Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

There was no thought of seeing about bones or anything else. An hour later Thomas came dashing into the house, his face white and drawn.

Jules jumped out of her chair, her face paling at the sight of her brother. “Thomas! What is wrong?”

“It’s Bunker Stevenson,” Thomas said. “The bloody damned man has had a stroke!”

25

“I’ll be right along,” Saint said without thinking. He pushed back his chair, kicked his foot into one leg and sent the chair sprawling. To keep his balance, he grabbed at the table, knocking his plate to the floor. He stood perfectly still, his hands braced against the table.

“Shit,” he said very softly.

Thomas jumped forward. “I didn’t mean . . . That is . . . Oh hell, Saint! I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that. Dr. Pickett’s with him, but it doesn’t look good. Mrs. Stevenson, as you can imagine, is in hysterics.”

“And Penelope?” Jules asked, her eyes on her husband’s rigid body. She saw that his knuckles were white from clutching the edge of the table so fiercely.

“She’s all right. Hell, she can’t collapse, not with her mother carrying on like a Bedlamite.”

Jules didn’t really hear her brother’s words, for she was too worried about Michael. What could she say? It seemed to her at that awful moment that anything to come out of her mouth would but hurt him more. Merciful heavens, he was hurting enough now.

“Thomas,” she said very calmly, breaking the tense silence, “why don’t you sit down a moment? I’ll get you something to eat. You too, Michael. Would you care for some wine, perhaps?”

Saint wanted to lash out. Hell, if there were a full moon, which he couldn’t see in any case, he’d howl like a crazed animal. He got a grip on himself, turning toward his wife. “Yes, thank you, Jules. A glass of wine would be just fine.”

“Excellent. Why don’t you sit here, Michael?”

He allowed her to take his arm and lead him to another chair at the table. His mouth was drawn in a thin line. When he heard her pick up his plate, he couldn’t help himself, and shouted, “Damn you, leave it! I made the mess, and I’ll bloody well clean it up!”

Jules slowly straightened. She saw Thomas’ startled look, and silently shook her head at him. No excuses, no pity. He wasn’t a hurt child, to be soothed. He was a man and he was proud. And he was frustrated and angry. She supposed she would be also.

“No, I will clean it up,” she said, forcing a bit of humor into her voice. “Since for the time being you can’t see a thing, I will be your eyes. Besides, Michael, the peas scattered all over the carpet. I don’t want you to squish them with your big feet.”

“Jules—” he began, then broke off abruptly.

She continued smoothly, “Thomas, tell Michael exactly what happened and what Dr. Pickett is doing for Bunker.”

Jules listened with only half an ear to Thomas as she cleaned up the mess on the carpet. Then she poured each man a glass of wine. She said nothing, merely took Michael’s hand and placed his fingers about the glass stem.

“Thank you” was his stiff reply.

“So,” Thomas concluded a moment later, “Dr. Pickett thinks that the shock of the explosion at the foundry probably triggered the stroke. What do you think, Saint?”

“Perhaps,” Saint said, well under control again. “That and the fact that Bunker is fat as a stuffed turkey, something I’ve spoken to him about many times, to no good effect. You say his entire left side is paralyzed?”

Thomas nodded, then quickly added, “Yes.”

“But his speech isn’t terribly impaired?”

“Only a bit. That surprised Dr. Pickett.”

Saint said thoughtfully, “I’ve been Bunker’s doctor for over two years now. I tend to think that he’ll make it mainly because he’s so damned stubborn. But then again, helplessness and dependence tend to change one.”

Jules shot her husband a pained look, but his expression was unreadable, at least to her it was. It was difficult to

know what he was thinking with his eyes bandaged. Talk about looking helpless, she thought, staring at her brother. Thomas looked drawn and worried and scared.

Thomas said, “The question is, what am I going to do now?”

“I think, Thomas,” Jules said, smiling at him reassuringly, “that it might be the best thing if you married Penelope now and moved into the Stevenson house. You aren’t needed here, my dear, merely appreciated.”