Читать книгу Rumors: The McCaffertys: The McCaffertys: Thorne - Lisa Jackson - Страница 14

Chapter 6

“Damn!” Thorne slammed down the receiver and stared out the window to a winter-crisp day where evidence of last night’s storm still glistened on the grass and hung from the eaves in shimmering icicles. A headache pounded behind his eyes. He’d been on the phone all morning, guzzling cups of coffee as bitter as a spinster’s heart.

He’d bedded down in his old room, the one that had abutted his folks’ suite and his brothers had, by instinct, claimed the bedrooms where they’d been raised. But when he’d awoken this morning he’d been alone in the house.

During the intervening hours, he’d called the hospital, hoping for a report of improvement in Randi and the baby’s condition. As far as he could tell, nothing had changed. His sister was still comatose and the baby, though stable, was still in danger. He’d hooked up his laptop computer to the antiquated phone lines and looked up everything he could on little J.R.’s condition. From what he could determine, everything that could be done to counteract the meningitis was being done at St. James. He’d even managed to call the office, check in with Eloise and tell her that he hoped a portable office would be set up here, in his father’s den, by the end of the day. He wondered what John Randall would’ve done in a similar situation and, thinking about his father, removed the gift he’d been given from his pocket. The ring winked in the sunlight and Thorne folded his hand over the silver-and-gold band.

“I want you to marry. Give me grandchildren.” John Randall’s request seemed to bounce off the walls of this old pine-paneled room that still smelled faintly of the elder McCafferty’s cigars and Nicole’s image came to mind, the only woman he’d ever dated that he’d considered as a mother for his children. And that thought had scared him nearly twenty years ago. It still did because nothing had changed. Oh, there had been a lot of women since he’d dated her; Thorne hadn’t been celibate by any means, but no one woman had come close to touching his heart.

Until he’d seen Nicole again.

Not that he wanted a wife or mother for his children or—

What was he thinking? Wife? Children? Not him. Not now. Probably not ever…and yet…the reason he was thinking this way was probably because of his father’s dying request, his father’s wedding ring, and the fact that his own mortality wouldn’t go on forever. Randi’s situation was proof enough of that.

Oh, for the love of God. Enough with these morbid thoughts. He looked around this room again and wondered how many deals had been concocted here in the past. How many family or business decisions dreamed up while John Randall had puffed on a black market Havana cigar, rested the worn heels of his boots on the scarred maple desk and leaned back in a leather chair that had been worn smooth by years of use?

This damned metal band had been his father’s wedding ring, a gift from Larissa, Thorne’s mother, on their wedding day. John Randall had worn it proudly until Larissa had found out about Penelope, the younger woman whom her philandering husband had been seeing. The woman who had broken up a marriage that had already been foundering. The woman who had eventually given John Randall his only daughter.

And now Thorne’s mother, too, was dead, a heart attack just two years ago taking her life.

Thorne slid the ring into his pocket and reached for the phone again. He dialed Nicole’s number and hung up when her answering machine picked up. Drumming his fingers on the desktop he wondered if she’d managed to get her car towed, if she’d found another means of transportation and how, as a single mother of four-year-old twins she was getting along. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he reminded himself, bothered nonetheless. He wondered about her marital state—about the man who had been her husband, then forced himself to concentrate on the problems at hand—there were certainly enough without borrowing more. Nicole was a professional, a mother, and a levelheaded woman. She’d be fine. She had to be.

He heard the sound of the front door opening and the heavy tread of boots. “Anyone here?” Slade yelled, his uneven footsteps becoming louder.

“In the den.”

Slade appeared in the doorway. He was wearing beat-up jeans, a flannel shirt and a day’s worth of whiskers he hadn’t bothered to shave. A denim jacket with frayed cuffs was his only protection against the weather. He held a paper coffee cup in one hand. “Good mornin’.”

“Not yet, it isn’t.”

Slade’s countenance turned grim. “Don’t tell me there’s more bad news. I called the hospital a couple of hours ago. They said there was no change.”

“There isn’t. Randi’s still in critical condition and the baby’s holding his own.” Thorne rounded the desk and snapped off his laptop, turning off his link to the outside world—news, weather and stock reports. “I was talking about everything else.”

“Such as?”

