by Pat Warren
Thelma was at the circular desk working on charts. “I’m going out for a while, Thelma. I’ve got to make a few calls, get something to eat. Let me give you my cell phone number in case she awakens, okay?”
“Certainly, Doctor.” Efficient as always, she wrote it down, then gave him a small smile. “It’ll do you good to get some air.”
Nodding, Jeff left, anxious to leave the hospital atmosphere with its unrelenting routine and muted PA announcements and antiseptic smells. It was different when it was his work atmosphere. So very different.
Striding down the hallway, he reached the bank of phones and called East, updating him. “I wish I could tell you some good news, but unfortunately there’s been no change.” Glancing out the window, he saw that the sun was lowering in the sky. Another day nearly gone and no improvement. To say that he wasn’t discouraged would be a lie, and he knew his voice conveyed his feelings all too well.
“I’m sorry, Jeff. Does the doctor tell you anything?”
“I wish. He says to hang in there.” Jeff ran a hand through his hair. “You know, I’ve heard of people remaining in comas for weeks, months, even years. Dad, that can’t happen. Not to Tish.”
“It won’t, son. She’ll be back with us as soon as the brain swelling goes down.” East had kept in touch with the doctors as well. “It’s difficult, I know, but keep the faith.”
“Right.” He needed a change of subject, something more cheerful, more hopeful. “Are Ally and Annie home yet?”
“Yes, and they’re both well and happy. The baby’s got red hair, Jeff.” There was a smile in East’s voice. “When Tish wakes up, why don’t the two of you plan to come here to Condor for a while. Rest up.”
“It’s a thought, and thanks.” Although he didn’t know how Tish would react to being around a baby just now. “I’ll have to play this by ear, Dad. When we parted in Australia, we hadn’t really reconciled fully, just agreed to talk again after her New York assignment.”
“Maybe being in this terrible accident has given Tish another perspective, Jeff. Life-altering things usually do, remember?”
“Yes, I remember, every day. We’ll see if she feels the same.”
“I might see you soon. They’ve asked me to go to New York as part of the bombing investigation. I’m not sure how much help I can be, but especially since you’re there, I’d like to go.”
A familiar face, someone to talk with, someone who cared to be with him. Jeff closed his eyes, hoping he didn’t sound as pathetically grateful as he felt. “I’d like that,” he said gruffly.
East picked up on it, as usual. “Okay, then. I’ll be in touch. Call if there’s a change.”
“You bet.” Jeff hung up and wandered to the windows. Springtime in New York. The trees were in bud, the weather balmy, the rain over. If he couldn’t run, maybe a walk would do him good, some fresh air.
He headed for the elevators.
It was twilight when Jeff returned to the hospital and he felt all pumped up. He’d taken a long walk which felt good, using muscles too long confined to a chair. He’d run across a small Italian restaurant and he’d stopped in, thinking the menu had to offer choices far better than hospital food.
It had. He’d finally found his appetite again. Maybe the exercise of his walk had helped. Feeling more than human when he’d left, his spirits lifted and he rushed back to the hospital. Breezing past Doris who was at the desk since the shift change, he hurried into Tish’s cubicle, his heart full of hope.
And she hadn’t changed an iota, hadn’t moved a muscle.
Deflated, he sagged into the chair and just stared at her for a long time. This kind of waiting would try the patience of any man, Jeff decided. He could handle deadlines, if only he knew something would be over on a certain date at a particular time. It was the not knowing that ground away at a person. The fear that even if she awoke, would she not be her old self? Would the bomb fragments or the surgery have injured her so extensively internally that she might come to, but be a shadow of her former self?
It didn’t bear consideration. Drawing in a deep breath, Jeff sat up taller and brought his thoughts under control. Upbeat, he told himself. He had to be upbeat, to talk to her about things that would warm her heart, make her want to return, urge her to fight to be with him again.
