Had the ornery old coot suffered a heart attack or a possible stroke?
In any event, the man obviously needed help. Swallowing an oath, Trevor pushed his way through the ring of Colton daughters as well as the chief. Placing two tentative fingers to the side of the old man’s neck, Trevor was the first to ascertain that Jethro was still among the living.
“He’s still breathing,” he told Gabby. “Call the doctor,” he instructed, leaving it up to someone else to decide just who was going to call for medical aid for the old man.
“Get him over to the sofa,” Amanda instructed. As a vet, she had enough of a background in medical training to be able to render interim service while they waited for another doctor to arrive.
Though he loathed even to touch the heartless old man again, Trevor put his feelings aside and began to lift Jethro from the floor. Drucker stepped in to help carry the load, but Trevor put him off.
“I got this,” he said in a voice that made the chief instantly back away.
The chief was overweight and utterly out of shape. All they needed, Trevor couldn’t help thinking, was two possible heart attacks, back-to-back. That would
really
mess them up.
Gabby was already on the phone, calling the doctor as Trevor carried her father to the oversize sofa that faced the fireplace. She rattled off the details quickly, then hung up.
“Is he coming?” Amanda asked the second Gabby was off the phone.
“I don’t know,” Gabby told her honestly. “I left a message on his answering machine,” she explained when she saw the look of impatient confusion on her older sister’s face.
Amanda merely nodded, taking her father’s pulse and doing what she could to make him as comfortable as possible even though the man was still unconscious.
Gabby was worried, upset, both over her father’s sudden passing out the way he had and over his stubborn refusal to provide the money to ransom Trevor’s daughter once the call came through.
Because of that, Gabby didn’t immediately pick up on the whispered conversations. But after a beat, while Amanda worked and Trevor stood over her father, she became aware of the disgruntled fragments of conversations going on all around her.
Her father had managed to alienate his entire staff by his refusal to help and his blunt dismissal of the plight of one of the “help,” as he viewed everyone who was not directly related to him by blood or by intentional design, such as his ex-wife and her two parasitic children.
It didn’t help matters any to have Darla come rushing over, making an almost comical show of being distraught.
She was wringing her hands as she cried, “Is he dead? Is Jethro dead? Oh, I told him to take better care of himself, but he just wouldn’t listen and now just look! He’s—”
“Not dead,” Amanda informed the insufferable drama queen very calmly, doing what she could to hide the absolute disdain she had for the woman who had been their mother for exactly a year before her father finally came to his senses. Her tone was cold as she told the other woman, “Don’t go dancing on his grave just yet, Darla. He’s not ready to be buried.”
Clutching her drink—was that Darla’s second or her third? Gabby couldn’t help wondering—the woman peered at Jethro’s unconscious, almost bloodless face and asked, “Are you sure?”
Gabby took a firm hold of the woman’s shoulders and deliberately moved her aside. “She’s sure,” she assured the other woman.
Viewed by all as a kind, loving person who saw only the good, redeeming qualities in most people, there was still not a drop of affection in her voice as she addressed her former stepmother.
With a huff, the other woman shrugged off Gabby’s hands, turned on her heel and marched away.
Darla was out of Gabby’s thoughts the second the woman was out of her line of vision. Right now, Gabby had far more important things to think about.
Chapter 8
G
abby felt as if she could hardly catch her breath today. It seemed as though it was just one thing after another and it was hard to say which was really the worst of it.
A murder, a kidnapping and then her father collapsing in the middle of a tirade was practically too much to handle. She was afraid that anything more—large or small—would send her careening over the edge.
But the problems insisted on continuing.
Barely an hour after her father had been taken to the nearest hospital by ambulance, one of the maids, Gemma Harrigan, sought her out for a private word. The tall, angular young brunette was carrying a suitcase.
“Are you going somewhere?” Gabby asked the woman. As far as she knew, Gemma hadn’t applied for a vacation or any sort of leave of absence.
“Yes, I am,” Gemma informed her, choosing her words as if she were picking her way through a live minefield. “I’m going away.”
“Gemma,” Gabby began, thinking that Faye’s murder was what was frightening the long-time employee into a hasty departure.
But Gemma was quick to interrupt. “I’m sorry, Ms. Gabby, but I have to go. I know times are hard and I might regret this down the line, but I have to hand in my resignation.”
“Your resignation?” Gabby repeated, stunned. This was worse than she’d thought.
“Yes, and I wanted you to know why, Ms. Gabby.” The maid took a long breath, trying to fortify herself for what she had to say. “While I feel very close to you and your sisters,” she began, offering a small, fleeting smile as she looked at Gabby, “in all good conscience I just cannot continue working for a man like your father. I cannot work for a man who had no sense of loyalty toward the people who work for him—and I’m not the only one who feels this way,” the older woman warned Gabby.
Did that mean that more people would be quitting? Oh, God, she hoped not. All Gabby could think of at this moment was that she wasn’t up to this.
Torn, Gabby felt tugged in half a dozen different directions at the same time. While she was still angry with her father, her concern over his health outweighed her outrage at his staunch refusal to help save Trevor’s daughter. She wanted to be at the hospital with her father despite the fact that her two sisters had gone with him. But a part of her felt that someone had to remain at Dead River to hold down the fort in case anything else happened.
