Chapter Two

 

JAMES

“Where’s Myra?” They’re the first words out of my mouth when I wake in a hospital bed and see my brother stretched out, asleep in a chair that’s way too small for his tall, lanky form.

The pain that hits me stirs snippets of memories from last night. Paynt and Chloe’s wedding. The lanterns, the lake, Myra, as always, by my side. That dress she wore, the color really complimented her skin tone. Talking with my mother—God, the woman is relentless. Grandkids, grandkids, grandkids.

Lying in the grass on my back. Everything hurt to some degree, although the pain was focused in my hand, my leg, and the base of my skull. Myra hovering over me, her face a mask of fear and worry as she reassured me everything would be okay.

It was just last night, right? My finger hovers over the button that will provide temporary relief but will also knock me out cold again. I need to know what the hell’s going on, so I grit my teeth and endure the discomfort while I wait for Garrett to wake enough to answer me.

“What day is it?”

With a stretch and a yawn, he rubs his eyes and says, “It’s Sunday, and I assume Myra’s in bed, considering she didn’t leave here until after three this morning.”

“Alone?” Wouldn’t want her walking out to her car by herself in a poorly lit parking lot.

Garrett arches one black brow. “Well, when she left the room, she was alone. And last I heard, she’s currently single. But she’s also an attractive woman, so I suppose it isn’t outside the realm of possibility that she might have picked up a hot, young doc on her way out the door.”

“Shut up.” I lift my right hand to scratch an itch on my temple, but it’s wrapped in several layers of elastic bandage, making it difficult to bend my fingers. Staring at the appendage, I ask, “What happened?”

“I wasn’t there, but Myra says you tripped over the goat and fell off the deck.”

“Tripped over…” I shake my head and pain stabs me behind the eyes, but I push past it, trying to remember… “How?”

Garrett shrugs. “She said you two were on the deck and you started walking backward and Spot must have been directly behind you. You were so close to the railing that you literally did a flip as you went over it and landed on your back in the grass on the other side.”

My body aches like I played football without any pads. Or a helmet. “I’m going to skewer that damn goat and eat it for dinner.”

“I’m going to have to advise against that, bro. Your brother, your new sister-in-law, and my daughter would all be devastated. Even Erin has become attached to the thing.”

I clumsily scratch my temple with my left hand. “Where’s my phone? I want to see if Myra called or texted.”

Garrett scans the room while asking, “What’s your obsession with Myra?”

“I’m not obsessed,” I snip. “She’s my admin. And I know for a fact that I have a bunch of meetings this week.” Did she already tell me she’d rearrange my schedule? There’s a chunk of the evening that seems to be missing from my memory stores. And I have the damnedest sensation whatever’s missing is important. Myra will know what happened. though. She’ll be able to tell me.

“It’s always work with you. Why don’t you relax and let yourself heal for a minute? Pretend you’re a real human being for once.”

“Can’t. Too much going on.” I’m sure my blood pressure is rising as I mentally sort through everything I intended to accomplish this week. “How long will it take for this hand to heal?”

“Probably less time than the leg.” Garrett nods at the bed. I whip off the thin polyester blanket and stare at my left leg, secured with a splint and wrapped with white, elastic bandages. My exposed toes wiggle and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. At least the extremities all appear to work. I almost cup my balls, just to check, but nothing in that area actually hurts, so I’m pretty sure they managed to come out of last night unscathed.

Thank Christ. “How the hell did I do this?”

“Too much champagne?” Garrett suggests.

I catch myself before I shake my head and jar it further. “No. I had my fair share, but I don’t recall being so wasted that I would have tripped over the goddamn goat. But I can’t remember what I was doing before it happened.”

“Probably because of the concussion. Doctor said you might have some temporary short-term memory loss.”

“Will I get it back?” It’s a hell of an uncomfortable feeling to know there’s a gap of time during which something happened, significant or no, that you cannot remember.

