Chapter Two

Josephine settled shakily into one of the plastic chairs to which she'd been directed. Clenching her hands into fists, she willed them to stop trembling. It wasn't working. And what was worse, she felt a burning in her eyes and a lump in her throat.

"Just delayed reaction," she murmured to herself, searching the small room frantically for something to occupy her mind, anything that would bring to an end the continuous replay of what had taken place in the parking lot 20 minutes earlier. As long as she lived, she didn't think that she would ever forget the look in Jake's eyes just before he became dead weight against her shoulder. And the eerie silence that followed when his wheezes ceased altogether might become the stuff of her nightmares.

Struggling to gain control of herself, she scoured the small waiting area a second time, this time encompassing the hallway beyond. Whether it was due to some miracle or her own desperation, she found an answer to her anxiety: Nurse C. Simpson was passing in front of the doorway.

Moving quickly toward the door, Josephine called to her. "Nurse Simpson! Excuse me, Nurse."

Simpson turned, casting a brown-eyed glance Josephine's direction. The same no-nonsense attitude that had prevailed when the woman had earlier assisted her in the parking lot, shortly after Jake's collapse, was equally apparent in the absense of an emergency.

"Ms. Donovan, right?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Josephine answered her, anxious to get past the pleasantries. "I need to know how Mr. McGregor is doing. Is he going to be okay?"

"They are doing everything that they can for him," Simpson assured her, preparing to continue on her way. "If you'll just stay in the waiting room, somone will be out to talk to you soon."

"I have been waiting," Josephine reached toward her, desperate that the woman not leave just yet. "How much longer do you think it should be? Can you give me an estimate based on his symtoms? What's most likely?"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Donovan, I can't predict his outcome. You'll simply have to wait for the doctor to finish checking him out. All I can tell you is that he is with him right now." Simpson offered a reasuring half smile and turned again to leave.

"Please," Josephine pleaded. "I just can't sit here and do nothing. Is there anything? Anything at all?"

Nurse Simpson turned back and considered her for a moment. "Well, we could use more information on him. His wallet only contained a Texas State driver's liscense. Do you think you could find any insurance information, or a phone number of a next of kin that we could talk to? It would help the doctors if we knew what he's been doing the last few days, or even if he has allergies of any kind."

"All right," Josephine nodded gratefully. "Thank you. I'll get that information for you." Simpson's only reply was a knowing smile.

With new purpose, Josephine moved toward the pay phones. She solemnly swore to herself that when this was all over, she was going to join the nineties and get a cellular phone. Quickly dialling Shelly's car phone, she mentally organized the questions she would ask.

"Michael?!" Shelly's first words across the link apty described whom she was expecting to her from.

"No, it's Josephine," Josie replied. "The doctors need some more information," she quickly explained what Nurse Simpson had asked for.

"What? Oh, Lord, Jo, I don't know what his insurance information is!" Shelly explaimed into the phone. Josehine could tell by the tone of her friend's voice that the woman was beyond frazzled. And she was probably stuck in the wrose of the late evening traffic.

"How can you be so calm?" Shelly was asking.

"I'm just doing what I have to do," Josephine replied. "What about Michael? Do you think he knws? Or is there someone back in Texas who we can call to ask whether or not he is allergic to anything?"

"Michael's allergic to everything, Josie, you know that! But I just don't know about Jake. And Michael didn't answer his cell... big surprise! I had to leave a message." Josephine felt a slight chill at Shelly's words. She remembered that Michael was allergic to a number of things. Jake and Michael were half brothers. Would it follow that Jake was allergic as well?

Forcing her fears aside, she continued to question her friend. "What about relative in Texas? Is there anyone we can call?"

"No," Shelly moaned. "All those numbers are at home. I don't exactly use them a lot! Can you believe this? The time I need him the most and he doesn't even answer his cell phone! Why does he even have one if he isn't going to answer it?"

"He'll call, Shell," Josephine tried to reassure her. "I'm going to hang up now so that he can. I'll see you when you get here. Be careful." With that she placed the phone back into its cradle and turned determinedly toward the hospital exit. There was really but one thing she could do. It was a matter of life and death.

Stepping out into the fading light of the parking lot, she wondered at the way her life had changed since she'd risen from bed that morning. Her life was her own, neatly ordered existence. Well, mostly neatly ordered, she corrected herself. Just twelve hours later she found herself in a hospital parking lot worried sick about a man she barely knew, and about to invade his privacy by searching his luggage.

