Chapter One #2
Amusement returned to the intense gray eyes. “Couldn’t wait to be rid of me, could you?” his husky voice challenged.
“Certainly pediatrics will miss your wit and charm,” Sally lied, and Billy giggled.
“Just as long as we understand each other.” The voice fit the man: low-pitched and demanding. “And as for dinner, either give
me something I can eat myself, or forget it. I’m not a baby, and I won’t be hand-fed.”
Billy’s eye quickly caught Skye’s, and she shrugged in a gesture of defeat, but Billy’s eyes widened imploringly.
The large cafeteria cart had arrived from the kitchen, and glancing from the hall to her patient, Sally said, “I’ll see what
I can do, but it’s doubtful.”
Skye tucked Billy’s sheet in and brought the vanity around from the side of the bed before leaving the room.
“Where are you going, Pollyanna?” Jordan asked.
His question surprised her. “I’ll be back,” she promised, and offered him a tentative smile.
“Remember, I want to collect on my bet tonight!” Billy shouted after her.
The dinner trays had all been delivered . . . save one. Skye stood beside the large cart deep in thought. She knew Jordan
Kiley represented a far greater challenge than any child she had ever worked with. It wouldn’t be easy to spoon-feed him and
salvage his pride at the same time.
“Hello, Skye. I haven’t seen you in a while.
” Joyce Kimball, one of the younger high school volunteers, addressed her warmly.
“Do you like the new me?” She turned, allowing Skye to study her appearance.
It was unmistakably the Carin Cain look.
The sleek, high-fashion image was sweeping the country.
It seemed everyone was imitating the famous model: the Carin Cain hairstyle, the Carin Cain designer jeans, the Carin Cain cosmetics.
Skye’s eyes widened as an idea began to form. “Joyce,” she cried, “you’re a genius.” Obeying the impulse, Skye began pulling
the large pins from her hair.
Several minutes later the latest Carin Cain imitator approached Billy’s room. Silky, honey-blond curls cascaded over her shoulders.
Normally Skye applied her makeup modestly, but now her mouth was liberally coated with gloss, and blush had been added to
accentuate the natural color of her rosy cheeks.
She found Billy enjoying his meal and cast him a secret smile. He returned her wink in silent communication.
Jordan watched dispassionately as she set the dinner tray on the vanity and rolled it to the side of his bed.
His gaze traveled leisurely over her, measuring her. Skye’s face grew hot under his slow appraisal; her courage nearly failed
her.
“You must really believe in miracles if you think I’m going to let you feed me,” he announced caustically, sending a shiver
of apprehension up her spine.
The words seemed lodged in her throat as his look penetrated through her.
“I learned a long time ago that when it comes to miracles, I have to pray as if everything depended on God—and work as if
everything depended on me.” She was surprised at how composed she sounded.
“Just how do you propose to work this miracle?” He sounded cynical.
“I’m prepared to offer you a little inducement.”
His thick brows arched in curiosity.
She offered him a warm smile. “You must understand, the nurses are held to a certain code of ethics. But I’m not a nurse, I’m a volunteer. And I’m prepared to offer you a small reward if you let me feed you.”
His eyes showed interest. “What kind of reward?”
“More of a dessert.”
Interpreting his silence as consent, she rolled the vanity closer to the bed and dipped the fork into the potatoes. But Jordan’s
mouth remained defiantly shut, his dark eyes brooding.
Skye’s spirits sank; her ploy wasn’t going to fool this intuitive male.
Unexpectedly a faint smile formed at the corners of his mouth. “Feed me,” he sighed with self-derision. “I always was a sucker
for a pretty face.”
Her thick lashes fluttered down to conceal the triumph in her expressive blue eyes.
Jordan continued to watch her, his eyes sharp and intent. Skye knew it was all Billy could do to keep from applauding.
“Do you find fulfillment in life as a hospital volunteer?” Jordan asked between bites.
“I’m responsibly employed. As a matter of fact, I hold a highly respected position.” His smile brought a marked defensiveness
to her voice. “As it happens, I enlighten, train, and discipline.”
“She’s a kindergarten teacher,” Billy supplied laughingly.
“I also button coats, pour juice, and kiss away hurts . . .” Again she was interrupted by Billy.
“She’s not married, either.”
“Billy!” Skye snapped, her cheeks flushed crimson.
“It happens that way sometimes,” Jordan explained to Billy. “She’s pretty enough but has probably been jilted or hurt. It’ll
take time before she’s ready to love again.” It was an open dare for Skye to contradict him.
Instead she laughed lightly, shrugging off the challenge. “I see that the psychiatrist is in. Thank you for your analysis, Doctor.” The curve of her mouth softened into a smile.
His gray eyes held her look; he seemed to know she would not be easily provoked.
Now it was her turn to satisfy her curiosity. Putting down the fork, she asked, “How did you manage to get yourself into this
fine mess?”
“Car accident.” He sounded annoyed, though his anger wasn’t directed at Skye but at himself. “Besides totaling my car, I managed
to ruin my first vacation in years.”
“What happened?” she asked, chilled by the memory of another accident long ago.
“Lombard Street.” He groaned at his own stupidity. “I’d heard so much about San Francisco’s famous curved street and decided
to take it as fast as possible. I didn’t make the last curve.”
Skye had read an account of the accident in the morning paper. The crazy fool was lucky not to have been killed—or to have
killed someone else. Lombard Street, with eight consecutive turns at ninety-degree angles, was difficult to maneuver at the
best of times. “Did you enjoy the novelty of reading about yourself this morning?” she asked, hiding her disapproval of such
irresponsible behavior.
