Rumors: The McCaffertys: The McCaffertys: ThorneThe McCaffertys: Matt

  But the worst of the chaos was over, the patients stabilized, and relief physicians had arrived. Finally, Nicole could go home. She poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and quickly wrote some notes on her computer before grabbing her jacket, laptop and briefcase and leaving St. James.

  The parking lot was a blanket of white as snow had fallen all day long. Six inches had piled in the parking lot and ice and snow had collected on the SUV’s windshield. She waited for the defroster and wipers to clear the glass, then drove carefully into town.

  She hadn’t heard from Thorne since yesterday morning and she was beginning to miss him, though she didn’t want to admit how deeply and emotionally entangled she’d become with him and his entire family.

  “Oh, don’t be a fool,” she told herself as she stopped to ease the rig into four-wheel drive. She decided to call Thorne when she got home, tell him about a friend of Jenny’s who was interested in the nanny job and just reconnect. After all, in these days of women’s liberation, why couldn’t she call him rather than sit by the phone or wonder what he was doing?

  She made her way home and found her girls already dressed in their pajamas and ready for bed. “Sorry I’m late,” she apologized to Jenny after hugging each twin and listening to them babble on about what they’d done during the day. There was talk of a snowman in the backyard and Mindy complained that Molly had hit her with a snowball.

  “Did not!” Molly cried, but guilt contorted her little face and she called her sister a tattletale when she finally confessed without a drop of remorse.

  “They’ve been pretty good,” Jenny admitted and hugged each girl before leaving. With the twins standing on the love seat, their noses pressed to the window, Nicole watched as Jenny drove off through the storm, the taillights of her battle-scarred station wagon winking bright red against a shower of snowflakes.

  It was nearly two hours later, once Molly and Mindy were fast asleep, that she dialed the number of the Flying M. The phone was answered by a woman with a thick Spanish accent.

  “McCafferty Ranch.”

  “This is Nicole Stevenson. I’m looking for—”

  “The doctor. Dios! Has something happened to Señorita Randi?”

  “No, I just wanted to talk to Thorne.”

  “But Randi, she is the same?”

  “Yes. As far as I know.”

  There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Thorne, he is not here, but you can speak to Slade.”

  Disappointment pierced her soul. “No, that’s all right. Have Thorne give me a call when he returns.”

  “He is not coming back for a while,” the woman said, then holding her hand over the receiver spoke to someone else and within a few seconds Slade’s voice boomed over the wires.

  “Is this Nicole?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation. “Oh. Well, I thought you knew. Thorne’s in Denver. We don’t expect him back for a few days. We’re not really sure but the storm’s hit hard there and it looks like he won’t be back for a while—uh-oh.” In the background she heard a baby start to put up a fuss. “Was there a message I could pass along to him?”

  “No, not really,” she said, feeling deflated somehow. “I thought he was looking for a nanny and I have the number of a woman who might be a possibility.”

  The baby was really wailing by this time. “Great. The job hasn’t been filled yet. Why don’t you give me the information?”

  “Sure. The woman’s name is Christina Foster.” She gave Slade Christina’s number and was about to hang up when she remembered something she’d wanted to tell Thorne but hadn’t had the chance. “You know, Slade, I was reading an article in a magazine the other night. It was about single parenting and the byline was for an R. J. McKay. I know this sounds crazy, but it sure read like something your sister might have written.”

  “Is that so?” Slade was all ears. “You still got a copy of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  “Sure, but as I said, I’m not certain it was written by Randi.”

  “Nonetheless.”

  “I’ll make you a copy and send it to you.”

  “Thanks.”

  She hung up and felt a big case of the blues threatening to overtake her. So Thorne was in Denver. So what?

  Why didn’t he mention that he was going? Why hasn’t he called?

  “Stop it,” she told herself. She wasn’t going to be one of those women who sat around and stewed over a man. No way, no how. And yet, as she pulled the blinds and saw one last view of the snowy night, she couldn’t help wish that Thorne was here with her, holding her in his arms and making love to her as if he would never stop.

  * * *

  Cradling a cup of coffee, Thorne glowered out the window to the gray morning. Snow was still falling as if it would never stop and the airport was a mess. At another time in his life, he would have kept busy, gone to the office, buried himself in his work, managed his life around the natural disaster that seemed hell-bent on causing him problems. But now he wanted to return to Grand Hope, Montana—to the ranch, to Randi, to little J.R. and especially to Nicole. Grand Hope was where he belonged. With his brothers and sister. With his nephew. With the woman he loved.

  Silently he sipped his black coffee and laughed at himself. Thorne McCafferty, once upon a time a confirmed bachelor, now contemplating not just living with a woman for the rest of his life, but marrying her.

  Matt and Slade would needle him mercilessly when they found out. But he didn’t mind.

  His head still ached from the buzz of last night’s party. Kent Williams had been attentive and brought several ideas to him—a condominium project in Aspen, single-family courtyard homes in a development just outside of Denver, and an apartment complex in Boulder. He’d been certain they could work something out and all the while Annette had hovered near him, touching him, smiling up at him, showing off her sleek body in a low-cut gown of mauve silk while he spoke to other businessmen and reporters who were covering the event. She’d even managed to loop her arm through his while a society page reporter had spoken with him and a photographer had flashed his picture.

