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If he’s lasted through the night.
The heels of her boots sent sharp echoes bouncing off the bare green walls. An aide in a uniform the color of cotton candy pushed an empty wheelchair past the nurses’ station. At the far end of the hall, cafeteria workers grabbed breakfast trays from a tall cart. A strong antiseptic odor mingled with the scent of powdered eggs and burned coffee. Kelly pinched her nose, shutting out the acrid smells.
One hundred ten...one hundred fourteen...one hundred twenty. The door to room one twenty-two was closed, and she froze, suddenly uncertain if she dared go inside despite all it had taken to get there. What if, a dozen years after he’d thrown her out of his house, her grandfather still refused to see her? Or worse, what if she was too late? What if he’d taken his last breath while she was cutting across Louisiana? What if his heart had stopped beating when she’d pulled over for coffee outside of Gainesville?
Her hand shook so hard it rattled the door handle, but there was nowhere else to go, nothing else to do. She squared her shoulders, eased the door open and stepped into Paul Tompkins’s hospital room.
Crisp white linens covered the empty bed. Folds at the corners of the mattress formed razor-sharp edges. Smooth, white, untouched, a pillow sat at the head of the bed. Movement on the nightstand beside it caught her eye. An ache swelled in her chest as she watched a drip of condensation roll down the side of a water pitcher. Kelly’s breath stalled.
Was he...gone?
Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away the same way she had brushed aside the sudden realization of how much she’d wanted this chance to finally make peace with the man who’d raised her. The man who’d kicked her off his ranch. The man who’d accused her of betraying the family name, and all because she’d had the bad fortune of falling in love with the boy next door.
Her grandfather hadn’t spoken to her since. She wasn’t sure if he knew or even cared that she’d broken things off with Hank Judd a month before graduation. That she’d parlayed an entry-level sales position into a desk in the corporate headquarters of Palmetto Boots, the largest family-owned boot company in America. She wondered if he’d think twice about the fact that she’d dropped everything, put her career at risk, to jump in the car and drive through the night to get to his side.
Had she missed her chance?
A sob lodged in her throat. She swallowed and tore her gaze away from the empty bed. Praying for some sign she was wrong, she scanned past a wide window and over the sleeping figure seated in a chair by the door. Her inspection stuttered and backtracked to a pair of worn boots. A shiver started at the nape of her neck and swept down her spine.
She skimmed slowly upward, over denim-clad legs to thighs that maintained their muscular shape even in repose. Her breathing slowed as she scrutinized a familiar chiseled jaw, the stubbled cheeks she’d once cupped in her fingers. The brim of a sweat-stained Stetson cast shadows across his eyes, and she expelled her breath, thankful she hadn’t come face-to-face with one of her grandfather’s sworn enemies—not to mention the man who’d betrayed her trust.
From the hall came the sound of muted voices. A cart rolled past the door, its wheels squeaking. The noise drifted into the room, where it disturbed Hank’s slumber. His hat tipped back as he yawned, stretched and opened eyes that had always reminded her of clear blue water. For half a second, a lazy smile graced the lips she’d once loved to kiss. Then, awareness swam into his focus, and his lips straightened. The warm aqua eyes turned an icy blue.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
Ignoring her question, Hank uncrossed his ankles, leaned forward. His hands found his knees and he stood. “I see you finally made it.”
The harsh tone hurt more than she’d thought it would, given the time and distance that had stretched between them. She hid her pain behind a cold glare. “Don’t start with me, Hank. I’ve been driving all night.”
Had the harsh brackets around his mouth softened ever so slightly? She peered up at him. Despite her own five feet, ten inches, he towered over her. There’d been a time when she thought his shoulders were wide enough to support the weight of the world. In truth, they hadn’t been strong enough to bear the burden of the secret they’d shared.
“It didn’t seem right leaving him alone all night, so I stayed.” He mopped his face with one hand. “Must’a nodded off for a bit.”
“You’re the one who found him, then?” Her gaze drifted down. The wiry chest she’d once laid her head against had widened considerably. So much so that she struggled to remind herself he wasn’t the only one who’d changed since the last time they’d seen each other.
“Yeah. He must’a took a spill off his horse.” His voice softening, Hank swept his hat from his head and ran a hand through hair that no longer brushed the back of his collar the way it had when they were in high school. “No tellin’ how long he’d been lying there, or how long he would have, if I hadn’t come by when I did.”
