The Brass Ring Read online

  "You and the rest of the country," her companion agreed.

  Shawna's hands began to shake.

  "And on his wedding day!" the first woman said. "And think about that boy and his family!"

  "The boy?"

  "Brad Lomax. DOA. There was nothing Lowery could do."

  Shawna felt every muscle in her body tense. She was chewing a piece of toast, but it stuck in her throat.

  "That explains the reporters crowded around the front door," the smaller woman replied.

  "For sure. And that's not all of it. His fiancee is here, too. From what I hear she's a doctor over at Columbia Memorial. Been with him ever since the accident. She came charging over here in her wedding dress, demanding to see him."

  "Poor thing."

  Shawna dropped her fork and her fists curled in anger. How dare they gossip about Parker!

  "Right. And now he's comatose. No telling when he'll wake up."

  "Or if."

  Shawna's shoulders stiffened and she was about to say something, but Jake held up his hand and shook his head. "Don't bother," he suggested. "It's just small talk."

  "About Parker and me!"

  "He's a famous guy. So was Brad Lomax. Loosen up, Shawna, you've heard hospital gossip before."

  "Not about Parker," she muttered, her appetite waning again as she managed to control her temper. The two nurses carried their trays back to the counter and Shawna tried to relax. Of course Parker's accident had created a stir and people were only people. Jake was right. She had to expect curiosity and rumors.

  "I know this is hard. But it's not going to get much better, at least for a while." He finished his stack of pancakes and pushed his plate to one side. "You may as well know that the reporters have already started calling. There were several recordings on your phone machine this morning."

  "You were at my apartment?"

  "I took back your bag and I gave the wedding dress to Mom. She's going to have it cleaned, but isn't sure that it will look the same."

  "It doesn't matter," Shawna said. She wondered if she'd ever wear the gown again. "How're Mom and Dad?"

  "They're worried about you and Parker."

  "I'll bet," she whispered, grateful for her parents and their strength. Whereas Parker was strong because he'd grown up alone, never knowing his parents, Shawna had gotten her strength from the support and security of her family.

  "Mom's decided to keep a low profile."

  "And Dad?"

  "He wants to tear down the walls of this hospital."

  "It figures."

  "But Mom has convinced him that if you need them, you'll call."

  "Or you'll tell them, if I don't," Shawna guessed.

  Smiling slightly, he said. "They're just trying to give you some space—but you might want to call them."

  "I will. Later. After Parker wakes up."

  Jake raised one brow skeptically, but if he had any doubts, he kept them to himself. "Okay, I'll give them the message."

  She quit pretending interest in her food and picked up her tray. She'd been away from Parker for nearly half an hour and she had to get back.

  "There's something you should remember," Jake said as they made their way through the tightly packed formica tables, setting their trays on the counter.

  "And what's that?"

  "When you leave the hospital, you might want to go out a back entrance, unless you're up to answering a lot of personal questions from reporters."

  "I understand. Thanks for the warning."

  She turned toward the elevator, but Jake caught her elbow.

  "There is one other thing. Brad Lomax's funeral is the day after tomorrow. Mom already arranged to send a spray of flowers from you and Parker."

  Shawna winced at the mention of Brad's name. His death was still difficult to accept. And then there was the matter of Parker and how he would feel when he found out what had happened to his protege. "Mom's an angel," Shawna decided, "but I think I'd better put in an appearance."

  "The funeral's for family only," Jake told her. "Don't think about it."

  Relieved, Shawna said, "I'll try not to. I'll see you later." Waving, she dashed to the stairwell, unable to wait for the elevator. She had to get back to

  Parker and make sure she was the one who broke the news.

  ❧

  Parker felt as if his head would explode. Slowly he opened an eye, ignoring the pain that shot through his brain. He tried to lift a hand to his head, but his cramped muscles wouldn't move and his struggling fingers felt nothing save cold metal bars.

  Where am I? he wondered, trying to focus. There was a bad taste in his mouth and pain ripped up one side of his body and down the other. His throat worked, but no sound escaped.

