Disclosure: The McCaffertys
“From what Matt said, Slade was injured more seriously. Thorne went in to save him.”
“That’s what I’ve heard... Slade ran into the stables to save the stock, so he was in there the longest... I really don’t know what happened, just that Thorne dragged him out of the fire and Slade lost consciousness.”
Chuck took a seat on the arm of her chair. His hands were clasped between his knees. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
Jamie nodded, shook her head, then sighed. “I think so...yes. I mean—”
“I get the picture. Oh, Jamie.” There was pain in Chuck’s voice as he gazed at her for a minute, touched her shoulder, then, as if aware of the tenderness of the gesture, stood suddenly. “I always knew it wasn’t quite right between us. I wasn’t what you wanted, but I was hoping...” He lifted a hand, then let it drop. “Well, I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I do, Chuck.”
“Then good luck.” He seemed as if he was about to say something more when the double doors swung open.
Jamie shot to her feet. Nicole, disheveled, her expression grim, swept through the opening. “Sorry I didn’t get to you any earlier,” she said as Jamie met her halfway across the waiting area.
“Slade?”
“He’s going to live,” she said, her amber eyes dark with pain. Then, as if quickly donning her professional persona, she squared her shoulders and added, “The surface stuff, cuts and bruises, will heal quickly. He’s got some second-degree burns on his hands and face, but, that, too, isn’t what’s of the most concern.”
“What?” Jamie asked.
“It’s his back, Jamie. One vertebra is cracked and there could be some damage to his spinal cord.” Jamie’s knees threatened to give way.
Chuck grabbed her arm, but she made herself stand and forced the hated words over her tongue. “How much damage?” she asked, not daring to think about the possibility that Slade might be paralyzed.
“We don’t know. Bruised for certain, maybe just pinched, probably not severed.” She began talking in medical terms that Jamie, had she not been fighting the buzz of fear thrumming through her brain, or the denial that threatened to rise in her throat, might have understood. But all she could think about was seeing Slade again. Touching him. Telling him that she loved him.
“Is he conscious?”
“Not yet.”
“And the prognosis?” Chuck asked as a cart, wheeled by a balding male aide, rattled past.
“It’s too early to tell. But Dr. Nimmo is an excellent neurosurgeon and he’s linked via computer to the best in the country. I can assure you that Slade is getting the best possible care.”
“When can I see him?” Jamie asked.
“Not until the doctors have finished. That might be a while.” Nicole placed a hand on Jamie’s sleeve. “Why don’t you go home for a while? Rest. There’s nothing to be done here and I promise I’ll call you myself if there’s any change.”
“I want to stay,” Jamie insisted.
“Why? It serves no purpose. Won’t help.” Chuck gave her one of his now-let’s-be-reasonable looks, the one where one of his silver eyebrows raised slightly as he looked at her from the tops of his eyes.
“I’ll feel better about it if I’m close by.”
Chuck sighed. “He doesn’t even know you’re here.”
“That’s right,” Nicole said. “It would be best if you got some sleep.”
“I’ll doze here.” Jamie was adamant. Her gaze touched the other woman’s and she saw a spark of understanding in Nicole’s eyes. She didn’t have to say, If things were reversed and it was Thorne battling for his life, where would you be? “If there’s any change, you’ll let me know.”
“Yes.” Nicole nodded and offered an encouraging smile. “The second it occurs.”
“Thanks.”
“Now wait a minute...” Chuck tried to talk her into going back to Nana’s place, but Jamie was determined to stay.
“You can’t change my mind and that’s that,” she finally said, and rested her hips on the window ledge again. Chuck gave up, said something about going down to the cafeteria to try to scrounge up breakfast. Jamie wasn’t hungry. She glanced at the clock again, saw the precious seconds sweeping by and realized she’d spent too many years running away from the truth that she loved Slade McCafferty. She always had. She probably always would.
* * *
“You have to face it, Randi, someone’s sending you one helluva message.” Kurt Striker’s voice was harsh, his green eyes jade-cold as he watched her descend the stairs.
Damn the man, why was he hounding her now—when all hell had broken loose? She brushed past him on her way to the living room. The bomb squad had dispersed, declaring the house safe. The fire in the stables had been extinguished, leaving charred, soggy remains. The police vehicles and fire trucks had departed, but yellow crime scene tape now roped off the still smoldering building. Matt had called Larry Todd and the foreman had rushed over. The two men and Kelly had dealt with the frightened livestock, rounding up the crazed horses and finding shelter for them in the barn.
It was such a nightmare. Slade and Thorne were in the hospital, two of the horses had died, the ranch was a shambles, the children distraught.
While Kelly Dillinger should have been planning her wedding to Matt, she’d been chasing after terrorized livestock in the middle of the night and worrying herself sick over the men who were to become her brothers-in-law.
And the kids... It had taken hours but Randi had finally gotten the children into bed.
“Did you hear me? This is about you, you know.” Striker wasn’t giving up. But then, from what she’d heard of him, he never did. Dressed in Levis and a sheepskin-lined denim jacket, he was standing near the fireplace where he’d managed to stoke the dying embers into flames. The familiar room looked cozy and secure, yet all she had to do was glance past the Christmas tree, through the window, to the destruction beyond.
