Читать книгу Rumors: The McCaffertys: The McCaffertys: Thorne - Lisa Jackson - Страница 11

Chapter 3

“God help me,” Nicole whispered, trying to understand why in the world Thorne would embrace her so intimately and more to the point, why didn’t she stop him. Because you wanted him to, you idiot.

As she wheeled out of the parking lot, she glanced in the rearview mirror, and saw him standing beneath a security light. Tall, broad-shouldered, bareheaded, rain dripping from the tip of his nose and the hem of his coat, he watched her leave. “Cocky son of a gun,” she muttered, flipping on her blinker and joining the thin stream of traffic. She hoped Thorne Almighty McCafferty got soaked to the skin. She switched her windshield wipers to a faster pace to keep up with the rain. Who was he to barge in on her, to question her and the hospital’s integrity and then…and then have the audacity, the sheer arrogance, to grab her as if she were some weak-willed, starry-eyed, spineless…ninny!

Oh, like the girl you once were, the one he remembered?

She blushed and her fingers curled around the steering wheel in a death grip. She’d worked hard for years to overcome her shyness, to become the confident, scholarly, take-charge emergency room physician she was today and Thorne McCafferty seemed hell-bent to change all that. Well, she wouldn’t let him. No way. No how. She wasn’t the little girl he’d left a lifetime ago—her broken heart had mended.

As she braked for a red light, she flipped on the radio, fumbled with the stations until she heard a melody that was familiar—Whitney Houston singing something she should know—and tried to calm down. Why she let Thorne get to her, she didn’t understand.

She cranked the wheel and turned into a side street where the neon lights and Western facade of Montana Joe’s Pizza Parlor came into view.

She pulled into the lot, raced inside and waited in line between five or six other patrons whose raincoats, parkas and ski jackets dripped water onto the tile floor in front of the take-out counter. A gas flame hissed in the fireplace in one corner of the room that was divided by fences into different seating areas. Pickaxes and shovels and other mining memorabilia were tacked to bare cedar walls and in one corner, Montana Joe, a stuffed bison, stared with glassy eyes at the patrons who were listening to Garth Brooks’s latest hit while drinking beer and eating hot, stringy pizza made with Joe’s “secret” tomato sauce.

As Nicole stood in line and dug into her wallet to check how much cash she was carrying, she couldn’t help but overhear some of the conversation of the other patrons. Two men in front of her were discussing the previous Friday’s high school football game. From the sound of it the Grand Hope Wolverines were edged out by an arch rival in a nearby town though there was some dispute over a few of the calls. Typical.

Other conversations buzzed around her and she heard the name McCafferty more often than she wanted to. “Terrible accident…half sister, you know…pregnant, but no mention of a father and no husband…always was bad blood in that family…what goes around comes around, I tell you…”

Nicole grabbed a menu from the counter and turned her attention from the gossip that swirled around her. Though Grand Hope had grown by leaps and bounds in the past few years and had become a major metropolis by Montana standards, it was still, at its heart, a small town, where many of the citizens knew each other. She placed her order, lingered near the jukebox and listened to three or four songs ranging from Patsy Cline to Wynona Judd, then, once her name was called, picked up her pizza and refused to think about any member of the McCafferty family—especially Thorne. He was off-limits. Period. The reason she’d responded to his kiss was simple. It had been over two years since she’d kissed any man and at least five since she’d felt even the tiniest spark of passion. She didn’t even want to think how long it had been since she’d been consumed with desire—that particular thought led her back to a path that she didn’t want to follow, a path heading straight back to her youth and Thorne. She was just susceptible right now, that was all. Nothing more. It had nothing to do with chemistry. Nothing.

Once in her SUV again, she twisted on the key and the engine refused to fire. “Come on, come on,” she muttered. She tried again, pumping the gas frantically and mentally chiding herself for not taking the rig into the shop for its regular maintenance. “You can do it,” she encouraged and finally, on the fourth attempt, the engine caught. “Tomorrow,” she promised, patting the dash as if comforting the vehicle, as if that would help. “I’ll take you in. Promise.”

