Looking up as the doors opened, they dropped their magazines and climbed hastily to their feet.
“Mr. McCafferty?” she asked, though she’d spotted them instantly.
“I’m Matt,” the taller of the two said as if he didn’t recognize her. Maybe that was for the best. Keep the situation as professional as possible. Over six feet, with dark-brown eyes and near-black hair, Matt was dressed in jeans and a Western-cut plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Cowboy boots covered his feet and a stir-stick, chewed flat, was wedged firmly in the corner of his mouth. “This is my brother Slade.”
Again, no hint of recognition lit Slade’s gaze. The youngest of the McCafferty brothers, he’d been tagged as the hellion. He was shorter than Matt by less than an inch and a thin scar jagged down one side of a face distinguished by hawkish features and deep-set, startling blue eyes. Wearing a flannel shirt, faded jeans and beat-up tennis shoes, he shifted nervously from one foot to the other.
“I’m Dr. Stevenson. I was on duty when your sister was brought into the ER.”
“How’s she doin’?” Slade asked anxiously. His eyes narrowed a bit as he looked at her and she realized he’d started the recognition process. It would take a while. It had been years since she’d seen him, her name was different, and there were dozens of women he would have to sift through unless she missed her guess.
She didn’t have time for any of that now. Her job was to allay their fears while explaining about Randi’s condition. “The surgery went well, but your sister was in pretty rough shape when she was brought in, comatose but in labor. Dr. Oliverio delivered your nephew and he seems healthy, though he’ll be given a complete examination by a pediatrician here on staff.
“Randi’s prognosis looks good, barring unforeseen complications, but she’s survived an incredible trauma.” As the brothers listened grimly, Nicole described Randi McCafferty’s injuries—concussion, punctured lung, broken ribs, fractured jaw, nearly shattered femur—the list was long and grave. Concern etched in both brothers’ features, storm clouds gathering in their eyes. Nicole explained the procedures that had been used to repair the damage, using as many lay terms as possible. Matt’s dark skin paled slightly and he winced at one point, looking out the window and chewing the stir-stick until it was thin as parchment. On the other hand, the younger brother, Slade, stared her straight in the face, his jaw clenching, his blue eyes rarely blinking.
As she finished, Slade let out a soft whistle. “Damn it all to hell.”
Matt rubbed the stubble on his chin and stared at her. “But she will make it. Right?”
“Unless she takes a turn for the worse, I think so. There’s always a question with head injuries, but she’s stabilized.”
Slade frowned. “She’s still in a coma.”
“Yes. You understand that I’m the emergency room physician, and other doctors have taken over your sister’s care. Each of them will contact you.”
“When?” Slade demanded.
“As soon as they can.”
She managed a reassuring smile. “I’m going off duty soon. Randi’s other doctors will want to talk to you as well. I came out first because I knew you were anxious.” And because, damn it, I have a personal connection to your family.
“Anxious doesn’t begin to cover it,” Matt said and glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t Thorne be getting here by now?” he asked his brother.
“He said he was on his way.” Slade’s gaze swung back to Nicole. “Our oldest brother.” His eyebrows knit a bit. “He’ll want a full report.”
“No doubt,” she said and Matt’s eyes narrowed. “I knew him. Years ago.”
She could almost see the wheels turning in the McCafferty brothers’ minds, but the situation with their sister was too imminent, too dire, to be distracted.
“But Randi, she’s gonna be okay,” Matt said slowly, doubts shadowing his brown eyes.
“We’re hopeful. As I said, she’s stabilized, but there’s always a question with head injuries.” Nicole wished she could instill more confidence, allay their worries, but couldn’t. “The truth is, it’s gonna be touch-and-go for a while, but she’ll be monitored around the clock.”
“Oh, God,” Slade whispered and the words sounded more like a prayer than a curse.
“I—we appreciate everything you and the other doctors have done.” Matt shot his brother a look meant to silence him. “I just want you to know that whatever she needs, specialists, equipment, whatever, we want her to have it.”
