by Lisa Jackson
For the most part, he’d come up dry. “So no one’s figured out why Randi was back in Montana?” he said, tossing a forkful of hay into the manger. A white-faced heifer plunged her broad nose into the hay.
“I called around this afternoon while you were at the hospital.” The three brothers had visited their sister individually and checked in on their new nephew. Thorne had hoped to run into Nicole. He hadn’t.
“What did you find out?”
“Diddly-squat.” Another bale dropped from above. Slade swung down as well, landing next to Thorne and wincing at the jolt in his bad leg. His limp was still as noticeable as the red line that ran from his temple to his chin, compliments of a skiing accident that had nearly taken his life, though the scars on the outside of his face were far less damaging than those that, Thorne imagined, cut through his soul. “I talked to several people at the Seattle Clarion where she wrote her column, whatever the hell it is.” Slade yanked a pitchfork from its resting place on the wall.
“Advice to the lovelorn,” Thorne supplied. Drops of frigid rain drizzled down the small windows and a wind, screaming of winter, tore through the valley.
“It’s a lot more than that,” Matt said defensively. “It’s general advice to single people. Things like legal issues, divorce settlements, raising kids alone, dealing with grief and new relationships, juggling time around career and kids, budgeting…hell, I don’t know.”
“Sounds like you do,” Thorne said, realizing that Matt had maintained a stronger relationship with their half sister than he had. But then that hadn’t been difficult.
“I take a paper that prints her column. It’s been syndicated, y’know. Picked up by a few independents as far away as Chicago.”
“Is that right?” Thorne felt a sharp jab of guilt. What did he know about his sister? Not much.
“Yeah, she adds her own touch—her quirky humor—and it sells.”
“Since when did she become an expert?” Slade wanted to know.
“Beats me.” Matt scratched the stubble on his chin. “Looks like she could’ve used some pearls of wisdom herself.”
Thorne kicked at a bale, causing it to split open. Why hadn’t Randi come to him, explained about the baby, confided in him if her life wasn’t going well? His back teeth ground together and he reminded himself that maybe she didn’t know things weren’t on track, maybe this baby was planned. “Okay, so what else did you find out?” he asked, refusing to wallow in a sea of guilt.
Slade lifted a shoulder. “Not a hell of a lot. Her co-workers, of course, all figured out she was pregnant. She couldn’t really hide it. But none of them admitted to knowing the father’s name.”
“You think they’re lying?” Thorne asked.
“Not that I could tell.”
“Great.”
“No one even thinks she was dating anyone seriously.”
“Looks serious enough to me,” Matt grumbled.
Slade reached across the manger and pushed one cow’s white face to the side so a smaller animal could wedge her nose into the hay. “Move, there,” he commanded, though the beast didn’t so much as flick her ears. Wiping his hand on the bleached denim of his jeans, he said, “Randi’s editor, Bill Withers, said that she’d planned to take a three-month maternity leave, but he’d assumed she’d stay in town, because she told him that as soon as she was on her feet and she and the baby were settled in, she was going to work out of her condominium. She had enough columns written ahead that they’ll run for a few weeks. Then, she’d be back at it again, though she didn’t plan to start going into the office until after the first of the year.”
“So there was no trouble at work?”
“None that anyone is saying, but I get the feeling that there was more going on than anyone’s willing to admit.”
“Par for the course. Reporters, they’re always ready to snoop into anyone else’s business—they’ve already been calling here, you know. But ask them about what they know and all of a sudden the First Amendment becomes the Bible.” Matt snorted and picked up the used strands of baling twine. “Does anyone at her office know anything about her accident?”
“Nope.” Slade dusted his hands. “They were shocked. Especially the ones she was supposedly closest to. Sarah Peeples, who writes movie reviews gasped and nearly fell through the floor, from the sound of her end of the conversation. She couldn’t believe that Randi was in the hospital and Dave Delacroix, he’s a guy who writes a sports column for the paper, thought I was playing some kind of practical joke. Then once he figured out I was on the level, he got angry. Demanded answers. So, basically, I drew blanks.”
“It’s a start,” Thorne said as they finished up. The wheels had been turning in his mind from the moment he’d heard about Randi’s accident; now it was time to put some kind of plan into action. Slade forked the last wisps of hay into the manger. “I’ll catch up with you,” he said as he traded his pitchfork for a broom. “Pour me a drink.”
“Will do.” Thorne followed Matt outside and dashed through rain cold enough that he knew winter was in the air.
Once in the house again, Matt built another fire from last night’s embers and Thorne poured them each a drink. As they waited for Slade, they sipped their father’s Scotch and worried aloud about their headstrong sister and wondering how they would take care of a newborn.
“The problem is, none of us know much about Randi’s life,” Thorne said as he capped the bottle.
“I think that’s the way she wanted it. We can beat ourselves up one side and down the other for not being a part of her life, but that was Randi’s choice. Remember?”