On the road again, Nicole drove through the side streets to her little cottage on the outskirts of town. Her stomach rumbled as the tangy scents of melting cheese and spicy sauce filled the rig’s interior and her mind, damn it, ran back to Thorne and the feel of his lips on hers. He was everything she despised in a man: arrogant, competitive, in control and determined—a real corporate Type A and the kind of man she had learned to avoid like the plague. But beneath his layer of pride and his take-charge mentality, she’d caught glimpses of a more complex man, a gentler soul who stumbled through the awkwardness of talking to his comatose sister. He’d tried to communicate with Randi, the back of his neck flushing in embarrassment, his steely gray eyes conveying a sense of raw pain at his sister’s condition—as if he somehow blamed himself for her accident.

“Don’t read more into it than there is,” she warned herself as she cranked the wheel and braked in her driveway. She pulled to a stop in front of her garage and made a mental note that between helping at preschool, the twins’ dance lessons, the housework and the grocery shopping, she should call a roofer for a bid on the sagging roof.

Juggling her briefcase and boxed pizza, she made a mad dash to the back porch and was able to unlock the door, then shove it open with her hip.

Patches, her black-and-white cat, streaked through the opening and Nicole nearly tripped on the speeding feline. Tiny footsteps thundered through the house. “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” the twins cried, flying pell-mell into the kitchen and sliding on the yellowed linoleum as Patches slunk down the bedroom hallway. Molly and Mindy were dressed in identical pink-and-white-checked sleepers that zipped up the front and covered their feet in attached slippers. Their hair was wet and curled in dark-brown ringlets around cherubic faces and bright brown eyes.

Nicole slid the pizza onto a counter, knelt and opened her arms wide. The four-year-old imps nearly bowled her over. “Miss me?” she asked.

“Yeth,” Mindy said shyly, nodding her head and smiling.

“You got pizza?” Molly demanded. “I’m hungry.”

“I sure do. Lots of it.” She dropped kisses on each wet head, then standing once again, she stripped out of her coat and hung it in a tiny closet near the eating alcove.

Jenny Riley appeared in the archway separating the kitchen from the dining room. Tall and willowy, with long straight black hair and a nose ring, the twenty-year-old had been the twins’ nanny since Nicole had moved to Grand Hope.

“How were they today?” Nicole asked.

“Miserable as usual,” Jenny said, her green eyes twinkling, sarcasm lacing her words.

“Were not!” Molly said, planting her little fists on her hips. “We was good.”

“Were,” Nicole corrected. “You were good.”

“Yeth,” Mindy said, nodding agreement with her precocious sister. “Real good.”

Jenny laughed and bent down to retie the laces of her elevated tennis shoes, “Oh, okay, I lied,” she admitted. “You were good. Both of you. Very good.”

“It’s not nice to lie!” Molly said with a toss of her wet curls.

“I know, I know, it won’t happen again,” Jenny promised, straightening and slinging the strap of her fringed leather purse over her shoulder.

“Want a piece of pizza?” Nicole offered. Using her fingers and a spatula she’d grabbed from a hook over the stove, she slid piping hot slices onto paper plates. The girls scrambled onto the booster seats. Nicole licked a piece of melted cheese from her fingers and looked questioningly at Jenny.

“No thanks, Mom’s got dinner waiting and—” Jenny winked broadly “—I’ve got a hot date after.”

“Oooh,” Nicole said, licking gooey cheese from her fingers. “Anyone I know?”

“Nope. Not unless you’re into twenty-two-year-old cowboys.”

“Only in the ER. I have been known to treat them upon occasion.”

“Not this one,” Jenny said with a wide grin and slight blush.

“Tell me more.”

“His name is Adam. He’s a hired hand at the McCafferty spread. And…I’ll fill you in more later.”

Nicole’s good mood vanished at the mention of the McCaffertys. Today, it seemed, she couldn’t avoid them for a minute.

