The Bachelor Meets His Match

He wanted Simone Guilland’s problems, whatever they were, solved; otherwise, he feared she would give him no peace.

She stared him straight in the eye, as immutable as the Sphinx, neither confirming nor denying, simply giving away nothing. He tried a different tack.

“Simone, I’m not your enemy. You have no reason to fear me.”

Yes, I do.

Though unspoken, he saw it clearly in her eyes and on her face just before she turned and headed swiftly to the door.

There she paused and glanced back, softly saying, “Thank you, but I’m as fine as I can be.”

As fine as I can be.

Morgan gnashed his teeth. Well, that was just not good enough.

Chapter Three

Rising, Morgan gathered his things and walked through the building to his department suite. His administrative assistant, Vicki Marble, sat at her desk downloading online syllabi to see who had completed the week’s reading and first assignment, due by midnight. They did everything electronically these days, which cut paperwork in half and quadrupled computer time.

“Hey, Morg.”

“Vic. What are the girls doing this weekend?”

“Shopping for prom dresses.”

“All three of them?”

“All three of them.”

“Give my condolences to Dwight. He’s a better man than me. Three teenaged daughters.” He gave a shudder just to see Vicki laugh. Redheaded, freckle-faced and as plain as a mud fence, she seemed to have been born good-natured and laughing, as well as efficient and organized. Her husband and astonishingly beautiful daughters adored her. “Speaking of Dwight,” he said, “I need a favor.”

“Name it.”

Dwight Marble worked in the provost’s office, handling admissions. Morgan explained what he needed then went into his office, closed the door and sat down at his desktop computer. Quickly, he brought up Simone’s complete file.

She was older than he’d assumed—twenty-six as of the twentieth of this past August. She had completed her undergraduate work—all but his class—in Colorado and via remote study in Baton Rouge. Her next of kin was listed as Laverne Davenport Worth, whose address was in Fort Worth. The name Worth struck a chord with him, given that Hilda and Chester Worth comprised two-thirds of the staff at Chatam House. The name was fairly common in the area, however, and he’d never heard any mention of a Laverne, so he discounted any connection, especially when he read that the Guilland family, of Baton Rouge, had paid Simone’s tuition in full, for the entire course of her graduate degree, via an unusual trust account.

Morgan sat back in his chair with a thump. He had seen scholarships and endowments of every variety, but he’d never seen anything like this. What on earth was going on here? He decided that he’d be eating breakfast at the Campus Gate Coffee House, where Simone worked, bright and early the next morning, and at some point he was going to have a frank discussion with Simone Guilland.

How much he looked forward to that breakfast at the Campus Gate Coffee House troubled Morgan all that evening. He told himself that he was just doing his duty by pigeonholing Simone Guilland, but he couldn’t quite convince himself. He’d gone to greater lengths for other students. Why, he’d driven one young man all the way to California and enjoyed a delightful summer respite with his aunt Dorinda Latimer and her family while he was at it. Still, he’d never lain awake in the night picturing another student’s face or remembering how his heart had quivered with the flutter of her eyelashes as she’d regained consciousness after he’d carried her limp body in his arms.

He was quite put out with himself by the time he tucked his newspaper under his arm and slid into the Beemer around nine the next morning. He’d meant to be up and about earlier, but his restlessness had made for a late night. Besides, by his estimation, the coffee shop shouldn’t be too busy on a Saturday morning.

Wrong. The place was popping when he arrived, so much so that he had to park around the corner and walk nearly a block. All of the al fresco tables were taken, he noted as he pushed his way inside and caught the eye of the owner and manager, Frank Upton. He’d hoped to have a quiet word with the fellow. Instead, he got a nod and a point in the direction of a tiny table at the end of the bakery counter where Frank usually did his paperwork.

“Be glad to visit if you have a minute.”

“Sure. If I have a minute.”

Shaking his head, Morgan walked over to the table. A cup of steaming-hot black coffee and a small cruet of cold cream laced with cinnamon appeared almost as soon as he sat down. He smiled at the waitress, Frank’s wife, Loretta.

“Simone will be over to take your order in a moment.”

“She’s here, then?”

“Simone? Yes. You know her?”

“She’s one of my students. Tell me, is she all right?”

