His Favorite Cowgirl. Leigh Duncan

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СКАЧАТЬ With nothing but cold air to fill them, his hands dropped to his sides while her eyes narrowed. He blinked. Same old Kelly. What had he said or done wrong this time?

      Her lips thinned as she studied him. “You mean he’s not... He’s still alive?”

      “Of course he is. It’s just a broke leg.” He winced, remembering the sharp angle of the break. He let his eyebrows knit. She thought her flinty grandfather was knocking at death’s door?

       Where’d she get that idea?

      Hank swallowed a growl. He hadn’t called her. Couldn’t have, even if he’d wanted to. He’d long since rid himself of every reminder of the relationship that had burned so hot it’d consumed itself. The staff at the hospital hadn’t notified her. It had taken some time to ride back to the Circle P, hop in his truck and hightail it into town, but he’d stopped at Registration before coming upstairs. That left Tompkins’s personal physician, who, if he knew Kelly, would get an earful for making her drive through the night for something as simple as a broken leg.

      “They’ll set it,” he said, mustering a reassuring smile. “He’ll be laid up for a bit, I’m sure. But you’ll see—he’ll be back to his crotchety old self in no time.”

      “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.” Kelly edged away from him until she reached the window. Blinking into the harsh sunlight of a new day, she folded her arms across her chest.

      Hank waited her out. In truth, he was glad for the reprieve. He used the time to rub his palms together, trying to rid his fingers of the tingles that had arced through them when he’d taken Kelly in his arms. At some point in the dozen years since they’d last spoken, she’d lost the tan that came from spending days on end beneath the Florida sky. Tiny lines etched the corners of eyes that were more green than hazel. The sandy-blond hair remained the same, but it was longer. Even as he watched, she loosened the clip holding it in place. A waterfall of thick hair cascaded onto her shoulders. It spilled farther south until the ends swayed slightly above the waist of skinny jeans that were never intended for mucking stalls or herding cattle.

      He scrubbed a hand along the side of the Wranglers he hadn’t bothered changing in his rush to get to the hospital. “Time for me to get movin’.” He’d had his fill of women who were all surface and glitter, from the tips of their rhinestone-studded boots to their curve-hugging shirts. Women like Kelly.

      “Thanks for all you’ve done. I know Pops will—he’ll appreciate it.” Kelly continued to stare through the double-glass panes. “I’ll swing by the Bar X on my way out. Leave orders for the hired hands to keep things running until he’s discharged.”

      “You’re not staying then?”

      “At the Bar X?” She turned, a wistful look playing at the corners of her mouth. “Not hardly. He won’t want me there, not unless the fall knocked some sense into that stubborn old mule.”

      She looked up at him, her glance searching for reassurance that wasn’t his to give.

      “Well, then.” Hank toed the tiled floor with one booted foot. He paused, wavering between telling her what he knew and letting her figure things out for herself. “Look,” he said at last, “I can ask around, but it didn’t look like he had anyone working for him. The bunkhouse was deserted.”

      Kelly’s eyes widened. “That’s impossible. Pops always had a good-size crew.”

      Hank ran his fingers over the brim of his hat. It’d take a dozen men to keep a spread the size of the Tompkinses’ place in tip-top shape. Which, when he stopped to think about it, could account for all the signs of neglect he’d noted on the Bar X. He took a breath. How the neighbors ran their ranch wasn’t any of his business.

      “Tell your grandfather everybody’s—” He bit his tongue. Paul Tompkins was better at making enemies than friends, so saying they’d all be praying for a quick recovery was pushing it a mite. He clamped his hat on his head. “I’ll stop by the ranch on my way home. Make sure the cows and horses are tended to. It’s the neighborly thing to do,” he added over Kelly’s protests.

      He made it halfway to the door before it swung open. A doctor wearing green scrubs stepped into the room. His gaze swept past Hank.

      “Ms. Tompkins?” The doc tugged a paper cap from his hair. “I’m Dr. Sheffield, your grandfather’s surgeon.”

      Kelly grabbed Hank’s forearm. “Stay, Hank. Please?”

      It was a good thing he’d worn long sleeves, he told himself. Otherwise, her touch might have branded him. One glance and he knew he didn’t have it in him to refuse her. Maybe later, when he’d gotten a good night’s sleep and had had more to eat than a stale pack of crackers from the vending machine down the hall. But not now. Not when the grim look on the doctor’s face made him think Kelly might appreciate some support.

       From an old friend. A neighbor. And nothing more.

      He shrugged. “Sure.”

      Dr. Sheffield propped one shoulder against the wall. “I inserted pins to immobilize your grandfather’s leg until it heals. He’s still in Recovery, but you should be able to see him in another hour or so. We’ll remove the cast in six to eight weeks.”

      Fatigue etched its way deeper into Kelly’s face. “Thank you, doctor,” she whispered. “I’m sure he’ll be glad about that. How long will he need to stay in the hospital, do you think?”

      “We’ll keep him here for another two days before discharging him to a rehab facility. The leg will need to be elevated and completely immobilized until the cast comes off.”

      Hank could practically see Kelly packing her bags and climbing behind the wheel of her car. As long as her grandfather was in rehab, the old man wouldn’t need her help.

      “After that...” The doctor peered at her. “Have you considered which nursing home you’ll use? The best ones have waiting lists. You’ll want to get him on one now.”

      “Nursing home? For a broken leg?” Kelly’s eyes turned a darker shade of green. “I thought he’d go home. Maybe with a nurse or...” Her voice trailed off when the doctor shook his head.

      “Hasn’t anyone discussed his condition with you? Dr. Payne, the neurologist? Or Dr. Stewart, his general practitioner?”

      “I live in Houston, Dr. Sheffield. I’ve been traveling all night to get here. I only arrived a few minutes ago.”

      “In that case... ” Sheffield swept a quick look around the room. “Maybe you should sit down.”

      “Thanks. But I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”

      Hank’s hand found Kelly’s shoulder. He squeezed gently, letting her know he was there for her.

      “Ms. Tompkins, I’m afraid your grandfather has experienced a cerebral hemorrhage. In layman’s terms, a stroke. His neurologist, Dr. Payne, ran a CT scan and an MRI, both of which confirmed the diagnosis. It appears there’s been significant damage. We won’t know the full extent for another twenty-four hours. Until the patient stabilizes. We do know he’s paralyzed on the right side. We believe he’s aphasic.” At Kelly’s frown, he clarified. “It’s not unusual. Some stroke patients lose the ability to speak, or to understand СКАЧАТЬ