SO DEEP IN MY HEART

--- Joan Emerson

 

Dixie Brackett froze, a spoonful of bittersweet chocolate mousse halfway to her mouth, as her sparkling blue eyes widened in surprise.  “You’ve got to be kidding!” she offered in amazement, the chocolate forgotten.

 

Pleased with himself, Dean Noland grinned at her as he shook his head.  “Nope.”

 

She blinked her eyes in wonderment and as she gave herself a mental shake, she returned her attention to the temporarily ignored chocolate dessert in front of her.  Spooning up another bite of the confection Frank had had prepared especially for her, she savored the taste as the airy mousse melted in her mouth.

 

“That sounds fantastic!”  Doctor Kelly Brackett put his two cents worth into the discussion as he settled back in the chair and sipped at the remnants of his coffee.  “How in the world did you ever manage to pull that one off?” he asked the pianist.

 

Dean shrugged carelessly.  “Just happened to mention the idea to the right person, I guess.”  Brushing aside his involvement in the whole plan, he diffidently offered, “Seemed like a unique way to set up a fundraiser for the hospital . . . . . . . . and I’m sure they won’t have a bit of trouble getting people to buy a ticket for the show . . . . . . . .”

 

Kell laughed lightly.  “Boy, have you ever got that right!”

 

Dixie, finishing up the last bit of mousse, pensively placed the spoon on the plate and pushed the dish toward the center of the table.  Lost in thought, she reached for the saucer beneath her coffee cup and pulled the cup of dark, steaming liquid toward her as she mused aloud, “I don’t suppose you have any idea just who might actually be involved in this little variety show of yours . . . . . . . .?”

 

“Besides you?” Dean laughed.

 

Kell chuckled in delight as Dixie rolled her eyes.  “C’mon, Dean!”

 

Dean laughed as he offered a rather unpretentious shrug.  “Not a clue,” he replied cheerfully, “but do you really think it will make any difference?”  Meeting her gaze, he added, “I mean, as long as whoever-it-is comes, everyone will buy tickets.  Right?”

 

It was Dixie’s turn to shrug.  “A variety show with Hollywood stars?  I would suppose so.”

 

“Well, it is in a good cause,” Kell offered somewhat hesitantly.

 

Dixie smiled at him as she worked at finishing her own coffee.  “Money for the hospital is always a good cause,” she chuckled.  “And the board will probably jump at the chance to have some big-name Hollywood types come in and do any part of a benefit show.”

 

Kell nodded his agreement of her assessment of the board’s reaction as he glanced around the restaurant.  The dinner crowd was definitely thinning out; a glance at his watch revealed the hour to be later than he had realized.  He sighed; satisfied with the company, he was a bit reluctant to call it a night.  Whenever he and Dixie came out to The Seaside Place they could always count on a great evening, but it was getting late . . . . . . . . and they were both working the early shift in the morning . . . . . . . .

 

“Well,” Dean declared as he pushed his chair back from the table and rose to go, “time for one last set.”  He headed off toward the piano, but turned back to their table to add, “I’ve got an appointment with the board next week, so I guess I’ll find out exactly what they think of the idea.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“We’d use a relatively standard format, a sort of variety show, one performer after another,” Dean continued, “tied together with a host to introduce each number.  We’ll depend on you for a fair number of people to perform, but we’d have enough Hollywood participation to satisfy everyone.  We can intersperse their numbers with your own, do a big finale number . . . . . . . .”

 

“And you’d do all this, be responsible for the entire program?”

 

Dean nodded.  “We have almost a whole year to pull this together.  The impact on your people would be minimal --- just some rehearsal time . . . . . . . . and we’d set that up around their schedules here at Rampart.  And, except for a couple of dress rehearsals just before the night of the show, that should take care of everything.”

 

Carl looked across the table.  “And exactly where would we have this . . . . . . . . ah . . . . . . . . show of yours?” he queried.

 

“At the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion,” Dean replied without hesitation.  “I talked with them yesterday; if you decide to go ahead with the benefit, they’ll donate their facilities for the evening.”  Noting their surprise at this unexpected response, Dean shrugged as he casually added, “Support for a worthwhile event . . . . . . . . a community service commitment.”  Knowing the board’s propensity to fret over financial matters, he grinned as he added, “And a nice tax write-off for them . . . . . . . .”

 

Dean could feel their initial reluctance slipping away as the board members chuckled.  Working to sway their support in his direction, he added, “I’ll take care of whatever’s necessary to make the benefit a reality.  And the hospital ought to realize some serious financial contributions as a result . . . . . . . .”

 

Carl looked around the table at his colleagues, then rose to shake Dean’s hand.  “I guess you have a deal.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“That’s a pretty impressive invitation, Kell,” Nathan O’Brien remarked.

 

Shrugging his shoulders, Kell brushed the compliment aside.

 

“How long would you be gone?” Nathan asked as he thumbed through pages on his desk calendar.

 

“Just a couple of weeks,” Kell replied.  “It’s a short-term mid-semester thoracic surgery seminar for third-year residents.”

 

Nathan was used to the senior medical staff being involved with training in their specialties or even being called away for occasional consultations.  This was no different, except that this time his doctor was going all the way across the country for it.  “What’s the Emergency work schedule look like?”

 

Kell consulted a folder he’d brought with him.  “It’s really pretty flexible.  I’ve already done some checking --- Peters can cover if you come up short; Adam’s on vacation, but Joe Early will be here . . . . . . . . Elizabeth Varner and Mike Morton, too . . . . . . . .”

 

“I don’t see a problem, Kell, as long as the staffing is covered,” Nathan interrupted.  “Why don’t you go ahead and accept?”

 

“Thanks,” Kell replied as he snapped the folder shut and rose to go.  At the door, he paused long enough to turn and look at the administrator.  “Dixie’s the one that really keeps the department running, anyway!” he chuckled.  “As long as she’s around, you won’t have any problems!”

 

Nathan laughed.  “Glad to see you know who’s really in charge down there!”

 

Still chuckling, Kelly Brackett headed for the elevator and the administrator returned to his ever-present stack of paperwork.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“So, have you and Dean decided just what you’re going to do for the benefit?”

 

Dixie sat at the table, solemn blue eyes fixed on the hands folded in front of her and resting on its smooth surface.  At his question, she looked up in exasperation.  “Who said I was going to do anything?”

 

Doctor Joe Early stopped filling the coffee cup and turned around in surprise.  “You’re not singing?” he queried, not quite able to mask his disappointment at the prospect of her not participating in the benefit show.

 

She shrugged as the doctor turned back to his task, finished pouring coffee, and set a mug of the hot, dark liquid in front of her.  She was silent, seemingly waiting to reply while Joe pulled a chair up next to hers and sat down at the table with her. 

 

Answering his question with one of her own, she postulated, “Don’t you think they’ll manage just fine with all that Hollywood talent?”

 

“Come on, now, Dix,” he grinned quixotically as he sipped at the hot drink.  “Surely you’re not afraid of the competition?”

 

Annoyed, Dixie slammed down the coffee mug as she groused, “I don’t know what it is with everyone, anyway . . . . . . . .” 

 

“Sorry . . . . . . . .” Joe began, unnerved by her unanticipated response.

 

“What are you sorry about?” she grumbled in aggravation as she dabbed up the coffee she’d sloshed all over the table.  “I dunno why everyone just assumes I’ll be doing something anyway.”

 

“Private fight, or can anyone join in?” teased Kell as he wearily made his way over to the table where the two of them were sitting.

 

Thankful for an interruption in a conversation that had taken a wholly unexpected turn, Joe looked up at his friend.  Several hours in surgery had definitely taken their toll on the head of Emergency; dark circles beneath the doctor’s eyes made him look rather drained and wiped out.  “Sit down,” he suggested.  “I’ll get you some coffee . . . . . . . .” 

 

But Dixie was already up, pouring the coffee as she continued mumbling to herself, her tone definitely one of irritation.

 

“What’s up?” Kell asked with a weary nod in her direction.

 

Joe shifted around in the chair.  “I guess the benefit is not a good topic of discussion . . . . . . . .”

 

Kell soughed as he shook his head.  The ringing of the telephone interrupted their conversation; prepared to leave if needed elsewhere, the two men paused to listen.

 

“Nurse McCall,” Dixie answered crisply as she picked up the receiver.  A moment of listening elicited a weary sigh and a frustrated roll of the eyes accompanied by, “No, no, I’ll be right there.”  Muttering to herself once again, she slammed down the receiver, set the mug of coffee in front of the exhausted doctor, and headed for the break room door.

 

“I don’t know,” Kell mused as the door closed behind her.  “She’s pretty touchy lately, and the benefit show does seem to be the thing that sets her off.”

 

Offering his friend an explanation, Joe sighed, “I just assumed she’d sing . . . . . . . . especially with Dean being in charge of it.”

 

Kell sipped at the coffee.  “Never assume anything about Dixie,” he advised.  “That way you won’t get yourself into nearly so much trouble!”     

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Julie shook her head.  “Maybe no one asked her to be in the show,” she suggested.

 

“But anyone can be in the show . . . . . . . . and no one’s been going around recruiting people to take part.”  With a shrug of his shoulders, Joe added, “Besides, Dean’s in charge of it; she’d know he would expect her to sing.” 

 

“Joe,” Julie sighed, “she’d never presume that.”  Joe and Dixie had been friends for years, far longer than Julie had even known him.  Sometimes, though, it seemed as if he hardly knew her at all.  It was, she supposed, because men had such a different way of looking at things . . . . . . . . something she found rather exasperating at times.  Putting the empty pot down on the stove, she pushed the cabinet door closed and walked around the kitchen counter to stand beside her husband.  “If someone doesn’t ask her to be in the show, she won’t do it . . . . . . . . especially with all those Hollywood folks being involved.  And she’s not apt to volunteer, either; Dixie sings because she likes to, not because she realizes how very good she is at it.”

 

Joe frowned, but remained quiet.  Julie had made a good point, one he had failed to consider; now he was silently speculating on what might be done about this unexpected state of affairs.

 

Julie gave him a gentle hug; the two of them leaned against the edge of the counter, Joe’s arms still draped around his wife’s shoulders.  Realizing that she probably understood Dixie far better than her husband ever would, Julie sighed as she looked into his eyes.  “This is Dixie we’re talking about, Joe . . . . . . . . the Dixie who also despises being taken for granted --- and you know her well enough that you certainly ought to know that.”

 

“You’re absolutely right,” Joe agreed.  “And I’m willing to bet Dean never actually asked her if she would take part . . . . . . . .”  His voice drifted away as he mulled the situation over in his mind.  Suddenly he smiled at Julie.  “Want to go out to dinner?”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“You’re kidding.  Right?”

 

Joe shook his head.  “Dead serious.  If you don’t ask her to take part in the benefit show, she’s not going to be in it.”  Joe tossed his wife a grateful smile of acknowledgement for her recognition of the problem. 

 

“And she’s not apt to just come up on her own and volunteer to take part, either,” Julie offered quietly. 

 

Sipping at his coffee, Joe added, “If I were you, I wouldn’t wait much longer to ask.  Dixie can be mighty stubborn once she sets her mind to it . . . . . . . .”

 

Dean laughed as he held up his hands in mock surrender.  “Okay, okay!  I get the picture!  I’ve got a few minutes before the next set . . . . . . . . I’ll go call her right now.”

 

“Just don’t let on that we ever had this conversation,” Joe cautioned.  “In fact, it would be much better if you didn’t even mention that you’d seen us.”

 

Dean grinned broadly.  “Right!” he laughed.  “I never saw either one of you!”  Heading off in the direction of the telephone, he stopped, turning back long enough to gratefully offer, “Thanks.”

 

Bemused, Joe nodded and watched as Dean hurried off to make his call.

 

Shifting in the chair, Joe returned his attention to Julie as he grinned at his wife.  “Thank you,” he offered softly.  After a quiet moment, he reached across the table to take hold of her hand as he added, “I have no idea how I ever managed without you.”

 

Julie just smiled.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Ready to go?”

 

Dixie hedged; “I have to go by the rehearsal hall and see Dean,” she said.  “I don’t suppose you’d like to go along?”

 

A wide grin spread across Kell’s face.  “Sure I would.”

 

Dixie heaved a sigh of relief.  Smiling back at him, she implored, “Give me just a minute to change . . . . . . . . I’ll be right out.”

 

Amused, Kell watched as the locker room door softly closed behind her.  Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned against the wall to wait.

 

Stepping out of the elevator, Joe Early spotted him and headed in his direction.  As he reached his side, he teased, “Holding up the wall, Doctor?”

 

“Hi, Joe,” Kell retorted brightly.  “Just waiting for Dixie.”

 

“She seems a lot happier these days,” Joe cautiously observed.

 

“Dean called the house the other night to ask her if she would be in the benefit show.”  Kell shrugged.  “He apologized for taking her for granted and for just assuming that she would do it without being asked.  He told her he really wanted her to sing.  So now she’s happier . . . . . . . . and she’s decided to sing.”

 

Joe laughed.  “I’m very glad to hear that!”

 

“She’s supposed to stop by the rehearsal hall tonight . . . . . . . . she’s in changing now.” 

