“What on earth happened? Your face is as white as the bed sheets in this place.”
“Dusty never wants to see me again, Mrs. Flanagan,” sobbed Susan, unable to hold back her tears.
“Classic. Breaking off friendships.” The nurse patted Susan’s back and guided her toward a chair in the visitors’ room. “This is just his way of coping. He doesn’t want his friends to see him like this, helpless, without hope. Struggling mentally, trying his best to get by. And it will only get worse once he begins physical therapy. Believe me, he didn’t mean a word of what he said. And I imagine he spouted some pretty hurtful words.”
“I couldn’t believe the things he said.” Susan wiped her tears with her hand.
“Then don’t believe them. Dusty wasn’t saying those things, his fear was.”
Just then, Brock strode down the hallway, heading in their direction. Buster trotted along beside him, his head on a pivot taking in all the exciting sights and new sounds and strange smells surrounding him. When he spotted Susan, the dog wagged his tail furiously and she would swear the dog was smiling.
“Hi, Buster,” whispered Susan, ruffling the dog’s ears. She loved having the big friendly hound staying at her home. But he never crawled up on her bed again, instinctively knew he wasn’t needed since that first night. “What are you doing here?”
“I figured I’d bring the dog in for a visit today. Gave him a bath and a good brushing last night. Maybe old Buster here will cheer up Dusty. He’s being one ornery dude right now.” Brock untangled the dog’s leash from around Susan’s arm.
“Anything is worth a try. He just broke up with me. Thankfully, Jeremy and David returned home, or Lord knows what hurtful things he would have said to them after all they’ve done for him.” Susan glanced over at the nurse.
“Both of you just remember, this behavior is typical. Hopefully, his prognosis will be positive, and you’ll both become part of his world again in no time.” The nurse stood.
“Won’t be too soon for me,” mumbled Brock, tugging on Buster’s leash.
“Let’s take you to meet our patient,” said the nurse, sounding encouraged by the dog’s presence.
*
A minute later, the nurse strode into Dusty’s room with Brock and Buster following on her heels. Dusty lay in bed, facing the wall. “Someone dear to you dropped by for a visit.” The nurse’s cheery voice barely penetrated Dusty’s hearing.
“Tell whoever it is that I’m sleeping.” Dusty remained where he was.
“Well, that would be possible, except he’s standing in the room right now.” The nurse chuckled.
Reluctantly, Dusty turned slightly and noticed Brock standing beside the bed. “Did you bring your checkbook?” Dusty lay back against the pillows and met the older man’s eyes.
“Nope. Brought you something better.” Brock patted the bed and seventy pounds of collie leapt onto it.
“Whoa. What the hell is he doing in here? You’re going to get all of us thrown out.” Dusty grimaced with the sudden pain that shot through his ribs when the dog landed on his bed.
“Dogs are allowed to visit patients. And judging by that tail wagging, he’s happy to see you, Dusty. What’s your name, pretty boy?” the nurse asked.
“That’s Buster.” Brock beamed, proud as a new papa, and then added, “He’s in charge of security at the ranch.”
“I never could resist a fellow in law enforcement. I’ll leave you folks to visit for awhile. No more pain meds for another forty-five minutes.” The nurse chuckled and then petted Buster’s head on her way out the door.
“Why on God’s green earth would you bring a dog to a hospital? Are you nuts?” Dusty couldn’t contain the smile that snuck past his glower.
“When my wife was in here dying from cancer, family members of other patients brought in their dogs for a visit. Gosh, Sue loved seeing those animals. She’d be so excited you’d think she owned them. So, I thought you’d like to visit with Buster for awhile.” Brock headed toward the door. “I’ve got a hankering for a cup of coffee so I’ll leave you two to chat. I’ll be back later. Now, Buster, don’t you monopolize the conversation. Let Dusty get a word in once in awhile.”
Dusty chuckled in spite of himself as Brock disappeared out the door. “So, you’ve become a chatter box, have you? I guess finding yourself in a safe home with a full dog dish at meal time every day will do that for a guy.” Dusty ruffled the dog’s ears, and Buster crept closer on the bed.
