Rumors: The McCaffertys: The McCaffertys: ThorneThe McCaffertys: Matt

by Lisa Jackson

  “Maybe they’re not all as bad as we think,” Kelly said as she reached into her pocket for her keys.

  “Oh, yeah? So now they’re sprouting wings and halos?” Karla shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  There was a whoop from the living room as Spencer actually beat Aaron and his grandfather. Aaron burst into tears, and from the twinkle in Ron Dillinger’s eyes, Kelly was certain he’d let his eldest grandson win.

  “Come on, boys, time to go,” Karla called again. In an aside to Kelly, she added, “Getting them out of here is like pulling teeth.”

  “No!” Aaron cried, refusing to budge from his grandfather’s lap while Spencer just ignored his mother, no matter what tack she took. Eventually she wrestled her youngest into his ski coat, hat and mittens while Spencer, lower lip protruding in an exaggerated pout, shrugged into a quilted pullover with a hood.

  “You boys be good, now,” Eva said as she emerged from the kitchen without her apron. She planted a kiss on each boy’s cheek and slipped them each a tiny candy bar left over from Halloween into their hands.

  “I be good!” Aaron said, trying to tear off his mittens to get at the bit of chocolate.

  “Mom!” Karla admonished.

  “I just can’t help myself.”

  “Here, let me get it.” Kelly unwrapped the chocolate morsel, then plopped it into Aaron’s open mouth.

  “He’s like one of those nestlings you see on the nature shows,” Karla grumbled good-naturedly. “Aren’t ya, little eaglet?”

  Aaron grinned and chocolate drooled down his chin.

  “I’ve got to get out of here. Come on, Spence.” With that she bustled out the door, leaving Kelly to say goodbye to her parents.

  “Everything good with you?” her father asked, worry in his dark eyes as he rolled his wheelchair into the foyer.

  “Couldn’t be better.”

  “But the boys on the force, they’re not giving you any trouble?”

  “None that I don’t deserve, Dad. This isn’t the 1940s, you know. There are thousands of female cops these days.”

  “I know, I know, but it just doesn’t seem like a job for a woman.” He held up his hands as if warding off the verbal blow he was certain was heading his way. “No offense.”

  “Oh, none taken, Dad, none at all. You’ve just denigrated every woman police officer I know, but am I offended? Oh, no-o-o. Not me.”

  “Fine, fine, you’ve made your point,” he said with a chuckle. “Just don’t let anyone give you a bad time. None of the boys you work with and especially none of the McCaffertys.”

  “Can’t we just forget about them?” Eva asked.

  “Impossible.” He cranked the wheelchair into the living room and returned with a copy of the Grand Hope Gazette, folded to display an article on the third page of the main section, an article about Thorne McCafferty’s small plane crash. “And this is after a couple of weeks have passed.” He skimmed the article. “Seems as if there’s some question as to whether or not there was foul play involved, and this here reporter thinks maybe the plane crash and the sister’s wreck might be related. Bah. Sounds like coincidence to me.” He glanced up at Kelly, his bristly white eyebrows elevated, inviting her opinion.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss the case.”

  “Oh, cut the crap, Kelly. We’re family.”

  “And I’ll confide in you when I need to, okay? Now… I’ve got to run. Duty calls.”

  She bussed each of her parents on the cheeks, then hurried outside to her car. The snow had stopped falling, but because of the dark clouds, she couldn’t see a solitary star in the dark heavens. Her breath fogged in the air, her windshield was frozen, and she shivered as she cranked on the ignition.

  Like clockwork, the engine fired and she drove away from the warm little bungalow with its patches of golden light and wide front porch. Her parents were aging, more rapidly as the days went by. Her father had never been his robust self after the gunshot blast that had ruined his career and crippled him for life, and her mother, strong woman that she was, had never complained, had taken care of a convalescing, depressed husband and two young daughters. She’d landed a job with John Randall McCafferty as his personal secretary to help make ends meet. John Randall had promised her raises, promotions, bonuses and a retirement plan, but his fortunes had changed, and after his second divorce and a downturn in the economy, he’d been left with nothing but the ranch. Eva had lost her job and all the promises of a substantial nest egg had proved to be empty, the money that was supposed to have been set aside dwindled away by bad investments—oil wells that had run dry, silver mines that had never produced, stock in start-up companies that had shut down within months of opening their doors.

