The Rancher's Dream

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS ALMOST midnight before Grant was able to go home.

Actually, he was secretly shocked that he’d been able to talk the doctors into discharging him at all. Given how scrambled his brain was right now, he wouldn’t have thought he could talk a bear into sleeping in the woods.

But luckily Harry Middleton was the doctor on duty, and Harry had bought Grant’s first foal, Tender Night, out of Charisma Creek. So a few corners could be cut. Besides, once they set Grant’s arm and did a CT scan on his brain, they didn’t have anything left to hold him for.

“Observation” wasn’t a good enough reason to keep a man in the hospital, not when he had a ranch to run single-handedly.

He looked down at the cast that covered his right forearm from palm to elbow. Single-handedly, indeed. He might have smiled at his inadvertent pun, except his head hurt like a demon, and his bruised ribs were killing him.

And who could feel like smiling about anything while Kevin lay up there on the third floor, unconscious? Sure, Grant’s right ankle was sprained and his arm broken, but that was nothing compared to the crushing Kevin had suffered. He’d never regained consciousness after the accident, and no one seemed sure when—or if—he might wake.

Condition serious but stable, they called it. Whatever that meant. Grant shook off the memory of Kevin’s bandaged form. He didn’t have time to dwell on worst-case scenarios. He had to stay focused. Not only were there chores to do, horses to look after and accounts to settle...but he also had a baby to take care of.

With one hand.

Earlier, while he’d been waiting for his CT scan, Crimson had sent word that Marianne Donovan would babysit Molly for the evening. He’d been surprised at first, because Crimson normally never missed a chance to be with the baby. But he realized how dumb that was. Of course Crimson would want to stay at the hospital as long as she could, even though they wouldn’t let her in Kevin’s room.

She would want to be as close to him as she could get.

If Grant had ever been fool enough to wonder about Crimson’s feelings—to wonder whether maybe Molly was more the attraction than Kevin himself—he knew better now. The look on her face when she first saw Kevin slumped over the steering wheel had said it all. She had been pale with terror, mute with grief.

God, the quiet hospital hallway seemed endless. The polished floor reflected the overhead lights in hazy circles, as if someone had spilled milk at intervals—and the line of circles seemed to stretch on forever.

He’d lied to Harry and the nurses about how much his ankle hurt, hoping they wouldn’t insist on a wheelchair. Limping as little as he could, he followed the path of watery lights to the waiting room on the second floor.

Crimson had sent word she’d be there, and she was.

To his surprise, though, she was deep in conversation with another female, a teenager, he’d guess, and a bottle blonde. The two huddled together in adjoining chairs by the far wall, talking in low tones even though they were the only two people in the room.

They both looked up as Grant entered. Only then did he see that the blonde had a black eye, a swollen upper lip and a bandage across the bridge of her nose.

“Grant!” Crimson rose jerkily. “Is there news?”

He shook his head. “Nothing since I sent the note around nine.”

She nodded. “Thanks for that. No one would tell me anything.”

He’d figured as much. A couple of weeks ago, when Kevin had learned that his new law firm would be sending him overseas periodically, he’d filled out forms naming Grant his official healthcare surrogate and the emergency guardian for Molly.

It was a sudden outburst of practicality, which, frankly, had been a shocker. In their college days, Kevin had been the least sensible person Grant knew.

Of course, he hadn’t seen Kevin in years, so maybe he’d grown out of that long ago. Working with the law could make you overly cautious. And fatherhood changed even the craziest frat boys.

Grant knew that, too.

So now Grant got all the medical updates. Crimson, who had no official standing, couldn’t force the doctors to admit Kevin existed, much less that he lay in one of these rooms, unconscious.

“They may move him to Montrose in a day or two,” Grant said, uncertain whether he’d included that in his note. The painkillers they’d given him were powerful, and a lot of tonight was a blur. “They don’t have neurosurgeons here in Silverdell. The brain scan looks normal, and he does respond to light and stimulus...”

He let the sentence drift off. He’d included the details to provide hope, but even he wasn’t sure what they meant. Clearly the doctors weren’t sure, either. All they were certain of was that Kevin wasn’t brain-dead, and therefore he would probably require a higher level of care.