“Is he—” she glanced fearfully at the bed “—is he gone?”
“Afraid so.” Hank’s voice softened. “They came for him about an hour ago.”
She was too late. Too late to heal the breach. Too late to say goodbye. The room spun, and she swayed while eighteen long hours behind the wheel caught up with her. An inky blackness blotted her vision.
She blinked hard.
Hank’s arms wrapped around her, lending her his strength, his support. She laid her head against his broad chest, automatically seeking the firm plane over his heart.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Steady now.”
* * *
NOT QUITE CERTAIN how he’d gone from sparring with the woman who’d stomped his heart flat as a dried out cow patty to hanging on to her lest she collapse into a puddle on the floor, Hank sank his chin into Kelly’s silky hair. He wrapped his arms around her, wondering at the narrowness of her frame, the slight indentation between her shoulder blades. She trembled, and he rubbed her back, murmured soothing words. He drank in the fragrance of lilac, which carried him back to the feel of straw and of Kelly beneath him as they made love in the Circle P’s hayloft.
“The docs here know what they’re doing. You’ll see. They’ll have his leg fixed in no time.”
Kelly backed out of his embrace, taking her warmth with her. With nothing but cold air to fill them, his hands dropped to his sides while her eyes narrowed. He blinked. Same old Kelly. What had he said or done wrong this time?
Her lips thinned as she studied him. “You mean he’s not... He’s still alive?”
“Of course he is. It’s just a broke leg.” He winced, remembering the sharp angle of the break. He let his eyebrows knit. She thought her flinty grandfather was knocking at death’s door?
Where’d she get that idea?
Hank swallowed a growl. He hadn’t called her. Couldn’t have, even if he’d wanted to. He’d long since rid himself of every reminder of the relationship that had burned so hot it’d consumed itself. The staff at the hospital hadn’t notified her. It had taken some time to ride back to the Circle P, hop in his truck and hightail it into town, but he’d stopped at Registration before coming upstairs. That left Tompkins’s personal physician, who, if he knew Kelly, would get an earful for making her drive through the night for something as simple as a broken leg.
“They’ll set it,” he said, mustering a reassuring smile. “He’ll be laid up for a bit, I’m sure. But you’ll see—he’ll be back to his crotchety old self in no time.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.” Kelly edged away from him until she reached the window. Blinking into the harsh sunlight of a new day, she folded her arms across her chest.
Hank waited her out. In truth, he was glad for the reprieve. He used the time to rub his palms together, trying to rid his fingers of the tingles that had arced through them when he’d taken Kelly in his arms. At some point in the dozen years since they’d last spoken, she’d lost the tan that came from spending days on end beneath the Florida sky. Tiny lines etched the corners of eyes that were more green than hazel. The sandy-blond hair remained the same, but it was longer. Even as he watched, she loosened the clip holding it in place. A waterfall of thick hair cascaded onto her shoulders. It spilled farther south until the ends swayed slightly above the waist of skinny jeans that were never intended for mucking stalls or herding cattle.
He scrubbed a hand along the side of the Wranglers he hadn’t bothered changing in his rush to get to the hospital. “Time for me to get movin’.” He’d had his fill of women who were all surface and glitter, from the tips of their rhinestone-studded boots to their curve-hugging shirts. Women like Kelly.
“Thanks for all you’ve done. I know Pops will—he’ll appreciate it.” Kelly continued to stare through the double-glass panes. “I’ll swing by the Bar X on my way out. Leave orders for the hired hands to keep things running until he’s discharged.”
“You’re not staying then?”
“At the Bar X?” She turned, a wistful look playing at the corners of her mouth. “Not hardly. He won’t want me there, not unless the fall knocked some sense into that stubborn old mule.”
She looked up at him, her glance searching for reassurance that wasn’t his to give.
“Well, then.” Hank toed the tiled floor with one booted foot. He paused, wavering between telling her what he knew and letting her figure things out for herself. “Look,” he said at last, “I can ask around, but it didn’t look like he had anyone working for him. The bunkhouse was deserted.”
Kelly’s eyes widened. “That’s impossible. Pops always had a good-size crew.”
