He seemed to ponder her words, his brow knit together.
For a moment, she again tried to imagine the handsome man reflected in the picture on his driver’s license, rather than the guy with a battered face.
“What kind of financial difficulties?” he asked.
“He lives with his mom and a sister, so there’s just one income. And no medical insurance.”
Oops. What had gotten into her? She stopped herself from saying anything more. It was just that he seemed so sympathetic—and genuine—that the words had tumbled out before she knew it.
“Do you have a name and address for them?” he asked.
“Even if I did, I couldn’t give it to you.”
“But the hospital must have it.”
“I’m sure they do, but they won’t give out that information. And I shouldn’t have told you what I did.”
“Even if I wanted to pay the medical bill for them?”
“That’s really nice of you,” she said. “But I heard someone else has already offered to pay for it.”
“I’m going to do it,” he said, his voice sounding more certain—and a lot healthier—than it had since he’d arrived at the hospital.
She suspected that people didn’t tell him no very often, and that he didn’t like it when they did.
“Can you please let the billing department know?”
Molly supposed she could. If Chase took care of the Haines’ bill, there were bound to be new ones that she could pick up. Not that she planned to pay for any and all outstanding accounts, but the ones involving kids or others that tugged on her heartstrings were another story. “All right, I’ll tell them.”
“Get me a number,” he said. “And I’ll cut the hospital a check.”
Apparently Chase Mayfield was much more than a pretty face—and a nice butt. A whole lot more. And Molly found herself even more intrigued by him.
The charming race car driver was enough to make a woman forget she was a nurse. Almost. But Molly would never forget. It was too much a part of who she was.
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said, trying her best to rein in her wayward thoughts.
Then she turned and walked away, leaving him to watch her go.
As Chase lay stretched out on the bed, his personal Florence Nightingale disappeared into the hall. When he was sure she was gone and out of earshot, he picked up the telephone, pushed nine for an outside line and called his parents’ house in Garnerville, Texas. His eyesight, which was still limited, and his fingers, stiff and sore from the accident, weren’t cooperative, so he had to dial the number several times before he got it right.
His mother answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, Mom. It’s Chase. What are you doing?”
“The girls and I were just sitting at the kitchen table, drinking iced tea and planning a surprise party for your father’s sixtieth birthday.”
The girls in question were obviously her daughters-in-law, the wives of his older brothers.
“It’s on a Saturday this year,” his mother added, “so I hope you’ll put it on your calendar before you get it all filled up. Your dad would be so disappointed if you missed it again, especially with it being such a biggie.”
“I’ll be there,” Chase said, even if he didn’t have a calendar handy. “Tell Callie, Susan and Jana hello for me.”
“I will.”
“Have you got a minute?” he asked.
“For my baby? I’ve always got time for you, Chase.”
He supposed she always managed to find it, but when he’d been younger, he’d often felt as though he was in the way, as if his birth had somehow thrown the family dynamics out of whack.
His parents had never come out and said it, but his brothers had. And he’d sensed it often enough.
He always carried a credit card or two with him, so he could use one to pay the hospital for the kid, as well as any charges that might be left to pay for himself, but that would put his name out there, plus the statements went directly to Gerald Barden, who’d been watching them closely. And he wasn’t ready for the questions Gerald would have.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“I’m out of the area right now, so I’m going to need someone to be my right hand. And I hoped you’d do it for me.”
“Sure. Does it need to be done today?”
He wanted to say yes, but he hated to be demanding. “No, tomorrow is fine. Since you have a spare key to my place, I’d like you to go inside and get my checkbook out of the desk drawer in the den. And I’d like you to mail it to me.”
“Let me get a pen and paper to write down your address.”
Uh-oh. All of a sudden, something he’d thought would be easy to orchestrate when he picked up the phone suddenly seemed a bit more complicated than he’d expected. And a fuzzy brain wasn’t helping.
What address did he give her? The hospital’s? No, he knew his mother, and she’d be here before he could blink an eye.
“You know,” he said, “I just realized that I don’t have the address in front of me. I’ll give you a call with it later, okay?”
“All right, but why do you need your checkbook?”
“I found out about a family that’s struggling financially, and I’d like to give them some money.”
“That’s really sweet, Chase. I’m proud of you.”
He hadn’t been trying to impress his mother, but he couldn’t help being glad that he had. And the fact that his act had touched her was also a sign that his plan would work.
If his sponsors got wind of what he was doing, and if the newspapers did, too…well, let’s just say that he could use some good press for a change.
Not that he minded helping the family out. But to be honest, his motive hadn’t been entirely altruistic. The good PR was an added benefit.
“Where are you?” his mom asked.
“I’m…” He glanced at the hospital room, knowing he’d have to be clever. He might have given his poor mother a few headaches while growing up, but he’d never lied to her and didn’t want to start now, especially when his senses weren’t as sharp as usual. “I guess you could say I’m taking a break from the rat race and kicking back.”
“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that. I worry about you not getting enough sleep, Chase. The newspapers and magazines make it sound as though you’ve been keeping some late nights.”
“Not recently,” he said. He was going to fly under the radar for a while, just as Gerald Barden had ordered.
“That’s a relief.”
Maybe so, but settling down wasn’t going to be permanent—but he wouldn’t tell her that.
“Who’s there with you?” she asked. “A woman? A girlfriend, maybe? If you were serious about someone, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
His mom would be the first to know. Everyone else in the Mayfield family was happily married, and when he and Pamela had divorced, he’d felt as if he was the only failure on the family tree.
He was just about to tell her he was alone and that there