Loretta shrugged her ample shoulders. “I assume so. She’s a quiet one, never complains. Gets right to work. Stays busy. She’s awfully tired at the end of her shift, but that’s not surprising, a little thing like her.”

“I hope that’s all it is,” Morgan muttered, opening his newspaper.

Loretta went off to manage the coffee counter, and presently Simone showed up, clad in blue jeans, a bright orange T-shirt and a yellow apron.

“Professor Chatam.” She produced an order pad from an apron pocket. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have one of those crusty cinnamon muffins and a couple hard-boiled eggs.”

“Coming right up.”

She swept off, returning moments later with a gargantuan muffin and two peeled eggs in a bowl.

“Loretta says the coffee is on the house,” she said, slapping down the ticket.

“It always is,” he told her with a smile, hoping to engage her in a moment’s conversation, but she was off again before he could explain that he and Frank had been friends since high school.

He drank his cup down and signaled for a refill, which she promptly delivered, then she was off again, her slender arms laden with trays bearing plates filled with food. Morgan tried to read his newspaper, but he couldn’t help being aware of her as she zipped around the room, which became even more crowded as the hour wore on. Morgan ate his eggs and his muffin and read his newspaper, but Frank didn’t find a moment to leave the till or Simone a minute to chat.

Just at the point of giving up, Morgan folded his paper and drained his cup for the final time when he heard a crash and an exclamation. His heart leaping, he somehow knew what had happened. He didn’t remember getting to his feet or crossing the room; he would never understand how he knew where to look for her among all the tables and people, but suddenly he knelt beside Simone’s crumpled form. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, she lay sprawled and bent, her joints at odd angles. Her dark, chestnut-brown eyelashes curled thick and long against the pale orbs of her cheeks. She had a delicate, wounded look, her short hair wisping about her face.

“Simone,” Morgan whispered, his heart in his throat, but she didn’t so much as flutter an eyelid. “Call an ambulance,” he instructed in a loud voice. Then he pulled out his own phone and dialed Brooks Leland, his best friend and the finest physician he knew.

As the phone rang, he prayed. Let her be okay. Please, Lord, let her be okay.

After insisting that the good doctor leave a patient to speak to him, Morgan filled Brooks in on what he knew of Simone’s physical situation, which wasn’t much. Then he badgered Brooks into meeting him at the emergency room. By the time he’d convinced the doctor to abandon the patients waiting to keep their appointments and walk across the street to the hospital, the ambulance had arrived and Simone was rousing. Morgan forbade her from so much as sitting up then waved over the emergency medical personnel.

It seemed to him that they took their precious time getting the story, checking her vitals and loading her into the ambulance, but eventually Morgan found himself following the ambulance to the hospital in his car. No sooner did they arrive, however, than Brooks Leland threw Morgan out of the examining room. Not only that, he refused to discuss the first thing about the case with Morgan, citing HIPAA laws. Morgan couldn’t believe it.

“I called the ambulance! Well, I had it called. I’ve been with her twice when this happened.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re not family. You’re out.”

Horrified and angry, Morgan called Simone’s next of kin after getting the number from the college. The number turned out to be a place called Pleasant Acres, a retirement home or perhaps even a nursing home, from the sound of it. But they weren’t giving out any information, either. All they would tell him was that Laverne Worth couldn’t come to the telephone. Morgan decided against leaving a message at that time, hung up and paced the waiting area until Brooks deigned to summon him.

A few years younger and a couple inches taller than Morgan, Brooks wore lab coat and stethoscope, white tie and tails or blue jeans and boots with the same easy aplomb. Shocking silver temples and eyes the color of Spanish gold set off his dark, wavy hair. Fit, unfailingly pleasant and hardworking, Brooks was a hard man to hate, as Morgan well knew.

“What is going on?” Morgan demanded, relieved to see Simone sitting up on the gurney, color once more returned to her cheeks.

She looked away, leaving explanations to Brooks. Morgan parked his hands at his waist, waiting. The doctor leaned against the tiny counter behind him, crossed his legs at the ankle and folded his arms.

“We’ve reached an agreement, Ms. Guilland and I. She needs rest, good nutrition and time.”

“She’ll get it,” Morgan promised, just as if he had a right to do so.

Brooks smiled and looked down at his toes. “She needs to take a minimum of two weeks off work.”

