When Dreams Collide

by Brenda Sinclair

  What happened to him?

  That persistent, rhythmic beeping noise started to get on his nerves. A few seconds later, his brain figured it out. Oh hell, he was lying in a damn hospital bed. A heart monitoring machine was emitting the beeping noise. At least, his heart still beat, always a good sign. Maybe the noise wasn’t so annoying after all.

  God he hurt all over. Pain, so much pain. Unbearable pain. And then he remembered seeing the accident unfold, slamming on the brakes but reacting too late, helplessly watching the motor home barreling toward his truck, anticipating the inevitable collision, his pickup rolling several times before the vehicle came to a stop on its side in the ditch. He’d lost consciousness. Sometime later, he thought he’d heard sirens when he came to for a brief moment, but too soon his world had faded to black again.

  Dusty attempted to open his eyes, let someone know he was awake. But was he awake? For some reason none of his limbs would move when he ordered them to, his eyes wouldn’t open, he couldn’t speak, nothing.

  What the heck?

  Suddenly, he experienced overwhelming sleepiness again. Tired, so tired. His whole body relaxed and the pain dissipated significantly. He’d just nap for a few minutes, and then he’d talk to someone. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. Sleep. Just sleep.

  ****

  Once Jeremy arrived with David in tow, Susan accompanied them up to the surgical floor to wait for a report on Dusty’s condition. Hearing he was alive, she’d assumed the worst was behind them. The three of them took turns pacing the floor, cursing under their breaths, and drinking the cold coffee the guys brought with them from the airport.

  Two police officers talked to Jeremy and David for several minutes, but Susan didn’t move off the waiting area sofa to join the conversation. She knew everything she needed to know—Dusty had been seriously injured in a traffic accident.

  She’d never felt this helpless before in her life, with no inkling as to his condition. All the nurse would say was ‘the surgery was going well’. So informative, thought Susan. That could mean anything from ‘the procedure was simple and routine’ to ‘we’re delighted the patient hasn’t died yet’. Susan grimaced at her lack of confidence in the medical team tending to the man she loved. Naturally, the doctors were doing everything possible to ensure Dusty’s recovery. But the endless waiting was playing havoc with her patience.

  Just then a familiar gray-haired gentleman hurried down the hallway toward Susan. “How’s Dusty?” he asked as he approached.

  Jeremy and David exchanged puzzled glances.

  “This is Brock Thompson. I forgot I’d called him while I was waiting for you guys. Dusty bought Brock’s ranch, but Brock is staying on to lend a hand.” Susan extended her hand to Brock, but she received a warm hug instead. She looked up into a pair of kind gray eyes. “This is Jeremy and David Branigan—Dusty’s honorary brothers.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Thompson,” said Jeremy and David in unison.

  “You boys call me Brock. How’s Dusty?” he asked again.

  They all spoke at once, relaying what news they could about Dusty’s condition and ongoing surgery. Brock joined in the pacing. Every hour or so, he disappeared without a word of explanation but returned fifteen minutes later. Susan assumed he didn’t want them to see him shedding a tear or two.

  Finally, a surgeon dressed in scrubs appeared in the hallway. As he approached, he dragged a cloth surgical cap off his head and rotated his shoulders as if loosening muscle cramps. “I’m looking for Jeremy Branigan.”

  All four of them leapt to their feet.

  “I’m Jeremy.”

  “I’m Doctor Carter. I operated on Mr. MacFarland.”

  Chapter 11

  “Hello, Dr. Carter. This is my brother David Branigan. And that’s Brock Thompson and Susan Sanders.” Jeremy pointed to each person in turn as he introduced them. “How is Dusty?”

  “Mr. MacFarland breezed through the operation.” The surgeon met everyone’s eyes in turn to include them in the conversation. “We removed his ruptured spleen, but no other organs were damaged. I mended a couple broken ribs and his ribcage is badly bruised, but all that will heal in time. At first I thought his nose was broken, but the plastic surgeon I consulted assured me his face is fine, just extremely bruised.”