  Thorne hadn’t been interested in her advances, but had managed to smile and accept her attentions throughout the night. Only when he was leaving and she suggested that she was available to come to his place for drinks did he pull her into a private alcove of the hotel and tell her in no uncertain terms that it was over. When she’d pouted, he’d had to tell her that he was involved with another woman. She hadn’t believed him and had thrown her arms around his neck and tried to kiss him. Only then, when he hadn’t responded, had she realized that he was serious.

  “I just hope whoever she is she knows what she’s got in you,” she’d said icily. “No woman with any heart wants a man married to his work.”

  He hadn’t responded but had silently thought that Nicole didn’t even know he loved her; would probably reject him when he proposed. At that thought he smiled for the first time in twenty-four hours. The memory of making love to her had lingered in his mind, but that wasn’t all of it. Their lovemaking was wild, raw and passionate, but sex wasn’t the driving force. No, he loved Nicole the concerned physician, Nicole the tenderhearted mother, Nicole the brassy woman who stood up to him and joked with him as well as Nicole the sexy lady he wanted to forever warm his bed.

  So he was stuck in Denver. Great. He might as well make the most of it. He decided to go into the office, do as much work as he could while he was here and then as soon as the weather broke, he would fly back to the pine-forested slopes of Montana where he belonged.

  He showered, changed into a business suit that felt strangely uncomfortable, then he walked the few blocks through the snow-crusted streets to the office. He spent the next hour with Eloise who brought him up to date on his projects. “You know,” she said, checking off another item on her list as she sat on one side of his desk and he on the other. “This is workin
g better than I thought.”

  “What is?”

  “You being at the ranch in Montana. I have to admit that I thought it was a crazy scheme when you came up with it.”

  “The art of telecommunications.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Or maybe you just like being in charge when I’m gone.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s it.” A twinkle lit her eyes. “Okay, is there anything else?”

  “Yes, get me a florist on the line, would you?”

  “You want me to send flowers for you?”

  Thorne leaned back in his chair. “No, this time I’ll handle it personally.”

  “Uh-oh. Someone special?”

  “Very.” He leaned back in his chair and noticed the shocked expression on his secretary’s face. “Very special to me.”

  “Will do.” She left his office, buzzed him a few minutes later and told him the florist was on line two. Thorne pulled at his collar and told the man on the other end of the line what he wanted and when he was finished, he grinned widely. That should knock the lady doc’s socks off.

  The intercom buzzed insistently and when he picked up, Eloise told him that a man named Kurt Striker was on hold.

  “Put him through.” There was a click. “Striker?”

  “Yep. Listen, you told me to let you know if I found out anything about your sister’s accident.”

  All the muscles in the back of Thorne’s neck contracted. “I remember.”

  “Well, I’ve done some pokin’ around.”

  “And?”

  “I think that your sister’s accident involved another vehicle—a maroon Ford product, from the looks of it. Either that rig edged her off the road on purpose or clipped her fender, sent her reeling and the driver got so scared he didn’t bother to stop. The least it could be is a hit-and-run accident, the worst-case scenario is attempted murder.”

  Thorne’s heart turned to stone. A tic developed over his eye.

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “Yep,” Striker said, his voice as strong as steel. “I’d be willing to bet my life on it.”

  Chapter 13

  “I guess when your name is McCafferty, there’s no way you can keep it away from the press.” Maureen Oliverio slapped a copy of the newspaper down on the table and slid into a chair in the cafeteria where Nicole was finishing her lunch.

  “Don’t tell me, some reporter is writing about Randi again.”

  “Not just Randi, but the whole damned family.” Maureen opened a packet of nondairy creamer and poured the white powder into her cup of coffee. “Page three.”

  Nicole pushed her cup of soup aside and spread the paper open. As she did, her heart nearly stopped. Yes, there was an article about the McCaffertys and Randi’s accident, but the text was more in-depth and gave an overview of John Randall McCafferty, who had once been so influential in the area surrounding Grand Hope. There was also a sketchy story of what his children were doing. There were old snapshots of the McCafferty brothers playing football, a picture of Slade after his skiing accident, a shot of Matt riding rodeo and another picture, one taken just the day before, if the date was to be believed, of Thorne at a charitable fund-raiser in Denver. On his arm was a striking woman who positively glowed in her designer gown and diamonds.

  Nicole’s world spun for a second. Her throat closed and she tried to deny what was so obvious. Then, gritting her teeth and finding a scrap of her self-esteem she scanned the article before lifting her eyes and reading the concern in Maureen’s gaze. “I don’t know what possessed me to buy this,” the emergency room team leader said, “but I thought you’d like to see it.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” No words were spoken but a moment of understanding passed between them. Maureen wouldn’t embarrass her by stating the obvious: that Thorne was dating other women while he was seeing Nicole, and Nicole didn’t have to make excuses or defend him. The thread of friendship—the woman-bond—between Maureen and Nicole ran too deep for that kind of false pride. They were more than colleagues, more than friends. They belonged to an unspoken sisterhood of single women raising families.

