[The Sons of Lily Moreau 02] - Taming the Playboy Read online

  “Work-related,” Georges told him. Philippe moved closer. He made no attempt to hide the fact that he was giving him the once-over. “Dressed a little fancy for work, weren’t you? I saw you come in earlier.”

  It struck him that in another life, Philippe might have made his living as an interrogator instead of the software genius he turned out to be. He saw no reason to lie. “Iwas on my way to see Diana.”

  Philippe nodded, as if he’d thought as much. Not that he knew who Diana was, but Diana, Stella, Angela, it didn’t matter. The names were all interchangeable. By the time one was learned, Georges had moved on. But it was always a woman who lured him out to play.

  Amused, Philippe asked, “And that turned into work how?” Georges shut his door. This might take a while. He had a few minutes to spare. “When a hit-and-run driver sideswiped the car behind me, trapping the passengers inside and sending the car spinning up against a hillside on PCH.”

  Philippe’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized his brother. He had no way of knowing that Georges’ smoke-damaged clothing was stashed on the floor of his closet. But despite the time lapse and the shower, there was still the slight smell of smoke about Georges’ dark hair. Knowing Georges, he wouldn’t have hesitated when it came to saving lives.

  “Anyone hurt?” Philippe asked, even as he continued to check Georges over for any indication that the hurt person might have been Georges himself.

  Georges knew Philippe wouldn’t be satisfied with a yes or no answer. His older brother might not talk much, but he expected his brothers to fill in the gaps. “The man behind the wheel suffered a minor heart attack,” he told Philippe. “The doors were sealed shut. I had to break a window to get inside and get him and his granddaughter out. I had her call Blair for an ambulance while I did CPR on the old man.”

  Philippe nodded, taking it all in. “How is he?”

  “Fine now—so far,” he qualified, then explained. “He needed emergency surgery.”

  Georges had mentioned that there’d been two people in the car. “And the girl?” Georges wasn’t aware that’d he frowned when he answered, but Philippe was. “A little banged up, but she refused to let herself be admitted. Stayed at the old man’s side for most of the night.”

  “And you stayed by hers.” It wasn’t a guess. When it came to his brothers, Philippe had gotten good at filling in the blanks.

  Georges nodded, then tried to sound modest as he added, “When I wasn’t operating on her grandfather.” There was no missing the pride in his voice. Philippe looked at him with genuine surprise. He was aware that Georges routinely attended surgeries, but he didn’t know that his brother was operating on patients. “They let you scrub in?”

  Georges shrugged, doing his best to contain the excitement that scrubbing in as an assistant had generated. “They were short internal surgeons.” Philippe draped his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Sounds like you had a pretty eventful evening. Not as eventful as it might have been had you gone out with Diana,” he surmised, teasing him, “but still, eventful. I take back what I was thinking.”

  Georges arched an eyebrow. “And what were you thinking?”

  “That you’re a hopeless playboy.”

  “Hey, we all can’t be as steadfast as you, big brother. Zeroing in on one woman and pledging commitment without really taking the time to see what else is out there.” In direct contrast to their mother, Philippe seemed almost reclusive when it came to his social life, preferring the company of good friends to the dating field. But it was because he’d watched their mother go from relationship to relationship, all but fleeing when things became serious, that caused him to believe there was no use in searching for someone to spend his life with.

  Until Janice and her bright-as-a-newly-minted-penny daughter had come into his life.

  “I don’t need to see what else is out there, Georges,” Philippe informed him evenly, then smiled. “Some things you just know.” Georges folded his arms before him, waiting. “Like what?” He wasn’t one to profess love out loud, or make his feelings public. But loving Janice had changed some of that. “Like the fact that Janice is the one for me.” He looked to see if his brother understood what he meant. “Janice is a once-in-alifetime woman.”