  The doctor paused, and the delay set off warning bells in Susan’s head. She felt a ‘but’ coming on, and she had the urge to turn tail and run, afraid of what more he would add to his report. But that reaction was cowardly, and she was no coward. She wouldn’t leave Dusty’s side.

  “There was significant trauma to his spine, however. That worries me the most. We couldn’t detect any response in his lower limbs due to paralysis.”

  Susan gasped, and Jeremy swore under his breath.

  “Now don’t panic. This doesn’t mean the situation is permanent. Until the swelling goes down, we can’t determine conclusively what permanent damage has been done, if any. Dusty may be a paraplegic or he may walk out of this hospital in a few weeks without any problems at all.” The surgeon sighed. “We simply have to wait until the swelling subsides and proceed from there.”

  “Oh, my, God,” whispered Susan. Feeling faint, she slumped onto a nearby chair. She’d convinced herself that the surgeons would patch Dusty up and he’d be as good as new, never doubting he would walk out of the hospital under his own power. She’d never been a particularly religious person, but she prayed fervently that the man she loved would receive the miracle he deserved. If he lost all mobility in his legs and couldn’t run the ranch he’d just purchased in the way he’d always dreamed... He would be so disappointed.

  “When can we see Dusty?” inquired Jeremy.

  “He’s in the ICU. We’re keeping him in a medically induced coma. We don’t want him waking up yet. The pain would be unbearable and totally counterproductive to our purposes.”

  “Why a coma?” asked Susan.

  “We want the swelling to recede and the healing to progress as quickly as possible, and the coma aids his body’s healing. Once the swelling reduces, we can properly evaluate his spine.” The doctor removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes. “I suggest you go home and come back tomorrow. We’ll keep Mr. MacFarland in the coma for several days, and even then there’s no telling when he’ll come to after we discontinue the drugs. Please leave a phone number where we can contact you. If there’s any change in his condition, the nurse will notify you immediately.”

  David shook the surgeon’s hand. “Thanks, Doc. We talked to the police awhile ago. The first officer on the scene told us Dusty was lucky to be alive. The cop figured Dusty attempted to avoid the other vehicle. If he hadn’t tried, he would have been killed for sure when the motor home hit him. He just didn’t react quickly enough to avoid the collision all together.”

  “I suppose the driver was drunk.” The doctor stuck his glasses back on his face.

  “Yeah, he was. Some yahoo who decided to drive to town for more booze after his wife hid the car keys from him.” Jeremy shook his head. “He’s in jail with barely a scratch, and there’s a possibility Dusty might be paralyzed for the rest of his life. I could kill the guy with my bare hands.”

  “Get in line,” added the doctor. “Believe me. I’ve seen it here in the ER a thousand times.”

  David leaned over and shook the doctor’s hand. “We’ll check into a hotel and drop back again tomorrow morning.”

  “I’m staying,” stated Susan, emphatically. “I don’t care if Dusty is in a coma. I need to assure myself he’s still alive.”

  “Understandable.” The doctor touched her arm. “Come with me and the nurses will arrange for a brief visit.”

  “Susan, you go on ahead. We’ll call your cell once we get settled into a motel, okay?” Jeremy waved his hand, indicating she should follow the physician.

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.” She hurried after Dr. Carter.

  Susan heard Brock and the Branigan brothers discussing their plans until she a
nd the doctor disappeared around a corner in the hallway. Dr. Carter held open the door for Susan admitting them to the ICU area. “He’s going to appear worse than he probably is. I’ll warn you right now, so you can prepare yourself for what’s ahead.”

  Twenty minutes later, Susan was permitted entry into Dusty’s ICU room after shutting off her cell phone and taking all required precautions to prevent infection. Immediately, her senses were inundated with a cacophony of sounds and the antiseptic hospital smell that threatened to turn her stomach, even though she hadn’t eaten anything since noon. God, she hated that smell—a reminder of all the hospital visits to Amanda’s bedside during her battle with cancer. She suppressed the urge to gag.