“Gotta run,” Jenny said as Molly reached across the table to peel off pieces of pepperoni from her sister’s slice of pizza.

Mindy sent up a wail guaranteed to wake the dead in every cemetery in the county. “No!” she cried. “Mommeee!”

Grinning, Molly dangled all the pilfered slices of pepperoni over her open mouth before dropping them onto her tongue. Gleefully she chewed them in front of her sister.

“I’m outta here,” Jenny said and slipped through the door as Nicole tried to right the wrong and Patches, appearing from the hallway, had the nerve to hop onto the counter near the microwave.

“You, down!” Nicole said, clapping her hands loudly. The cat leaped to the floor and darted in a black-and-white streak into the living room. “Everyone seems to have an attitude today.” She turned her attention back to the twins and pointed at Molly. “Don’t touch your sister’s food.”

“She’s not eating it,” Molly argued while chewing.

“Am, too!” Big tears rolled down Mindy’s face.

“But it’s hers and—”

“And we’re s’posed to share. You said so.”

“Not your food…well, not now. You know better. Now, come on, there’s no real harm done here.” Nicole picked off pepperoni slices from another piece of pizza and placed them on the half-eaten wedge that sat on Mindy’s plate. “Good as new.”

But the damage was done. Mindy wouldn’t stop sobbing and pointing a condemning finger at her twin. “You, bad!”

Molly shook her head. “Am not.”

Nicole shot her outspoken daughter a look meant to silence her, then picked Mindy up and, consoling her while walking toward the hallway, whispered into her ear, “Come on, big girl, let’s brush your teeth and get you into bed.”

“Don’t wanna—” Mindy complained and Molly cackled loudly before realizing she was alone. Quickly she slid out of her chair and little feet pounding, ran after Nicole and Mindy. In the bathroom, the dispute was forgotten, tears were wiped away and two sets of teeth were brushed. As the pizza cooled, mozzarella cheese congealing, Nicole and the girls spent the next twenty minutes cuddled beneath a quilt in her grandmother’s old rocker. She read them two stories they’d heard a dozen times before. Mindy’s eyes immediately shut while Molly, ever the fighter, struggled to stay awake only to drop off a few minutes later.

For the first time that day, Nicole felt at peace. She eyed the fire that Jenny had built earlier. Dying embers and glowing coals in deep ashes were all that remained to light the little living room in shades of gold and red. Humming, she rocked until she, too, nearly dozed off.

Struggling out of the chair she managed to carry her daughters into their bedroom and tuck them into matching twin beds. Mindy yawned and rolled over, her thumb moving instinctively to her mouth and Molly blinked twice, said, “I love you, Mommy,” then fell asleep again.

“Me, too, baby. Me, too.” She kissed each daughter and smelled the scents of shampoo and baby powder, then walked softly to the door.

Molly sighed loudly. Mindy smacked her little lips.

Folding her arms over her chest Nicole leaned against the doorjamb.

Her ex-husband’s words, “You’ll never make it on your own,” echoed through her mind and she felt her spine stiffen. Right, Paul, she thought now, but I’m not on my own. I’ve got the kids. And I’m going to make it. On my own.

Every minute of that painful, doomed marriage was worth it because she had the girls. They were a family—maybe not an old-fashioned, traditional, 1950s sitcom family, but a family nonetheless.

She thought fleetingly of Randi’s baby, tucked away in the maternity ward, his father not yet found, his mother in a coma and she wondered what would become of the little boy.

But the baby has Thorne and Matt and Slade. Between the three of them, certainly the boy would be taken care of. Every one of the McCafferty brothers seemed interested in the child, but each one of them was a bachelor—how confirmed, she didn’t know.

“Not that it matters,” she reminded herself and glanced outside where rain was dripping from the gutters and splashing against the window. She thought of Thorne again, of the way his lips felt against hers, and she realized that she had to avoid being alone with him. She had to keep their relationship professional because she knew from experience that Thorne was trouble.

Big trouble.