“To begin with, your friend Striker hasn’t returned any of my calls, Randi’s editor at the Clarion is always ‘out’ or ‘in a meeting.’ I think he’s avoiding me. I’ve talked to the sheriff’s department, but so far there’s nothing new. A detective is supposed to call me back. The good news is that the equipment I ordered for this office is due to arrive today, and the phone company’s gonna come in and install a couple of lines. I’ve talked to an agency specializing in nannies as we’ll need one when J.R. gets home—”

“J.R.?” Slade repeated.

“I call the baby that.”

“After Dad?” Slade asked, obviously perplexed.

“And Randi.”

Slade gave out a long, low whistle. “You have been busy, haven’t you?”

Thorne elevated an eyebrow and remembered that this was his youngest brother, the playboy, a man who had never settled down to any kind of responsibility.

“All I’ve had time for this morning is a call into Striker and a couple of cups of weak coffee down at the Pub’n’Grub. I ran into Larry Todd down there.”

“Why does his name sound familiar?”

“Because he was the man who ran this place when Dad became ill.”

Thorne settled into his father’s chair and leaned back until it squeaked in protest.

“Get this. Randi kept Larry on when she inherited the bulk of this place.”

Thorne remembered, though he hadn’t paid much attention at the time. He’d been in negotiations for the Canterbury Farms subdivision at the time and had been dealing with land use laws, an environmental group, the city council and an accounting nightmare because one of his bookkeepers had been caught embezzling off the previous project. On top of all that, John Randall had died and Thorne, though he’d known his father was dying, had been stricken by the news and assuaged by grief. He hadn’t cared much about the sixth of the ranch he’d inherited and had left Randi, who owned half of the acres and the old ranch house, to run the place as she saw fit.

“But just last week, Randi called Larry up, told him she didn’t need him any longer and that she’d pay him a couple of months’ severance pay.”

Thorne’s head snapped up. “Why?”

“Beats me. Larry was really ticked off.”

“When did this happen?”

“A day before the accident.”

“Did she hire anyone else?”

“Don’t know. I just found out about it.”

“Someone would have to come and look after the stock.”

“You’d think.” He saw movement outside the window and watched Matt hiking the collar of his jacket more closely around his neck as he made his way to the back door. Slade frowned. “Guess I’d better help out with the cattle. I told Larry we’d hire him back, but he’s pretty mad. I thought Matt might talk to him.”

“Let’s see.”

They convened in the kitchen where Matt had set his hat on the table and had flung his jacket over the back of a ladder-back chair. He was in the process of pouring himself a cup of coffee. “There’s nothing to eat around here,” he grumbled as he searched in the refrigerator, then the cupboard. He dragged out an old jar of instant creamer and poured in a healthy dose as Slade and Thorne filled him in on everything they’d already discussed.

“We need Larry Todd back on the payroll,” Thorne said to Matt. “Slade ran into him today and thought you might talk to him.”

Matt studied the contents of his cup and nodded slowly. “I can try. But he called me after Randi let him go, and to say he was a little ticked off is an understatement.”

“See what he wants,” Thorne suggested.

“I’ll give it a shot.”

“Convince him.”

“I’ll try.” Matt slowly stirred his coffee. “But Larry’s been known to be stubborn.”

“We’ll deal with that. I’ve got a call in to Juanita to see if she’ll come on board again,” Thorne said.

“She might be working for someone else by now. Randi let her go after Dad died.” Matt hoisted himself onto the counter and his feet swung free.

“Then we’ll have to make it attractive enough that she’ll come back.”

“Might not be that easy,” Slade said, sipping coffee from his paper cup. “Some people feel obligated to stay with their employer.”

“Everyone can be bought.”

Slade and Matt exchanged glances.

Thorne didn’t waver. “Everyone has a price.”

“Including you?” Matt asked.

Thorne’s jaw hardened. “Yep.”

Slade snorted in contempt. “Hell, you’re a cynic.”

“Aren’t we all?” Thorne said, undeterred. “And we’ll need a nurse. When Randi and the baby get here, we’ll need professional help.” He was running through a mental checklist. “I’ll call a law firm I used to deal with.”

“A law firm?” Slade shook his head. “Why in the world would we need lawyers?”

“For when we find the boy’s father—he might want custody.”

“He should probably get it, at least partial,” Matt allowed.

“Maybe, maybe not. We don’t know a thing about this guy.”

Slade rolled his eyes and tossed the remains of his coffee into the sink. “For the love of Mike, Thorne, don’t you trust anyone?”

“Nope.”

“If Randi chose this guy, he might be all right,” Matt conceded.

