The Mccaffertys: Thorne. Lisa Jackson

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      “So she’s in ICU?” Thorne asked.

      “Yes.” Nicole sketched out the details of Randi’s emergency arrival to St. James, her conditions and the ensuing procedures. Thorne listened, his expression solemn, his gray eyes never leaving her face.

      Once she was finished, he asked a few quick questions, loosened his tie and said, “Let’s go.”

      “To ICU? Both of us?”

      “Yes.” He was on his feet.

      Nicole bristled a bit, ready to fight fire with fire until she spied the hint of pain in his gaze and a twinge of some other emotion that bordered on guilt.

      “I suppose I can do that,” she agreed, hazarding a glance at her watch. She was running late, but being behind schedule came with the territory. As did dealing with worried relatives of her patients. “Let me make sure she’s out of Recovery first.” Nicole made a quick phone call, discovered that Randi had been transferred and explained that she and the patient’s brother were on their way. For the duration of the short conversation she felt the weight of Thorne McCafferty’s gaze upon her and she wondered if he remembered anything about the relationship that had changed the course of her life. Probably not. Once his initial shock at recognizing her had worn off, he was all business. “Okay,” she said hanging up. “All set. Matt and Slade have already seen Randi and the nurse on duty wasn’t crazy about a third visitor, but I persuaded her.”

      “Are my brothers still here?”

      “I don’t know. They told the nurse they’d be back but didn’t say when.” She adjusted her lab coat and rounded the desk. He had the manners to hold the door for her and as they swept down the hallways he kept up with her fast pace, his long strides equal to two of hers. She’d forgotten that about him. But then she’d tried to erase every memory she’d ever had of him.

      A foot taller than she, intimidating and forceful, Thorne walked the same way he faced life—with a purpose. She wondered if he’d ever had a frivolous moment in his life. Years before, she’d realized that even those stolen hours with her had been all a part of Thorne’s plan.

      At the elevator, Nicole waited as a gurney carrying a frail-looking elderly woman connected to an IV drip was pushed into the hallway by an aide, then she stepped inside. The doors shut. She and Thorne were alone. For the first time in years. He stood ramrod stiff beside her and if he noticed the intimacy of the elevator car, he didn’t show it. His face was set, his shoulders square, his gaze riveted to the panel displaying the floor numbers.

      Silly as it was, Nicole couldn’t remember having ever been so uncomfortable.

      The elevator jerked to a stop and as they walked through the carpeted hallways, Thorne finally broke the silence. “On the telephone, Slade mentioned something about Randi not making it.”

      “There’s always that chance when injuries are as severe as your sister’s.” They’d reached the doors of the Intensive Care Unit and she, reminding herself to remain professional at all times, angled her head upward to stare straight into his steel-colored eyes. “But she’s young and strong, getting the best medical care we can provide, so there’s no need to borrow trouble, or voice your concerns around your sister. She’s comatose, yes, but we don’t know what she does or doesn’t hear or feel. Please, for her sake, keep all your worries and doubts to yourself.” He seemed about to protest and by instinct, Nicole reached forward and touched his hand, her fingers encountering skin that was hard and surprisingly callused. “We’re doing everything we can, Thorne,” she said and half expected him to pull away. “Your sister’s fighting for her life. I know you want what’s best for her, so whenever you’re around her, I want you to be positive, nurturing and supportive. Okay?”

      He nodded curtly but his lips tightened a bit. He wasn’t and never had been used to taking orders or advice—not from anyone. “Any questions?”

      “Just one,” he said slowly.

      “What?”

      “My sister is important to me. Very important. You know that. So I want to be assured that she’s getting the best medical care that money can buy. That means the best hospital, the best staff, and especially the best doctor.”

      Realizing she was still holding his hand, she let go and felt a welling sense of disappointment. It wasn’t the first time her ability had been questioned and certainly wouldn’t be the last, but for some reason she had hoped that Thorne McCafferty would trust her and her dedication. “What are you trying to say?” she asked.

      “I need to know that the people here, the doctors assigned to Randi’s care are the best in the country—or the whole damned world for that matter.”

      Self-impressed, rich, corporate bastard. “That’s what everyone wants for their loved ones, Thorne.”

      “The difference is,” he said, “I can afford it.” Her heart sank. Why had she thought she recognized a bit of tenderness in his eyes? Foolish, foolish, idealistic woman. “I’m a damned good doctor, Thorne. So are the others here. This hospital has won awards. It’s small but attracts the best, I can personally assure you of that. Doctors who have once practiced in major cities from Atlanta to Seattle, New York to L.A., have ended up here because they were tired of the rat race….” She let her words sink in and wished she’d just bitten her tongue. Thorne could think whatever he damn well pleased.

      “Let’s go inside. Now, remember, keep it positive and when I say time’s up, don’t argue. Just leave. You can see her again tomorrow.” She waited, but he didn’t offer any response or protest, just clenched his jaw so hard a muscle jumped. “Got it?” she asked.

      “Got it.”

      “Then we’ll get along just fine,” she said, but she didn’t believe it for a minute. Some things didn’t change and she and Thorne McCafferty were like oil and water—they would never mix; never agree.

      She pressed a button and placed her face in the window so that a nurse inside could see her, then waited to be admitted. As the electronic doors hummed open, she felt Thorne’s gaze center on the back of her neck beneath the upsweep of her hair. Without making a sound, he followed her inside. She wondered how long he’d obey the hospital’s and the doctor’s terms.

      The answer, she knew, was blindingly simple.

      Not long enough.

      Thorne McCafferty hadn’t changed. He was the type of man who played by his own rules.

      Chapter Two

      Oh, God, this couldn’t be Randi. Thorne gazed down at the small, inert form lying on the bed and he felt sick inside—weak. Tubes and wires ran from the her body to monitors and equipment with gauges and digital readouts that he didn’t understand. Her head was wrapped in gauze, her body draped in sterile-looking sheets, one leg elevated and surrounded by a partial cast. The portions of her face that he could see were bruised and swollen.

      His throat was thick with emotion as he stood in the tiny sheet-draped cubicle that opened at the foot of the bed to the nurse’s station. His fists clenched impotently, and a quiet, damning rage burned through his soul. How could this have happened? What was she doing up at Glacier Park? Why had her vehicle slid off the road?

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