Race To The Altar. Judy Duarte

the unprofessional turn her thoughts had taken. So she straightened, eager to pass him on to another nurse. One who knew how to keep her feminine side in check.

      Before she could pull the curtain aside, Betsy peeked in on them. “How’s he doing?”

      “I’d say he’s on the road to mend.”

      “Good. If all goes well in ICU tonight, we’ll be sending him to the third floor in the morning.”

      So much for being able to pass him off to someone else. That’s where Molly would be tomorrow, and with her luck, she’d probably be assigned to his room for at least part of the time he was in the hospital. Unless, of course, she could figure out a way to talk her way out of it.

      “I promised to do what I could to protect his identity from the media,” Betsy said. “So I’m reluctant to let anyone else come in close contact with him.”

      “How are you going to do that?”

      “I’m going to suggest that he be assigned to you for the entire time he’s here. That should be the easiest way to maintain confidentiality.”

      Molly tried not to roll her eyes or object. “How long do you expect that to be?”

      “A week maybe, unless there are complications.” Betsy’s gaze intensified. “Do you have a problem with this, Molly?”

      “No, not at all.” She was a professional. She did her job and took care of whatever patient had been assigned to her.

      It’s just that this patient was different. According to the paramedics who’d brought him in, he’d been speeding and had, at least indirectly, caused a young boy to be injured. So Chase and his accident brought back a painful sense of déjà vu.

      She could deal with that, she supposed.

      As she walked around to the side of the gurney, kicking off the brake, he reached out and clamped a hand on her wrist. The hint of a smile crossed his battered face. “No speeding, okay?”

      “I’ll keep it under a hundred,” she said as she maneuvered the gurney out the door and into the hall.

      “Be careful,” he said. “I don’t like to ride in the passenger seat.”

      Interestingly enough, neither did Molly. She’d been asleep when her family’s minivan had spun out of control and ran off the road, unable to shout out a warning or grab the wheel.

      Not a day went by that she didn’t ask herself what would have happened if she’d been the one driving, if she’d been alert instead of asleep. Would she have been able to steer clear of an accident?

      Would her family be alive today?

      She guessed she would never know for sure, but either way, she didn’t trust anyone behind the wheel except herself.

      “Are you married?” he asked.

      “No.”

      “Got a boyfriend?”

      “Not at the moment.” She glanced down at the battered face of her victim, wondering if he was flirting with her or if the concussion and the Demerol were making him chatty.

      “Guess that makes it my lucky day,” he said.

      “It wasn’t lucky earlier.” She couldn’t help chuckling as she pushed the gurney down the hall.

      “How’s the kid?” he asked.

      “Which one?”

      “Both, I guess.”

      From what she understood, a little girl had dashed outside and into the street, chasing after a cat that ran away. And her brother went after her on his bicycle. “You didn’t hit either of them. The girl is fine, and her brother fell off his bike. He may have broken his wrist, but nothing serious.”

      As Molly continued pushing the gurney toward the elevator that would take them to ICU, one of the wheels froze then wobbled.

      “Watch it,” he said. “One accident tonight is all I can handle.”

      “Don’t worry. I’ll be very careful.” And she wasn’t just talking about transporting him through the hospital corridors. Whether she was willing to admit it or not, she found herself drawn to the race car driver whose lifestyle should be a great big turn-off to a woman who didn’t like to take any unnecessary risks. A patient who’d been battered in an automobile wreck and whose cuts and bruises ought to make him completely unattractive.

      So what was with the unexpected feminine interest in Chase Mayfield, a man sure to make her life miserable?

      Chapter Two

      Chase had no idea what time he’d been transported from the ICU to a room on the third floor, but since the sun was pouring through his window, damn near blinding him, he knew it was well after dawn.

      He’d had to ask the tall, spindly orderly who’d brought him here to pull the blinds so his head wouldn’t explode.

      As soon as the room had been darkened and Chase could see out of his good eye, he searched for the blonde nurse who’d undressed him last night. If she’d worn a name tag, he hadn’t noticed, but he suspected he would recognize her if he saw her again—no matter how lousy his vision was.

      As he looked around, he spotted a TV, a tray table and a monitor of some kind, but Blondie was nowhere in sight. Instead, another, rather nondescript nurse came to check on him, pour him water and point out the TV remote and the call button, as if he gave a squat about all that now.

      “Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

      He didn’t suspect a new head was possible. “No, I’m okay.”

      Moments later he dozed off again, only to be awakened by a male nurse who was the size of a Dallas Cowboys linebacker.

      Or had there been two of them merging into one?

      “Raymond?” one or both of them asked.

      “Yeah, that’s me.” Chase blinked and looked again. Okay, it was just one guy, and maybe he wasn’t all that big after all.

      “I’ve come to get some blood, Raymond.”

      Maybe it was the man’s quest for blood, but Chase could have sworn he’d detected a Bela Lugosi accent and wondered if he ought to have someone bring him some garlic.

      No, it had to be the Demerol they’d given him. If Bela started flying through his room or hanging upside down from the ceiling, he’d have to refuse any more shots.

      Chase lifted his arm about an inch off the bed, then let it drop to the mattress. “I’d help, but my body isn’t at a hundred percent.”

      “No problem.” Bela placed a blue plastic tote box full of lab paraphernalia on the tray table. Next he took a green band of rubber, wrapped it around the top of Chase’s arm and twisted until it pinched. Then he jabbed and poked at a vein a couple of times until he finally struck blood. “There. That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

      “Bad enough.” Chase’s head hurt like hell, and every bone in his body felt as though it had been run over by a steamroller. A needle stabbing into his arm just added insult to injury.

      If he’d been at all able, he would have busted out of here and gone home to Houston, but as it was he had about as much fight left in him as a baby bunny.

      After Bela left, a wave of nausea swept through him, turning his stomach inside out. He wondered if he ought to ring for the nurse. Instead, he decided to wait it out, knowing that he was having a hard time staying awake anyway.

      He’d no more than faded off again when someone came in with a tray of food and announced it was lunchtime. It was a teenage girl with her brown hair in a ponytail and wearing a pink-and-white-striped dress. She took the plastic domed lid off a plate, sending a smorgasbord of fumes straight to his nostrils.