Crimson nodded silently. She didn’t look shocked, so he assumed his note had covered the basics well enough. But she did look grave. She must hate the idea of Kevin being moved—it would be harder to get to Montrose, which was about an hour away from Silverdell.

On the other hand, she would want him to get the best care possible. Poor Crimson. Her emotions clearly were a heavy weight to carry. Her hazel eyes, normally lit with both intelligence and mischief, were dulled with grief and fear.

Without ever meeting Grant’s gaze, the mystery girl standing next to Crimson fidgeted with her purse strap. She tentatively touched Crimson’s arm.

“I probably should go. Rory’s waiting for me downstairs, and he has to work in the morning.”

Crimson frowned, but even the frown was blunted. When she didn’t agree with something, she ordinarily zapped you hard. Now, though, her voice was softly troubled. “Becky, Rory isn’t—”

“It’s okay!” The girl smiled so brightly it looked out of place here, in the dim, hushed chill of a hospital waiting room at midnight. “He’ll watch out for me. After I fell, he practically carried me to the hospital. Honestly. I stumble on one wet staircase, and suddenly he thinks I can’t walk without tripping over my own feet.”

Crimson shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She swayed slightly. Grant wondered whether she might collapse right there. He’d never seen her look so dead-dog tired.

She opened her eyes. “You still have my card?”

The girl nodded, never letting the smile drop. “Sure do! Thanks. Pretty crazy, huh, both of us showing up here tonight?” She transferred the high-wattage beam to Grant. “Good to meet you,” she said, though she hadn’t. “Glad you’re okay!”

Wiggling her fingers in a goodbye better suited to friends parting at the dance club, she left.

Grant went over to where Crimson stood. She’d let her shoulder drop against the wall as if she needed the support. Beside her, through the window, he saw flashes of silver, which made the ugly metallic rooftop air handlers look almost pretty.

“It’s still raining.” He was surprised, though he wasn’t sure why. Silverdell springs could be wet as hell. But he felt as if he’d been inside this hospital for days, instead of hours.

“It’s okay. I drive pretty well in the rain.”

Right. He’d have to leave the driving to her, wouldn’t he? He wasn’t even sure his sprained right ankle would be capable of making the transition from gas to brake—and the last thing they needed was another accident.

He almost asked her where her car was parked—but he remembered in the nick of time. She didn’t have a car anymore. They’d towed it to the junk lot down by Mark’s garage on the south side of town, waiting to be crushed, no doubt.

And suddenly, like a tsunami, all the practical details of this mess rushed into his head. None of it had seemed to matter earlier, when he’d been focused on Kevin’s condition and on persuading the doctors to let him go home.

But it mattered now. Thanks to that fool tourist, who had been texting when he should have been watching the road, Crimson was in a fix—and so was he.

What was he going to do with Molly? He couldn’t tend to a baby with only one good hand.

He couldn’t tend to a baby. Period.

“Hell.” He frowned, getting a sudden glimpse of the long list of things he wasn’t going to be able to do one-handed. It stretched from the profoundly important, like grooming, feeding and training his horses, to the ridiculously trivial, like buttoning his jeans and squeezing toothpaste onto his own toothbrush. “I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

His cell phone chose that moment to buzz at him. Clumsily, he dug around in his pocket with his left hand, barely managing to extricate the thing before it was too late.

He answered without looking at the caller ID, because he didn’t have time. Just his luck. It was Ginny.

And apparently, she’d heard about the accident.

“Honey, are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” He wondered why they were back to honey. He’d been so relieved when she broke up with him. Surely she wasn’t going to try to patch things up now.

Crimson was staring at him, her face set as if she feared it might be bad news, so he smiled a little and shook his head to set her mind at ease. “My arm’s broken,” he explained into the phone, “and I’m on some serious painkillers, but I’m alive.”

He winced when he heard himself say that. I’m alive, but Kevin...

“Are you still at the hospital? Let me come get you. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

Instinctively, he began to protest. “No, really. I’m fine. I know you decided we should take a break, and just because I’ve had an accident, you shouldn’t—”

“I want to! You know I wouldn’t leave you in the lurch!”

