Rachel concentrated on the lapel of the doctor’s lab coat where he sported a pin of a cowboy riding a bucking horse, the Wyoming logo. She sighed in defeat. “He’s ranked second going into the National Finals. That’s only a month and a half away.”
The doctor offered a sympathetic shrug and snapped the file shut. “That’s called priorities in life, Mrs. Davidson. If he stops, he may have a chance to make some great choices; if he doesn’t, he may not have any choices at all.”
Rachel felt the blood drain to her toes. “He’s not going to stop.”
The doctor straightened and stood. Tucking his file under his arm, he offered his hand once more. Rachel remained seated as they shook. A deep weariness enfolded her. Give up the Finals? She knew cowboys, she’d been raised by the best.
And the best never gave up.
As if reading her mind, the doctor smiled broadly revealing straight teeth and one tiny dimple in his cheek. “Talk to him. You’d be surprised at the choices people make when confronted with mortality.” He released her hand and scribbled on his notepad. He handed her the note with a room number, turned toward the door and opened it slightly. “We’ve moved him to a room. Give us about twenty minutes to get him comfortable. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. If you need anything, just ask the nurse.”
Rachel watched the door close behind him. Nice guy. A bit misguided, but a nice guy. Obviously, he didn’t know rodeo cowboys very well, and even more so, bull riders, if he thought a conversation or two could change their minds.
Bull riders lived for the adrenaline rush. They lived for the excitement. They lived for the glory. They lived to ride.
Rachel glanced out the window at the low, white clouds while she rummaged in her purse for her cell phone. Just like her father who could never turn down the “ride of his life,” she bet Nick Davidson was no different. He exhibited stubbornness in spades. He wouldn’t listen to her. A half-hearted grin gave way to a chuckle as she punched in the phone number. Maybe if Nick wouldn’t listen to her, he’d listen to Uncle Mitch.
“Cauldwell, here,” her uncle’s voice barked into the phone after two rings.
“Uncle Mitch, it’s me, Rachel.”
“Rachel girl, where along the road are you? Where’s Nick?” He hesitated a second. “You haven’t tarred and feathered him yet, have ya?”
“No, but I’m pretty doggone close.” She relaxed back into her chair. Uncle Mitch would fix this. “We’re here in Casper, at the Med Center. Nick’s going to be here overnight.”
“What happened?”
Rachel drew a deep breath. “The blood clot in his brain shifted. Nothing serious, this time. They want to watch him overnight though, something about swelling and deficits and stuff. Anyway, Uncle Mitch, you’ve got to talk Nick out of riding anymore. He needs to give this up.”
“You know you don’t talk a cowboy outta nothin’. Nick’s been doing this long enough to make his own decisions.” Uncle Mitch paused, the silence shouting louder than words. “He knows the risks.”
“He’s not thinking straight right now. He’s bent on meeting you here in Casper and riding in this Regional Finale, a ride he doesn’t need. He’s already qualified for the National Finals, even if he might slip a little in the standings.” Rachel freed the exasperation she’d held in check all afternoon. “Uncle Mitch, any fall could hurt him. If this clot shifts again, it could kill him.”
Silence made a return appearance before her uncle mumbled beneath his breath. Rachel’s heart sank.
“Lord forgive me my evil tongue. Rachel, you know how this works. I’m his friend, not his doctor or his mother. If he needs a place to stay, we’ve got a room. If he needs a ride, we’ve got a driver now. But if you’re lookin’ to me to tell one of the finest bull riders I know to pick up his gear and head home, you’re lookin’ at the wrong man. A man makes his own decisions in life and lives with them.”
Raw tension scraped her throat. “Even if it could kill him?”
“It’s all part of the package. A man can’t be anything besides what he was born to be, and a cowboy is a cowboy no matter how you slice it. I got my prayers goin’ for Nick. But it’s all in the good Lord’s time.”
“We’re talking life and death here, Uncle Mitch.” She fought the frustration feeding her anger.