Dusty bent down and buried his nose in the dog’s fur. “You smell like lemons or something. You must have had a bath recently.”
Buster nudged Dusty’s hand, indicating a petting or ear scratching was in order.
Dusty complied with the request. “You know. I’ve gotten myself into one hell of a situation here.”
The dog tilted his head, obviously listening attentively.
Dusty chuckled again. “Thanks for coming to see me, Buster. I could be wrong, but I’m a little concerned that you might be the only visitor who doesn’t sit here with pity in your eyes, seeing nothing but a guy with bum legs and no future. To you, I’m just the man who hands out good jerky treats and then scratches your ears.”
The dog laid his head on Dusty’s chest sending a stab of pain through the patient’s upper half. Dusty lifted the dog’s head and settled it more to the side. “That’s better. Yep. Good old Buster. No expectations. No judgment. Haven’t seen Jeremy or David for awhile now, which is good. I couldn’t stand seeing pity in their eyes, although again I could be wrong. No doubt, Brock regrets selling me his ranch. I won’t be boarding horses or giving anybody riding lessons now. Hell, what are we going to do with you? When I sell the place back to Brock, I’ll be putting you out of work, too, if Brock sells again and moves to town. Which I’m certain he’d do. I don’t know if dogs are allowed at that seniors’ apartment he’d planned to move into. Maybe Susan would take you since dogs are allowed where she lives. You’re sure as hell not going back to that animal shelter.”
The dog whined, as if he agreed on that point.
“We’re in a hell of a predicament,” reiterated Dusty. “Sometimes life really sucks. And I wouldn’t admit this to anyone but you, Buster. Right now, I’m scared shitless.”
“I’m back,” called Brock as he swept into the room. “Found Susan out in the hallway. She was heading back to her condo. Visiting hours are almost over so I’d best get this guy out of here, too.”
“Where’s your coffee?” asked Dusty, only slightly annoyed that Susan hadn’t taken him seriously and just left and forgotten about him.
Suddenly, it occurred to Dusty that the old guy left him alone with Buster on purpose. Did Brock hope he’d spill his guts to the dog since he wouldn’t talk to anyone else? Sneaky old coot, decided Dusty. Especially since it had worked. He had to admit he felt better, having talked his problems over with the dog.
“Drank it while I was talking to Susan in the hallway.” Brock threw up his hands. “Young folk just don’t listen.”
“Sorry. I hadn’t realized you were gone that long. Buster and I have had an enjoyable visit. Says you’re not feeding him those jerky treats often enough. Give him one for me when you take him home.”
“Haven’t been going home. Been staying in Susan’s spare room. She even invited Buster to move in, too. Probably be heading back to your ranch soon though, now that you’re awake and doing better.”
“Humph,” Dusty scoffed. For a brief moment after learning about Brock’s new living arrangements, he experienced a pang of jealousy, and then he realized the idiocy in such a thought. The old guy was in his seventies, and he was a true gentleman. “Better is a relative term. I don’t consider laid up in a hospital bed, probably will never walk again, as better.”
“Well, once all the swelling goes down and the healing gets going full steam ahead, you’ll be back at the ranch before you know it. Old Buster and me will be there welcoming you with open arms.” Brock waved off Dusty’s inten
tions. “I know you’ve got it in your head to sell the ranch back to me. Well forget it. Not interested. The place is your horse ranch now.”
“But...”
“Forget it, son. I’ll see you again in a day or two. Come on, Buster, I’ll race you to the parking lot.” Brock cackled at his joke as he lumbered out the door with the dog on his heels.
Buster woofed.
“Goodbye to you, too, Buster,” called Dusty.
“Doggie!” shouted a little kid in the hallway.
Dusty smiled, wickedly, knowing Brock would probably spend a half hour wending his way through a maze of kids trying to exit the hospital now that the dog had been spotted. “Damn old fool,” he spat. “One way or another, you’re getting your ranch back. I sure as hell won’t need it.”
