Platinum Promises Page 4

  “Dance? Please?”

  That smile is deadly. Lethal. Should require a permit and be concealed in public. “No, thank you. I don’t dance.”

  “Nonsense.” He grabbed her hand before she could move it, began gently pulling her up. It felt as though all eyes were on her, her tablemates smiling and prodding her on. There was no way she could resist without looking silly. “I’ve got you,” he whispered as he pulled her up against him. She hung on—not because she was trying to make a romantic move, but because she really couldn’t dance! Especially the way he was turning and rocking back and forth. Fortunately for both of them he was an excellent leader, and she was more than content to follow where he led her. The song spoke of thrills and kisses, infatuation and longing, and sending people places, and with Faye feeling Dexter’s arms around her and smelling the musky manliness of his cologne, her head was spinning with the desire to experience them all with him!

  The song ended and still she clung to him. It had been the most thrilling three minutes she’d experienced in a long time. She didn’t want to let go. “That was amazing.” Oops. Wait. Did I say that out loud?

  “You are amazing.”

  Yes, girl, those words actually came out of your mouth.

  “My turn!” A fiery redhead came to steal away Dexter, and the spell was broken. Faye went back to her seat, and after awhile sanity joined her there. But not before reliving how those arms felt around her and how that chest felt up against hers, oh, about a hundred millions times. By the time the band was reminding the revelers that it didn’t mean a thing if it didn’t have that swing, Faye was back out on the dance floor, this time with the businessman from Texas. The day had turned out to be fun after all.

  * * *

  On the other side of the garden, Dexter joined his sister, Diamond, and their older brother, Donovan. They all watched their great-grandfather enjoy his moment in the sun.

  “Ooh, look at Birdie,” Diamond said, giving a surreptitious nod to the scowling woman sitting at the table Papa Dee had occupied. “She does not appreciate Charlotte dancing with her man!”

  “They both better watch out for Kat,” Donovan chimed, as he watched Diamond’s assistant, a Drake employee for over twenty years, make a beeline for where Papa Dee was dancing. “I think she’s getting ready to cut in!”

  Sure enough the plucky, red-headed Irishwoman kindly took Papa Dee’s hand, placed an arm around his back and joined him in his rock around the clock. A semicircle formed around them as they danced, the audience clapping and cheering them on. The song ended. Papa Dee bowed.

  “Such a gentleman,” Diamond cooed, putting a hand on her round belly.

  “What a man,” Dexter agreed.

  They all watched as the patriarch who’d lived to see five generations took one step, and then another and then fell over.

  Chapter 8

  Mayhem ensued.

  The Drake clan surged toward their fallen patriarch, with Dexter leading the charge. “Move back!” he demanded. Reaching the man he’d idolized since before he knew the word’s meaning, he bent down to scoop him up. Just as he prepared to lift him, a voice even more commanding than his had been cut through the din of chaos.

  “Do not move him!”

  As one, the crowd turned toward the source of the sound. Faye moved quickly and decisively, her actions coming by rote. She’d weathered warfare in Africa, hurricane threats in Haiti. Her movements were automatic. All thoughts save those of the man on the ground—including the handsome man hovering over him—fled from her mind.

  “Please. Let me through. I’m a doctor.” She dropped to her knees and placed two fingers under Papa Dee’s nose. He was not breathing. “Call 911.” Her voice was calm, authoritative, almost soothing in its surety. “Everyone step back. He needs air.” Everyone moved except Dexter, who stayed as if glued to his great-grandfather’s side. She loosened Papa Dee’s tie, ripped apart his shirt and spoke methodically. “I’m going to administer CPR.” She opened Papa Dee’s airway by tilting back his head. When still not detecting a breath, she covered his mouth with hers and sent two quick bursts of air into his body, followed by thirty chest compressions delivered between the ribcage and chest. Considering his age, she was careful to keep her hands directly over his sternum. Even so, she knew the chances were great that a rib would get broken. To save his life, however, it was a chance she had to take. The process was repeated. Breathe into the body. Chest compressions. Check for breath. Again. Finally, Papa Dee moaned. Very slight. Almost inaudible. But it was a sound.

  Fortunately, not the only one. The blare of sirens could be heard in the distance. Faye looked up and caught Dexter’s panicked eyes boring into hers. “Someone needs to direct the paramedics to where we are.”

  As if a sprinter’s gun had been fired, Dexter was up and moving through the crowd. The resort’s security team worked to keep the guests at bay although honestly, respect for the man they’d come to celebrate kept most everyone at a respectable distance.

  Within seconds, paramedics stormed in. As one kneeled down to begin work on Papa Dee, Faye addressed another one. “I’m Dr. Buckner. It seems we have a man with a heart condition. The patient has been somewhat stabilized, but we need to get him quickly to the hospital.”

  They secured an oxygen mask on Papa Dee, put him on a stretcher and quickly wheeled him around to the side entrance. Dexter walked briskly alongside the gurney. The paramedic to whom Faye had been speaking uttered a quick “thanks” before turning to run behind the other.

