"A lot's gone on since you left, bro." Kerr opened the second to last door at the end of the guest wing hall.
Vaughn had always viewed his father as a powerful man, grabbing life by his two work-worn hands and forcing it to obey his steel will.
The only similarity between the father of his memories and the man huddled under the blankets? The thick, gray hair.
Vaughn's stomach muscles clenched like he'd been sucker-punched. He jerked his head back to Kerr, who merely shook his head.
Vaughn drew enough air to create words. "What the hell?" he whispered. Sure, Dad had been ten years older than Mom, but he'd always been the picture of health. The man in the bed looked... geriatric.
His brother's shoulder lifted and fell. "Stroke. Happened right after the barn burned and Hank Brand kidnapped Zach and Sara." At Vaughn's raised brows, Kerr added quickly, "Sara. Garrison's girlfriend. Anyway, Dad had a stroke."
Vaughn staggered into the doorjamb.
"Yeah," Kerr said. "And you know Dad. He didn't go to the hospital when he started having symptoms, waited too long making sure everyone else was okay."
Hesitant, he took one step, then another, toward the bed. "Dad?" he choked out around a tight lump in his throat.
The rustle of sheets and a creak of bedsprings pierced the silence. "Son?" One eye opened. The other remained half closed. "Is that you?" He reached an arm out. The other limb remained in place.
God, no.
"Vaughn?" Dad asked again, a quaver in that whispery-gravel voice.
Kneeling next to the bed, Vaughn gripped his father's forearms, the thin skin slack over diminished muscles. He swallowed. "Yeah. It's me."
"You're back." When Dad tried to reach out, he couldn't hold both arms up.
As an invisible dagger sunk into his heart, Vaughn leaned in and gave him a hug. Since when had his dad's shoulders gotten so thin? Since when had it hurt so much for Vaughn to pull air into his own lungs?
He inhaled. The familiar scent of Aqua Velva created a horrible churning in Vaughn's emotions. "How are you, Dad?"
"A little setback." The words came out hesitant, uneven. Slurred. "I'll be back on my feet soon."
"Sure you will." He pulled back and patted a bony shoulder. Suddenly, Vaughn needed to leave the room. Escape. "Uh, you get some rest now, okay?"
Dad's relaxed sigh sent him shrinking into the pillow. Melting.
Fading.
Waves of nausea pushed Vaughn back to the door. Then he spun around. "Why didn't you tell me?" he hissed.
"Garrison said if you wanted contact, you'd call." His brother's face fell. "I wasn't kidding when I said a lot has happened."
"And now?"
Kerr eased the door closed as they exited, then pointed at the room. "Right now, that's Dad's condition. He talks a good game, but he mostly stays in bed. Although I have to say, Nurse Ruth has worked wonders motivating him."
"Who's paying for the in-home nursing?"
"Right now, the three of us are scraping funds together."
"Damn it. I wish I had known. I can pay for his care." Of course he could. Vaughn's meteoric rise as a financial advisor had netted him a six-figure salary and bonuses. If his power to detect danger created an unfair advantage, well, at least he could use the resulting bounty to help his family.
"Garrison said that you'd left for a good reason and would come back when it was the right time."
"If I'd have known..."
"Leave the past in the past." His younger brother scowled. "That's what I have to do."
Of course he did. "How's the leg?"
"Better. Almost ready to dance a jig." No smile. "You still fighting?"
Way to change the subject. "Sure am. Lots of MMA opportunities in the greater New York area."
"Still cheating?"
"It's not cheating. I'm using my full resources is all." He sniffed. "The headaches keep me from doing it too much."
A snort. "Well, that makes it all better, doesn't it?"
Vaughn followed Kerr back down the hallway, careful to keep pace with his brother's uneven gait.
"So what's the plan?" Vaughn asked as he inhaled the scent of hot, fresh breakfast—bacon and eggs—that drifted through the house.
"You stay here and protect the ranch."
"Why?"
"Because whoever burned down the barn—and it looks like the Brand family had something to do with that action—and stalked our family is still around."