“I did not agree to that,” Simone stated calmly, shaking her head. “I have rent to pay.”

Morgan ignored her, saying, “She’ll move in with my aunties.”

“No!” Simone erupted. Both men ignored her, for she couldn’t possibly understand how often the Chatam sisters took in needy guests.

Brooks nodded, saying, “That did occur to me. And when I say a minimum of two weeks, I do mean that as a bare minimum. Four or six weeks would be better.”

Simone shifted on the gurney. “I cannot possibly—”

“She’s been working at the Campus Gate,” Morgan told Brooks. “I’ll speak to Frank and Loretta as soon as I get her settled at Chatam House.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Simone insisted. “I can’t possibly quit my job and move in with your aunts.”

“You can,” Morgan told her firmly, “and you will if you want to stay in school.”

Those storm-gray eyes blazed fire at him, but Morgan just turned his attention back to Brooks. “Her condition won’t prevent her from attending classes and mastering her studies, will it?”

Brooks shook his head. “No. She can manage school, if she takes care of herself.”

Morgan felt a rush of relief, but it was short-lived as he realized that something was, indeed, wrong with her. He moved to the side of her bed and took her hand in his. “Can’t you trust me now with whatever is ailing you?”

She tilted her lovely head, but then her gaze fell away and she reclaimed her hand. “I keep telling you, I’m fine. I just need time.”

Morgan folded his arms. “All right, have it your way, but you’re coming with me to Chatam House, and that’s final.”

“It really is the best solution,” Brooks put in.

“Not for me,” she argued hotly.

“Yes, for you,” Morgan assured her. “My aunties have taken in many strangers in far more troubling circumstances, believe me.”

“You don’t understand,” Simone told them. “I cannot go to Chatam House.”

“It’s Chatam House or the hospital,” Brooks said bluntly. “Look, you’ll have plenty of privacy, excellent food and all the time you need to regain your strength. What more could you ask for?” He pulled a prescription pad from the pocket of his lab coat and went on briskly. “Now then, I’m going to write you a couple scrips. One, the blue pills, I’ve already given you, and you’ll start to feel the effects soon. You’ll only need those for a few days. They’ll help you rest. The other we’ve already discussed.” He began scribbling away on the pad.

Simone groaned as if she bore the weight of the world on her slender shoulders. It was all Morgan could do not to gather her into his arms and croon words of reassurance, but BCBC had strict policies about the conduct of professors and students, particularly when it came to professors with their students. If she moved into Chatam House, though, the aunties could take care of her, and he could relax.

Maybe then he could get her off his mind once and for all.

* * *

The waiflike creature her nephew Morgan ushered into the front parlor had intrigued Hypatia Chatam from the first moment she’d seen him cradling the young woman in his arms nearly a week earlier. She appeared exhausted if not actually ill and quite achingly beautiful.

“Take this chair,” Morgan said to her, all but bullying the child onto the gold-on-gold-striped seat of the occasional chair before the fireplace. Except, of course, she was no child, this Simone Guilland, but a woman, however slight and fragile, and Morgan, unless Hypatia missed her guess, was quite struck by her. Interesting. And worrisome.

Morgan was a confirmed bachelor and had been since his former fiancée had broken their engagement and married his best friend. Hypatia mentally cataloged all the ways that Simone Guilland differed from Brigitte Squires Leland. Brigitte had appeared fit and wholesome, a tall, lithe, shapely woman with long blond hair and cornflower-blue eyes. A nurse, Brigitte had laughed readily, bantering with Morgan and Brooks like one of the boys but remaining very much a lady. She’d been a woman who seemed to know her own mind and heart. What a pity she’d broken off her engagement to Morgan and married Brooks.

Hypatia had thought for sure that would be the end of a lifelong friendship, but Brigitte’s death just over two years later had brought Morgan and Brooks together again. To Hypatia’s knowledge, neither of them had been seriously involved with another woman since. Now here stood Morgan, hovering over delicate, dainty, big-eyed Simone as if he’d protect her from the whole wide world.

