A One-Woman Man Read online

  “The number! Can you make it out?”

  Elizabeth turned her head but saw only the street and cars and people—people running and holding their hands over their mouths and pointing at her and at Tommy Lee. The shock on their faces scared her even more, as did the amount of blood she realized was on her blouse, dripping from the painful area over her left brow. Tommy Lee was white-faced except where his jaw was beginning to swell and bruise. He held his shoulder at an odd angle and continued to stare down the street, as if he could will the car that had nearly killed them both back onto the scene.

  “I can’t see anything,” she said.

  He looked at her, then gingerly reached into his jeans pocket and withdrew a clean handkerchief, neatly laundered. With a gentle move, he reached toward her and dabbed at the wound on her forehead.

  Elizabeth blinked when he pressed the soft white cloth to her skin, then murmured, “Thank you, Mr. McCall. Thank you for pushing me out of the way.” Elizabeth shut her eyes against the wave of pain that overcame her, while the surreal memory of the minute before replayed itself at fast-forward speed in her head. One moment she had been in the crosswalk of a busy boulevard, planning a workout at the gym followed by a long soak in a hot bath, the next moment she had heard the rush of an approaching car. She’d turned to see the steel grill of what seemed a monstersize sedan less than five yards away. Before she could scream, a hard-muscled arm had grabbed her around the waist and literally tossed her through the air to safety.

  Her eyes flew open and she met Tommy Lee’s anxious stare. “But where did you come from? Did you follow me downstairs?”

  “I’m Superman. I flew.” Tommy Lee grinned, then grimaced as his swollen cheek complained about his choice of facial expression.

  Elizabeth’s gaze darted across the street and she stared at the open second-floor window. “You jumped out the window. You jumped out the window?” she repeated.

  “Don’t go making a big deal out of that, Miss Monette. It ain’t that high a window.”

  Before Elizabeth could express any more disbelief, or gratitude, which frankly made him uncomfortable as hell, Tommy Lee struggled to stand. He started ordering the bystanders around, directing them to get to a phone, call for an ambulance, and to, “Please stand back and give the lady some air.” His gruffness belied his concern and helped him fight off dizziness. He stretched out his hand to help Elizabeth Monette to her feet.

  Her pale skin was dry and taut as an eggshell, and it looked to him like her pupils were different sizes, which could mean a concussion or worse. An elderly gentleman was removing his topcoat and offering it to Elizabeth, who was turning him down, but Tommy Lee took the coat and draped it around her shoulders.

  She slumped against him and he held her, feeling surprised at the jolt of pleasure he got from her soft body molding up against his aching ribs.

  “I called the police, sir. They’re on their way,” a young woman told him, clutching a portable phone.

  “Thank you, miss,” he replied, heartened by the approaching wail of sirens. “Did you happen to see the car that nearly killed us?”

  “Sorry, no,” the young woman said. She handed Tommy Lee Elizabeth’s gym bag, which had an ugly oil stain down the side.

  The crowd had grown to about twenty now, and they all began talking at once. It didn’t sound like anyone had seen anything much that would help, Tommy Lee realized.

  “I think the plates were out of state,” Elizabeth said in a small voice. “Maybe New York.”

  Tommy Lee squeezed her gently. “Good job. How you doing?”

  “Okay. A little shaky, but okay.”

  She showed no sign of moving away from him, which filled Tommy Lee with more pleasure than he’d felt for a long while. As the crowd murmured and the first emergency vehicle pulled up to the scene, Tommy Lee realized he was going to remember this day for the rest of his life.

  But he couldn’t say if that was because of playing superhero or because of meeting up with Miss Elizabeth Monette. With a snort of surprise at that thought, Tommy Lee turned his attention to the pair of paramedics now shouting orders at him, and grudgingly released Elizabeth to their care.

  “HOW’S BELLE FLEUR treating you, Miss Monette? I hear you’ve only been here a couple of weeks.”

  Elizabeth smiled grimly at the white-coated woman walking into her hospital room. “Great. I have sore knees, three stitches in my elbow and a goose egg the size of a moon pie on my forehead.” It was an accurate summation of her rotten afternoon, though it left out her nitwit performance with Tommy Lee McCall.

