Andi's voice rang in her ear through the tinny cell connection. Was he conscious?
Callum groaned. His eyes opened. They were glassy and unfocused as he squinted at her.
"Yes, he's conscious, but he may be concussed."
She attempted the handle, intending to pry the door open, but the impact had crushed the front fender and driver's door. It wouldn't budge.
She knew the arrival time for their volunteer fire department was under six minutes. The fire station was five buildings down. She was off-duty. But her training and the sense of duty that infused her wouldn't let her walk away.
Callum's head rolled on the headrest.
"Stay still," she ordered.
He mumbled something incoherent.
She scrabbled for a hold, some way to boost herself up on the side of his truck, but there was no running board, and she was too petite to get a good look inside.
She ran around the back of the truck, noticing the crowd gathering around, huddling beneath awnings to avoid the rain pattering around them. She didn't even feel it.
The truck was wedged against the building, bricks at the corner crumpled, red dust raining down. Glass crunched underfoot as she sidled up to the passenger door and yanked it open. She had to suck in her stomach to fit between the door and frame.
Inside, the smell of gas was nearly overpowering, and her nose wrinkled in protest. There was glass everywhere inside the truck, and she was careful not to stick herself as she knelt on the seat.
Callum struggled with his seatbelt. She wished she had a neck brace but settled for holding both sides of his jaw between her palms. From her position, she could see that his left leg was caught in the twisted metal.
"Be still," she ordered.
His eyes were focused on her, his pupils a normal size and not the pinpricks she'd see if he'd suffered a concussion.
"The boys," he mumbled. But his words weren't making any sense to her.
"What?"
There was a whimper from the backseat, and she startled. She twisted in the seat and found three matching pairs of Callum's brown eyes staring wide-eyed at her.
Triplets. They looked so alike that they must be.
"Hello," she said dumbly. Callum had children? Her insides twisted like the metal of his truck, crumpling the foundations of her heart.
Forgoing Callum's possible injuries momentarily, guessing that he wouldn't settle until she'd checked over his kids, she leaned over the back seat. She used precious moments to touch each of their little legs. She knew better than to ask if they were scared or hurt—if they were hurt, they'd be screaming. And their wide-eyes told her they were scared. She did a visual check. Their car seats were intact, there was no glass on them. They didn't appear to have even been scratched.
"They're all right," she said to Callum. "Their car seats kept them safe."
"Are you sure?" His voice was rough with desperation.
Sirens blew, loud because they were close.
Her stomach dipped at the fear in his eyes. He loved his sons completely, the way he used to love her. A responding pang of long-dormant emotion rang inside her like a distant gong—unhelpful.
"You know you can trust me," she said quietly. "They're fine."
He held her gaze for a long silent moment, dark anguish behind his eyes. Was he letting her see because of the insanity of this moment? He blinked, and it was gone.
He levered his hand against the steering wheel, apparently trying to pull his leg out of the metal.
"You need to be still," she said as she popped the glove box. A wide belt buckle thunked to the floorboards, followed by a cascade of fast food napkins. Jackpot. "If you have internal injuries, you could be aggravating them—"
"I don't have internal injuries," he muttered.
"Are you a paramedic?" she asked tartly, attempting to press the napkins against the blood pouring from his temple.
"Are you?" he returned, giving his leg another jerk. The napkin slipped out of place.
"Yes." She pressed against his shoulder, trying to hold him still.
She sensed that she'd surprised him when he stilled beneath her hand. "I can't see from here, but if your leg is bleeding, you'll make it worse with your struggling. The team is almost here."
As if her mention had made them materialize, the rig drew up right in the intersection, and the volunteer firefighter crew jumped off, dressed in full gear.
"I'm going to take the boys out," she told Callum. "Won't they be scared if you have to get pried out of here?"
"Good idea," he said.
"What are their names?"
She started unbuckling the closest boy, leaning halfway over the seatback so she could reach. He had his thumb stuck in his mouth, and she had to wrestle him to get his arms through the seatbelt loops.
"Brandt, Tyler, and Levi. They're three."
All three boys had been nearly silent until now, but as she reached for the middle one who clutched a worn teddy bear, he started to cry. And of course his brothers echoed him as she struggled with the buckle.
"Hey, hey," she said, in a soothing tone she'd taken with other children who'd been shaken up by wrecks. "My name is Miss Iris. I'm a friend of your daddy's."
The white lie burned her throat nearly as badly as the tears she was holding back—the product of her roiling emotions and seeing these little carbon copies of their father up close.
She would hold it all inside until she was alone. She had enough practice. She could do this.
And the little boys needed whatever comfort they could get.
She handed the first one out to a suited-up firefighter, and the boy kicked and squirmed, shrieking.
She wrestled the next one out of his car seat, getting a small shoe to the jaw as he struggled against her. "It's all right, it's all right."
Out Callum's window she could see they'd unloaded the extraction tool, jokingly called the jaws of life. She knew how noisy it would be as they cut Callum loose, and she redoubled her efforts to get the third child out.
She'd handed him to the firefighter and was attempting to follow when Callum caught her elbow in his hand.
