by Lisa Jackson
“Yes. Thank you.” No words were spoken but a moment of understanding passed between them. Maureen wouldn’t embarrass her by stating the obvious: that Thorne was dating other women while he was seeing Nicole, and Nicole didn’t have to make excuses or defend him. The thread of friendship—the woman-bond—between Maureen and Nicole ran too deep for that kind of false pride. They were more than colleagues, more than friends. They belonged to an unspoken sisterhood of single women raising families.
“You can have it.”
“Good.”
Her pager went off and Nicole read the message—a code that she needed to be in the ER. At the same time Maureen’s beeper caught her attention.
“Gotta run,” Nicole said.
“Me, too. I’ll meet you in the ER.”
On her feet in an instant, Nicole tucked the damning newspaper under her arm. What did she expect? Of course Thorne dated other women. He probably had one in every city where he did work. The thought made her stomach turn over. Why, oh, for the love of God, why did she let herself fall in love with him?
At the elevators Nicole gave herself a quick mental shake. She couldn’t be worrying about Thorne or wondering about him or pining over him. She had work to do. Important work. She climbed onto the elevator car, pushed the button for the main floor and once on ground level, swept through the doors to the ER.
“What’ve we got?” she asked, pulling on a pair of disposable gloves as Maureen appeared through a side door. Tension crackled in the air.
“Plane crash, just outside of town. Some idiot was trying to fly a private jet in this mess,” a nurse said as she hung up the phone. “Close enough that he’s coming in by ambulance.”
“How many injured?” Nicole asked.
“Just the pilot, I think.”
“And he’s alive?”
“As far as I know.”
“Lucky stiff.”
At that moment the sound of sirens split the air. “Okay, people, let’s get to work!”
The ambulance, siren screaming, roared into the parking lot. Tires and chains squealed. Two paramedics flew out of the back. A police car—lights flashing in red and blue—skidded in behind the ambulance. As the patient was wheeled inside, two deputies from the sheriff’s department stormed in.
“What have we got here?” Nicole asked.
“Thirty-nine-year-old man, unconscious, head injuries, broken femur, blood pressure stable at…”
The paramedic rambled on and Nicole heard the vital signs, but her heart was thundering, her legs weak as she stared into the mangled face of the patient and knew, before anyone said a word, that this was Thorne. The overhead lights seemed brighter and started to swim in her eyes. Her heart pounded in her ears and she couldn’t breathe. Her legs threatened to give out and she braced herself against the wall.
“Who is he?”
“Thorne McCafferty,” she heard through her fog and forced her eyes into the serious gaze of a woman deputy from the sheriff’s department. Her name tag read Detective Kelly Dillinger.
“Oh, God,” she whispered. “No. No. Oh, God, no—”
“I’ll take over,” Maureen said from somewhere behind her and the room began to go dark. “Nicole. I said—”
“No, I’ll be all right.” Her fingers wrapped around the cold metal railing of the gurney as she turned to face Maureen.
“I’ll handle it, Doctor.” Behind the understanding in Maureen’s eyes, was an insistence that warned Nicole she would hear of no argument. Several nurses were staring. All the while Thorne lay still, needing assistance. “You’re too involved emotionally, and I’m the team leader,” Maureen pointed out.
“All right.” Nicole had no choice but to back down. She was shaking and needed to pull herself together. “But as soon as you’ve examined him, let me know. I’ll be in my office and I’ll call his family.”
“Fine.” All business, Maureen Oliverio nodded. “Talk to the detective and I’ll see to the patient. Let’s go!”
As she watched helplessly, Thorne was wheeled into an examining room.
“What did she mean you were too involved?” the detective asked.
With pale skin and piercing brown eyes she stared at Nicole from beneath the brim of her hat. A few wisps of red hair feathered around her face.
“I—I know the family.”
“And Thorne McCafferty specifically?”
“Yes. He and I have dated,” she admitted, finally coming to grips with the situation. Her spine found some starch and she was no longer quivering inside but she suspected her face was pale as death. “He’s a friend of mine. What happened?” As she talked she peeled off her gloves and tossed them into a waste receptacle.
“His plane went down in the storm and we’re investigating the cause of the accident. Probably just the weather, but we have to be sure.” Detective Dillinger’s lips pursed a bit. “He’s lucky to be alive.”
Nicole glanced to the examining room and nodded. To think that Thorne might have lost his life. Oh, God. What then? Her heart ached at the thought of it. She cleared her throat and saw a news van wheel into the lot. “Uh-oh.”
Looking over her shoulder, the detective recognized the van. Her lips tightened into a frown of disapproval. She nodded to her partner and ordered, “Handle the vultures. And don’t tell them the name of the pilot until we talk to his family.”
“Got it.” The other officer, a lanky man in his early twenties blocked the entrance. The reporter, a petite woman in a bright-blue coat argued as a wiry cameraman stared through the glass.
“Can we talk somewhere a little more private?” Detective Dillinger asked and for the first time Nicole was aware of the curious stares that were cast in her direction.
