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Needless to say, the dinner hadn’t gone well after that, at which her mom had literally cried, not because of the pending divorce, but because she had worked all day in the kitchen preparing the perfect pot roast and a seven-layer cake that was “to die for.”
The memory of that dinner party still stung as Gage watched the woman on the bar stool next to him flip her silky hair over a shoulder and blink those steel-gray eyes, as a warm smile creased her seductive red lips.
Oh, yeah, she was way too easy on the eyes.
He drank down more of his soda and once again thought about moving to another spot. And once again she changed his mind.
“You have no idea.”
“How so?”
He wanted to tell her all about his recent divorce and his voluntary extended leave from his lucrative nine-to-five to go on some misguided nostalgic trip with his grandfather in order to reconnect with his youth. But getting into the details of his sordid life was not something he had ever enjoyed doing.
Instead, Gage switched his thoughts back to his grandfather. “I’m thinking the relationship might improve if I try a little harder.”
“By ‘relationship,’ are you talking about a relationship with a woman?”
Gage shook his head. “No. I’m through with women for a while.” He sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “What I mean to say is, my main focus at the moment is on rebuilding a relationship with my grandfather.”
She took a sip of her red wine, and he noticed her dark red manicured nails. They screamed city girl.
“I take it that’s not working out either.”
He shook his head. “Not really. He hates me, and I’m beginning to think he has just cause. I haven’t been a very good grandson lately.”
“How so?”
Gage stared into those big eyes of hers. “You cut right to the chase, don’t you?”
“Only because you seem to want to talk about it.”
He hesitated. Baring his soul had never been easy for him and he wasn’t about to start stripping for a stranger, albeit a beautiful, intuitive stranger.
“Maybe some other time.”
“So you don’t want to talk about it?”
“Not really. No.”
She smiled. “I’d ask you if there was any way I could help, but under the circumstances, you may get the wrong idea.”
He chuckled. “What, you mean because you’re sitting on a bar stool, and you’re offering me comfort?”
“Exactly.”
He leaned into the bar and turned toward her, a smirk on his face. “Okay, if it’s not that kind of comfort then tell me what you’re offering?
“A shoulder to cry on. Sometimes it helps to vent. No judgment or advice involved.”
He gazed at her shoulders covered in the crisp white cotton shirt that hugged her petite body, black hair tumbling down the front of her, hiding full breasts, and a delicate gold necklace fastened around her neck sporting a rather large square-cut ruby. He wondered if the ruby had been a gift or if she’d bought it for herself. Either way, it told him she liked the finer things in life. It was a trait his ex-wife lived for and had kept him addicted to, making more and more money for the entire four years they were married.
“I wouldn’t want to get those pretty shoulders of yours all wet,” he told her.
“It’s a warm day. A little moisture might cool things off a bit.”
“Are you always this friendly to strangers, or am I the exception?”
“You have kind eyes. Makes me think you’re a good man.”
“Not very. People I love seem to end up hating me.”
“Hate’s a strong word.” She sipped her wine. “You’re too charming for anyone to hate you.”
A great big grin captured her face and he about melted. The woman was all allure and style...too bad he wasn’t interested. This trip was about his finding his soul again, rekindling a relationship with his grandfather, going back to his roots, remaining sober and deciding what he really wanted out of life. Those were the important things.
It most certainly was not about hooking up with a captivating woman he’d met in a bar.
“You don’t know me. I could be a terrible person.”
“A little misguided perhaps, but definitely not terrible.”
“How can you be so sure?
“It’s right there in your eyes. Besides, I’m a good judge of character.”
Gage turned his back to the bar, to get a better look at his judge in cowgirl boots. “And what kind of character do you see in me?”
“It’s your demeanor, and the fact that you’re covered in dust. I’d say you just parked in the dirt parking lot behind this hotel. You seem a bit shaky, so I’m going to guess you’re coming off a long drive with your grandfather. And, for some reason, you and he have a strained relationship that you’re trying to mend, thus the sparkling water and not a beer or something stronger to hamper your reactions. That makes you a stand-up kind of guy.”
Gage was stunned. “What are you, some kind of psychic or something?”
She laughed. “Not exactly, I just went through almost the same experience with my grandmother. Note the dust on my boots.”
She held out her leg, and sure enough her brown cowgirl boots were covered in a thin coating of white dust.
She said, “I take it you and your grandfather are here for the Zane Grey convention?”
He knocked off the rest of his soda and asked the bartender for another. “We sure are.”
“First time?”
“Yep. Been hearing about this convention for more years than I can remember. Read most every book the man ever wrote. Had to. Gramps wouldn’t let me ride Smokey, my favorite horse, if I didn’t read at least four chapters every day during the summers I visited him. Those were some of the best times of my childhood.”
“Same here, only it wasn’t for a ride on a horse. My grandma made the absolute best cakes and cookies in the entire world, and she wouldn’t teach me how to make them unless I could discuss one of Zane’s books while we baked. My mom and I would visit her every summer for an entire month. Some of my best memories are tied up with that woman.” She held out her hand. “Cori Parker. And you are?”
He took her hand in his, and at once he felt a burning heat slip through his body. He quickly let go.
“Gage Remington, grandson to Buck Remington, a cantankerous old cowboy who is up in our room right now, undoubtedly charting out how to make my life a living hell for the next two weeks...which I fully deserve.”
She snickered. “I’m sure that’s not the case. If he’s anything like my grandmother, Miss May Meriwether, he’s too busy reacquainting himself with friends.”
Cori nodded toward a group of older folks sitting around a couple of small tables in the corner, obviously enjoying themselves. Their laughter permeated the entire saloon.
Unfortunately for Gage, his grandfather was not one of them.