“So then where is he? Assuming he knows that she was pregnant, why the hell hasn’t he appeared?” The same old questions that had been plaguing Thorne ever since learning of his sister’s accident gnawed at him. “If he’s such a peach of a guy, why isn’t he with her?”

“Maybe she doesn’t want him.” Slade lifted a shoulder. “It happens.”

“Any way around it, we’ll need to see about our rights, the baby’s rights, Randi’s rights and—”

“And the father’s rights.” Matt pointed out before taking a long swallow of coffee. “Okay, I’ve got to run into town and go to the feed store. While I’m there I’ll pick up some supplies and hit the grocery store for a few things. When I get back, I’ll call Larry.”

Slade reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. “I’ll ride into town with you,” he said to Matt. “I want to talk to the sheriff’s department, find out what they know about Randi’s accident.”

“Good idea,” Thorne agreed. “I’ve called but haven’t heard back.”

“Figures. Look, I’ve left a message with Striker, but I’ll phone him again,” Slade promised, shaking out a cigarette and jabbing the filter tip into the corner of his mouth. “What’s your game plan?”

“I’m setting up my office in the den, already scheduled equipment delivery and then I’m going to run into town myself. Visit Randi and the baby.” He didn’t add that he intended to see Nicole again.

“Yeah. I figured we’d stop by the hospital, too,” Matt allowed. “If you get any calls from Mike Kavanaugh, tell him I’ll call him back.”

“Who’s Kavanaugh?” Thorne asked.

“My neighbor. He’s looking after my spread while I’m here.”

Slade crumpled his empty coffee cup and threw it into the trash. “How long will he take care of it?”

Matt shrugged into his jacket and squared his hat on his head. “As long as it takes.” He locked gazes with his brothers. “Randi and the baby come first.”

* * *

Nicole ground the gears of the rental car and swore under her breath. She wheeled into the parking lot of the hospital and told herself to trust that the mechanics looking at the SUV could find the problem, get the part, fix whatever was wrong, and return it to her soon, without it costing an arm and a leg.

She had half an hour before she was actually on duty and planned to use the time to check on Randi McCafferty and the baby before taking over in the ER.

Setting the emergency brake, she switched off the rental, grabbed her briefcase and told herself that her interest in Randi and the baby was just common courtesy and professional concern, that oftentimes she looked in on patients once they’d been moved from the ER. This wasn’t about Thorne. No way. The fact that he was related to Randi was incidental.

She argued with herself all the way through the physicians’ entrance and in the elevator to her office.

“Something wrong?” a nurse she’d known since she’d arrived at St. James asked as she passed the nurses’ station in the west wing.

“What?”

“You look worried. Are the twins okay?”

“Yes, I mean Molly has a case of the sniffles, but nothing a little TLC and a couple of Disney movies won’t cure. I guess I was just thinking.”

“Well, smile a little when you think,” the nurse said with a wink.

“I’ll try.”

She made her way to the Intensive Care Unit, where she looked at Randi’s chart. “Any change?” she asked.

“Not much,” Betty, the ICU nurse, said with a shake of perfectly coiffed red curls. “Still comatose. Unresponsive, but hanging in there. How’s the baby?”

“Not good,” Nicole admitted as she glanced into Betty’s concerned gaze. “I’m on my way to check on him now.”

Betty’s lips folded in on themselves. The gold cross suspended from her neck winked against her skin. “A shame,” she said.

“Where there’s life, there’s hope.” Nicole glanced over Randi’s chart, then headed down to Neonatal Pediatrics where little J.R., as Thorne called him, was struggling for his life. As she stared at the tiny baby, hooked up to tubes and monitors, her heart ached. She remembered the birth of her own twins, the elation of seeing each little girl for the first time, the feeling of relief that they were both so perfect and healthy. She’d been jubilant and even Paul, at that time, had seemed happy. He’d looked at her with tears in his eyes and told her, “They’re beautiful, Nicole. As beautiful as their mother.”

His kind words still haunted her. Were they the last he’d ever spoken to her? Surely not. There had to have been a few more compliments and tender glances before the toll of two high-powered jobs and rambunctious daughters had robbed the marriage of whatever gel had bound it together. Naively Nicole had believed that children would bring Paul and her closer together—of course she’d been wrong. Bitterly so.

“Has Dr. Arnold been in today?” she asked the nurse on duty.

“Twice.”

“Good.” Come on, J.R., she thought watching the tiny fingers curl into fists. Fight. You can do it!