So he scooted the chair closer to the bed and picked up her small hand, turning it over in his, studying the smooth skin that he’d kissed so many times before. Hands that had touched his body everywhere and touched his heart. He bent to press his lips to her fragile fingers, then cleared his throat as he pushed back his negative thoughts and fears.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he began. “I was gone for a little while. Talked with East. Ally’s home from the hospital with Annie, their little girl. All of them send their love and prayers to you. They want us to visit them after you get of here. And you will get out of here, babe. Soon.
“I walked for a while. It’s in the seventies out there, spring in New York. I saw a policeman on horseback and several others getting ready for the big Easter parade along Fifth coming up soon. Remember the night we watched that Fred Astaire movie in our apartment and sang along with Judy Garland? Neither of us can carry a tune, but we had fun anyhow.” He squeezed her hand lightly. “I want so badly to do everyday normal things like that again with you, Tish. Movies, walks, sleeping curled up in each other’s arms.” He sighed, trying not to sink into a depressing tone.
“I’m stuffed to the gills. I stopped on my walk at this little hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. The waiter’s name was Tony—what else? He had the requisite black mustache, curly hair and big white apron. There were these murals on the wall, scenes of Venice with the gondolas. Not very good drawings, but they added to the atmosphere. And, naturally, there was the Italian recordings in the background, thankfully not too long. Mario Lanza, I think. You’d know. I remember how you always recognize who’s singing on the radio and I rarely do. You have a much better ear for voices than I do.
“Anyhow, I had spaghetti bolognese and the sauce was scrumptious. I asked for mushrooms because you know how I love mushrooms, and Tony brought me half a pound, I think. The bread was to die for, crusty on the outside, soft inside. And, I confess, I had some red wine, Chianti. Not wonderful, but it couldn’t have been too bad ’cause I had two glasses. God, Tish, I wish you’d have been with me. You know how I hate to eat alone. You always scolded me because I missed meals when I was on duty at the hospital, but mostly it was because I’d rather go hungry than eat alone.
“But I had to tonight because I haven’t been eating much and I want to stay strong so that when you wake up, I can pick you up and take you out of here. I always loved picking you up and holding you. You fit in my arms perfectly, like no other. Because there’ll never be another woman for me, Tish. You’re stuck with me forever.”
Jeff searched his mind, trying to come up with lighthearted things to talk about. “I know you’ll come out of this, babe, because you’re tough. At first glance, people think you’re small and fragile, but inside, you’ve got a core of iron. One tough cookie. Remember that time on the ranch when that cowhand Mac and I were about to go at it and you rescued me?” Jeff laughed. “The big bully caved in to you like I’m sure he’s never done with anyone else.” I remember that day so well….
On a bright, sunshiny morning at the Red Rock Ranch, Jeff sat down to breakfast alongside Slim in the main dining room. He was in a good mood. Excellent, matter of fact. Things were great between him and Tish, he felt rested and had gained some of his weight back and felt he was truly over his ordeal of being buried alive.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile. Glancing around, he saw that only a few other people were still lingering over that second cup of coffee. He’d slept in this morning and it had evidently improved his mood. “Looks like another great day out there.”
“Yeah, guess so,” Slim said, leaning back in his chair and studying Jeff.
Jeff buttered his
toast, then felt the manager’s eyes on him so he looked up. “Something the matter?”
“You know, I don’t usually pay attention to rumors, but this one maybe we both should think about. Word is that Mac’s still real mad at you for humiliating him like that at the branding last week. They say he’s gunnin’ for you.”
Jeff busied himself cutting a piece of sausage. “That so? What do you mean, gunnin’ for me?”
“Like maybe he wants to teach you a lesson.” Slim wasn’t smiling, was in fact wearing a worried frown.
Damn but he didn’t need this right now, Jeff thought. Still, he knew Slim wouldn’t have brought it up unless he meant for Jeff to take it seriously. “What do you suggest I do to diffuse the situation?”
Slim shrugged. “Don’t rightly know. Maybe an apology, for starters.”