"Stalked?" Another change in air pressure pushed Vaughn off-balance again. He resisted the urge to check his back.
"Yeah. Whatever that black... thing... was that was climbing over Shelby and Eric last night has shown up here as well."
"Wait. It's a separate problem from the Brands?"
"Think so. But who knows?" Kerr glanced around the empty hallway and whispered, "We're in a shit-storm over here, dude."
"Not good." Vaughn clamped down so hard his jaw ached.
Kerr ran a hand over his bright red hair, making it stick up. His kid brother's narrowed eyes rocked Vaughn back on his heels. "No, Mr. Obvious, it's not good. Between you and me, all I'm waiting for is the dust to settle and for Shelby and Eric to recover. Then I'm going after that creature myself."
"Alone? You sure about that?"
"If necessary. I have skills, too, you know."
Kerr's ability to never get lost, combined with his gift to literally disappear, could come in way handy in this situation. But kid brother solo versus that thing? Kerr might be resourceful and wily, but Vaughn had seen firsthand what that creature could do. No way would he let little bro go it alone. "Want help?"
"I want it destroyed." Kerr sniffed. "So, yes, I'd love some help."
"I'm on board with that concept." Vaughn spared a glance at the walls filled with childhood photos, starting with baby pictures and finishing with high school graduation portraits times four. "Garrison know you've cooked up this idea?"
A shrug. "No time to chat. I'm sure he'd be fine with it." The who-me? innocence didn't convince Vaughn.
"Got an actual plan?"
"Details are still in the developmental stage."
"Don't do anything if it puts more of us in danger."
"Danger?" Kerr leaned his shoulder against the bottom of the stairs bannister and studied him. "What? Are you feeling anything else threatening since being here?"
Besides the shadow sensation when he arrived at the ranch? And the impact of a certain doctor's beautiful green eyes that knocked him back a few steps? "If I did, I wouldn't admit to having fear. Makes me sound like a scaredy cat."
"No comment. However, you might want to take those instincts seriously. There's something bad out there. Everything is just... wrong here, man. I can't explain it. Nothing we're doing is working. Everything's broken."
"Like we're cursed?" Big news there. Vaughn had felt cursed his whole life.
Pausing at the entry to the kitchen, Kerr gripped the jamb and whispered, "Not exactly. More like we're being sabotaged or targeted."
"That's crazy."
"So you think." He entered the room and nodded to Ruth, who set a plate of steaming food on the table for Vaughn. Kerr kept on walking. "I'm going back to the hospital. Hold down the fort."
"What am I looking for? Stuff that is out of place?"
"No. That's small potatoes." Kerr turned at the back door. "Look for stuff that scares the holy hell out of you."
Chapter 4
At the start of Sunday morning rounds, Mariah had her hands full of caffeinated survival and her mind full of test results for the critically ill patients from early yesterday morning. Or was it two nights ago?
Her days and nights ran together. She rubbed her face with her free hand as she trudged down the first floor hallway to the back stairs. At least a few hours' sleep last night and a good shower had helped. With any luck, the coffee would push her over the hump from marginally functional to semi-human. She rolled her neck.
What about her patient
s? Shelby Taggart, first of all. The orthopedic surgeon had cleaned out the open fracture and placed the external fixation device on her lower leg. Antibiotics were running, and she was afebrile. Normal CT scan.
So why didn't she wake up?
She had also reviewed Eric Patterson's case with the neurosurgeon in Casper. The scan had showed a skull fracture but no brain swelling, bleeding, or CSF leak. After Mariah had updated a calmed-down Garrison and youngest brother, Kerr, they'd made the decision to keep both patients here in Bondurant Valley Hospital.
Actually, no. They had insisted on both patients staying here unless there was no other choice. Not the reaction she was used to seeing.
And what about that fight in the ER between Garrison and Vaughn?
She shivered at the memory of Vaughn's hulking frame, his apparent refusal to fight back against his furious brother, and the way he searched her like she had the answer to a question he needed to know.
No. Not exactly an answer to a question. He'd looked at her like he could strip her bare with a mere glance.