“She does,” Nicole said firmly. In her estimation the staff, facilities and equipment at St. James were excellent, the best she’d seen in a town the size of Grand Hope.
“And the baby? You said he’s okay, right?” Matt asked.
“He seems fine, but he’s being observed for any signs of trauma. He’s in pediatric ICU, as a precaution for the next few hours, just to make sure that he’s strong. From all outward appearances, he’s healthy and hale, we’re just being doubly cautious especially since your sister was in labor and her water had broken before she got to the hospital. Dr. Oliverio will have more details and of course the pediatrician will get in touch with you as well.”
“Damn,” Slade whispered while Matt stood silent and stern.
“When can we see Randi?” Matt asked.
“Soon. She’s still in Recovery. Once she’s settled in ICU and her doctors are satisfied with her condition, she can have visitors—just immediate family—for a few minutes a day. One at a time. Again, her physician will let you know.”
Matt nodded and Slade’s fist clenched, but neither argued. Both brothers’ jaws were square and set, the McCafferty resemblance impossible to ignore.
“You have to understand that Randi’s comatose. She won’t respond to you until she wakes up and I don’t know when that will be—oh, here we go. One of Randi’s doctors.” Spying Dr. Oliverio walking down the hallway, Nicole took a few minutes to introduce the McCafferty brothers, then, excusing herself, made her way to her office.
It was a small room with one window. It barely had enough space for her desk and file cabinet. She usually transcribed her own notes and after shrugging out of her lab coat, flipped on the computer and spent nearly a half an hour at the keyboard writing a report on Randi McCafferty. As she finished, she reached for the phone. Dialing her home number by rote, she massaged the back of her neck and heard the strains of piped-in music for the first time since she’d walked into the hospital hours before.
“Hello?” Jenny Riley answered on the second ring. Jenny, a student at a local community college, watched Nicole’s twins while she worked.
“Hi. It’s Nicole. Just wanted to know what was going on. I’ll be outta here in about—” she checked her watch and sighed “—probably another hour. Anything I should pick up on the way?”
“How about a ray or two of sunshine for Molly?” Jenny quipped. “She’s been in a bad mood ever since she woke up from her nap.”
“Has she?” Nicole grinned as she leaned back in her chair so far that it squeaked in protest. Molly, more precocious than her twin sister, was known to wake up grumpy while Mindy, the shier half of the two girls, always smiled, even when rousted from a nap.
“The worst.”
“Am not!” a tiny, impertinent voice disagreed.
“Sure you are, but I love you anyway,” Jenny said, her voice softer as she turned away from the phone.
“Am not the worst!”
Still grinning, Nicole rested a foot on her desk and sighed. The struggles of the day melted away when she thought of her daughters, two four-year-old dynamos who kept her running, the reasons she’d stayed sane after her divorce.
“Tell them I’ll bring home pizza if they’re good.” She listened as Jenny relayed the message and heard a squeal of delight.
“They’re pumped now,” Jenny assured her and Nicole laughed just as there was a sharp rap on the door before it was pushed open abruptly. A tall man—maybe six foot three or four—nearly
filled the frame. Her heart plummeted as she recognized Thorne.
“Dr. Stevenson?” he demanded, his face set and stern before recognition flared in his eyes and for the briefest of seconds she saw regret chase across his face.
“Look, Jenny, I’ve got to go,” she said into the receiver as she hung up slowly, righted her chair and dropped her feet to the floor.
“Nikki?” he said, disbelieving.
Nicole stood but on her side of the desk, her barely five-foot-three-inch frame no match for his height. “Dr. Stevenson now.”
“You’re Randi’s doctor?”
“The ER physician who admitted her.” Why, after all the time that had passed and all the pain, did she still feel a ridiculous flutter of disappointment that he hadn’t, in all the years since she’d last seen him, ever looked her up? It was silly. Stupid. Beyond naive. And it had no business here; not when his sister was fighting for her life. “I’m not her doctor, you understand. I helped stabilize her for surgery, then the team took over, but I did stop to speak with your brothers out of courtesy because I knew they’d been waiting a long time and the surgeons were still wrapping things up.”
