Family Fortune

“I’m not Mrs. Tanner,” Crystal declared at the same time as Caleb said loudly, “I’m not married.”

He wasn’t? Crystal’s pulse gave a peculiar little hop and her breath caught in her throat. By the time she swallowed and managed to breathe, she realized the news that he was single had no bearing on anything. He’d honeyed, darlin’d and sweetied some woman with a sultry Southern drawl. Definitely someone who had the inside track to Tanner’s heart. That was supposing he had a heart and didn’t have a woman in every city the Sinners played.

The rattle and clank of metal on metal dragged her attention from her thoughts. Because Cale had unsnapped and dropped all the ropes and crossbars to his traction setup, the orderly had detoured from his mission to call the physical therapy department.

It wasn’t any of her business, but judging by the agony creasing Caleb’s face as he attempted to swing his leg off the bed, somebody should intervene. Crystal set her things aside and rushed to the bed. She picked up the phone. “What’s the extension for your department?” she asked the orderly. She definitely didn’t like the fact that he was listening to Caleb. Rather than phone for clarification, he’d rolled the chair over to the bed.

“Uh...171. We’re two floors down.”

Not knowing what that had to do with anything, Crystal nodded and punched in the numbers. Caleb caught her eye and glared.

“You have a football to deliver to some kid down the hall, don’t you?”

But she’d tuned him out, suddenly hearing a woman’s voice saying urgently, “Hello. Hello? I’m trying to reach Caleb Tanner. Is this room 306?”

Crystal shushed the men in the room with a brisk wave of her hand. “This is Mr. Tanner’s room. Is this the secretary in physical therapy? No? Oh, your name is Gracie. Ah...I understand. I must have picked up the phone to dial out just as the switchboard transferred your call in.” Covering the mouthpiece, Crystal turned to Caleb, who, although he grimaced in pain, now sat in the wheelchair. “It’s Gracie,” she said.

She expected him not to take the call. To ask her to say he was indisposed. Instead, he spun the chair’s wheels with his powerful arms, and before Crystal could let out her breath, he’d yanked the phone from her hand.

“Gracie, darlin’. This is a treat. Listen, shortcake, can I phone you back? What? Your watch quit and you found one at Nieman’s you like better? It’s yours, sweetheart. And a new suit? Gray pinstripe. A power suit, huh? I thought those were red. Why not red? I think you look pretty snazzy in red.” Caleb glanced up. He sucked in his breath and gritted his teeth as Crystal edged past him, accidentally bumping his tender knee.

“Where in hell are you going?” He clapped a hand over the receiver, then moved it back to his mouth and slid his fingers away. “I didn’t mean you, dumplin’. It’s kind of nutty here, Gracie. Forgive my swearing, shortcake.”

Crystal scooped up her things again and strode out the door with a quick backward glance. More of a glare, really. She hoped it conveyed how she felt about his laying it on so thick to the second woman in one day. How many others would there be? “You’re a cockroach, Tanner,” she said in a voice she hoped was loud enough for poor snookered Gracie to hear. “Slime. Please do rip up André’s letter. If you’re too weak after therapy, the nurses down the hall have a paper shredder.”

She sped out the door too fast to see the baffled expression shared by the men.

“What? Yes, Gracie, the lady did call me names. I know it’s hard to believe, darlin’. But not everybody thinks your brother hung the moon and stars.”

“And you might not, either,” he muttered glumly after they hung up. “If this leg doesn’t heal, and if I can’t bring myself to say no to you three girls, your stupendous fantastic brother may end up in debtor’s prison.”

The orderly chuckled. “I think those went out with the guillotine, man.” His face was still wreathed in smiles as he phoned downstairs to verify that Tanner was indeed scheduled to begin physical therapy.

CHAPTER FOUR

CRYSTAL PUT TANNER and his collection of women out of her mind as she headed down the hall to the kids’ ward. She saw Nurse Pam, who acknowledged her by waving a full oversize syringe. Crystal was awfully glad Pam sped past the boys’ room on her mission of mercy.

“Knock, knock. Incoming adult,” she warned before she invaded the boys’ space. “Hide the stash of peanuts, candy and bubble gum, guys.” All six occupants burst into giggles.

“You’re early.” Skipper punched the mute button on his TV remote control, which garnered loud complaints from his roommates.

“Early, and I come bearing gifts.” Crystal produced the signed football from the depths of her handbag and handed it to Skipper with a brief “Ta-da!” Then she hauled out the signed action shots of Tanner. After counting out one for each child, she discovered she had two left. Maybe she’d give one to André’s son, Andy-Paul. She didn’t have a clue what she’d do with the other. Paste it on a dartboard, perhaps.

“This is so cool, Crystal,” Skip said. “Look, Randy. Cale wrote, ‘To Skip. Kick ’em high, throw ‘em true. Caleb Tanner.”’

Crystal leaned over to look. “I thought he only wrote, ‘To Skip from Caleb.’ I can’t figure out why he’d give such off-the-wall advice. I explained about your accident.”

