The Coyote's Cry (3 page)

There was nothing Bram could do except long for the way things had been only hours before. Gran was now seriously ill and he
had
to leave her here. He brought his gaze back to Dr. Vadella.

“I'll tell the family what you said. Thanks for talking to me.”

Nodding, Dr. Vadella left to return to his patient. Bram went out to the waiting room and his family. He knew now that the fishing trip was off and that he would have to drive out to Great-grandfather's place and tell him that his daughter was in the hospital.

Life had fallen apart very suddenly, very quickly.

W
ill and Ellie offered sympathy and any help Bram might need when he told them about Gran. There were so many Coltons, though, that assistance from anyone outside the family wasn't likely to be needed. Still, the Mitchells' gesture was heartfelt and genuine, and Bram appreciated their concern.

Bram put work and everything else out of his mind and spent almost the entire weekend at the hospital. The rest of the family came and went, each spending a few minutes in Gran's room and hoping to hear some good news. Actually, there was no news at all, either good or bad. The doctors and nurses that Bram waylaid in the halls and in Gran's room had only one message to impart: there would not be a credible diagnosis or prognosis until all of the test results came in, which would occur sometime on Monday or Tuesday.

Time had never moved so slowly for Bram. He drank
too much bad coffee and worried. He walked the floors of various waiting rooms and worried. He sat slouched on one uncomfortable chair after another and worried. And he took only an occasional break from his self-imposed post to dash home to the ranch for a shower, shave and clean clothes.

He kept putting off that drive out to Great-grandfather George's place because merely telling him that his daughter was in the hospital, obviously seriously ill, wasn't enough. It would be much better to convey the news with some concrete information from the doctors about her condition, Bram rationalized, which he would have along with the test results in a day or two. Sharing incomplete and possibly false information based on Bram's own fears might extinguish the small light still burning in George WhiteBear's ancient chest, and Bram wouldn't take that chance.

On Monday he had to tend to his job. He talked to the family and made sure that there would always be at least one Colton at the hospital, around the clock. Most of them worked, too, but they coordinated their hours off, which should have eased some of Bram's concern but didn't. Monday was a bad day for him, yet he ran to the hospital every chance he got just to look in on Gran, to make sure she was still breathing. He had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, which he tried to ignore or at least minimize, and couldn't.

It was while Bram was with Gloria on one of his quick stops that she opened her eyes and tried to speak. He jumped up from the chair he'd been anxiously perched on, and took her hand. “Gran,” he said gently, though his heart was in his throat and unshed tears stung his eyes.

She tried to speak again, failed, and he saw painful understanding in her eyes. “It's okay, Gran.”

She made angry noises. It
wasn't
okay, and Bram didn't
have to hear the words to know what she meant. And then she got out a word. “Home!”

Bram sucked in a breath. “I know. You want to go home. I'm working on it, Gran.”

Gloria's eyes closed again and Bram held her limp little hand for a while longer, then returned to his chair. He swore on all that was holy that he would take her home to either live or die. She would do neither in this or any other hospital.

Finally, on Tuesday morning, the Colton family heard what they already knew in their hearts. Gran had suffered a serious stroke. They also heard details that made them weep. Gran was partially paralyzed, her speech was impaired and her short-term memory was possibly eradicated, or no longer in chronological order. Her vision was cloudy and she would suffer bouts of dizziness and confusion. Full recovery at her age should not be expected, but speech and mobility could be greatly improved with physical therapy.

Bram spoke for the group. “Can she be cared for at home?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes, and I highly recommend home care. Stroke patients respond much better when they are with loved ones. However, she should remain here for at least a week, as not all symptoms of stroke are immediately discernible. Also, you all should understand that she will require a full-time nurse for an indefinite period, which is not inexpensive. Medicare covers—”

“The cost will be taken care of,” Bram said curtly. He stood up and faced his family. “I want her brought to the ranch. Any objections?” A buzz of conversation swept through the group. “I know many of you want her, but I'm determined on this. You can drop in anytime to see her, and if you truly want to help, there's housework, cook
ing, laundry and errands.” He turned back to the doctor. “So, I can take her home when?”

