Author's Note: So, I had another chapter ready to go and I'm posting on Sunday after all. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it! If you missed chapter 13, posted on Friday, be sure to go back and read it before you read this one. Thank you to katbybee for giving Marco a voice! She also shared her backstory for Marco, which you can read in her fanfic Of Dragons, Knights and Families. I love how kat's input enriches this story! Thank you also to Piscean6724 for taking the time to beta-read and give feedback. Finally, thank you, Readers, for coming back each week to read more. I appreciate you all!

In the section between Mike and Marco, you'll see several paragraphs are in italics. Normally I'm strict about keeping each section from a single character's point of view. But this section, I think, works best with the dual POV. To help keep things straight, I put Mike's POV in italics.

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Monday, 18 December 1972

Danny Shaw paced the floor of Carla's ICU room. His emotions were in a turmoil. Carla had done so many idiotic and downright criminal things. After all he'd seen since this morning, he understood that more than ever. She had turned a blind eye to kidnapping and murder, maybe even facilitated it. She deserved to be behind bars. But she didn't deserve this. No one deserved this.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "And that guy in the next room — John Gage — he didn't deserve it either, Carla. I just don't understand. I can't figure out what you were thinking, getting involved in all this. And trying to join them? That's all I can imagine you were doing based on how you were dressed when they found you." He stopped at her bedside and looked down at her pale face. Her head was bandaged. Her eyes looked bruised. She seemed so vulnerable. He tried to push out the old feelings that were bubbling up inside him, but he couldn't do it. As much as he might have denied it a day ago, he still loved her. He didn't like her one bit, but yeah… he loved her.

Her surgeon, Dr. Harold Laska, had said that the bullet had entered at the back of the head and lodged behind her left eye. "Thankfully, it didn't cross into the right side of the brain. The damage would have been much worse that way. Unfortunately, we were not able to remove the bullet."

Danny had known Dr. Laska for years. He was often on duty in the ER when the crew brought a patient to the hospital, and he had operated on Danny twice now. He was a good man, and Danny couldn't think of a better surgeon to attend Carla. "Left side… that means speech problems, right?"

Laska had nodded. "Most likely. We won't know the extent until she's awake and off the ventilator. I can tell you now, she has lost the vision in her left eye. She will have some level of paralysis on the right side. Again, we won't know how extensive until she's awake." And then he had gripped Danny's arm. "You're going to get through this, Shaw. I know it's hard, but you're strong enough."

With a heavy sigh, Danny resumed his pacing. He was trying to believe the surgeon. Trying to figure out what to do next. Eventually, Carla was going to need a lawyer — it probably wasn't too soon to start looking for one. And he should let her brothers know what had happened. She hadn't spoken to them since before the divorce, and her last words to them had been pretty harsh, so they might not be willing to come. But they at least deserved to know. Her younger brother had stayed in touch with Danny and had written in a recent letter that it was a blessing their parents had passed before Carla went off the deep end, because it would have broken their hearts to see what their little girl had become.

He stopped at her bedside once more. "I'll do what I can, Carla. I know you don't love me anymore. I know we can't ever get back what we used to have. But I'm not just going to abandon you." His fingers brushed the back of her hand and regret swelled up in his heart. Where had things turned sour for them? Was it the miscarriage? Or was it when he had almost lost his life battling a forest fire? She'd begged him to quit his job and he'd refused. Or was it just a matter of Myra Lloyd worming her way into Carla's brain and planting all sorts of idiotic ideas there? Maybe it was a combination of all three. All he knew for sure was, they had grown distant and gradually she had turned into a completely different person than the woman he had married.

In one small corner of his heart, he almost hoped that this injury would bring back the old Carla to him somehow. He wouldn't hold his breath, though. He knew better. Still, it would be a blessing if something good could come out of all of this. "See you later, Carla," he said softly. "Hang in there." And then he turned and walked away.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Marco took a deep breath, then picked up the phone and dialed Rampart. He was grateful that Mike's nurse, Marcy Holcomb, was everything Johnny's caregivers were not. Compassionate, friendly, helpful. She had been happy to let him contact Rampart and try to work out a way to get Johnny and Mike out of here as soon as possible. The phone rang a couple of times, and then he heard a familiar voice on the other end.

"Rampart Emergency. Nurse Dixie McCall speaking."

"Hello, Miss McCall, it's Marco Lopez."