“Magnolia, dear, would you ask for the tea tray?” Hypatia said, deciding that a bit of sustenance would do them all good with lunch still some time away. Despite giving her a sour look, Magnolia went off as asked. Their sister Odelia had accompanied her husband, Kent, on a visit to his great-grandbaby and their great-niece, Marie Ella, the daughter of Kent’s granddaughter Ellie and her husband, Asher Chatam, their nephew. They weren’t expected until after the normal luncheon hour, so the sisters had agreed to hold back the midday meal. Hypatia made small talk with Morgan until Magnolia returned to take a seat on the settee across the piecrust table from her.

“Now, then, Morgan, Miss Guilland, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“We’ve just come from the hospital, Aunt Hypatia,” Morgan informed her, “and Brooks says that Simone must have rest, good nutrition and peace and quiet for at least two weeks, and preferably six.”

“Oh, dear!” Magnolia exclaimed.

“It’s a great deal of bother about nothing, I assure you,” Simone said quickly, sitting forward on her chair.

Morgan sent the girl a quelling glance. “She fainted again.”

“It was a busy morning. I’ve had a stressful week. Things will settle down.”

“Her rooming house is one of those noisy, crowded conversions just off campus. One of those praise bands that plays at the campus chapel lives there. You know the sort.”

Hypatia couldn’t help smiling, as God must smile whenever those young people lifted their raucous music in praise of Him. “I do indeed.” She looked to her sister then, understanding what was needed now. “I imagine they practice all hours of the day and night.” She looked to Simone, smiling. “It must be great fun, but you can’t be getting much sleep.”

Simone opened her mouth as if to protest, but she obviously couldn’t deny the truth of the matter. Finally, she said, “I don’t want to impose on anyone.”

Magnolia snorted. “Don’t be silly. We have ten bedrooms here, and that doesn’t include the carriage house, where the staff live. A quiet little thing like you will hardly be noticed. Our last guests were a lovely lady and her three children. Now, they made themselves known.”

“And we grew so fond of them that we decided to keep them,” Hypatia added. “Our nephew Phillip married the lady, you see.”

Simone ducked her head. “I heard that, yes.”

Hypatia sent a twinkling glance at Magnolia. “I think the east suite is the most private, don’t you?”

“A suite?” Simone yelped.

Magnolia pursed her lips, obviously onto Hypatia’s little ploy. “I don’t suppose she has any use for two bedrooms, though,” Magnolia mused. “The bed-sit combo beneath the attic stairs ought to work just fine.”

“Oh, yes,” Simone chimed in eagerly. “That sounds fine.”

Hilda came in with the tea tray just then, allowing Hypatia to hide her smile of satisfaction. Simone seemed to shrink in on herself, but she perked up again after the tea was poured and Magnolia passed her a plate filled with finger sandwiches, cookies and Hilda’s famous ginger muffins. Simone nibbled at first, but once Morgan sat down next to Magnolia, filled a plate for himself and got to talking, Simone quickly ate everything on her plate and drained her cup without even realizing what she was doing. It was obvious to Hypatia that Simone hung on Morgan’s every word, as so many of his students did. Was a crush developing? When she sat back and swiped a hand across her brow, however, Hypatia felt a curl of a different kind of concern.

“I think it’s time our new houseguest took a nice, long nap.”

Morgan set aside his plate and rose at once. “Let us take you upstairs.”

Simone nodded, a sign, to Hypatia’s mind, of just how weary and weak she was. The girl rose and walked toward the door, thanking Hypatia and Magnolia.

“You’re very kind.”

“It’s our pleasure to be kind,” Hypatia told her. Both she and Magnolia rose to follow along. “It’s just across the foyer and up the stairs.”

“I—I don’t have anything with me,” Simone said as she crossed the parlor and then the foyer.

“That’s quite all right,” Hypatia said. “I’ll be glad to loan you some things until you can pack your bags.”

“I’m really not planning to stay for long,” she murmured at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the ceiling.

“We’ll leave that to God, shall we?” Hypatia suggested gently, smiling at the blue sky, wafting clouds, fluttering white feathers and the suggestion of sunshine that the unknown artist had created on the vestibule ceiling overhead. She looked down in time to see Morgan nudge the girl, a hand under her elbow.

Simone sucked in a deep breath and started to climb. After only four or five steps, she faltered, bowing and gulping for breath.

“I’m sorry. I seem to be light-headed all the time lately.”