“In about a week.”

“Next Monday?”

“Probably. Shall I arrange for the nurse?”

“Yes, please do. Okay, Doctor, thanks. We'll get out of your hair now.” Bram urged his relatives outside, where a few of them told him what they thought of his tactics.

“She's
my
mother,” Uncle Thomas said indignantly.

“When she's better you can take her,” Bram replied. “But I'm taking her first.”

The family began dispersing, going off to their cars, talking among themselves. Willow hung back and squeezed her brother's hand.

“I'm glad she'll be with you,” Willow said. “Everyone says they want her, but caring for an invalid is not easy. I know you'll follow through.”

“That I will,” Bram said with that stern, determined look on his face that Willow knew very well. When Bram set his mind to something, it got done.

The rest of the week flew by because Bram was constantly busy, juggling caring for his horses and Nellie, getting the house cleaned and ready for Gran's arrival, seeing to his job and squeezing in as many trips to the hospital as he could manage.

It was Friday before Bram realized that he hadn't run into Jenna even once. As often as he'd been at the hospital that week, it was odd that he hadn't stumbled across her at least one time. His nerves had settled down some and he began watching for her, thinking that he'd been so focused on Gran's condition during those first awful days and nights that he might have walked right past Jenna and not seen her.

But even on the alert now he didn't see her. Of course, she might have weekends off, he told himself.

Monday morning finally dawned, and Bram jumped out
of bed, anxious for the day to begin. His beloved Gran was coming today, and he was thrilled to have her, ill or not.

 

When Jenna awoke to her alarm clock Monday morning, she stretched and yawned. She'd spent a marvelous week in Dallas with Loni, but her vacation was over and it was time she got back to her own reality. Smiling slightly, she got out of bed and headed for the shower.

Three hours later, on duty at the hospital, she heard two doctors checking a patient's chart and discussing it at the nurse's station. Obviously the patient was one of Dr. Hall's. “Mrs. Colton will be taken by ambulance to Bram's home. Now all I have to do is decide which nurse to send with her. There aren't many nurses that can move in with a patient and give her their undivided attention. Most have family of their own, and—”

“Excuse me,” Jenna said. “Dr. Hall, may I speak to you for a moment?”

 

Bram went to work Monday morning but was back at the ranch again at noon. Nellie greeted him and followed wherever he went. The ambulance was scheduled to arrive around one, and Bram was nervous as a cat waiting for it. He walked through the house again to make sure everything was ready. Unquestionably, his home was cleaner than it had ever been, and the master bedroom, which Bram had assigned to Gran because of its private bathroom, had been scrubbed down with disinfectant.

Bram had taken the bed completely apart, scrubbed the frame and thoroughly vacuumed the springs and mattress before putting it all back together again. He had purchased a supply of white bed linens, including a soft white blanket and bedspread. It had been an expensive purchase, as he'd bought the best he could find in Black Arrow and had
discovered that the “best” in sheets and pillowcases didn't come cheap.

He peered into the bathroom, which contained new, freshly laundered white towels and washcloths. The fixtures gleamed from the scrubbing and polishing they had received.

The kitchen contained foods recommended by the hospital dietitian, who had given him lists of proper and improper foods for a stroke victim, along with a small book of recipes and hints on how to make a salt-free, fat-free, sugar-free meal appear tempting enough to actually eat.

Everything was as ready as he could make it, Bram finally decided, and went outside. With Nellie on his heels, he walked down to the wooden fence surrounding one of the pastures, put a booted foot on the bottom rail and leaned his forearms on the top. He had built this particular fence himself. It was good and sturdy and he knew it would last for many years. But it was about due for another coat of sealer, he decided, mentally putting that on his list of chores to do when time allowed.

Narrowing his eyes, he watched the horses nibbling grass on the far side of the field. Sometimes he thought of resigning from his job, going into debt for a bigger spread and doing nothing but breeding and raising horses. But he wasn't a man who took debt lightly, and he was doing just fine with the status quo. He made a decent salary as sheriff, and his siblings asked for no rent for his use of the family ranch, as they were grateful to have their parents' home and their heritage being kept in such good condition. Along with that, Bram had always been a practical man as far as saving for a rainy day went.