“Don’t know. I’m a golfer, not a doctor.” He chuckles at his own lame joke.

“But I am a doctor, so I can fill in the blanks for you.” A woman wearing a white lab coat over a pale yellow summer dress strides into the room. “Good morning, Mr. Frost. I’m Dr. Northbridge. How are you feeling?”

“Like I tripped over a goddamn goat and no one will let me filet it.”

She furrows her eyebrows and glances at Garrett, then whips her head around for a double take. I bet she’s a golf fan. Either that or she thinks he’s good looking. For some reason, my younger brother attracts women like flies to honey. I don’t get it, personally.

“Are you…?”

“Engaged?” Garrett supplies. “Yep.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks redden. “I, um, I thought you were this famous golfer. You look a lot like him. And the last name, Frost…”

How in the world can my womanizing brother make a doctor sputter and blush like this? Well, I suppose I can’t call him a womanizer anymore. Erin has apparently managed to turn him into an honest man. Or at least a man in love.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he says.

“I didn’t realize you were engaged. To the nanny? I like her. Or at least, I like the person the media portrays. She seems…real, you know?”

“Yes. She is. She’s pretty amazing, actually. And we just got engaged last night, at a private family function, so the media hounds haven’t gotten wind yet.”

“Oh. Well, congratulations.”

Garrett’s disembodied voice shouts, “Fore!” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen. “Uh-oh, here we go. Callum—that’s my manager—wants to know why he had to find out about our engagement on Facebook.” He chuckles as he taps on the screen.

Rolling my eyes, I point out, “That private function was also where I screwed up my hand and leg and apparently banged my head badly enough that I’m missing a chunk of time from last night.” I’m hungry and in pain and irritated because Myra’s not here. Which I know is ridiculous—Garrett said it’s Sunday and I don’t usually see Myra on weekends, so why would I miss her?—but refer back to hunger and pain. I have every right not to be rational at the moment.

“So you do have a touch of short-term amnesia,” the doctor says, suddenly all business. Dropping her gaze to the iPad in her hand, she starts tapping the screen, presumably taking notes on my condition.

“Apparently. So when can I go home?”

“It’s going to be difficult enough for him to get around with the sprained wrist and broken ankle,” she says to my brother, like he’s my keeper and has any say over my life whatsoever.

“My ankle’s broken?” I stare down at the offending appendage, like I’m waiting for it to explain how the hell I’m supposed to run my business with a broken ankle. Or tell me how soon I will be able to get into the office. Or how—

“Yes,” the doctor says, breaking across my thoughts. “A clean fracture but definitely broken. The tendons are strained as well, which is not uncommon with this sort of injury. But the concussion and short-term memory loss concern me more than anything else. I don’t want to release you without someone agreeing to care for you twenty-four-seven, at least for the next week. Then I want you to see your primary care physician, and I want his or her sign-off before you’re allowed to be on your own.”

“I’m fine,” I tell her, but she ignores me and looks at Garrett, like she expects him to give her direction. Which is irritating as hell. The only person who’s allowed to control any aspect of my life should be me. And perhaps Myra, since for all intents and purposes, she’s been doing a damn good job of it for years now. At least in a professional sense.

“Shit,” Garrett says, tugging off his cap so he can rake his hand through his hair. “Paynt and Chloe are in Paris on their honeymoon. I’m not sure where our sister Ronnie is at the moment, but I assume she’s heading back to New York in the next few days. Our parents live in an old, three-story farmhouse, so probably not good for a broken ankle. And, shit, James is supposed to stay at Chloe and Paynt’s house to look after Spot while they’re gone.”

“The dog?” the doctor asks.

“Goat, actually. Although my daughter leads her around on a leash like a dog.”

“Oh.” The young doctor looks as confused as I feel, and I’m part of this damn family, God help me. “Is this the same goat he tripped over?” she asks.

Garrett nods. “Probably not a good idea to leave him to care for her for the next couple weeks, I suppose.”