Some emotion flickered in his eyes, and for a brief second Skye thought it might be alarm.
“Are you a teacher, like Skye?” Billy interjected his own curiosity.
“No. I work for a radio station.”
Billy’s voice rose eagerly. “Are you a disc jockey?”
The pause was only momentary. “Among other things,” he remarked absently. “You say there was an accident report in the morning
paper?”
“Would you like a copy? I’m sure there’s an extra paper in the lobby. I can get it if you like.”
“Please.” He sounded grateful.
Skye returned a few minutes later with a section of the paper. It was only a short account of the accident, a few sentences
that didn’t give his name.
Jordan seemed to relax and joked, “What does a man have to do in this town to get his name in the paper?”
Gently Skye placed her hand on his arm. “Has your family been contacted?”
The slant of Jordan’s mouth became cynical. “As there is only my mother, I can’t see much point in distressing her over a
few scratches.”
A badly broken arm could hardly be considered a scratch. Nonetheless, Skye laughed lightly. “Obviously the poor man has been
jilted, Billy. He just hasn’t learned to trust again. Or as Sally would say—you’re either separated, divorced, or just plain
unmarriageable.”
“At thirty-six, I suspect she’s right.” But Jordan didn’t enlighten her about which category he fit into.
Betty Fisher, Billy’s mother, arrived as Billy finished his meal, and she wheeled her son into the large recreation/visiting
room at the end of the hall.
“You coming, Skye?” Billy asked, eager for her to join the children and play the piano.
“Not until later; I’ll only be a few minutes,” she promised.
Giving Jordan the last bit of his dinner, she asked, “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“When do I get dessert?”
“Soon,” she said. “I’ll take your tray to the cart and be right back.”
Skye lingered outside the room for several seconds gathering her courage. The i ate the whole thing button was clenched tightly in the palm of her hand. Unsteady fingers looped a long strand of honey-blond hair behind her
ear. Jordan Kiley wasn’t going to find humor in her little deception.
His eyes probed her as she entered, but she purposely avoided eye contact with him.
“I didn’t think you would come back.” His voice was cool.
“Of course I was coming back. I always keep my promises,” she said, finding it difficult not to smile. “Now, close your eyes,”
she whispered, and bent over him.
He complied and she quickly attached the button to his hospital gown.
Jordan caught his breath and reached for her. The attempt to catch her was ludicrous, and Skye stood only inches from his
reach, her blue eyes triumphant. A certain pride at having outwitted him prompted her mouth to curve into a Mona Lisa smile.
Jordan looked at the button and grinned. “Clever trick, Pollyanna, but have no doubts I will collect what is due me.”
Skye realized he was the type of man who ultimately got what he wanted. His words were more of a promise than a threat. Disguising
the effect of his statement, she put on a smiling facade and handed him the pie on the hospital tray while gaining control
of her racing heartbeat. “I told you, I keep my promises,” she said with far more confidence than she felt.
Gradually the tension began to fade, and she relaxed. Combing her fingers through her long hair, she said, “Good-bye, Mr.
Grouch.”
The sound of his low laugh followed her into the corridor.
She had escaped Jordan Kiley this time, but she realized she wouldn’t be so fortunate a second time.
Billy and his mother, along with the other children and their visitors, were waiting for Skye when she entered the recreation room. An upright mahogany piano rested against the outside wall, and when she sat on the padded bench, the happy chatter grew silent.
Skye’s slim fingers flew across the ivory keys in a light, catchy tune, and soon the small audience was clapping in time to
the happy melody. The uplifting beat of the music eased some of the worry etched so clearly on the faces of the children and
their families. It was for this reason Skye came week after week, year after year. If she could help others forget their own
unhappiness, even for a short while, then her time was well spent.
Although everyone enjoyed the piano playing, it was the songs Skye composed that the children loved the best. The clever descriptions
of make-believe dragons, castles, and children’s dreams brought smiles and giggles to cherubic faces.
Skye’s closing number was a soft lullaby she had composed using Psalm 62:
My soul rests in God alone.
My salvation is from Him.
He alone is my rock, my salvation,
and my fortress.
I will never be greatly shaken.
Find rest, O my soul, in God alone;
my hope comes from Him.
Rich and melodious, her voice rang clear and true through the passageway, and as she hummed the final notes several children
yawned, ready for sleep. Hoping to place homesick patients in a familiar family routine, the hospital encouraged parents to
put their children to bed before leaving.
As Betty wheeled Billy toward his room she asked Skye hopefully, “Do you have time for a cup of coffee tonight?” Alone and young, Betty Fisher needed someone as a sounding board for her worries over Billy’s uncertain future.
“I always have time for you, Betty,” Skye assured the young mother.
“Are you coming tomorrow, Skye?” Billy asked the same question after every visit, as if he were afraid she would disappear
someday, just as his father had.
“No, Sprout, but I’ll be here Thursday,” she whispered, hoping not to wake Jordan. The white curtain had been replaced, and
the nurse had put a finger to her lips when they had entered the room, indicating that the man was asleep. Skye had given
an unconscious sigh of relief.
Just as Betty and Skye were ready to kiss Billy good night, Sally stuck her head in the door. “Do you need a ride home tonight,
Skye?”
“Not tonight, thanks, Sally.”
“Okay, I’ll see you Thursday.”
“Good night, Sally.” She smiled a friendly farewell. “Sleep tight, Sprout,” she whispered tenderly, and lovingly kissed his
brow.
Halfway across the darkened room a clear male voice taunted, “Good night, Pollyanna.”