Rumors: The McCaffertys

by Lisa Jackson

  “His name?”

  “Sam Donahue.”

  “I knew a Sam Donahue,” Slade said as he took up a position near the bookcase, leaned his hips against the liquor cupboard and crossed his ankles. “When I rode the circuit a while. Matt knows him, too, if he’s the guy I’m thinking of. Big. Blond. Tough as nails.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “He was involved with Randi?” Thorne couldn’t believe his ears.

  “Appears so. Haven’t quite caught up with him yet.”

  Slade scowled and look a long swallow from his bottle. “Donahue was bad news. In and out of jail, I think.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Hell,” Thorne snarled.

  “The more I learn about little sis, the more I feel like I didn’t know her at all.” Slade shook his head.

  “None of us did,” Thorne said as the front door opened and slammed shut. Matt, bringing in a rush of cold wind, strode into the living room and caught the tail end of the conversation.

  “None of us did what?” he asked, yanking off his gloves and looking from one man to the next. His face was ruddy with the cold and he tossed his hat onto the cushion of a vacant armchair.

  Slade introduced him to Kurt Striker and caught him up with the conversation as he grabbed the last bottle of beer and twisted off the cap. “Sam Donahue?” He snorted. “No way. The guy’s not Randi’s type.”

  “Oh, so you’re the expert now. Tell us, who is Randi’s kind of guy?” Thorne demanded, more frustrated than ever.

  “I wish I knew,” Matt admitted. “Hell.”

  “What else have you got?” Thorne asked the private detective.

  “Not much more, except that your sister wasn’t having such a great time at her job, either. Though everyone at the paper’s been tight-lipped, some of her co-workers thought she’d gotten into some hot water with the editors.”

  “How?” Thorne asked, his eyebrows slamming together.

  “Good question. I’ve got copies of all the columns she wrote for the past six months, but those are only the ones that were in print. According to her friend Sarah Peeples who writes movie reviews, Randi had about two weeks’ worth of columns that she’d written but hadn’t yet been printed. No one has seen them. And there was talk of some kind of project she was working on, though the paper denies it. Again, no one’s seen any copies of it.”

  “Except maybe Randi.”

  “And she’s not talkin’,” Matt observed, his mouth a grave line as he leaned against the bookcase and the fire crackled and hissed.

  “She writes advice to the heartbroken for God’s sake!” Slade interrupted.

  “And what else?” Striker thought aloud.

  Matt frowned down at his beer. “Now wait a minute. You said that Randi’s vehicle might have been struck, but no one knows if it was intentional or not. It’s a pretty big leap to go from a single-car accident because the driver hit black ice to some kind of…what? Attempted murder?”

  “All I’m saying is that there might have been another vehicle involved and if there was, the driver is, at the very least, guilty of hit-and-run. From there it only gets worse.”

  “If she was hit.” Matt’s gaze fastened on the private investigator. He was obviously skeptical.

  “Right.”

  “I think we’re making big assumptions here.”

  “Just checkin’ out all the possibilities,” Slade argued. “We owe it to Randi.”

  “God, I wish she’d wake up.” Matt straightened and shoved a hand through his hair in frustration.

  “We all do.” Thorne looked from one brother to the other. “But until she does, we’ve got to keep trying to figure this out.” To Striker, he said, “Keep at it. Talk to anyone you can. We need to find the father of Randi’s baby. If there’s any way you can find out the blood type of the men she was involved with, we could at least eliminate some of the possibilities.”

  “Already doin’ it,” Striker admitted.

  “How do you do that?” Matt said.

  Kurt sent him a look silently telling him he didn’t want to know.

  “Just handle it.” Thorne wasn’t sure he liked Kurt Striker, but he believed the man would do what had to be done to dig up the truth. That was all that mattered. He didn’t even care if the law was bent a little, not if Randi’s life was truly endangered by someone with a grudge. But who?

  Striker nodded. “Will do. And I’m gonna try to find those missing columns. I don’t suppose any of you know if she had a laptop computer?”

  Slade lifted a shoulder, Matt shook his head and Thorne frowned.

  “Nothin’s on her desktop.”

  “How do you know that?” Matt asked.

  “I checked.”

  “You broke into her apartment?” Matt looked from one of his brothers to the next. “Hey—isn’t that illegal? Randi’ll kill us if she ever finds out.”

  “Or someone doesn’t take care of that first.” Striker took a long, final tug on his long-necked bottle.

  “Wait a minute....” Matt stared at Thorne incredulously. “Don’t you think we’re leaping to conclusions, here? I mean she had a wreck, she got hurt, but I don’t see that there’s any hint of foul play.”

  “You don’t know there isn’t.”

  “But why? Everyone she ever met liked her and as Slade said, she gave advice to the lovelorn for crying out loud. Not exactly cloak and dagger stuff. It’s not like she was writing scandal sheets or political exposes.”

  “It was more than just lovelorn cra—stuff,” Slade clarified. “Her column was about single people—”

  “Right. I know,” Matt snapped.

  “But the point of it is that none of us really knew what she was doing with her life, did we?” Thorne pushed up his sleeves. “She didn’t even tell us she was pregnant. Now, there’s a chance someone, either by accident or intent, was involved in her accident. We just have to find out who.”

