By the time Jordana pulled her truck into the E.R., Slade was slipping in and out of consciousness. Two young, strong orderlies helped him out of the truck and placed him on a gurney. Together, they quickly wheeled him inside while Jordana parked the truck.
Running into the E.R., Jordana was pleased to see Jonas was already attending to Slade. There were seven nurses and orderlies waiting for his next orders. Breathing hard, Jordana saw they’d put an oxygen mask on Slade. His eyes were closed. She quickly looked up at the monitors they’d hooked him up to. His blood pressure was down. Way down. Too far because he’d lost so much blood.
“Let’s prep him,” Jonas ordered his team. “He’s going into O.R. one.”
Jordana saw that he’d probed the wound. It was still glistening with bright red blood, indicative of an arterial bleed. Slade lifted his hand and gripped her fingers.
“I don’t want surgery. I don’t want to be knocked out.”
His eyes were dark and confused. Jordana leaned over him and whispered, “Everything’s going to be okay, Slade. I’ll be in the operating room with Dr. Powers. He’s the best. He’ll get that bleeding stopped.”
They was the last words Slade heard. He felt himself spiraling down, down, down. The only shred of consciousness he could retain was Jordana’s warm, strong fingers gripping his. Eventually, he felt movement. It must have been the gurney moving. Voices were all around him, but he could no longer make out what they were saying. He didn’t want to be in the hospital. And he never wanted to be in here for surgery. Unable to open his lids, he homed in on Jordana’s comforting hand gripping his. In a moment of need, she had been there for him. It was the only good thing to happen in this sordid mess. His whole world crashed down upon him at that moment, and Slade lost consciousness.
VOICES. SLADE HEARD voices. But one he recognized as he slowly emerged from the anesthesia. It was Jordana’s calm, husky voice. It took every bit of strength he had to just crack open his lids enough to see where he was. Jordana was at his side wearing green scrubs. There was a man next to her. His mind wouldn’t work. His mouth felt like cotton balls were stuffed inside it. There was a dull ache in his right thigh.
“He’s coming around,” Jordana said. She leaned over Slade and laid her hand on his gowned shoulder. “You’re in the Jackson Hole hospital, Slade. Dr. Powers just repaired that artery tear. How are you feeling?”
She was so close. Slade clung to her warm blue gaze and hungrily absorbed her hand on his shoulder. “Like hell…” he managed to say thickly, words not easy.
She smiled a little. Slade was no longer pasty-looking. His deep tan was back once more. “Are you in pain?”
“A little,” he managed. “No big deal. Just give me…some aspirin.”
Jonas grinned. “Mr. McPherson, I’m your surgeon, Jonas Powers. We’ll put a pain med in your IV. We repaired that artery. That bull of yours did a good job and ripped it open.”
The information was too much for Slade to digest. He continued to drown in Jordana’s blue eyes that were warm with an emotion he couldn’t decipher. It was her hand on his shoulder that helped him orient back to the here and now. “Dr. Powers did a good job on you, Slade. Are you thirsty?”
Nodding, Slade closed his eyes. The anesthesia was wearing off but it was hell trying to think two words, much less put a sentence together.
Powers ordered the nurse to bring in another IV. that would help manage his post-surgery pain. He then patted Jordana’s shoulder and said, “I think you can handle it from here on out.”
“Yes,” she said, giving Jonas a quick smile. “Thanks for all your help.”
“He’ll live despite himself,” Jonas added with a grin. “Tougher than nails.”
Jordana agreed. The nurse moved with quiet, quick efficiency, and in no time, she had the pain medication flowing into the main IV. Jordana could see almost an instant relief on Slade’s face. She thanked the nurse. Now they were alone in the private room.
Picking up the glass of water, Jordana put a straw into it. “I’m going to raise your bed, Slade. You’ll hear a whirring sound. I have to get your bed up enough so you can sip this water out of a straw.” Jordana knew that people were groggy and confused as they came out of anesthesia. Pressing the button, Slade’s bed moved up so that he was placed in a partial sitting position.
Opening his eyes, he saw Jordana holding the water glass. She slid the straw between his cracked, dry lips.
