A Match Made in Texas (6 page)

Kaylie fought a smile. She could almost see him trying to negotiate a multimillion-dollar contract, all steely-eyed and tough one minute, happy as a puppy with a new ball the next. The man was less agent than actor. She quite liked him, and she liked Stephen Gallow for employing him.

“Whatever you say.”

He went back to beaming, and she went back to trying to keep a straight face.

“Great! Don’t mean to pressure you, but I have to protect my boy,” Aaron prattled, clearly relishing the act. “He’s got enough problems with the team as it is. We can’t have anyone blabbing to the press.”

“I don’t blab to the press or anyone else, Mr. Doolin.”

“Aaron,” he corrected. “A woman of few words. I knew I liked you.” He plopped the papers down on the enormous butcher-block work island in the center of the homey, brick-and-plaster room and produced an ink pen. “Now, if I can just get your John Henry…”

She dutifully signed the documents, which Aaron witnessed and dated. Stowing the ink pen with one hand, he gathered up the papers with the other, kissed them and stuffed them into a pocket of his coat. “Now I can get home to the missus.”

“I, uh, just have one question for you,” Kaylie said quickly, surprised at herself, though not for the first time that day.

“Sure. What’s that?”

“What sort of problems does Stephen have with his team exactly?”

Aaron clapped a hand to the nape of his neck uneasily. “Why do you ask?”

The answer came to her only as it was falling out of her mouth. “So I can pray for him. An informed prayer is often more powerful than a vague one.”

“Huh. I wondered just how that worked,” Aaron said. “I mean, isn’t God supposed to know everything already?”

“Absolutely, He does. Prayer is not for His sake. It’s not as if we have to remind Him about what’s going on in this world,” she explained. “Prayer is for us. It’s a tool for our benefit.”

Aaron Doolin nodded his head, his lips curling up at one corner. “Okay, I can get behind that. So, lay it on the Big Guy, if you want. Most specifically, you can ask Him not to let the team cut or trade our boy. Not that I think they will for sure. It’s just that there’s this good-conduct clause in his contract, see, and, well, if they wanted to be sticklers about it…” He sighed, braced himself with a hand placed flat atop the work island and crossed his feet at the ankles. “It’s like this, see.

About five years ago, when he first came into the league, there was this drunk-driving accident.”

“Oh, dear,” Kaylie said, dismayed. She almost wished she hadn’t asked.

“Hey, Stevie was young and celebrating the fact that he’d finally made the big league. Anyway, he learned his lesson, a stiff one. Truly. Only the club insisted on the clause, and technically…”

“He was drunk when he drove his car through his house,” she surmised softly.

“Technically,” Aaron repeated with some force. “I mean, he was drinking, but he had a couple of buddies drive him home that night, which was the responsible thing to do. Right? If they hadn’t left the car out with the top down and a storm hadn’t blown up all of sudden it wouldn’t have happened.” Aaron spread his hands. “Steve was just parking the car in the garage, not driving. Not
really
driving.”

Kaylie sighed. If her father ever got wind of this…She didn’t even want to think about it. One of his chief complaints about her brother Chandler’s chosen occupation was the abundance of alcohol surrounding the sport of rodeo. Still, she didn’t want to have to defend Stephen Gallow to her father or even to discuss him at all if she could help it. She didn’t want to have to choose between her father’s approval and taking care of Stephen—mostly because she didn’t know, at this point, which she would, should, choose.

She managed a smile for Aaron. “I understand.”

“Hey, it’s like I keep telling Stevie. As long as the press doesn’t make a big deal of this, it’ll blow over. In the meantime, I’ll be there reminding management just who it was that got the team to the playoffs in the first place.” He smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt, apparently forgetting that he wasn’t wearing a tie, and added, “Little insurance wouldn’t
hurt, though. I mean, he could use somebody up there looking out for him, you know?”

She knew. Oh, yes, she knew. But she doubted that Stephen did.

“Thank you for confiding in me, Aaron.”

“Aw, you’re part of the team now, right? The Gallow team.”

Kaylie let her smile speak for her. Flipping her a wave, Aaron sauntered away. Kaylie’s smile faded to a frown of concern as he disappeared from sight.

The Gallow team. What neither Stephen nor Aaron seemed to understand was that it was much more important that they were all on God’s team.

She heard a ding and felt a vibration. Rolling her eyes, she dug into her pocket for the new phone. This time the message read, “Where r u?”

Shaking her head, she typed a simple reply. “Kitchen. You ok?”

