Authors: Catherine Anderson
“Seems to me they should make an exception for the boy's biological father, whether he's got documentation or not.”
The security guard with the bloody nose said, “I'll go in and see what I can do.”
While the guard went off to rattle cages, Loni led Clint to a nearby rest area and sat with him on a bench. Elbows propped on his knees, head in his hands, Clint said nothing. Loni communicated her concern to him by gently rubbing his back. After conferring with the remaining security guard, the two policemen finally left. The guard nodded to Loni as he reentered the ER waiting area.
“Clint, I really think maybe you should see a doctor,” Loni said.
“Not
yet
,” he said hoarsely. “I'll worry about myself once I find out how Trevor is.”
Minutes dragged by as slowly as a fly walking across tacky paper. Every once in a while Nana howled, the sound drifting faintly on the afternoon breeze. Loni had parked under a tree to keep the truck in the shade, and all four windows had been rolled halfway down. She knew the dog's distress was due more to separation from Trevor than to any physical discomfort.
She had just glanced at her watch for what seemed like the umpteenth time when five dusty, four-wheel-drive trucks zoomed into the parking area just beyond the grass median. Loni knew instantly that the Harrigan family had arrived in force. Four men and one woman swung from the vehicles. Even at a distance Loni recognized Clint's pretty, petite sister, Samantha Coulter.
The eldest of the four men reached Loni and Clint first. He was dressed in what Loni was quickly coming to think of as ranch-issue clothing, a Stetson, a blue chambray work shirt, faded Wranglers, and dusty riding boots. Her first thought was that Clint had come by his compact, muscular body and dark good looks naturally. Frank Harrigan appeared to be in his early sixties, but he was still incredibly handsome, his burnished face traced with lines from years of harsh exposure to the central Oregon sun. He crouched in front of his eldest offspring. Though shaded by his Stetson, his dark brown eyes reflected an undiminished glimmer of concern when he glanced at Loni.
“He punch anybody's lights out yet?”
Loni nearly smiled. “No, but I'm sure he felt like it. They still haven't told him how Trevor is.”
“That so?” Clint's father pushed erect. “Well, I guess I'll just mosey on in and see what the hell the holdup is.”
“Dad!” Another Clint look-alike fell in at Frank's heels. “Don't go losing your temper.”
“I haven't lost my temper for damned near a year, Quincy,” the patriarch retorted. “A man's gotta get riled every once in a while to keep the plaque flushed out of his arteries.”
Quincy threw up his hands and turned to yet another man who resembled Clint, except that he looked a bit younger. “Parker, he listens to you. Go settle him down.”
“He doesn't listen to me.” Parker glanced at Samantha. “You'd best go. At least he won't turn the air blue if you're in there.”
Samantha set out after her father, her slender, denim-sheathed legs scissoring in her haste to reach the revolving doors before Frank disappeared inside. The youngest of the brothers grinned at Loni, his dark eyes dancing with laughter. “You the psychic lady?”
Loni nodded.
“I'm Zachary, Clint's baby brother. You certain sure that boy in there is my nephew?”
“Yes,” Loni replied.
Zachary removed his Stetson, combed his fingers through his jet-black hair, and then resettled the hat on his head. As he turned toward the doors he said, “In that case, I reckon I'll go in as backup. Dad might need me to put a boot up somebody's ass.”
Parker hurried after his younger brother. “No way are you going in without me. I know you and your temper. We'll end up with practically the whole family locked up in the hoosegow with only me to post bail.”
Quincy groaned and came to join Clint and Loni on the bench, sitting at his brother's opposite side. He leaned forward to flash Loni a winsome grin. “Aren't we entertaining? A whole family of hotheads.”
“I'm not a hothead,” Clint protested thickly. “And neither is Dad. He only gets pissed when he's got good reason, and this is one of those times. That's my
son
in there.”
“How can you know for certain without a paternity test?” Quincy asked.
Clint lifted his head to glare at his brother. “He's got your nose.”
Quincy rubbed beside the offending appendage. “I've got
Dad's
nose.”
“All right, Dad's nose, then. There's no mistake, Quincy. Trevor Stiles is my son.”
“So why are you sitting here with your thumb up your ass? If he's your kid, go in there and help Dad raise hell until they revise their hospital policies.”
“Can't.” Clint rested his head in his hands again. “I'm low on oil. Down four, maybe five pints. Got the shakes, feel sick, and my heart's racing like a stock market ticker.”
Quincy's grin faded. “Holy shit, bro. You need a transfusion yourself. When you lose two liters, it's dangerous.”
“Maybe so,” Clint replied. “Fact is, Quincy, I think you need to go get someone.”
And just like that Clint toppled forward off the bench, passed out cold. Quincy jumped up. “Ah, shit. Watch after him for me,” he told Loni, and then took off at a dead run.
“Oh, my God.” Loni dropped to her knees beside the man she loved. He had hit the cement face-first. Heart slamming, she pushed with all her might to roll him onto his side. Relief flooded through her when she saw that he had only a scrape at his temple. “Clint?” She gave him a shake. Nothing. “Oh, my God, Clint, what have you done to yourself? I
knew
you needed to see a doctor.”
Within seconds two male nurses in blue scrubs rushed from the building, carrying a stretcher. Loni was promptly pushed out of the way as they lifted Clint's inert body onto the stretcher, hefted his weight between them, and raced back toward the ER.
Loni was right at their heels. When she made it through the revolving doors, she met with a mass of Harrigans, all standing in a clump with their backs to her, their gazes fixed on the male nurses who were carrying Clint down a hall. Elbowing men aside, Loni found a place in their ranks.
“Damn fool boy,” Frank said. “He knows better than to let them drain him that low.”