“Yeah—my office, just let me tell the staff where to reach me.” Another doctor agreed to take over for the next half hour while Nicole managed to rein in her wild emotions and escorted the detective upstairs to her office.
“Have a seat,” Nicole offered, snatching a stack of books off the chair. She set the books on an empty corner of her desk and settled into her own seat.
“I know this is tough on you right now, and I wouldn’t bother you, but since you’re close to the McCafferty family maybe you can give me some information.”
“As soon as I alert his brothers,” Nicole said, her head finally clear again. Somehow she had to put her own emotions aside and don her facade of professionalism, not only for herself, but for Thorne as well. Her fingers were still slightly unsteady, but she picked up the phone. “Matt and Slade need to know that their brother’s been in an accident and admitted to St. James.” She didn’t wait for a response, just dialed the ranch and gave the message to Slade, who shocked, didn’t say a word until she was finished.
Then he swore a blue streak. “Damn it all, how can this happen? What kind of a fool gets into a plane in the middle of a blizzard?” he asked, then sighed loudly. “I guess it doesn’t matter. Just tell me. Is he gonna make it?”
“Yes—I think so.” The thought of Thorne giving up his life was too painful to consider. She cleared her throat and was aware of the detective’s eyes silently assessing her and her reaction. “A team of our best doctors is working to stabilize him in the emergency room. From there he’ll see specialists.”
“Son of a—” Slade began, and then shouted in another direction. “Juanita, can you watch the baby for a while? Thorne’s been in an accident and he’s at the hospital.”
“Dios!” the woman cried. “This family, it has a maldición!”
“There is no curse, Juanita.” Slade’s voice was muffled but firm. “Will you watch—”
“Sí, sí! I will stay.”
“I’ll round up Matt,” Slade said into the mouthpiece. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.” He hung up and Nicole, still s
haken, slowly set down the receiver. Once again, she found herself staring into the scrutinizing gaze of Detective Kelly Dillinger.
“They’re on their way?” she asked.
“Both Matt and Slade.”
“Good.”
“What is it you want to know?”
“Just a little family history,” the detective said, pulling out a notepad. “The reason is simple. First the sister is nearly killed in an accident, has a baby who nearly doesn’t make it, remains comatose and leaves a lot of questions unanswered. We can’t contact the baby’s father as no one seems to know who he is, and we can’t talk to her and find out why her car went out of control.”
“I thought she hit ice,” Nicole said, a needle of dread piercing her heart.
“She did. But the family’s insistent that there was another vehicle involved. They hired an independent investigator who’s determined to prove that there was some kind of foul play.” She took off her hat and red hair spilled around her face in soft layers. “Okay, that’s what some families do. It makes them feel better—to pay someone to dig deeper than the police. Or so they think.”
“But—was there? Foul play?”
“We don’t know,” the detective said, her face without expression, her eyes serious. “But I’m trying to find out.” She clicked her pen a couple of times, then jotted a quick note. “I wasn’t convinced that there was anything to go on, but now there’s been another accident involving another member of the family, so I guess I’m just covering all bases.”
“But the plane crash, it was an accident.” It had to have been. No one would try to harm Thorne—to murder him!
“Most likely it was an accident. The storm was bad and those light planes…well…” She cocked her head to one side. “But if it’s all just coincidence, then this McCafferty family is having one string of bad luck. If not…then maybe that P.I. knows something the sheriff’s department doesn’t. I’m here to figure it out.”
Nicole’s head pounded. Was this possible? Someone out to hurt the McCafferty clan? She swallowed hard and refused to give in to that kind of fear. So far no one had proved anything other than the fact that there had been some accidents. Bad luck, that was it. It had to be.
She checked her watch. Thorne had been in the ER for over thirty minutes. Surely someone knew the extent of his injuries by now. Yet no one had called and she was edgy, her nerves strung tight as piano wires. What if something had gone wrong? Distracted, she tried to answer as many questions as possible and talked with the detective for a few more minutes before she explained that she really had to go back to work.
“That’s fine. I’ll need to speak to the patient when he wakes up,” Kelly Dillinger said, “and I’ll want to talk to his brothers.” She scraped her chair back, grabbed her hat and together they took the elevator down to the emergency room. The detective hurried out to her police car and Nicole was immediately immersed in her work.
Nicole saw three more patients, a seven-year-old girl who needed five stitches to her forehead after being hit by the end of a twirling baton that had lost its rubber tip and had been wielded by her younger brother, a septuagenarian with a mild case of bronchitis, and an ashen-faced teenager who thought she had a bad case of the flu and showed shock, then horror when tests confirmed that she was nearly three months’ pregnant.
By the time Nicole had finished the examinations, the ER was clear. She talked to the nurses and found out that Thorne had been admitted. He was stable and aside from a few contusions and a broken leg that would require surgery once the swelling had gone down, he was healthy.
“Thank God,” she whispered as she made her way to his private room. Matt and Slade were camped out at his bedside. Both men wore deep frowns and their eyes were dark with worry.
