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He didn’t appreciate it. He had a million other things on his mind, the most important of which was lying in one of the rooms on the third floor.
So how come he’d been finding ways to sneak glances at the way her hips curved out in a completely feminine, pleasing way? How come he was noticing the way the ivory skin of her neck contrasted so well with the dark auburn hair floating halfway down her back? How come he was kind of hoping she’d smile again his way?
He scrambled for something to say. “So … are you planning to stay here for a while?”
“I hope so. I just got the job.”
“No. I mean here at the hospital.”
“Here? Oh, no. We really need to get a handle on this diabetes stuff so I can get back to work.”
“Diabetes?” Cal struggled to recall what he knew about the disease, to show that he wasn’t completely self-centered. “Isn’t your boy kind of young for that?”
“It’s type 1. You know, juvenile diabetes.” When he couldn’t help but stare at her blankly, she added, “It does hit juveniles, you know. He’s young enough for that.”
Cal tried to recall some article he’d read in the dentist’s waiting room. “Don’t you get diabetes from a poor diet or something? You know, you probably shouldn’t be letting him eat hot dogs.”
In an instant, all traces of friendliness vanished. Pure loathing lashed out at him. “For your information, Mr. Riddell, type 1 diabetes is an autoimmune disease. You can’t ‘get it’ from hot dogs.”
Crap. “Oh. I’m—”
“What? You’re a genius at diseases because you’re standing in a hospital?” she interrupted. “You know what? I think I liked you better when you stuck to one-word answers.”
Cal almost tried to explain himself again, but he felt like a fool. And he really hated feeling like a fool.
Instead, he opted for just standing there as she sashayed down the hall, pushed the elevator button and waited for the doors to open.
And waited.
As she stood and fumed—and as he watched her fume—Cal knew he should do something. The right thing to do would be to go up to her and apologize. Again. No woman wanted to hear anything bad about her mothering skills.
But memories of getting burned ran deep. Long ago, Christy had made such a laughingstock out of him that he’d quit the rodeo circuit.
For months, all everyone and their brother talked about was how he’d been whipped well and good by a tiny gal from Texarkana.
So self-preservation kicked in. The better thing to do was to keep himself still. Distant. Then he wouldn’t get hurt.
He didn’t move a muscle until those elevator doors closed behind her.
Chapter Three
Hours later, back at the ranch, all hell was breaking loose.
“Cal, where’ve you been?” Ginny cried the moment he walked in through the front door, her face streaked with tears and chocolate.
He grunted as she strung two arms around him, getting his starched shirt smeared with streaks of brown goo. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, giving in to the inevitable. “I’ve been at the hospital helping Dad,” he said soothingly. “You know that.”
“I tr-tried to call you. You didn’t pick up.”
He patted her some more. “That’s ‘cause you’ve got to turn off your cell phones in the hospital. What’s wrong? Did you get in a fight again?” His scrappy sister couldn’t seem to regulate her temper. Time and again, in true Riddell fashion, she let her emotions get the best of her, much to her teacher’s dismay.
“No.” She dug in her head, plastering her cheek against his belly. As always, a deep, all-encompassing love filled him for the girl. His little slip of a sister.
“So what’s got you so riled up?” he murmured, patting her long brown hair. Hair the same shade as his own.
Raising his head, he was relieved to see Gwen standing in the hall leading to the kitchen. Gwen was a grandmother whose grandchildren lived in Houston. She’d missed living with a family, and they’d all needed a woman’s hand in helping raise Virginia after Carolyn had taken off. In return for room and board, Gwen helped out as much as she could.
Her lips pursed when their eyes met.
“What’s going on?” he mouthed.
“A lot.” She sighed. “We got a call about an hour ago. Trent’s in the hospital in Albuquerque.”
He stiffened. “What? When?”
Ginny untangled herself from his arms and pulled him down to eye level. “A bull threw him and he hurt his ribs. Bad. And his arm and a kidney, too.” Eyes wide, she said, “Right, Gwen?”
“Kind of.” Her lips curved slightly. “His arm is broken. And the rest of him isn’t so good.”
Cal felt his insides do a flip turn. Of the three brothers, Trent was by far the most talented bull rider. His younger brother was fearless in the ring, and had enough confidence for the whole family.
He’d won so many buckles and trophies that the rest of them just kind of counted on him always coming out of the pen the winner. So much so that Cal had begun to take his brother’s performances almost for granted. Sometimes, he even forgot to look at the recaps on the computer or check in with Trent on a regular basis.
But now Cal realized he’d been foolish to imagine that his brother was invincible. “How bad is not good?” he asked around a sinking feeling of dread. “Do I need to go fly out there?”
“I don’t think so. From what I can gather, in addition to the broken arm, two ribs are cracked.” Lowering her voice, she added, “He might have a concussion, too. They’re doing tests today to check for any internal injuries.”
“But that’s all?” he asked sarcastically.
“It could be worse,” Gwen murmured, her brown eyes sympathetic. “No one thinks there’s anything life threatening. He’s going to be checked out momentarily. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Wait and see. First for his dad, now for his brother. Cal didn’t reckon he had too much patience left inside him. “I, for one, am getting pretty tired of doing that wait-and-see two-step. It’s wearin’ me out.”
“I feel the same way,” she said with a commiserating look. “Just so you know, I called Jarred in Mexico.”
“I’m glad you did. What did he say?”
“Nothing, because he didn’t pick up. I must have called four times, too. He didn’t pick up that phone once.”
“You’d think the boy could manage to check messages every once in a while. No one can be in bed that much.”
Gwen winced. “Honestly, Junior. Watch your tongue.”
