Читать книгу: «The Mccaffertys: Thorne»

Chapter One

Grand Hope, Montana

October

Dr. Nicole Stevenson felt a rush of adrenaline surge through her blood as it did each time accident victims were rushed into the emergency room of St. James Hospital.

She met the intensity in Dr. Maureen Oliverio’s eyes as the other woman hung up the phone. “The copter’s here! Let’s go, people!” The hastily grouped team of doctors and nurses responded. “The paramedics are bringing in the patient. You’re on, Dr. Stevenson.”

“What have we got?” Nicole asked.

Dr. Oliverio, a no-nonsense doctor, led the way through double doors. “Single-car accident up in Glacier Park, the patient’s a woman in her late twenties, pregnant, at term. Fractures, internal damage, concussed, a real mess. Membranes have ruptured. We’ll probably need to do a C-section because of her other injuries. While we’re inside, we’ll repair any other damage. Everybody with me? Dr. Stevenson’s in charge until we send the patient to OR.”

Nicole caught the glances of the other doctors as they adjusted masks and gloves. It was her job to stabilize the patient before shipping her off to surgery.

The doors of the room flew open and a gurney, propelled by two paramedics flew through the doors of the emergency room of St. James Hospital.

“What have we got here?” Nicole asked the nearest paramedic, a short red-faced man with clipped graying hair and a moustache. “What are her vital signs? What about the baby?”

“BP, normal, one-ten over seventy-five, heart rate sixty-two but dropping slightly…” The paramedic rattled off the information he’d gathered and Nicole, listening, looked down at the patient, an unconscious woman whose face once probably beautiful was now bloody and already beginning to bruise. Her abdomen was distended, fluid from an IV flowed into her arm and her neck and head were braced. “…lacerations, abrasions, fractured skull, mandible and femur, possible internal bleeding…”

“Let’s get a fetal monitor here!” Nicole ordered as a nurse peeled off.

“On its way.”

“Good.” Nicole nodded. “Okay, okay, now, let’s stabilize the mother.”

“Has the husband been notified? Do we have a consent?” Dr. Oliverio asked.

“Don’t know,” a grim-faced paramedic replied. “The police are trying to locate her relatives. According to her ID, her name is Randi McCafferty and there’s no indication of any allergies to meds on her driver’s licence, no prescription drugs in her purse.”

Oh, God! Nicole’s heart nearly stopped. She froze. For a split second her concentration lapsed and she gave herself a quick mental shake. “Are you sure?” she asked the shorter of the two paramedics.

“Positive.”

“Randi McCafferty,” Dr. Oliverio repeated, sucking in her breath. “My daughter went to school with her. Her father’s dead—J. Randall, important man around these parts at one time. Owned the Flying M Ranch about twenty miles out of town. Randi, here, has three half brothers.”

And Thorne’s one of them, Nicole thought, her jaw tensing.

“What about the husband or boyfriend? The kid’s got a father somewhere,” Dr. Oliverio insisted.

“Don’t know. Never heard of one.”

“We’ll figure out all that later,” Nicole said, taking charge once more. “Right now, let’s just concentrate on stabilizing her and the baby.”

Dr. Oliverio nodded. “Let’s get that fetal monitor on here! STAT.”

“Got it,” a nurse replied.

“BP’s falling, doctor—one hundred over sixty,” a nurse said.

“Damn.” Nicole’s own heart began to pound. She wasn’t going to lose this patient. Come on Randi, she silently urged. Where’s that good ol’ McCafferty fight? Come on, come on! “Where’s the anesthesiologist?” Nicole demanded.

“On his way.”

“Who is he?”

“Brummel.” Dr. Oliverio met Nicole’s gaze. “A good man. He’ll be here.”

“The monitor’s in place,” a nurse said just as Dr. Brummel, a thin man in rimless glasses, pushed his way through the doors. “What have we got here?” he asked as he quickly scanned the patient.

“Woman. Unconscious. About to deliver. Single-car accident. No known allergies, no medical records, but we’re checking,” Nicole said. “She’s got a skull fracture, multiple other fractures, pneumothorax—so she’s already entubated. Her membranes have ruptured, the kid’s on his way, and there might be more abdominal injuries.”

“The mother’s BP is stabilizing—one hundred and five over sixty,” a nurse called, but Nicole didn’t relax. Couldn’t. In her estimation Randi McCafferty’s life wasn’t yet certain.

“Keep your eye on it. Now, what about the baby?” Nicole asked.

“We’ve got trouble here. The baby’s in distress,” Dr. Oliverio said, eyeing the readout of the fetal monitor.

“Then let’s get it out of there.”

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” Dr. Brummel said from behind his mask as he adjusted the breathing tube. Satisfied, he glanced up at Nicole. “Let’s go.”