  She stayed him with a hand on his arm. “What hospital?”

  “Loma Linda.” And then he was gone.

  Faye turned and went in the opposite direction, away from the side entrance and toward the front entrance, which was closest to the hotel and its parking lot. Only one thing was on her mind: getting her credentials and then locating the hospital through her GPS. Thankfully, she’d had only one flute of champagne, had taken only one sip from the second that had been offered during the toast. In the space of a few minutes, Papa Dee had gone from being a person whose party she was attending to a person whose life had been in her hands. As a doctor who practiced with her heart, she had to make sure her patient was all right. She wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew.

  Within the span of fifteen minutes, Faye was taking the Clinton-Keith exit off I-215. After two more left turns she arrived at the hospital, parked in a designated spot and entered through the emergency entrance.

  “Hello,” she said to the receptionist at the desk. “I’m Dr. Buckner, and I’m here to check on a patient, David Drake Sr. He came in probably five, ten minutes ago suffering from cardiac arrest and perhaps other complications.” She placed her credentials down on the desk as she spoke.

  “Yes, Doctor,” the receptionist replied after a quick perusal of Faye’s ID, the keys on her computer being clicked rapidly as she viewed the screen. “He’s in emergency right now.”

  “The attending physician?”

  More key clicks. “Dr. Saunders. I’m not sure we can get you into the emergency room—”

  “That won’t be necessary. I can speak with the doctor when he’s finished. Which way to the waiting room?”

  “Right around the corner. You can’t miss it.”

  “Thank you.” Faye rounded the corner. Dexter was the first sight she saw.

  She stopped.

  He stopped. His eyes were glassy; worry was painted all over his face. “You’re a doctor.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “My great-grandfather. Do you think...”

  “We don’t know, Dexter. But he was breathing when the paramedics arrived and his heartbeat, while not overly strong, was steady. His skin tone looked good, and there was no drastic drop in his body temperature. I think the best thing for him right now is all of us thinking positive
thoughts and believing in the best possible outcome.”

  “You’re right.” He continued looking at her. His expression was unreadable. “Thank you.”

  As he looked into her doe-brown eyes and she stared into his brownish-hazel orbs, something happened. A heat, low and mostly unidentifiable, passed between them. The same as the one she’d felt on the dance floor while in his arms. Then, like now, it was gone in an instant.

  “I was headed to the waiting room.” Faye walked past him and into the room, where various families huddled with combinations of faith and worry, hope and fear. Her targeted destination was easy to spot. Decked out in their party wear, the Drake clan, along with concerned employees who’d come in on their day off to recognize the founder, took up a third of the room. Halfway there, the man she remembered as the son of Papa Dee spotted her. He said something to the group and a dozen heads swiveled in her direction.

  “Doctor.” David Drake Jr. was the first to speak.

  “How is he?”

  “What happened?”

  “Is he going to be all right?”

  These questions rang out at once. Faye raised her hands to still them. “I just now arrived and haven’t been in the emergency room or spoken to the attending physician. The nurse says he’s stable, and when she has a moment, she’ll let the team know I’m here.”

  “What do you think happened to my father?” David Jr.’s voice was strong, but deep concern shown in his eyes.

  Faye was almost sure that Papa Dee had suffered a heart attack, but she wasn’t certain so she wouldn’t share. “It’s best not to speculate,” she said instead, her voice automatically calm and soothing from years of comforting the afflicted. “In times like these it’s difficult, but if you’ll try to remain calm and keep your thoughts positive, that’s often the best for your loved one.”

  “The doctor’s right,” Dexter added. He placed a hand on Faye’s shoulder. Only now did she realize he’d been standing just behind her; only now was she aware of the source of the woodsy scent that had tickled her nostrils. “Y’all know how Papa is. He wouldn’t want us out here crying and carrying on.” Dexter said the words in the raspy voice of his great-grandfather. “Or getting our faces twisted up.” Another Papa Deeism.

  A kind-looking older woman approached Faye. “Hello, I’m Mary Drake, David Jr.’s wife. We’re so thankful that you were there today. Are you a resident of Temecula?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m a guest at the hotel.”

  This news elicited a variety of facial expressions: surprise, delight, curiosity.

  “Donald Drake here,” a tall, imposing man announced, coming forward with hand outstretched. “I’m David Sr.’s grandson and the president of the hotel. What is your name, Doctor?”

  “Faye Buckner.”

  “How long have you been at our establishment?”

  “Just arrived yesterday. I’ll be staying for a week.”

  “Well, on behalf of myself, my wife—” he gestured toward an attractive, slim woman whose expression suggested that her thoughts were in overdrive “—and the entire Drake family, let us thank you for stepping in today and helping our patriarch by considering you our guest during your stay.”

  Faye’s brow furrowed. She was already a guest at the hotel. How else would she consider herself? “Thank you,” she said, hoping it was an appropriate response to what she thought an obvious statement.

  The woman who’d been introduced as Donald’s wife stepped forward. “Dear, would you like to sit down? It may be a while before the doctor comes out.”

