Angel Falling Read Free

eyes. “I said his name is Hank Jensen. He owns Jensen Construction.”
    “Hank?” The name rolled off my tongue and ended with a sharp click. It suited him.
    “Yeah, Hank the Hunk,” Oliver laughed. “Look at the picture from his badge entry photo.” He handed me the image. Though he looked handsome in the photo, my memory of him was better, only tarnished by the pain I saw in his eyes.
    Oliver was right. The man was attractive, in a rugged manly-man way. His hair was dark, full, and thick. Even white teeth stretched into a forced smile. Subtle green eyes complimented his tanned skin. Made me curious as to what color the skin was under the T-shirt he wore for the picture. Would he have a hokey farmer’s tan?I wondered if I would ever know the answer to that question. Probably not.
    “Where did you say Mr. Jensen was from?”
    “Texas. It says here on his background check that he owns several acres of land. According to Google Earth, it looks like a ranch. Oh, color me pretty — he’s a cowboy. I love cowboys!” Oliver fiddled with his phone and flipped it over to show me a large green expanse of land.
    “You love men .” I snaked the phone from his hands to get a better look and was surprised by the beauty of the lush landscapes. Ranches always seemed like they’d be full of dirt and cows, like in a western movie featuring John Wayne, not something right out of The Sound of Music . The land highlighted rolling green hills with more trees than could be counted and a creek that ran alongside the property line.
    “No. Correction my dear, I love beautiful men. Cowboys make me tingle, though.” He fanned his hands in front of his face as if he were having a hot flash.
    “Did you get me the information I need to gain access to Mr. Jensen? I have to know that he will be okay. Also, what did Legal say?”
    “I can get you access, but it’s going to cost you.”
    “Oliver, everyone has a price.” I grinned and looked at him sideways. “What’s the price?”
    “Well, on the way over I called the Dean of Medicine and told her the situation, expressed your concern and your interest in the patient’s well-being.”
    “Get to the point, Ollie.”
    “Alright, alright. You’re going to have to make a hefty charitable donation.”
    “Done. How much?”
    “Well, they need some new machines … ”
    “How much?” My patience was wearing thin and Oliver could tell.
    “One hundred.” He looked away and stiffened.
    “Fine. Have my accountant cut the check. This man saved my life …” My eyes started to tear up but I fended off the waterworks by standing and adjusting my shoulders. “Who do we need to see?”
    “Excuse me, Ms. Reynolds?” A redheaded woman in an ugly suit that was too big for her petite frame approached us.
    “Yes, I’m Ms. Reynolds. And you are?”
    She held her hand out to shake mine. “Jane Maxwell, Dean of Medicine. I’m sorry we’re meeting under these circumstances.” Her eyes were warm and sincere. Then again, when you were about to be gifted one hundred thousand dollars, a personal visit from the Dean could be expected.
    I cut right to the point. “This is my assistant, Oliver. He will be taking care of making a one-hundred-thousand-dollar donation on my behalf.” There was no reason to waste time. Time that could be spent making sure Hank Jensen survived.
    “Oh, my! We can’t thank you enough.” Her eyes and smile seemed proportionately large on her round face. “A gift of that size will do wonders for our children’s oncology division.”
    I looked over at Oliver, a questioning eyebrow pointed as high as the sky. He looked away, face beet red. He had lied. The woman never gave an amount to him by phone. Probably never mentioned a donation either. He just wanted me to donate to the children’s ward. Oliver had been a leukemia survivor as a child and was always dragging me to events related to cancer and children. Sneaky.
    “Happy to help, Ms. Maxwell. Now, if you