Quit it. He was a stressed-out family member in an emotional situation, nothing more. People had all kinds of reactions to such experiences when their loved ones were injured or sick.
Time to look at probabilities. Had some random guy affected her confidence, or was her self-doubt the problem?
In medicine, the saying went: If you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras. Same with weird feelings. In Mariah's case, the most likely explanation was that she had weird feelings because of her own neuroses, not because of some random guy.
With a sigh, she exited the empty service stairs to reach the back entrance of the patient floor.
Rounding a corner, she came within a sloshed drop of dumping her coffee on Wyatt Brand. She pulled up short as the large, wild-eyed man loomed before her.
The Brand family, like the Taggarts, was well known in town. Wyatt owned the local hardware and supply store. One of the Brand brothers was a principal at the school. Another one was the sheriff. Their mother was also a patient of Mariah's.
And a few weeks ago, yet another Brand brother, Hank, had kidnapped little Zach Taggart and Garrison Taggart's girlfriend, Sara.
Then Hank disappeared. Like, no leads for the investigation, no body parts left behind, no forensic evidence. Vanished.
Which left brother Wyatt to fill the void of bad behavior and even worse attitude. A baton he appeared to have picked up with gusto.
"Dr. Mariah?" That grating voice, combined with the typical leer, was enough by itself to make a gal want to kick him in the nuts. Not to mention, a few weeks ago, when he had accompanied his ailing mother to one of her appointments, Wyatt had made a pass at Mariah.
She carefully folded her arms as she kept her cooling cup of happiness between herself and the guy.
"No" apparently didn't mean "no" in his world, if his ten other advances since were any indication. Points for persistence, but enough was enough. She might have hang-ups from the traumatic experiences in her youth, she may have set the dating bar low due to her past relationship mistakes, and she may not have gone out with anyone in more than a year, but Mariah drew the line at dating co-conspirators in possible felonies.
He scratched at his unshaven chin and stretched to his full, burly height, causing her to crane her head back. Then he leaned forward, invading her personal space. "Have you thought about my offer to take you out for dinner?"
His stale breath of onion-laden hash browns made her eyes water as she backed up. "No, thank you," she sputtered. "What are you doing here? It's seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. I haven't been in to see your mom yet. After I round on her, I'll be sure to update you."
He waved the comment away, like his mother's pneumonia had nothing to do with his presence here in the hospital. Uh oh. Her heart didn't so much flop as go splat. That last sip of coffee turned to acid in her stomach.
He grinned. "Thought it might be a good time for us to talk."
Nothankyouplease. "About what?" Would it kill any other staff member in this hospital to use the back stairs this morning? She'd pay good money for a distraction right about now.
"Our future together."
Right about now, she'd take a fire alarm or a Code Blue. "Pardon?"
"It's simple. I want you. You want me. What else is there to say?" As his beady eyes raked her from feet to head, she fought the urge to yank the lapels of her white lab coat closed.
He pressed a meaty palm to the wall near her head. The thick scent of greasy male clogged her nose. His other arm rose on the other side of her.
Hauling air in and out of her lungs, she whipped her head from side to side. She gulped. Oh no. Her vision blurred at the edges and her head swam. Mariah so did not do confinement in any physical form. Not after... Damn it, she needed to step away from this situation before her flashbacks took over.
No help? No problem. She'd get out of this mess herself.
If only she didn't have a severe allergy to personal confrontation. She could assert herself if a patient's life was at risk, but any other situation? Not her comfort zone at all. But enough was enough. She peered down the hallway. No one in sight; all the nurses must be in morning report. Great.
She tried a test duck, but he slid that hand down next to her shoulder and blocked her exit. Then he smiled, the curl of his damp lips triggering a rush of bile up her esophagus. Too familiar. Too much like before.
The hospital linoleum beneath her feet shifted into plywood in her mind's eye as her memories turned this unpleasant situation into a past horror. She was stuck in that room all over again.
Air. She couldn't get enough air into her tight lungs.
No more nice doctor.
