Angelina Bonaparte Mysteries Box Set Nanci Rathbun (i love reading books txt) 📖

“Like hell.”

She nodded. “That’s about what I expected. On a scale of one to ten, with ten the worst, how bad is your pain?”

“Which pain?”

“Start with the worst.”

“My head feels like the top will blow off and it would be a relief if it did. That’s about an eight.”

“You hit the floor with a bang, they tell me. Mild concussion, causing headache and vomiting. It should subside within twenty-four hours of injury. I’ll order Tylenol in your IV. What else?”

“My throat feels like it’s been scraped raw.”

“You inhaled a lot of copier toner and we were worried about your breathing. We had to intubate you briefly. It’s irritating to the throat, but it keeps the airway open. This, too, shall pass. I wish I had something to give you to ease it, but it just takes time. What else?”

“Tell me about the bullet.”

“It went through the fleshy part of the left side, near the waistline, and missed all internal organs. It exited the back with no complications. All we had to do was wash the wound out and stitch you up. Of course, you’re on antibiotics to prevent infection. And you’re getting mild narcotics in your IV drip.” She flipped the chart closed. “You were damned lucky, Ms. Bonaparte.”

“How long will I be in here?”

“We’ll probably release you in a couple of days if there’s no fever or other contraindication. Is there someone who can stay with you, or whom you can stay with? It’s best if you’re not alone, at first.”

“Oh, God. Not Papa.”

She smiled. “I’ve had several conversations with your dad. He’s a lot like mine. Tough but tender. Must be the Latin temperament.” She patted my arm. “Don’t worry, he won’t stay mad forever. And you have a couple of days to line up another caretaker.”

The next morning, my throat was indeed better, although I still tended to croak. My head only pounded when I moved it. I begged the nurse for a cup of coffee and sipped at it carefully, savoring the caffeine. Things were looking up.

The door to my room eased open, and Gracie and Tony peeked in. “Angie,” Gracie whispered, “is it okay if we come in for a minute?”

“Come, come,” I motioned with my hand.

She was carrying little Angelina, all decked out in a pink onesie with little lacy bows on the feet. “Oh,” I sighed, “can I hold her?”

Gracie laid her in the crook of my right arm. “Now you tell me if it hurts.”

I gazed down at my namesake and smiled. “No, she makes it all better.” I ran a finger along her smooth round cheek. “So soft.”

“Angie, we can’t stay,” Tony said. “We’re not supposed to be in here with the baby, but we wanted to see you before we took her home.”

Home. Was it only yesterday that she was born? Had all this happened in just one day? I must have seemed confused, because Gracie got a concerned look on her face and gently extracted the baby from my arms. “We’ll never be able to thank you enough for helping Tony,” she said.

“All that I have is yours,” he intoned in typical Italian male fashion.

“Really?”

A look of alarm passed over his face, but he sucked it up and said, “Really.”

“Then if I can’t find someone else to stay with when they release me, can I have a room at your place? Please? I don’t want to go home with Papa.”

Gracie grinned. “Are you sure? We’ll have five little kids running around.”

“Any amount of noise is better than an Italian father’s wounded sensibility over his only daughter.”

“Okay, then it’s a deal. You call me and I’ll be here to rescue you.” Gracie patted my hand, Tony kissed me on both cheeks, and they slipped away with the baby.

It went on like that throughout the day. Visits from Papa and Terry, from my children, from Bart Matthews, all interspersed with nurses taking vitals and asking me silly questions about who the president was and what day it was.

About two o’clock that afternoon, Bobbie came in with a huge bouquet of yellow roses. He set the flowers on my bedside table and took my hand. “Does it hurt too much to kiss you?” he asked.

“No way.” I lifted both arms to enfold him in an embrace. “You saved my life, Bobbie. How can I thank you?”

“Angie, you’re kidding, right? If you hadn’t thrown that bottle of toner, we’d both be dead meat.”

“If you hadn’t been smart enough to call the police on your cell phone and talk them through what was happening, all without alerting Jane Dunwoodie, we’d be dead meat anyway.”

“So we’re even,” he said.

“Okay, we’re even,” I agreed. “You weren’t hurt?”

“Just a little banged up from falling on the concrete floor. At least it had carpet, but it was that cheap industrial stuff and it ripped the skin right off my arms. But you, Angie. A bullet! I was never so scared in all my life when the police came in and I got up and saw you lying there, bleeding. Thank God for Wukowski. He just swooped you up and carried you right out to the ambulance. A knight in shining armor, that guy!”

“Really? I don’t remember any of that.” Go on, I thought, tell me more.

“Well,” he continued, “when I got to the hospital emergency room, they were already calling for a surgeon and Wukowski was talking in that tight hard voice he gets. ‘I want the best for her, not some resident who’s been on duty for the past thirty-six hours. You understand?’ I think he’s got that ‘love thing’ for you, girl.” He grinned.

“You think?”

He nodded. Then he looked around the room. “I should have brought you chocolates. This place looks like a florist’s.” He started to read the cards to me. “Daisies—Get Back on Your Feet, We Need You, from Marcy and Larry. Cinquefoil and honeysuckle—For My Beloved Daughter, Papa. A card, from Lela—Rest easy, I’ll