“For Christ’s sake, I’m not really going to filet the damn animal,” I defend myself. “It wasn’t the goat’s fault I tripped over it.” Although I’d sure like to know what did set into motion the series of events that landed me here in this hospital bed, listening to this woman tell me I can’t fend for myself for at least a week, possibly longer.

“I suppose I could ask our parents to stay at Paynt and Chloe’s house with him,” Garrett says.

“Hell no.” Is he kidding? One aspect of last night I do remember is Mom’s critique of my social life—or lack thereof. She wanted to know how I was supposed to give her grandchildren if I don’t even date once in a while. And then she embarrassed me further by telling me she was well versed in the process of creating babies and if I needed any advice—and that was the point I’d made my excuse and gone to seek out Myra.

Garrett pulls off his cap again and rearranges it on his head. “Well, I guess you could stay with us. I’m just worried about Abby’s toys being underfoot. And now the duck. If you can’t avoid tripping over a goat, how are you going to maneuver around a duck?”

“A duck?” the doctor asks. She glances at me, a clear question in her eye.

“My family does not understand the concept of normal pets,” I tell her. “Or better yet, no pets.”

Garrett ignores me and explains. “My fiancée sort of inadvertently adopted the thing—rather, it adopted her—and now my daughter’s in love with it, and apparently I’m now the proud owner of a white duck named Ducky.” He doesn’t look particularly put out by the addition of a waddling family member. I, on the other hand, have no interest whatsoever in sharing space with his feathered friend.

“No. I want to go home. Or, I suppose, to Paynt and Chloe’s.” I guess I can’t shirk my duty as goat-sitter, even if the animal damn nearly killed me last night.

The doctor shakes her head, and for a moment, I wish Garrett were still single, because he’d probably be hitting on her and she’d be all doe-eyed and he could convince her to release me without even realizing she was doing it. But, truthfully, I like Garrett’s fiancée, and I like the person he’s become since he started dating her, so I suppose I can’t complain too much.

Yes, yes, I can. Because I’m not going to stay at my brother’s house with a duck and a three-year-old. I like my peace and quiet too much. I like having CNBC on in the background, not Bob the Builder or whatever the hell kids watch these days.

“How do you expect to take care of Spot when the doctor’s telling us you can’t even take care of yourself?” Garrett demands, being far too logical for my current state of mind.

“Yes,” the doctor interjects. “You need a caregiver, at least for the first week. We have no idea how you will react to the concussion, or if that amnesia will get worse.”

“You just want to take advantage of my insurance plan.”

The doctor’s demeanor switches from warm and friendly to icy cold in a nanosecond. “Contrary to your very rude opinion, Mr. Frost, I happen to be in the business of fixing and saving people. It is my duty to ensure you are safe, whether I like you as a person or not. Now, if you want me to release you, employ a nurse or commit to staying with a family member. Otherwise, get comfortable.”

With those parting words, she storms from the room, leaving me to huff out a frustrated sigh while Garrett laughs so hard he has to swipe tears from his eyes. When he can finally talk again, he says, “You’re a real ladies’ man, aren’t you? No wonder you’re still single. Not many women would be willing to put up with your attitude for the long term.”

“I don’t care what that doctor thinks of me.” My reply is churlish, but I don’t take it back. Unlike my brother, having women fawn over me is not a priority in my life. My personal life has taken a back seat to my business these past few years. Twenty, if I’m counting, which I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for my mother reminding me every time I see her. Besides, I don’t have time to meet women outside the realm of business functions. Can barely tolerate the ones I have met.

Garrett shakes his head and finally tosses my phone into my lap. “So, am I calling a nurse?”

Okay, apparently, for the short term, my personal life needs a little attention too. And frankly, I can think of only one person I’d be able to tolerate twenty-four hours a day for a week straight.

I stare down at the screen, which lights up with calendar appointments and an email notification.

“No. Call Myra.”