The Mccaffertys: Thorne

“We’re hopeful. As I said, she’s stabilized, but there’s always a question with head injuries.” Nicole wished she could instill more confidence, allay their worries, but couldn’t. “The truth is, it’s gonna be touch-and-go for a while, but she’ll be monitored around the clock.”

“Oh, God,” Slade whispered and the words sounded more like a prayer than a curse.

“I—we appreciate everything you and the other doctors have done.” Matt shot his brother a look meant to silence him. “I just want you to know that whatever she needs, specialists, equipment, whatever, we want her to have it.”

“She does,” Nicole said firmly. In her estimation the staff, facilities and equipment at St. James were excellent, the best she’d seen in a town the size of Grand Hope.

“And the baby? You said he’s okay, right?” Matt asked.

“He seems fine, but he’s being observed for any signs of trauma. He’s in pediatric ICU, as a precaution for the next few hours, just to make sure that he’s strong. From all outward appearances, he’s healthy and hale, we’re just being doubly cautious especially since your sister was in labor and her water had broken before she got to the hospital. Dr. Oliverio will have more details and of course the pediatrician will get in touch with you as well.”

“Damn,” Slade whispered while Matt stood silent and stern.

“When can we see Randi?” Matt asked.

“Soon. She’s still in Recovery. Once she’s settled in ICU and her doctors are satisfied with her condition, she can have visitors—just immediate family—for a few minutes a day. One at a time. Again, her physician will let you know.”

Matt nodded and Slade’s fist clenched, but neither argued. Both brothers’ jaws were square and set, the McCafferty resemblance impossible to ignore.

“You have to understand that Randi’s comatose. She won’t respond to you until she wakes up and I don’t know when that will be—oh, here we go. One of Randi’s doctors.” Spying Dr. Oliverio walking down the hallway, Nicole took a few minutes to introduce the McCafferty brothers, then, excusing herself, made her way to her office.

It was a small room with one window. It barely had enough space for her desk and file cabinet. She usually transcribed her own notes and after shrugging out of her lab coat, flipped on the computer and spent nearly a half an hour at the keyboard writing a report on Randi McCafferty. As she finished, she reached for the phone. Dialing her home number by rote, she massaged the back of her neck and heard the strains of piped-in music for the first time since she’d walked into the hospital hours before.

“Hello?” Jenny Riley answered on the second ring. Jenny, a student at a local community college, watched Nicole’s twins while she worked.

“Hi. It’s Nicole. Just wanted to know what was going on. I’ll be outta here in about—” she checked her watch and sighed “—probably another hour. Anything I should pick up on the way?”

“How about a ray or two of sunshine for Molly?” Jenny quipped. “She’s been in a bad mood ever since she woke up from her nap.”

“Has she?” Nicole grinned as she leaned back in her chair so far that it squeaked in protest. Molly, more precocious than her twin sister, was known to wake up grumpy while Mindy, the shier half of the two girls, always smiled, even when rousted from a nap.

“The worst.”

“Am not!” a tiny, impertinent voice disagreed. “Sure you are, but I love you anyway,” Jenny said, her voice softer as she turned away from the phone.

“Am not the worst!”

Still grinning, Nicole rested a foot on her desk and sighed. The struggles of the day melted away when she thought of her daughters, two four-year-old dynamos who kept her running, the reasons she’d stayed sane after her divorce.

“Tell them I’ll bring home pizza if they’re good.” She listened as Jenny relayed the message and heard a squeal of delight.

“They’re pumped now,” Jenny assured her and Nicole laughed just as there was a sharp rap on the door before it was pushed open abruptly. A tall man—maybe six foot three or four—nearly filled the frame. Her heart plummeted as she recognized Thorne.

“Dr. Stevenson?” he demanded, his face set and stern before recognition flared in his eyes and for the briefest of seconds she saw regret chase across his face.

“Look Jenny, I’ve got to go,” she said into the receiver as she hung up slowly, righted her chair and dropped her feet to the floor.

“Nikki?” he said, disbelieving.

Nicole stood but on her side of the desk, her barely five-foot-three-inch frame no match for his height. “Dr. Stevenson now.”

“You’re Randi’s doctor?”

“The ER physician who admitted her.” Why, after all the time that had passed and all the pain, did she still feel a ridiculous flutter of disappointment that he hadn’t, in all the years since she’d last seen him, ever looked her up? It was silly. Stupid. Beyond naive. And it had no business here; not when his sister was fighting for her life. “I’m not her doctor, you understand. I helped stabilize her for surgery, then the team took over, but I did stop to speak with your brothers out of courtesy because I knew they’d been waiting a long time and the surgeons were still wrapping things up.”