Jeff’s fork clanked on the plate as he dropped it and swung toward Slim. “Apologize for keeping a big bully from going after a smaller, brand-new kid who was shaking in his shoes? Talk about humiliation, you should have heard Mac, the way he talked to Teddy, criticizing, dressing him down in front of everyone.”
“I didn’t say Mac didn’t deserve what he got. But you asked me how you could get back on his good side.”
Jeff picked up his fork. “Mac doesn’t have a good side. He’s mean as…well, as a wild bull. Frankly, he shouldn’t be in charge of anything or anyone.”
That put Slim on the defensive. “Mac’s got his good points, though he hasn’t shown any to you. He works hard.”
“So does everyone else without running roughshod over a newcomer trying to learn.” He put a bite of eggs and sausage in his mouth, but tasted only his growing anger.
He ate in silence for several minutes while Slim sipped his coffee. Finally, having lost his appetite along with his sunny mood, Jeff wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin on the table. “All right, what else do you want me to do?”
Slim shook his head. “I’m not telling you what to do. It’s up to you. I’m only warning you that you have a mean pit bull mad as hell at you and if you don’t do something, you’d best watch your back at all times.”
Jeff drew in a calming breath and thought about what East would want him to do. After a moment, he scooted back his chair. “Okay, I’ll go apologize. But damned if I feel he’s due one.”
Looking up at him, Slim nodded. “Son, we all have to do things now and again that stick in our craw.”
“If you tell me I’ll be a better man for it, I’m liable to punch you, too.” Picking up his hat, Jeff marched off and out the back door, not even stopping to compliment Elsa on his breakfast this morning.
He found Mac in the far side of the cow barn where he’d finished castrating a couple of two-year-old males. The steers were bawling their heads off, but Mac seemed oblivious as he stood at the tin sink cleaning his long knife.
Probably not the best time to approach the SOB, Jeff thought, but he wanted to get this over with. “Mac,” he began, stopping a short distance from the burly cowhand.
Mac slowly turned, his eyes hard and angry-looking, as always. Leaving the water running, he straightened to his full five-seven height and glared at Jeff without saying a word. His black Stetson shaded his face from the overhead lights, but Jeff could see his mouth was a thin line.
Jeff shifted his feet, then settled on a nonthreatening stance as he took off his hat. “Listen, about last week, I’m sorry I got carried away.” He held out his right hand. “No hard feelings, I hope.”
Mac’s eyes narrowed as he moved his hand back and forth on the blade of the long, curved knife. “No hard feelings?” he snarled. “Hell, yes, I have hard feelings. You were way out of line, boy.”
Another one who called him boy. He was getting damn sick and tired of it, but he decided to ignore the insult and give it one more shot. “Listen, I don’t want there to be bad blood between us. I’ve apologized and I hope we can go on from here.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Mac’s pudgy face gleamed in the bright lights as he took a step toward Jeff. “Listen, boy, I don’t like you, not one little bit. You and me, we’re never going to be friends. Understand, boy?”
Jeff had had enough. “Just so you know, I don’t want to be your friend. And I’m not your boy, you hear?”
Mac’s expression turned ugly as he started toward Jeff.
“Oh, there you are,” came a soft voice from behind Mac. Tish had walked in through the open back door. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Mac.” She totally ignored Jeff as Mac, confusion and surprise on his features, half turned toward her. “I was wondering if you could help me?”
Just as surprised as Mac, Jeff just stared at her.
“What do you need?” Mac finally asked her.
She stepped closer to him, smiling. “There’s this calf in the next barn in the end stall. You might know him, spotted, kind of small for his age. Anyhow, no matter what I do, he won’t take the bottle.”
Exasperated, yet taken in by a beautiful woman seeking his advice, something that didn’t happen hardly ever to Mac, he relaxed a bit. “There must be some hands over there can help you.” He tossed a glaring look at Jeff. “I’m a little busy here.”
“Somebody named Lefty told me you were the real expert, that you could get any calf to drink. He says you’ve saved a few who were fighting being weaned.” She smiled at him again. “Could you show me how? I’d be really grateful.”