  There had been talk of a lawsuit, but Eva hadn’t been able to find a local attorney ready to take on a man who had once been a political contender in the area, a man who had been influential and still had connections to judges, the mayor and even a senator or two.

  “Don’t dwell on it,” Kelly told herself. She drove across the town where she’d grown up, wheeled into the parking lot of her row house and used the remote to open her garage door.

  Though there hadn’t been a lot of money in her family, she’d grown up with security and love from both her parents. That was probably more than any of the McCafferty children could say. She climbed up the stairs to her bedroom on the upper floor, changed into her flannel pajamas and a robe, then made herself a cup of decaf coffee and sat at the kitchen table, scouring the notes she’d taken on Randi McCafferty’s accident and Thorne McCafferty’s plane crash.

  So many questions swirled around John Randall’s only daughter and no one, it seemed, could come up with the answers. Kelly had interviewed all the brothers, everyone who worked on the Flying M Ranch, all of Randi McCafferty’s friends in the area. All the while she’d kept in contact with the Seattle police, who had handled interviewing Randi’s friends and associates there, in the city where Randi had lived and worked. It wasn’t usual procedure, but this case was different with Randi being pregnant, giving birth, then lying comatose in the hospital, her half brothers crying foul play.

  But until Randi McCafferty came out of the coma, the mystery shrouding the youngest of John Randall’s children would most likely remain unsolved.

  Kelly glanced down at the notes she’d taken and two questions loomed larger than the others. First and foremost, who was the father of Randi’s son, and second, was she writing a book and what was it about?

  Doodling as she sipped her coffee, she thought about the case, then, as a headache began to cloud her mind, she finished her coffee and leaned back in her chair. In her mind’s eye she saw Matt McCafferty as he had been at the office and later in the hospital. Chiseled features, dark eyes, square jaw and hard, ranch-tough body. He came on like gang busters, looking as if he was ready to spit nails, but there was more to him, deeper emotions she’d witnessed herself as he’d stood over his sister’s bedside. Feelings he’d tried to hide had crossed his features. Guilt. Worry. Fear.

  Yes, she decided, there was more to Cowboy Matt than met the eye.

  She stretched and yawned, scraped her chair back and started for the bedroom when the phone jangled loudly. She picked it up on the extension near the bed and glanced at the clock. Eleven forty-seven. “Hello?” she said into the receiver, knowing it was bound to be an emergency.

  Espinoza’s voice boomed over the line. “Kelly? We’ve got a situation. Meet me down at St. James Hospital ASAP.”

  “What happened?” she asked, already stripping off her robe.

  “It’s Randi McCafferty. Someone just tried to pull the plug on her.”

  Chapter 3

  Somewhere a phone was ringing, jangling, intrusive, but the woman, naked to the waist, her uniform tossed over the back of a chair in the unfamiliar room, didn’t seem to notice.

  Brring!

  She walked forward, tossed her long red hair over her shoulder and flashed him a naughty smile
. With a wink, she said, “So come on, cowboy, show me what you’re made of.” Her dark eyes sparked with a wicked, teasing fire and her lips were full, wet and oh so kissable.

  Aching, he reached forward to pull her close and lose himself in her.

  Brring!

  Matt’s eyes flew open. He’d been dreaming. About Kelly Dillinger, and he was sporting one helluva proof of arousal. He blinked, the image disappearing into the shadows of the night. Down the hallways of the old ranch house, the phone blasted again. Groggily, he glanced at the digital display of his clock. Nearly twelve. Meaning whoever was calling wasn’t waking up the McCaffertys with good news.

  Randi. His heart nearly stopped. Slapping on the light, he didn’t wait for his eyes to adjust but yanked on the pair of jeans he’d tossed over the foot of the bed and threw a sweatshirt over his head. He was striding barefoot down the hall when the door to the master suite was flung open, and Thorne, wearing boxer shorts, his cast and a robe he hadn’t bothered to cinch, was hobbling toward the stairs.