 

Their conversation was interrupted by Dixie’s arrival; bidding Joe good night, they headed toward the parking lot.

 

With a nod and a knowing smile, Joe watched them go.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Except for a few folding chairs, a rather rickety-looking table, and the piano, the rehearsal hall was grey and bare.  Not a very inviting place at all, Kell mused as he and Dixie slipped into seats near the door.  Dean was absorbed in a discussion with a woman standing beside him at the piano.  It was, Kell supposed, someone else involved in the benefit program.  

 

Glancing up, Dean caught sight of them and waved.  A few more words with the woman beside the piano and Dean was signaling to Dixie to come over.  As Dixie moved across the room, the other woman walked away from the piano and stood looking out of the window at the far side of the hall.

 

Kell turned his attention to watching Dixie, now deep in discussion with Dean.  He supposed they were discussing music or perhaps what song Dixie might sing.  He enjoyed listening to anything in her repertoire, so he didn’t really care . . . . . . . . no matter what song they chose, he simply couldn’t imagine not liking it.  Whenever Dixie sang, he found it was always a treat.

 

“Hi,” she whispered as she slid into the chair beside him.

 

Kell looked over at her.  “Hi.”  Offering his hand to the attractive young woman, he added, “Doctor Kelly Brackett.”

 

A gamine smile flashed across her finely-chiseled features as she shyly reached out to take his hand.  “Taylor Morgan.” 

 

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Morgan,” he smiled.

 

Taylor smiled warmly and, after a moment’s hesitation, coyly looked into his eyes as she reluctantly withdrew her hand. 

 

Giving no further thought to the woman, Kell returned his atten-tion to Dixie.  She, however, gazed steadily at him out of the cor-ner of her eye . . . . . . . . silently watching . . . . . . . . entranced.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Dixie watched in amusement as the children worked at coloring Easter eggs.  Even before she and Kell had been married, she had always colored eggs for the annual egg hunt in pediatrics; it was a tradition that the two of them had continued after their marriage.  And, as soon as the children were old enough to get their fingers into the project, they had been right there, fascinated with the prospect of the brightly colored eggs and wanting to help. 

 

Now that the children were older . . . . . . . . if one could consider the twins, at seven, old . . . . . . . she tried to let them do most of it on their own.  It was good for them to learn to give to others, good for them to help children who were unable to be home with their families experience a few moments of childhood fun. 

 

Three-year-old Stacey worked at getting the eggs into the col-ored water, managing to make more mess than seemed possible, but the twins didn’t seem to mind and Dixie wasn’t about to discourage her involvement.  As far as she was con-cerned, their pleasure was well worth a mess for her to clean up. 

 

“You sure you don’t want to lend a hand?” Kell laughed as he wandered into the kitchen.

 

Dixie shook her head; “They’re doing just fine, all by themselves.”  She treasured these moments with her family; time seemed to fly by much too quickly and way too soon they would be all grown up and this would become just another memory.  Still absorbed in the watching, she absently asked, “Did you get the baskets?”

 

Kell triumphantly held up the two large Easter baskets they had gotten many years ago; Dixie grinned in delight and the two of them set about lining the baskets with new Easter grass. 

 

As the parents cherished the moment and the children delighted in the egg-coloring, laughter filled the kitchen and they drew each other’s love around them and held it close.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Doctor Brackett, please.”

 

Sharon Walters’ eyes swept the area, catching sight of the doctor as he came out of the treatment room.  “One moment, please.”  Covering the mouthpiece with her hand, she motioned with the receiver as she called out his name.

 

Kelly Brackett came up to the counter and took the receiver from Sharon’s hand.

 

“This is Doctor Brackett.”

 

“Oh, Doctor, thank goodness!” she sighed softly.  With some difficulty, she managed to continue.  “This is Taylor Morgan.  We met a couple of weeks ago at the rehearsal hall . . . . . . . .”

 

“Yes, I remember.  What can I do for you?”

 

“Well, I hate to bother you, but I really don’t know what to do.  My personal physician is out of town, I can’t reach anyone else, and I am really quite ill . . . . . . . .”

 

“What seems to be the problem?”

 

“I . . . . . . . . I . . . . . . . . don’t . . . . . . . . really know,” she whispered.  “I’m just . . . . . . . . so dizzy . . . . . . . .”  

 

“What’s your address?”

 

“I’m at the Sheraton . . . . . . . .”  Dropping the phone, she fumbled around for the room key.  After a few moments, she managed to retrieve the receiver.  “Suite 2419.”

 

“Don’t they have a doc- . . . . . . . .”

 

“I already called down,” she interrupted, her voice faint.  “He’s not here at the moment . . . . . . . .”

 

Kell glanced at his watch.  His end of his shift had already passed; checking on her should only take a few minutes and he could swing by there on his way over to pick up the children.  Nodding, he said, “All right, I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”

 

“Thank you so much,” she sighed in relief.

 

He replaced the receiver and scribbled a hasty note to Dixie.  “Could you please make sure Dixie gets this?” he asked, holding the note out to Sharon.

 

“Certainly, Doctor,” she replied.

 

“Thanks.”  He hurried down the hallway toward his office to grab his jacket while Sharon returned to answering the phone.  No sooner had she hung up the receiver than the base station squawked to life.  She set about answering the call, then rushed off to set up the treatment room.  On the way, she stuffed the note into her uniform pocket, and, with the unfolding of an unu-sually hectic shift, there it remained, forgotten and undelivered. 

 

An ambulance backed up to the entrance as Kell came through the door.  He absently noted that they were probably in for a busy shift, but he knew Mike Morton could handle it.  Giving the hospital no further thought, he hurried on toward the car.  

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Taylor, wrapped in a bath towel, stood in front of the closet.  After due reflection, she chose an elegant, if somewhat reveal-ing, nightgown that complimented her eyes, and slipped into it.

 

She moved around the room purposefully, making certain all was in order.  Telephoning for room service, she ordered coffee and cookies.   She frowned at her efforts to tame her dark curly hair and abandoned the attempt, touching up her make-up instead.  Smoothing down the silken gown, she settled back to wait.

 

Her plan was working perfectly.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Doctor Mike Morton sank down onto the sofa in the break room, uncertain if he would even be able to get up again.  He’d desperately tried to find someone to cover the shift, but all the services seemed to be particularly shorthanded on this night and he had been hoping he could down enough medication to keep the flu at bay for just a few more hours.  That just wasn’t going to happen, he realized, and there was no way he was even going to be able to stand up, let alone work.  With a weary sigh, he closed his eyes.  The flu had won this one. 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Kelly Brackett’s soft knock at the door was answered almost immediately.

 

“Oh, Doctor,” Taylor whispered, “please . . . . . . . .”  Holding onto the edge of the door, she took a step back to allow him to enter, but as he moved past her, she suddenly collapsed.

 

Kell caught her and, as he lifted her up in his arms, he kicked the door closed behind him.  Getting his bearings, he lingered just long enough to glance around; it was as plush as might be expected of a five-star hotel such as the Sheraton.  Another door, standing open, led into the bedroom; he carried her into the room and gently laid her on the bed.  After checking her pulse, he paused long enough to shrug out of his jacket and pull a stethoscope from his medical bag.

 

Brushing back a tangle of dark, tight curls, he felt her forehead, but found no evidence of fever.  Her blood pressure seemed normal enough, as did her pulse.  She sighed and, as he continued with his examination, Taylor’s eyes fluttered open.

 

“Just take it easy,” he said absently as he listened.  After a few moments, he removed the stethoscope from his ears as he straightened up.  Still standing beside the bed, he asked, “How do you feel now, Miss Madison?”

 

“All right, I guess,” she whispered.  “And it’s ‘Taylor’,” she gently rebuked.

 

“When did you last eat?”

 

“Oh . . . . . . . I’m not sure,” she replied after a moment’s thought.  “I skipped lunch today . . . . . . . .”

 

“Breakfast, too?” he queried.

 

She nodded in response.

 

“Thought so.”  The doctor looked around the room, then stepped to the doorway.  Coffee and cookies were laid out on a table in the sitting room.  Better than nothing, he supposed as he retrieved the plate of cookies and took them back into the bedroom. 

 

Holding the plate out to her, he gently scolded, “You shouldn’t skip meals.  You need to eat . . . . . . . . although cookies aren’t exactly the preferred diet staple . . . . . . . .”

 

“I know,” she admitted with a light laugh and a rather woebegone expression as she chose a cookie from the plate.  Biting into the cookie, she shrugged, swallowed, and added, “but I really didn’t feel much like eating today.”

 

Shaking his head, Kell smiled at her as he set the plate on the bedside table and walked around the bed.

 

“At least have a cup of coffee before you go,” she offered.  “I’ve dragged you all the way over here for nothing . . . . . . . .”

 

“It’s no problem, but as long as you’re okay now, I’ll be going.”

 

“Please?” she implored.  “Just one quick cup?  I’d feel so much better.”  After a pause, Taylor bargained.  “I’ll eat the rest of the cookies . . . . . . . .”  

 

Kell laughed as he snapped the medical bag closed and turned to face her.  It had been a long day and a cup of coffee would really go well right about now.  “Half a cup,” he conceded.  “Then I have to go.”  He walked into the other room, poured some coffee into two cups, and returned to the bedroom.        

 

Propped up on pillows, Taylor was dutifully eating cookies as he came back into the room.  Kell set a cup on the bedside table, then sat in the armchair beside the window to drink his coffee.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Mike!”  Sharon shook his shoulder; the doctor merely groaned.  After a quick but comprehensive check, Sharon went for help.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Dixie wearily unlocked the front door.  She’d missed Kell at the hospital and she’d expected to find him here.  But his car was not in the garage and she hoped that didn’t mean he had been called back to Rampart. 

 

Absently pushing the play button, she listened to the message machine.  Nothing important, except for Julie’s call that the children were sleeping and they should just leave them there for the night.  Kell was supposed to have picked them up, but if he’d gotten tied up at the hospital with an emergency . . . . . . . .

She sighed, once again grateful for such understanding and wonderful friends as Julie and Joe.  Not too many other people would be so understanding, but then not too many other people realized just how little of a doctor’s time he could actually call his own . . . . . . . .

 

She glanced at the clock . . . . . . . . way too late to call tonight.  Maybe Kell wouldn’t be too much longer . . . . . . . . 

 

Dixie spent the night in the chair, waiting for him, but he never came.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Slowly Kell acknowledged the headache pounding behind his closed eyes.  With a groan, he vainly tried to block out the daylight.  Gingerly rolling onto his side, he put his back to the window, snuggled into the pillow, and slowly opened his eyes.

 

Taylor stirred at his movement, but did not waken.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Tests are back, Joe,” she reported crisply.  “Hepatitis.”

 

Joe Early sighed; he’d expected as much, but he had been hoping for something else.  Anticipating the result, he’d already put Mike in isolation.  “Draw blood from everyone,” he ordered.  “We’ll need to test everyone who’s been in contact with him for the last six weeks.”

 

It was going to be a very long shift.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Thanks, Julie,” Dixie said into the receiver.  “I’ll call you later.”  She hung up the phone and worked at pushing down her mounting concern as she reached over to take the call from the base station.  She’d already set up a smoothly-running process for gathering blood samples from the staff and patients that Mike had treated.  All the proper notifications had been made, Doctor Peters was covering for the seriously ill physician . . . . . . . . and Kell had not yet checked in.

 

Finishing up the call, she gathered up some charts and notes that needed to go to Kell and headed toward his office.  Hoping against hope that she would find him there --- even though that had been the first place she’d checked when she arrived --- she pushed open the door.  But the room was empty.  She blinked back tears and crossed the room to put the papers on his desk.

 

She turned at the sound of the door.

 

Kell stood in the doorway.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Kell?” 

 

Avoiding looking at her, Kell gingerly made his way over to the sofa and collapsed into the cushions with a groan.

 

“Kell?  What’s wrong?”  Worried, Dixie moved across the room and sat down beside him, her features reflecting her concern.

 

“Headache,” he sighed, still not looking at her.

 

Apprehensive, Dixie hurried out to get some medication; returning, she held it out to him along with a cup of water.  She’d also brought a syringe, but thought she’d wait for him to take the tablets before getting into the hepatitis issue with him.

 

Still refusing to meet her eyes, he took the proffered tablets and the water.  “Thanks,” he said as he swallowed them down.

 

“I was worried about you . . . . . . . . were you up in surgery?”

 

“What time is it?”

 

“A quarter to eight,” she answered with a glance at her watch.  “You’re supposed to be on duty at nine, but if you’ve been here all night . . . . . . . .”

 

There was no getting out of it, even though this was neither the time nor the place for this sort of a discussion.  “I wasn’t here,” he said quietly.  Mercifully, the medication would soon begin to ease the headache, but he knew things were about to get a whole lot worse.

 

“I don’t understand.  If you weren’t here . . . . . . . .”

 

Remembering the note he’d left with Sharon, he worked at shifting gears a bit, putting off the inevitable as long as possible.  “Didn’t you get my note?”

 

“Note?  What note?”

