Page 48 of Baxter's Right-Hand Man

“Oh, I do what any parent would. Chase is the tough guy. Not me,” she replied softly. “I can’t tell you how much this means to him. To all of us. Pierce is his hero. I think he might be mine now, too.”

A nurse entered the room before I could reply. She greeted Chase and flashed a winsome smile at Pierce. “Good evening, Mr. Allen. I’m Kimberly. I was asked to escort you to see Mr. Jasper Gowan when you’re ready.”

Pierce nodded graciously but slumped in his chair in a show of disappointment worthy of any grade school kid. “Sorry, Chase. I gotta run.”

“It’s okay.”

“We’ll call this game a tie ’cause I think I was about to win.”

“No way, Jose.” Chase grinned so wide his new baseball cap fell over his eyes. He pulled it off, adding, “Thanks for the hat.”

“You’re welcome. Later, man.” He bumped Chase’s fist, hugged his mom, and posed for a photo, then inclined his chin in my direction. “Ready, assistant?”

That should have irked me, but I was under a new spell, utterly enchanted by this unexpected detour.

“Ready.”

Kimberly motioned us into a private elevator to the third floor.

“Good evening, Mr. Gowan. You have visitors.”

Just like that, it was back to reality.

I wanted to blame my clouded senses on the scent of ruthless antiseptic cleanliness clinging to the air like bad perfume. But this wing of the hospital had a far less cheery, hopeful vibe, and I simply wasn’t prepared for the sight of him.

Mr. G looked so damn small and fragile, attached to an array of high-tech machinery, an IV, oxygen, and a heart monitor. His white hair was disheveled, his skin pale and translucent. I was used to a vibrant dandy of a man who wore fancy silk ties in bright colors, crossed his legs to show off matching socks, and never had so much as a single strand of hair out of place.

I blinked back tears, knowing he’d never forgive me if I dared shed one in his presence. I wished I could do something. Anything.

I wanted to open a window and redecorate, stat. Out with the paper-thin blue blanket draped over the end of the twin bed. Out with the proxy shower curtain shielding him from nosy passersby. Out with the generic hospital gown that did nothing for anyone’s coloring. Out with all things drab and dreary, muting his shine. And yes, I wanted to comb his hair for him.

“Well, look who’s here,” Mr. G rasped weakly, extending a shaky hand to me. “Dah-ling, you’re a sight for these old eyes.”

I scooted a plastic blue chair next to his bed, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Gowan. How are you feeling?”

“Better. There’s a rumor they’re kicking me out soon.” He looked over at the nurse. “Isn’t that right?”

“We’ll see what the doctor says,” she said carefully. “I’ll give you twenty minutes to chat. Push the button if you need anything at all, Mr. Allen. Enjoy your visit.”

Mr. G wheezed a laugh when the door clicked shut. “I think she has a bigger crush on you than Enid. Come sit, movie star.”

Pierce obeyed, pulling a chair next to mine. “Glad to hear you’re on the mend.”

“Mend? I don’t think that’s in the cards for me now. I’m operating on what’s called ‘borrowed time.’ I haven’t taken so much as a puff in fifteen years, but my lungs have railed against my former two-pack-a-day cigarette habit. What can you do?” Mr. Gowan adjusted his oxygen tube and smiled. “It’s nice to see you both.”

“We were thinking of you and just happened to be in the neighborhood,” Pierce replied awkwardly.

“Together?” Mr. Gowan’s brows met his hairline.

“Yeah.” Pierce opened his hands. “Together.”

Okay, super awkward. I shot a sideways WTF look his way.

“All right. I’m happy to—”

“He wants to know who David is,” I blurted, rubbing my clammy palms on my knees.

Pierce glared, and Mr. G did that thing with his eyebrows again. “Oh.”