  "He's waking up!" a woman whispered, her voice heavy with relief. The voice was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it. "Call Dr. Handleman or Dr. Lowery! Tell them Parker Harrison is waking up!"

  What the hell for? And who are Lowery and Handleman? Doctors? Is that what she said?

  "Parker? Can you hear me? Parker, love?"

  He blinked rapidly, focusing on the face pressed close to his. It was a beautiful face, with even features, pink-tinged cheeks, and worried green eyes. Long, slightly wavy honey-colored hair fell over her shoulders to brush against his neck.

  "Oh, God, I'm so glad you're awake," she said, her voice thick with emotion. Tears starred her lashes and for the first time he noticed the small lines of strain near her mouth and the hollows of her cheeks.

  She's crying! This beautiful young woman was actually shedding tears. He was amazed as he watched her tears drizzle down her cheeks and one by one drop onto the bed sheets. She was crying for him! But why?

  Her hands were on his shoulders and she buried her face into the crook of his neck. Her tenderness seemed right, somehow, but for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. "I've been so worried! It's been three days! Thank God, you're back!"

  His gaze darted around the small room, to the television, the rails on the bed, the dripping IV hanging over his head, and the baskets and baskets of flowers sitting on every available space in the room. It slowly dawned on him that he was in a hospital. The pain in his head wasn't imagined, this wasn't all a bad dream. Somehow he'd landed in a hospital bed, completely immobilized!

  "Good morning, Mr. Harrison!" a gruff male voice called.

  The woman straightened and quickly brushed aside her tears.

  Shifting his gaze, Parker saw a man he didn't recognize walk up to the bed and smile down at him. A doctor. Dressed in a white lab coat, with an identification tag that Parker couldn't make out, the man stared down at Parker from behind thick, wire-framed glasses. Taking Parker's wrist in one hand, he glanced at his watch. "I'm Dr. Handleman. You're a patient here in Mercy Hospital and have been for the past three days."

  Three days? What in God's name was this man talking about? Partial images, horrible and vague, teased his mind, though he couldn't remember what they meant.

  Drawing his brows together in concentration, Parker tried to think, strained to remember, but his entire life was a blur of disjointed pieces that were colorless and dreamlike. He had absolutely no idea who these people were or why he was here.

  "You're a very lucky man," the doctor continued, releasing his wrist. "Not many people could have survived that accident."

  Parker blinked, trying to find his voice. "Accident?" he rasped, the sound of his own voice unfamiliar and raw.

  "You don't remember?" The doctor's expression clouded.

  "Wh-what am I doing here?" Parker whispered hoarsely. His eyes traveled past the doctor to the woman. She was leaning against the wall, as if for support. Wearing a white lab coat and a stethoscope, she had to be a member of the staff. So why the tears? "Who are you?" he asked, his bruised face clouding as he tried to concentrate. He heard her muted protest and saw the slump of her shoulders. "Do I know you?"

  Chapter 4

  Shawna's heart nearly stopped. "Parker?"
she whispered, struggling to keep her voice steady as she took his bandaged hand in hers. "Don't you remember me?"

  His gaze skated over her face and he squinted, as if trying to remember something hazy, but no flash of recognition flickered in his eyes.

  "I'm Shawna," she said slowly, hoping to hide the tremble of her lips. "Shawna McGuire."

  "A doctor?" he guessed, and Shawna wanted to die.

  "Yes—but more than that."

  Tom Handleman caught her eye, warning her not to push Parker too hard, but Shawna ignored him. This was important. Parker had to remember! He couldn't forget—not about the love they'd shared, the way they had felt and cared about each other.

  "We were supposed to be married," she said quietly, watching his thick brows pull together in consternation. "The day after your accident, at Pioneer Church, in the rose arbor ... I waited for you."

  He didn't say a word, just stared at her as if she were a complete stranger.

  "That's enough for now," Tom Handleman said, stepping closer to the bed, snapping on his pen-light, trying to end the emotional scene. "Let's take a look at you, Mr. Harrison."