"Marco! I heard something about you going to find John and Mike in Idaho."

Marco's tone was frustrated. "Yes. We found them, but they are in rough shape up here in a hospital just outside Featherville. We need to get them home as soon as possible, but the hospital won't release them without official identification and proof of insurance, which, of course, neither of them has. I can pay their bills, but I'm not sure that will be good enough. What do you think Rampart can do?" He took a deep breath after this long rant.

"I think you need to talk with Dr. Brackett. I know he has a friend who runs a Medevac unit and could arrange to fly them both here. As for the identification… we can work on getting that. I'll talk with JoAnne and Beth. Hang on just a second. I see Kel down the hall."

A minute later, Dr. Brackett was on the phone. "Marco. Dix tells me you've found John and Mike. I'll do whatever I can to help get them back here."

Marco was a little calmer as he repeated what he had told Dixie. Just talking to Dr. Brackett was like a balm to his mind. At least he had someone competent and honest on his side.

"All right, Marco. I'm going to call my friend Josh Zimmermann. We should be able to get a medical flight up to Featherville as soon as tomorrow. And it's my day off, so I'll come with it. Let's get our boys home. Where can I reach you once I've made the arrangements?"

Marco turned around to Marcy and asked the same question. He honestly wasn't sure if he should involve the nurse any further, and he didn't have Danny Shaw's phone number.

Marcy smiled. "Just have him call the hospital and ask for me. I'll be glad to take messages or get you to the phone, whatever is best."

Marco smiled at Marcy. "Thank you, mi amiga. You are a blessing." He turned back to the phone and relayed the information to Dr. Brackett.

"All right then," Brackett said. "I'll call as soon as I have the information for you. And Dixie is already working on getting those IDs."

"They still want proof of insurance, so I need that as well."

"That will be in our records here, no doubt, if Jo and Beth don't have their insurance cards. We'll get it all taken care of. Goodbye, Marco. I'll talk with you soon."

"Thanks Doctor. Goodbye." Marco hung up, then breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself to relax a little for the first time in many hours.

"I'm glad Mr. Stoker and Mr. Gage have you and your friends, Marco," Marcy said. She was one of the few at the hospital willing to use their real names. "You're the blessing here today."

"Marcy, you have no idea how much I owe you for what you're doing. I could just about kiss you right now," Marco teased.

She turned a pleasant shade of pink and ducked her green eyes for just a brief second. But when she looked back up, she was serious. "You don't owe me anything. I'm doing the job Clayton Orwell hired me to do. I wish he were here right now — things wouldn't be going so crazy. But with Mrs. Merritt in charge while he's on vacation…" She shrugged sadly. "A lot of people have forgotten what they're supposed to be doing."

Marco nodded. "I know what it's like to work under a bad boss… it makes it hard to do a good job. I've been lucky it hasn't happened to me very often. You're a good person, Marcy."

The intercom buzzed, summoning Nurse Holcomb to a patient's room. "I'll see you later, Marco," she said as she trotted away, tossing a bright smile over her shoulder at him.

Marco was surprised how empty the spot in front of him felt as she left. He rolled his eyes as he realized he missed her presence. "Ai ai ai, Marquito," he murmured, "this is no time to fall for a woman." He watched the hall she had disappeared down. "But what a woman!"

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

He was still staring up at the light, watching it filter down through the water. As much as he wanted to stay hidden here, he craved the sunlight. He wanted to feel its warmth on his back, but he didn't dare break the surface. Not yet. And so he stayed here in the shadows, watching and waiting and listening.

Marco slipped into Mike's room, mindful of all the equipment, and took a seat. He wanted to get something off his chest, and he figured Mike could be a good sounding board… a captive audience as it were. He couldn't protest about listening to girl talk as he usually did at the station. "Actually," Marco murmured, "it wouldn't be so bad if you did, Pal!"

Aloud Marco began. "So, Mike. I have this problem. I met a woman up here. She's a nurse. In fact, if you've been paying attention, you've heard her voice. She's your nurse… Marcy Holcomb. She is beautiful! She has the prettiest green eyes I have ever seen, amigo! She has chestnut hair and these freckles across her nose, a heart-shaped face… oh, she is gorgeous. But it is her heart I have fallen for, actually. She is kind and compassionate and really good at what she does."