“I see.” Thorne’s handsome face had aged over the years. No longer were any vestiges of boyhood visible. His features were set and stern, matched only by the severity of his black suit, crisp white shirt and tie—the mark of a CEO of his own little empire. “I didn’t know—didn’t expect to find you here.”
“I imagine not.”
His eyes, a deep, troubled gray, held hers in a gaze that she knew was often daunting but now seemed weary and worried sick. “Did you see your brothers in ICU?” Nicole asked.
“I came directly here. Slade called, said a Dr. Stevenson was in charge, so when I got here, I asked for you at the information desk.” As if reading the questions in her eyes, he added, “I wanted to know what I was dealing with before I saw Randi.”
“Fair enough.” She waved him into the office and motioned to the small plastic chair on the other side of the desk. “Have a seat. I’ll tell you what I know, then you can talk to Randi’s other doctors about her prognosis.” As she reached for her lab coat, she leveled a gaze at him that had been known to shrink even the cockiest of interns. She wanted him to understand. She was no longer the needy little girl he’d dated, seduced and tossed aside. “But I think we should get something straight right now. As you can see this is my private office. Usually people knock, then wait for an answer, before they come barging in.”
His jaw tightened. “I was in a hurry. But—fine. Next time I’ll remember.”
Oh, Thorne, there’s never gonna be a next time. “Good.”
“So she’s in ICU?” Thorne asked.
“Yes.” Nicole sketched out the details of Randi’s emergency arrival to St. James, her conditions and the ensuing procedures. Thorne listened, his expression solemn, his gray eyes never leaving her face.
Once she was finished, he asked a few quick questions, loosened his tie and said, “Let’s go.”
“To ICU? Both of us?”
“Yes.” He was on his feet.
Nicole bristled a bit, ready to fight fire with fire until she spied the hint of pain in his gaze and a twinge of some other emotion that bordered on guilt.
“I suppose I can do that,” she agreed, hazarding a glance at her watch. She was running late, but being behind schedule came with the territory. As did dealing with worried relatives of her patients. “Let me make sure she’s out of Recovery first.” Nicole made a quick phone call, discovered that Randi had been transferred and explained that she and the patient’s brother were on their way. For the duration of the short conversation she felt the weight of Thorne McCafferty’s gaze upon her and she wondered if he remembered anything about the relationship that had changed the course of her life. Probably not. Once his initial shock at recognizing her had worn off, he was all business. “Okay,” she said, hanging up. “All set. Matt and Slade have already seen Randi and the nurse on duty wasn’t crazy about a third visitor, but I persuaded her.”
“Are my brothers still here?”
“I don’t know. They told the nurse they’d be back but didn’t say when.” She adjusted her lab coat and rounded the desk. He had the manners to hold the door for her and as they swept down the hallways he kept up with her fast pace, his long strides equal to two of hers. She’d forgotten that about him. But then she’d tried to erase every memory she’d ever had of him.
A foot taller than she, intimidating and forceful, Thorne walked the same way he faced life—with a purpose. She wondered if he’d ever had a frivolous moment in his life. Years before, she’d realized that even those stolen hours with her had been all a part of Thorne’s plan.
At the elevator, Nicole waited as a gurney carrying a frail-looking elderly woman connected to an IV drip was pushed into the hallway by an aide, then she stepped inside. The doors shut. She and Thorne were alone. For the first time in years. He stood ramrod stiff beside her and if he noticed the intimacy of the elevator car, he didn’t show it. His face was set, his shoulders square, his gaze riveted to the panel displaying the floor numbers.
Silly as it was, Nicole couldn’t remember having ever been so uncomfortable.
The elevator jerked to a stop and as they walked through the carpeted hallways, Thorne finally broke the silence. “On the telephone, Slade mentioned something about Randi not making it.”