And then, of course, there was a large part of her that wanted to help Trevor find his daughter despite the fact that he had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want or welcome her help.
Since she was still here with the maid, Gabby did her best to talk the woman out of leaving, but it was like attempting to reason with someone who didn’t understand the language she was using—none of her words were registering.
“Gemma, my father really didn’t mean what he said. He’s been under a lot of stress lately,” Gabby told the woman, mentally crossing her fingers because she was making it up as she went along.
As far as she knew, there was nothing to say that her father
wasn’t
dealing with a great deal of stress—why else would he have suddenly collapsed that way? But she had nothing else to base her theory on except for her gut instincts.
Still, she could understand why Gemma felt the way she did. Her father could be a very cantankerous old man when he wanted to be. She loved him, and in his own way, she knew he loved her and her sisters, but it was hard at times to hold on to that thought, especially when he could flatly turn her down the way he just had today.
Gemma wasn’t about to be talked out of leaving, no matter what was said to her. The woman looked at her knowingly.
“Oh, he meant it, all right, Ms. Gabby. Mr. Jethro always made it very clear that the lines were sharply drawn between us. He was the boss and we were just the ‘hired help.’ Interchangeable parts with no faces, no names, no individual backgrounds that differentiated one staff member from the other. And, for the most part,” Gemma went on, shrugging her wide shoulders, “I guess that’s okay. But when Mr. Jethro acts as if it doesn’t matter that he could easily save the life of an innocent child by parting with some of that money he’s been amassing for such a long time—more money than any one man could possibly use up in a lifetime—well, that makes it time to move on, in my book.”
Gemma offered her a sad smile. “I’m really sorry, Ms. Gabby. You’ve always been a real pleasure to work with, even more than your sisters. I hope you can find that baby—I truly do,” she said by way of a parting last comment.
Oh, me, too, Gemma. Me, too,
Gabby thought as she watched the other woman pick up her suitcase and then leave.
The moment Gemma was gone, Gabby wove her way back to the main wing of the house, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.
Well, that had certainly not gone well. She prayed that there weren’t going to be others opting to leave. She needed everyone to remain on board and go about their assigned business. She had no time to try to find replacements. Not when everything was being turned upside down.
As she walked, she took out her cell phone and placed a call to Amanda.
The moment she heard her sister’s voice on the other end of the line, she asked, “How is he?”
“Gabby?” It was more of a confirmation than a guess on Amanda’s part. She went on to answer her sister’s question. “Dad’s still unconscious. They’re running tests on him right now, but no one’s saying anything yet. Where are you?”
“I’m still at the house.”
“Still at the house?” Amanda echoed. “I thought you said you were right behind us.”
“I got sidetracked.” Feeling as if her very nerves were being pulled as taut as possible, Gabby dragged her hand through her hair, trying to pull herself together. “I just spent the last half hour trying to talk one of the maids, Gemma Harrigan, from quitting.”
“Judging by your tone,” Amanda concluded, “you didn’t succeed.”
Gabby blew out a breath. “No, I didn’t. Dad created a lot of ill will when he said he refused to release any money—his or mine—to ransom Avery.”
“I know. It’s not like he can take any of it with him, and there’s certainly more than enough there to spare for something like this.” Amanda sounded as disappointed in their father as she was, Gabby thought. Her sister’s next words confirmed her hunch. “Makes me wonder if he would have taken the same stand if the kidnapper
had
succeeded in getting Cheyenne.”
Gabby tried to reassure her sister—for both their sakes. “It’s different with Cheyenne.”
Amanda didn’t sound all that sure. “Is it?” she questioned.
“Yes.” Gabby
had
to believe that, had to believe that underneath, despite the gruffness, her father had a decent heart in there somewhere. He just got in his own way. “She’s his blood. In any case, Cheyenne is safe and sound, so there’s no sense in dwelling on what
might
have happened,” she cautioned her sister. “Listen, I’ll be at the hospital as soon as I can,” she promised.
Amanda surprised her by what she said next. “Don’t see what good you can do. He hasn’t regained consciousness. We’re just standing around, waiting for someone to tell us something.”
Gabby knew there was nothing she could accomplish by being there, but she still felt she should come and keep vigil, at least for a little while.
“I can help you wait,” Gabby told her sister just before she terminated the connection.
The moment she did, she caught sight of Trevor out of the corner of her eye. He was just walking by in the hallway and had automatically glanced into the room when he’d heard her voice.
“Anything?” Gabby asked eagerly as she crossed to him.
“Nobody’s called asking for a ransom, if that’s what you mean,” he told her.
Anyone looking at the man would have said he was being incredibly calm, but Gabby knew better than that. She could read between the lines, and it seemed evident to her that his handsome, rugged face was more drawn than usual. Trevor was apparently just barely able to hold on.
“Was the chief any help?” she asked hopefully. Drucker had certainly stayed long enough, talking to the various staff members—making them all feel as if he suspected them of being the ones who’d pulled the trigger and had then handed the baby over to an accomplice.