“Rach, I know you think every rider is goin’ to end up like your Dad, but--”
Rachel needed to get off the phone before flawed cowboy logic did her in. “Not everyone, just this one. Look, you’re right. There’s probably nothing to worry about. We’ll wait the night and see what happens. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
“Atta, girl. You tell Nick I’ll see him tomorrow night either there at the Med Center or here at the arena. You get some sleep, alright?”
“Right.” She pressed the button to cut off any further words of wisdom her uncle might think to offer. The ache in her back demanded attention. She rubbed the knot. This day was not going the way she’d planned. She poked at the knot a bit harder. Not just today, the whole week was beginning to drive her bonkers. She straightened up and clutched the phone in her hand. Her day wasn’t through yet.
She checked her watch as she punched in the numbers to her private line at the office. Her voice mail registered fewer and fewer, but she still needed to keep in touch.
“Good afternoon, Bales, Everitt and Joyner, Rachel Hill’s office. May I help you?”
“Maddie.” Relief flooded through her at the familiar voice. Her secretary kept close tabs on her clients and knew the ins and outs of each account. She should have known Maddie would put in extra time to keep things working smoothly. “It’s me, Rachel. Why are you still at the office? It’s after six.”
“Where are you, Rachel? Please tell me you’re calling from home.”
“Close, but not quite.” Rachel crossed her legs as she basked in normalcy. The qualms of work she could handle. “I’ve run into another problem, but I’ll be on the road in the morning and in the office Friday morning. I was just calling to leave a message for you. Why are you still there?”
“You need to get back here, and fast,” Maddie lowered her voice as if trying to hide the conversation. “Tom Everitt’s been in an absolute stew since you talked to him on Tuesday. Mr. Everitt personally told me you’d be back on Thursday. Your accounts are on the line and Jim Allen’s been pressing to make them his.”
“Don’t worry, Maddie,” Rachel countered, accustomed to her secretary’s flair for the dramatic. “We had a little snag in plans, but I’m all done now. If Tom wants to chew me out personally, he knows my cell number, the phone’s always on. Friday, Maddie, I’ll square it all up Friday.”
“How’s your cowboy?”
“Funny. He’s not my cowboy. Anyway, he’s had a relapse, I’m calling from the hospital. Not to worry though, his cowboy buddies are all here, so I know I’m leaving him in good hands.”
“Glad to hear it. Hurry back, Rachel.”
“I will, I think I can beat this storm. See you Friday.”
Rachel pressed end and shook her phone a couple of times as if it held the answers to her questions like a child’s toy magic eight-ball. She scrolled through the contacts on her phone until she found Tom Everitt’s private cell number and tapped connect.
No point in blind-siding Tom. He didn’t like surprises.
“Hello?”
Rachel swallowed at the irritated tone greeting her. “Hi Tom, it’s Rachel.”
“Back in town already?” His voice softened. “Good. Look I have a meeting first thing in the morning, but we can meet with Jim at ten o’clock and work out the files.”
“Tom?” Her mouth went dry. “I won’t be in the office tomorrow.”
She practically felt the tension on Tom’s end slamming into her across the miles. “What now?”
“We’ve had a medical emergency.”
“Are you alright?” The catch in his voice was audible. “Car accident?”
Her muscles tightened. “No, I’m fine, but my passenger isn’t. He’s in the hospital.”
“So?” The coolness returned. “I’m certain the hospital staff is capable of doing their jobs allowing you to get back to yours, right?”
He had every right to be short with her. “Right. The problem is I can’t drive at night. I won’t be able to leave until morning.”
“Rachel.” Tom drew a breath and let it out on a sigh. “I need you here. At work. You were excused for two weeks and stretched it to three. I understand taking the time to get yourself pulled together. Trading stocks and building portfolios needs a sharp broker, one running at a hundred percent. Someone the firm can depend on. You realize that, don’t you?”
“I know, Tom. I appreciate your patience.”
“Three weeks away from your clientele is suicide for an average broker. Lucky for us, you’ve never been average.”
Her pulse slowed to normal at his compliment. “Thank you.”