“I’m gonna play football again, Crystal. Cale knows that.”

“Yeah,” his friends chorused enthusiastically.

She gazed into uncompromising green eyes, realizing for the first time how closely Skipper’s eye color resembled Caleb Tanner’s. Both pairs were indecently dark-lashed, too. The resemblance ended there. Skip had sandy red hair, pale skin and freckles. Tanner’s hair was hard to describe. Full and thick, it seemed to have variegated hues from light blond to toffee. His skin was evenly tanned. Today, she’d noticed his jaw was shadowed by a slight stubble. Based on her limited visits, she judged him to be a man who shaved regularly. Except for the earring, he seemed conventional. And even the earring was pedestrian compared to those worn by some of her jazz compatriots.

Gracious. Why had her mind wandered so far afield? Crystal had barely shaken herself out of her stupor than the orderly she’d encountered in Tanner’s room strode through the door.

“You get around,” he said, grinning at her.

She didn’t respond to that, but asked, “You’re here for Pablo?” Of the six in the room, he alone had progressed to the point of physical therapy.

The orderly, whose name tag read Gibson, checked the top sheet on his clipboard. “Nope. The patient I want is West Skip West. Or if you want to get technical, Sinclair West.”

“Yuck!” Skip rolled his eyes as the other boys made rude gagging noises.

“There must be some mistake,” Crystal said faintly.

“Nah,” Skip said, ducking his head. “It’s awful, but my mom named me Sinclair Malone West. After her daddy. I never met him or nothin’. He died when she was little.”

Before Crystal could explain that she hadn’t been referring to his name, Randy broke in. “How come everybody calls you Skipper, then? Was that what your old man called you?”

Skip shook his head and thrust his jaw out pugnaciously. “I never had no old man. So what?”

“Everybody’s got an old man,” Randy scoffed with worldly knowledge. “My mom says they don’t all stick around after they’ve had their fun bouncing between the sheets.” Over Crystal’s sharply indrawn breath, he added, “It’s plain dumb, Skipper, saying you don’t got an old man.”

The boys paid no attention to the fact that Skip looked ready to explode. Pablo injected his two cents’ worth from the other side of the room. “Yeah, dude. Even test-tube babies got a padre.”

“Well, I don’t!” Skipper shouted. He jabbed a thumb into his skinny chest. “My mom said there was just her and me and nobody else. After she got shot by the coke-head who robbed the store where she worked, there was only me.” His face had turned a mottled red.

Crystal stepped between the beds, put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. Then she made a T with her hands. “Time-out, guys. Randy, you and Pablo read a comic book or watch TV. I want a word with Mr. Gibson.”

Though sullen, the boys settled down. “Now,” she said to the orderly, “could you check with your office? Skip had surgery yesterday. I find it hard to believe they’d start PT today. Have they even had you sit up yet?” she asked Skip.

“Yeah. ‘Course they have.”

“Are you some busybody patient liaison sent by administration to bug me?” Gibson sputtered. “I’m just following orders from my boss, lady.”

Crystal spread her palms. “You questioned whether or not Tanner should have therapy because he was still in traction. I’m merely doing the same on Skip’s behalf. I don’t work for the hospital. I’m the business manager for Lyon Broadcasting, and Skipper’s friend.”

“Nurse Pam said Crystal is a financial wizard,” Skip put in, his temper obviously cooled.

Though Gibson muttered to himself, he looked at Crystal with new respect as he slouched over to the wall phone. In the children’s ward, patients didn’t have telephones beside their beds. Administration was probably afraid they’d run up long-distance bills. The kids came to the ward from all over the state. Pablo, like Skip, was in local foster care. Randy’s mother lived in Baton Rouge. Felipe reportedly had family in the Atchafalaya Swamp; he spoke only French, and Crystal had never seen anyone visit the boy. Barry Hodges needed more specialized care than was available in Vidalia; he had a cousin in town who visited occasionally. Moses Brown, the last of the six to be admitted, never mentioned family; he hardly said boo. Crystal knew he liked the picture of Caleb Tanner only because Moses had immediately tucked it into his pillowcase. Nurse Pam said that was where he squirreled away his few treats. Crystal had heard that Moses was Jamaican. One of a large family. He’d been injured playing street ball. Which specific sport, she didn’t know. Surgery hadn’t rescued his pitifully small body from pain-that she did know. It’d be a while before they scheduled him for physical therapy.

The orderly hung up the phone and turned. “Dr. Snyder ordered this young man to start upper-body exercise today. That way he’ll be able to balance on the bars in two weeks when they cut off his cast.”

Skipper’s eyes glazed in sudden fear. He grasped Crystal’s hand. “I’m scared it’ll hurt. Will you come with me?”

She glanced at the orderly. “Is that permissible?”

Gibson hitched a shoulder. “It’s a big area. If the PT who’s scheduled to work with Skipper has any problem with you being there, he or she will ask you to wait outside. There’s a nice waiting room. We do a lot of outpatient work, as well as inpatient care.”