“Bored,” read the message he sent back. “Hurry.”

Electing to simply drop the phone into her pocket, she went to find a few books that might, hopefully, appeal to him. Technically, entertaining him was not her job, but representing Christ to him certainly was. She just hoped that she didn’t regret letting him foist this phone on her.

Being in constant contact with Stephen Gallow was bound to turn her world upside down.

The stack of books stood almost a foot tall. Some hard-backs, some paperbacks, Kaylie had chosen them with as much care as her patient’s incessant texting had allowed. Using his one good hand, Stephen went through the offerings skeptically. They included a baseball biography, a mystery, a couple of lawyer/suspense novels—he pointedly yawned at those—a nonfiction account of the historical exploits of a
fellow named Joseph Walker and four books from a fiction series about the Second Coming of Christ.

“Those ought to keep you busy,” Kaylie said in a satisfied tone.

“Or put me in a coma,” Stephen grumbled, dumping the last book on top of what was now a jumble on the bedside table. As soon as she’d entered the room, he’d announced that he’d already checked the hockey news via the Internet on his new phone and scoped out some interesting downloads. Apparently, several games were being installed on the amazing little contraption as they conversed. He checked the progress of the installation and sighed.

“Oh, come on,” she cajoled, waving a hand at the heap of books, “something there has to interest you.”

He glanced once more at the bedside table before determinedly turning his head away. “I’m too tired to read right now.”

“Then sleep for an hour or two,” she suggested lightly.

His pale gray eyes instantly turned to ice. “Why? So you can disappear on me?”

Kaylie ignored that, making every effort to retain her patience. The man, after all, was in pain. As opposed to just being a pain. Glancing pointedly at her utilitarian wristwatch, she noted the time.

“I’ll leave a few minutes before eleven to make Dad his lunch. Be back here just after noon to help with yours. You might want to clean up after that. Then I thought we might wrap your ribs, give you a little more stabilization in your torso so you can move more easily. The jacket sling helps, but it’s not the best thing for your ribs.” Aware of his deepening glower, she forged on. “By that time, you’ll probably be needing another rest. I have some errands to run later this afternoon, but I’ll return in time to give you dinner and meds. Can I bring you anything? Maybe some puzzles or a—”

He rolled his eyes, but before either could say more on the subject, they were interrupted.

“Yoo-hoo!”

Recognizing the voice, Kaylie turned toward the door. “Aunt Odelia?”

Footsteps clattered across the sitting room, then Odelia’s stark white head, topped with a big floppy yellow bow, appeared around the edge of the doorway. Wearing too much rouge and pale orange lipstick, she beamed a smile before hopping out from behind the door and fully showing herself with a happy “Ta-da!”

The effect was…Well, it was daffodils. Odelia had dressed, head to toe, in daffodils, including heavy gold-and-enamel daffodil earrings that looked as if they weighed a ton and a white, daffodil-dotted dress worn over an equally voluminous orange shift. Backless yellow shoes with plastic daffodils standing two inches high on the toes completed the outrageous ensemble.

It was all so breathtakingly Odelia.

Refusing to be embarrassed for her dear aunt, Kaylie embraced Odelia and affectionately declared, “You look positively floral today, Auntie.”

Odelia giggled as happily as any girl. “Thank you, dear. I love your penguins.” She waved a lacy handkerchief in Stephen’s direction, saying, “Looks like we both dressed in honor of our guest today.”

Kaylie shot Stephen a desperate, pleading look. A moment passed, during which he gaped, before he realized what she wanted from him.

Proving that he had manners enough to be nice, he said to Odelia, “Uh, thanks. Very…clever.”

“That outfit certainly puts you in mind of Holland,”

Kaylie supplied helpfully, “which is so well-known for its beautiful flowers.”

“Oh, right,” he managed, “especially tulips.”

“Well, daffodils aren’t tulips,” Odelia said with a laugh, holding out her filmy white skirt, “as Magnolia pointed out to me at breakfast. And she would know.” Leaning closer, the daffodil-clad Odelia confided to their guest, “She’s a self-trained horticulturist, my sister is, almost a botanist, really. Loves her garden and greenhouse.” Odelia smiled and turned to show off her finery. “But they’re almost tulips, aren’t they? Very like. And it’s not as if there’s a tulip dress in every closet, is it?”

Stephen opened his mouth but apparently found nothing to say in reply to that and so wound up simply shaking his head.

“Can we help you with something, Aunt Odelia?” Kaylie asked quickly.