How could he forget? At their father’s funeral in May, Randi had been inconsolable, refusing any outward show of emotion from her brothers, preferring to stand in an oversize, gauzy black dress apart from the rest of the family, while a young preacher, who knew very little of the man in the coffin, prayed solemnly. Most of the townspeople of Grand Hope came to the service to pay their respects.
She had to have been four months pregnant at the time. Thorne would never have guessed as they paid their last respects on the hillside. But then he’d been lost in his own black thoughts, the ring his father had given him the summer before hidden deep in his pocket.
John Randall hadn’t been a churchgoing man. Under the circumstances, the young minister whose eulogy had been from notes he’d taken the day earlier, had done a decent enough job asking that the blackheart’s soul be accepted into heaven. Thorne wasn’t certain God had made such a huge exception.
“Randi’s kept her life pretty private.”
“Haven’t we all?” Matt remarked.
“Maybe it’s time to change all that.” Thorne ran a hand through the thin layer of dust that had collected on the mantel.
“Agreed.” Matt lifted his glass and nodded.
The front door banged open. A gust of cold wind blew through the hallway and Slade, wiping the rain from his face, hitched himself into the living room. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over the back of the couch.
“Any word on Randi?” Making his way across the braided rug, Slade found an old-fashioned glass in the cupboard and without much fanfare, poured himself a long drink from the rapidly diminishing bottle of Scotch.
“Not yet. But I’ll check the answering machine.” Matt crossed the room and disappeared down the hallway leading to the den.
“She’d better pull out of this,” Slade said, as if to himself. The youngest of the three brothers, Slade was also the wildest. He’d left a trail of broken hearts from Mexico to Canada, if rumors were to be believed and never had really settled down. While Matt had his own ranch, a small spread near the Idaho border, Slade had put down no roots and probably never would. He’d done everything from race cars, to ride rodeo, and do stunt work in films. The scar running down one side of
his face was testament to his hard, reckless lifestyle and Thorne had, at times, wondered if the youngest McCafferty son harbored some kind of death wish.
Slade stood in front of the fire and warmed the backs of his legs. “What’re we gonna do about the baby?”
“We take care of him until Randi’s able.”
“Then we’d better get this place ready,” Slade observed.
“The orthopedist called earlier,” Matt said, entering the room. “As soon as some of the swelling has gone down and Randi’s out of critical condition, he’ll take care of her leg.”
“Good. I put a call in to Nicole. I want to meet with her so that she can tell me about Randi’s doctors and her prognosis, rehab, that sort of thing.”
“Nicole?” Matt replied, his eyes narrowing as if struck by a sudden memory. “You know she mentioned that you knew each other, but I’d forgotten that you were an item.”
“It was only a few weeks,” Thorne clarified.
Slade rubbed the back of his neck. “I hardly remember it.”
“Because you were off racing cars and chasing women on the stock car circuit,” Matt said. “You weren’t around much when Thorne got out of college and was heading to law school. It was that summer, right?”
“Part of the summer.”
Slade shook his head. “Let me guess, you dumped her for some other long-legged plaything.”
“There was no other woman,” Thorne snapped, surprised at the anger surging through his blood.
“No, you just had to go out and prove to Dad and God and anyone else who would listen that you could make it on your own without J. Randall’s help.”
“It was a long time ago,” Thorne muttered. “Right now we’ve got to concentrate on Randi.”
“And that’s why you called Dr. Stevenson?” Obviously Matt wasn’t buying it.
“Of course.” Thorne sat on the arm of the leather couch and knew he was lying, not only to his brothers but to himself. It was more than just wanting to discuss Randi’s condition with her; he wanted to see Nicole again, be with her. The strange part of it was, ever since seeing her again, he wanted to see more of her. “Now, listen,” he said to his brothers. “Something we’ll have to deal with and pronto is finding out who the father is.”
“That’s gonna be tough considerin’ Randi’s condition.” Slade rested a shoulder against the mantel and folded his arms over his chest. “Just how long you plannin’ on stickin’ around, city boy?”
“As long as it takes.”
“Aren’t there some big deals in Denver and Laramie and wherever the hell else you own property—things you need to oversee?”
Thorne resisted being baited and managed a guarded grin, the kind Slade so often gave the rest of the world. “I can oversee them from here.”
“How?”
“By the fine art of telecommunication. I’ll set up a fax, modem, Internet connection, cell phone and computer in the den.”
Matt rubbed his chin. “Thought you hated it here. Except for a few times like that summer after you graduated from college you’ve avoided this ranch like the plague. Ever since Dad and Mom split, you’ve spent as little time here as possible.”
Thorne couldn’t argue the fact. “Randi needs me—us.”
Matt added wood to the fire and switched on a lamp. “Okay, I think we need a game plan,” Thorne said.
“Let me guess, you’ll be the quarterback, just like in high school,” Slade said.
Thorne’s temper snapped. “Let’s just work together, okay? It’s not about calling the shots so much as getting the job done.”
“Okay.” Matt nodded. “I’ll be in charge of the ranch. I’ve already talked to a couple of guys who will help out.”