Chapter 13
When Susan heard Brock voicing his goodbye from behind the door left slightly ajar, she scampered across the hallway and studied an oil painting on the wall with the intensity of an art critic at a gallery on an opening night. For the second time today, she’d almost been caught eavesdropping on a private conversation taking place in Dusty’s room.
Awhile ago, she opened his hospital door just a crack and overheard Dusty talking to Buster. And then Brock hadn’t closed the door, and she’d listened in on his conversation with Dusty. Since the stubborn cowboy refused her admittance to his room and essentially banned her from his life, she needed to keep tabs on him some way. She considered eavesdropping merely thinking outside the box, and she didn’t feel one iota of guilt. Well, maybe one.
Brock stepped into the hallway. “Hi, Susan. Didn’t realize you were still here.” The senior paused for a few moments while a little boy, about three or four years old, hugged Buster. The youngster received a thorough face washing for his affectionate gesture, and then the little guy headed down the hallway with his father.
“I decided to stick around, in case Buster brightened old cranky pants’ mood. I’d hoped Dusty might inquire about me, and maybe allow me into his room for a few minutes.”
“He looked pretty beat. Probably dozed off already.” Brock sounded sympathetic and saddened by her banishment from Dusty’s life. “That’s one stubborn guy you’ve fallen in love with.”
“Once things look more promising for him, he’ll welcome me back into his life.” Susan smiled, weakly. “I brought my car this morning, and I’ll see you back at the condo shortly.”
“We’ll have a hot cup of herbal tea waiting for you.”
“Thanks, Brock. You’re the best.” While Susan watched Brock and Buster disappear into the elevator, she contemplated all that she’d overheard.
Dusty’s confessed fears and frustrations, when he thought only the dog was listening, had confirmed what the nurse told her. She hadn’t been surprised to hear him admit how frightened he was considering his current precarious situation. The fear caused him to toss her out of his life like a worn-out pair of shoes he no longer needed. She understood why he’d done it, but it still hurt her deeply. And she was at a loss as to how to help him deal with all of it.
At least, Dusty’s talk with the dog served a therapeutic purpose. If the pig-headed man wouldn’t share his feelings with a human, at least his canine buddy listened intently. Saying the words aloud could have helped Dusty put his problems into perspective. At least, she hoped so.
Brock mentioned Dusty might have fallen asleep already. Did she dare sneak a peek inside his room to catch a glimpse of him? What if he caught her? He’d be as furious as a hornet in a hairnet if he did. But she loved him enough to risk his wrath.
She cracked the door a few inches. No sounds could be heard. She pushed the door open just enough to peek inside.
“What are you doing?”
Susan jumped a foot, gasped, and leapt back into the hallway. She whirled around, coming face-to- face with Mrs. Flanagan.
“Good Lord, you frightened me,” whispered Susan, feeling her face redden. “I wanted to check if Dusty was sleeping soundly before I left the hospital.”
“Sure you did.” A grin crept across the matronly nurse’s face.
“Of course, I did. I’m concerned about him. He refuses to see me, and I...”
“He’s doing fine. Vitals are normal, and he sleeps a lot during the day which helps his body to continue to repair itself. He’s keeping his strength up with sessions with the physical therapists. And he’s eating well. That’s the good news. The psychiatrist isn’t making much progress with him, however, but that’s understandable. He’s angry, working through the ‘why me’ stage of recovery.” The nurse pushed open the door, peeked inside for a few seconds, and then met Susan’s eyes while the door shut itself again. “Eyes closed, even breathing. He’s asleep.”
“Thank you for sharing with me and for checking on him. I’ll head home now.” Susan straightened her back, hoping to recover some credibility, having been caught spying on the patient.
“Good night, Ms. Sanders. We’ll see you tomorrow no doubt.” Mrs. Flanagan disappeared into Dusty’s room.
“Count on it,” whispered Susan, as she headed for the elevator.
****
A month later, Dusty woke up to sunshine streaming through his hospital window and no sign of his private nurse, or any nurse for that matter. Finding himself alone in the room felt totally foreign, having endured round-the-clock attention since the accident almost two months ago. He supposed Mrs. Flanagan left for a few minutes to fetch his medications or grab a quick cup of coffee.
