Читать книгу Pregnant By The Colton Cowboy - Lara Lacombe - Страница 10

Chapter 3

Thorne reached the barn door just in time to see Maggie’s car explode.

He caught his breath and threw up a hand to shield his face as a ball of fire shot into the air. A loud boom shook the building, startling the horses inside. A chorus of panicked whinnies rang out, but Thorne couldn’t spare a moment for them.

He had to find Maggie.

The stubborn woman hadn’t listened to him when he’d called out to her. And whose fault is that? he thought bitterly. He hadn’t exactly been treating her well lately.

His heart in his throat, he scanned the dooryard for Maggie, straining to see through the smoke that now obscured most of the area. He considered calling 911, but by the time the ambulance arrived Maggie might be dead. There was no time to waste. He stepped into the yard and immediately started coughing as the thick, black fumes filled his lungs. He pulled a bandana from his back pocket and clamped it over his nose and mouth, but it didn’t help much. He had to find Maggie and get them both out of here, the sooner the better.

“Maggie!” He shouted her name, hoping she would hear him. But his stomach dropped as time ticked by without a response.

Was she dead? Just the thought made him want to vomit, but he had to consider the possibility. She’d been standing awfully close to the car when it exploded. He could still see her, arms wrapped around the bucket of water as she charged forward to save her vehicle. If only he’d been able to stop her!

He scanned the ground, his growing panic making it difficult for him to see. Oh, God, please let her still be alive!

“Thorne!” He heard his name from the direction of the barn but didn’t stop searching. “Thorne, come back! It’s too dangerous!”

“Help me find Maggie!” She was still here, he knew it. And he wasn’t leaving without her, no matter how much smoke filled the air. The car was a raging inferno now, and the sparse patches of grass near the dirt of the drive were turning black from the heat. It was only a matter of time before a spark caught one of the nearby buildings on fire...

The cries of the horses grew louder, and Thorne realized the other hands were busy moving them out of the barn. Good—that was one less thing to worry about.

He staggered through the smoke, tears streaming down his cheeks. An odd shape on the ground caught his eye, and he turned, blinking hard and squinting to focus.

It was a shoe.

“Maggie.” He tried to shout her name, but the smoke and his fear caused his throat to lock up. He ran over to find her lying on her back, her eyes closed and her face too pale for his liking.

For a split second, he froze, fear locking his muscles into place. She was so still... He’d never forgive himself if she was dead. If he hadn’t treated her so badly after their night together, she would have listened to him, would have waited for him to catch up instead of running headlong toward danger by herself. This was all his fault...

His hand shook a little as he reached out and gently placed his fingers on her throat. Her pulse beat sure and strong, and the breath shuddered out of his lungs in a gust of relief. She was still alive!

Moving quickly, he ran his hands along her body, feeling for any damp spots that would indicate blood from an injury. When he came up dry, he hooked his hands under her arms and dragged her across the yard. They made it to the relative coolness of the barn just as a fire truck turned off the main road and came screaming up the drive to the dooryard.

The firemen wasted no time attacking the blaze. Under other circumstances, Thorne would have been right in the middle of the response, helping the other ranch hands with the horses and telling the firefighters what he knew about the situation. But he wasn’t about to leave Maggie’s side.

Someone knelt next to him but Thorne didn’t bother to look over. His eyes were glued to Maggie’s face, searching for a sign of awareness, a flicker or a twitch that would indicate she was regaining consciousness.

“What happened?” Mac spoke calmly amid the chaos, and the tension in Thorne’s chest eased at the sound of his father’s voice.

“Her car exploded.” Thorne still couldn’t believe it. Cars didn’t just explode in real life—that was the stuff of movies. Something was definitely off here, but he couldn’t worry about it right now.

“It exploded?” Mac echoed in disbelief. “How in the hell—”

“I don’t know,” Thorne said shortly. “But I watched it happen.” The scene was burned into his brain; Maggie, her body limned in bright light for a split second as the fireball formed, then obscured by a cloud of smoke. It was a terrifying image that would live on in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Mac gently placed his hand on Maggie’s forehead and she moaned softly in response to his touch. “I can stay with her if you want to check on the horses,” he offered.

“No.” Thorne didn’t bother to elaborate, but he felt his father’s gaze cut over to him in surprise.

There was a brief silence between them as Mac digested his response. “I see,” he said finally, his tone carefully neutral.

The wail of another siren cut through the air, and an ambulance pulled up behind the fire truck. Mac stood and began waving his arms, signaling for the paramedics. They arrived a few seconds later, arms laden with supplies. Mac took a few steps back to allow them access to Maggie, but Thorne couldn’t bring himself to move away. He tried to make himself as small as possible so he wouldn’t interfere with the medic’s exam but he kept a tight grip on her hand. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay... What he wouldn’t give to see her open those big blue eyes!

“How long has she been unconscious?” asked one of the men.

Thorne jumped at the question, trying to get his brain back on track. It felt like it had taken him forever to find Maggie, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. “Uh, maybe ten minutes?”

