The Cowgirl's Little Secret. Silver James

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СКАЧАТЬ gurney was wheeled into the trauma bay but she stopped at the edge of the curtain. She had to call his next of kin. It was her job. That would be his father. Cyrus Barron. The man who’d ruined her life. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t speak to that man for her life. Or Cord’s.

      The steady beeping of the monitors switched to a sharp alarm. He was crashing. Jolie forgot everything but saving the life of the only man she’d ever loved. Reflexes honed by five years working trauma kicked in. She passed off the pad to another nurse, pulled on latex gloves and waded into the mix.

      Thirty nerve-wracking minutes later, Dr. Perry and the trauma surgical team finally stabilized Cord and whisked him off to the operating room. Jolie watched the elevator doors close behind the gurney before she turned back to the ER bay where they’d worked so feverishly to save his life. Her knees wobbled, and she had to lean against the wall to stay upright. Her night wasn’t over yet. Cooper Tate was still being worked on by the orthopedic team, his compound fractures serious though not life threatening. He’d be following Cord into surgery shortly.

      Trauma One looked as if a tornado had torn through it. Jolie went through the robotic motions of cleaning up and resetting the bay for the third patient coming in by ambulance from the well site. She should be back at the admitting desk filling out the paperwork on Cord and Cooper. Should be notifying their families. The clothes Cord had been wearing, along with his personal effects, had been shoved into a plastic bin for safekeeping. She tucked the tub under her arm and shuffled back to the intake desk as the janitorial staff moved in to mop and sanitize.

      Sinking into her chair, Jolie felt as if she’d just run a marathon—her arms and legs were leaden, her brain still in shock. Shivering uncontrollably, she wrapped her arms across her chest and hung on, breathing deeply until the worst of the reaction passed. There wasn’t time to collapse. Not yet. She had to make notifications. No matter what. It was her job as admitting nurse. She couldn’t pass it off—no matter how much she wanted to do so. Bad enough she’d all but abandoned her post to work on Cord.

      The bin with Cord’s belongings sat at her feet. She bent over and dug through the ripped and bloody clothes. She flipped open his wallet. Credit cards. A couple of receipts. No list of contact phone numbers. Jolie tucked the wallet and his driver’s license into a plastic baggy. She did not stare at his photo. She didn’t sigh over those sculpted cheekbones and that strong jaw, the golden-brown eyes. She didn’t rub her thumb across the plastic pretending it was his face and she could feel his skin. Well, just once. Or twice.

      Something dinged. Startled, Jolie dropped the ID and grabbed her cell phone. Its face remained dark. The strains of something country and western played from deep in the bin. She found Cord’s phone in the hip pocket of his jeans. The caller ID read Cash.

      Knowing she should answer, Jolie let it roll to voice mail. Cash didn’t like her. Truth be told, none of Cord’s brothers liked her. Well, except maybe for Chance. While he might not like her, he didn’t hate her like the rest of the family. Chance and Cooper. They’d been the only ones to ever give her the time of day when she’d dated Cord.

      Cord’s phone was password protected. Of course it was, because nothing could be easy tonight. She stared off into the distance, thinking. She tried his birth date. Nope. On a whim, she tried her own. That had been his default password for everything when they dated in college. When the screen opened, she almost dropped the phone. Jolie scrolled through his contact list, making note of pertinent numbers for the hospital’s records. She had to stop dithering and make at least one call. Chance’s number was at the top of the list. She dialed it on her desk phone but remembered Chance was on his honeymoon, so she hung up.

      Jolie remembered the big dust up from early in the summer as she had been moving home. Seemed as if Cyrus Barron was still screwing up his sons’ lives—Chance’s this time. The woman he’d fallen for had led an old-fashioned cattle drive from her ranch to the stockyards to get her steers to market so she could pay off the mortgage lien Cyrus held on the place. She knew how Mr. Barron reacted to his sons thinking for themselves. He wouldn’t like it one little bit, especially if Chance went against his father’s dictates, siding with a woman Cyrus had declared an enemy. Jolie had heard all about that day because her dad had been waiting on Cassie Morgan to arrive so he could buy the herd. Yeah, her dad liked screwing with the Barron family.

      Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, Jolie stared at the phone numbers on her list. Chance and Cord were close, with Cooper their third musketeer. As soon as Chance heard the news, he’d be on the next plane home anyway—honeymoon or not. Decision made, Jolie used Cord’s phone to call.

      After six rings, she was afraid her call would roll over to voice mail. Chance picked up on the eighth ring.

      “Dude, this better be important.” His voice held a teasing growl.

      Using her most professional voice, Jolie said, “This is University Hospital Trauma One calling. Mr. Chance Barron?”

      “What the— How? What the hell’s going on?”

      “I’m sorry to inform you, sir, but your brother Cord was critically injured. An accident on an oil rig.”

      “Is he... How bad?”

      “He’s—” Her voice cracked and she had to swallow around the constriction in her throat. “He’s in surgery, Cha—Mr. Barron.”

      She almost blew it, calling him by his first name. After giving him all the information she had, she heard Chance’s barely polite goodbye before he hung up on her. Jolie huddled her shoulders, shaking again. What if Cord died?

      * * *

      The 11:00 p.m. shift change arrived. Jolie was dead on her feet and emotionally drained. She’d finished her double shift in automatic mode. Standing in the humid air outside the ER, she stared in the direction of the parking garage. She should go home, take a long bubble bath and put everything behind her. But she couldn’t.

      Cord Barron had almost died today. Her stomach cramped so hard she had to bend over from the waist. Jolie choked back a whimper. She wanted to hate him. Had tried to hate him. She’d been the one wanting to kill him—with air quotes around that sentiment. Kill ’im dead. Every day since he’d walked out without a word. No goodbye. No explanation. Nothing. Until she had seen him sitting at the bar in Hannigan’s that long ago St. Paddy’s Day. She’d recognized the hungry look in his eyes and the bulge in his jeans. And something had snapped. She’d wanted to hurt him as badly as he’d hurt her.

      Oh, yeah. She’d really taught him a lesson that night—spending the night and then slipping out of the penthouse hotel room at dawn. Only she was the one with the constant reminder. Every time she looked into her son’s eyes and he smiled, Cord was right there all over again.

      Rubbing her temples, she breathed deeply to hold back nausea. Jolie didn’t head to the parking garage. She pivoted on her heel and headed back inside the hospital. Marching to the elevator, she berated herself for her weakness with each step until it became a mantra.

       This is a bad idea. A really bad idea.

      Cord was out of surgery, but she had to see for herself. She needed to make sure his injuries weren’t as life threatening as they’d looked when he’d stopped breathing in the ER.

      Pushing through the double doors of the ICU ward, Jolie passed her hand under the automatic dispenser for hand sanitizer from force of habit. The hushed whoosh and thump of respiratory machines were a soft counterpoint to the electronic beeps of heart monitors. Bright lights kept shadows confined to corners. СКАЧАТЬ