âHE WAS good-looking before in a dark, dashing way. Now heâs handsome as sin, but you wouldnât want to tangle with a man fighting his demons! Iâll do his vital signs before I leave the floor.â
Riley Garrow had been lying propped in his hospital bed at St. Stevenâs counting the minutes until Bart Adams arrived.
Some of Rileyâs friends and colleagues as well as those of his deceased father had been in and out of his room at one time or other in the last two months. However faithful Bart, his dadâs closest buddy and confidant, had been the one to serve as Rileyâs lifeline to the outside world during his convalescence.
But it was Sister Francescaâs voice, not Bartâs, he heard out in the hall. He had the strongest suspicion the head nurse had intended for him to overhear her.
Theirs had been an ongoing battle of the wills. Her psychiatric training hadnât prepared her for Rileyâs refusal to let her explore his inner selfâthe core, as she put it, where he really lived. The persona he showed to the world was a mere facade hiding the wounded soul struggling for help from within.
He loved baiting her when she started to pull her psychobabble on him. Since there wasnât anything else to do during the long boring hours, it made his day pushing her buttons.
âUh-uh-uh,â he would say to her, waving his index finger before her shrewd brown eyes. âControl, Sister. Control. Donât forget youâre a role model for the sweet young postulants under your care.â
At that point the gentle lines of her face would harden while she fought with herself to remain calm and collected.
âYouâre absolutely impossible,â she would mutter before leaving the room in exasperation.
âIâve been told that before by a number of women whoâve warmed my bed,â he would call after her before bursting into laughter.
When she went off the day shift she briefed the night staff personally if they were new to the floor. After eight weeks and several plastic surgeries to graft skin from his leg to the area around his right eye and cheek, he knew everyoneâs schedule.
Unfortunately the only female nursing help who came and went from his room were lay nuns. That was something Sister Francesca had probably rigged up too. Surely there couldnât be that many women in Santa Monica, California, rushing to take vows of chastity and obedience.
He stared at the four sterile walls of his cage. âSixty days without a real womanâ No wonder Iâm chomping at the bit to get out of here!â
âYour protest has been noted.â Sister Francesca floated into his room pretending she was mother serenity herself this evening. âIt appears heaven has heard your prayers at last, Mr. Garrow.â
He smiled up at her. âI didnât think heaven listened to impossible men.â
âTheyâve made an exception in your case on behalf of all the sisters at St. Stevenâs who go to their knees the moment before they enter your room, and as soon as they leave.â
âAll?â He arched one black brow. âIsnât it a sin to exaggerate, Sister?â
She started taking his vital signs. âAfter examining you on his rounds before dinner, Dr. Diazzo informed me youâre being discharged in the morning.â
Rileyâs eyelids closed tightly for a moment.
âI thought that news would please you.â
He opened them again. âSince I know youâd be forced to do penance if you lied, I have to assume youâre telling me the truth. For once Iâm happy you invaded my privacy.â
Her brows lifted. âFor once Iâm overcome by the admission.â
âDonât let pride carry you away, Sister, otherwise youâll have to say extra novenas after vespers. Tell meâare you going to be here in the morning to make certain I never darken your doorstep again?â
âIâm afraid not. After the burden it has been taking care of you, Iâm going on retreat with some other sisters.â