Sara's Song (10 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Sara's Song
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Sadie Osborne was decked out in her fuzzy robe, raincoat and yellow boots when Sara entered her room. Her small satchel was next to her walker. “I'm ready, Dr. Killian.”
“Then let's get this show on the road. Hop in this wheelchair. It's the rule as you well know. I'll bring the walker.”
“They can't make me go tomorrow, can they?”
“Never. Listen to me, Mrs. Osborne. I'm going to tell you something I shouldn't. It's just between you and me for now. If at some later time you feel the need to mention what I'm about to tell you, it will be all right. But, not now. Lately, I just don't seem to care about a lot of things around here. The LifeQuest Rehab Center where they want to send you is owned by a group of doctors, two of whom practice here at Benton. It's to their advantage to send patients there. For you to go home won't put money in their pockets. If anyone from this hospital other than Nellie or I contact you, stand your ground. You are fine, Mrs. Osborne. Your arthritis is not life-threatening. You came through your surgery very nicely, and you rebounded better than I anticipated. You do not need to go into rehab. I told you this so you know your rights. As I said, it won't be wise for you to mention anything we discussed. For now.”
“Dearie, my lips are zipped. I knew there was something weird about that doctor. He couldn't look me in the eye when he was telling me about the center. I knew it. I just knew it. Should I get a new bolt on my door?”
Sara had a bad moment then. Maybe she shouldn't have said what she did. She smiled then at the light of battle in the old lady's eyes. “I don't think that will be necessary, Mrs. Osborne.”
Outside in the night air, Sadie Osborne threw her hands up in the air. “I feel like I've been sprung from jail. Do you have any idea of how good it feels to be going home? I know, Dr. Killian, that there isn't a sweeter word in the whole language than the word home.”
“I think you're probably right. Ms. Osborne, this is Steven . . .”
“I know who he is. He takes care of my animals. We've never met socially, though. Dr. Killian. sprung me from that ... that squirrel house. What do you think of that, Steven?”
“Ah ... is that what you did?” he said addressing Sara.
“I suppose you could say that. I discharged her tonight instead of tomorrow morning. She has no desire or interest in going to the LifeQuest center. Do you think you could lift her into the backseat while I return the wheelchair?”
“Sure.”
An hour later Sara entered her house through the garage, tossing her purse and house keys on the kitchen counter. The clock said it was ten minutes past two. She could call Dallas if she wanted to. She could even take a run up to his estate. If she wanted to. She decided she didn't want to.
Sara reached for an apple and bit into it, juice running down her chin as she made her way to her bedroom. What she should do was sit down and think about Steven McGuire. He was everything Nellie said he was—charming, handsome, warm, considerate, and he hated root beer. They'd spent an enjoyable evening talking about four-legged versus two-legged patients. She liked his sense of humor. What she liked even more was the way he spoke about his family and his brothers and sisters. Obviously they were a close-knit family. What she liked most about him was the way he'd pitched in to help with Sadie Osborne without asking a lot of pointed questions. She'd allowed him to kiss her good night but it had been one of those brotherly kisses that friends give each other from time to time. Steven McGuire would be a friend, nothing more.
Sara finished the apple, wrapping the core in tissue before she tossed it in the wastepaper basket. Rummaging in her sewing box for a cigarette, she lit up. She'd given up both sewing and smoking long ago. A doctor who smoked did not instill confidence in his or her patients. She stared at the Surgeon General's warning on the side of the package. Defiantly, she puffed on the cigarette. She wasn't sure why. Dallas smoked. He said all the guys in the band smoked and so did his Adam. Not that that meant anything.
Tomorrow was her last day of work, providing she didn't get fired. The day after tomorrow was Thanksgiving. The following week was her last week of vacation, at which point she became a free agent. Last year she'd worked while she was in contract negotiations. She'd made up her mind that she wasn't going to do the same thing this year. This year she was going to wait it out, since she'd demanded a hefty salary increase. What would she do with her time? Steven McGuire said he could use her on a voluntary basis three afternoons a week. She'd halfway agreed.