Cori continued. “She’s the petite lady, wearing jeans and a blue shirt. She’s the only one with brown hair. Gram turns seventy-five next week, but she’s fighting it as long as she can.”
“My grandfather was like that. Always took care of himself, but ever since my grandmother passed, he’s been nothing but...”
An older, slim man wearing a black cowboy hat rushed into the saloon from the open back door and yelled, “Is anyone in here a nurse or a doctor?”
The music stopped as the room took on a sudden eerie silence. Everyone collectively waited for someone to respond to the frantic question.
A few awkward seconds passed.
Then Gage watched as Cori slid off her barstool, grabbed her oversize purse, and said, “I’m a doctor.”
The man told her to follow him, which she did, as she reached out for Gage’s hand. He reluctantly took it and followed close behind.
“You’re a doctor?” Gage asked her as they made their way out of the tavern area. He never would have guessed. He always thought of doctors as older, wiser-looking people. Not someone he could meet in a bar, and especially not someone who looked and sounded like Cori Parker, with her sultry voice, tight jeans, boots and manicured fingernails. She simply didn’t fit the type, but then, what did he know of types? He hadn’t looked up from achieving his financial goals in way too many years.
“Yes,” she said. “And I need you as my assistant.”
“But I don’t know the first thing about...”
“Just follow my lead and you’ll do fine.”
She squeezed his hand tighter as if she was depending on him for strength. He quickly took up the cause, gaining confidence with each step, and followed her through the back of the saloon, which led directly into the lobby of the Strater Hotel.
As he and Cori came around the corner, past the wooden staircase and into the main lobby decorated with crystal chandeliers, wallpapered walls, antique walnut furniture and ornate woodwork, he spotted the man lying on the plush, carpeted floor in the center of a small group of people who knelt around him.
Gage’s heart raced as he let go of Cori’s hand and hurried toward the group.
“It’s my grandfather,” he told Cori, his voice cracking.
* * *
“I DON’T KNOW what happened,” the young man told Cori as he crouched next to the older man lying on the floor. “One minute he was standing in front of my desk getting his room key, and the next he was on the floor.”
A small group of older folks had gathered around the gray-haired man lying on the floor. Cori immediately focused on the color of the man’s skin, which looked normal, plus his eyes were open and he wasn’t clutching his chest.
All good signs.
“Oh, Gramps,” Gage whispered as he dropped to the floor next to the fallen man. Then he smoothed out his grandpa’s hair, which seemed to relax them both.
As soon as his grandfather heard Gage’s voice he turned toward him. “What? How did I ever get on the floor?” He sounded shaky, deliberate, as if he was trying to control internal tremors. Cori knew these symptoms well, but she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. It was always difficult coming into a situation like she now found herself. She longed for a patient who filled out a medical history. Just once she’d like to know what that was like. Even though she had worked in a low trauma hospital in Manhattan as an ER physician, her experience with a detailed medical history for any of her patients had been a rare luxury, rather than the norm.
“Do you know if he’s suffering from any blood sugar problems?” Cori asked Gage as she clocked the man’s pulse. She could feel his tremors as she held on to his wrist. He also seemed anxious and nervous, but that could be from what had to be an embarrassing situation.
Gage hesitated as Cori looked to him for an easy answer. His grandfather was breathing too fast, which would only make him dizzy.
“I don’t know.”
“He’s your grandfather. Do you know anything about his health?”
“No. Not really.”
His statements took her by surprise, especially since he’d claimed to want to spend time with his grandfather. Cori knew everything about her grandmother, down to what vitamins she took and what she ate for breakfast. But then, Cori had always shared a special relationship with her gram, and felt closer to her than she did to her own parents.
“What’s his name?”
“Buck, Buck Remington.”
Cori directed her full attention to the patient. “Mr. Remington, I’d like you to take some deep, slow breaths to calm yourself. Can you do that for me? I’ll lead the way?”
Buck nodded, as they each slowly sucked in air through their mouths. “Now let it out through your nose,” she told him, and he dutifully followed her lead.
Once she had him breathing normally, his pulse slowed to a more acceptable pace. An older woman with pure white, shoulder-length hair and deep red lips leaned over and handed Gage her pink sweater. “Maybe you can put this under his head. That floor’s hard.”
“Thanks,” Gage told her, while Cori threw the generous woman a quick smile.
Gage looked to Cori for approval. She nodded, then he carefully lifted Buck’s head and rested it on the folded sweater.
“Have you been diagnosed with hypoglycemia, Mr. Remington?”
He nodded again. His pulse quickened and sweat beaded on his forehead.
She looked up at Gage. “He needs glucose. Could you get him a glass of orange juice from the bar?”
“Sure.” Gage jumped up and rushed back to the tavern.
“I caught him as he went down,” a tall, lean gentleman, probably in his late sixties or early seventies and wearing a cream-colored cowboy hat offered. “He didn’t hit anything but my chest, so nothing should be broken. Court’s the name. Steve Court. Been Buck’s friend for the past ten years or so. Never know’d him to drop like that. Glad I was close by to break his fall.”
“You did perfect,” she told the man, then directed her attention back to Mr. Remington. “Can you sit up?”
He nodded and she motioned for Mr. Court to please help her.
She cradled his head and shoulder with one arm, and Mr. Court leaned down to help put Buck upright.
Gage returned with the juice.
“Drink this, Mr. Remington. It’ll make you feel better.”
Buck did as he was told and quickly slurped up all the juice, then handed the empty glass back to Gage. “Thank you, son,” he mumbled, his hand visibly shaking.
A siren screamed in the distance.
“Don’t worry, Gramps. We’ll get you checked out at the hospital, and you’ll be fine.”
