Rumors: The McCaffertys: The McCaffertys: Thorne. Lisa JacksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Yep.”
Slade snorted in contempt. “Hell, you’re a cynic.”
“Aren’t we all?” Thorne said, undeterred. “And we’ll need a nurse. When Randi and the baby get here, we’ll need professional help.” He was running through a mental checklist. “I’ll call a law firm I used to deal with.”
“A law firm?” Slade shook his head. “Why in the world would we need lawyers?”
“For when we find the boy’s father—he might want custody.”
“He should probably get it, at least partial,” Matt allowed.
“Maybe, maybe not. We don’t know a thing about this guy.”
Slade rolled his eyes and tossed the remains of his coffee into the sink. “For the love of Mike, Thorne, don’t you trust anyone?”
“Nope.”
“If Randi chose this guy, he might be all right,” Matt conceded.
“So then where is he? Assuming he knows that she was pregnant, why the hell hasn’t he appeared?” The same old questions that had been plaguing Thorne ever since learning of his sister’s accident gnawed at him. “If he’s such a peach of a guy, why isn’t he with her?”
“Maybe she doesn’t want him.” Slade lifted a shoulder. “It happens.”
“Any way around it, we’ll need to see about our rights, the baby’s rights, Randi’s rights and—”
“And the father’s rights.” Matt pointed out before taking a long swallow of coffee. “Okay, I’ve got to run into town and go to the feed store. While I’m there I’ll pick up some supplies and hit the grocery store for a few things. When I get back, I’ll call Larry.”
Slade reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. “I’ll ride into town with you,” he said to Matt. “I want to talk to the sheriff’s department, find out what they know about Randi’s accident.”
“Good idea,” Thorne agreed. “I’ve called but haven’t heard back.”
“Figures. Look, I’ve left a message with Striker, but I’ll phone him again,” Slade promised, shaking out a cigarette and jabbing the filter tip into the corner of his mouth. “What’s your game plan?”
“I’m setting up my office in the den, already scheduled equipment delivery and then I’m going to run into town myself. Visit Randi and the baby.” He didn’t add that he intended to see Nicole again.
“Yeah. I figured we’d stop by the hospital, too,” Matt allowed. “If you get any calls from Mike Kavanaugh, tell him I’ll call him back.”
“Who’s Kavanaugh?” Thorne asked.
“My neighbor. He’s looking after my spread while I’m here.”
Slade crumpled his empty coffee cup and threw it into the trash. “How long will he take care of it?”
Matt shrugged into his jacket and squared his hat on his head. “As long as it takes.” He locked gazes with his brothers. “Randi and the baby come first.”
* * *
Nicole ground the gears of the rental car and swore under her breath. She wheeled into the parking lot of the hospital and told herself to trust that the mechanics looking at the SUV could find the problem, get the part, fix whatever was wrong, and return it to her soon, without it costing an arm and a leg.
She had half an hour before she was actually on duty and planned to use the time to check on Randi McCafferty and the baby before taking over in the ER.
Setting the emergency brake, she switched off the rental, grabbed her briefcase and told herself that her interest in Randi and the baby was just common courtesy and professional concern, that oftentimes she looked in on patients once they’d been moved from the ER. This wasn’t about Thorne. No way. The fact that he was related to Randi was incidental.
She argued with herself all the way through the physicians’ entrance and in the elevator to her office.
“Something wrong?” a nurse she’d known since she’d arrived at St. James asked as she passed the nurses’ station in the west wing.
“What?”
“You look worried. Are the twins okay?”
“Yes, I mean Molly has a case of the sniffles, but nothing a little TLC and a couple of Disney movies won’t cure. I guess I was just thinking.”
“Well, smile a little when you think,” the nurse said with a wink.
“I’ll try.”
She made her way to the Intensive Care Unit, where she looked at Randi’s chart. “Any change?” she asked.
“Not much,” Betty, the ICU nurse, said with a shake of perfectly coiffed red curls. “Still comatose. Unresponsive, but hanging in there. How’s the baby?”
“Not good,” Nicole admitted as she glanced into Betty’s concerned gaze. “I’m on my way to check on him now.”
Betty’s lips folded in on themselves. The gold cross suspended from her neck winked against her skin. “A shame,” she said.
“Where there’s life, there’s hope.” Nicole glanced over Randi’s chart, then headed down to Neonatal Pediatrics where little J.R., as Thorne called him, was struggling for his life. As she stared at the tiny baby, hooked up to tubes and monitors, her heart ached. She remembered the birth of her own twins, the elation of seeing each little girl for the first time, the feeling of relief that they were both so perfect and healthy. She’d been jubilant and even Paul, at that time, had seemed happy. He’d looked at her with tears in his eyes and told her, “They’re beautiful, Nicole. As beautiful as their mother.”
His kind words still haunted her. Were they the last he’d ever spoken to her? Surely not. There had to have been a few more compliments and tender glances before the toll of two high-powered jobs and rambunctious daughters had robbed the marriage of whatever gel had bound it together. Naively Nicole had believed that children would bring Paul and her closer together—of course she’d been wrong. Bitterly so.
“Has Dr. Arnold been in today?” she asked the nurse on duty.
“Twice.”
“Good.” Come on, J.R., she thought watching the tiny fingers curl into fists. Fight. You can do it!
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