Chapter 3
Poppycock
Quinn
Islept like shit alone in the old farmhouse, but I manage to pry myself from my bed before Wes trudges in to wake me.
I weave through the boxes still crowding my room to get to my clothes.
With calving season in full swing, I decide to dress casually in jeans and a T-shirt in case I’m needed.
I expect my veterinary expertise will be required at some point during my stay.
I scrounge up some breakfast and start a pot of coffee. By the time Wes lets himself in, I’ve eaten and a steady caffeine buzz hums through my veins.
“Hey, Sawyer will be over in a bit to take you to the hospital.”
“You’re not coming?”
He shakes his head. “I figured you’d want to see him this morning. I won’t be free until this afternoon, and I can’t stay long. Got a meeting with the contractor and a million things to do, but I wanted you to have more than a few minutes with him.”
I sigh and head to the sink to wash out my coffee mug. “Yeah, I do. Thanks.”
“Alright, I’ve gotta head out, but I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“See you later,” I say, and with a quick wave he’s out the door.
Running a ranch is a huge undertaking, and he’s still finding his footing—not to mention his new house going up on another part of the property.
I was hoping for some time with my brother so we could discuss Pops’ care plan after I talk to the doctors, but it looks like if I want to have more than a two-minute conversation with him I’m going to have to mount a horse and follow him out to the pasture.
I’m grateful when Sawyer shows up a few minutes later, eager to see for myself that Pops is okay.
“Hey,” I say, pulling her into a hug. She hugs me back, albeit a bit less enthusiastically than I do. But that’s just Sawyer.
“I’m glad you came. Wes has been... I feel like stressed is an understatement,” she says, tilting her head toward her truck.
I climb in and buckle up. “I know it’s busy for him right now.”
As we drive down the road, I spot some construction trucks turning onto the other side of the ranch. “Are they working on the house right now?” I ask, glancing toward the half-built structures in the distance.
She shakes her head. “They’re working on the outbuildings and indoor training arena first at Wes’ request. The house will get done when it gets done. I’m fine where I’m at for now. It’s just me and Wes, so it’s not like we need a lot of space.”
“A training arena?”
She guns it as we turn onto the highway. “Wes wants to hire another ranch hand—someone to do horseback riding and equine lessons. I told him I’d help train the horses, but he’s on kid duty. Teaching rugrats is not on my bingo card this year.”
I snort. “He‘s really going all in, huh?”
Sawyer beams. “He’s making up for lost time, I think. He wants to make Pops proud.”
Her words fade as I stare out the window. The ranch slips by, fields giving way to open road, and the weight in my chest only grows heavier.
It’s a forty-minute drive to the hospital, and my stomach twists more and more into knots with every mile. When we finally pull up to the large clinical building, my heart takes up residence in my throat.
“Have you seen him?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Sawyer nods. “I was with him yesterday for a bit. I think Wes has a hard time seeing him in the hospital bed. He’s been avoiding visiting hours like the plague.”
I swallow past the ache in my throat and follow her through the sliding doors toward Pops’ recovery room.
The sound of the heart monitor beeping out a steady rhythm echoes through the small sterile room. Pops’ eyes drift to me and Sawyer, and his lips lift in a tired smile.
“There are my girls,” he rasps.
“Hey, Pops,” Sawyer says, arms crossing over her chest. “It’s good to see you awake.”
He looks exhausted, much feebler than I’ve ever seen him. My chest aches seeing him like this.
I drift to his side, take his hand carefully, and press a kiss to his head, hating the sharp scent of antiseptic that replaces the smell of leather and outdoors.
“I didn’t know you were comin’, Quinnie girl.”
“Nobody else did either.” My eyes track over his weathered face, looking him over for any sign of pain or discomfort. “How are you feeling?”
His eyes roll toward the ceiling. “I’m doin’ fine. I don’t know why people keep askin’ that.”
“Because you just had a heart attack,” I say, exasperated.
“Well, I’m not havin’ one now, am I?” He shoots a pointed look at the heart monitor.
I sigh and glance at Sawyer, who looks amused. “No, you’re not.”
“See? I’m fine.”
A nurse breezes into the room, dark hair pinned back. “Vern, how are you feeling?”
Sawyer laughs and Pops groans. “For Pete’s sake. Don’t y’all have anything better to do than pester me constantly?”
“Pops,” Sawyer and I chastise in unison.
“She’s just doing her job and taking care of you,” I remind him.
“Sorry,” Sawyer tells the nurse. “He’s becoming crotchety in his old age.”
Pops glares, bushy eyebrows pulled low over his eyes, but the nurse only smiles, checking the monitor and adjusting his IV. “Dr. Berk will be in soon. She’ll want to talk with you about what to expect after discharge.”