"Mr. Brand, I need to go see patients. Thank you for the offer, but I'm not interested." She forced herself to meet his too-avid leer. Damn it, she'd need a shower to wash away the taint of his gaze all over her. "At all. Ever." Her voice rose, the words coming out clipped and salty. "And do let me know if you'd like the answer provided in smaller words or interpretive dance. I'll do whatever is necessary to get the point across."
"Not possible." A red stain crawled up his neck and face.
As she slid under his big arms, she got a weird tingle over her skin.
Safety. Like a cocoon.
God, how she wished. She peered around. A stairwell, an empty public restroom, and the dead end of a long hall. No safe haven here.
"Okay. We're done here." She edged farther away from Wyatt.
In a burst of movement, the coffee mug flew out of her hand with a crash. A painful pinch on her upper arm, and suddenly she stopped flush against the wall. Air left her in a coughing whoosh, and her pulse skidded out of control. His face loomed inches away.
What the hell? This gorilla had actually put a hand on her.
"I'm not good at taking 'no' for an answer, Mariah. We'd be so great together. Give us a chance." He gripped her arm; her past and present slammed together in nasty juxtaposition. "You saying that you're too good for me?"
Her ears buzzed. This entire situation was surreal. Couldn't be happening. "No. No, I—" She should scream. She should run. She shouldn't freeze like this. Like she did before... before. She opened her mouth. No sound came out.
His fingers dug into her bicep. Tears burned her eyelids. "Then I don't see what there is to discuss," he said. "Unless maybe you like the chase or making the man work for it. Or maybe you like rough stuff? Okay. I can play that game, little teaser." He raised his empty hand.
And just like in that nightmare from long ago, she flinched away.
A low growl nearby, and the hairs stood on her arms as a large man entered her tunneled field of vision, sucking up the light behind Wyatt.
Vaughn Taggart slid in front of her and wrapped his hand around Wyatt's wrist until the man let go of Mariah. Then Vaughn walked, one big man pushing another back, step by slow step. Wyatt gave a guttural grunt as his eyes widened, then narrowed.
"
This is none of your business, Taggart," Wyatt spat, leaning forward but going nowhere.
Vaughn radiated strength and confidence out of the back seams of his form-fitting gray Henley shirt and faded jeans that stretched over his muscled thighs. He did the best impression of an impassable obstacle she'd ever seen. His stance widened, almost like a fighter at the beginning of her brother's MMA bouts, and then he took another step forward, forcing Wyatt to shuffle backward or fall on his ass.
Good.
"Have a nice day, Wyatt." Even though Vaughn's tone remained low and calm, its intense power rolled through her bones. She actually sagged against the wall.
"But, I was only—" the jerk sputtered.
Vaughn continued to hang onto Wyatt's wrist. To a casual observer, the grip was light and easy. The tell? Tight sinews and blanched knuckles as Vaughn clamped down on those bones. "She doesn't want to talk to you."
Hello? She's right here and can hear you. But maybe now wasn't the time to interrupt the glory of Vaughn Taggart bullying the bully.
"How would you know?" Wyatt seethed, trying to pull away.
"You're right. Maybe I misread the situation." Vaughn made a quarter turn and locked onto her with a dark, narrowed stare. A whiff of shaving cream and vital, warm male made her take a deeper breath. It was a lovely scene, watching Vaughn hand Wyatt his ass. "You want to talk with him?"
She crossed her arms and glared at Wyatt. "Nope."
"Works for me." Vaughn turned back to the incapacitated jerk. "The good doctor has work to do, like take care of people who need her help. She doesn't want to waste her time talking with morons. She needs to check on my sister and friend."
Wyatt grinned. "Yeah. How are they doing?"
"Now it's my turn to say none of your business." He released Wyatt's wrist like it was toxic slime and continued to walk forward, imposing his body into the guy's space.
Wyatt slipped on the pool of coffee on the floor and landed square on his butt. Scrambling to his feet, the sweating man craned his head around. Rage played across his contorted face. One of his eyelids twitched. A red glow came and went in his eyes, along with a weird whiff of burnt sulfur. Had to be a trick of the light along with a chemical smell. She didn't move.
Legacy of Danger Page 3