“I see.” Thorne’s handsome face had aged over the years. No longer were any vestiges of boyhood visible. His features were set and stern, matched only by the severity of his black suit, crisp white shirt and tie—the mark of a CEO of his own little empire. “I didn’t know—didn’t expect to find you here.”

“I imagine not.”

His eyes, a deep, troubled gray, held hers in a gaze that she knew was often daunting but now seemed weary and worried sick. “Did you see your brothers in ICU?” Nicole asked.

“I came directly here. Slade called, said a Dr. Stevenson was in charge, so when I got here, I asked for you at the information desk.” As if reading the questions in her eyes, he added, “I wanted to know what I was dealing with before I saw Randi.”

“Fair enough.” She waved him into the office and motioned to the small plastic chair on the other side of the desk. “Have a seat. I’ll tell you what I know, then you can talk to Randi’s other doctors about her prognosis.” As she reached for her lab coat, she leveled a gaze at him that had been known to shrink even the cockiest of interns. She wanted him to understand. She was no longer the needy little girl he’d dated, seduced and tossed aside. “But I think we should get something straight right now. As you can see this is my private office. Usually people knock, then wait for an answer, before they come barging in.”

His jaw tightened. “I was in a hurry. But—fine. Next time I’ll remember.”

Oh, Thorne, there’s never gonna be a next time. “Good.”

“So she’s in ICU?” Thorne asked.

“Yes.” Nicole sketched out the details of Randi’s emergency arrival to St. James, her conditions and the ensuing procedures. Thorne listened, his expression solemn, his gray eyes never leaving her face.

Once she was finished, he asked a few quick questions, loosened his tie and said, “Let’s go.”

“To ICU? Both of us?”

“Yes.” He was on his feet.

Nicole bristled a bit, ready to fight fire with fire until she spied the hint of pain in his gaze and a twinge of some other emotion that bordered on guilt.

“I suppose I can do that,” she agreed, hazarding a glance at her watch. She was running late, but being behind schedule came with the territory. As did dealing with worried relatives of her patients. “Let me make sure she’s out of Recovery first.” Nicole made a quick phone call, discovered that Randi had been transferred and explained that she and the patient’s brother were on their way. For the duration of the short conversation she felt the weight of Thorne McCafferty’s gaze upon her and she wondered if he remembered anything about the relationship that had changed the course of her life. Probably not. Once his initial shock at recognizing her had worn off, he was all business. “Okay,” she said hanging up. “All set. Matt and Slade have already seen Randi and the nurse on duty wasn’t crazy about a third visitor, but I persuaded her.”

“Are my brothers still here?”

“I don’t know. They told the nurse they’d be back but didn’t say when.” She adjusted her lab coat and rounded the desk. He had the manners to hold the door for her and as they swept down the hallways he kept up with her fast pace, his long strides equal to two of hers. She’d forgotten that about him. But then she’d tried to erase every memory she’d ever had of him.

A foot taller than she, intimidating and forceful, Thorne walked the same way he faced life—with a purpose. She wondered if he’d ever had a frivolous moment in his life. Years before, she’d realized that even those stolen hours with her had been all a part of Thorne’s plan.

At the elevator, Nicole waited as a gurney carrying a frail-looking elderly woman connected to an IV drip was pushed into the hallway by an aide, then she stepped inside. The doors shut. She and Thorne were alone. For the first time in years. He stood ramrod stiff beside her and if he noticed the intimacy of the elevator car, he didn’t show it. His face was set, his shoulders square, his gaze riveted to the panel displaying the floor numbers.

Silly as it was, Nicole couldn’t remember having ever been so uncomfortable.

The elevator jerked to a stop and as they walked through the carpeted hallways, Thorne finally broke the silence. “On the telephone, Slade mentioned something about Randi not making it.”

“There’s always that chance when injuries are as severe as your sister’s.” They’d reached the doors of the Intensive Care Unit and she, reminding herself to remain professional at all times, angled her head upward to stare straight into his steel-colored eyes. “But she’s young and strong, getting the best medical care we can provide, so there’s no need to borrow trouble, or voice your concerns around your sister. She’s comatose, yes, but we don’t know what she does or doesn’t hear or feel. Please, for her sake, keep all your worries and doubts to yourself.” He seemed about to protest and by instinct, Nicole reached forward and touched his hand, her fingers encountering skin that was hard and surprisingly callused. “We’re doing everything we can, Thorne,” she said and half expected him to pull away. “Your sister’s fighting for her life. I know you want what’s best for her, so whenever you’re around her, I want you to be positive, nurturing and supportive. Okay?”

He nodded curtly but his lips tightened a bit. He wasn’t and never had been used to taking orders or advice—not from anyone. “Any questions?”