“Drink all you want. Most people are thirsty after surgery.”
The water was cold and delicious. Slade found himself gulping the water like a thirsty horse after a fifty-mile endurance ride. The fluid served to wake him up more. After he finished the glass, she pulled the straw from between his lips. Everything about Jordana was gentle. He looked forward to every contact with her.
Pouring a second glass, Jordana watched Slade finish it off in short order. “Your eyes are looking a little less dark. Are you feeling more here than there?” she asked with a teasing smile. It was sheer delight to touch Slade, to help him. And he seemed to respond powerfully to her voice and touch. Yes, there was something between them, no doubt. Jordana hadn’t had time to think about it.
Swallowing the last of the water, Slade held up his hand and whispered, “Thanks, that’s all I want…” Truth be known, Slade wanted her. Each time Jordana touched him, his heart pounded. It made him feel better. Truly, she was a healer.
“Anything else?” she wanted to know, standing beside him, her hands on the bed.
Looking around, Slade slowly absorbed his surroundings. Feeling more like himself, he asked, “What happened?”
“You were in surgery for two hours. Dr. Powers opened up the wound and repaired the artery. I was there beside you all the time, Slade.” She smiled a little, lifted her hand and pushed several dark strands of his hair off his wrinkled brow. There was such pleasure in getting to touch this hard, tough cowboy. Even now, lying in a bed and wearing a white cotton gown, he couldn’t hide his powerful masculinity. There was nothing weak about Slade.
Scowling, Slade muttered, “Did you call Shorty and let him know I survived?”
Nodding, Jordana smiled and said, “Yes, I did.” She’d asked Shorty to tell Griff because she knew his brother would be worried. She didn’t tell Slade that, however.
“And how long will I be laid up?”
“At least six to eight weeks,” she told him. Seeing his brows slash down, Jordana understood his reaction. “You won’t be able to ride at all, Slade. That artery must heal completely before you can throw your leg over a horse.”
His mind whirled with anger and frustration. “The Tetons ride is coming up.”
Placing her hand gently on his upper arm, Jordana said, “I know…. I’m sorry.” She didn’t let on what Gwen Garner had told her earlier, that Slade was counting on that ten-thousand-dollar prize to push away the bank foreclosure that was looming over his family ranch. “I wish…I wish this hadn’t happened,” she added softly. How badly she wanted to touch Slade. His face was drawn in a different kind of pain. All Jordana wanted to do was hold him tight and protect him against harsh reality. Moving her fingers up and down his upper arm, she had nothing else to say because it couldn’t change the facts.
Her fingers created warmth throughout his arm. Slade lay there, eyes closed, simply soaking in her grazing touch. Terror overrode it, however. Terror of losing his ranch. If he couldn’t ride Thor in the race, he couldn’t get an opportunity to win that ten thousand dollars. And he knew Frank Halbert at the bank was just waiting like a vulture to swoop down and take his family ranch away from him once and for all. Up to this moment, Slade had managed to stave off the bank. Now…oh, hell, he was going to lose his ranch. A ranch his father and grandfather had carved out of the wilderness and made bloom. He tasted the ashes of defeat in his mouth. Slade knew no bank would loan him money. His credit was worthless. Struggling with the enormity of what his injury had just done, Slade felt hot tears jamming into
his closed eyes. Fighting them, he refused to give into his emotions.
“Excuse me, Dr. Lawton, but Mr. McPherson’s brother Griff is downstairs and asking to see him,” a nurse called from the door.
Jordana saw Slade’s eyes snap open. She saw tears mingled with anger. Automatically, her hand tightened a bit more on Slade’s shoulder.
“I don’t want to see him,” Slade ground out, lifting his head and glaring at the blonde nurse.
“Yes, sir, Mr. McPherson,” she murmured, “I’ll let him know.”
The door closed.
Slade’s gut felt like a nest of writhing, angry snakes. Only Jordana’s quiet presence helped him calm down enough to think clearly. He looked over at her.
“Get me out of here, Jordana. I don’t want to stay.”
“But,” she said, stunned, “you have to, Slade. You need to be here at least two days.”