The word woman sent him scurrying deeper into the shadows, though he kept listening. He was intrigued. A compassionate woman? Kind and caring?

Mike's hand moved. It clenched and unclenched and tapped at the bed. Marco sucked in a deep breath and kept talking and watching that hand. "I really want to ask her out to dinner, to get to know her better, but Idaho is a long way from Los Angeles. I think I could commit to her even, because I believe in love at first sight. But I don't want to leave 51s."

Love. He wanted to believe in love. He wanted with all his heart for it to be real. It's what he felt for Beth, wasn't it? And yet the idea that Beth returned it was something he couldn't grasp right now. He couldn't remember the name of the man talking to him, but he knew the voice. He peered up into the light and saw vague features looking down at him. The features panicked him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, but at the same time his hand shot out and grasped a hand that was resting nearby. He gave the hand a sharp squeeze, but he wasn't sure he could make his meaning clear. He wanted to let his visitor know that if love was something real after all, he should grab hold of it and never let it go.

Marco was startled when Mike grabbed hold of his hand so tightly. He knew there had to be a reason for the action. Mike had to be trying to tell him something. He just wasn't sure what it was. "Mike, come on, man, what is it?"

He swallowed hard and then took a risk he hadn't been willing to take before. But he had to. He needed to surface. He could always dive back under again and hide himself away. He opened his eyes. His ears rang and popped as he allowed himself to swim towards the light. And then suddenly he burst through. He looked right into the eyes of the man who stood over him. And he grasped the man's hand and spoke. "Love. Choose love."

Marco was thrilled when he saw Mike's eyes focus on him. He grinned at his friend. His jaw dropped at Mike's words, and he nodded. "Yeah. I do. I will. Thanks, brother."

He nodded. And then he plunged back under the water and went searching again for the shadows.

Marco sighed in disappointment when Mike's eyes lost their focus and glazed over once more. It seemed like he might be watching the light above his bed, but it was hard to tell for sure. "You better come back to us, amigo. We need you."

Mike's hand was still gripping Marco's and his fingers briefly tightened before dropping back to the mattress. Marco gave it a pat. Mike was still in there. They just needed to figure out how to convince him to come back and stay with them.

Quietly, Marco left the room. He needed to go and talk to the person in charge of the hospital. Marcy had given him the name. Now, he needed to go start the paperwork to get his friends out of this place. He sighed again. Bureaucracy was not his forte. He hoped this Mrs. Merritt was a reasonable person, but from what he had heard, he rather doubted it. He headed for the elevator.

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Edina Merritt yawned and rubbed her eyes. Outside, the sun was going down and long shadows lay across the parking lot. She had been crunching numbers for hours and she was starting to worry. She had a short window of time to get this hospital out of the red. Yesterday afternoon, her boss Clayton Orwell had left to spend his Christmas holidays with his sister in Kansas, leaving her in command.

Command. It's where she should have been all along. Her late father-in-law Millard Merritt II had started this hospital forty years ago, and her husband Millard Merritt III had followed in his father's footsteps as hospital admin. When he died in 1970, she'd been left at the helm until her son Millard IV was ready to take over. But when the hospital had almost gone bankrupt and her son had cut ties with her and moved overseas with his new wife, a new Board had been elected and they had brought in Clayton Orwell as the new administrator. He was supposed to whip the place into shape and get everything back on track. As the Board put it, "out of respect for the founder," Edina had been kept on as second in command, but it was a token position. She had no real power. Until now.

As a newly minted great-uncle, Clayton Orwell had been thrilled about visiting his sister's family for Christmas. And Edina was thrilled to see him go. They had not seen eye to eye from the first, and she couldn't understand what the Board saw in him. How he planned to save the hospital was beyond her. All he'd done since his arrival was to make sure it bled money. He had started a program to provide care for indigents and drug addicts regardless of their insurance status or ability to pay. He even wanted to develop an obstetrics program focused on assisting unwed mothers, even teenagers! Just the sort of nonsense her father-in-law would have pursued had he lived longer. Her Millard had known better. He had turned this hospital into a real money-maker during his tenure as chief.

Well, she was going to put an end to the nonsense right here and now. They'd had an influx of drug addicted men admitted just this afternoon, thanks to the raid on that rehabilitative Farm. Apparently the whole place was just a cover for some outlandish cult, and her hospital was bearing the brunt of things. She was going to make sure that every single one of those patients was able to pay his bill. And if any one of them wasn't, she would get Social Services in here to take him into State custody and get him into a treatment program in Boise.

