Page 107 of The Cajun Doctor

It was presumptuous of him to promise a pet to a child without the parents’ approval, but he would worry about that later. Somehow, he would make it happen.

“That one!” she decided conclusively, pointing her finger at the white one. “Snowball.”

“Are you sure? Bumble is cute, too.” Molly had given each of the kittens names. The yellow-and-black one was named after . . . what else . . . ? A bumblebee.

“No. Snowball is smaller, like me. And you told me she’s a girl. Bumble is a boy. Maybe you could find a boy to adopt Bumble.”

Somebody is going to take all seven of these cats, that’s for sure. Maybe even eight, if Maxine can be thrown into the mix.

Molly had acute myeloid leukemia and while she had responded well to the initial high dosage of chemo, today she had relapsed, and her white cell count had skyrocketed. A stem cell transplant was her only hope, but she had to be in remission for that to take place.

Ideally, one of her siblings would be a good donor match, but both parents had to agree to the procedure, and thus far, Molly’s mother couldn’t be reached. Her father was a match, thankfully, and although parent to child bone marrow transplants weren’t common, they could be done. But that meant getting Molly back into remission and getting her father here from Savannah.

“I want my daddy,” Molly said, suddenly losing interest in the kittens.

“I know, sweetheart. He’s on his way.” He glanced up to see a nurse approaching with a syringe. “Why don’t you take a nap, and maybe your daddy will be here when you wake up?”

“I don’t wanna sleep,” Molly whined, even as she cuddled even closer into his embrace.

To distract her, he began to describe the situation at his home. He’d told her about the plantation before. Now, he said, “Did I tell you about the animals who have come to visit me this week? There’s a biiiiiig dog, who has a sore hip, and can only move around slowly. Then, there’s a biiiiig cat that looks like a cougar. Do you know what a cougar is? Yes, the wild animals with the stripes. And get this . . . a little pig called Emily who follows me around like a shadow.”

Molly giggled at that. A wonderful sound, especially considering how bad she must feel. She didn’t even notice the needle entering her upper arm.

“And did I tell you about the bird . . . a cockatoo . . . that can only say one thing, and it’s a bad word? Maybe if you came to visit one day, you could teach Clarence some new words.”

“Betcha I could,” Molly said.

Within minutes, she was fast asleep, and he was able to slip off the bed. The nurse arranged the child more comfortably in the bed, and checked her temperature once again. “No change,” she remarked shortly.

George came in then and motioned for him to come out into the hall. “Did you get her father on the line?” George asked him.

“I did. He should be en route, as we speak.”

“How did you manage that?”

“Threats. Bribery.”

George laughed, halfheartedly. “When I talked to him earlier, he had a half dozen excuses. Couldn’t get off work; he just got a new job working construction. No money for gas. His car needs repairs. No place to stay when he gets here. All legitimate excuses, of course, but . . .”

“I offered him a job and a place to stay until Molly gets better.”

“What?” George blinked at him with surprise. “Doing what? Staying where?”

It had been a spur of the moment decision, but one that could work out well. “Aaron and I can never get enough help renovating that damn plantation house. If Molly’s dad can wield a paintbrush or hammer a nail, he can work for us. For a while, anyway. And I figure one of those old slave cottages is better than the run-down motels where he’s been staying, even without indoor plumbing. Hell, he can put plumbing in, if he has the expertise.”

George was smiling at him. He didn’t have to say the words. He knew that Daniel was being pulled back into medicine, whether he wanted it or not. Fact is, he was ready.

After he left the medical center, with a promise to George that he would check in later, Daniel sat in his car and looked over the ridiculous grocery list Samantha and Tante Lulu had put together. He tapped his fingertips on the steering wheel. Thinking, thinking, thinking. Something had been niggling at the back of his brain ever since he’d left the plantation.

He thought about his last words with Samantha, and suddenly he knew what the problem was. Samantha was going to meet with her ex-husband, despite his asking . . . rather, telling . . . her not to.

Fear shot through him. Nick was a desperate man, as the FBI agent had told them, and desperate men were unpredictable. There was no knowing what Nick might do to Samantha to get what he wanted.

Then the fear was replaced with anger. How dare she take such chances? If she didn’t care about herself, why didn’t she care about his feelings?

But then, how did she know what his feelings were? He didn’t know himself.

He called Samantha’s cell phone, and was not surprised to get no answer. Then he tried Luc and John LeDeux’s respective cell phone numbers. No answers there, either. Finally, he tried the last resort. Tante Lulu.