  Faye nodded and followed the elegance-oozing woman to a row of chairs. On the way, she caught a look pass between Dexter and his sister, and saw a wisp of a smile cut through the worry lines.

  “I’m Genevieve Drake,” the woman said as soon as they were seated. “David Jr. and Mary are my husband’s parents—my in-laws.” She nodded toward the three people still standing. “Those are our children. Donovan, he’s the oldest. Diamond is my only daughter and Dexter our youngest son.”

  “You have a beautiful family,” Faye said sincerely.

  “Thank you. We’re very blessed.”

  “Yes. You are.”

  “What about you? Are you here visiting with your husband?”

  “No, Mrs. Drake. I’m not married.”

  A perfectly arched brow rose ever so slightly. “Oh?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m single.”

  “Single as in never married?”

  “Correct.”

  “Do you have children? I don’t mean to pry, but you’re smart, attractive...I’m curious.”

  Faye chased away the discomfort that usually came with this topic of conversation. At thirty-two years old, it was one she’d had often. “I understand. No, I don’t have any—”

  “Excuse me, ladies,” Dexter interrupted. “Faye, you have the distinct look of one being interrogated. Is my mother asking for your date of birth and Social Security number?”

  “We’re just talking,” Faye said with a smile, hiding the sigh of relief that she’d been rescued.

  “Yes, I’m very familiar with how my mother loves to talk,” he said with a smirk. “All of that listening has probably made you thirsty. Would you like to join me in a hunt for the cafeteria or somewhere to get bottled water?”

  Faye stood. “Sure.”

  They turned to leave, just in time to see the doctor entering the waiting room and walking toward them. The men were on their feet in an instant.

  “How is he, Doc?” Donald asked.

  The others gathered around the doctor. “He’s weak, but he’s going to be okay.” The expression on the Drakes’ faces was a collective one of relief. Faye could have sworn that a little more air seeped into the room. “Where is Dr. Buckner?” The doctor looked around the group.

  Faye stepped forward. “Right here,” she said, hand outstretched. “You must be Dr. Saunders.”

  “Yes. I understand that you attended the patient until paramedics arrived?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good work. Thanks to your quick actions, there appears to be no permanent damage to any major organs, including the heart.”

  David Jr., who was just an inch shorter than his six-foot son, Donald, came to stand beside him. “What happened, Doctor?”

  “And you are?”

  “I’m the patient’s son.”

  The doctor nodded and shook the outstretched hand. “Mr. Drake suffered what’s known as a coronary artery spasm—in layman’s terms, a very mild heart attack.”

  “Oh, goodness!” Mary cried, voicing what some of the others had felt. Her own father had died when she was thirty, just ten years after she and David Jr. had married. Now, at seventy-eight, she’d known Papa Dee longer than she’d known her own flesh and blood, and loved him not one bit less. “A heart attack is serious. What are you going to do? A bypass? How can you say that he’ll be fine?”

  “Your concern is understandable,” Dr. Saunders replied, his voice firm and matter-of-fact. “Heart attacks can be very serious, and very damaging. Fortunately, what Mr. Drake experienced is the very least of what can happen when the artery wall tightens and blood flow through that artery is restricted.”

  “What is the treatment?” Dexter appeared calmer than he’d looked since Papa Dee dropped to the ground.

  “We’re still performing tests to determine plaque buildup and other potential causes for the blockage, but in most cases the problems can be solved with medication.”

  “Can we see him?”

  “He’s still in ICU, but we’ll have him in a private room shortly. The nurse will let you know when he’s been moved.”

  The family asked a few more questions, received the doctor’s reassurances and then sat down to wait. Only after looking around the r
oom and then the hallways did Dexter realize that sometime during Dr. Saunders’ explanation, the angel who’d likely saved his great-grandfather’s life had left Loma Linda.

  Chapter 9

  At midnight the previous evening, after being reassured by the hospital staff that his great-grandfather would sleep through the night, Dexter had gone home. Now, at 5:30 a.m., he was headed back to Loma Linda. When Papa Dee opened his eyes, Dexter wanted to be there.

  As he drove, listening to the sounds of Nat King Cole, another of Papa Dee’s favorites, he thought of Faye Buckner. She wasn’t his type, given; definitely not like anyone he’d ever dated before. A study in contradictions. Yes, that was it. Like the bare-faced woman wearing the faded jeans and wrinkled tee compared with the sexy chick who’d shown up at the party in dress and heels with a smart new hairdo that highlighted her high cheekbones and wide, bright eyes. Like the tentative, shy personality who’d barely said three words when he’d first approached her before the party to the self-assured take-charge doctor—doctor!—who’d commanded that he leave his great-grandfather where he lay.

  “Who are you really?” he muttered, pulling into the hospital parking lot and bounding out of his sports car seconds after the wheels had stopped rolling. He entered the lobby and strolled to the front desk, unmindful of the subtle and not so subtle looks by every female in the room. “I’m here to see David Drake Sr.,” he said, blessing the receptionist with a smile as bright as the early morning sun.