Sara looked down at her hand holding the portable phone. She dialed Dallas's private number. It rang six times before it was picked up. “Hi, Dallas, it's Sara. I called to apologize and to say good night. It's a beautiful evening, isn't it?”
“How was your date?”
“It wasn't a date, Dallas. We just went out for coffee. You'd like Steven. What did you do all evening?”
“Nothing much. I watched some videos of the band. I had dinner. I talked to Nancy and the kids. Are you coming up tomorrow?”
“After work. It's my last day. Are you going to order the groceries, or shall I bring them with me?”
“I'll order them. Everything will be ready when you get here. Why don't you plan on staying through the weekend. Bring your stuff with you. I was thinking, Sara, would you like to take a trip somewhere? How about New York? I'm sure I can come up with a suitable disguise so we aren't bothered. Think about it.”
“I'll think about it. I've got to be up early so I'll say good night. Oh, Dallas, have you been starting up my car?”
“Yes. I drive it up and down the driveway. I like that Jaguar hood ornament.”
Sara laughed. “I think I bought the car because of the jaguar. They don't put them on the hoods anymore because people break them off and steal them. Good night, Dallas.”
 
 
Dallas Lord was waiting at the gates when a dark blue sedan swept through the moment he pressed the release button. He walked around to the side of the car and climbed in. “Mr. Heinrick, I'm glad you could come up on such short notice. We can sit out by the pool and have some coffee and Danish.”
“Is something wrong, Mr. Lord? Did you change your mind?” Benton's hospital administrator asked anxiously.
“Not at all. I'm interested in doing even more for your hospital. However there is a condition. Just park anywhere. I made the coffee myself.”
Harry Heinrick sat down in the chair Dallas pointed out to him. He accepted a cup of coffee, his hands trembling slightly.
“I'd like to build you a super-duper cardiac wing or whatever you call it. The latest equipment, as high-tech as you can get. I can set the wheels in motion tomorrow if you like.”
“I like the idea very much. You said there was a condition.”
“Yes, a condition. I don't want your hospital to renew Dr. Killian's contract. That's my condition.”
“Good Lord, are you saying she did . . . what are you saying?”
“I'm saying I don't want you to renew her contract. No, Dr. Killian didn't do anything wrong. Can you keep a secret?”
Harry Heinrick preened. “Of course. All of us at Benton pride ourselves on our integrity.”
“I'm going to ask Dr. Killian to marry me. I travel with the band. She wouldn't be able to go with me if she was under contract with your hospital. I'm more than willing to set her up in her own private practice where she can consult or whatever it is doctors do so that they can take time off. I don't want you to tell her you aren't renewing her contract right away. Maybe after Christmas. I'll let you know when you can tell her. Are you interested in my offer?”
“I'm interested, but what about Dr. Killian? She's a fine doctor. Does she know about . . . any of this?”
“Nothing. I don't want her to know anything either. Are you one of those people who has to think about things for a long time or can you give me your answer today? This is Sara's last day, as you probably know.”
“I think I might want to think about this for a day or so. This is a very serious thing you're asking me to do.”
“How about if I throw in a pediatric wing?”
“We're talking about a lot of money here, Mr. Lord.”
“Yes, it is a lot of money. I
have
a lot of money. It's barely a drop in the bucket when you compare what I'm willing to give you as opposed to the salary increase Sara's asking for. Are you still having a problem with my request?”
Sweat beaded on Heinrick's brow. “No. It's nine-thirty. I can have an answer for you by eleven. Is that good enough?”
“I'll wait for your call. Don't be late. Did you like the coffee?”
“Very much. How do I get out?”
“I have the remote here. See the monitor attached to the cabana? When you reach the gate I'll open it for you. Thanks for hearing me out.”
