Chapter 40
Mallory Plantation—Remy
Duty anchored Remy. As much as he ached to leave with Skye, he had an obligation to stay and monitor the patient.
“I brought Archibald here, and he’s my responsibility until I get him back to where he belongs.
I’ll stay with him.” Remy accepted the responsibility willingly while simultaneously fuming at the obligation it forced him to honor instead of following Skye.
“I’m the surgeon. Archibald is my responsibility,” Charlotte snapped.
“If I’d had time,” Remy said, “I could’ve sewn him up and left him in Chicago.”
Charlotte dropped a pair of clamps on the surgical tray and stripped off her gloves. “And he probably would have died from an infection.”
“Remy, stop arguing with her!” Braham shouted. “Ye’re in her surgery, and until ye get initials behind yer name, she’ll outrank ye.”
“Sorry. My head’s killing me, but that’s no excuse.”
Charlotte drew her brows together, pursed her lips. “Are you getting another migraine?”
“No. Just a regular headache.”
“Take something before it gets worse,” Charlotte urged. “Now let’s wake him up.”
Remy reversed the effects of the anesthetic and administered reversal agents to restore consciousness. “I didn’t want to put you out, Charlotte, any more than I already have.”
“You haven’t. Now go take a long shower and check in with me in an hour. You stink.”
“I’ll stay down here with Archibald.” Remy was tired, and his head throbbed, but that was no reason to argue with her.
“Remy, ye aren’t listening to her.” Braham stood on the other side of the glass, hands on his hips.
“There’s no reason for Archibald to stay here,” Charlotte said. “Find him a suite, and Braham can help me get him to bed. Then we’ll set up monitors in his room.”
“Let me know which suite he’s in, and I’ll take care of moving him,” Braham said.
“That solves it. No one has to stay down here,” Charlotte said. “Now get cleaned up and take Skye to dinner. It’s more important for you to be there than for me.”
“Who’s coming?”
“You, Skye, Clay, Marcelle, Bastien, Kaitlyn, David, Kenzie, Elliott, Meredith, Braham, and me. Roisin will want Tony to eat at the Fontenots.”
“Don’t you think Kaitlyn will want to eat with them, too?”
“She and Bastien can make that decision.”
“Who are you? Carnac the Magnificent? How’d you know who’s going to be there? You’ve been in here operating.”
“I just now told Braham. He’ll send out invites.”
“Sneaky,” Remy said.
“I prefer organized.”
“Ye’ve listed twelve,” Braham said. “I’ll send a text message to them to be in the dining room at eight. Then I’ll send a general email for everyone else to eat at six thirty.”
“Thank you, darling. We’re having one of your favorite meals,” Charlotte teased.
Braham licked his lips dramatically. “Beef Wellington or fried chicken.”
“Both.”
Braham and Charlotte bantered, even after all these years. Their relationship stirred something deep in Remy’s heart. The couple burned with as much, if not more, love than when they first crossed paths during the Civil War.
“I can fix a plate and stay with Archibald,” Remy offered.
“You need to be at the table,” Charlotte said. “If you couldn’t tell, Clay’s story upset Elliott. He doesn’t like it when others know more than him, especially when it involves Erik.”
“You doan need to tell me. I’ve been living out of Elliott’s pocket for a while now.
There’s nothing we can tell him about Erik that will make him feel better.
But here’s a question I’ve been stewing over.
Do you think Erik’s betrayal reminds Elliott of his mother’s, and that’s why he’s taking it so hard? ”
Charlotte carried the surgical tray over to the sink. “That might be true, but I wouldn’t say anything to him about it. Meredith could get away with asking him, but no one else.”
“Not even you?”
“Not even me,” she said. “Before you leave, put dressings on those wounds and Archibald’s arm in a sling. And tell Trainer Ted that Archibald will need physical therapy.”
“He’ll be sore for a while.”
“Ted will go easy on him.”
Remy gathered bandages and a sling from the supply cabinet and bound the wounds, then carefully fitted Archibald’s arm into the sling and secured the straps. “Anything else you need before I go?”
“Get Clay down here to clean. Braham isn’t happy.”
“Will do. I’ll see you in a few,” Remy said as he shot out of the room without bothering to change, fingers flying over his phone screen as he texted Clay on the way to his suite: Clean up duty.
Clay: I’ll be there in a few minutes. Already had texts from Braham and David.
A text from Elliott complaining about the mess in the clean room interrupted Remy’s focus.
He flung open the suite door and stiffened as running water echoed from the bathroom.
If it were Skye, he’d plunge in with her.
Then he dismissed the thought. That move equated to slamming her against a wall, and he vowed not to treat her that way.
She deserved more from him. He splashed a measure of whisky into a glass, stalked into the garden, and punched Lamar’s number.
“Where the hell have you been?” Lamar exploded. “Five more minutes and I was canceling the gig. Did you find Bastien and Marcelle?”
He despised lying to Lamar, but he had to confess something. And time traveling wasn’t confessable. Was that even a word? “They got food poisoning and spent the night in the hospital. We’ll all be there tomorrow afternoon. I’m also bringing the best female jazz singer you’ve ever heard.”
“She’ll need rehearsal time, and if you won’t get here until tomorrow afternoon, it’ll be too late to bring in a singer. Tell her thanks, but no thanks.”
“She’ll sing during breaks. Once you hear her, you’ll want her in the band.”
“I don’t care what happens during the breaks,” Lamar said. “Tell her to sing her heart out. Who’s going to accompany her?”
“I will. Along with a piano player.”
“There’s no keyboard.”
“We’ll bring one.”
“Whatever.” Lamar cut the conversation without a hi, bye, or kiss my ass.
Remy spun around to go back inside and grinned at Skye, poised there in a short silk robe with her hair twisted up in a towel. He thrust open the door, with adrenaline surging from his pores like sweat. He cleared his throat. “Did you find everything you needed?”
She gestured toward the bathroom. “With a shower like that, I’ll never leave here.”
“Every person who has returned with us has said the same thing. And I agree. Next to my truck, it’s the world’s best invention.
” He hurried over to kiss her, but then remembered that Charlotte had said he smelled bad, so he shied away.
“Give me a few minutes to clean up, and then I’ll help you with your phone. ”
“Marcelle showed me. Did you have yours in Chicago?”
“It was in my pocket. I had it turned off.”
“I might have to put it ahead of the shower on my list of the greatest inventions, and I only know the basics.”
“You’ll catch on in no time.” Remy stripped off his shirt and headed toward the bathroom.
“Remy!” Skye said, eyes wide. “How’d you get like that? All those muscles.”
“We all work with a personal trainer every day. Now rest. I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Remy beamed as he strode toward the bathroom. He craved a thirty-minute shower to purge the stress of the past few days down the drain, but every minute he lingered in the shower stole him away from Skye.
Remy emerged from the bathroom with a fresh towel draped low on his waist, an unspoken dare for her to yank it off.
Instead, Skye was curled up in bed, asleep, her phone still clutched in her hand.
Sighing, he set his alarm for thirty minutes.
He needed to check in with Charlotte, but first, he had to close his eyes for at least sixty seconds.
He slipped beneath the covers next to Skye and fell instantly asleep.
When his alarm blasted, he dressed and jotted a note on his yellow pad for Skye that he was going to assess Archibald and meet her at eight for dinner.
Then he pressed his lips to his sleeping beauty’s cheek.
It was about time he got the girl, and he couldn’t have asked for a more perfect soulmate.
She was the entire package—intelligent, talented, and beautiful.
And wholly his, in the way that mattered.