Hank ran his fingers over the brim of his hat. It’d take a dozen men to keep a spread the size of the Tompkinses’ place in tip-top shape. Which, when he stopped to think about it, could account for all the signs of neglect he’d noted on the Bar X. He took a breath. How the neighbors ran their ranch wasn’t any of his business.
“Tell your grandfather everybody’s—” He bit his tongue. Paul Tompkins was better at making enemies than friends, so saying they’d all be praying for a quick recovery was pushing it a mite. He clamped his hat on his head. “I’ll stop by the ranch on my way home. Make sure the cows and horses are tended to. It’s the neighborly thing to do,” he added over Kelly’s protests.
He made it halfway to the door before it swung open. A doctor wearing green scrubs stepped into the room. His gaze swept past Hank.
“Ms. Tompkins?” The doc tugged a paper cap from his hair. “I’m Dr. Sheffield, your grandfather’s surgeon.”
Kelly grabbed Hank’s forearm. “Stay, Hank. Please?”
It was a good thing he’d worn long sleeves, he told himself. Otherwise, her touch might have branded him. One glance and he knew he didn’t have it in him to refuse her. Maybe later, when he’d gotten a good night’s sleep and had had more to eat than a stale pack of crackers from the vending machine down the hall. But not now. Not when the grim look on the doctor’s face made him think Kelly might appreciate some support.
From an old friend. A neighbor. And nothing more.
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Dr. Sheffield propped one shoulder against the wall. “I inserted pins to immobilize your grandfather’s leg until it heals. He’s still in Recovery, but you should be able to see him in another hour or so. We’ll remove the cast in six to eight weeks.”
Fatigue etched its way deeper into Kelly’s face. “Thank you, doctor,” she whispered. “I’m sure he’ll be glad about that. How long will he need to stay in the hospital, do you think?”
“We’ll keep him here for another two days before discharging him to a rehab facility. The leg will need to be elevated and completely immobilized until the cast comes off.”
Hank could practically see Kelly packing her bags and climbing behind the wheel of her car. As long as her grandfather was in rehab, the old man wouldn’t need her help.
“After that...” The doctor peered at her. “Have you considered which nursing home you’ll use? The best ones have waiting lists. You’ll want to get him on one now.”
“Nursing home? For a broken leg?” Kelly’s eyes turned a darker shade of green. “I thought he’d go home. Maybe with a nurse or...” Her voice trailed off when the doctor shook his head.
“Hasn’t anyone discussed his condition with you? Dr. Payne, the neurologist? Or Dr. Stewart, his general practitioner?”
“I live in Houston, Dr. Sheffield. I’ve been traveling all night to get here. I only arrived a few minutes ago.”
“In that case... ” Sheffield swept a quick look around the room. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“Thanks. But I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”
Hank’s hand found Kelly’s shoulder. He squeezed gently, letting her know he was there for her.
“Ms. Tompkins, I’m afraid your grandfather has experienced a cerebral hemorrhage. In layman’s terms, a stroke. His neurologist, Dr. Payne, ran a CT scan and an MRI, both of which confirmed the diagnosis. It appears there’s been significant damage. We won’t know the full extent for another twenty-four hours. Until the patient stabilizes. We do know he’s paralyzed on the right side. We believe he’s aphasic.” At Kelly’s frown, he clarified. “It’s not unusual. Some stroke patients lose the ability to speak, or to understand anything said to them. What little your grandfather has managed to say is gibberish.”
“You’re sure, doc?” Hank asked, giving Kelly a moment to recover. “Paul, he spoke earlier.” The old man had mumbled Kelly’s name. At least, he’d thought so at the time. Hank ran a hand through his hair. At the doctor’s skeptical glance, he reached forward. “I’m Hank Judd, Dr. Sheffield. I’m the one who found him.”
“Too bad you didn’t get him to us sooner. If you had, there would have been drugs we could have used to break up the clot, but—” Sheffield cupped his chin “—by the time he got to the hospital, the damage was permanent.”
Hank fought the urge to double over. Maybe he should have slung the old guy on the back of his horse instead of waiting for the ambulance to arrive.
Ignoring him, the doctor turned to Kelly. “They’ll work with him in the rehab facility, of course. With the right kind of therapy, your grandfather may regain some of his motor skills. But the prognosis isn’t good. You should start thinking about where he’ll get the long-term, full-time care he’ll need.”