  “You can have it.”

  “Good.”

  Her pager went off and Nicole read the message—a code that she needed to be in the ER. At the same time Maureen’s beeper caught her attention.

  “Gotta run,” Nicole said.

  “Me, too. I’ll meet you in the ER.”

  On her feet in an instant, Nicole tucked the damning newspaper under her arm. What did she expect? Of course Thorne dated other women. He probably had one in every city where he did work. The thought made her stomach turn over. Why, oh, for the love of God, why did she let herself fall in love with him?

  At the elevators Nicole gave herself a quick mental shake. She couldn’t be worrying about Thorne or wondering about him or pining over him. She had work to do. Important work. She climbed onto the elevator car, pushed the button for the main floor and once on ground level, swept through the doors to the ER.

  “What’ve we got?” she asked, pulling on a pair of disposable gloves as Maureen appeared through a side door. Tension crackled in the air.

  “Plane crash, just outside of town. Some idiot was trying to fly a private jet in this mess,” a nurse said as she hung up the phone. “Close enough that he’s coming in by ambulance.”

  “How many injured?” Nicole asked.

  “Just the pilot, I think.”

  “And he’s alive?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Lucky stiff.”

  At that moment the sound of sirens split the air. “Okay, people, let’s get to work!”

  The ambulance, siren screaming, roared into the parking lot. Tires and chains squealed. Two paramedics flew out of the back. A police car—lights flashing in red and blue—skidded in behind the ambulance. As the patient was wheeled inside, two deputies from the sheriff’s department stormed in.

  “What have we got here?” Nicole asked.

  “Thirty-nine-year-old man, unconscious, head injuries, broken femur, blood pressure stable at…”

  The paramedic rambled on and Nicole heard the vital signs, but her heart was thundering, her legs weak as she stared into the mangled face of the patient and knew, before anyone said a word, that this was Thorne. The overhead lights seemed brighter and started to swim in her eyes. Her heart pounded in her ears and she couldn’t breathe. Her legs threatened to give out and she braced herself against the wall.

  “Who is he?”

  “Thorne McCafferty,” she heard through her fog and forced her eyes into the serious gaze of a woman deputy from the sheriff’s department. Her name tag read Detective Kelly Dillinger.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. “No. No. Oh, God, no—”

  “I’ll take over,” Maureen said from somewhere behind her and the room began to go dark. “Nicole. I said—”

  “No, I’ll be all right.” Her fingers wrapped around the cold metal railing of the gurney as she turned to face Maureen.

  “I’ll handle it, Doctor.” Behind the understanding in Maureen’s eyes, was an insistence that warned Nicole she would hear of no argument. Several nurses were staring. All the while Thorne lay still, needing assistance. “You’re too involved emotionally, and I’m the team leader,” Maureen pointed out.

  “All right.” Nicole had no choice but to back down. She was shaking and needed to pull herself together. “But as soon as you’ve examined him, let me know. I’ll be in my office and I’ll call his family.”

  “Fine.” All business, Maureen Oliverio nodded. “Talk to the detective and I’ll see to the patient. Let’s go!”

  As she watched helplessly, Thorne was wheeled into an examining room.

  “What did she mean you were too involved?” the detective asked.

  With pale skin and piercing brown eyes she stared at Nicole from beneath the brim of her hat. A few wisps of red hair feathered around her face.

  “I—I know the family.”

/>   “And Thorne McCafferty specifically?”

  “Yes. He and I have dated,” she admitted, finally coming to grips with the situation. Her spine found some starch and she was no longer quivering inside but she suspected her face was pale as death. “He’s a friend of mine. What happened?” As she talked she peeled off her gloves and tossed them into a waste receptacle.

  “His plane went down in the storm and we’re investigating the cause of the accident. Probably just the weather, but we have to be sure.” Detective Dillinger’s lips pursed a bit. “He’s lucky to be alive.”

  Nicole glanced to the examining room and nodded. To think that Thorne might have lost his life. Oh, God. What then? Her heart ached at the thought of it. She cleared her throat and saw a news van wheel into the lot. “Uh-oh.”

  Looking over her shoulder, the detective recognized the van. Her lips tightened into a frown of disapproval. She nodded to her partner and ordered, “Handle the vultures. And don’t tell them the name of the pilot until we talk to his family.”

  “Got it.” The other officer, a lanky man in his early twenties blocked the entrance. The reporter, a petite woman in a bright-blue coat argued as a wiry cameraman stared through the glass.

  “Can we talk somewhere a little more private?” Detective Dillinger asked and for the first time Nicole was aware of the curious stares that were cast in her direction.

  “Yeah—my office, just let me tell the staff where to reach me.” Another doctor agreed to take over for the next half hour while Nicole managed to rein in her wild emotions and escorted the detective upstairs to her office.

  “Have a seat,” Nicole offered, snatching a stack of books off the chair. She set the books on an empty corner of her desk and settled into her own seat.

  “I know this is tough on you right now, and I wouldn’t bother you, but since you’re close to the McCafferty family maybe you can give me some information.”