She took another step and another, sinking lower with each one. Magnolia placed a hand on Hypatia’s arm, and the sisters traded glances.

With the next step, Morgan swept Simone up into his arms.

“I can walk,” she protested feebly. “Just give me a few minutes.”

“Hush,” he told her, climbing the stairs steadily.

Again, the sisters traded looks. Morgan was a scholar, a mature, disciplined, moral man with a strong calling, but a man, nonetheless, and very much a man, obviously.

Simone looped an arm loosely about his neck as they made the turn in the staircase, but she didn’t seem to have the strength even to hold on. Her head lolled against his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she said in a husky voice. “I thought I could manage. I really did.”

“Hush,” Morgan told her again. “Just relax.”

“Pills,” she mumbled. “Must be the pills.”

“Take her to her room,” Hypatia instructed as soon as they reached the landing. “I’ll meet you there in a moment.”

Rushing to her own room in the suite that she shared with Magnolia at the front of the house, Hypatia grabbed a pair of her own pajamas and hurried across the upstairs to the combination sitting room and bedroom tucked beneath the attic stairs, overlooking the patio and pool. Morgan had set down Simone on the royal-blue velveteen sofa, his back to the curtained alcove where the four-poster bed stood. Magnolia sat beside her, patting her hand.

“Let’s get you changed and into the bed,” Hypatia said, offering the tailored navy silk pajamas that she favored. “Morgan, will you stay in case we need you?” If Simone should faint again, Hypatia wasn’t sure that she and Magnolia together could get her into bed.

“I’ll be just outside,” Morgan said.

Hypatia and Magnolia helped Simone change from her jeans and T-shirt into the silk pajamas. The child was skin and bones. And scars. Magnolia clucked her tongue, but neither she nor Hypatia said a word. Hypatia’s heart bled for what she saw, however, for what she knew the child had been through. She had to button the top for Simone, and it hung on her, much too large. Nevertheless, it would have to do. After gently herding their new houseguest to the bed, Hypatia folded back the covers, and she and Magnolia aided as best they could while Simone laboriously climbed beneath the bedspread and top sheet.

“Thank you,” she whispered, tears of sheer exhaustion standing in her eyes.

Impulsively, Hypatia bent and kissed Simone’s ivory brow. She would spend much time in prayer for this one and, unless she missed her guess, for her nephew, too. Suddenly, she feared for Morgan. He’d lost one woman to another man and disease; Hypatia didn’t want to see any part of that scenario played out in his life again. Straightening, she called out to him.

The door opened at once, and he came striding into the room. He bent over the bed, smoothing Simone’s short hair. It struck Hypatia that she’d seen that unusual reddish-brown color before, but she couldn’t think where or on whom.

“I can trust you to rest now, can’t I?”

Simone sighed. “Yes.”

“All right. Comfortable?”

“Very,” Simone replied, stifling a yawn.

“Good. Now, stay there and sleep.”

“Yes, sir, Professor Chatam, sir.”

“I’ll see you later.”

Nodding, Simone closed her eyes and was asleep before they had tiptoed all the way across the sitting room to the door, but Hypatia waited until they were a good way along the landing before she asked, “Did you see it?”

“If you mean the scar just below her collarbone,” Morgan replied grimly, “yes. She had a chemotherapy port.”

“That would be my guess.”

“And extensive abdominal surgery,” Magnolia added softly.

Morgan sighed. “I knew something was wrong. From the way Brooks behaved, I’m guessing the cancer is behind her but that she hasn’t fully recovered her strength yet.”

“We’ll see to it that she has the peace and quiet that she needs to recover,” Hypatia promised.

They walked to the head of the stairs before he slipped his arms about each of their shoulders and said, “Have I mentioned lately that I thank God for my special aunties?”

Hypatia smiled fondly up at him. “Not lately.”

“Well, I do,” he told her with a squeeze. “Routinely. This world would be a much more difficult place without you. I’m especially thankful for you today. Simone needs a safe, quiet, comfortable haven right now.”

“She has it,” Magnolia told him.

“She has more than that,” Hypatia added. “God is going to be hearing from us routinely about Miss Simone Guilland.”

“I was counting on that,” he told her with a smile.

“As you should. Now, will you stay to lunch?”

“I think I just might,” he agreed, winking. “After all, you’ve got the best cook in town.”