  “And why.” Matt threw up a hand in exasperation. “Don’t we need a motive?”

  “Not if it was an accident and someone was just scared to come forward.” Slade drained his bottle.

  Matt’s back was up. “Well then, looking into her computer records and breaking into her apartment wouldn’t be necessary, would they?”

  “Hey! Anything’s worth a try!” Slade shot to his feet and walked up to his brother. “Don’t you think we should look into everything?” Slade’s color was high, his jaw set, just the way it had been when they’d been kids growing up and were about to start throwing punches.

  Matt held his ground. Even managed that slow, go-ahead-and-try-it smile that both his brothers found so damned irritating.

  “We don’t know a lot,” Slade said through clenched teeth. “Kurt’s gonna help us get to the bottom of it. You got a problem with that?”

  A muscle worked in Matt’s jaw and his brown eyes narrowed on his younger brother. “No problem. I just want what’s best for Randi and J.R., you know that. And some son of a bitch is responsible for her condition. I want him found and nailed. You bet I do. But that’s what the sheriff’s department is for.”

  “Unless they’re sittin’ on their butts,” Slade said.

  “Right. But I don’t think we should go on a witch hunt until we’re sure there’s a witch.”

  Kurt stood. “Don’t worry. If there is one, I’ll find him…or her.”

  “Good.” Slade took a step back.

  “That settles it. Do what you have to,” Thorne said, then walked Striker to the door where they shook hands again. The phone rang as the door shut behind the investigator. “I’ll get it,” Thorne said, striding to the den. He had work to do and couldn’t let his brothers’ tempers deter him.

  “Hello?” he nearly shouted.
/>   “Boy, are you in a bad mood.” Annette’s voice sang through the wires.

  He felt instantly weary. “Just busy.”

  “When are you coming back to Denver?” Good old Annette. She didn’t beat around the bush.

  “Don’t know,” he admitted, resting one hip on the corner of his father’s desk and letting his leg swing free. The thought of returning to his office and the penthouse and the whirl that was his life in the Mile-High City held little appeal right now.

  “So you like being a cowboy again?” she asked and laughed without a trace of acrimony—as if nothing had changed between them.

  “Believe it or not, I do like it here,” he said with complete honesty. “Don’t think I’m much of a cowboy.”

  “Oh, darn, and I was just pressing my denim skirt and checked blouse.”

  “Was there something you wanted?”

  “Mmm. Actually there was. Daddy’s forgiven you.”

  Thorne doubted it.

  “And he still wants to work with you.”

  “So, why didn’t he call me?”

  “Because I wanted to. To make sure there were no hard feelings.”

  “None on this end.” And yet he didn’t trust her.

  “Good. And don’t worry, Daddy will call you himself. Let me know when you’re in town. Oh, and Thorne—take off the bolo, it’s not your style.”

  “I’m not wearing a tie of any kind.”

  “Oh, dear. That’s worse yet. Well, so long, pardner,” she said with a laugh. There was a click on the other end of the line and he was left holding the receiver and wondering why she’d bothered to call.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he reminded himself because he didn’t feel a thing for her; never had. Nor had he experienced any special bond with the women he’d dated in the past few years. Until he’d seen Nicole again. From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her in the hospital, he’d been taken with her. He wondered what she was doing right now, considered dialing the number he’d already committed to memory, then reminded himself that he had other things that had to be done.

  For the next two hours he returned phone calls, e-mails and faxes, but his concentration wasn’t as focused as it usually was and thoughts of his sister and her baby kept sneaking into his mind.

  When he’d finally hung up from a call with his attorney Thorne leaned the desk chair back so far it protested. Drumming his fingers on the curved arm, he stared through the window into the night. A dozen questions burned through his brain. Why was Randi in Montana? Who was the baby’s father? Did the accident involve another vehicle? Would Randi and the baby be okay? When would she come out of the coma?

  He had no answers to any of those and another thought, one he’d kept steadfastly at bay, burrowed into his brain. He wondered what Nicole was doing tonight. “Forget it,” he growled at himself, but his mind kept wandering back to the night they’d made love, their bodies glistening with sweat under the cold winter stars. When could he see her again? He glanced at the phone, mentally cursed and wondered how she’d managed to get under his skin.

  He remembered taking her into his arms in the parking lot of the hospital and her small gasp of surprise as he’d kissed her; he remembered the way she’d moaned when he’d made love to her by the creek; and he remembered seeing her hold the baby in the nursery, looking down at the child’s tiny face, smiling and whispering to the infant, so naturally as if she were his mother. The effect on Thorne had been immediate and heart stopping.

  If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was falling in love. But that was ridiculous. He wasn’t the kind of man to fall into that kind of trap.

  He wasn’t ready to tie himself up with one woman, not yet. He had too much to do.

  Oh, yeah? And what’s that? Make another million or two? Turn a losing company into a winning corporation? Develop another subdivision? Go back to an empty penthouse in a city where your only friends are business associates?

  Standing, he raised his arms over his head and stretched, his spine popping a bit. Of course he’d return to Denver and resume his life. What was the other option? Stay here? Marry Nicole?