She looked down over the list of new patients. Most of them didn't even have proper names! Well, Lloyd was a perfectly acceptable surname, but then they were called things like Heracles and Theseus and Achilles and the like. Outlandish! Not one of them had any form of ID, so officially, they all had to be admitted under the name John Doe, which only added to the confusion. When the problem became clear, Edina had suggested numbering them. John Doe 1, John Doe 2, etc. And how they reeked… oh, they were absolutely filthy. It would take days of cleaning to get the stench out of the ER.

At least John Does 1 and 2 had people here with them… people who might be able to make payment. And apparently family was on the way for John Does 4 through 9. But they were all clamoring to take the men back to California for treatment. Edina wasn't about to let that happen until every penny due the hospital was paid in full. If they were discharged, it was likely the promised payment would never materialize. And besides, they offered no proof of relationship to the patients, no evidence that they had any right to make such demands. Edina wasn't about to get the hospital smacked with a lawsuit for allowing an unauthorized person to take a patient out of the facility.

And now, to add to her consternation, Dr. Lloyd — there was that name again — had been accused of attempting to murder John Doe 2 in the ICU. Edina didn't believe a word of it, but the FBI had taken the matter out of her hands. At least that was one less problem for her to worry about. Dr. Harold Laska had taken over John Doe 2's case, and Edina had warned him that under no circumstances was he to allow the patient to be transferred until payment had been made. He probably wouldn't listen. He was a do-gooder like Orwell. But he was also good at gaining the trust of patient family and friends, and Edina felt the need to throw out a crumb like that.

Normally, the task she'd set herself would be left for someone in Accounting, but Leighton Smith was out of the office today and Edina didn't trust Martha Frakes to do the job right. Martha was another one firmly in Orwell's camp. So, Edina had intercepted the files before they could get to Accounting, determined to take care of things herself.

Glancing over John Doe 1's chart, Edina jotted down the services that had been rendered so far and the associated costs. He was stable and could be transported once it was established where he needed to go. If his friends wanted to pay the bill and could prove their right to make such determinations, fine. The absolute minimum she would accept to mark his bill paid was $1,000. That would cover his room and board, medications, extensive lab work, physician's fees, and nursing care, and all incidentals. For John Doe 2, she increased the total to $1,750. He was in worse shape, taking up a spot in the ICU, and had required two physicians. Edina wasn't about to remove Dr. Lloyd's fee unless the accusations against her were proven. Besides, his so-called brother was incredibly pushy and rude. If Doe 2 needed to stay a second night, the price would go up to $2,000. She thought for a moment, then struck out the lower number and changed it to $2,000 after all. John Doe 2 was almost certainly not going to be ready to leave as soon as tomorrow.

She could hear Orwell's objections in her mind now. We can't afford to charge big-city rates in a small rural hospital, Mrs. Merritt. Why do you think patient admissions were steadily decreasing under your tenure as chief? Well, Clayton Orwell didn't know his thumb from his big toe. He was too busy "doing good" to realize he was running this place into the ground.

A knock at her office door was a welcome distraction to the paperwork. She rubbed at her aching temples as she called for the knocker to enter. Then she had to stifle a groan when she recognized one of the friends of John Does 1 and 2. She didn't remember his name.

He stepped into the office and stretched out an arm toward her. She eyed his work-worn hand and gave a disdainful sniff. His lips narrowed slightly, but he said nothing and sat in the chair across the desk from her.

"How may I help you?" she asked tersely. She was starting to wish she had just ignored the knock and continued with her paperwork instead.

"My name is Marco Lopez. I'm here to pay the hospital bills for two of my friends, John Gage and Michael Stoker. I understand that the hospital has listed them as John Does 1 and 2 because they don't have official identification yet. We're getting copies from their families in California."

She tilted her head and stared at him. "Those are sizable bills, Mr. Lopez. Are you sure you have the resources to pay them?"

His eyes darkened and narrowed. "I have the money ma'am. I came into a large inheritance recently. Your bill will be nothing to pay."

Likely story. He certainly didn't look like a well-off man. His hands were too rough, and his clothes looked like they had come off a discount rack.

The man's eyes seemed to delve right into her as she assessed him. "I see you judge me by my appearance," he said.