  “That was Nicole from the hospital. Someone tried to kill Randi,” he said tersely.

  “What?”

  “Someone put something into her damned IV.”

  “Hell!” Matt broke out in a cold sweat. His mind began running in circles. “Is she okay?”

  “Far as anyone can tell,” Thorne said, frowning darkly. By this time they were both working their way toward the center staircase.

  “How could that happen?”

  “No one’s sure yet. It’s pandemonium down there. Her heart stopped beating. They had to use paddles.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Thorne stopped at the door to Slade’s room and pounded hard, then shoved it open to find their youngest brother half dressed, his hair sticking up at odd angles, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of a flannel shirt.

  “I heard the phone ring. Figured it was bad news,” Slade muttered.

  “You figured right.” Thorne filled him in quickly and the youngest McCafferty’s expression clouded over.

  “For the love of Mike, we told them this would happen! The police are out to lunch, for God’s sake!” He swung a fist in the air. “Who’s doing this?”

  “And why?” Thorne’s gray eyes narrowed with cold fury.

  “Let’s go.” Slade stuffed his shirttails into his jeans.

  “We all can’t go to the hospital,” Thorne pointed out as Slade swore a blue streak and reached for a pair of hiking boots. “Someone’s got to stay with J.R. and the girls.”

  “That’s your job,” Matt decided. “You’re gonna be stepfather to the twins and you’re not a helluva lot of use, anyway, what with the bad leg.”

  “But I can’t just stay here and—”

  “Don’t argue. We’ve heard it all before,” Matt said. “You think you’re in charge of ‘the Randi situation,’ the one calling the shots. But you’re laid up, whether you like to admit it or not. So you have two choices. Wake up the baby and Nicole’s daughters and drag them out in the freezing cold to a hospital that’s sure to be chaos, or stay here and wait for one of us to call or relieve you.”

  Thorne’s gray eyes darkened. Thick black eyebrows slammed together in frustration. “But I think—”

  “For once just trust us, okay? We can handle things.” Matt was already halfway to his room, where he found his socks, boots and a pair of gloves. He yanked them on as Thorne filled the doorway, his shoulders nearly touching each side of the frame.

  “I don’t like this.”

  “Of course you don’t. You can’t stand not being in charge.” Matt tugged on his socks and started with his cowboy boots.

  “I’d feel better if—”

  “For God’s sake, just give it up, okay? I’ll feel better if you’d just shut the hell up and stay here with the kids. Coordinate. Take calls. Be Communications Central. Someone will relieve you soon and you can drive yourself to the hospital and take charge of things there again, okay? Until then, you’re on, ‘Uncle Thorne.’ Now, get out of my way.” Matt shouldered past his older brother, collected Slade and hurried down the stairs. He didn’t have time for any of Thorne’s bogus authority trips. Not now. He grabbed his jacket and hat.

  His jaw tightened when he thought of Randi lying vulnerable in the hospital. God, you’d think she’d be safe there!

  Outside, the snow had started again and it was cold as hell. Not bothering to button his jacket, he slid behind the wheel of his pickup and, with the flick of a wrist, twisted on the ignition. Slade climbed into the passenger side. “Let’s go.”

  Matt threw his truck into gear before Slade had a chance to shut the door.

  Who tried to kill his sister?

  Why would someone go to such lengths to see that she was dead?

  Did someone want to shut her up?

  Was it revenge?

  Did it have anything to do with her baby and J.R.’s mystery father?

  “What the devil’s going on?” he growled, his breath fogging in the frigid air. Worry and fear took turns clawing at his gut, and his fingers clamped around the steering wheel until his knuckles showed white. He squinted through the foggy windshield as the wipers slapped haphazardly over the glass.

  What if Randi didn’t make it? What if whoever was trying to kill her was successful?

  “I don’t know,” Slade admitted, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket for a crumpled pack of cigarettes as Matt cranked the wheel at the highway, then gunned the engine. “But I’m sure as hell gonna find out.”