  Georges laughed at the sound of that. “Sounds like some kind of sect.” The best thing in the world that he could wish for Georges, for both his brothers, was to find someone like Janice. “It means, little brother, a woman like that comes along once in a man’s lifetime and he had better be on his toes when she does. Because if he misses his chance, if he lets her slip through his fingers because he’s too blind, he’ll never see her like again. And the rest of his life could be spent looking for someone who even came close to her.”

  “Very poetic.” Straightening, Georges unfolded his arms. He had to get going. “Don’t get me wrong, Philippe. I think the world of Janice. Until she came along, Alain and I were afraid that you’d wind up some bitter old man we were going to have to share custody of. Sitting by the fire, rocking and uttering insane platitudes every so often.” He grinned, clapping his brother on the back. “But now with Janice around, we don’t have to worry anymore.”

  “Touching.”

  Georges was inclined to agree. “I thought so.”

  Philippe shifted, watching his brother open the driver’s-side door. “So when are you planning on getting some sleep?”

  Georges got in behind the wheel. “Don’t worry, I have it penciled in for a week from Friday.” He waved as he drove away. But that was just the trouble, Philippe thought, heading back to his own house, hedid worry. And would continue to do so until Georges found his own once-in-alifetime woman.

  Chapter Seven Georgeswas busy even before he entered the hospital. Parking his vehicle in the lot designated for hospital personnel—doctors had a closer lot, but he would not qualify for that until he completed his residency—he was about to walk through the main entrance when a woman stumbled right in front of him. He steadied her as best he could. She looked to be about ten months pregnant with a great deal to steady.

  Helping her inside, he brought the woman to the admissions desk. English was not her first language. Because of the travels his mother had taken him and his brothers on, Georges knew a smattering of a handful of languages. Trying them out on the pregnant woman, they came together over French, enough so that he could put her at her ease and, more importantly, find out her name and the name of the doctor she was coming to see.

  Once she was situated, Georges dashed over to the east wing, where he was supposed to have been on duty for the last half hour. His attending, John LaSalle, was not pleased about his being late and made no effort to hide the way he felt. But then Dr. Sheila Pollack, the head of the maternity ward, came by to personally thank him for helping with her patient. The woman’s husband had been called and would be on his way in time for what appeared to be a very fast-track delivery.

  After that, LaSalle retracted some of his harsher words, and Georges was left to take on his regular duties. Two more hours were eaten up.

  He didn’t get a chance to swing by AmosSchwarzwalden’s room on the third floor until just a little before eleven. Georges knocked softly in order not to disturb the man if he was still asleep. Opening the door, he saw that the old man was not alone. Her back to the door, his granddaughter was sitting besideSchwarzwalden’s bed, just as she had been last night.

  Viennatwisted around in her chair to see who opened the door. The smile that greeted him instantly spread warmth all through his chest. Her hair was piled up on her head and pinned haphazardly, with tendrils descending here and there. She looked younger somehow, more vulnerable now than she had last night, he thought.

  Coming into the room, he caught the scent of something warm and tempting. He would have said it was her, but there was a dash of cinnamon mixed in. He doubted that she dabbed cinnamon behind her ears.

  That was when he saw the open white box at the foot of her grandfather’s bed. S
treamers of entwining blue and pink were embossed on the sides, obviously a logo of some sort. The box was crammed full with pastries.

  Fresh from the oven from the smell of it, he thought. Viennarose to her feet and crossed to him. “Hi.” Was it possible for a single word to all but vibrate with sunshine? he wondered. “He’s still unconscious,” she told him needlessly.

  “Not unusual,” he assured her. “His body needs the time to heal. This is the best way. Don’t worry, yourgrandfather’ll come around.” He glanced at the open box. She’d probably brought that so he would see something familiar when he opened his eyes, Georges surmised. Too bad. “But when he does, he really can’t have those right now.”

  “I know.” Picking up the box, she presented it to him. “I made them for you.”

  He held the box as if he meant to pass it back to her. “Me?” Her smile grew wider as she nodded. “I’m not as good as my grandfather,” she freely admitted, “but he did teach me a few things.” Very gently, she pushed the box back toward him. “It’s just my way of saying thank you—other than paying the bill.” Her eyes were shining with humor and it took effort to draw his own away.

