Forgotten Son

“Well, get him in here. I don’t have a lot of time.”

Dr. Fisher gave a long sigh. “Mr. Coltrane, you’re not going anywhere for a while. It would be best for you if you started thinking in those terms.”

“And it would be best for you if you got the damn surgeon in here.”

The doctor was scribbling in a chart and he didn’t look up. “I’m attributing your bad attitude to the pain you’re in. I’ll have the nurse give you something.”

Eli took a deep breath. “I don’t want a damn thing for the pain. I just want to get this over with.”

“Yes. I think we’ve established that.” He closed the chart. “The surgeon will be in soon, Mr. Coltrane, so please try to relax.”

Dr. Fisher walked out and Eli knew he was being an ass, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d never been badly injured before and he wasn’t handling it well. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax as the doctor had suggested. This would be over in no time and he could finish the job he’d started. They had to have arrested Buford by now, and he wished someone would come and tell him how it went. He had to know Buford was in jail.

“Mr. Coltrane.”

Eli opened his eyes to see an older, bald-headed man reading his chart. “I’m Dr. Jim Stiles. I hear you’ve had an encounter with a mean dog.”

“Yes. You could say that.”

“Let me take a look.” He laid the chart down and moved to the right side of the bed, where he picked up Eli’s arm and examined it. “Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. A lot of damage has been done. We need to get you to surgery now before the swelling gets any worse. Has your wife been called?”

“I’m not married.”

“Family?”

“My brother’s working the same case that I was and he’ll be here as soon as he can.”

“We have papers that need to be signed. Do you think you can sign them with your left hand?”

“I can sign them with my right,” Eli said.

The doctor stared directly at him. “Ranger Coltrane, I hear you’ve been giving the intern a hard time. But you and I are of the same caliber—tough, determined men—and if you want me to save that arm then you’ll have to cooperate. That’s the bottom line for me—cooperation. My time is too valuable to waste on a man who is too stubborn to realize he needs help.”

Eli didn’t waver under that intense gaze. “Dr. Stiles, I’ve always been a survivor and a fighter, and I learned discipline, respect and honor from a man I worshiped. He taught me how to take a punch like a man, how to give in without giving up, but he never taught me how to handle anything like this. So you’ll pardon me if I’m not on my best behavior.”

Dr. Stiles picked up the chart. “It’s all over the news that the Whitten woman was found alive by a Texas Ranger. Something the FBI hadn’t been able to do.”

“I was working with the FBI.”

“Don’t know how to take praise, either, do you?” The doctor scribbled something in the chart.

“Guess not.”

“Let’s go fix that arm so you can pin on that medal they’re going to give you.”

“Just do it as fast as you can.”

“I’ll do the best job I can in the amount of time it takes,” Dr. Stiles retorted.

“You don’t cooperate very well, do you, Doc?”

The doctor smiled. “I said I demand cooperation. I didn’t say I gave it. I’ll see you in surgery.”

After that Eli relaxed. He didn’t have much of a choice. They removed the rest of his clothes and gave him a hospital gown to wear. A nurse started an IV and he signed papers with his left hand, and another doctor came in to explain what was going to be done to his arm. Soon he was rolled to the operating room, where the anesthesiologist explained how he was going to put Eli to sleep.

Eli stared up at the bright lights, realizing he’d never felt so alone in his life. He had no family, what with Ma and Pa gone. It was just him and Tuck.

A man should have a family. He shouldn’t be alone. Where had that thought come from? He’d always been a loner. Maybe it was the drugs starting to flow through his system. Maybe it was his age. Maybe life had just caught up with him.

It would be nice to have someone here, though—someone to wake up to. Caroline’s face swam before him and he squeezed his eyes tight. No. He didn’t want to see her. Then he pictured Jake McCain. No. He didn’t want to see him, either. But Jake was his brother, his half brother. He was family. He was blood. No. Eli wasn’t a McCain. Joe McCain had denied his existence, and Eli would never admit that the man’s blood ran in his veins.

Never.

That thought lasted a second, then everything went black.

CAROLINE LAY QUIETLY as the doctors and nurses attended to her wounds. She wondered where her family was. Where was Colin? She felt so alone in this roomful of strangers. They quickly took her to a private room, and Caroline kept looking for her mother, father, Grace and Colin, but all she saw were people she didn’t know.

She had an IV in her arm because the doctor said she was dehydrated. They’d given her something for pain and she was beginning to feel woozy and disoriented. But she had to stay awake and find out how Eli was.

Her hands and feet were bandaged, and a nurse removed her clothes and helped her put on a hospital gown. After making sure she was comfortable, the woman left the room.

Caroline licked her dry lips as tears gathered in her eyes. She felt alone and abandoned and she wanted to touch Eli—to feel his strength. She didn’t even know him, yet she felt a connection she couldn’t explain.

Her eyes grew droopy and she forced them open. She wouldn’t close them. She never wanted to see darkness again—not ever. “Amazing grace” hovered at the back of her mind and she wanted to give in and sing to block everything out.

She heard voices in the hall and that weakness dissipated. Grace was here. She’d know her sister’s voice anywhere. The door burst opened and Grace ran in and grabbed her.

“Caro, Caro,” she cried, holding her tight. “Thank God you’re okay. Thank God you’re alive.”

“Yes. I’m very lucky.”

Grace drew back and brushed away a tear. The sisters looked very much alike, with the same blond hair and green eyes and body shape, except Grace wore her hair pulled back while Caroline’s was usually loose. Their personalities were so different, though, that people often said they didn’t resemble each other.

Caroline was soft and giving, but had an inner strength. Grace was studious, career driven and very much like their father, whom she spent most of her life trying to please. Caroline was just the opposite—needing to be on her own, needing to be her own person.

“My,” Grace said, “look at you. You have scratches on your face and arms, and the doctor said your hands and feet have bad lacerations.”

“They’ll heal.”

Grace frowned. “Couldn’t that Texas Ranger who found you have done more to keep you from getting hurt?”

“I’m alive,” Caroline stressed. “I’m alive. If not for him, I’d be dead.”

Grace shivered and ran her hands up her arms. “Don’t say that. We’ve been so worried and I—”

“Where’s Mom and Dad?” Caroline asked, before they both started bawling like babies.

“You know them. Dad’s giving a news conference and Mom is right beside him, as always. It makes good politics—gets the sympathy of the voters, and that’s top priority—the voter.”