* * *

He was making a mistake of incredible proportions and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself. Driving through the city streets and silently marveling at how this town had grown, he’d decided to see Nikki again before returning to the ranch. She’d probably throw him out and he really didn’t blame her as he’d come on way too strong, but he had to see her again.

After watching her wheel out of the parking lot after their last confrontation, he’d walked back into the hospital, downed a cup of bitter coffee in the cafeteria, then tried to track down any doctor remotely associated with Randi and the baby. He’d struck out with most, left messages on their answering machines and after talking to a nurse in Pediatrics and one in ICU, he’d called the ranch, told Slade that he’d be back soon, then paused at the gift shop in the hospital lobby, bought a single white rose and, ducking his shoulders against the rain, ran outside and climbed into his truck.

“This is nuts,” he told himself as he drove across a bridge and into an established part of town, to the address he’d found in the telephone directory when he’d made his calls to the other doctors. Bracing himself for a blistering reception, he parked in front of the small cottage, grabbed the single flower and climbed out of the car.

Jaw set he dashed up the cement walk, and before he could change his mind, pressed on the door buzzer. He’d been in tighter spots than this. He heard noises inside, the sound of feet. The porch light snapped on and he saw her eyebrows and eyes peer through one of the three small windows cut into the door. A moment later they disappeared as, he supposed, she dropped to her flat feet from her tiptoes.

Locks clicked. The door opened. And there she stood, all five feet three of her wrapped in a fluffy white robe. “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked without a smile. Her eyes skated from his face to the flower in his hands.

He nearly laughed. “You know, this seemed like a good idea at the time but now…now I feel like a damned fool.”

“Because?” Again the lift of that lofty eyebrow.

“Because I thought I owed you an apology for the way I came on earlier.”

“In the parking lot?”

“And the hospital.”

“You were upset. Don’t worry about it.”

“I wasn’t just upset. I was, as I said before, out of line, and I’d like to make it up to you.”

Her chin lifted a fraction. “Make it up to me? With…that?” she asked, one finger pointing to the single white bud.

“To start with.” He handed her the flower and thought, beneath her hard posturing, he caught a glimpse of a deeper emotion. She held the flower, lifted it to her nose and sighed.

“Thanks. This is enough…more than you needed to do.”

“No, I think I owe you an explanation.”

She tensed again. “It was only a kiss. I’ll live.”

“I mean about the past.”

“No!” She was emphatic. “Look, let’s just forget it, okay? It’s been a long day. For both of us. Thanks for the flower and the apology, it’s…it’s very nice of you, but I think it would be best—for everyone, including your sister and her new baby—if we both just pretended that nothing ever happened between us.”

“Can you?”

“Y-yes. Of course.”

He couldn’t stop one side of his mouth from twitching upward. “Liar,” he said and Nicole nearly took a step backward. Who was he to stop by her house and…and what? Apologize? What’s the crime in that? Why don’t you ask him in and offer him a cup of coffee or a drink?

“No!”

“You’re not a liar?”

“Not usually,” she said, recovering a bit. She felt the lapel of her bathrobe gap and it took all of her willpower not to clutch it closed like a silly, frightened virgin. “You seem to bring out the worst in me.”

“Ditto.” He leaned forward and she expected him to kiss her again, but instead of molding his lips to hers, he brushed his mouth across the slope of her cheek in the briefest of touches. “Good night, Doctor,” he whispered and then he turned and hurried down the porch steps to dash through the rain.

She stood in the glow of the porch lamp, her fingers curled possessively around the rose’s stem and watched him steer his truck around in her driveway before he drove into the night. Forcing herself inside, she closed and bolted the door. She didn’t know what was happening, but she was certain it wasn’t going to be good.

She couldn’t, wouldn’t get involved with Thorne again. No way. No how. In fact, she’d toss the damned flower into the garbage right now. Padding to the kitchen she opened the cupboard under the sink, pulled out the trash can and hesitated. How childish. Thorne was trying to make amends. Nothing more. She touched the side of her cheek, then placed the rosebud in a small vase, certain it would mock her for the next week.