  That would have taken more time, and explaining, than Elizabeth had any intention of dealing with. A person had only so much stamina. And today had been almost as horrible as the day a few weeks ago when her parents had told her she had been adopted at the age of five.

  As the memory of that scene flew into her mind, Elizabeth lowered her eyes, the fear and hurt of that day still fresh enough to bring tears. She kept her gaze averted, unwilling to share this pain with a stranger.

  Elizabeth had never been any good at lying, and the last thing she wanted to do was explain to this efficient-looking doctor why she was about to cry. She touched the lump on her head, which pulsed under her fingers, hoping that injury would be a logical excuse. “All in all, I guess I’m lucky I wasn’t hurt worse. No broken bones, I hope?”

  The woman, who introduced herself as Dr. Katherine Smiths, clicked on the light behind the viewing screen and stared at the greenish X ray. “No, ma’am, not a single one.” The tawny-skinned woman snapped off the light and turned to stare at Elizabeth. “You look like someone I know. You got kin in Belle Fleur?”

  Elizabeth flushed. Her first instinct was to ask, “Who do I look like?” but the reality of where that question might lead could not be answered without more preparation. “My family’s over in Fairbreeze. There’s no one here in Belle Fleur. Not that I know of.”

  “Humph. You put me in mind of someone, I just can’t say who.” Dr. Smiths shook her head and reached down to take Elizabeth’s pulse. “I’m going to keep you overnight. Just to be sure you have no concussion. Wouldn’t want you passing out at the Midnight Ball in a couple of weeks, would I?”

  Surprised that even someone as sensible looking as Dr. Smiths was consumed with thinking about the ball, Elizabeth kept her voice neutral. “I’ll stay tonight if you think it’s necessary, but I’d really rather go home.”

  “You stay put.” Dr. Smiths glanced around the empty room, then locked her dark eyes on Elizabeth’s face. “Did you get a chance yet to call your family and let them know what happened?”

  “No, not yet. I don’t want them to worry.”

  The doctor’s mouth tightened. Her deep voice, clipped and accent free a moment before, took on the drawl of those born and raised on the sultry Gulf Coast. “If you were my child, I’d want to hear two hours ago—not later—all about how you came to be nearly run down by a car and then tackled by a six-foot-tall brute smack into a Belle Fleur light pole. Worry or not, I’d call them.”

  “Thank you for your concern, Dr. Smiths. But my mother is out for the evening and my father has been ill, and he’s the type who’ll be bellowing to the police and ordering the FBI in here before he sees I’m okay. I’ll be fine. They’ll do better to hear this from me later tonight when I can assure them it’s all over with.”

  Dr. Smiths crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.

  Elizabeth quickly added, “I promise I’ll call. They’ll be home late tonight. I’ll call them then.”

  The doctor stared for a moment longer but finally smiled. “Well, then, let me get another look at you.”

  While the woman’s gentle hands completed their examination of her, Elizabeth marveled at the effectiveness of hospital grapevines in Belle Fleur, if Dr. Smith’s knowledge of the day’s events was common.

  “Okay, now let me see those knees,” Dr. Smiths said, pulling the sheet back. “Bend them for me, please.” />
  Elizabeth winced as the adhesive bandages stretched unwillingly over her skin, but she obediently bent both knees. Dr. Smiths’s requests had a way of sounding like orders. Even Tommy Lee McCall had seemed meek when the woman was sticking an IV needle into his hand in the emergency room. The looks and banter she’d observed Tommy Lee and the doctor exchange indicated they had a relationship that predated today’s accident, but what that relationship was, Elizabeth couldn’t guess.

  She peered closely at the doctor, remembering when one of the emergency-room staff had announced, “Tommy Lee McCall really is something,” to Dr. Smiths.

  The doctor had ignored the nurse and turned to Tommy Lee. In a voice loud enough to be heard behind all the partitions, she’d said, “I see you’re still living by the slash-and-burn version of police behavior. Leave your body to science when you die, Mr. McCall. I’m sure some eager little researcher can do her entire thesis on how your skull is harder than any other known human specimen.”