The medic nodded and placed a blood pressure cuff around her upper arm. He and his partner moved in a kind of synchronized dance, passing each other instruments and supplies with very little dialogue between them. It was clear they worked well together as a team, and it reminded Thorne of the easy back and forth that developed between a horse and his rider, when man and animal spoke the same language, if only for a little while.

Maggie stirred under the medic’s attention and began to shake her head back and forth. “Stay still for me,” one of the men commanded. The pair of them worked to secure a foam collar around her neck and her eyes flew open in shock.

“What’s your name?” the EMT asked. He gave her a second to respond, then asked again. “Can you tell me your name?”

Thorne held his breath, silently urging her to speak. Was she simply too dazed to answer, or was something more serious going on?

After an endless silence, she spoke. “Maggie.” Her voice was weak and scratchy, sounding as if she’d screamed herself hoarse.

The medic nodded. “That’s great, Maggie,” he said encouragingly. “Can you tell me where you are?”

She frowned slightly. “Mac’s ranch,” she said slowly. “I was working on his books.” She paused, and Thorne could tell by the expression on her face she was replaying her memories, trying to piece together what had happened. Then everything clicked into place, and her confused expression morphed into one of anxiety. “My car!” She tried to sit up, but both medics held her down.

“Whoa,” said one of the men. “Try not to move, please. You may have a spinal injury.”

She let out a small sound of distress that sliced into Thorne’s heart. “It’s okay, honey,” he said, speaking before he could think twice about it. Given the way he’d treated her lately, she probably wouldn’t take comfort from his presence, but he had to try. Seeing her lying on the ground, bruised, battered and scared, triggered a wave of regret so strong it threatened to overwhelm him. He’d spent too much time pushing her away because of his fears—he owed her more than that, and he wasn’t going to waste another minute before trying to make amends.

She glanced over at him, her eyes wide with fear. He saw her body relax as she registered his proximity, and felt something in his own chest ease. “Thorne?” She sounded lost and a little unsure, but he detected no anger in her voice.

It was better than he deserved.

“I’m here,” he said, pushing aside his bitter self-recrimination. There would be time for that later—right now, he had to focus on supporting Maggie.

“Was anyone hurt?”

He shook his head, marveling at her question. Even in the middle of her own troubles, Maggie was concerned for others. “Just you,” he said softly.

The medics counted to three in low voices; they rolled Maggie onto her side and slipped a long board under her, then rolled her to her back again. They secured her in place with thick black straps at her forehead, shoulders, knees and ankles, and one of the men moved to her head while the other knelt by her feet. In one smooth motion, they lifted her off the ground.

“Thorne!” The change in position seemed to startle her—she thrust a hand out, searching the air for him.

He jumped to his feet and jogged after the medics, catching up to them at the ambulance. He slipped his hand into hers and she squeezed hard, causing his bones to grind together painfully. “Please don’t leave me,” she called out, a hint of desperation lacing her words.

Thorne didn’t bother to ask permission; he climbed into the back of the ambulance and slid along the bench seat until he sat by Maggie’s head. Her head was immobilized on the board, so he leaned forward until his face was directly over hers. Her blue eyes were bloodshot, but her gaze was steady as she stared up at him.

“I’m here,” he said, repeating his earlier assurance. He swallowed hard, trying to calm his frayed nerves. “You’re going to be okay.” Was he trying to convince her, or himself? She looked fine to his untrained eye, but the medic’s comment about a possible spinal cord injury made his guts cramp. He didn’t want Maggie to see his fear though, so he tried to give her a comforting smile.

“I’m scared.” The words were no more than a whisper, but Thorne heard them loud and clear. Me, too, he thought. Her confession made him feel a little bit better, as if they were working together as a team. A spark of confidence kindled to life in his chest, and his worries began to fade as he focused on being strong for Maggie.

He squeezed her hand gently and leaned down to speak into her ear. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “I won’t leave you.”

Not this time...

* * *

Maggie shivered slightly in the cool air of the hospital room. The thin cotton johnny they’d given her was practical for the staff, but it did little in the way of providing warmth.

Or modesty.

She tugged the mint-green blanket higher on her lap and tucked the edges under her legs. Fortunately, Thorne had stepped out of the room when she’d been asked to change, and he hadn’t seen her out of the bed since. Not that it mattered. He already knew what she looked like naked.

“Are you cold?”

She jumped a little at the unexpected question. Thorne had been sitting silently by the bed since she’d returned from getting a scan, unmoving except for the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders with every breath. At first, she’d found his presence awkward and uncomfortable. She was not in the mood to discuss their one-night stand. But after a few moments, she realized Thorne wasn’t here to talk. And as the silence in the room had continued, her agitation had gradually faded until she’d almost forgotten he was there.

Truth be told, she was surprised he’d noticed her movement. He’d spent the past three months doing a bang-up job of ignoring her, so why should now be any different?

She bit her lip to hold back a sarcastic response and settled for a nod.

“I’ll see if I can find you another blanket.” He rose from the chair and lifted his hands over his head in a quick stretch. Maggie followed the motion with her eyes, noting the flex and play of his muscles under the blue cotton shirt he wore. All at once, she was assaulted with the memory of his strong arms banded around her, the feel of his work-roughened hands on her body. She flushed, and was grateful his back was turned so he didn’t see her reaction.

