Redeeming

by Calle J. Brookes

  His time here was over.

  And he could here baby Matthias crying, calling to the father who had always loved him, calling him home.

  Rams went.

  Chapter One

  How many lives had he saved over the years? He was good at what he did, wasn’t he? So why couldn’t he do anything now? Holden Royle stared at his hands—they were worthless. He was worthless now, and he knew it.

  How many hours had he spent sewing soldiers back together? How many hours had he spent in internships and practicum to get to this point?

  How many? Why couldn’t he remember? Wasn’t that something he should remember? Shouldn’t he know each and every person who’d come under his care in the eight years since he’d earned his medical license? He tried to recall the men and women, but all were lost in a sea of army fatigues.

  He’d saved many of them. A great deal of them, actually. He knew he had.

  So why did he feel so damned useless now?

  Why couldn’t he save his own father?

  He buried his face in his hands and tuned out the familiar sounds of the hospital that surrounded him. Surrounded his brothers, his sister...his mother.

  Oh, God, his mother.

  His father was her world; always had been. How was she supposed to cope now that his father...was...gone?

  “He’s gone. He’s...gone.”

  It took Holden a moment, a long moment, to realize he was the one who’d said it. Who was saying it. Over and over again.

  ***

  It always hurt. Always. Failing to save someone’s loved one was always horrible. Sloane far preferred the joy of signing birth certificates to signing off on death. That the newly deceased was someone she knew and had cared a great deal for made this blow doubly worse.

  Ramsey Royle had been her friend when she’d needed one, had been her landlord since she’d moved to the county, and had been her very first patient once she’d opened her practice in the small town of fourteen hundred. Rams had insisted on it. God, she was going to miss him.

  How much harder must it be for the man’s five grown children? His two grandsons? His wife?

  Oh, Ella. Rams’ wife loved that man so much.

  And this was so unexpected.

  Sloane stepped back, her calves bumping one of the hard chairs that filled the hospital’s only waiting room. She fought the urge to go to the woman’s side. Ella had her children to care for her. To grieve with her. She didn’t need Sloane.

  Not really.

  How could she when Sloane was the one who’d failed when it mattered most?

  Ramsey was gone. He’d died under her hands in the Emergency Room. His heart had simply stopped beating.

  He’s gone.

  Someone was repeating the words over and over again and it took a moment for Sloane to realize it wasn’t her saying it.

  One of Ella’s sons, but Sloane didn’t know which one. She couldn’t remember. She knew all of their names—Rams and Ella had been the proudest parents she’d ever seen and were always talking about their children—but Sloane only knew two of them well enough to call by name.

  It wasn’t Gresham or Garrett saying the words. It was another dark-haired, strong-looking man. Sloane studied him for a quiet moment. He looked the most like his father, with Rams’ hair—minus the gray Rams had said having four boys gave him—and Rams’ build. Mostly, he had his father’s eyes. Large, penetrating, and gray. Beautiful eyes.

  And they looked at her accusingly. Knowingly. He stood.

  Sloane took a step back at the expression in those eyes. He terrified her, staring down at her like wanted to shake an explanation out of her.

  “What happened? How? What did you do to try and save him?” He towered over her, the first stage of anger on his face. Not unusual when a loved one passed unexpectedly. Rationally, she knew that. But to have a man like him looking at her that way...

  “I did everything I could.” Sloane forced herself to meet his eyes, despite the fury on his face. Forced herself not to back away even more. “His heart was just too weak to withstand it. It’s what we sometimes call a silent heart attack. It’s where—”

  “I know what a silent heart attack is. What I want to know is exactly what you did to try to save him. From the beginning.”

  The son who was a doctor, then? It made sense. He was the one she’d never seen, even at a distance. Sloane pulled in a breath before starting again. “He went into ventricular fibrillation. Your mother tried CPR and it kept him alive until I was able to get to the main house. But it wasn’t enough. He had what I suspect was a larger attack on the table. I’m sorry. I have his records available at my office in town. You’re welcome to get copies. Provided your mother agrees.”

  ***

  Dammit, this woman had held his father’s life in her hands and had lost him. He would demand to know what made her feel competent to handle such situations. His father had been an extremely healthy man of sixty-three. No history of heart disease. So why had his primary physician missed it? And who was this girl before him claiming she’d done everything she could? An intern?

  She didn’t look old enough to be a doctor, by any means. She appeared barely old enough to be out of high school. Had his father died because this town lacked true medical care?

  Had his father known his heart was failing? Was that what was behind the last few years of requests for Holden to return home that had characterized nearly all of the phone conversations he’d had with his father? Had he wanted Holden to come home so that they could enjoy his father’s remaining time together?

  A torrent of guilt hit him. Why hadn’t he come home more often? Visited? Or at least called a little more? Had he truly been that busy? So busy that his family hadn’t mattered? His thoughts shifted to the life he’d been building for himself in Nashville. He had a great condo overlooking the river. He had friends that he enjoyed spending his rare time off with; most he’d met through his work at the VA hospital, where he’d practiced for the last two years.