“Listen, Ginny.” He was suddenly so tired he wasn’t sure how much longer he could string words together. “I’m fine. I don’t need any help.”

“What about the baby? If your arm is broken, you’ll need someone to help with the baby, surely. Diapers? Feeding?”

She was right, of course. He would desperately need help with all that. But he’d learn to change diapers with his toes before he’d put Molly in the Ginny’s care. The breakup over late-night wailing was only the last in a long line of small indications that Ginny wasn’t fond of babies.

He glanced at Crimson. Maybe something in his face alerted her to the problem. Or maybe she had just put two and two together from his end of the conversation.

She raised her eyebrows and tapped her index finger against her collarbone. “Me,” she mouthed. She held her elbows out, cupped one hand behind the other and mimicked rocking a baby. “Me.”

He nodded. Yes. Oh, hell, yes. He didn’t have to think twice. Even his muddy brain could see how perfect that solution was. Crimson was capable, kind and newly unemployed. She loved Molly, and the baby had clearly bonded with her.

“I’ve already got the help I need,” he said into the phone, though he kept his gaze on Crimson, who was smiling her approval. She was extraordinarily beautiful, he thought suddenly, and then pulled back from the thought. Was that the painkillers talking? He didn’t concern himself with the beauty of women who belonged to other men.

Maybe it was just that, at the moment, she looked like his guardian angel. He hadn’t even realized how daunted he’d felt at the prospect of handling things alone until he didn’t have to. She was the perfect candidate.

Honestly, he couldn’t think of anyone else he could stand to have living at the ranch right now.

“What do you mean, you’ve already got help?” Ginny sounded suspicious. “You’ve been in the hospital all afternoon. What did you do, hire a nurse straight out of the ER?”

“Better than a nurse,” he said. “Crimson’s offered to move in till Kevin wakes up.”

* * *

“I’VE GOTTA TELL YOU, pumpkin, you’re cute, but you’re exhausting.”

Crimson dropped a kiss on Molly’s head as she spoke, as if to offset any implied criticism. But it was true. She was dog-tired. And she’d only been a substitute mother for about—she glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand by Kevin’s bed—about three hours now.

Three hours out of...how many? How many days, weeks, months, even, would it be before Kevin was well enough to come back to his infant daughter?

If he ever was.

She shivered, even though this bedroom, one of the few completely renovated rooms in Grant’s comfortable ranch house, was cozy warm. She could see a peaceful spring dawn rising over the greening mountains through the window.

About half an hour ago, the rain had finally stopped—and Molly had woken up. Maybe the sudden silence was the problem. Maybe the deep drumming of water against the roof had provided a lullaby of white noise. Or, heck, maybe waking at 5:00 a.m. was normal for Molly. Crimson had never been intimate enough with Kevin to learn such things.

She’d never spent the night in this bedroom. Not until tonight.

She looked at the baby, who looked back, wide-eyed and curious.

What had she gotten herself into? Was it really just yesterday she’d been saying she needed to get the heck out of Silverdell? She should have listened to her gut. She should have gone straight to her car and...

As if Molly sensed Crimson’s distress, she frowned. She puckered up and inhaled, clearly prepared to wail.

“Shhh...no, no, we have to let Uncle Grant sleep.” Crimson patted the baby’s back, wondering what on earth to try next.

Clean diaper? Well, she wasn’t an idiot. She’d taken care of that first. She’d also offered a bottle of formula. Kevin had cleverly turned this guest bedroom into a self-contained baby-tending unit, with a small refrigerator on the dresser, and an electric bottle warmer conveniently situated on the end table.

After Molly had eaten, Crimson had patted her back until she burped. Serenading her softly, she’d walked her around the room.

And around. And around.

She’d been pacing a cramped circle through this small space for half an hour now. From the crib, down around the foot of the bed, over to the window, past the armoire and back to the bed. Every time, the minute Molly saw the crib, she started to fret, so Crimson would start the loop all over again.

But still Molly rode her shoulder with her head erect, her body tense, her feet kicking slightly. She was 100 percent wide-awake.

“Hush now, pumpkin. Hush.”

But Molly was clearly not in the mood to be hushed. Jiggling the baby with one arm, Crimson snatched up her long bathrobe with the other and made her way out the door, worming her arm into the sleeve awkwardly.