  But before Tom could shine his penlight into Parker's eyes, Parker grabbed the doctor's wrist. The crisp sheets slid from one side of the bed, exposing his bare leg and the bandages, still streaked with dried blood. "What the hell's going on?" he demanded, his voice gruff and nearly unrecognizable. "What happened to me? What's she talking about?" He glanced back to Shawna. "What marriage? I've never even been engaged—" Then his eyes dropped to Shawna's left hand and the winking diamond on her ring finger. "Mr. Harrison, please—"

  "Just what the hell happened to me?" Parker repeated, trying to sit up, only to blanch in pain.

  "Parker, please," Shawna whispered, restraining him with her hands. She could feel his shoulder muscles, hard and coiled, flexing as he attempted to sit upright. "Just calm down. We'll straighten this all out. You'll remember, I promise." But she had to fight the catch in her throat and her professionalism drained away from her. She couldn't be cool or detached with Parker. "Dr. Handleman's your physician. "

  "I don't know any Handleman. Where's Jack Pederson?"

  "Who?" Handleman asked, writing quickly on Parker's chart.

  Shawna glanced nervously to the doctor. "Jack was Parker's trainer."

  "Was?" Parker repeated, his features taut from pain and the effort of trying to remember those tiny pieces of his past that teased him, rising just to the surface of his mind only to sink deeper into murky oblivion. "Was?"

  "That was a couple of years ago," Shawna said quickly.

  "What're you talking about? Just last Saturday, Jack and I—" But he didn't finish and his features slackened suddenly as he turned bewildered blue eyes on Handleman. "No, it wasn't Saturday," he whispered, running one hand through his hair and feeling, for the first time, the bandages surrounding his head. Involuntarily his jaw tightened. "Maybe you'd better fill me in," he said, dropping his hand and pinning Tom Handleman with his gaze. "What the hell happened to me?"

  "You were in an accident. Several days ago."

  Parker closed his eyes, trying vainly to remember.

  "From what the police tell me, a truck swerved into your lane, your Jeep crashed through the guard rail, and you were pinned inside the vehicle for several hours. They brought you in here, we performed surgery, and you've been unconscious ever since."

  Parker seemed about to protest, but didn't. Instead he listened in stony silence as Tom described his injuries and prognosis.

  "So, now that you're awake and the swelling in your leg has gone down, we'll do surgery on that knee. It will all take a little time. You'll be in physical therapy for awhile, then you'll be good as new—or almost."

  "How long is 'awhile'?"

  "That depends upon you and how everything heals."

  "Just give me an educated guess."

  Handleman crossed his arms over his chest, folding Parker's chart against his lab coat. "I'll be straight with you, Mr. Harrison."

  "I'd appreciate that—and call me Parker."

  "Fair enough, Parker. It could take anywhere from three months to a year of physical therapy before you can play tennis again. But, if you set your mind to it, work hard, I'll bet you'll be walking without crutches in six months."

  Parker's jaw was rock hard and his eyes, clouded, moved from Tom's face to Shawna's. "Okay. That answers one question. Now, tell me about the driver of the truck—is he okay?"

  "Not a scratch," Tom replied. "You missed him completely, even though he was all over the road. He was too drunk to report the accident."

  A muscle jerked in Parker's jaw as he tried to remember. Horrifying images taunted him, but he couldn't quite make them out. Nonetheless his heart began to beat unsteadily and his hands, beneath bandages, had started to sweat. "There's something else, though," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Something—I can't remember. Something. . .important." God, what is it?

  Shawna cleared her throat. Though she tried to appear calm, Parker read the hint of panic in the way she glanced at Handleman and toyed with the strand of pearls at her neck. "Maybe that's enough for you right now," she said.

  "You know something, both of you. Something you're keeping from me."

  Shawna, feeling the urge to protect him, to lie if she had to, to do anything to keep him from the horrid truth, touched his arm. "Just rest now."

  "Is that your professional advice?" Parker asked. "Or are you trying to put me off?"

  "Professional,"Tom said, quickly, rescuing Shawna. "A nurse will be in to take your temperature and order you some lunch— "

  "Wait a minute." Parker's voice was stern. "Something's wrong here, I can feel it. There's something you're not telling me about the accident." What the hell is it? Then he knew. "Someone else was involved," he said flatly. "Who?"

