Chapter 4 Guarded Compassion

Karen closed her mouth and eyes, her stomach sinking, if we cancel, how will we make the money we need to pay off the hounds nipping at our heels?

How will I keep my artists off the streets?

Why is this happening?

Watching Karen's face closely, Marcy swallowed hard, finding it difficult to speak but she forced herself to continue, "Think about it Karen, if we move forward and fail, won't it be worse for our creditors and the artists?"

Is she reading my mind? Karen thought. Her eyes widened at Marcy's words.

"And," Marcy continued, her gaze fixed on Karen's hand in hers, "everyone knows about your accident, and they all understand. The artists...that is...Jack and his boys keep coming around but...they know the situation. And...anyway...with your own talent..." Marcy's voice broke off as she suddenly shifted her gaze down to Karen's bandaged right arm.

Tears came to her eyes again, "Your...your own talent is still there, we can bounce back from this." Marcy couldn't hold back her tears and she began sobbing, again.

Karen exhaled and squeezed Marcy's hands again. "It's okay Marce, we will get through this. I have you as well, right? My right-hand lady?" she said smiling gently at Marcy. Marcy looked up, shifted her gaze to Karen's right arm, and burst into fresh tears.

Oh no, wrong choice of words, Karen thought bashfully.

"Seems like those were the wrong choice of words," a deep silky droned voice from the doorway.

Marcy jumped and turned around in her seat, her eyes fell on the intruder and her breath caught in her chest.

Karen looked up at the person who had just entered her room, and her eyes widened, He's back! She exclaims in her mind.

The two women were staring at Taylor Grey, without blinking.

His broad shoulders filled the door frame.

Today, he was dressed like a model. Black shirt, white pants, black outdoor boots, and a soft, black knee-length jacket with many pockets and belt design definitions. He looked like he had just come from a shoot for a stylish outdoor sportsmen's magazine.

His hair was windblown, and his face had a light tan, like someone who spent some time outdoors. From his partly unbuttoned shirt, it was clear that his tan was all over and that his body was used to some physical work.

Taylor stepped forward cautiously, "Hello again," he said carefully, a small smile on his face. It's not reaching his eyes, Karen noticed.

Taylor's gaze was fixed on Karen and Marcy stood up nervously.

"My name is Taylor Grey, I've been looking after you since you got admitted into this hospital," Taylor said, slowly, pronouncing each word clearly.

His eyes were still fixed on Karen alone as he took a few more steps inside the room. He had a strange expression on his face as he approached Karen, a mix of wonder and deep sorrow, a sorrow that seemed out of place there between him and the woman in the bed.

"Why...why would you do that?" Marcy asked cautiously.

"I felt obligated." He replied, his gaze still fixed on Karen.

"Hah? Why would you be obligated to do that Mr....Grey?" Marcy asked surprised, now officially the unofficial spokesperson for Karen. Karen's eyes darted to Marcy and immediately back to Taylor who had now stopped about 4 feet from her bed.

Taylor stopped at the edge of the bed, standing beside Marcy. His expression was difficult to read. He appeared to be battling with something, a decision of some kind.

"Honestly, I'm not sure how to say this, or whether I should say it now...given your condition." He replied, his deep blue eyes with a slight edge to them, steady on Karen's face, unwavering.

"What do you mean?" Karen croaked, finally speaking. "Why are you here?"

"To see the lady who refused my flowers," Taylor replied, softly

Karen blinked at him again, "The lilies?"

"Yes."

"And you are paying for this room? For my expenses?"

"Yes."

"Do you know who hit me?" Karen asked, her voice as hard as her eyes that stared steadily at Taylor. She had overheard his and his father's conversation, but Taylor had no way of knowing this.

Taylor stared at Karen. Their eyes locked in a silent battle.

"...Yes" Taylor replied, his voice dropping an octave lower.

Karen closed her eyes, turning her face back up toward the ceiling.

She didn't say anything more.

Taylor watched her for a few moments, the sad look back on his face, then he exhaled, relaxing his face, and turned to Marcy.

"Marcy Stenson, right?" Taylor said with a small smile on his lips.

"What? Ummm, yes. How did you know?" Marcy asked confused.

"The visitors log, I saw your name there when I checked in," he said, his voice smooth and even.

"Oh," Marcy said, smiling shyly, despite herself, and placing a non-existent strand of hair behind her right ear, she continued, "Yes...you can call me Marcy."

"You've come quite often. Are you two sisters?" Taylor inquired, fixing Marcy with a deep stare.

Marcy laughed nervously, "Ha ha ha, oh no, we're not sisters. Karen is my colleague."

"Oh yes, that's why she referred to you as her..." Taylor stopped, glanced down at Karen's bandaged right arm, and then shifted his gaze back to Marcy. With an apologetic smile on his pretty lips, he gave Marcy a half bow, silently excusing himself from completing his sentence.

Taylor straightened his back and held out his hand to Marcy and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Same here," Marcy responded, smiling shyly at Taylor and shaking his hand.

"Well, I'll leave you to it. I was just checking in briefly." He said, withdrawing his hand and nodding to Marcy.

Taylor glanced back at Karen to take a final look at her before leaving and found her emerald eyes locked on him.

He held her eyes silently, his lips in a tight line, then he turned to Marcy with a small smile and left as silently as he had arrived.

"He's taking care of the bills? Taylor Grey is taking care of your bills? Why?!!" Marcy chirped excitedly, taking Karen's hand in hers again and taking a seat beside her.

"He's the one who hit me," Karen replied, her voice cold, eyes hard as stone, locked on the spot Taylor just left.