Looking up as the doors opened, they dropped their magazines and climbed hastily to their feet.
“Mr. McCafferty?” she asked, though she’d spotted them instantly.
“I’m Matt,” the taller of the two said as if he didn’t recognize her. Maybe that was for the best. Keep the situation as professional as possible. Over six feet, with dark-brown eyes and near-black hair, Matt was dressed in jeans and a Western-cut plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Cowboy boots covered his feet and a stir-stick, chewed flat, was wedged firmly in the corner of his mouth. “This is my brother, Slade.”
Again, no hint of recognition lit Slade’s gaze. The youngest of the McCafferty brothers, he’d been tagged as the hellion. He was shorter than Matt by less than an inch and a thin scar jagged down one side of a face distinguished by hawkish features and deep-set, startling blue eyes. Wearing a flannel shirt, faded jeans and beat-up tennis shoes, he shifted nervously from one foot to the other.
“I’m Dr. Stevenson, I was on duty when your sister was brought into the ER.”
“How’s she doin’?” Slade asked anxiously. His eyes narrowed a bit as he looked at her and she realized he’d started the recognition process. It would take a while. It had been years since she’d seen him, her name was different, and there were dozens of women he would have to sift through unless she missed her guess.
She didn’t have time for any of that now. Her job was to allay their fears while explaining about Randi’s condition. “The surgery went well, but your sister was in pretty rough shape when she was brought in, comatose but in labor. Dr. Oliverio delivered your nephew and he seems healthy, though he’ll be given a complete examination by a pediatrician here on staff.
“Randi’s prognosis looks good, barring unforeseen complications, but she’s survived an incredible trauma.” As the brothers listened grimly, Nicole described Randi McCafferty’s injuries—concussion, punctured lung, broken ribs, fractured jaw, nearly shattered femur—the list was long and grave. Concern etched in both brothers’ features, storm clouds gathering in their eyes. Nicole explained the procedures that had been used to repair the damage, using as many lay terms as possible. Matt’s dark skin paled slightly and he winced at one point, looking out the window and chewing the stir-stick until it was thin as parchment. On the other hand, the younger brother, Slade, stared her straight in the face, his jaw clenching, his blue eyes rarely blinking.
As she finished, Slade let out a soft whistle. “Damn it all to hell.”
Matt rubbed the stubble on his chin and stared at her. “But she will make it. Right?”
“Unless she takes a turn for the worse, I think so. There’s always a question with head injuries, but she’s stabilized.”
Slade frowned. “She’s still in a coma.”
“Yes. You understand that I’m the emergency room physician, and other doctors have taken over your sister’s care. Each of them will contact you.”
“When?” Slade demanded.
“As soon as they can.”
She managed a reassuring smile. “I’m going off duty soon. Randi’s other doctors will want to talk to you as well. I came out first because I knew you were anxious.” And because, damn it, I have a personal connection to your family.
“Anxious doesn’t begin to cover it,” Matt said and glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t Thorne be getting here by now?” he asked his brother.
“He said he was on his way.” Slade’s gaze swung back to Nicole. “Our oldest brother.” His eyebrows knit a bit. “He’ll want a full report.”
“No doubt,” she said and Matt’s eyes narrowed. “I knew him. Years ago.”
She could almost see the wheels turning in the McCafferty brothers’ minds, but the situation with their sister was too imminent, too dire, to be distracted.
“But Randi, she’s gonna be okay,” Matt said slowly, doubts shadowing his brown eyes.
“We’re hopeful. As I said, she’s stabilized, but there’s always a question with head injuries.” Nicole wished she could instill more confidence, allay their worries, but couldn’t. “The truth is, it’s gonna be touch-and-go for a while, but she’ll be monitored around the clock.”
“Oh, God,” Slade whispered and the words sounded more like a prayer than a curse.
“I—we appreciate everything you and the other doctors have done.” Matt shot his brother a look meant to silence him. “I just want you to know that whatever she needs, specialists, equipment, whatever, we want her to have it.”
“She does,” Nicole said firmly. In her estimation the staff, facilities and equipment at St. James were excellent, the best she’d seen in a town the size of Grand Hope.
“And the baby? You said he’s okay, right?” Matt asked.
“He seems fine, but he’s being observed for any signs of trauma. He’s in pediatric ICU, as a precaution for the next few hours, just to make sure that he’s strong. From all outward appearances, he’s healthy and hale, we’re just being doubly cautious especially since your sister was in labor and her water had broken before she got to the hospital. Dr. Oliverio will have more details and of course the pediatrician will get in touch with you as well.”
“Damn,” Slade whispered while Matt stood silent and stern.
“When can we see Randi?” Matt asked.
“Soon. She’s still in Recovery. Once she’s settled in ICU and her doctors are satisfied with her condition, she can have visitors—just immediate family—for a few minutes a day. One at a time. Again, her physician will let you know.”
Matt nodded and Slade’s fist clenched, but neither argued. Both brothers’ jaws were square and set, the McCafferty resemblance impossible to ignore.
“You have to understand that Randi’s comatose. She won’t respond to you until she wakes up and I don’t know when that will be—oh, here we go. One of Randi’s doctors.” Spying Dr. Oliverio walking down the hallway, Nicole took a few minutes to introduce the McCafferty brothers, then, excusing herself, made her way to her office.
It was a small room with one window. It barely had enough space for her desk and file cabinet. She usually transcribed her own notes and after shrugging out of her lab coat, flipped on the computer and spent nearly a half an hour at the keyboard writing a report on Randi McCafferty. As she finished, she reached for the phone. Dialing her home number by rote, she massaged the back of her neck and heard the strains of piped-in music for the first time since she’d walked into the hospital hours before.
“Hello?” Jenny Riley answered on the second ring. Jenny, a student at a local community college, watched Nicole’s twins while she worked.
“Hi. It’s Nicole. Just wanted to know what was going on. I’ll be outta here in about—” she checked her watch and sighed “—probably another hour. Anything I should pick up on the way?”
“How about a ray or two of sunshine for Molly?” Jenny quipped. “She’s been in a bad mood ever since she woke up from her nap.”
“Has she?” Nicole grinned as she leaned back in her chair so far that it squeaked in protest. Molly, more precocious than her twin sister, was known to wake up grumpy while Mindy, the shier half of the two girls, always smiled, even when rousted from a nap.
“The worst.”
“Am not!” a tiny, impertinent voice disagreed. “Sure you are, but I love you anyway,” Jenny said, her voice softer as she turned away from the phone.
“Am not the worst!”
Still