Dev still didn’t respond, so she soldiered on. “Sometimes He brings the answers and support we need, through each other. I can’t tell you how many ‘random’ things happened after my dad died—chance meetings or phone calls, the support of strangers—that helped me through those days. I wish I’d kept a list. Each one was a blessing.”
She ventured another look at Dev, hoping to see acceptance and understanding. Instead, he’d leaned back again, his eyes closed, and her heart fell.
But with that came the realization that she’d been right. He already carried a heavy burden of grief and guilt in his heart. And nothing could change the past.
A nurse in scrubs appeared at the door, a surgical mask dangling from her neck. She looked weary, her eyes already telegraphing a message Beth didn’t want to hear.
Dev straightened instantly at the sound of her footsteps, his attention riveted on her.
“Are you two here for Mr. Ferguson?”
Dev nodded.
The nurse hesitated. “We can’t talk to anyone except family, unless we have a signed release. But the gentleman has nobody on record in either case.”
“He never married, I know that much. Devlin and I manage Sloane House, where Frank lives.”
“He also works for me,” Dev added. “And he’s a friend. Can you tell us anything at all?”
“He is in recovery. If he becomes lucid enough to sign the proper releases, then I can tell you more.” She jotted down their names, then turned and disappeared down the hall, her shoes squeaking rhythmically on the gleaming tile floors.
“Ifhe recovers enough?” Dev’s voice was low and raw. “She might as well have said that he won’t make it, because that doesn’t sound good at all.”
“And that, Dev, is why I’m praying.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“No one caught the license on that car?” Dev stared across Frank’s hospital bed at Sheriff Long in disbelief. “There were people everywhere—some still in the booths along the street. Pedestrians on the sidewalk. It looked like the car wasparkedbefore it sped up and hit Frank.”
The sheriff’s bushy red eyebrows drew together. “Several people identified the make and model of the vehicle. A witness said he saw a male get behind the wheel.“
“Hehad a cell phone in his hand. I saw it gleam. But it was too dark to make out his face.”
“It’s definitely a hit-and-run, all right. That driver will face serious charges when we find him.”
“So what are you doing about it?”
“I’ve put out an alert for a car of that description with possible front fender damage, and the radio and newspaper have run it as well. From the few accounts we have, it appeared to be an accident, not intentional. Probably a moment of distraction by the cell phone, confusion between the brake and accelerator pedals, or plain, bad judgment.”
“But there will be charges, right?”
“If we find him, and the investigation warrants it, yes. But Mr. Ferguson failed to pay attention to the shouts of warning, so some responsibility is in his court.”
“From what I saw—”
“You were stressed, experiencing great anxiety and an adrenaline rush, no doubt, when you saw an elderly friend wander into the path of a car going down the street.”
At that, Frank slowly opened his eyes and glared at the sheriff. “I’m not elderly, and Inever‘wander.’ I stride, with great purpose.” Shifting slightly in bed, he winced in pain. “Thoughafter this mishap, the doctors say I may not be doing that so well anymore.”
Dev rested a hand on Frank’s shoulder while he looked the sheriff straight in the eye. “A significant concussion and fractures of his femur and ankle aren’t serious enough?”
The sheriff stiffened. “Like I said, we’ll do what we can.”
Dev listened to the sheriff’s heavy footsteps move down the hall. “Well, what did you think of that example of small-town police work?”
“Guess I should’ve kicked the bucket, so he’d stand up and take notice.”
Dev cracked a smile. “Don’t go having second thoughts.”