“We’ve got a neonatalogist standing by.”

“Good.” Nicole checked Randi’s vital signs one last time. “Patient’s stable.” She glanced at the team, then met Dr. Oliverio’s eyes with her own. Randi McCafferty was in an uphill battle for her life. As was the baby. “All right, doctors, the patients are all yours.”

* * *

Thorne drove like a madman. He’d gotten the call from Slade less than three hours earlier that Randi was in a car accident in Glacier Park, here in Montana.

Thorne had been in Denver at the time, in a private business meeting at the offices of McCafferty International and he’d left abruptly. He told his secretary to handle everything and rearrange his schedule, then he grabbed a duffel bag he kept packed in a closet and had driven to the airfield. Within the hour he was airborne, flying the company jet directly to a private airstrip at the ranch. He hadn’t bothered checking with his brothers again, instead he’d just taken the keys to a pickup that was waiting for him, tossed his duffel bag into the truck then taken off for Grand Hope and St. James Hospital where Randi was battling for her life.

He stepped on the accelerator, took a corner too fast and heard the tires squeal in protest. He didn’t know what was going on; the phone call from his brother Slade had been broken up by static and eventually disconnected as cell service wasn’t the greatest here. But he did understand that Randi’s life was in question and that the name of the admitting doctor was Stevenson. Other than that, he knew nothing.

Night-darkened fields flew by. The wipers slapped sleet from the windshield and Thorne’s jaw grew hard. What the devil had happened? Why was Randi in Montana when her job was in Seattle? What had she been doing in Glacier Park, how serious were her injuries—was she really in danger of losing her life? A piece of information that finally pierced his brain from his conversation with Slade burrowed deep in his brain. Hadn’t his brother said something about Randi being pregnant? No way. He’d seen her less than six months ago. She was single, didn’t even have a steady boyfriend. Or did she? What did he really know about his half sister?

Not a helluva lot.

Guilt ripped through him. You should have kept in contact. You’re the oldest. It was your responsibility. It wasn’t her fault that her mother seduced your father over a quarter of a century before and broke up John Randall’s first marriage. It wasn’t her fault that you were just too damned busy with your own life.

Dozens of questions burned through his conscience as he saw the lights of the town glowing in the distance.

He’d have his answers soon enough.

If Randi survived. His fingers clenched around the wheel and he found himself praying to a God he’d thought had long ago turned a deaf ear.

* * *

Thorne McCafferty.

The last person on earth Nicole wanted to deal with. But, no doubt, he’d be here. And soon. As she tore off her surgical gloves, she told herself to buck up. He was just another worried relative of a patient. Nothing more.

Nonetheless Nicole didn’t like the idea of facing him again. There were too many old wounds, too much pain she’d never really resolved, too many emotions that she’d locked away years ago. She’d realized when she moved here after her divorce that she wouldn’t be able to avoid Thorne forever. Grand Hope, despite its recent growth, was still a small town and John Randall McCafferty had been one of its leading citizens. His sons and daughter had grown up here.

So she’d have to face Thorne again. Big deal. It was only a matter of time. Unfortunately the situation—with his sister struggling for her life—wasn’t the best of circumstances.

Nicole stuffed her stethoscope into her pocket and braced herself. Not only would she have to face Thorne again, but Randi McCafferty’s other distraught brothers as well—men she’d known in a lifetime long, long ago when she’d dated their older brother. Her time with Thorne had been short, though. Intense and unforgettable, but thankfully short. His younger brothers, who had been caught up in their own lives at the time, might not remember her.

Don’t believe it for a minute. When it comes to women, the McCafferty men were almost legendary in their conquests. They’d known all the girls in town.

Another painful old scar ripped open because Nicole had come to face the fact that she had been nothing more than another one of Thorne McCafferty’s conquests, just another notch in his belt. A poor, shy, studious girl who had, for a short period one summer, caught his eye.

An archaic way of thinking, but oh, so torturously true.

Through a high window she saw the movement of stormy gray clouds that reflected her own gloomy thoughts. Though it was only October the weather service had been predicting snow.

She’d been in the ER all day, had nearly finished her shift when Randi McCafferty had been brought in.

Nicole’s feet ached, her head pounded and the thought of a shower was pure heaven—a shower, a glass of chilled Chardonnay, a crackling fire and the twins cuddled with her under the quilt in her favorite rocker as she read them a bedtime story. She couldn’t help but smile. “Later,” she reminded herself. First she had serious business to attend to.

Randi, still in recovery, wasn’t out of the woods yet, nor would she be for a while. Comatose and fighting for her life, Randi would spend the better part of the next week in ICU being monitored, her vital signs watched twenty-four hours.

The good news was that the baby, a robust boy, had survived the accident and a quick Cesarean birth. So far.