  Susan took a deep breath through her mouth to steady her nerves and glanced about the room. The scene before her resembled something out of a science fiction movie. Dusty’s inert body lay propped up in bed with the side rails secured in place, surrounded by an endless sea of tubes attached to him in more places than she could count. Various beeping and suctioning sounds competed with each other, coming from the IV, the blood pressure cuff, the heart monitor and Lord knows where else. The pristine white sheet barely covered Dusty, revealing an abdominal drain and a catheter bag, as well as the breathing tube which obscured a portion of his face. She grimaced when she caught sight of the facial cuts and the patchwork of stitches required to repair them. Ugly bruises in several shades of black and blue covered almost every inch on his face, neck, arms and chest. The contusions looked extremely painful, and his left eye was swollen completely shut.

  A wounded soldier of war wouldn’t look worse.

  She stepped closer to the bed.

  Dusty appeared to be sleeping peacefully, exactly as he had while she watched him napping in the hotel room in Bozeman when they spent their first night together, making love until the wee hours of the morning. The drugs must be serving their purpose; there wasn’t a hint of pain in his expression. Just sleeping.

  She couldn’t love him more than she did at this moment. Whether running around his ranch on two strong legs, riding the wildest of horses for fun, or confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his days, she would love him until death parted them. Married or not.

  Susan bent over his prone body and whispered near his ear, “Get well, darling. Sweet dreams, and then we’ll talk when you wake up.” She kissed her index finger and ever so gently touched his right temple—one of the few areas of his face without a bruise. She brushed a tear from her eye with her hand and smiled at the ICU nurse checking the readings on all the machines. “Thank you for allowing me to see him.”

  “You’re very welcome. It helps to see the patient with your own eyes and know he’s not in pain and doing as well as can be expected.” The nurse smiled. “I can see in your eyes how much you love this man. Try not to worry. We’ll take very good care of him.”

  “Thank you.” Susan turned, hurried out of the room, and burst into tears.

  After crying for several minutes, Susan slumped on a nearby sofa and turned on her cell phone. It immediately rang.

  “Hello,” she muttered, sniffling.

  “Are you okay? Did something happen?” inquired Jeremy, concern evident in his voice.

  “No change. I just left his side in the ICU. He looks, so...so horrible. It’s a miracle he’s still alive, Jeremy. I don’t know what I would have done if...”

  “Don’t even think it. Dusty’s strong and stubborn and he loves you. He’ll survive this. I know it.”

  Jeremy’s voice sounded convinced, and Susan wanted so badly to believe him.

  Jeremy continued, “David and I checked into a motel two blocks from the hospital. We both called our wives and filled them in on Dusty’s condition. Catherine and Amanda were ready to hop in a car and drive over here to provide moral support, but we talked them out of it. With Dusty in a coma, there’s no reason to come yet.”

  “I agree. It could be several days before Dusty’s awake again. And with the breathing tube in for so many days, there’s no guarantee he’ll be able to talk even then. Best they don’t make the trip until they can visit with him properly.” Susan sighed.

  “You sound exhausted. Did Brock make it back yet?”

  Susan glanced up and noticed Brock carrying a paper takeout bag, heading in her direction “Yes, he’s here now.”

  “Good. Eat whatever he brought for you. No arguing. And then go home and get some sleep. I don’t know what the old guy’s plans are. I inquired and there are lots of rooms available here if he wants to check in later.”

  “Thanks, Jeremy. I’ll ensure Brock let’s you know his whereabouts.”

  “Thanks, Susan. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  Susan turned off her phone as Brock slipped into a chair across from her. He set the takeout meal on the coffee table in front of her. “Eat up and no fussing about it either. Most of us fellows prefer burgers and fries, but I bought you a salad and a baked potato. You women are fond of that sort of thing.”

  Susan smiled at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you. I’ll have some later...”

  “Good try.” Brock waved off her comment. “Open that bag and dig in. I’m not above feeding you.”

  Recalling Brock and his wife never had children, she laughed at his determined expression. “All right, all right. I’ll eat the salad. You would have made an extremely bossy father.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.” Brock sat, arms crossed, waiting for her to take that first bite.

  She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she’d started eating. In the end, she finished every bite, much to Brock’s delight.

  “Now, I know you plan to spend the night here, but you’re going home and getting some sleep, Susan. You can’t help Dusty by catching a few winks on that sofa.”