Heinrick walked on jittery legs to his car. The things people did for love. It was hard for him to picture Sara Killian with this rock star, but Dr. Killian's love life was no concern of his. Benton Hospital was what counted. The stunt Sara Killian pulled with her patient wouldn't make matters any tougher. He knew he would have an affirmative answer for Dallas Lord before eleven o'clock. The private owners of Benton Hospital were not fools, and neither was he. It occured to him once on the drive back to the hospital to wonder if Dallas Lord was a fool. Well, that wasn't his business either. Signatures on dotted lines, money changing hands, that was his business. With this little coup he definitely had job security till the end of his days. He'd see to that. An addendum to his present contract to that effect would not be out of order. Not at all.
When the phone rang promptly at eleven o'clock, Dallas picked it up on the second ring. “Fine. That's fine. I'll call my manager now and have some contracts drawn up. He'll want to set up a meeting with you. I'll be in touch, Mr. Heinrick.”
Dallas dialed six different numbers before he reached Adam in Charleston. “It's Dallas, Adam. I want to talk to you.”
“I'm on vacation, Dallas. I don't feel like discussing business.”
“Rise to the occasion. This is important. I want you to take care of something. I want you to do it now. You're my employee in case you forgot.”
“That's tough, Dallas. I'm busy. I can take a page out of your book and get a new number so you can't reach me. Try this one on for size. I'm sick of taking your orders and hustling for your cockamamie whims. I've been sitting here thinking Dallas. I'm going to resign. I'll put it in writing and fax it to you and then send a hard copy via FedEx. Now that it's out of the way, we should hang up before one of us says something he'll regret later on.”
“Just a minute, Adam. You're my brother, you can't quit. Who's going to take care of all that shit you have us involved in? No. I refuse to accept your resignation. I'll get a lawyer and hold you to the contract. So there, Adam.”
Adam snorted. “Did you forget that I'm a lawyer, and I'm the one who drew up my contract? There's a clause in there that allows me to resign at any time I see fit. Hire someone. Spin your wheels, and he'll tell you what I just told you. It's nice of you to finally acknowledge the fact that we're brothers. The last time you mentioned it was when you were eight years old.”
“Are you ticked off because I got a new phone number?”
“No. Dallas. I've had enough. This whole thing wore real thin the past couple of years, but I gritted my teeth and held on for you. I don't intend to do that any longer. The tour is set up. I banked the signature money. It's your responsibility from here on out. Notify the band. One word of advice, watch whoever you hire like a hawk or he'll rob you blind. When it comes to money, Dallas, you aren't the smartest person in the world.”
“Just like that you're quitting. When were you going to tell us?”
“The day after Thanksgiving. That gives you forty days to get ready.”
“If you're quitting, then we're quitting, too.”
“It doesn't work that way, Dallas,” Adam sighed. “You and the band are the performers. I was just your manager. I'll be sending you everything you need by express mail. Once it leaves my hands I am no longer responsible. If you choose to do one of your hideout scenes, refusing to talk to anyone and not accepting the materials I'm sending, you are still liable. I scheduled the upcoming tour in good faith, and you all agreed. Do you understand what I just said, Dallas?”
“I'm not stupid, Adam. Why are you doing this? Just tell me why. Is it because of Billy?”
Adam sucked in his breath. “I guess because it's time. In a way it has something to do with Billy. I want a life. I finally realized I don't want to end up like you. I have seven houseguests who made me open my eyes. I've been your slave since the day you fell out of that damn tree. I took care of you. I protected you. I made sure everything ran smoothly for you. You never lacked for a thing. I made sure of that because I am your brother, and as such I assumed responsibility for you. Why don't we just say good-bye now. Have a nice Thanksgiving and a wonderful Christmas. This will be my first holiday season at a home of my own in thirty-five years. I refuse to allow you to ruin it for me. I have someone to share the season with this year, and I intend to enjoy every minute of it. Hell, I might even send out Christmas cards. Handwritten. I wish for you, little brother, what I wish for myself, the best.”

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