The Mccaffertys: Thorne

Her ex-husband’s words, “You’ll never make it on your own,” echoed through her mind and she felt her spine stiffen. Right, Paul, she thought now, but I’m not on my own. I’ve got the kids. And I’m going to make it. On my own.

Every minute of that painful, doomed marriage was worth it because she had the girls. They were a family—maybe not an old-fashioned, traditional, 1950s sitcom family, but a family nonetheless.

She thought fleetingly of Randi’s baby, tucked away in the maternity ward, his father not yet found, his mother in a coma and she wondered what would become of the little boy.

But the baby has Thorne and Matt and Slade. Between the three of them, certainly the boy would be taken care of. Every one of the McCafferty brothers seemed interested in the child, but each one of them was a bachelor—how confirmed, she didn’t know.

“Not that it matters,” she reminded herself and glanced outside where rain was dripping from the gutters and splashing against the window. She thought of Thorne again, of the way his lips felt against hers, and she realized that she had to avoid being alone with him. She had to keep their relationship professional because she knew from experience that Thorne was trouble.

Big trouble.

* * *

He was making a mistake of incredible proportions and he knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself. Driving through the city streets and silently marveling at how this town had grown, he’d decided to see Nikki again before returning to the ranch. She’d probably throw him out and he really didn’t blame her as he’d come on way too strong, but he had to see her again.

After watching her wheel out of the parking lot after their last confrontation, he’d walked back into the hospital, downed a cup of bitter coffee in the cafeteria, then tried to track down any doctor remotely associated with Randi and the baby. He’d struck out with most, left messages on their answering machines and after talking to a nurse in Pediatrics and one in ICU, he’d called the ranch, told Slade that he’d be back soon, then paused at the gift shop in the hospital lobby, bought a single white rose and, ducking his shoulders against the rain, ran outside and climbed into his truck.

“This is nuts,” he told himself as he drove across a bridge and into an established part of town, to the address he’d found in the telephone directory when he’d made his calls to the other doctors. Bracing himself for a blistering reception, he parked in front of the small cottage, grabbed the single flower and climbed out of the car.

Jaw set he dashed up the cement walk, and before he could change his mind, pressed on the door buzzer. He’d been in tighter spots than this. He heard noises inside, the sound of feet. The porch light snapped on and he saw her eyebrows and eyes peer through one of the three small windows cut into the door. A moment later they disappeared as, he supposed, she dropped to her flat feet from her tiptoes.