Trying to hide how awkward his gaze made her feel, she straightened the papers on her desk. "I have no other context by which to judge you, Mr. Lopez. That, and the friends you keep. Two drug-addicted indigents aren't exactly good company."

He sighed and gave a sad shake of his head. "Except you judge wrongly. My friends aren't indigents. They are good, upstanding, hardworking men. You have chosen to see only what they were forced to become. My money's good. You can take the check and wait for it to clear. Likely, you have decided to charge much more than you should. That's fine. I'll pay. My friends mean more to me than money."

She sniffed again. "So you say." And then she made some changes to each of the two bills before sliding them across the desk to Mr. Lopez. Let him put his money where his mouth was. She had doubled each bill. $2,000 for John Doe 1 and $4,000 for John Doe 2. There was no way she could justify the charges if asked, but if he was willing to pay it, let him pay it. "That's the minimum we need to release them once your authority to do so is established. It could end up being more if additional care is required."

Mr. Lopez looked up at her for a long moment. Again, she felt his eyes boring into her. Why did she get this sense that this man was reading her like an open book? "It's sad to be alone, isn't it?" he asked.

That hit too close to home. "You know nothing about me!" she snapped. "Just… mind your own business. Write the check if you still intend to and then leave me be. I have work to do." She tried hard to keep her eyes dry, blinking until the tears had dissipated. Without her husband, with her son and daughter out of reach, she was desperately lonely and angry because of it. And now this man had walked into her office and spent all of five minutes sitting across from her, and somehow he thought he understood her? He made her feel vulnerable, and that just made her angrier.

He wrote out the check without argument, even though he had to know it was twice the amount owed. Then he looked back at her. "Driving loved ones away is nearly as painful as enduring their death. Don't let it happen with your daughter." He pointed to Abby's high school graduation picture. She was wearing her blue robe and mortarboard with the gold honor cord. "I know how much it hurts to be alone." And then he stood and handed her the check.

Her eyes widened. She snatched the check from his hand. Before he could get out the door, she felt the words slipping out against her better judgment. "What do you know about it?"

He turned back to her. "I once said some very hurtful things to my abuelo, my grandfather, at a party. He got angry and banished me from my large family. For a long time, I was alone, forbidden from having anything to do with them. My pride kept me from apologizing, and I grew angrier and more bitter every day. Thank God that John Doe 2 you have in your ICU knocked some sense into me before my grandfather died. Thanks to him, we made peace, and I found my way back into my family. Don't you think you should try the same before it's too late?"

Edina stared at her daughter's photo. Abby had gone away to college last year and had just informed her a few days ago that she wasn't coming home for Christmas break. Instead, she was going to spend the holidays with her brother in Salzburg. The bonds between mother and daughter had long ago stretched to the breaking point. She reached for the picture and laid it face down on her desk. She should put it away, as she had done Millard's. "It's already too late," she said softly. Then her tone hardened again. "I'll give you a receipt once the check clears." She clipped the check to the bill and put it back in the file folder. "I can send it to the bank first thing tomorrow morning."

Marco nodded. "That will be fine. And remember. It's not too late until one of you is gone forever." And he left the room without another word.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Dr. Laska stepped into John Doe 2's ICU room. He was a little startled to find two visitors in there — a young woman with a scarred face and a young man. "I'm sorry," he said, glancing down at the patient's chart. "This patient is not supposed to have visitors." He hated saying it because he didn't agree with Mrs. Merritt's dictum. Sometimes the strong support of a good friend or a family member made all the difference in a patient's recovery. "However, I'm willing to overlook it for the time being."

The young woman smiled and ducked her head. "Thank you, doctor." Her voice was very quiet, as if she wasn't sure she was allowed to speak. Harry decided to let it go for now, but he hoped he could find a way to build up her confidence.

"I take it one of you can tell me our John Doe's real name?" he asked. "I'd like to dispense with this John Doe business if I can."

"Gage. He's Johnny Gage," the young man put in. This one had no trouble with confidence, Harry noted. "I'm Chet Kelly. I work with him in Los Angeles."

"Ahh, excellent. So maybe you can tell me how he got messed up with these drugs." Harry hadn't been given any history on the man, only the notice that he was a drug addict who had overdosed. Mrs. Merritt hadn't been any more forthcoming than that.

