Page 23 of Her Cadillac Cowboy
She folded her arms across her chest. “I expect you to want to live a long time, and that means accepting a change in diet.” She spun and left the room before she told him everything she thought. That kind of bluntness would do no good.
“I’m not sure livin’ longer is worth it if a body’s gotta eat cow fodder.”
The words mumbled down the hall behind her. She’d already called the dealership and left messages with Carol to postpone the strategy meeting until this afternoon. She was determined to see her father settled with the new nurse in charge before leaving for work.It means another late night, but then that’s what a girl lives for, right?
Reluctantly she dialed the phone number for the nursing agency.
“Hello, Home and Hearth Health Care, Melissa speaking. How may I help you?”
“This is Sara Carson. I need to talk to Mr. Staples, please.”
“Yes, Miss Carson, Mr. Staples is expecting your call.”
Great, Fenderbender had already spoken to the manager, and getting a new nurse for Dad would be three times as difficult as the last time.
“Miss Carson, I’m delighted you called.” The man didn’t sound delighted at all. The tight, clipped words impressed Sara as signals of restrained anger. “I wanted to thank you for doing business with Home and Hearth. I hope you’ll call us the next time you have a health care need at home.”
“Well, actually, um, I’m afraid that Mrs. Fenderbender didn’t work out very well.”
“Her name is Frau Feinderbienscht, and she’s one of the finest nurses we have on staff. I’ve discussed your father’s case with her and with Mrs. Deavers, the nurse your father attacked. Your father, Miss Carson, is a very difficult patient, to put it mildly. I’m afraid Home and Hearth won’t be able to meet your nursing needs without considerably more incentive. I will not have my nurses abused.”
“How much incentive?” she asked.
“We do have one nurse on staff who might suit your special needs. But because of your father’s record, I’d have to ask for double our standard fee.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m sorry, but I have to be able to offer this person some compensation for potential abuse.”
“All right, but I want a guarantee that the nurse will stay at least one week. I can’t run a business if I have to spend every morning at home finding a new nurse.”
“Perhaps you should point that out to your father, Miss Carson.”
Sara chose not to respond. “What’s the nurse’s name, and when can I expect her?”
“I’ll call as soon as we hang up, Miss Carson. K.C. White should be at your place by noon. If there are any problems, I’ll call you back. Can I reach you at this number?”
“Yes, I’ll be here until Nurse White arrives. Goodbye, Mr. Staples, and thank you.”
“Good day, Miss Carson.”
Sara put the phone down and wandered across the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee. She should review the files she’d brought home to study before today’s meeting with Gene and Carson’s managerial staff.
Before that, she had to make certain that Dad ate his breakfast and took his medicine. Avoiding a showdown just made it worse, so she emptied her half-finished coffee into the sink, squared her shoulders, and set off for her father’s bedroom.
She stopped in the doorway. Dad spooned up some of the lumpy mess from the bowl and brought it to his lips. He formed a horrified face, stuck his tongue out at the offending cereal, and opened his mouth. In a lightning-quick move, he shoved the spoon in as far as it would go, pulled it out sans oatmeal, then swallowed without chewing. He looked like a two-year-old who’d been warned to clean his plate or forget having dessert.
Sara smiled. She walked into the room, pulled up a chair beside the bed, and sat down. “I’m glad to see you’re eating your breakfast.”
“You’d think a body would need real food in order to get well.” He bit into the muffin.
“Dad, a heart attack does permanent damage. You don’t get well from it. All you can do is manage your life to reduce the risk of another attack.”
“Bah! I know that. Why d’you think I’m even trying to eat this fodder?” Another grimace and a bite of oatmeal followed the muffin.
Sara toyed with the coverlet. “I know, Dad. I know you’re trying. I’m doing the best I can too.”
“No, you’re not,” he accused. “If you’d let Donny handle things, you could be here instead of those dang fool nurses.” He sipped some juice.
