Kathleen O'Brien - The Rancher's Dream

Crimson had sent word she’d be there, and she was.

To his surprise, though, she was deep in conversation with another female, a teenager, he’d guess, and a bottle blonde. The two huddled together in adjoining chairs by the far wall, talking in low tones even though they were the only two people in the room.

They both looked up as Grant entered. Only then did he see that the blonde had a black eye, a swollen upper lip and a bandage across the bridge of her nose.

“Grant!” Crimson rose jerkily. “Is there news?”

He shook his head. “Nothing since I sent the note around nine.”

She nodded. “Thanks for that. No one would tell me anything.”

He’d figured as much. A couple of weeks ago, when Kevin had learned that his new law firm would be sending him overseas periodically, he’d filled out forms naming Grant his official healthcare surrogate and the emergency guardian for Molly.

It was a sudden outburst of practicality, which, frankly, had been a shocker. In their college days, Kevin had been the least sensible person Grant knew.

Of course, he hadn’t seen Kevin in years, so maybe he’d grown out of that long ago. Working with the law could make you overly cautious. And fatherhood changed even the craziest frat boys.

Grant knew that, too.

So now Grant got all the medical updates. Crimson, who had no official standing, couldn’t force the doctors to admit Kevin existed, much less that he lay in one of these rooms, unconscious.

“They may move him to Montrose in a day or two,” Grant said, uncertain whether he’d included that in his note. The painkillers they’d given him were powerful, and a lot of tonight was a blur. “They don’t have neurosurgeons here in Silverdell. The brain scan looks normal, and he does respond to light and stimulus...”

He let the sentence drift off. He’d included the details to provide hope, but even he wasn’t sure what they meant. Clearly the doctors weren’t sure, either. All they were certain of was that Kevin wasn’t brain-dead, and therefore he would probably require a higher level of care.

Crimson nodded silently. She didn’t look shocked, so he assumed his note had covered the basics well enough. But she did look grave. She must hate the idea of Kevin being moved—it would be harder to get to Montrose, which was about an hour away from Silverdell.

On the other hand, she would want him to get the best care possible. Poor Crimson. Her emotions clearly were a heavy weight to carry. Her hazel eyes, normally lit with both intelligence and mischief, were dulled with grief and fear.

Without ever meeting Grant’s gaze, the mystery girl standing next to Crimson fidgeted with her purse strap. She tentatively touched Crimson’s arm.

“I probably should go. Rory’s waiting for me downstairs, and he has to work in the morning.”

Crimson frowned, but even the frown was blunted. When she didn’t agree with something, she ordinarily zapped you hard. Now, though, her voice was softly troubled. “Becky, Rory isn’t—”

“It’s okay!” The girl smiled so brightly it looked out of place here, in the dim, hushed chill of a hospital waiting room at midnight. “He’ll watch out for me. After I fell, he practically carried me to the hospital. Honestly. I stumble on one wet staircase, and suddenly he thinks I can’t walk without tripping over my own feet.”

Crimson shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She swayed slightly. Grant wondered whether she might collapse right there. He’d never seen her look so dead-dog tired.

She opened her eyes. “You still have my card?”

The girl nodded, never letting the smile drop. “Sure do! Thanks. Pretty crazy, huh, both of us showing up here tonight?” She transferred the high-wattage beam to Grant. “Good to meet you,” she said, though she hadn’t. “Glad you’re okay!”

Wiggling her fingers in a goodbye better suited to friends parting at the dance club, she left.

Grant went over to where Crimson stood. She’d let her shoulder drop against the wall as if she needed the support. Beside her, through the window, he saw flashes of silver, which made the ugly metallic rooftop air handlers look almost pretty.

“It’s still raining.” He was surprised, though he wasn’t sure why. Silverdell springs could be wet as hell. But he felt as if he’d been inside this hospital for days, instead of hours.

“It’s okay. I drive pretty well in the rain.”

Right. He’d have to leave the driving to her, wouldn’t he? He wasn’t even sure his sprained right ankle would be capable of making the transition from gas to brake—and the last thing they needed was another accident.

He almost asked her where her car was parked—but he remembered in the nick of time. She didn’t have a car anymore. They’d towed it to the junk lot down by Mark’s garage on the south side of town, waiting to be crushed, no doubt.

And suddenly, like a tsunami, all the practical details of this mess rushed into his head. None of it had seemed to matter earlier, when he’d been focused on Kevin’s condition and on persuading the doctors to let him go home.

But it mattered now. Thanks to that fool tourist, who had been texting when he should have been watching the road, Crimson was in a fix—and so was he.

What was he going to do with Molly? He couldn’t tend to a baby with only one good hand.

He couldn’t tend to a baby. Period.

“Hell.” He frowned, getting a sudden glimpse of the long list of things he wasn’t going to be able to do one-handed. It stretched from the profoundly important, like grooming, feeding and training his horses, to the ridiculously trivial, like buttoning his jeans and squeezing toothpaste onto his own toothbrush. “I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

His cell phone chose that moment to buzz at him. Clumsily, he dug around in his pocket with his left hand, barely managing to extricate the thing before it was too late.

He answered without looking at the caller ID, because he didn’t have time. Just his luck. It was Ginny.

And apparently, she’d heard about the accident.

“Honey, are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” He wondered why they were back to honey . He’d been so relieved when she broke up with him. Surely she wasn’t going to try to patch things up now.

Crimson was staring at him, her face set as if she feared it might be bad news, so he smiled a little and shook his head to set her mind at ease. “My arm’s broken,” he explained into the phone, “and I’m on some serious painkillers, but I’m alive.”

He winced when he heard himself say that . I’m alive, but Kevin ...

“Are you still at the hospital? Let me come get you. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

Instinctively, he began to protest. “No, really. I’m fine. I know you decided we should take a break, and just because I’ve had an accident, you shouldn’t—”

“I want to! You know I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch!”

“Listen, Ginny.” He was suddenly so tired he wasn’t sure how much longer he could string words together. “I’m fine. I don’t need any help.”

“What about the baby? If your arm is broken, you’ll need someone to help with the baby, surely. Diapers? Feeding?”

She was right, of course. He would desperately need help with all that. But he’d learn to change diapers with his toes before he’d put Molly in the Ginny’s care. The breakup over late-night wailing was only the last in a long line of small indications that Ginny wasn’t fond of babies.

He glanced at Crimson. Maybe something in his face alerted her to the problem. Or maybe she had just put two and two together from his end of the conversation.

She raised her eyebrows and tapped her index finger against her collarbone. “Me,” she mouthed. She held her elbows out, cupped one hand behind the other and mimicked rocking a baby. “Me.”