“Don’t let him get to you,” she warned, but had the fatalistic sensation that it was already too late. He’d gotten to her a long, long time ago.

* * *

Thorne parked outside of what had once been the machine shed and eyed the home where he’d been raised, a place he’d once vowed to leave and never return. Though it was dark and the rain was coming down in sheets, he saw the house looming on its small rise, warm patches of light glowing from tall, paned windows. It had been a haven at one time, a prison later.

He grabbed his briefcase and the overnight bag and wondered what had come over him. Why had he stopped at Nikki’s? There was more than just a simple apology involved and that thought disturbed him. It was as if seeing her again sparked something deep inside him, something he’d thought had burned out years before, a smoldering ember he hadn’t known existed.

Whatever it was, he didn’t have time for it and he didn’t want to examine it too closely.

Lights blazed from the stables and he recognized Slade’s rig parked near the barn. As he ducked through the rain he remembered the first time he’d seen Nicole—years ago at a local Fourth of July celebration in town. He’d been back from college, ready to enter law school in the fall, randy as hell and anxious to get on with his life. She’d only been seventeen, a shy girl with the most incredible eyes he’d ever seen as she’d staked out a spot on a hill overlooking the town and waited for darkness and the fireworks that were planned.

Funny, he hadn’t thought of that night in a long, long time. It seemed a million years ago and was tangled up in the other memories that haunted this particular place. As he walked up the front steps he remembered nearly drowning in the swimming hole when he was about eight, hunting pheasants with his brothers and pretending the cold silence between his parents really didn’t exist. But the memories that were the clearest, the most poignantly bright, were of Nikki.

“Yeah, well, don’t go there,” he warned himself as he yanked open the screen door. He walked inside and was greeted by the smells of his youth—soot from the fireplace, fresh lemon wax on the floors, and the lingering aroma of bacon that had been fried earlier in the day and still wisped through the familiar hallways and rooms. He dropped his briefcase and bag near the front door and swiped the rain from his face.

“Thorne?” Matt’s voice rang loudly through the century-old house. The sound of boots tripping down the stairs heralded his brother’s arrival onto the first floor. “I wondered when you’d show up.” Forever in jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, Matt clapped his brother on the shoulder. “How’re you, you old bastard?”

“Same as ever.”

“Mean and ornery and on your way to your next million-dollar deal?” Matt asked, as he always did, but this time the question hit a nerve and gave him pause.

“I can only hope,” he said, unbuttoning his coat, though it was a lie. He was jaded with his life. Bored. Wanted more. He just wasn’t sure what.

“How’s Randi?” Matt asked, his face becoming a mask of concern.

“The same as when you saw her. Nothing new to report since I called you from the hospital.”

“I guess it’s just gonna take time.” Matt hitched his chin toward the living room where lamplight filtered into the hallway. “Come on in. I’ll buy you a drink. You look like you could use one.”

“That bad?”

“We could all use one today.”

Thorne nodded. “So where’s Slade?”

“Feeding the stock. He’ll be in soon. I was just on my way to help him, but since you’re here, I figure it won’t hurt him to finish the job by himself.” Matt flashed his killer smile, the one that had charmed more women than Thorne wanted to count.

Matt had been described as tall, dark and handsome by too many local girls to remember. The middle of the three McCafferty brothers, Matt’s eyes were so deep brown they were nearly black, his skin tanned from spending hours outdoors, and the shadow covering his jaw was as dark as their father’s had once been.

Sinewy and rawhide tough, Matt McCafferty could bend a horseshoe at a forge as well as he could brand a mustang or rope a maverick calf. Raw. Wild. Stubborn as hell.

Matt belonged here.

Thorne didn’t.

Not since his parents had divorced.

“Look at you.” Matt gave a sharp whistle. One near-black eyebrow cocked as he fingered the wool of Thorne’s coat. “Since when did you become a fashion statement?”