  This comment confirmed Elizabeth’s conclusion that Tommy Lee McCall was considered by most who knew him as somewhat of a “character.” Though in her book, the man who jumped out a window to save her would also always be considered a hero with a capital H.

  “Can I get you anything from the gift shop before they close? You need a magazine or newspaper?” Dr. Smiths asked in a kind voice.

  “No, thank you.”

  “What about a bottle of Coca-Cola?”

  Elizabeth smiled, loving the familiar way the people she grew up around pronounced the soft drink with three syllables as “cok-cola.” “No. No, thank you. I ate a big breakfast this morning and had lunch right before the accident. But thanks.”

  “All right, why don’t you get some rest. I’ll check on you later this evening.” She smiled and turned to go.

  Mustering her nerve, Elizabeth ventured, “Excuse me, Doctor, but before you leave, can you tell me how Mr. McCall is?”

  Dr. Smiths slowly turned. “He’ll live. This time. But don’t you go spending any of your time worrying about him. This town is full of folks, especially female folks, who’ve worried about him for years, but he keeps on putting himself in death’s sights. I don’t think he’ll be happy till he nails Satan or the devil nails his sorry behind. So you rest, and don’t spend one single second worrying about Mr. Tommy Lee McCall!” With that amazing advice, Dr. Smiths stomped out. Elizabeth shut her eyes and tried not to think how bad her head and shoulder and elbow and knees hurt, while the surreal memory of the afternoon happenings replayed themselves at fast-forward speed in her head. Elizabeth turned off the thoughts and reminded herself she had been delivered to safety. She touched the bruise on her head. Well, not exactly to safety, considering she had fallen onto the curb with both knees and almost crashed headfirst into the base of a concrete light pole. But Tommy Lee had saved her from certainly more serious injuries from the car.

  “Thank you,” she had managed to tell him, but she wasn’t sure now if he had heard her. He’d been too busy directing people to see if they could catch a glimpse of the car license. When he had finally looked at her he’d grinned and said, “You okay?” then had reached out and gently wiped some grit off her cheek.

  For some reason, she felt she would never forget this day as long as she lived. Though she realized she couldn’t say if that was because of nearly being killed, or meeting Mr. Tommy Lee McCall.

  With a snort of surprise at that thought, Elizabeth smiled, goofy from the pain medication she had swallowed earlier. “What a crazy man,” she murmured, leaning back into her pillows.

  “I bet I know who you’re talking about.”

  Elizabeth’s eyelids darted open and she turned toward the female voice floating through the warm hospital air. Standing in the doorway was a red-haired nurse, with green eyes and a drop-dead figure. She was beautiful and looked very familiar, though Elizabeth didn’t think they’d ever met.

  Elizabeth quickly turned to get out of bed, only to be stunned motionless by twin rushes of pain from the wounds on her legs. “Hello,” she managed to say as she eased back down onto the pillow. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I said if you’re calling someone crazy, it’s ten-toone odds that it’s Tommy Lee McCall.” The redhead smiled wider and walked over to Elizabeth’s bed. “Sorry to bust in on you hon. I’m Luvey Rose. Tammy’s sister. When I heard one of the Queen of Midnight electees had nearly been run down, I decided to come up and see if there’s anything I could do.”

  Tammy Rose. The pretty, petite, auburn-haired ballet dancer who was one of those most favored by the gossips to win this year’s title. Except for their coloring, and the fact that this woman was about six inches taller than Tammy, they could be twins. “That’s very nice of you, Luvey. Thank you.”

  “It’s a hell of a welcome back to Belle Fleur, Elizabeth Monette.”

  “That’s true, but thankfully I’m okay.” Elizabeth pulled the covers straight and patted the bed. “Please sit.”

  Luvey glanced at her watch. “I think I will take a load off. I’ve been on since six this morning. I’m in charge of public relations for the hospital. Give tours to the kids, fill them in on the story of how Dr. Bennett Heywood started this hospital with his little bother Tyler and built it into the best on the Gulf Coast.” She smiled and leaned closer. “Of course, I don’t tell them about how the two boys had a terrible falling-out some years back and the baby brother disappeared. Can’t muddy up the public image, you know.”