I nod slowly. “Alright.”
“Just hit the call button if he needs anything.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Sawyer sits in the chair in the corner, stretching her legs out in front of her. “You’re getting as prickly as me, old man,” she mutters.
He lets out a small snort. “I’m tired of bein’ here.”
She shoots him a sharp look. “You need to rest and let them take care of you, or you’ll be going in the ground instead of back to the ranch.”
From her tone, she’s threatening to put him in the ground herself if he doesn’t listen. I bite back a smile. I would never want to be on Sawyer’s bad side. She’s mildly terrifying when she’s riled up.
“I haven’t left this bed for more than using the bathroom and a measly walk down the hall and back in three days. I’m feeling a bit restless.”
“Well, they want you to rest, so follow the doctor’s orders.”
I squeeze Pops’ hand, and his eyes soften as they meet mine. “Pops, listen to Sawyer. The quicker you do what the doctors and nurses say, the sooner you’ll get back home.”
He grumbles noncommittally.
“You gave everyone quite a scare. If Wes hadn’t been there and recognized what was happening, you might not have gotten to the hospital in time.”
“Oh, poppycock.”
“Pops, please behave. If not for yourself, then do it for me. And for Wes.” My throat burns and my eyes turn glassy.
“Alright, alright. Stop lookin’ at me with those sad blue eyes.”
Sawyer snorts from the corner. “Is that what gets you to listen? I’ve been going about this all wrong.”
My lips tug up in a smile. “Thanks, Pops.” I lean in and press a gentle kiss to his cheek.
There’s a quiet knock on the door. A woman with short blonde hair and a long white coat sweeps into the room, chart in hand.
“Vern, how are you feeling today?” she asks.
I give his hand a gentle squeeze to remind him to be nice.
“I’m tired and a little sore, but I feel fine.”
She hums. “Some tiredness and soreness is to be expected after bypass surgery. Now, I’m glad you two are here for this,” she says, eyes flicking to me and Sawyer.
I sit up straighter, and Sawyer shifts in her chair.
Dr. Berk flips open her chart. “Vern’s recovery is looking good, but it’s going to be awhile before he’s able to fully care for himself.
I think he would benefit from staying at a skilled nursing facility while he gets his strength back before returning home.
Once home, I recommend follow-up appointments with his physician, physical therapists, and a nutritionist.”
Pops’ bushy eyebrows fuse together in the middle of his forehead, looking like a giant caterpillar. He mutters something unintelligible, and Dr. Berk narrows her eyes. “He was advised to undergo some diet changes last time, which it seems he didn’t take too seriously.”
I swing my gaze toward Pops, who looks slightly abashed.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sawyer’s glare is sharp as a knife.
Dr. Berk clears her throat. “I’m hoping with some family support and um, encouragement”—her eyes dart to Sawyer and she smirks—“you can make sure he makes all the changes needed, so he doesn’t end up back in my OR.”
I nod. “How long do you think his recovery will be after a surgery like this?”
“It’s hard to say for certain. My best estimation? At his age—three months or so, as long as he’s working hard with the physical therapist and nutritionist. The first six weeks will be the most challenging.”
Pops lets out a low grumble.
“Oh, hush,” I bite out.
Sawyer gives me an approving look.
“He’ll also need to make sure he’s eating a heart-healthy diet. Limit the red meat, nothing with too much sodium...”
“Nothin’ that tastes good.”
Dr. Berk arches a brow. “I don’t want to see you in here again, Vern. Take care of yourself, so I don’t have to.”
And with that, she leaves the room with a flourish.
Sawyer rounds on Pops. “You lied to me! You told me you didn’t need to change your diet.” Her cheeks are red from irritation.
“I didn’t lie. It was stupid, and I didn’t like any of the food on the list the doctor gave me.”
I interrupt whatever Sawyer is about to say.
“It isn’t stupid, Pops. Had you done as you were told, you might not be lying in a hospital bed right now.
And you won’t get away with fibbing this time because I’m going to make sure someone is at every single appointment and every single therapy session with you and, while I’m at it, I’ll be obnoxiously thorough about your diet.
You can huff and puff all you want, but I’m a Dawson, and I inherited your damn stubborn streak too. ”
Pops looks at me wide-eyed, surprised that his usually soft-spoken granddaughter has just given him such a thorough talking to.
Sawyer whistles low, and her lips kick up in a satisfied smile. “You tell him, Quinn.”
Pops narrows his eyes, muttering under his breath. “Damn women ganging up on me.”
Sawyer smirks. “Get used to it, old man. We’re just getting started.”