  Susan squirmed in her seat. The old guy possessed an uncanny ability to anticipate her intentions. “I’ll be okay here...”

  Brock shook his head as she started to protest. “You shouldn’t be alone. Do you have a spare room at your condo?”

  “Yes, I own a two-bedroom condo, and you’re more than welcome to stay at my place tonight, but I should remain close by Dusty in case.” She halted at his stern expression.

  “Are dogs allowed at your condo?”

  “Yes, we’re allowed pets. Why? Are you allergic?”

  “The reason I inquired is because I’ve got Buster outside in my truck. I’m afraid we come as a matched set. If you’re inviting me to stay, you’ll be getting Buster, too.”

  Susan noticed the slightly gray tinge to the old fellow’s face. The day’s drama and worry were taking a toll on him. He required a good night’s sleep more than she did. “Who’s Buster?”

  “The dog Dusty and I adopted this morning. He’s a collie—friendly, house-trained, won’t be a bother. Gave him a bath soon as we got him home...”

  “Okay. No need to sell me on the idea. Buster is welcome to accompany you.”

  “Us. You’re coming, too. Sleeping in your own bed and returning here in the morning refreshed and prepared to face whatever’s ahead of us is the best thing you can do for Dusty.” The senior rose from his chair, gathered up her supper remains and tossed them into a nearby receptacle. “Let’s go. No arguing with your elders.”

  Susan sighed. “Okay, you win. The medical team has my cell number. I’m coming.”

  An hour later, Brock and Buster were settled into her spare room, and Susan pulled the covers up to her neck in her own bed. She’d just spent twenty minutes crying alone in the shower so Brock wouldn’t hear her. She felt totally exhausted, and yet sleep evaded her. She tossed and turned and realized she’d never sleep a wink. For several minutes, she contemplated crawling out of bed again and making herself a cup of herbal tea. Despite her best efforts, she started crying again. Suddenly, Buster leapt onto her bed, and she squealed in surprise.

  “Buster. What are you doing in here?” she whispered, wiping the tears from her eyes.

  Sus
an waited for several minutes, anticipating Brock padding down the hallway to fetch his new best friend. When the old fellow didn’t materialize at her doorway, she assumed he’d fallen into a deep sleep and hadn’t realized the dog even left their room.

  Buster turned in a circle a couple of times and then settled alongside Susan in her bed. He rested his head on her abdomen and peered up at her. Sufficient moonlight streamed through the bedroom window for Susan to distinguish the animal’s concerned expression.

  “Are you worried about me?” Susan reached over and ruffled the dog’s ears. “Yeah, you’re right. You sense I’m upset, don’t you? Probably heard me crying with that super doggie hearing. Well, the guy I love most in the world is in the hospital, and he’s really hurt, Buster.”

  The dog whined and crept a foot closer. Susan flipped onto her side and met the animal’s eyes. “I don’t know if he’s ever going to walk again, Buster, and the thought scares me so much. Not for myself. I’ll love him regardless. But if Dusty can’t walk, can’t run his ranch...” Another sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face in the dog’s soft fur and cried herself to sleep.

  ****

  “No change.”

  The ICU nurse delivered the news Susan and Brock expected. But hearing it spoken aloud dampened their spirits even further. Jeremy and David joined them in their vigil shortly after ten o’clock. Jeremy and David insisted on a tour of Dusty’s new ranch, and Brock beamed with pleasure at the prospect of showing off the property. The three guys disappeared around noon, leaving Susan alone.

  At one o’clock, the attendant in charge of the ICU allowed Susan a ten minute visit with Dusty, and she spent the entire time talking to him non-stop. She assured him everyone was cheering for his speedy recovery, Brock was caring for Buster and occupying her spare room, and Jeremy and David were wearing out the flooring in the ICU waiting room. She didn’t mention they were touring his ranch, believing he might be upset that he hadn’t been able to show off his new prize purchase himself. She informed him that Catherine and Amanda remained at home and received updates on his condition by phone. She ended the visit with another kiss and instructions to enjoy his sleep and keep healing. When she returned to the waiting room, another crying jag followed her visit. She hadn’t believed it possible for one person to generate so many tears.