  When he did, Georges gazed down at the box in his hands. There had to be over a dozen assorted pastries and cakes in it, maybe more. Each looked lighter and more delectable than the last.

  Ever since he was a little boy, he’d never been one to stop for a morning meal. That was because he was never hungry before noon, no matter what time he got up. Breakfast for him these days was an extra-large container of coffee. Caffeine rather than nutrition saw him through his morning hours. A bad attitude for a doctor, he knew, but he had yet to run up against the age-old saying of, “Physician, heal thyself.”

  However, there was something about the box of mouthwatering confections that prompted him to take a small sample. Breaking off a tiny piece of one, he popped it into his mouth. Once he did, he wanted more.

  The experience was not unlike his reaction toVienna ’s kiss last night. Or had that been this morning? The hours were running together for him at this point, and he’d lost his markings.

  But his memory was sharp when it came to remembering the impact.

  “Good,” he murmured with enthusiasm, licking a drop of frosting from his index finger.

  “Of course she is good.”

  The reedy-sounding affirmation came from the patient in the bed. Georges andVienna looked at each other, wide-eyed, before approaching the man in the bed.

  “She is my granddaughter.” Amos’s eyes all but disappeared as he smiled at her. “Everything she does is good.”

  Georges nodded. The comment seemed to come out on its own. “I have no doubt.” Viennahardly heard him. Her heart hammered very loudly in her ears. “Grandpa, you’re awake.” Overjoyed, she took his hand and pressed a kiss to it, careful not to dislodge any of the lines attached to him.

  “Why shouldn’t I be awake? The sun is up.” And then he became aware of his present surroundings. Amos frowned at the various tethers he saw attached to his body. Two different IVs ran into his arm, one for nutrition, one for medication, as well as a clear tube beneath his nose supplementing his oxygen. A wide cuff was wrapped around his other arm, periodically measuring his blood pressure, heartbeat and various other vital signs.

  “Why am I tied down like this?” he askedVienna . Then he turned toward the man he didn’t recognize. Maybe he had an explanation for all this. “What have I done?” Viennafought back tears of joy. She feathered her fingertips along the old man’s finely lined brow, lightly brushing back his hair. “Nothing, Grandpa. You’ve lived. Survived.”

  “Do you remember anything that happened, sir?” Georges asked. It was not uncommon for people involved in an accident not to remember anything for several hours, sometimes days, after the accident.

  Amos paused for a long moment, as if to scan the depths of his mind for a scrap of information that somehow didn’t belong there. But in the end, he slowly moved his head from side to side.

  “No,” he confessed and it looked as if the admission troubled him. “What is it I should be remembering?”

  Viennawrapped her hand about her grandfather’s, as if to temporarily give him her strength. He’d always been her rock. Now it was time to return the favor.

  “There was an accident, Grandpa. A drunk driver hit us. ThePontiac spun out and wound up hitting the side of hill.”

  The news had him clutching her hand harder as he scrutinized her face. “You? You are hurt?”

  She smiled. He always thought of her first, never himself. “No, Grandpa, I’m not.” She nodded toward Georges. “Thanks to Dr. Armand.”

  The lines in his forehead became more pronounced as Amos’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand.”

  Georges left the explanation up to her. He had a feeling that the old man would understand it better if it came fromVienna . “He saw the accident and risked his life to save ours. He got me out of the car and then dragged you out.” Her voice quivered just a little as she added, “You had a heart attack.”

  Amos’s face was immobile. “No.”

  “Yes,” she contradicted gently. “You did. Dr. Armand gave you CPR and then had the ambulance bring you here.” Her eyes shifted to the man’s chest. Amos wore the customary hospital gown assigned to everyone, but that didn’t keep her from visualizing the long, fresh surgical cuts beneath. “You had to have emergency surgery.”

