“Looks like someone beat the hell out of him.”
“Apparently. Dr. Frank said he has a concussion, a few broken ribs, a badly sprained wrist and several painful cuts and bruises.”
“Stitched up his head, did they?”
“He had a deep cut to the scalp at his right temple. It took six stitches to close it.”
Dan nodded, still looking at the man on the bed. “Has he been awake?”
“Not for more than seconds at a time. I thought he was waking up a few minutes ago, but he drifted off again. They’ve pumped him full of antibiotics and who knows what else. I suppose the drugs could be affecting him.”
“More likely the concussion. LuWanda said she’d be in to check on him as soon as she gets Red Tucker calmed down. I’d better get out there and help her. Nothing like a hospital full of panicky parents to keep everyone hopping.”
“Thank God none of the students was seriously injured.”
“Yeah. My niece was on that bus,” Dan admitted with a grimace. “Scared the stuffing out of me when I heard about it.”
“Polly’s okay?”
“She’s fine. Got herself a bloody nose and a black eye, but she’ll be okay once she gets over the scare.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Yeah. By the way, your scoop girl’s out there making a nuisance of herself. Want me to send her in to keep you company?”
She smiled and shook her head. “Let Lindsey do her job.”
“Asking all the parents how it feels to almost lose a child in a bus accident? Hell of a job, if you ask me.”
Dan had never made any secret of his opinion of the reporters who worked for the Evening Star, the newspaper Serena’s great-grandfather had started, and which she now owned through a set of circumstances that still bewildered her. Before she could defend the importance of the press to him—for perhaps the thousandth time—an outburst in the hallway caught their attention.
Dan sighed. “Sounds like Red’s getting wound up again. I’d better go give LuWanda a hand with him. You going to stay around awhile?”
She nodded. “I feel as though I should stay until things calm down a bit and someone has time to spend with this poor man.”
“‘This poor man?’” Dan’s expression was quizzical. “You know something about him that I don’t?”
“No, of course not. I just—well, you know. I found him and now I feel sort of responsible for him.”
“Mmm. That’s the kind of thinking that gets well-intentioned folks in trouble. Better find out who he is before you adopt him.”
Fully aware that Dan was always suspicious of outsiders in his town and would be particularly wary of anyone who showed up under these circumstances, Serena nodded. She was as vigilant as Dan about keeping their hometown free from the crimes that had taken hold in so many places even as small and unremarkable as this.
Dan glanced again at the man in the bed on his way out of the room. “Have someone call me when he wakes up, will you? I have a few questions for him.”
Serena watched him leave. He left the door open a couple of inches, so she could hear him speaking in his measured, authoritative manner, his voice fading as he moved away with Red Tucker and whoever else had been in the hallway outside the room. And then she ran a hand through her hair again and turned to keep watch over the man in the bed—only to find that his eyes were open and focused intently on her face.
“Oh. So you’re awake again. Are you able yet to talk to the chief of police, or would you like me to give you a few minutes before I call him back in?”
The woman was sitting in a chair very close to the narrow bed on which he found himself. She leaned slightly toward him as she spoke, and there appeared to be concern in her eyes. He knew those eyes. Blue. Or maybe green. Pretty. There were only two of them this time. One nose. One mouth. All very nicely arranged in an oval face framed in a soft brown bob. Whatever had happened to him—and he was awake enough to realize that he was lying in a hospital ro
om—he was still able to recognize that this was a very attractive woman. He found that observation reassuring. He couldn’t be damaged too badly if he was still interested in the opposite sex.
“Sir?” she repeated when he continued to stare at her rather than answering. “Did you hear me? Can you speak to me?”
He blinked, trying to recall what she’d said. Something about…police? He frowned, then winced when his swollen, sore face rebelled against the expression. “Uh—yeah, I can hear you,” he managed to say, his voice gruff, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time.
The sound of it seemed to encourage her. “How do you feel?”