A Match Made in Texas by Arlene James Page A

Honestly, the way he pouted! Then again, she should be used to it by now, for his behavior really was not much different from her father’s. Men! What was it that made them such impossible patients? Either they were too macho to give in to disease or, once overwhelmed by it, they wallowed in black despair and petulant behavior.
    She thought of her mother and how patiently and cheerfully that dear woman had endured her own swift decline: dizziness so acute that she couldn’t stand without retching, vision so blurry that she could neither read nor watch television, pain so intense that there were whole days she could not lift her head from her pillow. At the end, she could not swallow even her own saliva, but she had smiled with gratitude every time someone had wiped her mouth for her. When relief had finally come, she had passed into the next life with the most peaceful expression imaginable. And Hubner Chatam had been angry ever since.
    Why, Kaylie wondered, was Stephen Gallow angry? For angry he definitely was, so much so that she probably ought to tell him to keep his job or find someone else more to hisliking. But she didn’t. Instead, she remained mute, for what if she offered him her resignation and he took her up on it? After all, if taking the job was God’s will for her, then she had no business resigning it.
    If that explanation did not entirely satisfy, she chose not to search for another.
    Stephen expressed a sudden weariness, so she got him to his feet and helped him hobble back to the bed, his rapidly failing strength burdening both of them. Doolin came in just as they reached the bed, his arms laden with bags.
    “Are you sure we didn’t forget something?” he quipped, dumping the bags on the chest at the foot of the bed. “I could’ve bought a nice gurney while I was out or a coffee plantation in Brazil. Hospital, anyone? I hear there’s a good one in Galveston, right on the beach. Palm trees, sun and sand.”
    “Hurricanes,” Stephen growled, easing down onto the edge of the bed.
    “Always looking on the bright side,” Aaron joked, digging into the bags. “Got those phones,” he said to his client, “and just in the nick of time. You’ll never guess who called. Okay, you will, because she’s been calling ever since you drove your car through your house.”
    Kaylie gasped. “Is that what happened?” She looked at Stephen. “You drove your car through your house? But how is that possible?”
    They both studiously ignored her questions. Instead, Stephen glared at Aaron. “You did not give her my new number. Tell me you did not give her my new number.”
    “I didn’t give her your new number,” Aaron said dryly, huffing slightly as if Stephen had questioned his loyalty. “That way she can keep calling me and pleading to speak to you.”
    Stephen looked away. “Tell her I’ll talk to her when I’m better.”
    “I’ve been telling her that. She says if she doesn’t speak to you soon, she’s coming over here.”
    Stephen seemed to dismiss that out of hand. “She doesn’t know where I am.”
    “She knows where I am,” Aaron pointed out. “She knows where the arena is and the team offices.”
    Stephen’s head jerked around, an appalled look on his face, but then he sighed. “I can’t deal with this now, Aaron. Find a way to put her off. Now, give me the phones.”
    Aaron threw up his hands and went back to pawing through the bags. “I’m just saying…”
    Confused and curious, Kaylie helped Stephen into a prone position.
    “Get me the other pillow, will you?” he mumbled, his gaze averted. “I’ve spent enough time flat on my back.”
    “All right.”
    She went to do as requested, aware of Stephen and Aaron speaking quietly together in the next room. She returned with the second pillow and, after making Stephen comfortable in a semi-reclining position, she distributed the goods about the room, placing each item where it would be most handy. Meanwhile, Aaron and Stephen