Ginny scrambled out of his arms. “How come Jarred’s in bed? Is he sick, too?”
“Just lovesick.” When his sister’s eyes widened, Cal rushed to give her another answer. “I mean, he’s fine. Now, don’t you be worrying about Jarred. I was only joking, sweetheart.”
Her lips trembled. “Okay.”
When he spied a tear slide down her face, mixing in with her chocolate mess, he reached out for her again. “Ginny, I just told you the God’s honest truth. How come you’re crying again?”
“I want everyone to come on home and be like it used to be.”
“That would be nice.” He’d like that, too. But even in a month of Sundays, it sure as hell wasn’t going to happen. Things had happened. Their dad got old and he and his brothers grew up.
“When’s Daddy coming home?”
“Now, that’s something I’m not sure about.” Leading Ginny into the kitchen, he pulled out her white step stool. “Hop up,” he ordered. Then returning to the conversation about their dad, he said, “Here’s the thing. Dad’s going to need a lot of special help.”
“How much?”
“A lot. He’s not going to be able to do a lot of things by himself, and he’s going to need round-the-clock care, too.” Looking Gwen’s way, he said, “That’s going to mean lots of driving and sitting around. And sitting and watching. Any chance you could help out with that?”
Gwen frowned. “Junior, I like you enough to even sit by your father’s side and get chewed on regularly. But I just don’t think I can.”
“You don’t?” His heart sank.
Tilting her head in Ginny’s direction, she said, “I could help out some, of course, but really I don’t think I’ll have that kind of time. Someone’s got to get this little thing where she needs to go….” Her voice drifted off. Obviously Gwen was uncomfortable telling him no.
But she had a valid point. Ginny needed her regular routine. Disruptions meant outbursts and fights in school and tears at home … and that wasn’t going to be good for anyone.
“You’re right. I know. We’ve got a lot going on….” He turned on the faucet, picked up the hand soap and held it up. “Hands.”
Dutifully, Ginny stuck them out. He squirted. “Rub. Now rinse.”
As she did as he requested, he pulled over a couple of paper towels and dampened them, then did a cursory scrub over her cheeks. That was what life was all about with a six-year-old girl, he supposed.
Drama and dirt.
As soon as she was clean and dry, he sat with her and Gwen at the kitchen table. “I just don’t know how we’re going to give him the care he needs.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I was thinking we’d just care for him here … but now with Trent in the hospital, too, I don’t think that’s going to fly.”
“Maybe a rehabilitation place?” She snapped her fingers. “There’s the Electra Lodge.”
Reluctantly he nodded. “The hospital recommended that, as a matter of fact. I guess Dad could stay there for a month and get the round-the-clock attention he deserves.”
Gwen perked up. “What’s it like? Have you heard?”
“It’s probably pretty nice. We could check it out….” But all Cal could think about was the fact that Susan Young worked there. It would sure be his just deserts if his dad ended up being cared for by Susan. Every visit there was sure to be filled with irritation and arguments.
If they were even that lucky.
“Daddy’s gonna want to be home with me,” Ginny interjected.
“I know he’s going to want to be home with you, sugar. But we don’t have too much of a choice. Dad has health issues,” he said vaguely. “And other issues, too.”
“When he gets better, he’ll be able to ride all the time.”
“I hope so.”
Looking at him directly, Gwen asked, “So do we have a plan?”
“I’m afraid so. I’ll try to contact Jarred and Trent, but unless they want to play nursemaid, it’s the best solution. He’s going to need more care than we can give him. Plus, he’s gonna be as cranky as all get-out, too. You know he’s going to take exception to anything I say. He always does. We don’t have time for that.”
“Good luck with that conversation.”
“Thanks. I’m going to need it.”
Ginny tugged on his shirt. “Cal? Are you mad now?”
“Not at all, sugar.” Forcing a grin, he bent down to her. “What do you say we go check on the horses? Maybe they’d like a little snack.”
As he’d expected, she hopped from her stool and grinned. “I bet Casper wants an apple.”
“I’m sure that horse does. Pick one out and I’ll cut it up, sugar.”
“DO YOU THINK WE’LL EVER get a better TV?” Hank asked as Susan tried once again to get the salt-and-pepper mess off the nineteen-inch screen in their tiny living room.
“I do,” she replied. She was absolutely positive they would get a better television. One day.
Hank narrowed his eyes. “Soon?”
“No.”
Hank sighed. “Jeremy has a television in his room that’s bigger than this. You wouldn’t believe how good it looks.”
“Oh, I would. This TV isn’t too big at all. But we’ve got other things to pay for, Hank. It can’t be helped.”
“Maybe we could do without some things. Then we’d have more money for the good stuff.”
“What are you thinking we could do without?” She, for one, didn’t have a plan. Already her car was limping along and her clothes were mainly purchased from resale shops.
“I don’t know. Broccoli?”
“Broccoli’s not making as much of a dent in our budget as you might think, buddy.”
He slumped. “I guess you’re right.” He looked down at his shoes. “Guess I can’t buy new sneakers, huh?”
Little by little, her heart broke. She hated not being able to get him the things he wanted. “Maybe we can get new shoes after I get paid.”
He flashed a smile. “’Kay.” Walking away, he opened up the fridge. “So, can I have an apple?”
Once upon a time, the answer to that question would have been automatic. But now she hesitated. There were sugar levels and dietary concerns she couldn’t afford to ignore. “What else have you eaten today?”
After he told her, she mentally reviewed the dietary guidelines that the nurses had given her. “I suppose so. But let me know if you start to feel funny.”
