A Perfect Trade. Anna Sugden

But you don’t need to. You’re worried about Harry. Let someone who...” He caught himself before he said cares. “Let me help.”

      “I don’t want your help. I don’t need it.”

      He ignored the sting of her words. “Really? You’re being stubborn about that now?”

      Color filled her cheeks, but she crossed her arms. “I’ll be fine.”

      “You’re too upset to drive. I’ll get you to the hospital quickly and in one piece.”

      “You can’t. You have stuff to do.” Her protest would have been more effective if he hadn’t seen her hands tremble.

      “The hospital’s on our way.”

      “But what about Karina?”

      “She...”

      “Insists on taking you to the hospital.” His mom waggled a finger at Jenny. “You need friends with you.”

      Jenny’s gaze flicked uncertainly between them. As the ambulance pulled out of the parking lot, she said, “Okay. Thanks.”

      They got into his Range Rover; his mom in the back and Jenny alongside him up front. Then Tru pulled out, keeping the ambulance in sight as he drove through town toward the hospital. He forced himself to appear calm, while inside he hoped desperately that Sturridge would be all right. Jenny’d had enough bad news in her life.

      She sat bolt upright, her eyes fixed firmly on the white-and-blue vehicle ahead. He wanted to touch her, reassure her, but she’d erected an invisible barrier around herself that he doubted he could breach.

      Still, he had to try. “It’s a good sign they aren’t using the lights and siren.”

      Jenny didn’t respond. Not even a muscle twitch.

      His mom met his worried gaze in the rearview mirror.

      “Does Harry have family, Jenny?” she asked.

      “A daughter and a son.” Jenny started, as if waking from a dream. “I should call them.”

      She pulled her cell from her purse. “Felicia is probably shopping or at a salon and Irving won’t be out of bed yet.”

      “You could wait until we get to the hospital,” Tru suggested. “You’ll be able to give them a better idea of his status then.”

      “Believe me, I’d like to delay, but I should let them know he’s been taken to the hospital. Just in case something ha-happens.” Her voice broke on the final word.

      “Nothing will happen.” Tru regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He couldn’t guarantee that and he didn’t need Jenny to blame him for anything else.

      He tried to backtrack. “We got help to him fast and he’s in the best hands.”

      “In their shoes, I’d want to know as soon as possible.” She grimaced as she dialed. “I should just get it done. The worst they can do is yell.”

      Neither of Sturridge’s children picked up. Jenny left a message, then dropped her phone onto her lap and turned her attention back to the vehicle ahead.

      A few minutes later, the ambulance pulled into the hospital’s emergency vehicle area. Tru dropped Jenny and his mom at the main entrance, while he looked for somewhere to park. Luckily, he found a space quickly.

      After jogging back to the main building, Tru found Jenny and his mom in the far corner of the crowded E.R. waiting room. Jenny was perched on the edge of a hard, plastic chair, her attention focused on the double doors leading into the treatment area. His mom sat to her right, pretending to read a tattered magazine.

      “Any news?” he asked.

      “None.” Despite her flat tone, the tremor in Jenny’s voice betrayed her emotions. “They’re running tests. They said it would be a while.”

      “Okay. Well, you’d expect that with a suspected stroke.”

      She nodded without taking her eyes off the doors.

      Unsure what to say to ease her haunted expression, Tru sat beside her.

      “You don’t have to wait,” she said stiffly. “I’ve already taken up enough of your time.”

      “I won’t leave you here alone.” He braced himself for her protest, but it never came. Instead, she nodded again and kept staring straight ahead.

      The E.R. doors swished open.

      Jenny jerked at the sound, her gaze flying expectantly to the nurse who’d appeared. When her name wasn’t called, Jenny’s shoulders drooped and she slumped back in her chair. After a few minutes, she pulled herself rigidly upright and the vigil began again.

      The cycle of anticipation and disappointment was repeated many times over the next hour. Each time, Jenny’s face grew paler and her body took a few moments longer to recover.

      Each time, his chest squeezed a little tighter.

      Tru hated feeling useless. At least on that terrible night years ago—when she’d finally admitted she was being abused—he’d been able to hold her, so the warmth and strength in his touch would comfort her.

      Now all he could do was watch with her, and wait.

      The depth of her emotional reaction made him wonder what the deal was with Harry. Jenny had worked for him since she was eighteen, but she acted as if they were really close. Like family. Like a lover?

      Was Jenny sleeping with her boss?

      Jenny’s personal life is none of your damn business. Hadn’t been for years. Yet the thought of her sleeping with the older man made Tru’s stomach turn.

      “Jenny Martin?” A nurse’s voice cut into his thoughts.

      Jenny jolted. She leaped up and rushed over to the woman in green scrubs waiting by the E.R. doors.

      Tru rose to follow her then hesitated. Jenny wouldn’t want him with her.

      “Go.” His mom nudged him. “She shouldn’t hear the news alone.”

      Jenny didn’t acknowledge his presence when he joined her.

      “Let’s go over here.” The nurse led them to some chairs at one side of the waiting room.

      “How is Harry doing?” Jenny asked anxiously.

      “His vital signs are strong, but he hasn’t regained consciousness yet.”

      “Do you know why?”

      “They’re still doing tests and it may be some time before they have an answer,” she said. “We’d like to admit Mr. Sturridge for observation. Could you help with the paperwork?”

      “Of course.”

      At that moment, a too-thin redhead in a figure-hugging green dress and matching spiked heels rushed into the waiting room. Tru recognized the type—rich, spoiled, nervous wreck.

      She spotted Jenny and hurried across the room. Her expensive perfume preceded her; its cloying spiciness didn’t mix comfortably with the antiseptic smell. “Harry Sturridge. Where’s my father? What’s happening?” she wailed.

      Before the nurse could answer, a man sauntered through the entrance and came over to join them. His deliberately rumpled linen suit and just-rolled-out-of-bed hairstyle marked him as the nervous wreck’s brother.

      His sister collapsed into his arms with a loud sob. “I’m so glad you’re here, Irving. I don’t know what to do. Poor Daddy.”

      “Who’s in charge around here?” he demanded, as he patted his sister on the back. “I want the best specialist looking after my father. Isn’t Dominic Watson on staff here? Tell him I want him to be personally responsible for my father’s care.”

      “Your