78. He and I Will Have Words if This Continues
HE AND I WILL HAVE WORDS IF THIS CONTINUES
brIGHTON
The horrible noises infiltrate my dreams. But I won’t complain. It means Pop is alive.
The last twenty-four hours have been some of the roughest of my life. Aside from watching Mom deteriorate and having to let her go, being powerless when my family was under fire and knowing we could lose Pop… It’s the most helpless I’ve felt in a long, long time.
Images flitted across my eyelids all night.
Snipers in trees.
Hooded and shadowed figures creeping.
Horses reared up on their hind legs, hooves waving in distress.
Bullets flying through the air in slow motion.
My hair being yanked by an attacker.
The last is because Colt got tangled in it at some point, and my weary mind was too tired to delineate reality from dreams. But I’m brought to the surface by a little hand on my boob, another fisted in my hair, and the slap-whoosh rhythm of the ventilator.
Disentangling him isn’t worth the challenge and, if I can just get past the sound of the machines, I’ll take the continued sleep. I can’t call it rest. Not with my mind whirling.
I’d keep fighting to sleep, except three staffers enter and the overhead lights snap on. I guess they assume we’re all in a coma. Check that.
Even I’m not ready for that kind of humor.
“Good morning,” I offer, sliding my body off the mattress, head still on the pillow, gently prying Colt’s fists from my hair.
I buttress him with a couch cushion where I vacated and stand to full height, rumpled and exhausted.
“I’m Brighton Ranger. That’s my dad.” It sounds childlike, even to my ears.
“Good morning.” The doctor dips his chin and studies his tablet.
He scrolls and hums a few times, before looking at the nurse in the group. “You’ve double checked these records? The numbers are accurate?”
“I have. They’re accurate and consistent with his checks since he arrived.”
“Mind telling me what you’re discussing?” The ask is quiet but probing. They’re having a conversation right in front of me in coded language, and I’m far more invested in Pop than any of them ever will be.
“Well, Miss Ranger,” the doctor starts. I don’t correct him with my accurate title. His debt is greater and no doubt he assumes my DVM doesn’t warrant his deference.
“Medically induced comas are typical for traumatic brain injury. But we show no TBI or seizure activity or traces of drug usage. Any idea why they would take these measures?”
“He has a history of high cholesterol and has been under higher stress than usual. But that doesn’t address why you’re asking about values accuracy…”
The door opens, and Eli walks in, surprised at the full house. He comes to me, handing me a coffee, and kisses my cheek. “Morning, darlin’,” he whispers, before wrapping an arm around me. He turns to the team. “Sorry for the interruption.”
The doctor looks between us. “And you would be?”
“Elias Finchley, Mr. Ranger’s attorney.”
He nods. “Mr. Ranger’s numbers are remarkable.
His markers show no elevation that require keeping him sedated.
” He scrolls once more through his tablet.
“Lipids and lipoproteins indicate a healthy man. His BP is stable. No concerns from surgery. Slightly elevated temp, but that’s to be expected.
The only reason for the MIC would’ve been risk of stroke, but I think we’re passed that. ”
“So that means?”
“That means we can discontinue Propofol and reverse the coma. Depending on how Mr. Ranger responds upon waking, we may be able to pull the vent, though we’ll have to keep him a few days. We need to be assured he can breathe on his own and ensure the surgical wound is closed.”
The relief that washes over me is palpable. It’s all I can do not to puddle on the floor and sob grateful tears.
The doctors finish and leave without more conversation. Colt sleeps through it all, but our reprieve will be short-lived.
“Exton and Willa arrive a little after noon. I’m going to pick them up at the airport, if that’s okay with you, so they don’t have to grab an uber. Unless you want to?”
“I’ll stay with Pop and Colt. Colt’ll be awake by then and I hope Pop will be too...”
“Darlin’, if Colt get antsy, you’ll have to leave Kimp’s side. They won’t allow anything that impedes his healing. You sure you don’t want me to take him?”
“I’m positive. I can handle this.”
“That works—” he starts before interrupting his own thought. “I was looking for my tablet this morning. Where’d you put it?”
“Shit. I forgot it in the barn. You asked. I grabbed it and set it… Somewhere. My desk maybe? I’m sorry.”
“I’ll ask Brax to bring it.” He walks to Pop’s bedside and grabs a notepad and a pen with the hospital’s logo on the side.