 

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” he sighed in annoyed frustration as he shifted around on the sofa, putting his back to her.  Kell knew with absolute certainty that this was beyond understanding, beyond forgiving.  Every fiber of his being told him he was about to hurt her far worse than she’d ever been hurt before . . . . . . . . he didn’t want to have to look at her while he did it. 

 

He took a deep breath.  “Taylor Madison called here,” he quietly explained.  “Said she was sick.  She couldn’t find a doctor and so . . . . . . . . I . . . . . . . . went over to the hotel to check on her.”

 

“Taylor Madison?  The woman from the rehearsal hall?”

 

He nodded.

 

“What’s the matter with her?”

 

“Nothing serious . . . . . . . . nothing eating regular meals wouldn’t cure . . . . . . . .”  His voice drifted away as he worked at controlling his emotions.  How in the world could he do this?  How could he have done this to her?    

 

“Kell?”

 

There was no escape.  “I . . . . . . . . she . . . . . . . . I . . . . . . . .”  Abandoning the effort, he turned to face her.  His dark eyes were pools of pain.  “I swear to God, Dix . . . . . . . . I checked her over . . . . . . . . I had a cup of coffee . . . . . . . .”  It sounded so lame, even to him; “I don’t remember anything more, except the pounding headache . . . . . . . . this morning . . . . . . . . when I woke up . . . . . . . .”

 

Dazed, Dixie rose and stumbled over to the desk, her mind reel-ing.  In one instant, the essence of her life came crashing down around her.  He’d . . . . . . . . could he actually mean . . . . . . . . .?

 

The world spun around her, crazy and out of focus; broken.  She fought for some semblance of reason, some bit of sanity, finding it only in the efficiency of hospital business.  “I brought these reports for you to check,” she said tonelessly.

 

Agony radiated in his tone.  “Dixie?”

 

“So, you were tired and fell asleep in her hotel room.  Is that what you’re telling me?”  Unnerved, Dixie fussed with the folders.  “Please,” she silently pleaded, knowing full well it wasn’t, “please, let that be what he’s trying to say . . . . . . . .”

 

“Not . . . . . . . . exactly . . . . . . . .”

 

Her heart sank.  She’d thought everything was fine with them, so why would he . . . . . . . . how could he . . . . . . . .

 

“Dix?”

 

“You . . . . . . . . slept . . . . . . . . with . . . . . . . . her?” she whispered through the sea of bitter tears suddenly filling her eyes.  The hurt was deeper than anything she could ever remember feeling.

 

“I . . . . . . . . can’t . . . . . . . . remember . . . . . . . .”

 

“You can’t remember?!” 

 

“I guess . . . . . . . .”

 

“You guess?!”  Hurting and angry, she spun around to face him.  “What kind of . . . . . . . .” 

 

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted in a whisper.  “I stopped on my way to get the kids . . . . . . . . because she said she was sick . . . . . . . .”  Agony filled his voice.  “I had some coffee . . . . . . . . and then it’s all a blank until this morning . . . . . . . .”

 

Dixie bit at her lip.  This made no sense.  There was no denying his distress; it was certainly far more than anyone could pretend.  And Kell wouldn’t be sitting here, telling her all of this if he’d set out to have an affair --- or even a casual fling --- with this woman.  But he had spent the night with her . . . . . . . .

 

An uncomfortable silence clung to them like early morning fog. 

 

Pulling together her tattered remnants of self-control, she pushed their personal issues aside and fought to maintain a professional demeanor.  Her voice trembled; “This will have to wait.”

 

Kell looked at her in surprise.

 

Dixie drew a deep breath, fighting for a semblance of composure she did not feel.  “Mike has hepatitis,” she told him briskly.  “We’re getting blood samples . . . . . . . .”  

  

Kell sat silent while she drew the blood in her usual efficient manner.  There was really nothing left for him to say, anyway.  He’d taken what they had and thrown it all away . . . . . . . .

 

She walked out without saying anything more; to his surprise, she returned a minute later.

 

“Try a hot shower,” she suggested as she worked to project a calmness she definitely did not feel.  Holding out a clean set of scrubs, she continued, her voice filled with measured efficiency.  “If the patient load is light, you can catch a nap . . . . . . . . maybe that will help your headache.”  She set a medicine cup on the edge of the desk.  “Take these in a couple of hours if you need them . . . . . . . . I’ll handle things on the floor.”

 

Numb, Kell watched her go; this time, she did not return.

 

She stepped through the door, fighting to maintain her self-control as she pulled it closed behind her.  Giving herself a mental shake, she headed for the lab.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

The rest of the day was filled with ordinary, but time-consuming, hospital tasks, leaving Dixie little time to fret over her personal affairs.  Everyone was on edge, worried about Mike and the possibility of other hepatitis cases, so her distracted manner did not draw any particular notice from the rest of the staff.

 

Eventually, Dixie knew, they would need to face this, but she needed time.  Especially now.  Adjusting the nursing schedule so that she and Kell would work opposite shifts and not share days off, she gave them both some distance and bought herself a little breathing room.  Kell was scheduled to conduct a special short-term seminar at Johns Hopkins and so would be leaving at the end of next week; the separation-by-shift-assignments until then would alleviate the overwhelming pressure they both felt.  Time enough for talk when he returned.  

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Kell noted with silence the changes in their work schedules.  Without comment, he settled into the routine dictated by their working hours, sometimes not seeing Dixie at all for a day or two at a time.  He supposed it was easier this way; at least he had been able to focus on putting together a course of study for the seminar.  Maybe when he got back . . . . . . . .

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Doctor Brackett, please.”

 

“I’m sorry; Doctor Brackett is out of town.  Perhaps another doctor . . . . . . . .?”

 

“No, that’s quite all right,” she interrupted.  “I’ll just catch up with him when he returns.”

 

Replacing the receiver, she hummed to herself.  Perfect, just perfect.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Dix,” said Joe as he grabbed hold of her arm, “I need to talk to you.  Right now.”  Still holding on to her arm, he headed down the corridor toward Kell’s office.

 

“Sure, Joe,” she replied as he dragged her along.  “What’s up?”

 

Purposefully striding down the hall, Joe kept silent.

 

“Joe?” she queried, concerned.  “What’s happened?  What’s the matter?”

 

Joe ushered her into the office and closed the door behind him.

Still silent, he handed her a newspaper.

 

“What is it?” she demanded in annoyance.  “What am I supposed to do with th-?”  Her voice faded away as she caught sight of a picture and the color drained from her cheeks as she read the caption printed beneath.

 

Joe put his arm around her shoulders.  Neither said a word.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

He’d barely gotten in the house when the telephone rang.   Dropping his suitcase beside the chair, Kell headed for the kitchen phone.

 

“Doctor Brackett,” he said as he grabbed up the receiver.

 

“Carl Sebastian.  I need to see you, Kell.  Right now,” he replied.

 

“For crying out loud, Carl, I just walked in the door!  Can’t whatever it is wait until tomorrow morning?”

 

“Right now, Doctor.”

 

Puzzled, he grabbed his jacket and slammed out the door.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“You have limited options here, Kell,” Martin said quietly.  “You either give in or fight.  The board, obviously, is hoping for the former.”

 

“But . . . . . . . .”

 

Martin shook his head.  “No choice, Kell.  The hospital wants to disassociate itself from what it perceives to be a high-profile, bad publicity incident.  And you’re right at the heart of it.”  After a moment, he sighed.  “Is it true?” he asked.

 

Kell looked at him.  “I dunno,” he muttered.  Despair gripped his soul.  “I suppose so.”

 

“You don’t know?!  How in the world can you not know?”

 

Kell shook his head.  Things had gone well at Johns Hopkins and he’d returned to Los Angeles hopeful that he and Dixie could somehow work things out, that he could find some way . . . . . . . .  And now, this, shattering his hopes and destroying everything.

 

“Kell, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth,” he said sternly.  “All of it.  This woman says she’s carrying your child.”

 

Kell looked at him in despair.  “I’m telling you, I don’t know.”

 

Martin sighed.  “Start at the beginning.  And don’t leave out one single thing.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“I need some time,” she said softly as she twisted her hands in her lap.

 

He looked at her sympathetically.  “Of course,” he agreed.  “As much as you want.”

 

“A couple of months?  Maybe three?” she suggested hopefully.

 

He sighed.  “That’s going to be pretty rough . . . . . . . .”

 

She looked up at him, her eyes begging for this one concession.

 

After a long moment, he nodded.  “We’ll manage.  Give me a call when you’re ready to come back.”

 

“Thank you,” she whispered as she stood.  Blinking back tears, she left without once looking back.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

He was pacing . . . . . . . . again.  “Can they do that?” he demanded in annoyance.

 

“They can try,” Martin replied patiently.  “Just be glad this is not a state where they don’t need any reason at all to dismiss you.”

 

Kell spun around to face the lawyer.  “There’s no way they can say I haven’t done my job, or claim malpractice . . . . . . . .”

 

“And they aren’t making any such claim,” Martin interrupted.  “But they want you out of Rampart.”

 

The doctor flopped down in the chair.  “Even if it’s true,” he sputtered, “it has nothing to do with my work at Rampart!”

 

“That may be,” the lawyer patiently explained, “but they’re running scared because of all the publicity.”

 

“No one’s saying anything about the hospital,” he grumbled.

 

“Maybe not, but as long as you are on staff at Rampart, their name comes up in all the press this . . . . . . . . situation is getting.”

 

Silence settled in the office.  “What if I fight it?” he asked finally.

 

Martin sighed.  “It’ll probably go to court; the hospital will seek to dismiss you despite your untarnished professional record.”

 

“And if I just leave?”

 

“No one’s going to touch this with a ten-foot pole; your Miss Madison has made sure of that.  No matter how skilled a doctor you are, your presence is not exactly a plus for anyone right now; if you don’t fight, you can kiss your entire career goodbye.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Explain it to me, Kell.”

 

Kelly Brackett looked up at his friend.  Dark circles rimmed his tired eyes.  “I can’t,” he soughed huskily.  “I don’t remember.  Nothing.  Not one single thing.”  After a minute, he added, “Anyway, it just doesn’t matter any more.”  He looked at the stack of paperwork piled on the desk.  It was all he had, now.  “And I have all this work to do, so I guess I’d better get at it.” 

 

Heartsick, Joe shook his head as he quietly walked out the door.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“I just don’t understand it,” she remarked as she read the sheet.  “Why in the world . . . . . . . .?”

 

“I have no idea, but you can bank on that being the absolute truth,” he vowed as he tapped on the edge of the paper.

 

“I’m sure of that.”  She smiled warmly.  “Thanks, Barney.”  Rising to go, she paused at the door, “I’ll be gone for awhile . . . . . . . .”

 

“I understand,” he answered with a knowing smile.  “I expected you’d go.”  Indicating the report, he added, “This stays just between us.”

 

Nodding her appreciation, she slowly pulled the door closed, her mind preoccupied with unraveling the mystery contained in the report.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Finishing the last of the paperwork, Kell tossed the pen down on the desk and wearily stretched out on the sofa, hoping to get a few hours sleep before his next shift.

 

His life had settled into a mostly frustrating routine; Kell made it a point to go home as little as possible.  When he’d returned from Martin’s office, he’d discovered that some of Dixie’s things were gone from the house, and he had had absolutely no luck in tracking down where she and the children might have gone. 

 

He’d been so full of hope when he’d returned, before . . . . . . . .  Damn!  How had he gotten mired in such a god-awful mess? 

 

Wearily willing his brain to shut up for a while, he sought a few hours of elusive sleep, but even that was filled with dreams of accusations and tears and, much like the night that had spiraled him into this miasma of misery, he couldn’t even remember them when he awoke.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

 

He listened to her explanation without comment. 

 

“Why come here?” he asked softly as she finally completed the telling, her tear-stained cheeks mute testament to her distress.  “I think perhaps you should have stayed.”

 

She gathered her things in preparation for leaving.  “We’ve been friends a long time,” she sighed; “I thought you’d understand.”   

 

“Wait a minute!” he protested.  “Just because I don’t necessarily agree with you that doesn’t mean you have to go and run off.”

 

Keeping her silence, she turned and held out a small notebook.

 

Taking it from her hand, he thumbed through the first few pages.  Startled as he realized exactly what its daily entries meant, he bolted out of the chair.  Taking hold of her hand, he put his arm around her shoulders and gently led her out of the office.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“And just what should I do?” he demanded harshly.

 

“Whatever you want, I suppose,” Joe Early quietly replied.

 

“What I want,” he yelled, “is for everything to be the way it was!  What I want is for Dixie to be here!  What I want is to have my family at home where they belong!  What I want . . . . . . . .”

 

Breaking into his rant, Joe asked, “So what are you doing about it?”

 

Kell slammed his fist into the wall, struggling to maintain some small measure of self-control.  He managed, but only by the narrowest of margins.  When he spoke, his voice was filled with anger just barely under control.  “You know I tried to find her, Joe!  You know how hard I tried!  What more can I do?”  He paused, then soughed, “I don’t know where else to look for her.”

 

“And if you found her, then what?  Do you think she’d come back?”  Joe knew the pain he felt --- he could see it in his eyes. 