Obviously torn between vengeance and flattery, he chose Tish. Tossing the knife into the sink and turning off the water, he gave her what passed for a smile. “Okay, lead the way.”
She gave him a dazzling smile. “Thank you so much.” She started toward the door, then when she was sure Mac was following her, she glanced back. “Oh, and Jeff, you could come, too. Maybe you could learn something.” And she glided off to the barn next door with the two men trailing after her.
Jeff smiled to himself. He already had learned something. Wasn’t there a saying that you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar? Damned if he had the patience or the makeup to play that game with bullies like Mac. Still, he had to admit, it worked.
In minutes, she had the two men in the hay-strewn stall, Jeff holding down the recalcitrant calf while Mac was down on one knee holding the bottle just so, explaining his award-winning procedure to Tish who looked for all the world as if she were hanging on his every word. When the bottle was empty, the calf full and the session over, she thanked Mac profusely.
Rising, Jeff could have sworn the man blushed as he smiled and told her it was nothing. He left the barn whistling.
Jeff got to his feet while Tish waited, making sure Mac was truly out of the barn, then she turned to him, a mischievous smile on her full mouth. “More than one way to skin a cat, Jeff Kirby,” she said, moving up close to him.
Slipping his arms around her, he smiled down into her eyes. “I suppose that big mouth Slim told you where I was and why.”
“Could be,” she answered coyly.
“What makes you think he won’t come after me anyhow since he refused to accept my apology?”
“You mean your very sincere, heartfelt apology?”
He raised his brows. “You were eavesdropping?”
“I heard every word. You’re not real good at backing down, are you?”
“No, but neither is he. And he’s the bully.”
“Mmm-hmm. He didn’t look like much of a bully kneeling in here feeding that little old calf.”
Jeff drew in an exasperated breath. “Women can get men to do all kinds of things they wouldn’t do for another man.”
“I think you’re right.”
Jeff glanced around and noticed that they were all alone in the big barn except for a few calves in their stalls. He took her hand and led her down the walkway to the wooden ladder leading up to the hayloft. “Ever see the view from up there? You can see for miles.”
“Is that so? Well, I wouldn’t want to miss that.” She started up the ladder.
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br /> Jeff followed, enjoying the view already as her denim-clad bottom teased him every step of the way. They scampered up and walked over to where a high window looked out on the ranch, the outbuildings, pastureland, the lazy stream ambling along, all the way to the majestic mountains in the distance. As Tish stood looking out, Jeff slid his hands along her arms urging her to lean against him. They enjoyed the view for several minutes, until Jeff thought of something else he’d rather do.
Slowly, he turned her within his arms so he could look into her fathomless brown eyes. “Have you ever made love in a hayloft?” he asked, his blood beginning to heat at the mere thought.
Tish scrunched up her face. “Let me think. Let’s see, once when I was…no, that was alongside a stream. Maybe that night…no, that was in a tent during a rainstorm. A hayloft? No, I don’t think I have.” She gazed up at him, her heart in her eyes. “What’d you have in mind, Dr. Kirby?”
“Just this,” he said and bent to kiss her.
In moments, they were two people totally engrossed in each other. Jeff hadn’t known he could feel so much pleasure as he impatiently undressed Tish, stripping layers from her with trembling hands. The freshly pressed yellow blouse was tossed unceremoniously aside, followed by slim jeans and leather boots that hit the hay-covered wooden floor with loud thuds. Two silken swatches of what passed for underwear went flying as well, for in his haste he’d almost ripped them from her.
How was this possible, that no matter how often he made love to her, he was hungry for her again? And Tish was no less eager as her fingers flew on his buttons while he shoved off his jeans.
Need for her pounded through Jeff as he knelt with her on the thick hay, lacing his fingers through hers. Her skin was fragrant, delicate, the texture of fine satin. He sent his mouth on a journey of discovery, always brand-new, always thrilling as her breath trembled from her. Hands still locked, he followed her down and watched her eyes widen as he filled her completely. She arched to take him deeper.