For some reason his thoughts went from there to Carl Elliot, who had to be worth millions, if not more. There were folks in the county with enormous fortunes, of course, some of them oil families from way back. But no
other millionaire that Bram knew of had Carl's less-than-sterling reputation. Bram would admire Carl's ability to amass wealth if there weren't so many rumors about his methods.
Crafty
was the kindest word used by some in describing Carl's way of doing business, and some called him corrupt and worse.

Bram was still watching his horses, still musing about Carl Elliot, when he heard an approaching vehicle. Turning away from the fence, he saw the ambulance nearing his driveway. Bram's heart skipped a beat. He was going to make Gran well, so help him God. He was going to spend every spare minute bringing her back to her former active, energetic self. He would see to exercising her legs and arms and eventually getting her out of that bed, and he would help her with the speech and facial therapies explained to him at the hospital, so she could speak with clarity.

The ambulance pulled up next to the house and Bram began striding toward it. Two paramedics got out of the front of the red-and-white vehicle and called hellos to Bram. He said hello as he walked up to them, and all three walked around to the back of the ambulance.

“So, how is she doing?” Bram asked.

“Just fine,” one of the young men said reassuringly.

Bram stood by while the medics opened the back doors. And then the bottom fell out of his stomach. Getting out of the ambulance was Jenna Elliot. She was wearing white slacks and a white top, her glorious hair was pulled back from her face and restrained with a clip at her nape, and she smiled at Bram as though they had always been the very best of friends.

“Hello, Bram,” she said.

He was too stunned to answer, to move or even to look as though he had a brain somewhere in his stiff and be-numbed body.

Jenna became intent on assisting the paramedics in moving Gloria from the ambulance as gently as possible. She held the IV bottle and kept the tubing from getting twisted or in the way while the two young men did their job. When everything was ready to take Gran into the house, one of the paramedics said, “Lead the way, Bram.”

“Uh…uh, sure,” he stammered, and somehow managed to get his feet walking and heading for the house. This was unfathomable. Jenna was Gran's nurse? My God, Jenna was going to be staying in his house? Sleeping under his roof? In plain sight everywhere he turned? Hovering over Gran whenever he went into her room?

Bram led the way to the master bedroom, which had been his room before this tragic event.

“I gave her this room because of the bathroom,” he mumbled, wishing to hell his tongue would cooperate.

Jenna walked in and looked around. The whole house—or what she'd seen of it on her way in—was spotless and bore the unmistakable odor of disinfectant. Someone had done a thorough cleaning job, or was this almost sterile condition the norm for Bram's home? She would never have thought so, but since she really didn't know him in spite of her long-standing friendship with his sister, she could only guess at his housekeeping skills.

The paramedics were about to transfer Gloria from the gurney to the bed when Jenna said, “Wait a minute, please. Where will I be sleeping?”

Bram nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another. “The guest bedrooms are on the other side of the house.” Lord above, she'd be sleeping in the room next to his!

“Let me take a look.” Jenna handed the IV bottle to one of the paramedics and left the room. “Bram? How about giving me a quick tour?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, again having trouble with the
simplest words. He walked past her, got a whiff of her clean, mildly floral smell and felt his face grow hot. Clenching his teeth, he led her through the house to the other two bedrooms.

Jenna took a quick peek into each and declared, “I'm sorry, but this won't do. I need to be much closer to your grandmother at night. How about moving one of those twin beds into her room for me? I'll keep my things in here and use the other twin when I think she's doing well enough for me to sleep away from her.”

“Great,” Bram muttered.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing. Tell the guys to put her to bed. I'll move the twin.”

“And I'll bring in my suitcase.”

“Uh, I'll get it for you.”

Jenna smiled sweetly. He was unbelievably rude, but she wasn't going to let him beat her up over nothing. After all,
he
didn't know that he had the starring role in the sexual fantasies that occasionally passed through her brain.