 

Agony spilled from his grey eyes as Kell turned to look at his friend.  “Don’t you know I’d do anything to get her back?”

 

Joe sighed.  “I think you may be just a little too late, Kell.  If she wouldn’t stay in the first place, what could you possibly say to her now to get her to come back?”

 

Kelly Brackett slumped into the nearest chair, head bowed in defeat.  “So what do I do?”

 

“Find a way to hang on, and try to get through it,” Joe replied softly as he crossed the room to place his hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “And remember that you still have friends who care about you.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“I should be really annoyed with you, Dixie.”

 

“What did I miss keeping track of?” she teased with a soft smile.

 

“Not a single thing,” he conceded, “but you should have come a LOT sooner.”

 

“I couldn’t do that,” she replied imperturbably.  “But I’m all yours now!”

 

He laughed.  “Get some sleep,” he said.  “I’ll be back later.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Dixie made it a point to call every day.  She missed the children dreadfully, but she was absolutely certain she’d made the best choice possible, given the circumstances.  Talking to them on the phone ran a very poor second to actually being with them, but she gamely tried to keep it all in some sort of perspective.

 

The news from Rampart distressed her, but, recognizing just how much her presence would affect things, she accepted the fact that at this point she needed to keep herself distanced.  A part of her longed to go to Kell, to tell him it didn’t matter . . . . . . . . but there was a child involved now, and of course it did matter.

 

She’d spent hours contemplating the situation, trying to reason out the finer points, but it refused to fall into place until the day she received an envelope in the mail.  Mystified, she opened it.

 

“Don’t worry,” she read, “I won’t tell anyone where you are.  But I knew you’d be interested in this.  Barney.”  She looked at the attached sheets --- and it all became heartbreakingly obvious.

 

With only a split second of hesitation, she went and rummaged though the drawer until she found the folder with the other papers; putting them all together, she slipped the stack into an envelope.  Soon it would be just as clear to everyone else. 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Kelly Brackett had resigned himself to being the major topic of discussion for the Rampart gossip mill --- mostly because there was absolutely nothing he could do about it --- but he worked at keeping as low a profile as possible in spite of it.  Of course, with the court case being played up in all the papers, thanks to Taylor Morgan being a Hollywood “name,” his efforts in that regard seemed to be rather pointless.  Nevertheless, he made some stab at being as inconspicuous as was feasible and merely hoped for simple survival.  He’d already heard the murmurings; he knew the board would do whatever was necessary to force him to step down from his position in Emergency.  Not for the first time, though, he speculated that packing it in and going away might not be such a bad idea, all things considered . . . . . . . .

 

The lawyer tapped him on the shoulder and he reluctantly returned his attention to the courtroom proceedings.  He was annoyed that Martin had insisted on Taylor Madison being called in the case and he certainly had no interest in listening to her.  While Martin listened to the witness, he quietly pushed a handful of folders over in front of Kell.

 

Kell idly thumbed through the top folder in the stack as Martin went through the motions of requesting a recess; the legal process was pretty much like trying to read Greek as far as Kell was concerned, but he trusted that Martin knew exactly what he was doing.  He worked at keeping himself as far removed from the entire thing as was possible, given the current state of affairs.

 

Nothing much of importance, at least as far as he could tell, so Kell moved on to the next folder, finding what seemed to him to be just more of the same.  The third and fourth folders were much the same as those he’d already glanced over.  Frustrated, he shoved them all aside and, as the recess was granted, he looked to Martin to find out what was to happen next.

 

With a gesture in the direction of the stack of papers, Martin queried, “Did you look at all of them?”

 

Kell sighed.  “Not all of them, not yet,” he tiredly replied.  “Why don’t you just show me the important stuff?  You know I don’t know much about legal . . . . . . . .”

 

“Doctors!” muttered Martin in mock annoyance as he rifled through the stack of folders.  Finding the object of his search, he held it out to the doctor.

 

Martin had obtained a recess until early afternoon; the court-room had emptied quickly as everyone took advantage of the unexpected delay in the case.  Sighing, Kell took the folder.

 

The top paper was a medical report.  At least that was some-thing he could understand and Kell idly gave it a cursory look.

 

“Well?” queried the lawyer.

 

“This is a lab analysis of a blood sample . . . . . . . .” Kell told him as he glanced over the sheet.  “Shows a pretty high Rh antibody level,” he observed as he turned to the next sheet in search of more information.  He muttered to himself as he quickly skimmed through the second report.  “That’s strange . . . . . . . .” he murmured, immersed in evaluating the test results.

 

Curious, Martin asked, “What’s strange?”

 

“She should’ve gotten anti-D immune globulin . . . . . . . .”  His voice trailed off as he continued looking through the reports.

 

“What’s that for?” Martin pressed.

 

“These indicate a classic Rh incompatibility problem,” Kell told the lawyer.  “The mother’s blood is Rh negative . . . . . . . .”  Something nagged at him and Kell flipped back to the first pages.  Surprised, he carefully re-read the report.  “That’s impossible . . . . . . . . . it can’t be . . . . . . . .”

 

“What can’t be?”

 

Kell was quiet, absorbed; he continued flipping between the reports.  “It can’t . . . . . . . .”  His voice dwindled into silence as he studied the second sheet; confused, he looked back at the first, then returned to the second.

 

“Problem?” Martin asked.

 

“Where’d these come from?” Kell muttered distractedly as he looked to see what else was contained in the folder.  “How did you . . . . . . . . what . . . . . . . .?

 

“What’s this one?” Martin interrupted as he pulled the bottom sheet to the top of the pile.

 

“Lab analysis . . . . . . . . also a routine blood test,” he replied as he quickly skimmed through the report.  “Only . . . . . . . .”

 

“Only?”

 

Still working at sorting out the information, Kell looked at the lawyer in confusion.  “What is this, Martin?”

 

“You tell me; you’re the doctor.”

 

“It’s a lab analysis; nothing abnormal except for . . . . . . . . chloral hydrate . . . . . . . .” Kell began.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“It’s a sedative,” he mumbled.  “Only this is way too high.”  He looked up; “Must be a mistake . . . . . . . .”

 

Martin shook his head; “I don’t think so, Kell.”    

 

“It has to be . . . . . . . .” Kell began, but his voice faded away as the pieces of the puzzle finally slipped themselves into place.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Gene Fischer paced the floor.  “I don’t like it one bit.”

 

Ted MacIntyre thumbed through the chart.  “She’s on complete bed rest?”

 

Gene nodded.  “But it isn’t helping.” Dejected, he slumped down in the chair in front of his colleague’s desk.  “And it was going so well . . . . . . . .”

 

“Well, it’s almost thirty-four weeks . . . . . . . .”

 

“And it’ll all probably work out just fine,” he reluctantly conceded.  “Still . . . . . . . .”

 

“Take what you can get, Doctor,” Ted advised with a chuckle.  “Fussing about it won’t change a thing.”

 

“I suppose not,” he agreed.  “And it’s a whole lot better than the last time . . . . . . . .”  He stood up and headed for the door.  “Want to join me?” he invited.

 

Ted nodded and the two men headed upstairs.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“There are doctor - patient confidentiality issues here . . . . . . . . ethical considerations . . . . . . . . all that sort of thing,” Kell was saying.  He closed the folder and tossed it onto the table.  “I’m not even going to ask how you got your hands on these,” Kell added as he turned to look at the lawyer.  “And don’t you tell me, either.  I don’t want to know.”

 

“Fear not, Doctor,” Martin replied with gentle disdain.  “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Delivered by messenger,” he said.  “I’d guess you still have one or two friends at Rampart . . . . . . . .”

 

Unsure as to whether he should feel hurt, angry, or relieved, Kell managed to feel all that and more as he sat at the table, head propped up in his hands, trying to find some sort of perspective.  He wasn’t having much luck getting past the fact that everything that mattered most to him had been destroyed and his entire life was a total shambles.  After a time, he managed, “What happens now?” 

 

“We finish the trial.”

 

Not at all certain he understood any of it, Kell stared taciturnly at the lawyer.

 

“Just trust me, Kell.  You’ll see.”

 

Kell nodded mutely.  After all, it wasn’t as if it really made any difference any more. 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Thank you very much, Miss Morgan.  That’s all.”  The lawyer turned away from her and moved back to his place at the table.

 

Taylor slid around in the chair, preparing to step down from the witness stand.

 

“Ah, Miss Morgan,” said Martin as he pulled himself to his feet, “I’ve just one or two little questions, if you don’t mind.”

 

She looked at him in surprise, then shrugged and nodded as she settled back in the chair. 

 

Martin waited patiently while she patted her always-unruly curls and fussed at straightening her haute couture maternity dress.  When she was finally settled, he picked up one of the folders from the desk and glanced at the sheet enclosed there.  “Could you, ah, clarify just one or two points for me?” he asked quietly.

 

She nodded; remembering she was to answer out loud for the benefit of the court reporter, she coolly offered, “Of course.”

 

“Exactly how long have you and Doctor Brackett been . . . . . . . . ah . . . . . . . . seeing each other?”

 

“Well,” she stammered, “we . . . . . . . . met at the rehearsal hall.  Working on the benefit for the hospital, you know.”

 

“And?”

 

“And he came to my hotel suite . . . . . . . .”

 

“When was that?”

 

“A couple of weeks after we met.”

 

“And why did he come there?”

 

A ripple of laughter in the courtroom caused the judge to bang his gavel for order while Taylor admitted, “I called him.  I wasn’t feeling too well.”

 

“So he came to see you in his capacity as a medical doctor.”

 

She nodded, then replied, “Yes.”

 

“And then?”

 

Another ripple of laughter was met with more gavel-banging and a stern warning from the judge that the courtroom would be cleared if there was another interruption.

 

“Well . . . . . . . .”

 

“You’re a very talented actress, aren’t you, Miss Morgan?” Martin interrupted.

 

Taylor looked up in surprise, then smiled proudly at the lawyer.  “Most people seem to think so,” she answered with an undue amount of false modesty in her tone.

 

Martin took a deep breath.  The time had come.  “So you had no problem at all in making it appear as if you were ill . . . . . . . .  and once you got Doctor Brackett to drink some of the coffee, your little plan worked like a charm, didn’t it?”  Martin hammered away at her in staccato, unnerving her and allowing no time for her to make any sort of response.  “What exactly did you plan to do when the truth finally came out?”

 

She looked at him, panic building in her eyes.  All of a sudden, things were no longer going in quite the way she had planned.  She was becoming increasingly unsettled by the unexpected turn of events as the entire situation unraveled before her.

 

“How’d you plan to explain the little matter of your baby’s blood type?  Or did you just hope that no one would ever notice that there was no way Doctor Brackett could be the child’s father?

 

Taylor’s lawyer kept shouting, “Objection!” as the judge banged the gavel for order.

 

“And what about the chloral hydrate?  Did you think that just because you washed out the cups and dumped the coffee no one would ever figure that out?  Don’t you know . . . . . . . .?”

 

How did he know about the chloral hydrate?  She’d paid dearly for that little gem.  And what in the world did that blood type stuff have to do with proving that he wasn’t really the baby’s father?  How could she be expected to know about all this medical stuff anyway?  The incessant questions spun around in her head, clamoring for answers, confusing her.  “All right!” she shouted, vainly attempting to quash the questions.  “All right!  It’s not true --- none of it.  I made it all up.”  She buried her face in her hands and wept as the courtroom erupted in commotion.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Kell shook his hand.  “It’s been a while.”

 

“Too long.”  Ted MacIntyre smiled warmly as he indicated a chair and motioned for him to sit down.

 

Waiting for the details of Ted’s latest case, and to know why he’d been called, Kell settled in the chair.  “What’ve you got?”

 

“An ethical dilemma, I’m afraid,” Ted admitted as he looked up.  “I’m way out on a limb on this one.”

 

Puzzled, Kell haltingly offered, “I don’t understand.” 

 

“Look, Kell, there’s no easy way to say this.  So let’s just jump over most of it and let it go with my saying that I know everything that’s been going on with you lately.”

 

Irritated, Kell sighed.  It was becoming painfully obvious that the whole mess was going to haunt him no matter where he went.

 

“Dixie told us.”

 

Startled, Kell looked up in surprise.  “Dixie?”  After a moment’s pause, he realized that that meant Ted might actually have seen her.  “Have you seen Dixie?  Do you know where she is?”

 

Ted nodded.  “She’s here.”

 

“Here?  Why?”  He had to admit it had never occurred to him to look here for her and the chil- . . . . . . . .

 

“Gene’s here,” he answered softly.

 

The answer interrupted his thoughts.  “Gene?  But he’s . . . . . . . .” The implication behind his answer slowly dawned, stunning Kell.  “Oh, dear God . . . . . . . . is she all right?”

 

“C’mon,” Ted said and the two men hurried toward the elevator.  