Beneath his hand, Hank felt Kelly stiffen. He leaned toward the woman whose posture had hardened. “I’m sorry, Kelly,” he whispered.
“You should leave now.” She stepped away from him, dropping her shoulder bag on the bed. “The doctor and I have a few things to discuss. My grandfather’s condition is a private family matter.”
A family he didn’t belong to any more than she did his. Once upon a time, he’d thought they’d had a future together. But that was before he’d made a stupid mistake. She’d ended it then without giving him a second chance. Much like she was closing the door on his help now.
Guilt tore at him, but Hank refused to let it show. He straightened his Stetson and marched out of the room without asking the question foremost on his mind. Would she stay now, or would she go?
Chapter Two (#ulink_78f3b5a0-a29c-5adf-8f57-dff8e45ffb0d)
Kelly held her breath while the hospital caseworker pursed brightly painted lips. After spending far too long consulting her clipboard, the woman finally added, “Your best bet is to get in touch with your grandfather’s attorney. Find out if Mr. Tompkins has a care plan in place.”
A half hour into a conversation in which she felt increasingly out of her depth, Kelly gave the woman a relieved smile. Margie Johnson had finally made a suggestion she could follow. “He always used Jim Buchanan over on the coast. I’ll call him today.”
“Good. That’s good.” Margie gave the empty hospital corridor a quick study. She leaned forward, her features softening. “I really shouldn’t say this,” she whispered. “I’m overstepping my bounds. But if he hasn’t already named someone, don’t leave it up to the courts to assign a professional guardian. Those people will bleed the estate dry, then stick your grandfather in the cheapest facility they can find. I could tell you horror stories.” Margie drew back, sighing. “In times like these, we always prefer it if a family member steps in.”
This just gets better and better.
“I’ll look into it. Maybe he already has someone.” Though, considering her grandfather’s surly attitude and the long-standing bitterness he’d held toward his closest neighbors, Kelly didn’t think it likely. She combed her fingers through her hair, pushing it off her face. A trip to West Palm would delay her return to Houston, but did she have a choice?
Though he’d never bothered to hide his resentment, her grandfather had kept a roof over her head when no one else would. Looking back, she knew he’d had it rough—a widower trying to raise his granddaughter on his own. Would things have been different between them if—just once—he’d told her he loved her? If he’d said he was glad her mother had left her behind when she’d taken off for the last time? Or given any indication he knew, much less cared, how often his granddaughter cried herself to sleep at night?
He hadn’t. Instead, he’d treated her like any other chore on his South Florida ranch, all the while criticizing her every move. He’d objected to her friends, her clothes, her attitude until she’d given up any hope of ever pleasing him.
Still, didn’t she owe him?
Not that she had the time. No, she needed to get back to Houston, where final negotiations were underway for the big account she’d spent the past six months landing. She had to be there. Had to make sure every t was crossed, every i dotted. There was too much riding on this deal. Signing a major client would earn her acceptance into the Palmetto family. It would mean she’d finally have the financial security she’d worked for since the day she took that entry-level position stocking shelves. That she’d never again have to rely on someone who might let her down the way her grandfather had. The way Hank had.
Stepping into her grandfather’s room, Kelly sank onto the chair beside the bed. The wrinkled neck and sunken cheeks above the stark white sheet had to belong to someone else. Not to the grandfather who’d ruled his household and his ranch with an iron fist. This man’s hand lay lifeless at his side. His coarse gray hair fluttered with his every exhale. Kelly leaned forward and brushed a few wisps off his forehead.
“Did you miss me, old man?” she whispered.
She straightened his oxygen tube. She’d give him one thing: Paul Tompkins could hold a grudge. He’d never had a good word to say about the neighbors who, he claimed, had stolen the Bar X’s water rights fifty years earlier. More recently, her grandfather had blamed the families next door for his wife’s death in a car accident. Every insult or slight, whether real or imagined, had only deepened his hatred for the Judds and the Parkers. And he’d never forgiven her, either, not since the day he learned she’d crossed the line—fallen in love with a boy from one of the families he despised above all others. As punishment, her grandfather had kicked her out of his house the day she graduated from high school. The figure on the bed moaned. Kelly withdrew her fingers.
If wishes were horses...