“It’s the truth. You have a rare quality, Rachel. You make your clients feel like they’re the only account that matters.” Ice cubes rattled in a glass as he stopped to take a drink. “Still, I can push company policy only so far. I expect you back to work on Friday. I will be in at noon to meet with you. If you’re not here, that’s it. There are not more chances. Is that understood?”
Relief coursed through her. “Thank you, Tom.”
The line went dead before she could assure him she appreciated the reprieve and wouldn't let him down. She couldn't. Not anymore.
Rachel slipped her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. The muscles across her shoulders tensed. She didn’t even bother to reach for her earbuds. She’d been listening to parables all afternoon. Right now, the hum of the coffee maker in the corner was all she needed. She rubbed the back of her neck to ease the pain. First thing Friday morning, she’d stop by the Coffee Café and pick up Tom Everitt’s favorite pastry, then meet with him at noon and reassure him all was well and thank him profusely for understanding her delay. Tom prided himself on being a reasonable man. By the end of the day, things would be back to normal.
Rachel knew the Lord had all in hand. After all, He’d sent her on this mission.
She glanced down at her watch again. She really should check out the Dow and NASDAQ for the day’s trading, but her muscles ached and she recognized the familiar pain of a migraine gripping her skull. Grabbing her purse as she stood, Rachel reached for the door. She needed a dark room, some soothing music and sleep. She’d check out the stock indexes tomorrow and start being a broker again. Tomorrow she’d let the cowboy be a cowboy and just get on with it.
Tomorrow she’d walk away.
Piece of cake.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A bomb had detonated in his head.
Nick opened his eyes and carefully looked around the room. Plain walls; television in the corner; dark curtains pulled open to show a pink glow beyond the window. It wasn’t the hotel room he’d been expecting. He was used to drab, but not this drab. As he lifted his arm to check the time, he found an IV tube instead of his watch. Reality replaced assumption. Another hospital room. What happened this time?
His neck ached, the pain riding piggy-back on the one in his head. As he rolled to the side, he found Rachel, rumpled and asleep in a chair beside his bed, her head propped against his bed rail, her small hand tucked perfectly within his palm.
A lump formed in his throat. He’d traveled alone for so long, awakened in so many hotel rooms and hospital beds without a familiar face in sight, Nick couldn’t quite put his finger on the emotions building inside of him. As he watched her even breathing ruffle the sheet beside him, he recognized the loss of companionship he’d sacrificed for the fortress he’d erected around himself. Friendships dictated bonds and responsibilities, and in those relationships, a give and take was required. Unfortunately, Nick didn’t have anything to give.
With care, he turned his palm into hers. Her creamy skin felt so smooth beneath his thumb as he stroked small circles around her knuckles. The cuff of her flannel shirt stretched up her arm exposing a delicate wrist with a faint tan line where she might have worn her watch or a bracelet. Funny, the little things you notice when all is still.
Her tousled hair fanned across her face. Nick wanted to brush it back and tuck it behind her ear. Rachel had nice ears. Did she ever wear her hair up? For a formal event? She wouldn’t need anything fancy, Rachel was a class act just being herself.
He caught a glimpse of a fine, golden chain hooked on the button of her collar. It snaked into her shirt, but when he leaned forward, Nick could see a tiny cross resting in a fold of fabric. His gut twisted at the reminder of her faith. She turned to God with her lessons and music when things got tough, namely dealing with him. She found peace and strength in her relationship with Christ.
So had he at one time. God ignored him first. Now it was time to go it alone.
He stroked her hand a bit firmer. Her breath caught and her eyes fluttered open.
“Hmm, hi, you’re up,” she said in a husky voice as her palm rubbed down her face.
“Just a second ago,” he returned, hesitant to destroy the moment, but convinced of the need to keep space between them. “You can’t be comfortable.”
“I’ve slept better.” Pulling her hand from his, she sat up straight and stretched. “How’s your head?”
“It’s worked better.” He tried to smile, but all he could do was grimace. “Dare I ask why I’m in a hospital again?”