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Gene noted with satisfaction that her blood pressure had settled down and, although he’d hoped for a bit more time, at this point he was comfortable with the decision to induce labor.  Much to his surprise, this had been a far less precarious pregnancy than she’d had with the twins and his tests had confirmed that the baby, although certainly smaller than they might have liked, would be just fine.  He idly wondered if he’d made a mistake in cautioning them not to have more children after the twins had been born but, remembering how very close they’d come to losing her, he remained convinced that he’d counseled them wisely.  It was a miracle this pregnancy had been so trouble-free, and he intended to urge them not to push their luck any further.  He carefully adjusted the intravenous flow as he pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed.  “Not a thing to worry about,” he reassured softly as he gently patted her hand.

 

Her deep blue eyes were filled with tears.

 

“Everything’s fine,” he said, “and in just a little while . . . . . . . .” 

 

Her tears spilled over.  “I . . . . . . . . want . . . . . . . . Kell.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Fighting to quell the emotional storm within him, he quietly crossed the length of the room to stand at her bedside.  His hand trembled as he reached out to take hold of hers.  A soft whisper choked with emotion; a tear-filled voice caressing her with love.   “And you should have whatever you want, Angel Eyes.”

 

She turned her head on the pillow and found herself looking into his face, his soft smile, his tear-filled eyes.  “Kell!” she sighed and, tears flowing even harder, she reached out her arms to him.

 

Unmindful of his own sentiments, he gathered her into his arms and gently rocked her as she wept.  Fighting to rein in his own emotional turmoil, he held her tight.  As she gained some measure of control over the tears, he settled on the edge of the bed with her head resting in his lap, and tightly held onto her hand.  Brushing the tears from her cheek, he savored the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingertips.

 

Smiling down at her, he softly chided, “You should’ve told me.”

 

“You didn’t need to be worrying about us,” she whispered.  “You had enough to . . . . . . . .”

 

He gently placed his fingers over her mouth.  “All over.”

 

“And?”

 

“She lied.”

 

Dixie sighed.  “I already know that,” she told him with just a hint of exasperation in her voice.  “What happened?”

 

He shrugged, still absently brushing his hand across her cheek.  “She admitted it; the board backed down.  It’s over.”

 

Dixie felt as if a huge weight had suddenly been lifted from her soul.  Breathless with new hope, she smiled at him as he reached his hand up to brush stray strands of hair back from her face.

 

Silent, Kell continued working to contain the swelling tide of raw emotion within him.  For months, his entire life had been thrown into upheaval; somehow, the comprehension that it was, in fact, over seemed to be particularly elusive.  Left with the task of reclaiming whatever he could of the life he’d had before Taylor Morgan had waltzed into it and so cavalierly torn it all to shreds, he’d suddenly found some small measure of hope.  Perhaps there was a very real possibility that he might actually be able to do just that, after all.  

 

Silence engulfed them, but it was surrounded by joyous hearts; with mutual love they eased themselves into its peace. 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Dix?”

 

“Hhhmmmm?” she murmured sleepily.

 

“Sweetheart, where are the kids?  Kevin and Kelsie and Stacey?”

 

“With your dad,” she replied, her voice fading away as she lost the battle to keep her eyes open. 

 

Kell laughed lightly and leaned over to kiss her forehead.  “I love you, Angel Eyes,” he whispered.

 

Drifting off to sleep, she sighed softly, a smile lingering on her lips.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Dixie sat in the rocking chair, holding their son, while Kell packed her things.  Watching him as she rocked the baby, she breathed a prayer of thanks that their love had been strong enough to endure.  Although her anger at Taylor Morgan and torment she’d visited on their family lingered, Dixie worked at pushing her far away into the background of their lives.  She knew for certain that no one could take that love away from them.  Nor, she vowed, would anyone ever again find a way to drive any sort of a wedge between the two of them.  

 

“Dix?”

 

“Hhhmmmm?” she replied rather distractedly as she hummed a wordless little tune for Dillon.

 

“You sent them?  Confidential medical reports?”

 

She looked up.  Kell was holding the folder in his hand.  She shrugged uncomfortably.  “It was no more wrong than what she was doing.”  She cuddled the tiny baby in her arms as tears sprang to her eyes.  “I couldn’t stand by and just let her do that to you . . . . . . . . to our children . . . . . . . . to us . . . . . . . .”

 

Tossing the folder into the suitcase, Kell crossed the room to stoop down beside the rocking chair.

 

Dixie sighed.  “Her picture was in the paper; she said you were the father of her child.  Then the chloral hydrate showed up in the sample I’d drawn from you for the hepatitis check.  So I knew that everything might not be quite as you thought, but I still couldn’t stay any longer.”  She reached out to brush her hand through his hair.  “If I’d stayed, you’d have known about the baby --- and it didn’t really seem like too good an idea for her to know about Dillon at that point.”  She blinked back tears.  “I didn’t understand it all until I saw the Rh stuff.  Instant proof, right there, in black and white.  The baby was Rh positive . . . . . . . . and you’re not.”  She gently brushed her hand across his cheek.  “It was so hard for me to not tell you what I did know, and to keep the baby a secret, but I just couldn’t see any other choice.  I know it hurt you . . . . . . . .  I’m so very sorry . . . . . . . .”   

 

“You are one incredible lady, Angel Eyes.”

 

Dixie smiled, remembering the first time Kell had called her “Angel Eyes.”  They’d been out at The Seaside Place and Dean had talked her into singing.  Granted, she hadn’t needed much in the way of persuasion, but sometimes she let him think differently, just to keep him on his toes.  He’d asked her what she wanted to sing and, just to be different, she’d requested a bluesy torch song.  He’d laughed and played the haunting Earl Brent / Matt Dennis Angel Eyes, which [of course] she knew, and she had sung the song.  She hadn’t given it any further thought until later that night when Kell had come up behind her, wrapped her up in a bear hug, and laughingly speculated on whether or not she thought her love was misspent.  Ever since the “always and ever, now and forever” between them, he’d had a habit of surprising her with odd bits of lyrics from some of the songs she’d sung, and it pleased her no end to know that he enjoyed her music that much.  After that, “Angel Eyes” became his private pet name for her when they were alone . . . . . . . . and every time he called her that, it made her heart smile.

 

Reaching out to brush his hand through the soft, loose-hanging hair framing the face of the woman he adored, Kell quietly observed, “You’re pretty far away all of a sudden.”

 

With a start, she focused her attention on him, shifting in the chair to look into his eyes.  “You did it again, and I was just remembering the first time . . . . . . . .”

 

“Did what?”

 

“Called me ‘Angel Eyes’,” she replied with a soft smile.

 

Dillon startled in his sleep, and Dixie turned her attention to soothing the infant.  Kell watched, as fascinated as the first time he’d caught her rocking the twins while she sang them lullabies.  Some people, he guessed, were just born to be mothers --- and his Dixie most certainly fell into that category. 

 

“Does it bother you?” he asked quietly as the baby settled down in her arms and she returned her attention to their conversation.

 

“What?  You calling me ‘Angel Eyes’?  Not at all.”  She paused.  “It’s just that, well . . . . . . . . this is the second or third time you’ve said it since you’ve been here, and you never did that before.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘I never did that before’?” he enquired, mystified.  “I’ve called you ‘Angel Eyes’ ever since . . . . . . . .”

 

“I know,” she conceded as she interrupted with an explanation, “but before always at home, and only when we were alone.  Hearing it here just . . . . . . . . surprised me.”

 

“You’ll always be my Angel Eyes,” he murmured, “now and forever,” as he leaned forward to give her a kiss.

 

“Always and ever,” she smiled . . . . . . . . and kissed him back.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Stepping back from the door, Julie smiled and invited them in.

 

“Joe’s at the hospital,” she explained as they settled down in the living room.  “Some sort of emergency.”

 

“Something’s always an emergency at Rampart,” Dixie laughed.

 

“Well, I’m glad you’re finally here, and he will be, too.  He’ll be home soon; we’ll have dinner then.”

 

Julie and Dixie went off to put Dillon down to sleep, leaving Kell alone in the living room.  He sipped at a glass of wine, feeling comfortable and content for the first time in a very long time.  He really didn’t know how he’d have gotten through all of the mess of the past months without their unflagging friendship and support.  And now Joe and Julie had insisted that he leave Dixie and the baby with them while he drove out to his father’s place to pick up the children.  After all that had happened, Kell would have much preferred to take them along with him, but he knew such a trip would be hard on both of them.  What they really needed was to rest.  And he would feel a whole lot better about leaving them if they weren’t at home, alone.  Not for the first time in his life, he found himself truly grateful for the friendship they shared with Joe and Julie.  Few and far between . . . . . . . . and priceless, indeed . . . . . . . . were true friends. 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Do you have a minute?” Dixie asked softly as she stood in the office doorway.

 

“Dixie!  Welcome back!”  Smiling broadly, Nathan O’Brien stood and moved around his desk to usher her into his office.

 

As Dixie came into the room, Chuck Miller stood up, saying, “I’ll see you later, then.”

 

“No, no, please,” Dixie demurred, “you don’t need to go.  This will only take a minute.  Please, don’t let me interrupt . . . . . . . .”

 

“It’s good to have you back,” Chuck acknowledged with a smile as he sat down once again.

 

“So,” Nathan queried brightly, “when are you coming back to work?  We’ve really missed you around here.”

 

“That’s what I’m here to talk to you about,” Dixie sighed as she dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap.  “There’s something I need to tell you . . . . . . . . about something I did . . . . . . . .”

 

Nathan looked at her in surprise.

 

“You need to know that I . . . . . . . . I sent . . . . . . . . confidential patient records to someone,” she whispered, eyes still downcast.

 

“What?!” he exclaimed, dumbfounded; “you can’t be serious!” 

 

Refusing to look at the administrator, she nodded.  “Some lab tests,” she continued in a whispered undertone.

 

“You know better than that!”  With difficulty, Nathan reined in his anger.  “Why would you do such a thing?”

 

Dixie was silent.  Tears filled her eyes; blinking furiously, she tried to keep them at bay.

 

“Whose records?” he demanded.

 

Dixie remained silent, eyes glued to the hands she nervously clenched and unclenched as they lay in her lap.

 

“Nathan,” Chuck interjected quietly, “perhaps . . . . . . . .”

 

“Whose records?” he persisted, ignoring the chaplain as his annoyance grew.

 

“Taylor Morgan,” she whispered. 

 

As surprised as he had been by her admission, that was the one name he had not expected her to offer.  He walked around the desk to stand beside the chair.  “Why?”

 

She remained motionless, silent. 

 

“Who’d you send them to?” he asked softly, his initial anger somewhat mitigated.  He could almost forgive her actions, given the patient’s identity; Taylor Morgan, after all, had caused a great deal of upheaval in her life.  Still, Nathan found the whole episode to be very un-Dixie like. 

 

“Her lab report documented the Rh incompatibility,” she suddenly offered, breaking the silence in the room and surprising the administrator.  Her voice was a low monotone, but he could hear emotion cracking in tears around its edge.  “She . . . . . . . . her child is Rh positive . . . . . . . . Kell’s not . . . . . . . .”  She drew another breath, then continued with a shuddering sigh.  “And the chloral hydrate . . . . . . . . I sent them to his lawyer . . . . . . . .”  Her voice trailed off as the tears she’d battled finally won out, creating watery ribbons down her cheeks.  Exasperated by her inability to control her emotions, she swiped angrily at them, but said nothing more.

 

Coming to put his arm around her shoulders, Chuck spoke softly, “Dixie . . . . . . . .”

 

“I knew it was wrong,” she said tearfully as she looked at him.  “But I couldn’t let her do that to him.”

 

Drawing a quivering breath, she fought to bring her emotions under control.  Looking at Nathan, she said, “I’ll understand if you don’t want me to come back . . . . . . . .

 

“Who else knows about this?” Nathan queried quietly.

 

“Kell,” she sighed softly. 

 

Nathan pondered the situation.  How could he punish her for supporting her husband, especially when it had turned out that the whole matter had been a cleverly-created hoax designed by the actress to trap the man?  No one would have blamed Dixie for walking away from it all . . . . . . . . in fact, her absence at the trial had convinced most everyone that she’d done just that.  But this was a hospital, and the confidentiality of patient records . . . . . . . .

 

“I know one wrong does not justify another,” Dixie suddenly whispered, “but I couldn’t see any other way.”  She looked at the administrator, her blue eyes filled with tears.  “We have a family . . . . . . . . I love him . . . . . . . .”

 

His decision was made.  “Your word, Dixie,” he said sternly.  “This will never happen again . . . . . . . .”

 

She nodded, overwhelmed with emotion.

 

“C’mon,” Chuck said softly, urging her out of the chair.  “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

 

As they reached the door, Nathan said, “I’ll expect to see you back at work first thing Monday morning, Miss McCall.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Mostly to confine her hollering, Sally Lewis put her arm around the woman’s shoulders and prodded her toward the break room.  Relieved to find it empty, she sat her down at the table and poured out a cup of coffee.

 

“Now you just get a hold of yourself!” she demanded sharply.  “Nothing will be solved by your screaming and carrying on like that!”

 

“I want to see Doctor Brackett!” she demanded once more.

 

“I told you . . . . . . . . he’s not in the hospital.  He’s not on duty.  If you need to see a doctor, you’ll have to see someone else.”

 

“I don’t want anyone else!” she whined.

 

“Fine; come back next week; Doctor Brackett will be back then.”