  He froze. Marry Nicole? Dr. Stevenson? Impossible! No way!

  And yet the thought held a seductive and dangerous appeal.

  * * *

  “This is ridiculous,” Nicole told herself as her shift ended and she opened the door to her office. Thankfully it had been a slow day in the emergency room, with only a broken hip, an asthma attack, a dog bite, a case of severe appendicitis and two kids with contusions and concussions in a bicycle-car mishap. In the lulls between patients she’d been able to catch up on her notes, check on some of the patients she’d admitted earlier including Randi and J.R., and think about Thorne McCafferty.

  She’d been thinking about him a lot lately. Too much. She sat in her desk chair and twiddled a pen. They’d talked on the phone a couple of times since they’d made love near the creek and, of course, he’d come for lunch that day and run into her at the hospital time and again when he’d been visiting his sister. He’d always stopped by to see her and consequently a few rumors had already started and some of her co-workers had winked at her whenever he’d appeared.

  “Forget him,” she told herself, knowing it was impossible. He was getting to her all over again, even though he’d taken off on her once before. He’d given no excuses, just taken off and bailed out to chase after dreams of making his mark in the world, leaving her heartbroken. In spite of this, she was fascinated by the man. Stupidly fascinated, she reminded herself. She couldn’t take a chance on letting him hurt her again.

  She finished her paperwork, then perused photocopies of a few of Randi McCafferty’s columns that Clare Santiago, Randi’s OB-GYN, had given her. Out of curiosity about her new patient and the hoopla created by the local press, Clare had found some of the articles on the Internet and printed them out.

  Now, as Nicole scanned the columns, she smiled. Randi gave advice freehandedly. With tones of irony and sarcasm, she dished out levelheaded counsel to single people who had written to her concerning their love lives, work problems, past relationships, or troubles juggling hectic schedules. Randi borrowed literary clichés, old adages and peppered the column with hip slang; but most of the advice was given tongue-in-cheek and showed off her clever, if sometimes cutting, wit. Nicole actually laughed at a few of the passages, and wondered if any of Randi’s headstrong older brothers had ever been on the receiving end of her razor-sharp tongue.

  If only the woman lying in ICU could talk. Tucking the articles into a file, Nicole decided to call it a day. She snapped off her computer and desk lamp, then stretched and walked into the hallway. Before she’d go home, she would look in on Thorne’s sister—the silent, comatose woman whose advice had touched millions.

  Outside the doors of ICU, Nicole found Slade and Matt McCafferty waiting impatiently.

  “Hi.” Matt was standing near a post and quickly removed his hat.

  Slade, seated in a chair in the small waiting area, quickly tossed aside a battered magazine and climbed to his feet.

  “I thought I’d check on your sister before I went home.”

  “There’s no change,” Slade grumbled. “I was just in there and the doctors are talking about setting her broken bones now that the swelling’s gone down.” He looked down at his hands as they worked the brim of his hat. “She looks like hell.”

  “But improving,” Nicole countered. “These things take time.”

  “Well, I wish she’d wake up.” Matt’s brow was furrowed with deep lines of worry. He motioned toward the closed doors. “Thorne’s with her now.”

  “He is?” Why did her heart do a stupid little flip at the mention of his name?

  “Yep.” Slade checked his watch, stared at the face a second and his lips rolled in on themselves. “He
should be out soon if you want to talk to him.”

  One side of Matt’s lips curved upward. “So what is the deal with you and Thorne?”

  “Is there a deal?” she said, matching his grin.

  “I’d say so.” Slade gave a quick nod. “Never seen Thorne so…content.”

  “He’s not content,” Matt said, shaking his head. “Hell, that guy doesn’t know the meaning of the word. But he is less restless. Not as quick to jump down someone’s throat. Distracted.”

  “Is that right—”

  The doors flew open and Thorne, in jeans and a leather bomber jacket, burst through. His face was a thundercloud, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed until his gaze landed full force on Nicole.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “Yeah, there’s something wrong.” He hitched a thumb toward the doors swinging shut behind him. “She’s still in a coma and looks like hell. The doctors keep saying she’s doing as well as can be expected, but I don’t know if I can believe them. It’s been over a week since she was brought in here.”

  “Everything that can be done is being—”

  “Is it?” he demanded and she was aware of how much taller he was than she. “How do I know that?”

  “I thought we’d been through this—the competency of the staff, the efficiency of the hospital, the time it takes the body to heal—”

  “Enough.” He glared down at her, then rammed his hands through his hair in frustration. “Hell!”

  “What is it you want?” she demanded.

  “You mean other than my sister and her child to be well, the baby’s father located, the truth about her accident figured out, and world peace?”

  “Is that all?” She lifted an imperious eyebrow and held his arrogant, demanding and ultimately irresistible gaze fast.

  “No. I could use a cup of coffee, too!”

  “Well, I’ll find one for you, just as soon as I heal your sister and finish the last-minute details on the world peace thing,” she snapped, hearing a snicker behind her. Turning on her heel, she found Slade trying and failing to swallow a smile. “Something funny?”