His boot heels tapped against the tile as he walked out of her room, and Maggie let out her breath in a sigh. Why was he still here? More importantly, what was she going to do about it?

She knew why he’d come to the hospital, of course. After all, she’d practically begged him to, the way she’d grabbed his hand like he was some kind of savior. The explosion of her car and the chaotic aftermath had left her terrified and vulnerable, and she’d latched on to the first familiar face she’d seen. It was kind of Thorne to indulge her moment of weakness, but now that the situation was under control, he no longer had to stay. He was probably itching to get back to the ranch to assess the damage and make sure the horses were okay, and as soon as he returned she would suggest he do so. Mac likely needed his help cleaning up the mess, and it would be easier for the both of them if they no longer had to tiptoe around each other.

A steady click announced Thorne’s return and he slipped into the room carrying another blanket. Without saying a word, he walked over to the bed and carefully spread it across her legs.

The fabric was surprisingly warm and she burrowed into the heat, fisting her hands in the waffle-print of the weave. She felt like she’d been run over by a truck, and her bruised and battered body welcomed the warmth. It soaked into her muscles, dulling the sharp edges of her aches and pains. “Thank you,” she said.

He nodded. “Is it helping?” His voice was slightly scratchy from disuse, and it brought back another memory from that night—or rather, the next morning, when she’d woken to find him watching her, an unreadable expression on his face. When she'd met his gaze, she’d seen a flash of something she’d sworn was love in his light brown eyes. But it was there and gone in the space between heartbeats, and as she’d watched, he’d thrown up a wall between them.

“I should make coffee,” he’d said, his voice rough with the morning. Innocent words, and yet Maggie had known in that instant the magic they’d shared the night before had not survived to see the dawn.

“It’s not too hot?” His question cut through her unhappy reverie and she blinked to find him staring down at her, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in concern. “The nurse took it out of some kind of incubator. It felt pretty warm to me when I was carrying it.”

“No, it’s perfect,” she said. Time for him to go...

Just as she opened her mouth to suggest he leave, the door swung open to admit her doctor.

“I’ve got test results,” he said, holding up a manila folder and wiggling it in illustration. Maggie nodded and offered him a smile. “That was fast.”

“Lucky for you, it’s a slow day.” Dr. Jenkins wheeled the stool over to her bedside and sat, then glanced at Thorne. “Do you mind if we talk in front of your friend? I’m afraid someone is going to need to take care of you for the next few days, so it’ll be good for him to hear the instructions firsthand.”

Great. Just wonderful. Before Maggie could clarify that Thorne would definitely not be her caretaker, the man in question sat on her bed and pulled out his phone. “Do you mind if I record this so I don’t miss anything?”

Dr. Jenkins nodded. “Be my guest.” Then he turned to look at her. “Okay, so here’s the deal. The CT scan revealed you have a minor concussion and a few cracked ribs. There’s not much we can do about either of those things—you need rest and time to heal. And I do mean rest.” He tilted his head down so he could level a serious look at her over the top of his glasses. “Your brain has been bruised. It is imperative you give it time to heal. That means no reading, no watching TV, nothing that would cause any kind of physical or mental strain. How is your head now?”

“It hurts,” she admitted.

He nodded, as if he’d expected that response. “You can take Tylenol for the pain. Stay away from ibuprofen or aspirin, as they may cause bleeding.”

“What about her ribs?” Thorne asked, leaning forward as if he was hanging on the doctor’s every word.

Dr. Jenkins shrugged. “Again, rest is what she needs.” He turned back to Maggie. “We can’t really do anything except make you aware of the problem so you don’t exacerbate it. I want you to do some breathing exercises a few times a day—I’ll have a respiratory therapist come show you what to do before you’re discharged.”

Maggie nodded. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Why do I need help?”

“Because I’m serious about you needing to rest. You basically need to stay in bed for the next few days—no fixing yourself food, or doing any household chores, or anything like that. The only time I want you up and about is when you’re walking to and from the bathroom.”

“But—” she began, but the doctor shook his head.

“No buts. Besides, I’m pretty sure the OB will tell you the same thing.”

Maggie frowned. “What are you talking about? Why would an obstetrician have anything to say about my recovery?”

Dr. Jenkins stared at her for a moment, as if reassessing her mental status. Then realization dawned on his face, along with a flicker of horror. “Oh, dear,” he said, under his breath. “You didn’t know.”

“Know what?” Maggie’s stomach started to churn threateningly and her heart pounded hard against her breastbone, causing the monitor beside her bed to beep in protest. Dr. Jenkins glanced at it and pressed a button, silencing the electronic noise.

“Ah, take a deep breath for me and try to relax,” he said. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and ran a hand through his graying hair, clearly uncomfortable.

“Doctor,” Maggie replied, careful to keep her gaze locked on him and away from Thorne. “Why am I going to see an obstetrician today?”

The older man let out a breath and met Maggie’s eyes, and the sympathetic look on his face set her world spinning.

“Because you’re pregnant.”