 

The woman nodded with a sigh, announcing, “I’ll be going after I’ve finished my coffee then.”  Pointing to the counter where a homemade coffee cake had been left for the staff, she wheedled, “He said I should eat; I could have a piece of that?” 

 

“Sure, help yourself,” Sally sighed and the woman walked over to the counter to cut herself a piece of cake.  “If you’ll excuse me,” Sally muttered as she headed back to the nurses’ station, leaving the recalcitrant woman to her cake and coffee.

 

Imperious, as if she owned the place, the woman looked around as the door opened again; Dixie had come into the room.

 

“Well, well, well.”

 

Dixie looked at the woman; suddenly she accused, “You lied.”

 

Taylor Madison shrugged.  “So?”

 

“What about his reputation?  His career?”  Dixie worked to keep the anger out of her voice, but it crept in behind her words anyway.

 

“All’s fair in love and war,” Taylor replied indifferently.  She looked at Dixie.  “And you,” she taunted, “fell out before the end of the very first battle.  Wasn’t worth much to you, was he?”

 

Dixie’s eyes narrowed as she worked to rein in her rising fury.  Her voice was crisp, her tone, cold; “Let me give you a little advice.”

 

Taylor laughed.  “I don’t need any advice from you, Honey.”

 

“Well, you’re going to get it anyway.”  Dixie glared daggers at the woman who had caused her family so much heartache, icy wrath spilling over from angry blue eyes.  “If you’re going to play the game . . . . . . . . Honey,” she began, returning the appellation in a perfect mimic of Taylor’s ingratiating tone, “then you’d damn well better know who your competition really is.”

 

The door opened, interrupting their conversation.  A student nurse came in, carrying a baby.  “He’s just beautiful!” she enthused as she crossed the room and handed the child to Dixie.  “You and Doctor Brackett must be so happy.” 

 

“Thank you,” Dixie replied with a smile.  “Are you on duty now?” 

 

Nodding, Jacquelyn turned then and headed toward the door.  “My first day in Emergency, so I can’t be late.  See you later.”

 

Holding Dillon in her arms, Dixie turned back to face Taylor.  “He never played,” she said quietly, decisively, “and I never left.”

 

She turned to leave.

 

Taylor, still smarting from the courtroom fiasco, was enraged.  Nothing had worked out as she had planned; worse yet, she’d been publicly humiliated.  Fueled by an unreasoning anger that pushed her need for retribution, she grabbed the knife from the counter and plunged it into Dixie’s back.

 

With a gasp, she collapsed to the floor.

 

Taylor calmly pulled the knife free and dropped it into the pool of blood growing beneath the woman’s injured shoulder.  Stepping over her, she paused only long enough to reach down and lift the infant from her arms.

 

She left without a backward glance. 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

For the first time in many years, it was beginning to look as if Los Angeles County might actually experience a few flakes of white Christmas.  The temperature had been dropping steadily all month long and now, four days after Thanksgiving, the skies were dark and threatening.  More than two weeks of cold rain had soaked the ground far beyond its ability to absorb the water and the runoff left puddles of murky mud everywhere.  The sun remained obscured, putting nerves on edge.

 

“I’m getting mighty sick of rain,” grumbled Sharon Walters as she shook the water out of her umbrella and stowed it away in the locker.

 

“Rain is always a good thing in southern California,” Betty countered as she looked in the mirror, smoothing down her hair and pinning on her nursing cap.  “Soon as spring gets here, it’ll be hot and dry again . . . . . . . . and then you’ll be wishing you had some of this rain falling.”

 

“But we must have enough water in the reservoirs by now,” Sharon grumbled petulantly.  “I’m tired of being wet and cold!”

 

Betty laughed.  “It’ll be Christmas before long; think what it would be like if all that rain had been snow!”

 

Sharon just rolled her eyes. 

 

“Well, I’m telling you right now, if it turns to snow, I’m staying home!” Carol grumbled as she hurried into the nurses’ locker room to change.  Fervently jumping into the conversation as she pulled on her uniform, she added,  “It’s bad enough out there when it rains . . . . . . . . no one in this town has a clue about driving in snow!”

 

Still laughing, Betty headed for the nurses’ station.  It was just about time for their shift to begin.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Dixie moaned as her eyes fluttered open.  She struggled to sit up, only to realize she was being restrained by someone’s hand.  She looked up as Carol worked at taking her blood pressure.

 

“Take it easy,” Joe said quietly.  “Keep still; you’ll be all right.”

 

Dixie glanced around, recognizing the treatment room.   

 

“What happened, Honey?” Joe asked softly as he finished put-ting in the stitches.  Thankful it had not turned out to be a serious wound, Betty fussed with bandaging up her injured shoulder.

 

“I’m not sure,” she replied.  “I was leaving, and then . . . . . . . . she . . . . . . . . I don’t know . . . . . . . .”  Everything seemed hazy and she was finding it rather difficult to focus her thoughts.  Sleep seemed like a good idea; she closed her eyes.

 

“She?  She who?”

 

“Taylor . . . . . . . . Morgan,” she murmured, drifting.

 

Joe tapped her arm; she forced her eyes open and looked at him.  “When did you see her?” he demanded.

 

“She . . . . . . . . in the break room.  We . . . . . . . .  talked . . . . . . . . I was leaving . . . . . . . .”  Her eyes fluttered.  “Dillon’s all right?”

 

“I’m sure he is.  Where is he?”

 

Confused, Dixie fought back a sudden rising panic.  “I . . . . . . . . He was . . . . . . . . I was holding him . . . . . . . . before . . . . . . . .”  She looked at Joe, fighting to keep her eyes open.  “I . . . . . . . . She . . . . . . . . took . . . . . . . . him?”  Tears stung the back of her eyes as she sought comprehension; “No-o-o-o-o,” she moaned.

 

Joe’s eyes clouded with anger.  “Take care of her,” he ordered.  “I’ll be back.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Taylor flopped down on the sofa.  The baby was finally asleep.  He was less than a week old, but she’d already decided she’d had enough.  She was simply not cut out for all this mother stuff; the very first nanny that showed her face at Taylor’s doorstep would have a position with definite long-term job security.

 

A knock at the door startled her and she hurried to answer lest the sound awaken the child and start him to fussing once more.  “Yes?”

 

“Miss Morgan?  I need to speak with you . . . . . . . . a matter of some urgency, a matter of great importance to you.”

 

“Regarding?”

 

“I really think it would be better if we had this conversation in private.  I promise this won’t take too much of your time.”

 

Shrugging, Taylor stepped back, opening the door wide enough to admit him. 

 

“My name is Joe Early,” he said as he stepped into the center of the room.  “Doctor Joe Early.  From Rampart General Hospital.”

 

Taylor was already in a world of trouble, thanks to a certain doc-tor from Rampart.  Her lawyer had told her to expect the district attorney to file perjury charges against her for lying under oath.   She hadn’t quite figured out just how she was going to get out of this mess, but she was absolutely certain none of it was her fault.

 

“What can I do for you?” she queried coolly.

 

“Where’s Dillon?”

 

“Who?”  She looked at him, her face a mask of confusion. 

 

“I don’t have time to fool around,” Joe declared fervidly.  “Where is the baby?”

 

“What baby?” she demanded hotly.

 

“The one you took from the hospital this morning.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“No, of course you don’t,” Joe spat out.  “Mind if I look around?”  Without waiting for a reply he proceeded to look throughout the suite for Dillon.  Having no luck, he returned to the sitting room.

 

Taylor glowered.  “Satisfied?” Flouncing down on the sofa, she arrogantly demanded, “Why ever would I take some baby?”

 

“If you’ve done anything to him . . . . . . . .”

 

She looked askance at the doctor, shrugging her shoulders.

 

Joe struggled to keep his rising anger at bay.  “You’ve already caused more than enough trouble . . . . . . . .”

 

“You’ve looked everywhere,” she interrupted, anxious to get the doctor out of the suite.  “I don’t have your precious baby.”  She’d show him just who was in charge; gloating, she offered the doctor a smug, self-satisfied grin; “He’s not here.”

 

Joe was certain she had taken the child from the hospital; get-ting the answers he needed was obviously going to be tougher than he had anticipated.  He had underestimated her . . . . . . . . it wasn’t a mistake he would make again. 

 

“If there’s nothing else . . . . . . . .”

 

“You work for Wide Horizons Pictures, don’t you, Miss Morgan?”

 

Surprised by the complete turn-around in the conversation, she haltingly stammered, “I have an exclusive contract with them, yes.”

 

Joe nodded knowingly.  “Wide Horizons is funded by a financial working group in Beverly Hills,” he coolly informed her.

 

“I wouldn’t know about that,” she haughtily replied.

 

“Take my word for it,” he countered.  “Better yet, call your agent or your business manager or whoever and ask.”  Joe crossed the room to pick up the telephone receiver and held it out to her.

 

“If I do, will you go?”

 

He nodded; irritated, she stomped over to snatch the telephone from his hand and dialed the number.  “Alfred,” she cooed into the phone when he answered, “who funds Wide Horizons?”

 

Anger flushed her cheeks as the agent asked why in the world she cared about that.  “I merely want to know!” she shouted.  “Just answer the question!”  After a moment of listening, she slammed the receiver down into its cradle.  Looking up at Joe, she fussed at her flyaway curls as she whined, “So?”

 

“Early Financial Services is its major stockholder, Miss Morgan.  It will take me all of five seconds to call their president . . . . . . . . my brother, Edward . . . . . . . . and have him demand that your contract be dropped.”  His tone of voice was measured, firm and assured.  “If you force me to, I will fix it so that you will never be able to get any kind of work in the industry ever again.”  

 

She paled.  Her career!  What if he could actually do that?

 

“Where . . . . . . . . is . . . . . . . . the . . . . . . . . baby?”

 

Taylor blanched; her career was the only thing that mattered.  Seeing no other way to ensure its continuation, she acquiesced.  In a low voice she replied, “I left him in the dumpster in the hospital parking lot.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Todd shook his head.  “Doesn’t sound good at all,” he remarked as he listened intently.  “Rales in both lungs . . . . . . . . bilateral rhonchi, too.”

 

Joe Early sighed heavily.  Just how much worse could things get for them?  “Respiratory distress syndrome?” 

 

Todd nodded.  “I’ll put him in critical care, but at this point it’s just going to be a matter of time . . . . . . . .”

 

Joe looked at him in silence, eyes filled with despair.

 

“If he were only a little bigger, just a little stronger . . . . . . . .”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Kell, Taylor Morgan was here.”

 

“What’d she want?” he grumbled as he hung up his jacket.

 

“I don’t know . . . . . . . . but she and Dixie had words.”

 

Kell turned around.  “Sorry I missed that . . . . . . . .” he joked, but the expression on Joe’s face drew him up short.  “What’s the matter, Joe?”

 

“It . . . . . . . . didn’t end very well, Kell.  I wasn’t there. . . . . . . . none of us were . . . . . . . . but I guess it was pretty bad . . . . . . . .”

 

What was it going to take to get this woman out of his life?  Kell headed for the door; “I won’t have her upsetting Dixie . . . . . . . .”

 

Joe grabbed hold of his arm, stopping him.

 

Kell spun around, struggling to free his arm.  His anger was palpable, just barely under control.

 

“She took Dillon,” Joe said quietly, effectively putting a stop to his friend’s struggles.

 

“What?” he breathed hoarsely.

 

The words fell over each other as they tumbled out of Joe’s mouth, assaulting him.  “Dixie was here, at the hospital, with Dillon.  Taylor took him . . . . . . . . left him in . . . . . . . . the dumpster.  By the time we found him . . . . . . . .”  He drew a deep breath.  “Todd’s got him upstairs, but . . . . . . . .”

 

Numb, Kell staggered to the nearest chair and fell into it.

 

Joe wasn’t sure just how much more the man could take.  He measured his words carefully, trying to provide assurance before more blows were struck.  “Dixie is all right now . . . . . . . . she’ll be fine . . . . . . . . Taylor apparently stabbed her, from behind, and she took Dillon.” 

 

“Dixie?”  Joe could feel the pain in his voice.

 

Moving across the room to put his hand on Kell’s shoulder, he offered reassurance.  “Just some stitches, Kell; I did them myself.  She’ll be fine.”

 

Kell looked at him blankly, uncomprehending.  “She . . . . . . . . took . . . . . . . . Dillon?”

 

Joe nodded.  “It’s respiratory distress . . . . . . . . he’s so small, so little . . . . . . . .”

 

“Dixie,” he murmured.  “I’ve got to see Dixie.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Dix?” he whispered as he brushed his hand across her cheek.

 

She stirred and opened her eyes.  Seeing him brought a smile to her face, but as the wispy tendrils of sleep dissolved, the memory returned and she looked at them in agitation.  “Dillon?”

 

“We found him, Honey,” Joe answered softly as Kell took hold of her hand.

 

“He’s okay?” she begged.

 

“Todd’s taking care of him.”

 

“Todd?”  She’d worked in pediatrics; she knew Todd would only be involved if . . . . . . .  . “Why?” she demanded; the look on his face confirmed the rising terror in her heart. 