"It wasn't his choice," Chet Kelly snapped, his brow knitting up as he frowned. Harry saw his shoulders tense and his hands curl into fists. He was angry.

"No, he didn't choose it," the young woman agreed, more affably, but still so very quiet. "He wanted to remember."

"What is your name, Miss?"

"Susanna Levin." Almost in a whisper this time.

"Well, Miss Levin. I believe you and I believe Mr. Kelly. And we're going to get your friend on the road to recovery." He was pleased to see Chet Kelly relax a little.

His tone softened as well. "Doc, what about the port in his side? Susanna says they were feeding poison into him… he needs that taken out and not this rapid detox crap the last doctor started. It's just making him worse. I think it's infected."

"Port in his side?" Harry frowned. There was nothing about that in the patient's file. "If you'll allow me…" He moved between Chet and the bed so that he could pull down the blanket and take a closer look. Indeed, under a layer of bandages there was a feeding port stitched into the patient's side, and the skin around it did indeed look infected. Mr. Kelly had a good eye. "All right, I'm going to do a full examination on him. I see that the notes I was given are incomplete." He hadn't been told why Dr. Lloyd was pulled off this patient's care, but seeing this, he was glad to take over. "If you'll step out for just a moment please."

Kelly tensed again. "I'm not leaving him. Last time one of us did, the doctor tried to kill him."

"Tried to kill him?" Harry gaped for just a second. That was another bit of information that Mrs. Merritt had withheld. He didn't know Dr. Lloyd well, but somehow he didn't find the accusation all that surprising. If the rumors running around the hospital were true, the woman didn't have an ounce of compassion. Patients frequently complained about her, and looking back, Harry thought he could point to one or two patient deaths that looked suspicious considering what he'd just heard. He nodded slowly. "All right. I understand your concern. You can stay, Mr. Kelly. Miss Levin, though, should step out just to preserve the patient's privacy."

Susanna nodded and let go of Johnny Gage's hand. Almost instantly, his blood pressure plummeted, and his heartbeat became dangerously slow. "Wait. Miss Levin, take his hand again."

She grabbed it, and Harry watched while his patient stabilized. "All right, you're not leaving either. If anyone complains about you being here, tell them Dr. Laska prescribed you as good medicine." And he commenced his examination.

When he was done, he straightened up. "You were right. The site around the port is infected. I'll need to remove it surgically. I'm ordering an IV antibiotic for him. I'm also taking him off the sedative Dr. Lloyd ordered. There's no need for it." He flipped through the chart. "She doesn't appear to have done anything else.

"Why would she?" Kelly asked with a wry twist of his mouth. "She wanted him dead. When can you do the surgery?"

Harry heaved a sigh. "Unfortunately, I have to run it by Mrs. Merritt first. She's in charge while our administrator is out of town. But once I have her approval, I can do it as soon as an OR is available."

Kelly's forehead puckered up and his eyes narrowed. "And what if she says no? Is there anything we can do?"

"Well, if she says no, I'll let her know in no uncertain terms that she is opening up the hospital to a major lawsuit. I'll also threaten her with negative press coverage. She'll hate that."

"Thanks, Doc." Chet's tight-lipped smile didn't reach his eyes, but Harry expected the man's consternation was with Edina Merritt, so he didn't take it personally. "I know what that could cost you here. You should really think about coming down to Rampart General in L.A. They could use a guy like you."

Harry nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate the suggestion, and maybe someday the lure of California sunshine will draw me in. But our new administrator brought me here to help turn this place around, and I relish the job. The only reason Edina Merritt is able to get her claws on things right now is that Mr. Orwell has left on vacation. His niece in Kansas just had a baby and he's determined to spoil the kid rotten for her first Christmas."

Chet chuckled, and this time his eyes sparked with good humor. "Can't blame him there. My brothers, sisters, and cousins have a bunch of kids. I do the same thing."

Harry lowered his voice. "Well, between you and me, I'm going to put in a call to Mr. Orwell. He left me the number and told me to contact him if Mrs. Merritt let things get out of hand. I think this qualifies."

"Thanks, Doc." Kelly's eyes had returned to Johnny now.

Harry appreciated the man's loyalty to his friend. "Well, I'll go schedule the OR and talk with Mrs. Merritt. Thanks for staying with Mr. Gage. Once he's more alert, he'll be glad to know the kind of friends he has."

Chet waved the compliment away. "Aw, he knows. He knows."