Sweaty and forcing a smile she didn’t feel, Nicole slipped into her lab coat and pushed open the doors to the waiting room where two of Randi McCafferty’s brothers sat on chairs, thumbing through magazines, their cups of coffee ignored on a corner table. They were both tall and lanky, handsome men with bold features, expressive eyes and worry written all over their faces.

Looking up as the doors opened, they dropped their magazines and climbed hastily to their feet.

“Mr. McCafferty?” she asked, though she’d spotted them instantly.

“I’m Matt,” the taller of the two said as if he didn’t recognize her. Maybe that was for the best. Keep the situation as professional as possible. Over six feet, with dark-brown eyes and near-black hair, Matt was dressed in jeans and a Western-cut plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Cowboy boots covered his feet and a stir-stick, chewed flat, was wedged firmly in the corner of his mouth. “This is my brother, Slade.”

Again, no hint of recognition lit Slade’s gaze. The youngest of the McCafferty brothers, he’d been tagged as the hellion. He was shorter than Matt by less than an inch and a thin scar jagged down one side of a face distinguished by hawkish features and deep-set, startling blue eyes. Wearing a flannel shirt, faded jeans and beat-up tennis shoes, he shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

“I’m Dr. Stevenson, I was on duty when your sister was brought into the ER.”

“How’s she doin’?” Slade asked anxiously. His eyes narrowed a bit as he looked at her and she realized he’d started the recognition process. It would take a while. It had been years since she’d seen him, her name was different, and there were dozens of women he would have to sift through unless she missed her guess.

She didn’t have time for any of that now. Her job was to allay their fears while explaining about Randi’s condition. “The surgery went well, but your sister was in pretty rough shape when she was brought in, comatose but in labor. Dr. Oliverio delivered your nephew and he seems healthy, though he’ll be given a complete examination by a pediatrician here on staff.

“Randi’s prognosis looks good, barring unforeseen complications, but she’s survived an incredible trauma.” As the brothers listened grimly, Nicole described Randi McCafferty’s injuries—concussion, punctured lung, broken ribs, fractured jaw, nearly shattered femur—the list was long and grave. Concern etched in both brothers’ features, storm clouds gathering in their eyes. Nicole explained the procedures that had been used to repair the damage, using as many lay terms as possible. Matt’s dark skin paled slightly and he winced at one point, looking out the window and chewing the stir-stick until it was thin as parchment. On the other hand, the younger brother, Slade, stared her straight in the face, his jaw clenching, his blue eyes rarely blinking.

As she finished, Slade let out a soft whistle. “Damn it all to hell.”

Matt rubbed the stubble on his chin and stared at her. “But she will make it. Right?”

“Unless she takes a turn for the worse, I think so. There’s always a question with head injuries, but she’s stabilized.”

Slade frowned. “She’s still in a coma.”

“Yes. You understand that I’m the emergency room physician, and other doctors have taken over your sister’s care. Each of them will contact you.”

“When?” Slade demanded.

“As soon as they can.”

She managed a reassuring smile. “I’m going off duty soon. Randi’s other doctors will want to talk to you as well. I came out first because I knew you were anxious.” And because, damn it, I have a personal connection to your family.

“Anxious doesn’t begin to cover it,” Matt said and glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t Thorne be getting here by now?” he asked his brother.

“He said he was on his way.” Slade’s gaze swung back to Nicole. “Our oldest brother.” His eyebrows knit a bit. “He’ll want a full report.”

“No doubt,” she said and Matt’s eyes narrowed. “I knew him. Years ago.”

She could almost see the wheels turning in the McCafferty brothers’ minds, but the situation with their sister was too imminent, too dire, to be distracted.

“But Randi, she’s gonna be okay,” Matt said slowly, doubts shadowing his brown eyes.

“We’re hopeful. As I said, she’s stabilized, but there’s always a question with head injuries.” Nicole wished she could instill more confidence, allay their worries, but couldn’t. “The truth is, it’s gonna be touch-and-go for a while, but she’ll be monitored around the clock.”

“Oh, God,” Slade whispered and the words sounded more like a prayer than a curse.

“I—we appreciate everything you and the other doctors have done.” Matt shot his brother a look meant to silence him. “I just want you to know that whatever she needs, specialists, equipment, whatever, we want her to have it.”

“She does,” Nicole said firmly. In her estimation the staff, facilities and equipment at St. James were excellent, the best she’d seen in a town the size of Grand Hope.

“And the baby? You said he’s okay, right?” Matt asked.

“He seems fine, but he’s being observed for any signs of trauma. He’s in pediatric ICU, as a precaution for the next few hours, just to make sure that he’s strong. From all outward appearances, he’s healthy and hale, we’re just being doubly cautious especially since your sister was in labor and her water had broken before she got to the hospital. Dr. Oliverio will have more details and of course the pediatrician will get in touch with you as well.”