She still had only one arm in by the time she hit the staircase, and the robe dangled from her shoulder. Gingerly, she made her way down the beautiful Australian cypress treads, being careful not to trip on the untied belt, which dragged beside her like a snake.

The staircase seemed to fascinate Molly, who instantly went silent. She gripped the neck of Crimson’s nightshirt in one fist to steady herself and used her other hand to push upright so she could gaze at the big house with her liquid blue eyes.

She smacked her lips, and then she made a noise that sounded a lot like a kitten purring. Crimson had to chuckle. It was undoubtedly an expression of approval, as if saying that Crimson had been a little slow on the uptake, but she’d finally gotten it right.

“I hear you, girlfriend,” Crimson said, kissing the warm, silky head again as they made it to the bottom of the stairs. “A lady’s gotta have space. A lady’s gotta have a little excitement.”

“I’m not sure I can offer excitement this early in the morning,” Grant said, appearing suddenly from the shadows of the dining room, where it led into the kitchen. “Frankly, it took me half an hour to manage coffee. Want some?”

“Grant!” Crimson frowned. “What on earth are you doing awake?”

He couldn’t have slept more than two hours. If that. They’d decided not to leave Molly with Marianne, who had the restaurant to handle and needed rest. But by the time they’d picked up the baby, and stopped by Crimson’s apartment to grab a toothbrush and a change of clothes, and driven back to Grant’s place, it had been nearly 3:00 a.m.

“Did Molly wake you? I tried to keep her quiet, but—”

“No. I haven’t even been upstairs.” He turned and led the way into the kitchen, talking as he walked. “Too much to do.”

She watched him move away. He was limping more than he had last night. Shifting Molly to her other shoulder, she followed him into the kitchen.

“Tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll take care of it. You need to get off that foot, and you need sleep. You look awful.”

He turned, raising one eyebrow and giving her a small smile. “Gee. Thanks.”

She refused to smile back. He’d been born gorgeous, and he knew it, but she wasn’t kidding. He looked done in. His thick, brown hair fell onto his forehead in unkempt waves. Dark blue shadows sat like bruises below his heavy-lidded eyes. His skin, which ordinarily glowed, bronzed by the hours outside, looked oddly sallow. His full lips seemed to have thinned from pain.

“You look terrible,” she repeated.

“Oh, well.” Tilting his head, he let his gaze quickly scan her from head to toe. He brought his coffee mug up for a quick sip to hide his smile. “Obviously we can’t all be as splendid first thing in the morning as you are.”

Aw, crud. Belatedly, she remembered she hadn’t even run her fingers through her hair when she got up with the baby. Last year, she’d cut her hair in edgy, red-tipped spikes, and growing that stupid style out was an ordeal. If she didn’t slick it down, it stuck out all over like a sick peacock in molting season.

And then there was the sexless gray bathrobe, which still hung over one shoulder, half on, half off, and dragged on the ground behind her.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to find anyone down here,” she said brusquely. It annoyed her to realize she was embarrassed. What did she care how bad she looked? If he’d wanted eye candy, he should have stuck with Ginny, whose magic mascara probably never gave her raccoon eyes if she forgot to take it off.

She felt around behind her, blindly rooting for the other side of the robe so she could at least cover herself up. It was probably obvious she wasn’t wearing anything underneath this ugly cotton nightshirt.

With a small chuckle, Grant set down his coffee cup. Reaching his good hand around to help her, he lifted the terry cloth and guided the opening of the sleeve toward her fingers. When that was on, he tugged the robe up over her shoulders and tucked the edge under the other side, while she held Molly out of the way.

He grabbed the short end of the fuzzy belt and slid it through its loopholes to pull it even.

“You’ll have to tie it, I’m afraid.” He smiled. “I’m already discovering how many things I can’t do with one hand. Making a bow is one of them.”

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly. He was still holding the edge of the sash, and Crimson’s skin prickled with an odd awareness. When he’d brushed her breast, she’d felt it like a burn. She needed to remember not to come down half-dressed ever again. Clearly it made her way too sensitized and silly.