Forcing himself up into a sitting position, the blue blanket falling away, he growled, “No. Either you help me leave or I’ll do it on my own.”
Jordana saw he meant it. “Okay, hold on, Slade.” She lifted her hands to stop him from climbing out of bed. “Let’s compromise.”
Scowling, he said, “What do you mean?”
“I know you want out of here. And it won’t do you a bit of good to be around your brother at your ranch right now. You need some quiet and rest, not agitation.” Jordana lowered her voice and said urgently, “You can’t move around much. That artery was just sewn up. What if I took you over to my house? I have a second bedroom. And I have the next two days at my clinic, so I could come home and check on you from time to time.”
Startled by the idea, Slade nodded. “I appreciate this, Jordana. I’ll go home with you.”
CHAPTER TEN
JUST AS JORDANA was wheeling Slade out in a wheelchair to the front door of the hospital, his brother Griff met them. He was obviously concerned, and she saw anxiety in his green eyes.
Slade glared up at him. “I told you I didn’t want to see you,” he growled.
“I wanted to see if you were okay.” Griff nodded respectfully toward Jordana. “Doctor, thank you for saving his life.”
“You’re welcome,” Jordana murmured as she pushed the wheelchair down a wide hall. “You are Griff? His twin brother?” She saw how agitated Slade was becoming. It had taken her fifteen minutes to persuade him to sit down in a wheelchair. If he’d tried to walk, it would have torn the artery open again. He’d angrily sat in the wheelchair. Pride was evident even now in his ashen face. And his eyes were black with rage that his twin had come for a visit.
“Yes, I am. May I push the wheelchair for you?”
“No,” Slade snarled at him. “Go back where you came from, Griff. You have no business out here.”
For a moment, Griff was hurt by his brother’s angry behavior. Shoring himself up from the unexpected attack, he said, “Are you coming home?”
“No, thank God, I’m not,” Slade said bitterly.
Giving Jordana a searching look, Griff stumbled. “Then…where?”
“My home,” she explained. Jordana didn’t want to get into any more of a discussion. Slade was enraged, and, she was sure, embarrassed that his brother had seen him in a wheelchair, of all things. Giving Griff a sad look, she said, “I’m taking him to my home for the next few days. If you can have Shorty, his wrangler, bring him some clean clothes, I’d appreciate it.” Giving Griff something to do would help Griff deal with this situation. She saw his face lighten.
“I can do that,” Griff said, managing a slight smile. He looked down at Slade. “I hope you get better. If there’s anything I can do—”
“There isn’t,” Slade snapped flatly. He saw hurt come to Griff’s eyes and tried to protect himself from his twin’s reaction.
Jordana knew how helpless Griff felt. Slade was going to have it his way or no way. And she knew he was not going back to the ranch because he didn’t want to rely on his brother to help him out in such a tight spot. “We’ll see you later,” she murmured, giving Griff an understanding look. Griff perked up beneath her softened tone. Nodding, he turned and strode out of the sliding glass doors.
“Good riddance,” Slade muttered. Feeling ashamed and weak in the wheelchair, Slade wished to hell this was all over. His leg was aching. So was his heart. He hadn’t expected Griff to show up. “I wonder how long he’s been waiting around outside my room?”
Keeping her voice light and without judgment, Jordana slowed the wheelchair and waited for the huge glass doors to automatically slide open. “I don’t know. It’s not important right now, Slade. You’re looking very pale, and we need to get you to my house. How is your leg feeling?”
It had taken every ounce of Slade’s energy to dress himself. He’d refused Jordana’s help. And he’d told the nurse to leave. The struggle had drained him. “A little ache, but it’s not bleeding.”
Nodding, Jordana pulled a huge breath of fresh air into her lungs as she pushed Slade down the wide sidewalk. “If you’d let me help you dress, you probably wouldn’t be feeling so exhausted,” she said. There was no sense in making Slade feel more angry and upset than he already was. He looked shaken by Griff’s unexpected appearance. Slade was having to deal with a lot right now, and she touched his shoulder gently. “Things will work out, Slade. I just have that feeling.”
Shaking his head, his Stetson on his lap, he muttered, “They can’t get any worse.”