“The nap you took in the truck threatened to take you to Lala-land for good.” Yawning, she rubbed life back into her arm and blinked away her sleep before she squared her emerald-fired glare straight at him. “You scared me.”
Razor Rachel had returned full force. Bummer. He’d kind of liked her all soft and sweet, rather than ready and capable. “I take it the docs have checked me out? What’s up?”
“Right now, they’re watching the swelling in your brain. If everything looks normal after the next MRI, you can leave.” She leaned forward and brushed the hair off his face, her fingertips grazed his skin as she swiped at the stubble on his face. “You need a shave.”
His mouth went dry. He’d forgotten how gentle a touch could be--he’d known once, but that was so very long ago. Almost another lifetime. Her scent drifted around him. Not a teasing, provocative scent like so many women wore. He sniffed covertly. More like a downy, soft scent. The kind of scent that made you feel at home. Nick swallowed hard. “Shave? Probably.”
Their gazes met for an instant, long enough to let him know the awareness went both ways.
Rachel pulled back. Immediately, the wariness returned. “Let me call a nurse about that shave. Glad you’re feeling better this morning.”
Nick’s reply stuck in his throat. A knock at the door brought his salvation. Maybe miracles did happen.
“Good morning, Nick. I’m Dr. McMillan.” Rachel jumped out of her chair as the doctor stepped through the door. “Good to see you awake.”
Nick was fuzzy about the night before, but he did remember the pokes and prods, and way too many questions. He wasn’t really in the mood for more of the same this morning. “Rumor has it awake might not have been one of my options.”
“More truth than rumor.” Dr. McMillan looked up from his chart and grinned. “We’ve run a number of tests and they’ve all come back within proper ranges. Once the swelling is gone, you’re free to go.” He reached for the stethoscope in his pocket.
“How long is that going to be?”
“Hard to say. Breathe deep.” The doctor listened all over Nick’s chest, then lifted his wrist and timed the pulse. Apparently satisfied, he opened the chart and scribbled. “Head still hurt?”
“Yeah.”
He shuffled through pages and frowned. “We’ll up the pain medication, that should make you more comfortable. Another bag of fluid, too.”
Rachel stepped up and read over the doctor’s shoulder. “I
s that what Nick took last night?”
“Yes.”
She glanced at Nick and then back to Dr. McMillan. “When we talked earlier, you said that it might induce nightmares. He had a pretty restless night.”
The last thing Nick needed was drug induced nightmares. He had enough of his own brand to deal with, thank you very much. “I don’t need any painkillers.”
“Your body won’t heal if it has to deal with the pain also.” The doctor scribbled out a prescription. “Here, this is relatively harmless. You shouldn’t have any side effects, but it also won’t subdue the discomfort as well.” Turning to Rachel. “Prescribing medication is a two-edged sword. It’s important the patient stays comfortable in order for the body to concentrate on fixing itself, but without the pain to stop them, sometimes patients overdo it. You’ll have to watch him closely.”
“Closer than she has been?” Nick mumbled.
“You’re in a very precarious position, here.” Dr. McMillan turned his full attention to Nick. “You’ve sustained a severe trauma and it won’t be easy recuperating. Now, as I was telling your wife yesterday, you can either start taking it easy or face the possibility of brain damage.”
Nick could do nothing more than stare at the doctor as the phrases taking it easy and brain damage swirled around the word wife.
“You’re scheduled for more tests later this afternoon. If everything looks good, you can leave tomorrow.” He turned toward Rachel as he ran a finger down a sheet of yellow paper. “I’ll compile a list of neurosurgeons in close proximity to Hawk Ridge. I’m afraid the closest you’ll find one is Colorado Springs, or maybe Steamboat Springs. Or you can come back here. It doesn’t matter where you go, just make sure you see one. If you have any questions, just ask.”
Rachel nodded and thanked the doctor.
Nick never took his gaze off her. Any questions? Yeah, one big one. He waited until the doctor stepped out and left them alone. Rachel’s gaze flitted everywhere but at him.
Rough Road Home (The Circle D series) Page 10