As if he understood, he dropped the sash and instead put his palm over the crown of the baby’s head and softly stroked the carroty hair.

“Hey, cutie,” he said. “You look sleepy, too. How about a nap, so Auntie Red can get a little more shut-eye?”

Molly seemed to love the touch of his big, gentle hand, and she clearly recognized the name “Auntie Red.” Kevin had given it to her when they first started dating.

The baby sank against Crimson’s shoulder with a contented chirp. She nuzzled her collarbone for a second or two, and then she shut her eyes and went instantly limp with sleep.

Grant smiled, and their gazes met over the baby’s head. Crimson shook her head slightly, a mute acknowledgment of the irony. She’d tried for an hour to accomplish what he’d been able to do with one touch.

“It’s a guy thing,” he whispered, but his eyes were teasing.

She ought to take Molly upstairs right now, ease her into the crib and grab a little more sleep. And yet she felt oddly fixed in place.

After the hell of yesterday, there was something so intensely intimate and good about this moment. The kitchen was fresh and pink with dawn light. The coffee gave the rain-freshened air a homey flavor. The warm infant in her arms smelled like baby powder, soap and everything simple and sweet.

“Thank you, Crimson,” Grant said, his voice quietly solemn. He rarely used her real name, which he knew she didn’t like. But it sounded oddly feminine and lovely now. “Thank you for being here. For being willing to help.”

Crimson started to protest automatically—it was nothing, she was glad to do it, she adored Molly, she’d do anything for Grant...

But as she gazed into his eyes, she felt a strange shift, as if she’d momentarily lost her balance. When she centered herself again, she felt different. The whole room felt different.

He blinked and frowned slightly, as if the same tremor had just run through him, too. His beautiful brown eyes, flecked with gold, were just as shadowed and tired as ever, but they suddenly held a new gleam. When he gazed down at her, it was as if he could see beyond the surface, beneath the skin, down to something very private. Something no one else could see.

She’d do anything for Grant...

Heat shot to her cheeks as a jolt of electricity moved through her midsection. Confused and deeply embarrassed, she fought the feeling. This was ridiculous. She must be imagining it. She and Grant...they weren’t like this. They weren’t lovers. They hadn’t ever even considered it. They didn’t even flirt.

They were just friends.

And yet, she didn’t seem to be able to pull her gaze from his, and she was tingling all over...

“It’s nothing,” she said, desperately clutching at the pat phrases. “Really. I’m glad to help. It’s nothing.”

She backed off a clumsy step or two, ignoring the way her robe slid open again, exposing her bare legs and the outline of her breast. If he dropped his gaze, he would see what these invisible shivers had done to her...

But he didn’t look down. The minute she began to move, he turned away.

“Better get some sleep while you can,” he said briskly. “I’m trying to line up more help. I’ll let you know what I can get.”

And then, as if the electricity that arced between them had never happened, as if she had imagined it, he turned back to the counter where the coffee was brewing. He was pouring himself another cup when his cell phone rang.

“Get some sleep, Red,” he said again. He smiled casually at her over his shoulder as he answered his phone. “Olson...thank God. Did you catch up with Barley? I’m going to be useless for weeks. Can he be here by ten?”

* * *

THESE DAYS, WHEN the alarm on Rory’s cell phone went off at 6:00 a.m., Becky pretended to sleep through it. She used to get up with him, eager to be supportive and “wifely.” But she’d quickly learned he wasn’t a morning person. He didn’t eat breakfast, hated to make small talk before the coffee kicked in and was always running late, anyway.

Besides, their apartment was too small, and no matter how careful she was, she always seemed to be standing right where he needed to be. If she asked him questions like “When do you think you’ll be home?” he’d get that cold, contemptuous look. He’d sigh and repeat very slowly, “What did I tell you the last ten times you asked?”

I don’t know when I’ll be home, Becky. Remember? It depended on how many cars there were to fix, and how hard the problems were to diagnose, how long the supplier took to deliver the parts, how obnoxious the customers acted or how lazy the other mechanics were when it came time to clean up the bays.

Of course she remembered all that. She was just making conversation. It felt weird to watch him shave and gargle, drag on his underwear, guzzle milk from the carton and pee with the bathroom door open...all without saying a word.