"Take them to the hospital, just in case?"
She nodded. "It's protocol."
He gritted his teeth. Either he was in a lot of pain—undoubtedly—or he was getting ready to say something painful. She waited, anticipating the blow.
"Stay with them?" he asked. "Please?"
She closed her eyes as the tears she'd swallowed back earlier burned her eyes. She wouldn't cry in front of him.
She opened her eyes, extra wide so the tears wouldn't fall. "Okay."
#
Callum blinked hard and struggled to focus on the image before him in the dim fluorescent light.
Those weren't his boots.
His head hurt. He was woozy and nauseated, and his left leg pulsed with pain. What had happened?
Something hummed in his ears. The slender tan boots with pink stitching knocked to one side, and he got his eyes to working and trailed the boot shaft up a shapely denim-covered calf which seemed to be attached to an attractive set of slender hips, which belonged to...
Iris Tatum slumbered in the chair next to his bedside, one leg propped on his mattress, her cheek pillowed on her elbow on the chair's arm. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and her lashes made shadows against her cheeks.
He knew something wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to be here, at his side, but for one moment he let himself believe, let himself remember what it was like to have her love...
Antiseptic smells burned his nostrils as emotion welled in his chest, filling up all the cracks that a lifetime of neglect and abandonment had left inside him.
His missing memories came back to him in a rush. The accident. His truck.
The boys.
"Iris." The word stuck in his throat. He tried to clear his throat.
There was a pitcher and cup on a rolling table nearby, but it was to
o far too reach. He felt like a two thousand pound bull sat on his chest. His limbs were heavy, immovable. Several machines droned nearby, and it was full dark around the edges of the curtain at the window.
She stirred. Hummed a little bit, deep in her throat, and the noise hit him down deep in his belly.
He frowned, knowing he shouldn't be feeling anything for her, not even attraction. He'd never thought to see her again, thought she'd be long gone and good riddance to Redbud Trails.
It had been both of their dreams to get as far away as they could.
She sat up with a start, rubbing one hand over her face. When she straightened, he saw a red crease across her cheek and a messy, hot feeling expanded in his chest. He'd dreamed of seeing her like this, every morning, as his wife.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep." She turned her back to him, rubbing both hands over her face again. Hiding from him?
He hadn't expected her to stay, not this long. But instead of thank you, what emerged from his mouth was, "Where are my boys?" His voice was loaded with gravel, and she stood up to fetch the water without him asking.
Water sluiced from the pitcher into the cup, and he swallowed reflexively.
"They're fine," she said, pressing the cup into his hand. "They're sleeping in a room down the hall."
Just the slide of her fingers against his palm sent goosebumps cascading up his arm and down his back. He frowned, focusing on getting the cup to his mouth without spilling the water all over his chest. His sluggish brain conjured an image of her snuggled up with the three boys, and he blinked—hard—to clear it. Even after he'd slugged the water, a metallic taste remained.
He glanced at the clock. "It's the middle of the night. What are you still doing here?"
After he'd weathered the forty-five minute ride in the back of an ambulance to the next biggest town that had a hospital, there had been a flurry of x-rays and an examination before they'd taken him into surgery, late in the afternoon. The orthopedic surgeon wasn't local, and it was today or wait a week. He'd opted for today.
After surgery, he'd woken once earlier in the recovery room, but this room appeared to be a private affair. They must've moved him.
She couldn't know how much hope—pointless hope—her presence gave him. He tried to steel himself against it.
"You asked me to stay with the boys...the doctor said he would release them, since there's nothing wrong with them, but he couldn't release them to you because you're in here, and no one could find contact information for your wife..."
She flushed, glancing at a shelf on the wall where someone had folded his clothes. Beside them sat his cell phone. It didn't take much of an imagination to guess that either she or someone else had flipped through his contacts on the device. Maybe even looked at the pictures, looking for evidence of someone who didn't exist. Strangers, these doctors, nurses, firefighters...
He scowled as he imagined the town that had rejected him so completely talking about him again. And his sons. Sam, the only friend he'd kept in touch with over the years, had said it would be different now, but Callum couldn't believe, not yet. "Grapevine must be going nuts," he muttered, unable to stop the tinge of bitterness in his voice.
Her nose wrinkled, an expression he remembering poignantly, one that meant she thought he was being unreasonable.
"I'm not married." He said it simply, made it a statement in hopes that she wouldn't press for details, not now.
"Oh."
Back before he'd left, he'd always been able to read her. Not this time. She had ahold of both elbows, her arms crossed over her middle like she was cold, and kept her eyes on the wall, not on him. He didn't want to hurt her—never had, even though it had been inevitable—but hated that he couldn't tell if his revelation had any effect on her.
"Well, I can...I guess I can stay with the boys until the morning. Do you have someone who can come take them?"
He shifted in the bed, the movement jarring his leg. He winced, and she looked worriedly toward the door.
There was no one else.
"I'll talk to the doctor in the morning. If I can get a ride out to my place, we can all go home together." It wasn't ideal, but then, what about his life was? Except for the boys, he'd had to fight tooth and nail for everything.
