The Bachelor Meets His Match. Arlene James

Morgan tried to read his newspaper, but he couldn’t help being aware of her as she zipped around the room, which became even more crowded as the hour wore on. Morgan ate his eggs and his muffin and read his newspaper, but Frank didn’t find a moment to leave the till or Simone a minute to chat.

      Just at the point of giving up, Morgan folded his paper and drained his cup for the final time when he heard a crash and an exclamation. His heart leaping, he somehow knew what had happened. He didn’t remember getting to his feet or crossing the room; he would never understand how he knew where to look for her among all the tables and people, but suddenly he knelt beside Simone’s crumpled form. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, she lay sprawled and bent, her joints at odd angles. Her dark, chestnut-brown eyelashes curled thick and long against the pale orbs of her cheeks. She had a delicate, wounded look, her short hair wisping about her face.

      “Simone,” Morgan whispered, his heart in his throat, but she didn’t so much as flutter an eyelid. “Call an ambulance,” he instructed in a loud voice. Then he pulled out his own phone and dialed Brooks Leland, his best friend and the finest physician he knew.

      As the phone rang, he prayed. Let her be okay. Please, Lord, let her be okay.

      After insisting that the good doctor leave a patient to speak to him, Morgan filled Brooks in on what he knew of Simone’s physical situation, which wasn’t much. Then he badgered Brooks into meeting him at the emergency room. By the time he’d convinced the doctor to abandon the patients waiting to keep their appointments and walk across the street to the hospital, the ambulance had arrived and Simone was rousing. Morgan forbade her from so much as sitting up then waved over the emergency medical personnel.

      It seemed to him that they took their precious time getting the story, checking her vitals and loading her into the ambulance, but eventually Morgan found himself following the ambulance to the hospital in his car. No sooner did they arrive, however, than Brooks Leland threw Morgan out of the examining room. Not only that, he refused to discuss the first thing about the case with Morgan, citing HIPAA laws. Morgan couldn’t believe it.

      “I called the ambulance! Well, I had it called. I’ve been with her twice when this happened.”

      “Doesn’t matter. You’re not family. You’re out.”

      Horrified and angry, Morgan called Simone’s next of kin after getting the number from the college. The number turned out to be a place called Pleasant Acres, a retirement home or perhaps even a nursing home, from the sound of it. But they weren’t giving out any information, either. All they would tell him was that Laverne Worth couldn’t come to the telephone. Morgan decided against leaving a message at that time, hung up and paced the waiting area until Brooks deigned to summon him.

      A few years younger and a couple inches taller than Morgan, Brooks wore lab coat and stethoscope, white tie and tails or blue jeans and boots with the same easy aplomb. Shocking silver temples and eyes the color of Spanish gold set off his dark, wavy hair. Fit, unfailingly pleasant and hardworking, Brooks was a hard man to hate, as Morgan well knew.

      “What is going on?” Morgan demanded, relieved to see Simone sitting up on the gurney, color once more returned to her cheeks.

      She looked away, leaving explanations to Brooks. Morgan parked his hands at his waist, waiting. The doctor leaned against the tiny counter behind him, crossed his legs at the ankle and folded his arms.

      “We’ve reached an agreement, Ms. Guilland and I. She needs rest, good nutrition and time.”

      “She’ll get it,” Morgan promised, just as if he had a right to do so.

      Brooks smiled and looked down at his toes. “She needs to take a minimum of two weeks off work.”

      “I did not agree to that,” Simone stated calmly, shaking her head. “I have rent to pay.”

      Morgan ignored her, saying, “She’ll move in with my aunties.”

      “No!” Simone erupted. Both men ignored her, for she couldn’t possibly understand how often the Chatam sisters took in needy guests.

      Brooks nodded, saying, “That did occur to me. And when I say a minimum of two weeks, I do mean that as a bare minimum. Four or six weeks would be better.”

      Simone shifted on the gurney. “I cannot possibly—”

      “She’s been working at the Campus Gate,” Morgan told Brooks. “I’ll speak to Frank and Loretta as soon as I get her settled at Chatam House.”

      “You’ll do no such thing,” Simone insisted. “I can’t possibly quit my job and move in with your aunts.”

      “You can,” Morgan told her firmly, “and you will if you want to stay in school.”

      Those storm-gray eyes blazed fire at him, but Morgan just turned his attention back to Brooks. “Her condition won’t prevent her from attending classes and mastering her studies, will it?”

      Brooks shook his head. “No. She can manage school, if she takes care of herself.”

      Morgan felt a rush of relief, but it was short-lived as he realized that something was, indeed, wrong with her. He moved to the side of her bed and took her hand in his. “Can’t you trust me now with whatever is ailing you?”

      She tilted her lovely head, but then her gaze fell away and she reclaimed her hand. “I keep telling you, I’m fine. I just need time.”

      Morgan folded his arms. “All right, have it your way, but you’re coming with me to Chatam House, and that’s final.”

      “It really is the best solution,” Brooks put in.

      “Not for me,” she argued hotly.

      “Yes, for you,” Morgan assured her. “My aunties have taken in many strangers in far more troubling circumstances, believe me.”

      “You don’t understand,” Simone told them. “I cannot go to Chatam House.”

      “It’s Chatam House or the hospital,” Brooks said bluntly. “Look, you’ll have plenty of privacy, excellent food and all the time you need to regain your strength. What more could you ask for?” He pulled a prescription pad from the pocket of his lab coat and went on briskly. “Now then, I’m going to write you a couple scrips. One, the blue pills, I’ve already given you, and you’ll start to feel the effects soon. You’ll only need those for a few days. They’ll help you rest. The other we’ve already discussed.” He began scribbling away on the pad.

      Simone groaned as if she bore the weight of the world on her slender shoulders. It was all Morgan could do not to gather her into his arms and croon words of reassurance, but BCBC had strict policies about the conduct of professors and students, particularly when it came to professors with their students. If she moved into Chatam House, though, the aunties could take care of her, and he could relax.

      Maybe then he could get her off his mind once and for all.

      * * *

      The waiflike creature her nephew Morgan ushered into the front parlor had intrigued Hypatia Chatam from the first moment she’d seen him cradling the young woman in his arms nearly a week earlier. She appeared exhausted if not actually ill and quite achingly beautiful.

      “Take this chair,” Morgan said to her, all but bullying the child onto the gold-on-gold-striped seat of the occasional chair before the fireplace. Except, of course, she was no child, this Simone Guilland, but a woman, however slight and fragile, and Morgan, unless Hypatia missed her guess, was quite struck by her. Interesting. And worrisome.

      Morgan was a confirmed bachelor and had been since his former fiancée had broken their engagement and married his best friend. Hypatia mentally cataloged all the ways that Simone Guilland differed from Brigitte Squires Leland. Brigitte had appeared fit and wholesome, a tall, lithe, shapely woman with long blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes. A nurse, Brigitte had laughed readily, bantering with Morgan and Brooks like one of the boys but remaining very much a lady. She’d been a woman