  The woman’s eyes, though tired, twinkled with interest. “Now that I’ve told you all that, why don’t we order us some good old hospital food and you can tell me all about what the hell prompted my husband to jump out a window for you?”

  “Your husband?” Elizabeth gasped and felt her skin glow warm.

  “Well, ex-husband is probably more the truth, but I’m not one to give up claim to a man just because of a little old piece of paper. Though I did take my name back. Luvey McCall sounded like a cowgirl, where Luvey Rose is a little more dear, don’t you think?”

  Before Elizabeth could answer, Luvey launched into a series of stories starring the very same man Elizabeth had been ready to dream about. She found them all very interesting, which was how, she realized, she also found the man.

  INDIA HEYWOOD HURRIED from her bedroom, her mind filled with all the work left to do downstairs. She had to check that there was enough mushroom quiche cut into bites for the appetizer trays she was to serve to her Midnight Ball Committee members. She had to remind Justine to brush egg whites on the rolls and make sure Noonie had put the tiny, crown-shaped pats of butter out on the buffet to soften.

  Things had to be perfect for the committee. Tonight’s meeting was the night the secret ballot would be taken to elect the Queen of Midnight. India inhaled deeply to keep her excitement from overwhelming her and walked down the hallway.

  Rapping sharply against the freshly painted door of the room next to her bedroom, she called out, “About ready, baby? Let me see how you look.”

  “Come on in, Mama.”

  She walked in and caught her breath. Her daughter, Rosellen, stood preening in front of the mirror. The white satin off-the-shoulder gown glowed against her pale olive skin. The young woman’s green eyes sparkled and her black hair bounced as she twirled in front of her mother’s approving gaze.

  “What do you think, Mama? Didn’t Miss Hattie do a fabulous job altering this dress?”

  India clasped her left hand against her constricting throat. She felt she might collapse, that she would have to at least cry. Not with pleasure over the sight of her only child’s beauty, which she did not notice, but at the memories welling up inside her. She, India Sewell Heywood, had worn that very dress twenty-four years ago to the day. Her mother had purchased it for her in London, from Norman Hartnell, the designer who had created Queen Elizabeth II’s wedding dress.

  It had been almost at this very minute, on that day, that her daddy had given her Grandmother Sewel
l’s necklace—the very one grandmother had worn when she was Queen of Midnight in 1937—to wear with the dress. India moved her hand from her throat to her collarbone. She caressed the warm, familiar roundness of the pearls she was never without.

  “You look a vision, darling,” she told her daughter. Now, put your shoes on and come on downstairs and check the table with me.”

  Rosellen grabbed her mother’s arm and pulled her over in front of the mirror. She laid her head on India’s shoulder and smiled. “You should have been Queen of Midnight, Mother. You’re still the most beautiful woman in town, just as Daddy says.”

  India’s stomach tightened and a vein at her temple seemed to throb with her heartbeat. Her eyes misted over with the pain she still felt from the terrible injustice all those years ago, the disappointment that stung as if it had just happened. India reached over and patted Rosellen’s hair. “You’ll be Queen for both of us, darling. That’s all that matters now.”

  “I don’t think my winning is such a sure thing, if you want to know the truth.” The girl’s words tumbled out in a nervous rush. “Daisy’s mama told us that Judge Monette’s daughter had so many admirers, and now that Miss Lou, who was a Queen, has convinced her to let them put Elizabeth’s name into nomination—”

  “Stop it!” India’s eyes blazed and she glared at her daughter. “Don’t listen to that foolish Daisy Gambeaux or anyone else. You will be Queen of Midnight this year. No one is going to rob me again. No one, no matter how sweet their mama.”

  Her mother’s snarling comment froze Rosellen into silence. The young woman took a step away. “All I meant was that I don’t want you to get upset. It doesn’t really matter so very much to me, for myself, I mean—”

  “It matters the world to me, as I’ve told you a hundred times!” India shouted, grabbing Rosellen’s elbow. The woman’s fingers bruised her daughter and left a damp crease on the filmy silk. “It’s a birthright in our family. There have been three Queens in my family, and two in your daddy’s! Who else do you know in this town with that kind of pedigree? Not Luisa Monette, or poor, pitiful Elizabeth. Not anyone else.”