Her question was met with a short, dismissive laugh. Trevor didn’t bother saying anything.
“I guess that’s a no,” Gabby surmised with a sigh. Because she needed to talk, she told him, “I’m about to go to the hospital to see if my father’s going to be admitted to the hospital or not, but I could stay here instead with you if you—”
Trevor didn’t bother to hear her out or allow her to finish making her offer. Although he found the young woman attractive—more attractive than he was happy about—her father had made it very clear that there were lines not to be crossed. The Coltons were on one side of those lines and he, along with every other staff member here at Dead River, was on the other.
Maybe at some other time, he would have given serious thought to thumbing his nose at those lines, but right now, he was far too concerned about what might be happening to his daughter to waste time over such adolescent reactions.
“Your place is there, with your father,” Trevor told her. With that, he walked away, hurrying off to some other destination he didn’t bother sharing with her.
Watching him go, Gabby shook her head. For a little while back there, when she’d gone with him to see Dylan, she’d thought she’d made a breakthrough, but apparently she was back to square one with Trevor. He was just as distant, just as removed as he had been when this all began.
He was a hard nut to crack, even if his daughter
hadn’t
been taken.
With a sigh, Gabby left the house.
* * *
She drove like a woman possessed, having little patience with speed limits that were posted in desolate areas. Their only purpose was to whimsically slow her down even when there wasn’t any sign of anyone else on the road for miles.
She arrived at Cheyenne Memorial Hospital in record time. Armed with a room number that Amanda had given her, Gabby quickly made her way to her father’s bedside.
Anxiety was her close companion as she walked into the room. She had no idea what to expect. The first thing that struck her was that the air within the room was thick with animosity and unspoken confrontation. The reason for that became instantly clear: Darla had insisted on being there along with Amanda and Catherine.
But Gabby’s heart leaped up when she saw that her father was conscious again. There were tubes inserted in both his arms, attached to monitors as well as an IV that was providing fluids.
For the moment, she saw beyond the punishing tubes and the gaunt face. Her father’s eyes were open. He was back and that was the main thing.
Taking his hand in hers, Gabby struggled to maintain her composure. “Dad, you’re awake.”
“Looks that way.” Her father’s gravelly voice was weaker than normal, but his expression was as dark as ever as he looked at her.
For once, she ignored his tone. All that mattered to her was that he was awake. “You gave us quite a scare, Dad,” she told him.
“Yeah, sure,” Jethro retorted weakly. And then, because he found himself growing emotional, something that was completely unacceptable to him, he grumbled, “You were all probably hoping I’d croaked so that you could start dividing up the money.”
“I wasn’t, darling,” Darla spoke up, all but sealing herself to his other side. She paused for a moment to dab at eyes that appeared conspicuously dry. “I was beside myself with worry.”
“Beside yourself.” Jethro snorted at the image. “You were probably just looking at yourself in the mirror after that third drink.” He turned his attention back to his daughters even as Darla was sputtering denials. “I’d like to tell you all that it’ll be a cold day in hell before you see any of my money, but the truth of it is it’ll be a lot sooner than I’m happy about.”
Gabby exchanged looks with her sisters. Was he just being despondent, or was there something going on that they weren’t aware of?
“What are you talking about, Dad?” Amanda asked, then assured him with feeling, “You’re going to be just fine.”
“Easy to see why you’re an animal doctor, because you’ve got no instincts when it comes to human patients,” Jethro retorted dismissively. He glared at his daughter, angry because he was confronted with a situation he couldn’t control, couldn’t do anything about. “I’m dying.”
While both her sisters began to protest that he wasn’t, that his feelings were undoubtedly just the result of temporary low blood sugar or something of that nature, Gabby had an eerie premonition that her father’s words carried some truth to them. He knew his own fate, but they hadn’t been privy to the same information. What had the doctors told them?
“Dad, what are you saying exactly?” Gabby asked him. She studied his face carefully, waiting for him to answer her.
“What I’m saying,” Jethro retorted, becoming steadily more agitated at the blow fate had dealt him, “is that the doctors said I’ve got leukemia—the kind that takes you out fast. They gave me six months, maybe less.”
Gabby’s eyes widened in disbelief. For a second, she felt sick to her stomach. She heard her sisters gasp in stunned surprise. “No,” she cried.
“I don’t pay them to lie to me,” her father bit off angrily.
“Okay,” she said, her mind desperately trying to sort things out and focus on a positive course of action. “There’re different treatments to try,” Gabby insisted. “It’s not an automatic death sentence—”
“It is for me,” Jethro said, cutting in impatiently. “I’m not going to spend what little time I have being a guinea pig, having them poke and prod me with their needles and making me puke up my guts.”
“Dad, there are cures—” Amanda began.
Bitter, Jethro cut her off as well. “It’s my body, my choice. No discussion,” he snapped. He looked at Gabby accusingly. “Don’t you ever listen? I don’t
want
any treatment. I’m taking this like a man and you...and you can’t...”
For the second time within the space of half a day, Jethro Colton slumped forward. When Gabby quickly attempted to help him sit up, she saw that he was unconscious again.