“I’m not convinced it has anything to do with me. It could have been an accident.”
“I talked with the fire chief. They’re about ninety percent certain it was arson. They even think there was a trip wire to the door. When Slade opened it, he didn’t have a chance.”
“Oh, God.”
Kurt crossed the room so that he was standing toe to toe with her. “You could be right. Even if the fire was arson, maybe it had nothing to do with you. Maybe the Flying M was a random target, maybe the arsonist has a grudge against someone else in your family, but, given what else has been happening in your life, I think the odds are against it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, but his gaze never left hers. “I don’t think you’re willing to play God with your brothers’ lives, with your nieces’ lives or with your son’s life.”
“Of course not!” Her nerves were strung tight, her emotions raw, her brain running in circles so fast that she couldn’t sleep though she was exhausted. She didn’t need Striker with his accusations and suspicions. Not right now.
“All I’m asking is that you help us nail the bastard who’s behind all this.”
“Don’t you think I would if I could?”
He didn’t answer and she tipped her chin up so that she could impale him with her self-righteous glare. “I’ll do everything possible. Of course I will.” She was angry now, tired of the silent stares, the accusations. “What is it you want to know?”
“Everything, Randi. Everything you can remember about your life before your accident. I want to know what you were working on for the Seattle Clarion. I want to know if you were writing a book and what it was about. I want to know why you fired Larry Todd. I want to know why you were on that road in Glacier Park. And I want to know the name of the father of your child.”
She swallowed hard and, as if he sensed resistance, he grabbed her arm with unforgiving fingers.
“No more lies, okay? No more half-truths. No more faked amnesia. We don’t have time for any of that bull. Slade and Thorne
are lucky to have gotten out of the fire alive. You and your son are lucky you survived the accident. It’s probably a miracle of God you weren’t killed in the hospital. But your luck might not hold. The next time someone might die.”
* * *
Someone had taken a sledgehammer and was pounding it against his brain. And that same someone had decided that his lungs would feel better if they were on fire. Then Slade remembered. In terrifying Technicolor.
The fire. The horses. Thorne’s voice and the beam splitting to pin him against the floor. The expression on Jamie Parsons’s face when she’d seen him being dragged from the burning building.
He opened a bleary eye and saw metal rails. Beyond that were curtains—no, privacy drapes that sufficed as walls, and monitors surrounding him. He was in St. James Hospital, ICU, if he had to guess. Where Randi had recently been.
“Mr. McCafferty?”
He focused on a round-faced nurse who was staring down at him. She smiled benignly as she touched his arm. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like hell,” he rasped, but his throat was raw and the words barely passed his lips. His face felt cracked, dry, his arms like dead weights. There was a pain in the center of his back and his legs...what the hell? He tried to sit up.
“Whoa, there, we’ll adjust the medication for your pain,” she advised. “I’ve already called the doctor. He should be in to see you very shortly.”
But there was something in her eyes, something he didn’t trust. He tried to move his leg, but nothing happened. He attempted again. “My legs...” He looked down, saw them stretched out beneath the sheets.
“You’ve had some trauma to your back. As I said, the doctor will be in to talk to you about it.”
“Trauma?” He gritted his teeth, tried to budge his damned legs, felt sweat bead on his skin. What was the issue she was dancing around? Trauma to his back. “You mean, to my spinal cord?”
“The doctor will be in—”
“Like hell. Are you telling me I’m paralyzed?” he demanded, the rest of his life flashing ahead of him. He saw wheelchairs, aides to help him do everything from bathe to urinate, to help him dress. No. He wouldn’t believe it.
The nurse’s lips pursed.
“Get me the doctor. Now!” he bellowed, though the words came out in a harsh, damning whisper. “And get my sister-in-law, Dr. Nicole Stevenson, er, McCafferty.”
Another nurse appeared at the foot of his bed as he pushed himself upright. “Doctor ordered a sedative.”
“I don’t want a damned sedative. Hell’s bells, you’re telling me that I’m paralyzed, and now you want to knock me out?” He forced himself to a full sitting position, bracing himself with his hands, staring down at the useless limbs hidden by the crisp bed sheets and thin coverlet.
“Mr. McCafferty, please—just calm down and—”
Gritting his teeth he glared at his legs and willed them to move. Nothing. As the nurses adjusted his IV, he yanked off the coverings and saw beneath the short gown nothing out of the ordinary—two somewhat hairy legs that just wouldn’t move. He panicked, then calmed. This was a nightmare, that was it. He was dreaming. He’d wake in his own bed and find out that everything was the same. The stables would be standing, all the horses, including Diablo Rojo waiting impatiently to be fed...so why the hell wouldn’t his legs move?
“Where the hell is the doctor?” He glared at the nurse. “You call him now and...and...”
He felt suddenly drowsy. The words died in his throat. His arms gave out and he flopped against the pillows as a door flew open and Nicole appeared.
“Slade? How are you?”
“You tell me,” he said, though he had trouble wrapping his tongue around the words. God, he was tired. He wanted to close his eyes, to sink back into black oblivion and know that when he awoke everything would be the same. “Am...am I paralyzed?”
&n