“I can’t believe it,” Slade muttered as he walked to the hallway and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket for a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He retrieved the pack, then realized what he was doing and returned it to his pocket. “What in the hell is going on?” He shot an angry glance at Nicole. “Now we got two in this hospital again! The baby just got home and Thorne winds up here!”
“He’s going to make it, though. Okay?” Matt muttered. “That’s something.”
“Damned fool! What was he doin’ flyin’ in that storm?” Slade closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to stave off a headache.
“He thought he should get back—”
Slade’s eyes flew open and he dropped his hand only to raise a finger and jab it at Matt’s chest. “Because he doesn’t have any faith that we can handle the ranch, or the baby or Randi’s situation, ourselves. He’s got no faith in anyone but himself! A control freak. That’s what he is. A damned, corporate control freak.”
“Enough!” Matt’s face had turned a deep shade of scarlet. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“I’m going to tell Striker.” Slade rammed his fingers through his hair and as if a sudden thought had struck him, turned all of his attention in Nicole’s direction. “You said you had some article that Randi might have written?”
“I took a copy and sent it to you.”
“Hell, I didn’t even think of the mail today.” He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.
“Have you talked to anyone from the sheriff’s department?” Nicole asked.
“The sheriff’s department?” Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“They’re investigating the accident. I spoke with a Detective Dillinger and she said she wants to talk to you.”
“Because—?” Matt asked, but the look in his eyes convinced Nicole that he already knew the answer.
“Because finally someone’s starting to believe what Kurt Striker has been saying all along,” Slade answered. “I’m going to call him right now.”
“And I’ll talk to the police.” Matt’s jaw was hard as granite. “If this isn’t just an accident, I’m going to find out who’s behind it.” He squared his hat onto his head. “You’ll call me if there’s a change in Thorne’s condition?”
“Of course.”
As the brothers strode down the hall together, Nicole entered Thorne’s darkened room. She told herself that she saw injured people all the time, victims who had suffered horrid accidents and disfigurements, that she could stomach anything. But seeing Thorne lying inert beneath the crisp bedsheets, with an IV running into the back of his hand, his leg elevated in a temporary cast, his face cut and swollen beyond recognition, each breath seeming labored, her heart nearly broke.
“Oh, honey,” she whispered, her throat closing in on itself. She loved him. God, how she loved him and he’d betrayed her; been with another woman. She licked her lips and fought tears. There he lay, a broken leg, a concussion, his head bandaged, his features barely recognizable. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” she said, her voice a rasp, her fingers touching the tips of his. “I did love you. Oh, Thorne, if you only knew how much.” Sniffing a bit, she cleared her throat. “But then I always was a fool over you. I suppose I always will be.” His eyelids didn’t so much as flutter. “You get better, y’hear? I’ll be back and, damn it, if you do something foolish like take a turn for the worse, I swear, I’ll kill you myself.” She laughed a bit at her own stupid joke and realized that tears were falling from her eyes. “Oh, look at this. I’m such a moron. You make me a moron. I, uh, I’ve got to go check on the girls.” She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue she found near the bedside. “But I’ll be back. I promise.” She leaned over the bed and placed a kiss on his forehead, leaving a lipstick smudge and a tearstain that she quickly brushed aside. “You know, Thorne,” she confided, “I was foolish enough to want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
She waited, half expecting him to respond, silently praying there would be a squeeze on her fingers, rapid eye movement behind his closed li
ds, even the barest change in his breathing, but she was disappointed. Like his sister in ICU, Thorne heard nothing and didn’t so much as flinch.
Nicole left the room with a weight as heavy as all Montana pressing down her shoulders. She wrote her notes in a daze, then grabbed her coat, changed into boots and headed home. Outside the snow was still flurrying, swirling and dancing across the frozen landscape. In gloves and a down ski jacket, she turned the radio and heater on full blast, but couldn’t thaw the ice in her soul at the thought of Thorne’s plane crash and how close he’d come to losing his life.
And how would you feel then? If he’d died or was in serious risk of losing his life? Or paralyzed for the rest of his life?
She shuddered and tried to concentrate on a song playing through the speakers, but the lyrics of false love scraped too close to the bone. Angrily, she snapped off the radio. She was no longer involved with Thorne. He wanted it that way. It had been a mistake to get involved with him again but it was over. Over, over, over! His choice. She braked for a stoplight and waited impatiently, gloved fingers tapping on the steering wheel as a few brave souls bundled in scarves, boots and thick winter coats hurried along the snow-covered streets of Grand Hope. Barren trees lifted naked arms to a night sky where millions of snowflakes caught in the neon lights of the city continued to fall.
So what did you expect from him? A marriage proposal? Her wayward mind taunted as the light changed to green and she stepped on the accelerator.
The thought made her laugh without a grain of humor. Then minutes later, still lost in her own thoughts, she turned onto the street where she lived, and promised herself that she would get over Thorne McCafferty once and for all. She had her girls. She had her work. She had a life. Without Thorne. She didn’t need him.