Wheeling him out to the asphalt parking lot, she laughed. “Well,” she said wryly, leaning down and catching his stormy gaze, “yes, they could. You could be dead.”
Grunting, Slade said nothing. He saw Jordana’s pickup. A sense of freedom flowed through him. “Thanks for letting me stay with you a couple of days. I realize this isn’t what you need, either. You work all the time. You’re riding thirty miles twice a week….”
“Hush, Slade,” she murmured, parking and braking the wheelchair beside her truck. “Don’t you try and carry my loads for me, too.” Jordana patted his shoulder to try and give him solace. “Right now, I know things look dark to you. We all have those times in our life.” She unlocked the truck and opened the passenger-side door. “But we get through them because other people support and care for us. Life is never lived in a vacuum.”
Nodding, some of Slade’s anger dissolved. Being around Jordana was heavenly, but he couldn’t tell her that. Even the ache in his leg receded when she grazed his shoulder. She was a healer, he realized. And inwardly, right now, he was starved for every smile, every touch, she would bestow on the likes of him.
“Okay, cowboy,” Jordana murmured, holding out her hand, “let’s get you into my truck.”
Slade didn’t refuse her hand this time. Being stubborn or prideful could get his leg artery torn open again and he bitterly swallowed his pride. Reaching out, he grasped her opened hand. Her skin was cool and soft. Slade could feel the strength in it and her as she helped to bring him to his feet.
“Dizzy?” Jordana asked, concerned as she gripped Slade’s elbow. He’d put out his other hand on the truck to steady himself. Often after transfusions, there could be some dizziness when suddenly standing after being in a sitting position for a long time.
“Yeah,” he admitted hesitantly. One step at a time, he made it to the truck and carefully eased himself into the passenger-side seat.
“It’s because of the loss of blood,” Jordana murmured. Leaning across him, she pulled the seat belt in place. He was a powerful man even though he was injured. His barrel chest was well sprung. There was nothing to dislike about Slade as a man. Jordana felt herself trembling inwardly as she worked so closely to Slade for those few moments. Her dreams had become more and more sensual regarding Slade. And she was so close to his face and that wonderful mouth of his, that she could have turned and kissed him.
Shaken by her own neediness that was growing for Slade, Jordana eased away and shut the door. The sunshine was warming, and she looked up to appreciate the deep blu
e sky. A hawk was flying high above the area, its rust-colored red tail bright for a moment as it turned. She took the wheelchair, closed it up and placed it in the back of the truck. Struggling to contain her own emotions because being around Slade automatically stirred her up, Jordana opened the truck door and climbed in.
On the way through traffic to her home on the outskirts of Jackson Hole, Jordana kept an eye on Slade. He’d leaned his head back and rested it against the seat, eyes closed. His pallor was unchanged. She knew the confrontation with Griff had take anything he’d had left out of him. How badly Jordana wanted to simply put her arms around this prideful man and give him a moment’s ease from his world that had just crashed down upon him. Understanding that Slade felt safe enough to be with her made her heart sing with unexpected joy.
“When we get home,” Jordana told him softly, so as not to speak too loud and disturb him, “I’ll take you through the garage to the inner door. I have a second bedroom nearby. And there’s a ramp so it will be easy to push your wheelchair up and into my house.”
Slade barely opened his eyes. It felt good to just be alone with Jordana. “Sounds good,” he murmured. “I need to thank you for doing this. I know it’s putting a hell of a burden on you.”
She smiled a little, reached over and touched his hand that rested over his Stetson in his lap. “I’m happy to do it.”
“I can’t go back to my ranch,” he uttered tiredly. “Not right now. I have to get strong enough to do the work around there. I don’t want Griff in the way. He knows nothing about ranching.”
“You’re injured, Slade. You need to be somewhere safe so you can heal up. Maybe being here for a few days will help you sort everything out and you’ll come up with a plan.”
“Are you always this hopeful?” he wondered, feeling a desperate need to sleep. The surgery and anesthesia had taken even his powerful energy and sucked it out of him.
“Always,” Jordana said with a soft laugh. Slowing down, she said, “We’re here.”
The Last Cowboy Page 11