Her brows had folded together in an expression of skepticism. "They won't release you tomorrow—not when you've just had surgery."
She looked like she wanted to say more, but then she frowned too, and took a step away from the bed. Like maybe she was remembering that it wasn't her business, that they weren't even friends, no matter what she'd said to his sons in the truck.
He shrugged, forcing his face into a casual expression, like this was just another day. "They'll have to."
Chapter Three
By mid-morning the next day, Callum had had his IV removed and been weaned off narcotics, and he felt every ache and pain from the crash.
He'd been banged up plenty riding bulls on the circuit. Dislocated his shoulder twice, sprained his wrist, his knee. But he'd never hurt like this, from his head to his toes.
But he asked for the doctor anyway, determined to take the boys home with him. Iris had done enough, watching them overnight.
And what was she still doing in town anyway? They'd both talked about leaving Redbud Trails back in high school. She'd had plans to go to New York City, had connections through her work with the ballet company in Oklahoma City.
Surely she hadn't...waited on him?
He hated the thought that she might have given up her dreams to stay here.
He forced himself to shake off those thoughts and focus on the boys. They needed him, and he could fight through any pain for that. Plus, he didn't think he could survive another night in the hospital, with nurses walking in at all hours. How was a body supposed to get any rest?
Voices in the hallway preceded Buck, his business partner, followed immediately by the doctor. The doctor looked about Callum's twenty-five, but surely he must be older to have gone through med school. Buck could've been his father and was a local here in Redbud Trails.
"I can't release you," the doctor said even though Callum was sitting up with his legs slung off the side of the bed. "And you need to keep that leg elevated."
"You'll have to—"
The doctor shook his head. "The way your bone broke through the skin, we need to watch for signs of infection—"
"But—"
"Whoa now," Buck said, laying a hand on Callum's shoulder. "What's the rush?"
"I've gotta get the boys home."
As soon as the words left his mouth, a figure appeared in the doorway, drawing his gaze up. Make that four figures. Iris was holding Levi and Tyler's hands clasped in hers, while Brandt clung to the back of her shirt.
"Here's Daddy," she said softly. There were shadows behind and under her eyes, as if she were haunted by their encounter yesterday. She wasn't the only one.
He took in the boys, their tousled hair and sleepy eyes. Tyler had his thumb in his mouth, a sign of his distress that Callum hadn't been able to train out of him yet.
The boys, usually rowdy, hesitated in the doorway. They were more shaken up than he'd expected.
"C'mere, guys. I'm all right."
Iris gave them a little push, and they ran to him. Tyler threw himself at Callum and hugged his good leg. Iris snagged the back of Brandt's shirt before he did the same to Cal's injured leg, lifting him onto the bed instead. He got a whiff of her sweet perfume, something flowery, over the hospital's antiseptic smell.
Callum shot her a grateful look as she backed away, but her eyes shuttered, and his gut clenched.
The doctor shifted, consulting the chart. "I can't release you until forty-eight to seventy-two hours have passed since you came out of surgery."
"Up, Daddy!" Tyler reached up for Cal.
"Just a second, son." He settled Brandt beside him, making sure he wasn't going to tip over the edge, then reached down for Levi.
A mome
nt later, he pulled Tyler up, stifling a groan as he settled Tyler on his lap. Just that movement sent fire down his spine and rang his clock.
He hated to admit it, but the doctor was right. Callum didn't know if he could get out of this bed, much less care for his boys. But he had to. They needed him.
"I'm sorry that's not what you want to hear, but it's too much of a risk." The doctor shook his head and slipped out of the room, past Iris who looked like she wanted to duck out the door as well.
Buck stepped closer and ruffled Brandt's hair. "You've had a rough couple of days, haven't you?"
Brandt squealed and shook his head to dislodge Buck's hand.
He turned his gaze on Callum. Other than Joe, Buck had been more a father and friend than anyone else in Callum's life. "You've got to rest up, son."
Just the casual use of the nickname brought a hot lump to Callum's throat. He cleared his throat to rid himself of it.
"I've got commitments, and I plan to honor them." The agreement Buck had drawn up favored Callum, gave him five years to learn the company and buy out the older man, who was ready to retire. This injury was a setback he didn't need.
"You're not going to be driving a truck or a combine with that leg crushed up."
But Cal knew that meant the older man would have to take his place with the harvest crew until his leg healed. He ground his back teeth, wanting to argue but knowing Buck was right.
"You're too stubborn for your own good. Rest up a couple of weeks, then you can join the crew and finish out the harvest."
It would be a relief to have the extra time to find a nanny. He'd been out of luck since his arrival back in Redbud Trails.
He rubbed one hand over his face. "Thanks, Buck."
In his inattention, Brandt had begun pushing buttons and raising the head of the bed. The motion jarred Callum but he ignored the pain rolling throughout him, gritting his teeth.
A sharp knock on the doorframe diverted his attention from the boys.
Iris moved aside, though she remained in the room, and a woman who looked slightly frazzled and definitely harried stepped into the room.
"I'm Amanda Elliot. I'm from social services. I assume you are Callum Stewart?"
Kiss the Cowboy Page 20