  Shawna's shoulders stiffened a bit and her fingers found his on the cold metal railing.

  Handleman offered a professional smile. "Right now all you have to worry about is—"

  Parker sat bolt upright, tearing the IV tubing from the rail of the bed and ignoring the jab of pain in his knee. He kicked off the sheets and tried to climb out of bed. "What I have to worry about is who was with me. Where is he—or she?" Fire flared in his eyes as Handleman tried to restrain him. "I have the right to know!"

  "Whoa—Parker, settle down," Handleman said.

  "Who, dammit!"

  "Brad Lomax," Shawna whispered, unable to meet the confused torture in his eyes.

  "Lomax?"

  "He was in the car with you. He drank too much at our wedding rehearsal dinner and you were taking him home."

  "But I don't remember—" He swallowed then, his eyes clouding. Somewhere deep in his mind he remembered the squeal of tires, the shatter of glass, felt his muscles wrench as he jerked hard on the steering wheel, heard a terrifying scream. "Oh, God," he rasped. "Who is he?"

  "A tennis pro. Your student." Shawna felt her eyes grow moist as she watched the skin over his cheekbones turn white and taut.

  "I was driving," he said slowly, as if measuring each agonizing word. "Lomax. How is he?"

  "I'm afraid he didn't make it," Tom replied, exchanging glances with Shawna.

  "He was killed in the wreck?" Parker's voice was sharp and fierce with self-loathing. "I killed him?"

  "It was an accident," Shawna said quickly. "An unfortunate one—his seat belt malfunctioned and he was pinned under the Jeep."

  Parker blinked several times, then lay back on the pillows as he struggled with his past. This couldn't be happening—he didn't even know these people! Maybe if he just went back to sleep he'd wake up and this hellish dream with the beautiful woman and clouded jags of memory would go away. "Does Lomax have any family?"

  Just you, Shawna thought, but shook her head. "Only an uncle and a couple of cousins, I think."

  "I think you'd better get some rest now," Tom advised, motioning to a nurse standing by the door. "I want Mr. Harrison sedated�
��"

  "No!" Parker's eyes flew open.

  "This has all been such a shock—"

  "I can handle it," Parker said tightly, his face grim and stern. "No sedative, no pain killers. Got it?"

  "But—"

  "Got it?" he repeated, some of his old fire returning. "And don't try slipping anything into this!" He lifted his fist with the IV tubes attached.

  Handleman's mouth became a thin white line. "Lie back down, Mr. Harrison," he said sternly, waiting until Parker reluctantly obeyed. "Now, it's my job to see that you're taken care of—that you rest. But I'll need your help. Either you contain yourself or I'll have the nurse sedate you."

  Muscles rigid, eyes bright with repressed fury, Parker stared at the ceiling.

  "Good. Just let me know if you change your mind about the sedatives or the pain killers. Now, Shawna, I think Mr. Harrison needs his rest."

  "Wait a minute," Parker insisted, reaching for Shawna's hand again. "I want to talk to you. Alone." His gaze drilled past Handleman's thick glasses, and fortunately, the doctor got the message. With a nod of his head, he tucked his clipboard under his arm, left the room, and closed the door.

  "Tell me," he said, forcing himself to be calm, though his fingers clenched tightly over hers.

  "About what?"

  "Everything."

  Shawna sighed and sagged against the bed. How could she begin to explain the whirlwind fantasy that had been their relationship? How could she recount how Parker had seen the potential in a streetwise juvenile delinquent and had turned him into one of the finest young tennis players in the nation—a boy who had become a younger brother to him?

  "Tell me," he insisted, hungry for knowledge of himself.

  "First things first. What do you remember?"

  "Not enough!" he said sharply, then took a deep breath. "Not nearly enough."

  "I'll tell you what I can," she said, "but you've got to promise to stay calm."

  "I don't know if that's possible," he admitted.

  "Then we haven't got a deal, have we?"

  Swearing under his breath, he forced a grin he obviously didn't feel. "Okay," he said. "Deal."

  "Good."