Feelings of guilt dogging her every movement, she popped open her trunk and reached for what looked like it might have been a piece of carry-on luggage. The anemic lighting which shone from the bulb in her trunk suggested that the bag was navy blue and made of some type of sturdy material. She took a moment to run her hands along the outside, hoping that something in one of the outer pockets would, by form, reveal itself as an address book. No such luck.

Telling herself that the ends justified the means, she slid the zipper closure of the larger of the side compartments open. A paperback mystery, airline stubs, a bag of pretzels and a package of gum were all she found. Relieved not the have stumbled upon something more personal, she moved on to the next compartment.

There were a number of notebooks of various sizes stuffed inside the pocket. Hopeful that she might be on to something, she dug deeper and pulled out the entire cache of notebooks. Wedged as they were, she had to exert a little force. The mass spilled out into the trunk of her car and on the ground outside.

Frantically gathering the books, she looked at each one in turn before stuffing them back into the bag. One book, smaller than the rest, stood out. When she turned it over, its plush leather design quickly proclaimed it an organizer. The fact that 'Jacob A. McGregor' was emblazoned along the bottom corner was pretty much a give-a-way, as well.

Far beyong the range of guilty and in the realm of extremely uncomfortable, Josephine flipped open the book. Each section under personal information was carefully filled out in a neat hand. The writing was decidedly feminine. Putting aside the thought that it mattered that a woman had gifted him with the book, she was happy to find that Jacob A, for Allen McGregor had no known allergies.

Closing the book with a relieved snap, she glanced outside of the car to ensure that she'd collected all of his books. One had fallen open near one of her tires. Stooping to pick it up, she was brought up short by something scrawled across the bottom of the page. 'Peace is...' was written in a masculine hand.

Her eyes were drawn to the image above the words. A charcoal drawing of a hazy desert sunset literally burned from the pages. The drawing was so alive and full of passion that Josephine felt that she could feel the emotions that had guided the artist's hand.

Captivated, she flipped to the next page. A picture of a dog, a gangly looking setter mix that seemed poised to make a playful run on the observer, almost made her laugh out loud. The caption beneath the picture was simply 'Cuffy'. Josephine found herself smiling as she prepared to turn the page, anxious to see what might follow. The flashing lights of an approaching vehicle sent her guiltily to her feet.

Quickly stuffing the notebook into the pocket and closing the zipper, she slammed the trunk shut and re-entered the hospital.

Jake slowly opened his eyes and attempted to focus on an unfamilar beige colored ceiling. Other sensations followed, chief among them, pain in more parts of his body than he wanted to admit to having. Thin tubes fed oxygen into his nostrils; he had to suppress the slightly claustrophobic moment that washed over him at that realization.

The next thing he noticed, aside from crushing exhaustion, was that the airy pain that had invaded his brain was increasing in time with his heart rate. If he could just calm it, maybe he could control the pain. Closing his eyes seemed to help. Some.

As his heart slowed, the throbbing abated a bit more. Feeling a bit more in control, he began to wonder how he'd come to be in the hospital. Who had brought him? Why did it matter? He was much too tired to remember. Sleep was just what he needed. Why, if he simply allowed his mind to drift a moment...

Suddenly, a flicker of memory returned. He was in an airport, feeling awful. A woman had approached - a beautiful one at that - and she was his ride to Shelly and Micheal's. He remembered getting into her car, and then the... His eyes shot wide and, grunting slightly, he struggled into a sitting position.

Looking up at the hand that had gone unconsciously to his again throbbing head, he noticed that there was an IV attached to it. Wonderful, he thought. This did not bode well. After the pounding in his head had at least leveled out, he tried, more slowly, for a standing position. Easier said than done. The pounding reached epic porportions and the oxygen tube at his nose objected at being stretched so far.

Knowing that it probably wasn't the most brilliant thing to do, he removed the tubes from his nose and considered the IV. Nothing would make him mess with that needle. Moving slowly around the bed, he drug the pole upon which the IV sat with him and moved toward the door. By the time he reached it, his nearly acquired vertical was attempting to add nausea to the picture. Maybe trying to find the woman from the airport wasn't such a good idea.

Leaning carefully against the wall, he considered his options. The bed seemed impossibly far away, and now that he thought about it, whatever he was wearing didn't offer much in the form of dignity.

"Ms. Donovan." Nurse Simpson caught Josephine's attention shortly after she reentered the hospital. Approaching, Jospehine smilingly told her that Jake McGregor had no known allergies.