 

Kell reached out to her as she dissolved into hysterical tears for Dillon.  Brokenhearted, he sought in vain to comfort her.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Time passed in a haze, measured only by the moments they were allowed to spend at Dillon’s side.  Despite the devastating prognosis, the infant clung to life, surprising everyone and giving his parents a faint glimmer of hope.

 

Dixie slowly turned around at the soft sounding of her name.  “So now they’re calling out the big guns, huh, Chuck?” she said tonelessly as she turned back to the window.

 

“Since when did I get to be the big guns, Dixie?” he teased softly as he crossed the waiting room to stand beside her.  Working to ease the tension and to divert her from her grief-stricken mood, the chaplain urged her away from the window to sit down with him. 

 

Shrugging distractedly, she silently settled back in the chair; despair flooded from her eyes, the visible agony of a mother’s heartbreak.  Her arm, now in a sling to keep her from moving her injured shoulder, combined with the look to give mute testimony to the depth of the torment Taylor Morgan had visited upon her.  “How could she do such a horrible thing?” she mourned.  “She has a child of her own . . . . . . . .”

 

“I don’t know, Dixie,” Chuck replied softly.  “Sometimes people do things without thinking them through, without considering the consequences of their actions . . . . . . . .”

 

Dixie stared at him.  “He’s just a baby . . . . . . . . how could she possibly . . . . . . . .?”

 

“We all make choices, Dixie,” Chuck replied softly.  “Who knows what she was thinking?”

 

Dixie shook her head as she absentmindedly brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes.  “I don’t understand any of this, Chuck.  She concocted this wild plan . . . . . . . . she lied . . . . . . . . she purposely . . . . . . . .”  Her voice broke and she paused, struggling to keep her emotions under control.  “She didn’t care what she did to Kell’s reputation, or if it hurt his career; she didn’t care if she destroyed our family.  She wreaked havoc on our lives, thought only of herself.  And now Dillon’s paying for it . . . . . . . .”  Dixie turned away, sliding out of the chair and wandering back to stand beside the window.  After a time, she sighed tonelessly, quietly querying, “Isn’t this where you tell me not to worry, that everything will be all right and that no matter what . . . . . . . .”  Her voice trailed away and she remained standing there, unmoving, as she stared sightlessly out the window into the dark night.

 

“Well,” he chuckled, “I guess I don’t have to . . . . . . . . it sounds like you already know my whole speech,” Chuck soothed as he came to stand beside her. 

 

She was silent; motionless.  After a time, she whispered, “I want to hold him.”  She turned to look at the chaplain, her fear-filled eyes beseeching.  “Please . . . . . . . . tell them . . . . . . . . make them . . . . . . . .”  Her voice cracked.  “He’s my baby . . . . . . . . I’m his mother . . . . . . . .”

 

Chuck Miller put his arm around her shoulders and gently led her out of the waiting room.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Joe?”  Julie stood at the study doorway.

 

Joe looked up from the respiratory therapy advances article he was perusing in the just-issued medical journal.  “Edward!” he stammered.  Surprised, he walked around the desk and crossed the room, holding out a hand to his older brother.

 

“Joseph.”

 

“If you’ll excuse me,” Julie said, “I’ll just go make some fresh coffee.”  She turned away, leaving the two men alone.

 

Joe gestured toward an armchair; “It’s good to see you, Edward; won’t you sit?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Joe hadn’t seen his brother in quite some time; generally Edward did not care to see him and Joe felt no particular need to force his presence where it was not wanted.  Expectant, he waited.

 

“I’m sorry to arrive unannounced,” he apologized.

 

“You’re always welcome here, Edward,” Joe countered.

 

“Yes, well . . . . . . . .”  Edward shifted uncomfortably in the chair; an uneasy tension filled the room.  A knock at the door caused both of them to look up as Julie came into the study with coffee.  In an awkward silence she set the coffee things out on the table, poured two mugs of coffee, and carefully handed one to each of them.

 

Joe looked into her eyes.  “Thanks,” he smiled softly.

 

She returned the smile, excused herself once more, and left the two brothers by themselves.

 

Edward sighed and sipped at the coffee.  “Good,” he offered noncommittally.  After a moment, he casually stated, “I under-stand you, ah, spoke with Taylor Morgan recently . . . . . . . . made some sort of a threat?”

 

Joe looked at his brother levelly, eyes unwavering.  “No threat.  A promise.”

 

“Joseph . . . . . . . .”

 

“I had no choice.  I had to know what she did with the baby.”

 

“Baby?  I’d heard she recently gave birth . . . . . . .”

 

“She took an infant from Rampart,” Joe began. 

 

Edward looked at his younger brother in surprise.  “My goodness.  Has the child been found?”

 

Joe nodded. 

 

“And he . . . . . . . . she . . . . . . . . is . . . . . . . . all right?”

 

“His name is Dillon,” Joe offered quietly.  “He’s my godchild.”  Wondering if Taylor Morgan felt anything even close to remorse for her actions, he bitterly added, “She left him in a dumpster.  In a parking lot, in the rain . . . . . . . . the cold.”  Pausing to blink a-way tears, he added, “He’s . . . . . . . . he’s not expected to live.”

 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Joseph.”

 

The two men were silent, each caught up in their own thoughts.

 

After a time, Edward shifted in the chair and put the coffee mug on the table.  “I’ve been thinking of late,” he observed quietly, “that perhaps we ought to . . . . . . . . see more of each other.  Being family, I mean . . . . . . . .”

 

Joe looked at him in surprise.  “I have no intention of returning to the business . . . . . . . .” he began.

 

Edward held up his hand; “I don’t expect you to do that, Joseph.  I imagine you keep pretty busy with your work at the hospital and all . . . . . . . .”

 

Joe was floored.  “Well, then, as long as that’s clear, I’d very much like for us to be closer,” he replied quietly. 

 

“Perhaps we could all have dinner . . . . . . . . some night when you’re free,” Edward continued.  “Martha and her husband, too.”

 

Flabbergasted by the unexpected invitation, Joe hesitantly replied, “Sure; that would be nice.  I haven’t seen Martha in a while.”  He drew a deep breath.  “But right now I have to be here . . . . . . . . for Dillon . . . . . . . . and his parents . . . . . . . .”

 

“Of course.  I understand,” Edward interrupted.  “Just let me know, sometime later, and we’ll set something up whenever your hospital responsibilities allow.  Martha is quite fond of some little restaurant on the beach in Santa Monica . . . . . . . .”  He rose and Joe walked with him to the front door. 

 

“Good night, Joseph,” he said evenly.  “It was good to see you again.” 

 

“Good night, Edward.  I’m glad you came.”

 

Hearing the men at the door, Julie came out of the living room and, slipping an arm around her husband’s waist, she stood in the doorway with him.

 

Partway down the walk, Edward stopped and turned to face the door.  “Let me know . . . . . . . about . . . . . . . Dillon,” he requested.  Then turning away, he walked out to his car and drove off, leaving Joe still standing in the doorway, stunned.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Unaware of anything or anyone around her, Dixie cradled the infant in her arms as she gently rocked him, softly singing a lullaby.

 

“She’s been sitting there like that for hours now,” Todd said with a sad shake of his head.

 

Chuck shrugged.  “That’s not so hard to understand . . . . . . . . she wanted to be with him.  Is it a problem?”

 

“I suppose not,” Todd offered reluctantly.  “It’s just . . . . . . . .”

 

“If love alone could save that child . . . . . . . .” Chuck began, only to break off as Kell came through the door.  Nodding to them, he moved across the room to stand beside his wife and son.

 

Dixie looked up at the touch of his hand on her shoulder.  “This is all my fault,” she mourned.  “I’m so sorry.”

 

Kell scrunched around to sit on the edge of her chair and put his arm around her, pulling her head down to rest on his shoulder.  “Don’t blame yourself, Sweetheart,” he whispered.  “It’s not your fault at all.”

 

“If I had just walked away, if I hadn’t talked to her,” she wept, “then maybe none of this . . . . . . . .”

 

“No, that’s not true,” he interrupted.  “You didn’t make this happen, Angel Eyes.”  Keeping his arm around her, Kell reached over with his other hand to gently brush his finger across his tiny son’s pale cheek.

 

They sat, together, silent, gently rocking their child as they watched over him through a sea of tears.   

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

They’d both fallen asleep in the chair, rocking the baby.  Now he began to fuss, causing Dixie’s eyes to pop open.  She shifted gingerly in the chair, trying to see to his needs without disturbing Kell.  But it was only a momentary effort as Kell, too, shifted around to see why the infant was fussing.

 

Todd came in, surprised to find that the child had survived an-other night.  Despite her protests, he took the infant and made an effort to shoo them out of the room, even promising to come talk with Dixie as soon as he had completed his examination.

 

Dixie, however, refused to budge.

 

Joe came in before he had finished.  “How is he?” he asked quietly as he came up to stand beside Todd.

 

Todd looked up in surprise.  “A bit better, actually,” he replied in wonder.  He looked up.  Nodding his head in the direction of the rocking chair, he added, “Dixie was in here most of the night, singing lullabies and rocking him.”

 

That was no surprise to Joe; idly he wondered if her love for the child might possibly be the one thing that could make the difference.  He knew enough about medicine to know that there was still an awful lot they didn’t know.  Grateful for any improve-ment, no matter how small, he breathed a prayer of thanks. 

 

Giving in to the inevitable, Todd crossed the room with the child and carefully returned him to Dixie’s arms.  She would spend the next three days there, until, at last satisfied that Dillon would indeed recover, she finally gave in to their demands for her to get some rest and let Kell take her home.

 

Ten days later, despite their worst fears and all the dire predictions, just in time to be an early Christmas present, the baby was pronounced well enough to be released from the hospital.  Kell and Dixie, at long last, took their youngest child home to meet his brother and sisters.  Their joy knew no bounds.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Hanging up the telephone, Joe chuckled in amusement.  Was The Seaside Place everyone’s favorite restaurant?  He supposed Frank would be happy if that were indeed true; nonetheless, he was delighted to learn that it was his sister’s restaurant of choice. 

 

Looking up from her book, Julie asked, “What’s so funny?”

 

“Friday evening, Edward would like us to join him for dinner at Martha’s favorite restaurant . . . . . . . . The Seaside Place.”

 

Julie chuckled.  “I hope you accepted!”

 

“Of course!”  Turning serious, he added, “I never thought I’d see the day that Edward would actually want to . . . . . . . . I’d don’t know, be a brother, I guess.”  Sitting on the arm of her chair, he added, “I’ve no idea what brought it about, but I hope it lasts!”

 

Julie smiled and reached up to give him a hug.  “Me, too,” she enthused.  “And I’m looking forward to meeting your sister.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Dixie looked up as Kell came through the front door and meandered into the living room.  Kelsie was sitting on the sofa beside her, carefully holding Dillon in her lap. 

 

Definitely one of those “Kodak moment” things, Kell thought with delight, a moment made even more special considering how very close he’d come to losing it all.  The mere thought of just how close they had come still gave him nightmares.  He wandered over to sit down beside Dixie, asking, “Talked to Dean lately?”

 

Dixie shook her head in reply.  “I should call him, find out what’s what with the benefit.  I really haven’t given it much thought, what with everything else that’s been happening . . . . . . . .”  She shrugged helplessly. 

 

“I’m sure Dean would understand if you didn’t sing, Love,” he placated, “especially after all that’s gone on around here.”

 

“I did promise . . . . . . . .”

 

“Why don’t we just go over to the rehearsal hall sometime tomorrow and talk to him?” Kell suggested.  

 

She nodded her consent and dismissed the thought as she returned her attention to the children happily sitting beside her.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

He awoke with a start, drenched with sweat and breathing hard.  Fighting for calm, he drew in ragged, shuddering breaths as he sat up.

 

“Kell?” she murmured sleepily.

 

“Ssshhhh,” he whispered.  “It’s all right . . . . . . . . everything’s fine; go back to sleep.”

 

Dixie snuggled beneath the covers as Kell quietly slipped out of bed.  Moving soundlessly through the house, he went upstairs to check on Stacey and the twins.  The children were fast asleep; he paused beside their beds, brushing each of their cheeks with a gentle kiss.  With a smile he carefully straightened out Kelsie’s blankets.  Ever since she’d been an infant she’d made a habit out of tangling up the covers . . . . . . . .

 

They’d temporarily converted the study into a nursery.  There was plenty of room in the house now since their addition included a couple of extra rooms that could be used for guests.  But they were upstairs, and Kell knew that climbing the stairs would always be something of an issue for Dixie, so he’d insisted that the baby stay downstairs until he was older.  He and Dixie, with plenty of help from the twins and Stacey, had spent an afternoon setting up the nursery furniture, moving the desk aside and putting the baby’s crib in its place.

 

Filled with amazement and wonder, Kell now stood beside the crib, looking down on his son as he slept.  He’d hardly had the chance to get used to the idea that Dixie was pregnant before Dillon had been born; then, just as he was adjusting to the idea of a having an infant around once again, it seemed as if he would be cruelly snatched away from them.  Unplanned, unexpected, their miracle child made his heart burst with love.  He reached out a hand to gently stroke the sleeping infant’s soft cheek. 