Slade walked to the couch and picked up his jacket. “Good enough. Matt should run the place, he’s used to it and I’ll pitch in if we need an extra hand. Thorne, why don’t you give Juanita a call? Maybe she can help with the baby. She’s had some experience raising McCaffertys, after all, she helped Dad with us.”
“Good idea, as we’ll need round-the-clock help,” Thorne decided.
“We’ll get it. Now, the way I think I can help best is by concentrating on finding out all I can about what was going on in our sister’s life, especially in the past year or so. I have a friend who’s a private investigator. For the right price, he’ll help us out,” Slade said.
“Is he any good?” Thorne asked.
Slade’s expression turned dark. “If anyone can find out what’s going on, it’ll be Kurt Striker. I’d bet my life on it.”
“You’re sure?”
Slade’s gaze could’ve cut through steel. “I said, I’d bet my life on it. I meant that. Literally.”
“Call him,” Thorne said, persuaded by his usually cynical brother’s conviction.
“Already have.”
Thorne was surprised that Slade had already started the ball rolling. “I want to talk to him.”
“You will.”
“I’ll keep on top of the doctors at the hospital,” Thorne said. “I’ll can do most of my business here by phone, fax and e-mail, so I won’t have to go back to Denver for a while.”
Matt held his gaze for a long second and for the first time in his life Thorne realized that his middle brother didn’t approve of his lifestyle. Not that it really mattered. “Then let’s just get through this,” Matt finally said, as if he suddenly trusted Thorne again, as he had a long time before.
“We will.”
“As long as Randi cooperates,” Slade said.
“She’s a fighter.” Thorne’s reaction was swift and he recognized the irony of his words. Phrases such as she’s really strong, she’ll make it, or she’s too ornery to die, or she’s a fighter, were hollow words, expressed by people who usually doubted their meaning. They were uttered to chase away the person’s own fears.
“Look, I’m going to take inventory of the feed,” Matt said.
“I’ll check the gas pump, see what’s in the tank.” Slade snagged his jacket with one finger and the two younger brothers headed for the front door.
Thorne watched them through the window. Slade paused to light a cigarette on the porch while Matt jogged across the lot, disappearing into the barn again.
As kids they’d been through a lot together; depended upon each other, but as men, they’d gone about their own lives. Thorne had become the businessman, first law school and a stint with a firm before branching out on his own. His father had been right. He’d wanted to prove himself and the measure of a man’s success, he’d always thought, was the size of his bank account.
For the first time in his life he wondered if he’d been wrong. Thinking of Randi battling death and her newborn son just starting his life gave him pause as he walked down the hallway where family portraits graced the walls. There were pictures of his father and mother, his stepmother and all four McCafferty children. Thorne in his high school football uniform and his graduation cap and gown, Matt riding a bucking bronco in a local rodeo, Slade skiing down a steep mountain and Randi in her prom dress, standing next to some boy Thorne couldn’t begin to name. He stopped, touched that framed photo and silently vowed that he’d do anything, anything to make sure she was healthy again. He’d heat a cup of coffee, then call Nicole. She might have more news on his sister. That was the only reason he was calling her, he reminded himself as he walked into the kitchen and snapped on the lights. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his reflection in the windows. For a split second he imagined a mite of a woman with wide gold eyes and a fleeting smile at his side, then pulled himself up short.
What was he thinking? Nicole was Randi’s ER admitting physician and that was it. Nothing more. Yet, ever since he’d first seen her in her office at the hospital, her heels propped on her desk, and her
chair leaned back as she cradled the phone between her ear and shoulder, he hadn’t been able to force her from his mind. It hadn’t helped that when he’d caught up with her in the parking lot, he’d seen her not as Randi’s doctor, but as a woman—a beautiful, bright and articulate woman. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from kissing her and he’d been thinking about it off and on ever since. Nicole Sanders Stevenson was all grown-up, educated and self-confident—more intriguing now than she had been as a girl of seventeen. Despite her small stature she was a force to be reckoned with—way too much trouble for any man.
And yet…
The wall phone jangled. Snapped out of the ridiculous path of his thoughts, he grabbed the receiver on the second ring. “McCafferty ranch,” he said. “Thorne McCafferty.”
“So you are there!” a sharp female voice accused, and Thorne envisioned Annette’s pretty face in a scowl. He’d dated her for a few months, but had never really connected with her. “What in the world happened? We were supposed to meet the mayor last night!” Annette’s tone brought him up sharp and he gave himself a quick mental shake. He’d never called her. Never once thought of her after leaving his office yesterday.
“There was a family emergency.”
“So you couldn’t pick up a phone? You have a cell phone and you’re on one right now…oh, listen, I don’t mean to go off on you.” She took in a deep, audible breath. “Your secretary told me that your half sister was in some kind of wreck and I’m sorry for her, I really am. I hope she’s okay…?”
“She’s in a coma.”
“Oh, God.” There was another long, weighty pause. “Well, I, um, understand, I really do. Dear Lord, how awful. I know you had to get back there in a hurry, Thorne. That’s understandable and I made your apologies to my father and the mayor, but it seems to me that you could have called me yourself.”