“Game plan. What do you need? What will we need? Anything that will help Colt? We could be here a couple of days, though I supposed Kimp’ll be moved out of ICU and into a regular room once he’s stable and the hospital realizes how loud a gaggle of Rangers can be. ”
“A razor or clippers, if we can get one easily.” I look to Pop. “He’s never not clean-shaven. I don’t want him to feel scruffy. Bottled water. We’ll need it for Colt’s bottles. And several phone chargers. Oh, and a Ranger jersey.”
His head springs up. “All are easy asks until the last one. I’ll do my best.” He kisses me boldly on the lips and holds my eyes as he pulls away. “Back in a flash. Do you want anything to eat before I go?”
I shake my head, but my stomach growls at the same time. I don’t know when I ate last.
“Baby? You want to stretch your legs and hit the cafeteria or you want me to?”
I look over to Pop and then Colt. When I look back to Eli, it’s as if he can read my mind.
“I’ll be right back. Stay with your dad. He’ll want to see your face when he wakes up. Same with Colt.”
He leaves and returns several minutes later with a tray that could feed five, but instead is full of choices for me and for Colt. I get a quick peck to the forehead, and he’s gone again.
At a quarter to eight, a nurse enters Pop’s room with another doctor. I only know this because of the color of her scrubs.
Colt is anxious and the eggs, toast, and bottle didn’t help. He’s out of his element. Hell, we all are. Besides, this room is cold.
“Miss Ranger, we need you to step out of the room.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Patient rights require privacy. We’ll call you when we can.”
“Call me…?”
“Ma’am, it’s hospital policy. He’ll receive a quick bath, and we’ll administer antibiotics and meds to reverse the coma. We won’t be long.”
My patience is thin, but I do as she asks.
Grabbing my phone and lifting Colt to my hip, we make our way into the hall.
When several moments have passed, I find myself troubled and anxious.
I go to the nurse’s station only to find it empty and wander further, this time out the double doors and into the waiting room where I panicked last night.
I slide to the floor and allow Colt to crawl. I pretend to chase him, tickling his feet and sides, and letting his giggles wash over me.
I flop onto my back and let him climb me. He chatters, absolutely trying to communicate though I have zero clue what he’s saying. Eventually he rests his head on my chest, and I wrap my arms around him and rub his back and down his legs, humming an unknown tune.
The rhythm of his breathing lulls me and calms me in a way little besides Luna or Straight can.
It doesn’t take long before his weight feels heavier, and I know he’s asleep.
I quietly sing ‘You Are My Sunshine’ to him.
I skip the first stanza. Jimmie Davis must’ve had a dark soul that Johnny Cash tapped into, but I don’t need that verse.
I need the sunshine part, not the darkness.
A throat clearing rips my attention away from thoughts of Louisiana governors and country music legends and plants me right back in present-day Austin in a hospital waiting room. I tilt my head back, scraping my hair aggressively on the low-rise carpet, to find Elias standing above me.
“Came to find you. Kimp is waking up, and I know you want to be there.”
I look down at Colt and then back up to Eli and gesture with my chin. “I’m trapped. Another man has me under his spell.”
“Not on my watch,” Eli says, imitating throwing his cape back to come to my rescue. He leans down, lifting Colt to his chest, before he extends a hand to help me.
I wink and sashay in front of him, hurrying for the double doors. “Jealous, Eli?”
“Nah. But he and I will have words if this continues.” I can hear the smile in his voice though his threat is idle.
“You better not. I’m his favorite aunt. It needs to stay that way.”
I think I hear his soft laugh but I’m already pushing open Pop’s door, several steps ahead of them.
Elias
Kimpton looks weak, but he’s awake. He’s awake and alive, and today is a good day for that reason alone.
“Good to see you, Kimp.”
He nods and gives a lackluster thumbs-up. The vent is still attached, and he points to it and makes a face.
“Pop, it’s there for your protection,” Brighton admonishes, but softens her tone immediately. “Just keep getting better, and they’ll remove it. Betting you’d like some water too.”
Kimp makes a mewling sound that we can’t decipher.
“I’m sure that was not beer. I’m positive that wasn’t beer.” Brighton says, removing her hands from his arms to plant them firmly on her hips. “And here I was worried about you.”
Kimp taps her palm gently and looks at me, raising his eyebrows.
“The ranch is under control. Sheriff’s deputies are back today though,” I offer as Bright’s face whips to mine. “I got the call while I was running errands.”
“You’ll find out soon enough since you’ve been unconscious for most of it. Bronwyn Carrington planned to kidnap Colt. She and the man she hired to carry out the plan died in the attempt.”
Kimp’s eyes flutter closed. The beeps on one of his machines accelerate.