His Favorite Cowgirl. Leigh Duncan
he’s discharged.”
“You’re not staying then?”
“At the Bar X?” She turned, a wistful look playing at the corners of her mouth. “Not hardly. He won’t want me there, not unless the fall knocked some sense into that stubborn old mule.”
She looked up at him, her glance searching for reassurance that wasn’t his to give.
“Well, then.” Hank toed the tiled floor with one booted foot. He paused, wavering between telling her what he knew and letting her figure things out for herself. “Look,” he said at last, “I can ask around, but it didn’t look like he had anyone working for him. The bunkhouse was deserted.”
Kelly’s eyes widened. “That’s impossible. Pops always had a good-size crew.”
Hank ran his fingers over the brim of his hat. It’d take a dozen men to keep a spread the size of the Tompkinses’ place in tip-top shape. Which, when he stopped to think about it, could account for all the signs of neglect he’d noted on the Bar X. He took a breath. How the neighbors ran their ranch wasn’t any of his business.
“Tell your grandfather everybody’s—” He bit his tongue. Paul Tompkins was better at making enemies than friends, so saying they’d all be praying for a quick recovery was pushing it a mite. He clamped his hat on his head. “I’ll stop by the ranch on my way home. Make sure the cows and horses are tended to. It’s the neighborly thing to do,” he added over Kelly’s protests.
He made it halfway to the door before it swung open. A doctor wearing green scrubs stepped into the room. His gaze swept past Hank.
“Ms. Tompkins?” The doc tugged a paper cap from his hair. “I’m Dr. Sheffield, your grandfather’s surgeon.”
Kelly grabbed Hank’s forearm. “Stay, Hank. Please?”
It was a good thing he’d worn long sleeves, he told himself. Otherwise, her touch might have branded him. One glance and he knew he didn’t have it in him to refuse her. Maybe later, when he’d gotten a good night’s sleep and had had more to eat than a stale pack of crackers from the vending machine down the hall. But not now. Not when the grim look on the doctor’s face made him think Kelly might appreciate some support.
From an old friend. A neighbor. And nothing more.
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Dr. Sheffield propped one shoulder against the wall. “I inserted pins to immobilize your grandfather’s leg until it heals. He’s still in Recovery, but you should be able to see him in another hour or so. We’ll remove the cast in six to eight weeks.”
Fatigue etched its way deeper into Kelly’s face. “Thank you, doctor,” she whispered. “I’m sure he’ll be glad about that. How long will he need to stay in the hospital, do you think?”
“We’ll keep him here for another two days before discharging him to a rehab facility. The leg will need to be elevated and completely immobilized until the cast comes off.”
Hank could practically see Kelly packing her bags and climbing behind the wheel of her car. As long as her grandfather was in rehab, the old man wouldn’t need her help.
“After that...” The doctor peered at her. “Have you considered which nursing home you’ll use? The best ones have waiting lists. You’ll want to get him on one now.”
“Nursing home? For a broken leg?” Kelly’s eyes turned a darker shade of green. “I thought he’d go home. Maybe with a nurse or...” Her voice trailed off when the doctor shook his head.
“Hasn’t anyone discussed his condition with you? Dr. Payne, the neurologist? Or Dr. Stewart, his general practitioner?”
“I live in Houston, Dr. Sheffield. I’ve been traveling all night to get here. I only arrived a few minutes ago.”
“In that case... ” Sheffield swept a quick look around the room. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“Thanks. But I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”
Hank’s hand found Kelly’s shoulder. He squeezed gently, letting her know he was there for her.
“Ms. Tompkins, I’m afraid your grandfather has experienced a cerebral hemorrhage. In layman’s terms, a stroke. His neurologist, Dr. Payne, ran a CT scan and an MRI, both of which confirmed the diagnosis. It appears there’s been significant damage. We won’t know the full extent for another twenty-four hours. Until the patient stabilizes. We do know he’s paralyzed on the right side. We believe he’s aphasic.” At Kelly’s frown, he clarified. “It’s not unusual. Some stroke patients lose the ability to speak, or to understand anything said to them. What little your grandfather has managed to say is gibberish.”
“You’re sure, doc?” Hank asked, giving Kelly a moment to recover. “Paul, he spoke earlier.” The old man had mumbled Kelly’s name. At least, he’d thought so at the time. Hank ran a hand through his hair. At the doctor’s skeptical glance, he reached forward. “I’m Hank Judd, Dr. Sheffield. I’m the one who found him.”
“Too bad you didn’t get him to us sooner. If you had, there would have been drugs we could have used to break up the clot, but—” Sheffield cupped his chin “—by the time he got to the hospital, the damage was permanent.”
Hank fought the urge to double over. Maybe he should have slung the old guy on the back of his horse instead of waiting for the ambulance to arrive.
Ignoring him, the doctor turned to Kelly. “They’ll work with him in the rehab facility, of course. With the right kind of therapy, your grandfather may regain some of his motor skills. But the prognosis isn’t good. You should start thinking about where he’ll get the long-term, full-time care he’ll need.”
Beneath his hand, Hank felt Kelly stiffen. He leaned toward the woman whose posture had hardened. “I’m sorry, Kelly,” he whispered.
“You should leave now.” She stepped away from him, dropping her shoulder bag on the bed. “The doctor and I have a few things to discuss. My grandfather’s condition is a private family matter.”
A family he didn’t belong to any more than she did his. Once upon a time, he’d thought they’d had a future together. But that was before he’d made a stupid mistake. She’d ended it then without giving him a second chance. Much like she was closing the door on his help now.
Guilt tore at him, but Hank refused to let it show. He straightened his Stetson and marched out of the room without asking the question foremost on his mind. Would she stay now, or would she go?
Kelly held her breath while the hospital caseworker pursed brightly painted lips. After spending far too long consulting her clipboard, the woman finally added, “Your best bet is to get in touch with your grandfather’s attorney. Find out if Mr. Tompkins has a care plan in place.”
A half hour into a conversation in which she felt increasingly out of her depth, Kelly gave the woman a relieved smile. Margie Johnson had finally made a suggestion she could follow. “He always used Jim Buchanan over on the coast. I’ll call him today.”
“Good. That’s good.” Margie gave the empty hospital corridor a quick study. She leaned forward, her features softening. “I really shouldn’t say this,” she whispered. “I’m overstepping my bounds. But if he hasn’t already named someone, don’t leave it up to the courts to assign a professional guardian. Those people will bleed the estate dry, then stick your grandfather in the cheapest facility they can find. I could tell you horror stories.” Margie drew back, sighing. “In times like these, we always prefer it if a family member steps in.”
This just gets better and better.
“I’ll look into