  Amen. If nothing else, Matt intended to find out who’d done this to his sister and then he’d beat the living hell out of the bastard.

  * * *

  St. James Hospital was a madhouse. Word had leaked out to the press that someone had tried to murder a patient, and a television van, camera crew and reporters from two stations were already staked out in front of the front doors. Kelly managed to dodge a microphone thrust toward her by muttering a quick “No comment” as she walked outside. Another reporter was camped out in the lobby, and Kelly shoved her way through doors marked Staff Only to avoid him. She flew up the staircase to the third floor, her boots ringing on the steps, her heart pounding as if it were a drum. Outside the doors of the ICU unit, she nearly ran into Detective Espinoza, two deputies from the sheriff’s department and a policewoman with the Grand Hope force.

  “Okay, so what happened?” she demanded.

  “Randi McCafferty went into cardiac arrest, and it looks like someone might have helped her along by slipping something into her IV.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to determine.”

  “But Randi’s okay?”

  “Out of the woods for now,” Espinoza said, running a hand around his neck. His uniform, always neatly pressed, was rumpled, his usually spit-polished boots dull under the harsh hospital lights.

  “Fill me in.”

  “One of the doctors here, Nicole Stevenson, stopped by on her break to look in at her soon-to-be sister-in-law. She’s engaged to Thorne McCafferty.”

  “The oldest brother, I know.”

  “Anyway, Randi was in a private room up on the fourth floor. As Dr. Stevenson stepped off the elevator, she spotted a person in a lab coat emerging from Randi’s room. The guy—or it could have been a woman, Dr. Stevenson didn’t get that much of a look—anyway, the suspect turned and hurried down the hallway, then cut back into the employee stairwell. Dr. Stevenson didn’t think much of it, thought the person was another doctor, until she checked on Thorne’s sister. Randi wasn’t breathing. Nicole started CPR and yelled for the nurses.”

  “She didn’t recognize the person running away?”

  “Can’t even say if it was a man or woman.” Espinoza snorted. “All she remembers is that the suspect was about five-nine and had brown hair—long for a man, short for a woman. Medium build. She didn’t get much of a glimpse of the person’s face, but thinks he or she might have
been wearing glasses.” Espinoza’s dark eyes seemed weary. “Not much to go on.”

  “But better than nothing.”

  “Unless it’s not our guy.”

  “Or gal,” Kelly said.

  “Right. Or woman.” Espinoza told Kelly that he’d already secured Randi’s private room and a crime team was going over it, though the chances of lifting the perpetrator’s fingerprints or finding other incriminating evidence were small. Espinoza had also sent the two deputies to check St. James’s staff roster and were instructed to interview anyone on duty. The policewoman was posted here, near the ICU, and for the moment, Espinoza thought, Randi was safe.

  Rubbing a day’s growth of stubble along his jaw, he added, “Whoever struck earlier won’t take another chance tonight. He’ll lay low for a while. Let things cool off.”

  “Unless he can’t afford to. Obviously he’s worried that when Randi wakes up, she’ll finger him.”

  “We’ll keep a guard posted,” Espinoza said. “If the guy’s stupid enough to try again, we’ll be ready.”

  “So what about the patient? Is she still in a coma?” Kelly asked.

  Espinoza nodded and glanced at the closed double doors of the ICU unit. “So far. Before the attack a couple of the nurses thought she might be coming around.”

  “Maybe that’s why the perp struck when he did.”

  “Looks like.”

  “Then he’ll be back.” Kelly was certain of it.

  The doors to the elevator opened and two of the McCafferty brothers strode through. Kelly’s insides tightened and her stupid pulse jumped at the sight of Matt, his jaw thrust forward, his eyes burning bright in their sockets. “What the hell happened?” he demanded as if she were somehow to blame. “Where’s Randi?” His head swiveled toward the closed doorway and he took two steps toward the ICU ward.

  “You can’t go barging in there,” Kelly warned, and stuck out her hand as if to physically restrain him.

  “Like hell.” Matt’s gaze sliced clear to her soul. He had one hand on the door and his brother Slade was only a step behind.