 

Dixie slinked her arm around his waist, startling him, as she quietly came to stand beside him.  “Pretty amazing, huh?” she whispered.

 

Kell smiled as he slipped his arm around her, cherishing the warm “I adore her” feeling her mere presence stirred up within him.  He’d thought she was still sleeping.  Unbidden tears gathered in the corners of his eyes and, not trusting his voice, he nodded. 

 

They stood, together, silent, watching the baby sleep. 

 

“C’mon,” Dixie whispered after a time, reluctantly urging him away.  Arm in arm they walked out of the room; “You need to try and get some sleep,” she gently admonished as she worked as pushing down her concern for his well-being.

 

Kell sighed, only grudgingly returning to bed; nightmares made him disinclined to want to sleep.

 

Dixie leaned over, brushing his lips with a gentle kiss, then settling herself beside him with her head resting on his shoulder.  She draped her arm across his chest, comfortable in his embrace, content to be there with him.  After a time, she felt him relax as, despite himself, he drifted off to sleep and she spent the hours until daylight dawned holding him in her arms, fending off the remnants of despair that haunted his nights.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Dean looked up as they came through the door, children in tow.  Jumping up from the piano bench, he hurried toward them.  Grinning broadly as they met up with each other in the middle of the room, he enthused, “It’s so great to see you again!”

 

Dixie smiled briefly as she worked to keep her discomfort out of her eyes.  Her gaze darted around the room, seeking . . . . . . . . what?

 

“She’s not here,” Dean offered softly.

 

Dixie sighed, mollified and, at the same time, embarrassed that she had been so transparent in her fretting that even Dean had known what was troubling her about being here in this place.

 

Kell brushed her cheek with a kiss and, after giving her a quick hug, herded the children over to chairs near the window.

 

Dixie dropped her gaze.  “I’m sorry,” she apologized.

 

“I should be apologizing to you, Dixie,” Dean replied regretfully.  “My little benefit kind of blew up in your face,” he added sadly.

 

“Maybe we could just . . . . . . . forget about it?” Dixie suggested hopefully.  “As long as she won’t be around . . . . . . . .”

 

“You haven’t heard?” Dean interrupted.  “The studio opted to drop her contract . . . . . . . . the district attorney is pressing charges and she’s cooling her heels in a jail cell at the moment.”

 

Dixie looked at Dean.  “She’s . . . . . . . . in jail?”

 

“And, if you’re still willing,” Dean nodded, “we have a hospital benefit to do.”

 

She smiled; “We’d better get busy, then; isn’t the show this weekend?

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“He’s doing quite well,” Joe said into the telephone.

 

Julie put her book down.  She supposed he was talking about Dillon.  Since the night of his unexpected visit, Edward had called at least a dozen times to check on the baby’s progress.  Smiling to herself, she settled back and returned to her reading.       

 

“You did what?”

 

Putting her book down again, Julie looked up in surprise at Joe’s comment.  Idly reflecting on the events that had been triggered by Edward’s visit, her thoughts turned to the family dinner.  After getting off to a bit of an awkward start, by the time the salad had been served, everyone had relaxed and the evening had been quite lovely.  Since then, either Edward or Martha had called almost daily; this was the third time this week that Edward had telephoned Joe.  Neither Julie nor Joe had any idea what had sparked their sudden desire to reconnect with him, but she was glad that it had happened.  Although he’d seldom dis-cussed it, Julie knew that his family situation had bothered him very much.  Years of hurt and disappointment had followed his break with them; Joe had desired only to separate himself from the business, not from the people.  Whatever differences they’d harbored seemed to have suddenly evaporated, leaving Joe happily reunited with them.  No matter what the original cause, Julie shared his pleasure at having a suddenly-close family.

 

“I’m not sure I understand, Edward.”  Joe listened intently, then quietly commented, “Wow!”

 

That was a very un-Joe Early-like comment; Julie looked at him in amazement.  When he hung the phone up a moment later, she looked at him.  “Wow?”

 

Joe nodded.  “Come on,” he said, taking hold of her hand and urging her toward the door.  “I’ve got to run by the hospital.  Ride along with me; I’ll tell you all about it on the way.” 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Martin took the papers from his briefcase, intending to pass them across the desk to Kell.

 

“What have you got there, Martin?” Kell began; a knock at the door interrupted the thought.  “Yes?” he called out.

 

Dixie poked her head in; “You wanted to see me?”

 

Standing, he moved around the desk as he replied, “Come on in, Dix.  If you’ve got a few minutes, Martin wants to talk to us.”

 

Feeling rather unnerved at seeing the lawyer, Dixie exchanged greetings with Martin as she came in.  “Is there a problem?”

 

“No, not at all,” Martin hastened to reassure her.  “But I need to talk with the two of you about something.”

 

Dixie sat down on the sofa as Kell perched on the edge of his desk, arms folded across his chest.  “So, what is this all about?”

 

Handing a sheaf of papers to Kell, Martin said, “A trust fund has been established in your son’s name.  There’s some routine paperwork to file; I need your signatures on a couple of forms.”

 

“A trust fund?  Why?  How?”

 

“‘Who’ is the proper question, Kell,” Martin responded.  “And the answer is . . . . . . . . Wide Horizons Pictures.  Reading from a letter, he added, “‘In the event the minor child, Dillon Joseph Brackett, should have need of future medical treatment directly related to his abduction from Rampart General Hospital, and in compensation for pain and suffering, this trust fund has been established . . . . . . . .’”

 

Dixie and Kell looked at each other in disbelief.  “Why?  We didn’t ask for anything . . . . . . . .” Dixie began.

 

“If you sign the papers, you are, by accepting the trust fund in Dillon’s behalf, agreeing to hold the studio harmless in any legal action resulting from this incident.  You are also relinquishing any right to future litigation in which you might have named the studio as a third party in any suit brought in Dillon’s behalf as a result of Taylor Morgan’s actions.  In short, if you take the money, you give up the right to sue the studio, period,” Martin told them.

 

“Why in the world would we sue the studio, anyway?” Kell asked.

 

“You probably wouldn’t; their legal people don’t want to run the risk that you might.  This is their way of settling something before it has a chance to become a court case.  What they absolutely do not want,” Martin explained, “is to have the distraught mother’s tearful testimony playing on the jury’s sympathies --- with the jury quite possibly finding against the studio for sub-stantially more than they’ve put into establishing this trust fund.”

 

“But they didn’t have anything to do with it,” Dixie protested.  “Why would they do this?”

 

“Dixie, they feel somewhat responsible for Taylor; they want to make amends, but their hands are pretty tightly tied, legally speaking.  They can’t just give you money directly; this, however, lets them assuage their conscience.  It’s a substantial trust; think of it as a long-term investment in Dillon’s future.”

 

“Money won’t change a thing,” Kell grumbled.

 

“No, of course not.  But businesses like this don’t really know anything else.”  Martin paused, then added, “They’re trying to make amends, to say they’re sorry.  They mean well.”

 

“We don’t need their money,” Kell insisted, not at all mollified.

 

“Let me give you a free piece of legal advice, Kell.  Say, ‘thank you’ for their generosity and sign the papers.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“You’ll just have to wait and see,” Dixie teased.  “Besides, I don’t think you’ve ever heard any of them before, so it wouldn’t mean anything even if I told you!”

 

“Any of them?  Any of them?”  Kell glommed onto her comment, hoping for just a tiny victory in this playful little game of verbal one-upmanship that they were currently involved in as Dixie brushed her hair.  “Just how many songs are you going to sing?”

 

“Not too many,” she answered indignantly.  “Anyway, I didn’t have anything to do with the amount or the choices . . . . . . . . Dean just told me what he had planned and what songs he had picked.  They were songs I already knew, so we just ran through them a couple of times . . . . . . . . no big deal.”  She dropped the brush onto the dressing table and turned around to face him.  “So there!”

 

Kell laughed.  “Define ‘not too many’!” he demanded.  His eyes twinkled.  He’d had emergency surgery at the hospital and so had missed sitting through the dress rehearsal as he had planned.  Now he was cajoling, trying to find out about her songs.  Dixie, however, was not being too cooperative in this endeavor.   

 

Getting up, Dixie walked over to stand beside the bed.  “Maybe I don’t want to,” she taunted with an ingenious grin as her deep blue eyes twinkled merrily.  “Maybe you’ll just have to wait until tomorrow night to find out!”

 

Grabbing hold of her, he gently pulled her down on the bed.  “You,” he teased, still laughing, “are . . . . . . . .”  The rest of his comment faded away as he gently brushed his hand across her cheek and turned all of his attention to kissing her.

 

He never did find out about the songs she was planning to sing.

 

And he didn’t even care.

                       

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Her dress was the color of springtime daffodils, soft crepe flowing in graceful silken ripples to dance around her feet.  Simple and elegant, with sparkling rhinestone accents where thin straps met the bodice.  Hanging loose and simple, her hair framed her face.  A vision of loveliness that quite simply took his breath away.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Kelly Brackett slid into his seat in the front row just as the lights were dimming in the theater.

 

“Phew!  I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it before the show began,” Joe teased.

 

“Good to see you, too!” he playfully retorted with a smile.  Quick greetings were exchanged with Julie, as well as with Edward, and Martha.

 

Julie leaned past Joe to whisper, “Dixie nervous?”

 

Kell shook his head; looking around, he observed, “Wow!  This place is packed!”

 

Nodding in agreement, Joe cheerfully added, “Big bucks for the hospital!”

 

Laughing, the two doctors settled back to enjoy the show.

 

Dean had outdone himself, putting together an impressive lineup of talent, many of them Rampart staff people, many from the entertainment industry, donating their time and talent for a worthwhile cause.

 

The numbers went by in a blur; like everyone else, Kell enjoyed each of the presentations, but he was anxiously waiting for Dixie’s turn to perform.

 

Suddenly, she was standing in the spotlight.    

 

Soon it’s gonna rain

I can see It

Soon it’s gonna rain

I can tell

Soon it’s gonna rain

What are we gonna do

 

Soon it’s gonna rain

I can feel it

Soon it’s gonna rain

I can tell

Soon it’s gonna rain

What’ll we do with you

 

We’ll find

Four limbs of a tree

We’ll build

Four walls and a floor

We’ll bind them

Over with leaves

Then run inside to stay

 

And then we’ll let it rain

We’ll not feel it

Then we’ll let it rain

Rain pell mell

And we’ll not complain

If it never stops at all

We’ll live and love within our own

Four walls

 

Soon it’s gonna rain . . . . . . . .

 

Smiling at the appreciative applause echoing in her ears, Dixie moved to stand beside the piano as Dean segued into the next number.  Catching Kell’s eye, she began to sing . . . . . . . .

 

I give him all my love

That’s all I do

And if you saw my love

You’d love him, too

And I love him

He gives me everything

And tenderly

The kiss my lover brings

He brings to me

And I love him

 

A love like ours

Could never die

As long as I

Have him near me

 

Bright are the stars that shine

Dark is the sky

I know this love of mine

Will never die

And I love him

 

And I love him . . . . . . . .

 

Dean had put a great deal of effort into picking the songs for Dixie’s numbers in the show.  Although he had no doubt that she would be comfortable with most any song he might choose, he’d looked for special “I love you forever” sorts of songs.  Feeling rather responsible for somehow or other initiating the chain of events that had spiraled her family into months of agony, he sought to address her feelings for Kell through the songs she would perform.  Smiling as her song came to an end, he moved right into the introduction for her final number.  A bit of a different tempo and style in this, but he knew that no matter what she sang, they would love her.

 

And they did.

 

Sunday morning

Sun shining from your eyes

Sleepy face

Smiling into mine

Sunday morning

Lots of time with nothing to do

Lots of time to spend with you

On Sunday morning

It’s so quiet in the street

We can hear the sound of feet

Walking by

I’ll put coffee on to brew

We can have a cup or two

And do what other people do

On Sunday morning

Sunday morning, Sunday morning

                        Sunday, Sunday

                        I love Sunday, Sunday morning

                        Come hold me in your arms

I love you

                        Everything’s all right

                       

                        Lots of time, lots of time

                        On-n Sunday morning

 

                        It’s so quiet in the street

                        We can hear the sound of feet

                        Walking by

                        I’ll put coffee on to brew

                        We can have a cup or two

                        And do what other people do

                        On Sunday morning

                        Sunday morning, Sunday morning

                        Sunday, Sunday

                        I love Sunday, Sunday morning

                        Everything’s all right

                               

                        Everything’s all right

Kell smiled, mouthing, “I love you,” to her, causing tears to gather; love shone brightly in her eyes as she returned the smile.  Now, as a new year dawned, they knew they’d been tested as never before; they’d held fast and come through, stronger in their love and commitment than they’d ever imagined possible.  And in their world, now sparkling and full of promise, everything was all right.   

 

 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

 

 

Song Notes for this Dixie McCall story:

 

 

 

 

 

Soon It’s Gonna Rain

T. Jones / H. Schmidt

 

And I Love Him

John Lennon / Paul McCartney

 

Sunday Mornin’

Margo Guryan