The Coyote's Cry. Jackie Merritt

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      Bram returned once more with an armload of bedding. “It’s clean,” he said gruffly.

      “Did you think I would accuse you of giving me soiled bedding?”

      He couldn’t believe her icy tone of voice and insulting question. “No,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “I merely pointed out that this is clean bedding.”

      “Anyway, we’re disturbing my patient.”

      “Who just happens to be my grandmother,” Bram snapped, but in a husky whisper. He walked over to the bed Gran was occupying and looked down at her. She seemed small as a child in his big bed, and he’d never seen her as a tiny woman before the stroke. That shook him, for it was visible evidence of the changes in her.

      He said brusquely, “Do you want me to make up the twin for you?”

      “I’ll do it. I know there are going to be a lot of family members dropping in, which is as it should be. But I must insist on one rule.”

      Bram’s eyes got even darker. “You brought your own set of rules to my house?”

      “One for now. And don’t act so put-upon. It won’t kill you or anyone else to follow it. When that door is shut, no one is to come in. I will close it only during baths or other episodes of personal care. Now, is that really asking too much?”

      Bram was embarrassed but would die before showing it. “I can live with that.”

      “Well, thank you very much.” Disgustedly, Jenna turned away.

      Bram wanted to pull a chair over to the bed and sit with Gran for a while, but with Jenna hovering and puttering—making up the twin bed, for one thing—and his every cell attuned to her every movement, he abandoned that idea.

      “I’m going to work,” he growled as he walked out. “Call me if you need anything. You’ll find the phone numbers where I can be reached listed on a pad under the wall phone in the kitchen.”

      “Thank you,” Jenna said stiffly. She couldn’t help feeling glad that he’d decided to leave, for he wasn’t being one bit nice, and a grouchy distraction—even the sexiest guy she’d ever seen—she didn’t need. She probably shouldn’t have acted so impulsively when she’d heard Dr. Hall saying that he needed a nurse to care for Gloria Colton in Bram’s home. What on earth had Jenna hoped would come from her actually living in his house?

      Sighing when she heard Bram’s vehicle start up and drive off, she finished making the bed, checked Gloria’s pulse rate, temperature and blood pressure without waking her, and wrote the data and the time on the new chart started in the ambulance.

      Gloria’s eyes were closed and she seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Jenna took that opportunity to check out the kitchen and the food it contained. She would be preparing Gloria’s meals, and her own, of course. But she was not going to cook for Bram. He could eat at the greasy spoon café, for all she cared.

      Two hours later Willow walked into the house carrying a covered pot of something that smelled good. The young woman had black hair like her brother, but her eyes were gray and she was tall and slender and quite lovely.

      “Jenna!” Willow exclaimed, obviously taken aback. “No one told me you were Gran’s nurse.”

      “No one knew until this morning. What’s in the pot?”

      “Some homemade chicken broth for Gran.”

      “You used very little salt, I hope.”

      “Very little. Just a tiny pinch.”

      “Wonderful. Take it to the kitchen and then come say hi to your grandmother.”

      Willow returned in a minute and asked, “Is it all right if I sit on the bed next to her?”

      “Of course.”

      Jenna watched Gloria’s eyes follow her granddaughter until Willow was sitting on the bed. “Willow’s here, Gloria,” Jenna said gently.

      “Hi, Gran,” Willow said, and took her hand. “Are you happy to be out of the hospital?”

      “Ho…home.” Gloria slurred the word.

      “Gran, you can’t go to your home yet. Here you have Bram…and Jenna. You remember Jenna Elliot, don’t you?”

      Gloria turned her head and closed her eyes. Willow bit her lip and looked at Jenna. Then she mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

      Jenna motioned her from the room, and when they were out of Gloria’s earshot she said quietly, “She’s not happy, Willow. She wants to be in her own home.”

      “But she can’t be. Does she understand that she must get much better before she can go back to that apartment?”

      “I don’t know what she understands,” Jenna said with an apologetic sigh.

      “Jenna, is she really going to get better?”

      “I don’t know that, either,” Jenna said softly. “I do know that she can improve speech and mobility through exercise. She’s not quite ready to begin that regimen, not today at any rate, but soon she should be. Right now she’s feeling terribly discouraged and…and lost.”

      “How can we cheer her up?”

      “By visiting as often as you can and talking to her. Tell her what you’re doing and what the rest of the family is doing. If she had any special interests, talk to her about those. If she read a lot, read aloud to her—the kind of books or magazines she enjoyed before this happened. Be yourself with her, and above all, don’t ever talk down to her, as though she’s now incapable of grasping what you tell her. She might not be as quick on the trigger as she was, but we still don’t know how affected her memory was by the stroke. And gradually, you’ll see some improvement in her attitude.”

      Willow wiped away a tear. “I hope so.”

      Before the afternoon was over, nearly every Colton had come by, each bearing a gift of food Gloria could eat in her present condition—homemade broth or a bowl of custard or a dish of raspberry gelatin, her favorite flavor.

      But some also brought things for Bram and Jenna to eat. There was a delicious-smelling beef stew, a baked ham, several cakes and pies and numerous salads and casseroles. Jenna realized that neither she nor Bram would have to do any cooking for days.

      At five Jenna warmed some of Willow’s chicken broth and prepared a tray for Gloria. She couldn’t quite manage to feed herself yet, and Jenna sat on the bed and gently spooned broth, gelatin and custard into her patient’s mouth. After a few bites of each, Gloria turned her head.

      “You really must eat more than that,” Jenna said in a genuinely kind voice.

      But Gloria closed her eyes, and that was the end of dinner for her. Frowning and troubled, Jenna carried the tray back to the kitchen. She was rinsing dishes for the dishwasher when she heard Bram’s SUV drive in and park.

      Jenna had spotted Bram’s СКАЧАТЬ