He shifted in the bed, stretched him arms, and rolled his shoulders. And then his face paled and he screamed for the nurse.
“Mrs. Flanagan!”
No one came.
“Somebody! Anybody!”
Nothing.
“Help!”
Mrs. Flanagan raced into the room, carrying a tray of meds and a jug of ice water in her hands with her familiar romance novel tucked under one arm. “What on earth is wrong? I heard you screaming from the far end of the hallway.”
“I think…I think…”
“Dear Lord. Did something happen?” The nurse’s face paled and he thought she might faint. “I was only gone a minute.”
“I think…I think I can feel tingling in my toes,” whispered Dusty.
The nurse heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh, thank goodness. Is that all?”
“Is that all?” Dusty’s mouth fell open, and he gaped at the nurse.
“The swelling is reducing more each day. We expected you to regain some feeling in your limbs soon. Today appears to be the day.” The nurse set her things down and approached his bed. “Let me ring the doctor and we’ll test your reactions again.”
“Oh, my, God. Do you think this is really happening? Will I be able to walk again?” Dusty forced his heartbeat to remain steady. For weeks now, he’d doubted he would ever see this day. Suddenly, it occurred to him that perhaps he’d just imagined feeling something in his toes.
Just then, Susan poked her head through the open door and peeked into the room. “Did I hear you say something about being able to walk?”
“What are you doing here?” Dusty scowled, crossed his arms. “I guess you picked a good day to come snooping around.”
“What do you mean by that?” whispered Susan, feeling her face redden.
“We’re waiting for the doctor to re-evaluate my lower limbs. I thought I felt a tingle in my toes this morning.”
“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Susan.
“Or, maybe I just imagined the whole thing,” scoffed Dusty.
Mrs. Flanagan stepped up to his bedside, stood hands on hips, frowning at her patient. “Susan isn’t here snooping around, as you put it. She has been here every day since the accident happened. Even though you refused to see her, she came to check up on you and stayed nearby, spending hours in those uncomfortable waiting room chairs, in case you needed her. If anyone deserves to share the good news with you today, it’s this remarkable lady.”
Dusty glanced at Susa
n and settled back on the pillows and closed his eyes. Every day. He couldn’t fathom it, couldn’t believe it. Especially after the harsh words he’d uttered, hoping she’d just forget she’d ever met him and leave. He couldn’t stand the thought of her watching over the invalid. He couldn’t witness the moment she realized he would never walk again or be the man she’d come to love. And he didn’t doubt she had felt the same way about him as he had for her. Had being the key word. No woman would want him now.
Just then, Dr. Carter strode into the room wearing a huge grin. “I hear you frightened the daylights out of half the nursing staff this morning.”
“Yeah, well, I scared myself, too. Now, I think maybe I just imagined the whole thing,” complained Dusty.
Dr. Carter tugged the sheet out of the foot of the bed, exposing Dusty’s feet. “Okay, let’s see what’s going on down here.”
The doctor gingerly poked Dusty’s left foot and peeked over his eyeglasses at the cowboy. “Feel anything?”
Dusty shook his head.
The doctor picked another spot and another.
Dusty shook his head. “I don’t think… Ouch.”
The doctor poked the same spot again.
“Ouch. I felt that,” confirmed Dusty, beaming. “Doc, I actually felt that.”
The doctor repeated the process on the other foot, but with no response.
“Maybe it’s just a fluke,” observed Dusty.
“No. This indicates progress,” insisted Dr. Carter. “In another day or two, you could experience more and more feeling in your toes, and your feet, eventually your legs. This is exactly what we’d hoped for.”
The doctor collected his instruments and smiled. “I’ll return tomorrow and test you again. And I’ll consult with the physical therapist and your other therapists about this positive new development in your case. Maybe you’ll walk out of here one of these days.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Susan heard the emotion in her voice. “That would be so wonderful.”
When Dreams Collide Page 14