“He had to,” Loni said with a catch in her voice that was very close to a sob. “Trevor would have died without the blood. Clint didn't care about himself. All that mattered to him was saving the child.”
Frank turned to regard her for a long, silent moment. Then he came to her side and curled a hard arm around her shoulders. “He'll be all right, honey. No point in you gettin' so upset. We don't want you endin' up in the ER, too. You're lookin' a little pale.”
Loni
did
feel a little light-headed. “What if he isn't all right? If you lose too much blood it can be fatal.”
“One thing you'll learn over time is that Clint always bounces back.” Frank gave her a comforting jostle. “He's in good hands.”
Parker snorted. “Too damned ornery to die over a little blood loss, that's for sure.”
“Clint isn't ornery,” Samantha protested. “He's just a little opinionated.”
“And obstinate,” Zachary tossed in.
“Stubborn as a mule with its hooves set in concrete,” Quincy added. “He knew damned well he was in trouble out there, but he took his own sweet time before telling me.”
Frank chuckled. “That's my boy. Got himself a fine set of character traits.” He smiled down at Loni. “And now he's got a pretty little gal to parade on his arm, too, I'm thinkin'.”
Pretty? Loni had never felt so grungy. Her face hadn't seen makeup in nearly a week, she couldn't remember the last time she'd brushed her hair, and her jeans had sprouted a fur coat from the inner knees up to her rump.
Keeping an arm around Loni's shoulders, Frank Harrigan put Quincy in charge of garnering information about his brother's condition and trying to find out what he could about Trevor. Then the family patriarch led Loni to an adjoining sitting area where the family could wait in privacy and helped her to a chair. “Take a load off, sweetheart, and tell the old man what that boy's been up to out in that wilderness.”
“Dad,” Samantha said in a hushed, scolding tone. “It's none of your business what Clint was up to. Can't you see you're embarrassing her?” She sighed as she sat down beside Loni. “Don't pay him any mind. He just fell off the turnip truck.”
Frank kept his arm around Loni's shoulders. “Don't listen to her. I've never farmed turnips. Carrots were my specialty. Gave me damned good vision, so I can't help but notice when a pretty young gal looks at my son with her heart in her eyes.” He arched a grizzled eyebrow at Loni. “Am I readin' you right, darlin'? You got a soft spot for our Clint?”
“Yes.” Loni could think of nothing else to say. He'd asked a direct question, and she gave him a direct answer.
“I like a woman who doesn't prevaricate,” Frank said with a grin. “Seems to me our Clint found himself a pot of gold out there in the back of beyond.”
“You're impossible,” Samantha said with a huff. “Just ignore him, Loni. He's an incurable tease and too thick between the ears to know when he's stepping over the line.” Leaning forward, she fixed her father with a glare. “That's enough, Dad. Leave her alone.”
“I'm fine.” The moment Loni spoke, she realized it was true. She was feeling better. It was hard to think grim thoughts with so much foolishness going on around her, much of which, she suspected, had been staged for her benefit. She smiled at Frank Harrigan. “Clint's very lucky to have such a wonderful family.”
All Clint's brothers, save Quincy, had taken seats across from them. “Wonderful?” Zachary echoed. “Interesting, maybe.”
“And a little dysfunctional,” Samantha interjected.
“We're not dysfunctional,” Parker protested.
Just then Quincy rejoined his family.
“What did you find out?” Frank asked.
“Jack shit.” Quincy hooked his thumbs over his belt. “A doctor is seeing Clint right now. He'll be out in a few minutes to update us. As for Trevor, he's a senator's son, higher security required, yada, yada, yada. You'd think we were assassins and they were guarding the president or something.”
“And you just walked away with your tail between your legs?” Parker demanded.
“Yeah, Quincy. If it were me, I'd still be out there arguing,” Zachary put in.
“That's about all you're good at, arguing,” Samantha said. “What we need here is a little diplomacy.”
“You're elected then,” Zachary shot back. “I don't have a diplomatic bone in my whole body, and I'm damn glad of it.”
Quincy held up a hand. “Does anyone want to hear the rest?”
“The rest of what?”
“If you all would shut up for a second, I might just tell you.” When a sudden silence fell, he went on to say, “They've agreed to ask Trevor's grandparents to come down and talk to us.” He slanted his brothers a glare. “That's more than either of you could have accomplished. If you don't like the way I handled it, feel free. At least I got them to make a concession.”
“Some concession. He's our own flesh and blood, and they won't tell us anything.”
And so it went, with the Harrigans firing verbal shots across the waiting area, keeping Loni so distracted that she forgot to worry about Clint.
Finally a doctor came out to see them. When Frank's name was called, he surged to his feet. “You the man takin' care of my boy?”
The doctor nodded and shook Frank's hand. “He'll be fine. We're hitting him hard with fluids and packed red blood cells. That'll take several hours. Then, barring any complications, he should be able to go home.”
“Is he awake?” Samantha asked.
“He is. The immediate family can go back in pairs to see him if you'd like.”
Samantha grasped Loni's elbow. “My sister and I will go back first.”
Loni blinked in confusion until she understood Samantha's ploy and went along with the lie. Immediate family. Clint's sisters qualified. An exhausted clairvoyant with blood all over her clothes did not.
Hooked up to IVs, Clint was in a hospital recliner, siphoning orange juice from a carton with a bendable straw, when Loni and Samantha entered his cubicle. He smiled wanly and held out a hand to Loni. She noticed that his fingers felt cold and clammy when they intertwined with hers. “My two favorite girls. How lucky can a guy be?”
Samantha stepped to the opposite side of his chair and bent to kiss his forehead. “Where's your hat? You look naked without a Stetson clapped on that lump you call a head.”
“Don't know where it went. Might've got knocked off when I was scuffling with the security guards.”