  He could have driven home and visited with his parents more often. A day or two a month, at least. When was the last time he’d visited? Why had he waited until today to come visit? Why couldn’t he have driven up yesterday? He’d had the time. When had he last seen his family?

  Three, four months ago? Maybe?

  When was the last time he’d seen his father alive?

  Last month when Rams and his mother had driven down to see him. Because he’d been too busy to drive home on his birthday like his mother wanted.

  Guilt was the sharpest scalpel he’d ever found and it sliced straight through him. Perhaps if he’d come home more he would have noticed something in time to get his father real help. He should have come home when his father had called. He should have. Why hadn’t he? What was so important that he couldn’t go home now and again?

  “Holden, give Sloane a break, won’t you?” his oldest brother said. Holden looked at Gresham, seeing his own grief reflected in his brother’s green eyes. “None of us knew. At all. Dad didn’t tell us about any medical problems he was having. And I saw him every day. I would have noticed.”

  “Your father didn’t have any medical problems, other than what was to be expected for a man his age,” the doctor said. “He had a routine physical every year, and I can assure you, he had no signs of heart disease. I’m sorry, but it does happen that way in a lot of patients.”

  “And didn’t the physician doing the physical consider that?”

  “I assure you, Mr. Royle, that I was very thorough in your father’s care.” Her voice was cool, but her face was compassionate.

  “It’s Doctor Royle, Dr. McLean.”

  “Of course. You’re father spoke quite highly of you.” Blue eyes met his, and Holden was struck by the slight shimmer of tears. “He will be missed. He was a wonderful man.”

  She excused herself then, leaving him to stare after her retreating back.

  She just...left.

  He knew it w
as how many doctors operated when they lost a patient. Hadn’t he done similar whenever he’d lose one of the vets or their families that he cared for since his honorable discharge from the army?

  Still, he’d never been on the receiving end of the condolence speech. Had never had to sit there and listen to someone tell him that one of the people he loved most in the world just wasn’t going to be there anymore. How many people’s worlds had he shattered in his career?

  “How long was she responsible for his care?” He asked the question of Gresham, who stood just behind Holden’s left shoulder. “She’s barely old enough to drive.”

  “She’s around the same age as Garrett. And Dad insisted on going to her and no one else. Not that there are that many choices here in Lofton. I don’t think it would have mattered. Sloane’s a great doctor. She takes care of my boys.”

  “If she’s so great, why did he die?” Why couldn’t she have done something? He might not have been there, but she had. And his father was dead. How was he supposed to come to terms with that?

  “I can guarantee she did her absolute best.” Gresham choked on the words. “She got to Dad four minutes after Mom called 9-1-1. That was less than five minutes after he fell over.”

  Nine minutes. In ventricular fibrillation. Clinically Holden understood the odds his father had faced. But it didn’t make it any easier.

  His father was dead.

  And the physician in him needed to know why.

  He followed.

  ***

  Sloane slipped into the office that she used when at the small hospital that served the entire town and half the rural area. It was just a closet, really, but it held her desk and some of her print-outs of patient files. Copies of those patients who tended to use the hospital services more than others.

  Ramsey Royle was not in that stack.

  She’d obviously missed something when taking care of him over the past four years. She had to have. Why else would a perfectly healthy man just die?

  She’d spend all night looking for the answers if she had to.

  She owed it to Rams, a man she’d been closer to than her own father. She owed it to Ella, a woman who’d taken Sloane under her wing and made her feel welcome in the little town of Lofton, Indiana. A town as foreign from Sloane’s native Chicago as to be an entirely different planet. And she owed it to Rams’ children, all five of them, from Gresham and his two boys all the way down to Aderyn, Rams’ only daughter. They deserved answers. Had she failed them, or was it just Rams’ time?

  She’d been a physician for five and a half years. She’d lost many patients, some she knew well, others she barely had time to know at all.

  But none hurt as much as the loss of this patient. She’d met the man her first time driving into Lofton. She’d had a car full of her personal belongings—meager though they were, a wallet whose contents had rapidly dwindled on the cross country drive, and no plans of stopping anywhere between Chicago and Huntsville for any more than a single night. She couldn’t afford to. So she’d decided to keep driving and sleep in her car each night. It was a faster and safer escape from the relationships she’d just ended, and she’d had no intention of stopping anywhere.

  Her car had had other plans. The old Buick had given up the ghost smack dab in the middle of the road next to one of Ramsey Royle’s cow pastures.

  He owned nearly six thousand acres up by the lake. She’d taken a wrong turn and instead of staying on the highway leading to the interstate, she’d ended up on his private road.

  He’d found her soaked to the skin from the summer storm, trying in vain to use a pair of panty hose to replace a snapped belt on her car.

  He’d rescued her, took her home to Ella, who’d fed her and comforted her—soothed the bruises still on her skin—while Rams’ and Gresham had returned to tow her car back to the main house. She’d stayed with them while the auto parts store in town had ordered a replacement belt. Once it arrived, she knew she’d arrived. She’d found her home.

  She’d never left Lofton.

