That thought was heartening, but she really didn’t care. Not even when she opened an eyelid and saw Cissy standing over her bed, her face a mask of worry, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. “Jeez, Mom, are you gonna be okay?”
“Yeah,” she managed, her tongue thick. “I’ll be . . . fine . . .” She said and fell asleep again, feeling herself begin to drool on the bed. She slept for hours . . . or was it only minutes . . . or even a day . . . when she heard the next voice. Nick’s voice.
“This isn’t right.”
Marla cracked open an eye to see his concerned face. She caught the image of his bladed features and lips pulled into a thin line of vexation. “I’m taking her to see the doctor.”
There was someone else in the room. The damned nurse stepped out of the shadows and into her line of vision. “Mr. Cahill left precise instructions that she wasn’t to be disturbed,” Tom countered and Nick threw him a defiant glare, daring Tom to challenge him again.
“Tough.” Nick stuffed Marla’s slippers into his jacket pocket.
“Mrs. Cahill is my responsibility.”
“I’ll remember that.” Gently Nick reached down, gathered Marla into his arms and over her weak protests carried her to the elevator.
“You can’t do this!” Tom yelled after them.
“Watch me.” The elevator door opened and they stepped inside. Marl
a caught a glimpse of the nurse, his face mottling with rage, his lips thin and white. The door shut.
“You don’t have to carry me,” she protested.
“Like hell.”
On the main floor he strode out the front door. The air outside was brisk. Cold. The chill of winter present in the morning air. Nick started down the front steps. Lars, gardening rake in hand, stepped from between two ancient rhododendrons, and blocked Nick’s path.
“What are you doing?” Lars demanded.
“Taking Mrs. Cahill to see a doctor.” Nick shouldered past him and Marla, feeling a fool or a wimp, tried to slide from his arms. He held her fast.
“Does Mr. Cahill know about this?” Lars asked suspiciously.
“I hope so.” Nick’s face was drawn, his features harsh, his stare uncompromising as he strode to his truck. “I hope someone had the presence of mind to tell the bastard that I’m taking his wife to the hospital.”
“This . . . this is ridiculous. I can walk,” she insisted though she wasn’t sure that her legs would hold her or that her blurry mind could function.
“I doubt it.”
“Really.” But her head lolled back and she felt like a moron, letting some man determine her fate. “I’m . . . I’m not going back to the hospital.”
“I think it’s time we found you another doctor.”
Her head was beginning to clear as he opened the door of his Dodge. He removed her slippers from his pocket and dropped them onto the floor, then took off his jacket and threw it over her shoulders. “Don’t argue with me,” he said as he slammed the door.
“I think I should make my own decisions,” she said, cranking open the window a crack just as the roar of an engine caught her attention and she spied Alex’s Jaguar through the foggy windshield. “Great,” she muttered as she saw her husband, his face contorted in rage, climb out of his car, flick a cigarette butt into the shrubbery and stride up to Nick.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Alex demanded.
Nick stood, feet planted shoulder-width apart, arms folded over his chest, in front of the truck. Didn’t answer.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Alex demanded.
“Taking your wife to see a doctor.”
“That’s not necessary. Phil’s on his way.”
“He’s coming here?” Nick asked disbelieving. “A house call?”