  “All this and I do not remember?” Uttered in awe, it was a question, an appeal to both her and the man beside her to help him recall the events.

  Very lightly, she ran the back of her knuckles along his cheek. A tad of his color was returning, she thought with relief. “You were unconscious, Grandpa. But now you’re back. And I’m ever so grateful.” She shifted her eyes toward Georges to underscore her feelings before she looked back at her grandfather again.

  Amos nodded slowly, trying to assimilate the information coming at him. He raised his eyes to her face. “What about the car?”

  “Gone,” she told him. “It burst into flames just as Georges got you out.”

  “Georges?”

  “Dr. Armand,”Vienna corrected herself. She’d lapsed just then. The man’s profession demanded that respect be accorded him. And yet, after all they had been through in such a short space of time, it didn’t seem quite right being so formal. He’d given both her grandfather and her their lives back.

  “I see.” The words left Amos’s lips in slow motion. “We’ll need a new one.”

  “Yes, we will.” She smiled at him fondly, her heart feeling so full she could barely breathe. Was there ever a time when her grandfather didn’t look forward, didn’t push toward the future rather than lament the past? He was going to be just fine, she assured herself.

  “What about the shop?” Amos realized suddenly. He attempted to sit up. “I should be there.” “You should be here.” With gentle but firm hands, she pushed her grandfather back onto the bed. “Raul is in the back, baking. Zelda is in the front, taking care of the customers. Everything’s running smoothly for now.”Vienna looked at the old man pointedly, not about to stand for an argument. She could be tough if she had to be. He had taught her that. “We all just want you to get better.”

  Georges had stood off to the side, feeling that the old man needed this, needed to have his granddaughter refresh his parameters for him and help him orient himself. He sensed it would make the man feel better and ultimately be more cooperative when it came to his treatment.

  But now it was his turn. He had rounds to make with Schulman soon, and he didn’t want to miss this opportunity to check out Amos’s condition before he had to get on with his work.

  So he came now to stand by the man’s bed, doing his best not to seem threatening in any way. There were people who had almost a pathological fear of doctors. “How do you feel, Mr.Schwarzwalden ?”

  Amos leaned back against his pillows and exhaled dramatically. “Like elephants have been danci
ng on my body.” He slanted a look at the younger man and smiled. “And please, you saved my granddaughter. Call me Amos.” Georges inclined his head, smiling back. “All right, Amos.” He got down to business, keeping in mind that he didn’t want to alarm his patient. “These elephants, do you feel like they’re pressing on your chest?”

  Amos considered the question and watchedVienna , who was holding her breath, waiting for him to answer. “No, all over.” Then it wasn’t his heart, Georges thought. Just a generalachiness , which was to be expected. Had the pain been isolated to the man’s chest area, it could have been an indication that more heart trouble needed to be addressed.

  Picking up the chart, Georges made several notations before resting it on the bed. Rather than rely strictly on the machine readings, he checked over Amos’s vital signs on his own. Measuring his blood pressure, taking his pulse, listening to his heart and lungs.

  Finished, because he had verified it for himself, he felt a sense of relief at the outcome. “Your pupils are fine,” he told Amos, shutting off the light he’d shone into the man’s eyes. “No indications of a concussion. Your heartbeat is strong, your blood pressure remarkably low for a man your age.”

  The grin on Amos’s face was completely reminiscent of his granddaughter’s expression. “That is because I am not a man my age, Doctor. I am a man much younger than my age.”

  Viennafelt she needed to explain that to Georges before he thought that her grandfather was lapsing into some sort of childish babble. “Grandpa believes that everyone has to get older, but no one has to get old.” It was a saying Amos attributed to the late comedian George Burns. Her grandfather had made it his own, repeating it as often as he felt was necessary. She secretly felt that it was more of a case of self-hypnosis than anything else because he certainly was a true believer these days.

  Georges grinned, retiring his stethoscope. “Great philosophy to have.” He looked at the pastry chef. “I think you’d get along very well with my mother.”