The doctors said he might never recover enough to heal the breach between them. Still, the time had come to repay the favors—slim as they were—he’d shown her when she was alone in the world. She’d arrange for his long-term care. She’d find someone to tend his ranch. But she couldn’t do those things sitting beside a man doctors said might never walk or talk again. A man who, in all likelihood, would drift through the next twenty-four hours in a dreamless sleep.
She blotted a bit of drool from his leathery cheek and whispered, “See you later, Pops.” Trusting the nurses to get in touch with her if his condition changed, she headed out the door. On the drive, she made some of the calls the caseworker had suggested. One landed her an appointment the next day with Jim Buchanan.
An hour later, she pried open the mailbox outside the gate to the Bar X. Bills and circulars slid across the seat as her sturdy SUV bounced over a drive in desperate need of grading and rolling. At the end of the road, she stepped from the vehicle onto hard-packed dirt in front of the house she’d once called home. Burnweed and chamberbitter had taken over the narrow strip of lawn she’d mowed once a week, every week, for eight years. She climbed carefully over the broken steps leading to the front porch. Her grandfather never locked the house, but humidity had swollen the door tight. Putting her shoulder into it, she shoved it open.
Stale, overheated air clogged her throat as she stepped into the living room. Little had changed since the last time she’d crossed the threshold. Maybe the floral print on the overstuffed couch in front of the window had faded a bit. A thicker layer of dust coated the end tables. A few more cobwebs hung in the corners. But ranching magazines and farm reports littered the floor around her grandfather’s recliner the way they always had. The same braided rug covered the worn hardwood.
She stopped only long enough to draw open the drapes and hit the switch on the overhead fan before she made her way into the dining room. There, she added the day’s mail to a growing pile. She rifled through a stack of bills, dismayed by the collection of late and overdue notices that had been sitting untouched for so long they felt gritty.
“What have you been up to, old man?” she muttered. The meeting with her grandfather’s attorney was starting to take on even greater significance.
A wave of nostalgia swept her when she headed down a short hall into a room where once bright paint had darkened to dull beige. Their corners curled and yellowed, posters of pop bands whose fame had long-since faded dotted the walls. She made quick work of stripping the sheets someone had draped over the furniture before she pulled a worn pair of jeans and a T-shirt from her bag. As much as she itched to give the house a thorough cleaning, it would have to wait for another day. On her grandfather’s ranch, the livestock always took top priority.
Her hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail, she headed outside. She strode across the yard to the cattle pen, where troughs filled with food and water told her she owed Hank another round of thanks. An approaching pickup truck meant she’d have the opportunity sooner than she had expected. Despite all that had gone on between them, her heart did a little dance when the tall rancher stepped from behind the wheel.
“Hey.” She crossed to him, her hand outstretched in a neighborly fashion. Keeping her tone decidedly neutral, she said, “Thanks for seeing to the livestock.”
She felt the press of Hank’s calloused hand in hers and waited an instant. When no chills raced up her arm, she relaxed, certain time and distance had healed her broken heart. He’d crushed her, turned his back on her when she’d needed him most, and she’d moved on. Her life, her future, was in Houston.
“Not a problem.” He leaned into the truck and emerged bearing a casserole dish in one hand, a large paper bag in the other. His lips slid into their trademark half grin. “Our cook, Emma, sent food. Let me take it inside for you.”
Kelly sent a troubled look over one shoulder. “If you think it’s bad out here, you should see the house. I’ll spare you that.” She hustled the food into the kitchen. When she emerged five minutes later, Hank was nowhere to be seen, but his truck hadn’t moved.
She followed the clang of metal against metal to the barn, where the bitter smell of ammonia stung her nose and brought tears to her eyes. Wiping them, she swept a quick glance down a crowded center aisle. She noted tools and equipment in haphazard piles, bales of hay that should have been stored upstairs in the loft. Scum floated in the closest watering trough. The three stalls on each side of the aisle needed serious attention.
Hank was already hard at work in one. Grabbing a pair of gloves and a shovel, she stepped into the stall across from him. Muscles that had grown used to working out at the gym sent up a protest when she bent to remove the old bedding, but the routine came back quickly as she raked and spread fresh straw. Across the aisle, Hank worked without speaking until they finished the first set of stalls.
As they moved on to the next pair, Kelly stripped her gloves from her hands while Hank drank from a thermos.