“There’s always that chance when injuries are as severe as your sister’s.” They’d reached the doors of the Intensive Care Unit and she, reminding herself to remain professional at all times, angled her head upward to stare straight into his steel-colored eyes. “But she’s young and strong, getting the best medical care we can provide, so there’s no need to borrow trouble, or voice your concerns around your sister. She’s comatose, yes, but we don’t know what she does or doesn’t hear or feel. Please, for her sake, keep all your worries and doubts to yourself.” He seemed about to protest and by instinct, Nicole reached forward and touched his hand, her fingers encountering skin that was hard and surprisingly callused. “We’re doing everything we can, Thorne,” she said and half expected him to pull away. “Your sister’s fighting for her life. I know you want what’s best for her, so whenever you’re around her, I want you to be positive, nurturing and supportive. Okay?”
He nodded curtly but his lips tightened a bit. He wasn’t and never had been used to taking orders or advice—not from anyone. “Any questions?”
“Just one,” he said slowly.
“What?”
“My sister is important to me. Very important. You know that. So I want to be assured that she’s getting the best medical care that money can buy. That means the best hospital, the best staff, and especially the best doctor.”
Realizing she was still holding his hand, she let go and felt a welling sense of disappointment. It wasn’t the first time her ability had been questioned and certainly wouldn’t be the last, but for some reason she had hoped that Thorne McCafferty would trust her and her dedication. “What are you trying to say?” she asked.
“I need to know that the people here, the doctors assigned to Randi’s care are the best in the country—or the whole damned world for that matter.”
Self-impressed, rich, corporate bastard.
“That’s what everyone wants for their loved ones, Thorne.”
“The difference is,” he said, “I can afford it.”
Her heart sank. Why had she thought she recognized a bit of tenderness in his eyes? Foolish, foolish, idealistic woman. “I’m a damned good doctor, Thorne. So are the others here. This hospital has won awards. It’s small but attracts the best, I can personally assure you of that. Doctors who have once practiced in major cities from Atlanta to Seattle, New York to L.A., have ended up here because they were tired of the rat race....” She let her words sink in and wished she’d just bitten her tongue. Thorne could think whatever he damn well pleased.
“Let’s go inside.
Now, remember, keep it positive and when I say time’s up, don’t argue. Just leave. You can see her again tomorrow.” She waited, but he didn’t offer any response or protest, just clenched his jaw so hard a muscle jumped. “Got it?” she asked.
“Got it.”
“Then we’ll get along just fine,” she said, but she didn’t believe it for a minute. Some things didn’t change and she and Thorne McCafferty were like oil and water—they would never mix; never agree.
She pressed a button and placed her face in the window so that a nurse inside could see her, then waited to be admitted. As the electronic doors hummed open, she felt Thorne’s gaze center on the back of her neck beneath the upsweep of her hair. Without making a sound, he followed her inside. She wondered how long he’d obey the hospital’s and the doctor’s terms.
The answer, she knew, was blindingly simple.
Not long enough.
Thorne McCafferty hadn’t changed. He was the type of man who played by his own rules.
Chapter 2
Oh, God, this couldn’t be Randi. Thorne gazed down at the small, inert form lying on the bed and he felt sick inside—weak. Tubes and wires ran from her body to monitors and equipment with gauges and digital readouts that he didn’t understand. Her head was wrapped in gauze, her body draped in sterile-looking sheets, one leg elevated and surrounded by a partial cast. The portions of her face that he could see were bruised and swollen.
His throat was thick with emotion as he stood in the tiny sheet-draped cubicle that opened at the foot of the bed to the nurses’ station. His fists clenched impotently, and a quiet, damning rage burned through his soul. How could this have happened? What was she doing up at Glacier Park? Why had her vehicle slid off the road?
The heart monitor beeped softly and steadily yet he wasn’t reassured as he stared down at this stranger who was his half sister. A dozen memories darted wildly through his mind and though at one time, when she was first born, he’d been envious and resentful of his father’s namesake, he’d never been able to really dislike her.