“Oh, no, dear, not at all. Just checking on our Mr. Gallow. How is the dear boy?”

Biting her lip, Kaylie telegraphed an apologetic look to him then indulgently said to her aunt, “As well as can be expected. How kind of you to see about him.”

“Kind,” Stephen echoed, but he didn’t fool Kaylie. She knew exactly what he was thinking. Kind of weird. Kind of ridiculous. Maybe even kind of loony.

“I’m going to be out later this afternoon,” Kaylie said to Odelia, telling Stephen with her eyes that this was payback. “Maybe you could check in on him then.”

Even while Stephen glared daggers at Kaylie, Odelia clapped her hands, hanky fluttering. “I have a lovely idea! Perhaps we’ll take tea here with Mr. Gallow this afternoon.”

Jerking, he looked for a moment as if he would spring off the bed and flee. Kaylie indulged in a smirk. As if he could outrun Odelia, even in her flip-flop daffodil shoes. Kaylie did have some pity for him, though. She knew how much he hated
tea, and he was recovering from serious wounds, so she let him off the hook.

“I think the tea will have to wait until he’s stronger.”

“Oh, of course. Of course. Poor thing.”

He did look terribly weary.

“I think we ought to let him rest now,” she told her aunt.

“Well, I’ll leave you then,” Odelia said, turning away. “Just sing out if you need anything, Mr. Gallow.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Thanks. But it’s Stephen, please. Or Steve, if you prefer.”

Looking back at him over her shoulder, Odelia batted her eyelashes at him. “Stephen. Such an elegant name.”

Elegantly named Stephen appeared to have a touch of dyspepsia. Odelia frilled her hanky at him in a coquettish wave and clacked away in her daffodil shoes.

Stephen and Kaylie looked at each other in silence until the clattering faded, at which point Stephen drolly observed, “There’s a word for her in Dutch. It’s ‘kooky.’”

Kaylie flattened her lips in a flat, scolding line to keep from laughing. “That’s not very nice.”

“How about
zonderling,
then?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Meaning?”

“Eccentric.”

Zonderling.
Kaylie had to bite her lip to hold back a smile. “Why do you think we call her Auntie Od?” she said softly.

Stephen grinned. “Well, if the name fits…”

“She’s also a complete sweetheart who cares about everyone and everything,” Kaylie hastily defended, “and the reason you’re here, by the way.”

“She’s the reason? How’s that? I thought Dr. Leland arranged this.”

“Brooks asked Aunt Odelia to open Chatam House to you,
and she did, but of course he knew she would. That’s why he asked her in particular, I’m sure.”

“And I suppose it had nothing to do with the very generous sum of money we offered,” Stephen retorted.

“Which went to charity,” Kaylie reminded him, leaning a shoulder against the footpost of the bed.

“Right,” he said. “I support a lot of charities.”

Kaylie smiled, strangely delighted to hear it. “Really? Which ones?”

“Whichever ones the team tells me to. It’s in my contract. Pain in the, ah, you-know-what most of the time.” He made a little shrug. “But that’s how it is. Comes with the territory.”

Deflated, Kaylie bowed her head. “That’s nice.” For a moment there, she’d thought she’d stumbled onto something that her father might appreciate about this man. Glancing at her wristwatch again, she saw that she was running late and pushed away from the footpost, saying briskly, “I have to go. Don’t get up unless there’s someone here to help you. All right?”

“Fine,” Stephen muttered resentfully, laying his head back on the pillow.

He let out a gusty sigh. Kaylie paused for an instant, worried that he might be in more pain than she’d supposed, but then his eyes drifted shut and his big body seemed to relax. She realized that he would be asleep within moments.

Tiptoeing from the room, she pulled her keys from the pocket of her smock and headed downstairs. As she slid behind the wheel of her beloved convertible some minutes later, she shook her head. Imagine driving through the walls of a house and into a fireplace. The wonder that was Stephen hadn’t been killed.

She thought of her father, waiting for her at home. No doubt, he would behave as petulantly and spoiled as the man she was leaving behind for his sake. It struck her suddenly
how alike the two were. Stephen had survived a horrendous accident and would ultimately be none the worst for wear. Hub had survived a massive heart attack without damage to his heart muscle. Except for the medication that he must take to control his cholesterol and blood pressure, his life should have been little changed. Both had good reason to praise God; yet, both behaved as if God was picking on him. How could it be, she wondered, that two such different men—one of them an elderly retired Christian minister, the other a fierce, young, physical competitor—had so much in common?