  She’d never left Rams’ six thousand acres. There had been a small turn-of-the-century bungalow in one corner of the property. He’d rented it to her without question. In fact, he’d insisted. Said a young woman needed a place of her own that was safe and secure. Away from men like the man she’d obviously been running from. He’d given her a look so paternal—protective and fierce—she’d fallen for him right then and there.

  Without Ramsey Royle, Sloane wouldn’t have had any type of home. And now he was gone.

  Someone entered her office without knocking, something that was a rarity as the hospital had only two doctors—her and Dr. Aubrey. They employed enough nursing staff and other support staff to keep the hospital operating, but it was often a close thing. And no one, not even George the Janitor, entered Sloane’s office unannounced.

  Rams’ son stood there, his gray eyes accusing from a face so like his father’s. “I still had questions.”

  Sloane felt trapped. How could she not? Her office was thirty-five square feet. Her desk took up half of that. He took up quite a bit of the remainder with his pacing. She rounded the desk, needing to protect herself and her private sanctuary. She crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at the man who towered at least a foot taller than she, and was a hundred pounds heavier. And angry. Terrifying. “So do I.”

  “What exactly happened to my dad?”

  “Your mother called me, then 9-1-1. I’m the closest neighbor to the main house. I drove over as fast as I could. She gave him CPR while on the phone with 9-1-1. When I got there, I took over until the ambulance arrived. We tried defib, and it got him back long enough to get to town. But the damage was extensive and he had another attack on the table. I’m sorry. I really am. I tried. I tried.” Sloane feared her voice was breaking and she looked away from him, covering her mouth with one hand. A tear slipped down her cheek and she wiped it away.

  What kind of doctor showed her emotions to a grieving loved one like this? Especially another physician?

  An incompetent one.

  “And he had no indications of heart disease? Diabetes? Anything?” Incredulity was in his deep voice. “You had to have missed something!”

  “I don’t know. I know that I was meticulous with your father’s care. I ran every test imaginable at least once a year. There were no abnormalities, Dr. Royle. None. I would have known, caught them. Explored further.”

  ***

  Did he believe her? How could he, knowing what he did about the medical profession? But how could he not? His brother had said she was an excellent doctor. Shouldn’t he trust that? Despite the fact that his dad was gone?

  The chances of someone dying from heart disease wasn’t slim. It was the number one cause of death, after all. “There has to be some explanation.”

  “If there is, I will find it. I’ll have the coron—I’ll have them run some tests, see if there was an underlying condition that hadn’t presented itself. Your father was healthy. I saw him nearly every day, and I can assure you that he was healthy. I don’t understand this. It doesn’t make any sense to me, even with my experience.”

  That made little sense to him. “You saw him every day? Why?”

  “I rent the bungalow a quarter of a mile away from the main house. Your father was my landlord, and he’d stop by every morning before milking. We’d have coffee and talk about the plans for the day...”

  The woman’s voice broke, and this time he knew he hadn’t imagined it.

  A tear slid down her cheek. She wiped it away. It was joined by another and another. She was crying. Over his dad.

  Because his father was gone. Forever.

  He grabbed one small hand and pulled it away from her face. He needed to see her eyes. To see if she was genuine. She blinked rapidly while staring up at him. She was small. Too small, really. Barely bigger than a damned child. And she had given his father CPR? Would she even be able to give a man his father’s size CPR effectively? He ba
rely heard her whisper. “I’m sorry, so very, very sorry. I’m going to miss him so much...I loved him, too.”

  She had loved him, too. Past tense.

  The past tense was what got him the most.

  He pulled her to his chest before he even realized he was moving. She didn’t stop him, didn’t protest. Her tears soaked his shirt where her cheek was pressed against his heart.

  He didn’t know what he was doing, and he didn’t care. What did it matter if he took some comfort from this stranger who understood what he’d lost? His head rested on her hair and he closed his eyes. His own tears finally started to escape and he wept.

  His dad was gone.

  Forever.

  Chapter Two

  Sloane stayed at the back of the Lofton First Christian Church while the minister and others delivered Rams’ eulogies.

  Close to half the town had to be inside the building, offering condolences to one of the most prominent families in the county. Everyone had liked Rams. Most had loved him. Tears threatened again.

  How much harder must it be for his family? Sloane hadn’t been to the main house since Rams died. She hadn’t wanted to intrude on the family’s grief. And she hadn’t wanted to face Rams’ son. The doctor. Holden.

  He’d held her and wept. They’d cried together over the man they’d both loved, until Rams’ oldest son, Gresham, had knocked on Sloane’s office door. Then he’d stepped away from her and looked at her with those accusing eyes, and said the words that still frightened her. “I have questions.”

  He’d left, not giving her time to say anything in response. The man absolutely terrified her. Sloane had no difficulty knowing that. She hadn’t been negligent, and she’d bet her medical license on that.

  And wasn’t that essentially what she was doing?

  She knew his kind, intimately. They threatened, bullied, and dominated to get what they wanted from people. Combine that with the arrogance that a lot of male doctors naturally possessed? Sloane wanted to stay as far away from Dr. Holden Royle as possible. Was he really that different from his parents? Was that why she’d never met him before?