"Good," Nurse Donovan said, thanking her. "The doctor's have him stabilized. He's still in the examination room until they're ready to take him upstairs. You can go in and see him if you like."

"Is he going to be okay, then?" Josephine asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"The doctor's will probably want to keep him over night for observation," Simpson told her. "Fortunately, we received an alert concerning his condition. There was an outbreak of a rare form of food poisoning in Texas. The airline was alerted, but not before you two left the airport. Fortunately, someone thought to notify the local hospitals. Otherwise it might have taken precious time for us to discover what his problem was. As things stand, we've administered the antitoxin and aside from being a little weak for a few days. He should be fine."

"Thank you," Josephine sighed, placing a hand over her heart. "Thanks for telling me."

"Sure," Nurse Simpson said. "No problem. Now, I'll show you where he is."

When Nurse Simpson pushed open the examine room door, the hard wood narrowly missed Jake McGregor's head. Attempting to remain upright, hold his gown together and cling to the IV pole and dodge the suddenly moving door turned out to be an impossible feat for Jake. He found himself headed for the floor. Two pairs of arms reached out instinctively, anchoring him against the wall.

"What do you think you're doing?" an admonishing voice asked as he was lead in no uncertain terms back toward the bed. Glancing over the top of the nurse's head at the woman from the airport, Jake hoped to find an ally. Wrong. Her expression echoed the nurse's.

He tried telling the nurse that he needed to call home. That he'd been trying to find the beautiful woman from the airport to do that probably wouldn't have helped his case, so he kept that part of it to himself. Nurse Simpson immediately reassured him that everything had been taken care of at home, and that he was still in trouble with her since he could have used the call button instead of risking injury.

"Sorry," he apologized, his eyes encompassing both the nurse and the woman. "I just... uh... Oh, nevermind," he finished. What he had been trying to do no longer seemed reasonable. Allowing the nurse to push him back against the pillows and replace the oxygen tubes in his nostrils, he listened contritely at her very detailed description of what they did to disobedient patients.

Offering him a sweet smile when she'd done, Nurse Simpson offered the woman a delighted smile and exited the room. Looking from the nurse's retreating back to the woman, Jake tried a tired smile. "She's scary."

"I wouldn't want to get on her bad side," the woman said.

"Too late for me, I'm afraid," Jake responded, liking the throaty nature of the woman's voice. Deep green eyes twinkled with humor and intelligence behind wire rimmed glasses as she met his gaze. Even exhausted and decidedly ill, he felt an attraction spring up between the two of them. "I apologize," Jake continued, hating that his words were beginning to slur; he didn't think the nurse had put anything into his IV.

"What for?" the woman looked at him questioningly. "You don't have to be sorry for being ill."

"No," Jake said, trying to force some life back into his voice. But his eyes were also beginning to betray him. "I can't remember your name. I know we met at the airport."

"Josephine Donovan," she responded with a soft smile. "I suppose I owe you an apology, too. But it might be better to do that when you're awake."

"No, no. Awake... I'm awake," Jake insisted, feeling like a small child trying to avoid naptime.

"Okay," Josephine dimpled charmingly. "If you insist. I apologize for thinking that you were drunk. I should have known that something else was wrong."

"Drunk. Better. Believe me." Jake managed, giving up on keeping his eyes opened. "Resting 'um," he tried by way of explanation.

"Right," Josephine replied, not at all convinced. "Perhaps I should say pleasant dreams and welcome to Charlotte."

"Ugh, please don't leave me. This isn't exactly how I wanted to spend my first night in the city."

"Yes, well I"m sure that this is precisely what the tourist council had in mind, " Josephine countered, a deeper amusement evident in her voice.

Jake chuckled in appreciation causing a twinges from sore abdominal muscles. "Oh," he groaned. "Anything but that. Please don't make me laugh."

He thought that he could imagine the way her eyes must have danced when she spoke solemly. "Scout's honor." Unable to resist the subtle temptation, he looked up and was happy to see that his imagination had been correct.

"Thank you," he responded. Then more seriously, "Will you still a little longer? You know, welcome a citizen and all that?"

Josephine eyed him for several silent movements, studying him with the oddest expression. "I'll stay," she told him finally.

"Good," Jake sighed, allowing his eyes to drift shut again. The effort of their remaining opened seemed to have taken all of his remaining strength. He knew no more.

  Go on to Part Three

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