Thorne snorted in derision. “Don’t think I am. But I happened to be at work when Slade got hold of me.” Thorne hung his coat on an aging brass hook mounted near the door. The long wool overcoat seemed out of place in the array of denim, down and sheepskin jackets. “Didn’t have time to change.” He pulled at the knot in his tie and let the silk drape over his shoulders. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Good question.” Together they walked into the living room where the leather couches were worn, an upright piano gathered dust, and two rockers placed at angles near blackened stones of the fireplace remained unmoving. His great-grandfather’s rifle was mounted over the mantel, resting on the spikes of antlers from an elk killed long ago. “There’s not a lot to tell.”

Matt opened the liquor cabinet hidden in cupboards beneath a bookcase filled with leather-backed tomes that hadn’t been read in years. “What’ll it be?”

“Scotch.”

“Straight up?”

“You got it…well, I think.”

Matt scrounged around in the cabinet and with a snort of approval withdrew a dusty bottle. “Looks like you’re in luck.” He reached farther into the recesses of the cabinet, came up with a couple of glasses and, after giving them each a swipe with the tail of his shirt, poured two healthy shots. “I could get ice from the kitchen.”

“Waste of time. Unless you want it.”

Matt’s smile was a slow grin. “I think I’m man enough to handle warm liquor.”

“Figured as much.”

Thorne took the drink Matt offered and clicked the rim of his glass to his brother’s. “To Randi.”

“Yep.”

Thorne tossed back his drink, unwinding a bit as the aged liquor splashed against the back of his throat then burned a fiery path to his stomach. He rotated his neck, trying to relieve the kinks in his neck. “Okay, so shoot,” he said, as Matt lit tinder-dry kindling already stacked in the grate. “What the hell’s going on?”

“Wish I knew. Near as the police can tell, Randi was involved in a single-car accident up in Glacier Park. No one knows for sure what happened and the cops are still lookin’ into it, but, from what anyone can piece together, she was alone and driving and probably hit ice, or swerved to miss something—who the hell knows what, a deer maybe, your guess is as good as mine. The upshot is that she lost control and drove over the side of the road. The truck rolled down an embankment and—” he studied the depths of his glass “—she and the baby are lucky to be alive.”

Thorne’s jaw tightened. “Who found her?”

“Passersby—Good Samaritans who called the local sheriff’s department.”

“You got their names?”

Matt reached into his back pocket and withdrew a piece of paper that he handed to Thorne. “Jed and Bill Swanson. Brothers who were on their way home from a hunting trip. The deputy’s name is on there, too.”

He read the list of names and numbers, his eyes lingering for a second when he came to Dr. Nicole Stevenson.

“I figured we should keep a list of everyone involved.”

“Good idea.” Thorne tucked the piece of paper into his pocket. “So do you have any idea what Randi was doing at Glacier or anywhere around here for that matter? The last I heard she was in Seattle. What about her job? Or the father of the baby?”

Matt finished his drink. “Don’t know a damned thing,” he admitted.

“Well, that’s gotta change. The three of us—Slade, you and I—we’ve got to find out what’s going on.”

“Fine with me.” Matt’s determined gaze held his brother’s.

“We’ll start tonight.” The gears were already turning in Thorne’s mind. “As soon as Slade gets in, we’ll start making plans. But first things first.”

“Randi and the baby’s health,” Matt guessed.

“Yep. We can start digging around in her private life as much as we want, but it doesn’t mean a damned thing if she or the baby don’t pull through.”

“They will.” Matt was cocksure as the front door banged open and Slade appeared.

“Thanks for all the help,” the youngest brother grumbled as he marched into the room smelling of horses and smoke. He found a glass and poured himself a stiff shot.

“You managed,” Matt guessed.

Thorne rolled up his sleeves. “Why are you so sure that Randi and her boy will be okay?”

One side of Matt’s mouth lifted. “Because they’re McCaffertys, Thorne. Just like us—too ornery not to pull through.”

But Thorne wasn’t convinced.