“Damn,” Slade whispered while Matt stood silent and stern.

“When can we see Randi?” Matt asked.

“Soon. She’s still in Recovery. Once she’s settled in ICU and her doctors are satisfied with her condition, she can have visitors—just immediate family—for a few minutes a day. One at a time. Again, her physician will let you know.”

Matt nodded and Slade’s fist clenched, but neither argued. Both brothers’ jaws were square and set, the McCafferty resemblance impossible to ignore.

“You have to understand that Randi’s comatose. She won’t respond to you until she wakes up and I don’t know when that will be—oh, here we go. One of Randi’s doctors.” Spying Dr. Oliverio walking down the hallway, Nicole took a few minutes to introduce the McCafferty brothers, then, excusing herself, made her way to her office.

It was a small room with one window. It barely had enough space for her desk and file cabinet. She usually transcribed her own notes and after shrugging out of her lab coat, flipped on the computer and spent nearly a half an hour at the keyboard writing a report on Randi McCafferty. As she finished, she reached for the phone. Dialing her home number by rote, she massaged the back of her neck and heard the strains of piped-in music for the first time since she’d walked into the hospital hours before.

“Hello?” Jenny Riley answered on the second ring. Jenny, a student at a local community college, watched Nicole’s twins while she worked.

“Hi. It’s Nicole. Just wanted to know what was going on. I’ll be outta here in about—” she checked her watch and sighed “—probably another hour. Anything I should pick up on the way?”

“How about a ray or two of sunshine for Molly?” Jenny quipped. “She’s been in a bad mood ever since she woke up from her nap.”

“Has she?” Nicole grinned as she leaned back in her chair so far that it squeaked in protest. Molly, more precocious than her twin sister, was known to wake up grumpy while Mindy, the shier half of the two girls, always smiled, even when rousted from a nap.

“The worst.”

“Am not!” a tiny, impertinent voice disagreed. “Sure you are, but I love you anyway,” Jenny said, her voice softer as she turned away from the phone.

“Am not the worst!”

Still grinning, Nicole rested a foot on her desk and sighed. The struggles of the day melted away when she thought of her daughters, two four-year-old dynamos who kept her running, the reasons she’d stayed sane after her divorce.

“Tell them I’ll bring home pizza if they’re good.” She listened as Jenny relayed the message and heard a squeal of delight.

“They’re pumped now,” Jenny assured her and Nicole laughed just as there was a sharp rap on the door before it was pushed open abruptly. A tall man—maybe six foot three or four—nearly filled the frame. Her heart plummeted as she recognized Thorne.

“Dr. Stevenson?” he demanded, his face set and stern before recognition flared in his eyes and for the briefest of seconds she saw regret chase across his face.

“Look Jenny, I’ve got to go,” she said into the receiver as she hung up slowly, righted her chair and dropped her feet to the floor.

“Nikki?” he said, disbelieving.

Nicole stood but on her side of the desk, her barely five-foot-three-inch frame no match for his height. “Dr. Stevenson now.”

“You’re Randi’s doctor?”

“The ER physician who admitted her.” Why, after all the time that had passed and all the pain, did she still feel a ridiculous flutter of disappointment that he hadn’t, in all the years since she’d last seen him, ever looked her up? It was silly. Stupid. Beyond naive. And it had no business here; not when his sister was fighting for her life. “I’m not her doctor, you understand. I helped stabilize her for surgery, then the team took over, but I did stop to speak with your brothers out of courtesy because I knew they’d been waiting a long time and the surgeons were still wrapping things up.”

“I see.” Thorne’s handsome face had aged over the years. No longer were any vestiges of boyhood visible. His features were set and stern, matched only by the severity of his black suit, crisp white shirt and tie—the mark of a CEO of his own little empire. “I didn’t know—didn’t expect to find you here.”

“I imagine not.”

His eyes, a deep, troubled gray, held hers in a gaze that she knew was often daunting but now seemed weary and worried sick. “Did you see your brothers in ICU?” Nicole asked.

“I came directly here. Slade called, said a Dr. Stevenson was in charge, so when I got here, I asked for you at the information desk.” As if reading the questions in her eyes, he added, “I wanted to know what I was dealing with before I saw Randi.”

“Fair enough.” She waved him into the office and motioned to the small plastic chair on the other side of the desk. “Have a seat. I’ll tell you what I know, then you can talk to Randi’s other doctors about her prognosis.” As she reached for her lab coat, she leveled a gaze at him that had been known to shrink even the cockiest of interns. She wanted him to understand. She was no longer the needy little girl he’d dated, seduced and tossed aside. “But I think we should get something straight right now. As you can see this is my private office. Usually people knock, then wait for an answer, before they come barging in.”