, placed the lunch tray on the small, folding table next to his chair, picked up the telephone receiver, dropped into the pocket of her apron and left the room without saying a word.

 

A foul mood had him by the throat, and he'd known it for more than two days now but was no closer to breaking free than he had been from the outset. Merrily had tiptoed around him the entire time, barely speaking to him, though he couldn't imagine why. He hadn't been any more difficult than he had to be. He hadn't shouted, not at her, anyway. He hadn't complained. Overmuch. He hadn't demanded that she entertain him, despite the most crushing boredom he'd ever known. Hell, he hadn't even mentioned how irritating it was to have Dale over here every evening pretending to visit him but unable to keep his eyes off
her.

When the phone rang—again—he waited impatiently for Merrily to come and tell him who wanted to talk to him. She'd taken to carrying the darn thing with her as she moved around the house doing whatever it was that she did all day long, and obviously she was getting a good many personal telephone calls. As he drummed the fingers of his left hand on the arm of the recliner and counted off
the seconds, he reflected sourly that this was obviously one of
those
phone calls.

Did she have a boyfriend, after all? Was it Dale? True, she'd said that she wasn't attracted to his good friend, but that could change. Dale had a way of growing on a person, even his mother said so. Katherine disapproved of Dale Boyd, whose background couldn't have been more different from his own, but for some unfathomable reason, though she spluttered and sniffed and posed, it was obvious that she liked and respected the now successful attorney. If Dale could charm snobbish, prickly Katherine Lawler, he could darn well charm sweet, caring Merrily Gage.

Royce heard the bong of the doorbell and thought with a triumphant “Ha!” that she'd have to hang up with her mysterious caller and tend to other needs now, not that she hadn't tended admirably to his needs from the beginning, those that
could
be tended. And if he didn't stop thinking about those that couldn't, he was going to go nuts. Wouldn't that be a kick in the head for his poor kids, two crazy parents? Brooding on that, he waited more impatiently than ever for Merrily to come and tell him who was at the door. The next moment he heard laughter, male laughter and more than one male. Sitting up straighter, he twisted in his chair expectantly.

“Mark!”

Mark Cherry, his field superintendent and good friend, smiled a hello, his hard hat parked against his side beneath one arm. It was Mark's way to say little and take care of business. Royce liked him immensely. Three other men crowded into the open doorway with him. Vincent's dark, weather-beaten face displayed a wide, infectious grin. The oldest of the men, Vincent had emigrated from Central America more than a decade earlier, and Royce sensed
that behind that ready smile of his lay a deep well of sadness born of some pretty horrible persecution. As a foreman, his rapport with the mostly Hispanic work crews was invaluable. Waldren, a big man with a wavy shock of light-brown hair shot through with silver, a pretty wife and a son on the middle school football team, enjoyed the distinction of being the hardest worker in the whole company. Patient to a fault, he'd pretty much adopted young Cooper, who at twenty was still wet behind the ears, eager as a newly weaned pup and about as cute. Royce could think of only two other people he'd have been as happy to see.