Rugged Cowboys (Western Romance Collection) Read online

  But you can see the thoughts running through his head, clear as day, as if they were on a ticker-tape across his forehead. If they weren't so stupid. If he had been smarter. If he hadn't let this happen.

  He hadn't. Nobody could blame him, not in any honest way. But that wasn't stopping him from finding a way to blame himself, and if that was what he wanted to do, nobody could stop him.

  For a moment Callahan almost considers giving him a few consoling words. He keeps his mouth shut. He hadn't wanted to hear them, after Sara and he lost Roy. He hadn't wanted to hear them when Sara went to keep their little boy safe up in heaven.

  And now, it wasn't his turn to not want to hear it. It was his turn to stand by the bed, his face drawn with panic. It was his turn to not know what to do, to want to tell them that it would be okay. That they'd feel better, some day. That it was all alright and none of it was their fault.

  But that's not the problem. The problem isn't knowing that it's not your fault, because you know instinctively, deep down. There's nothing that could have been done to prevent it, except maybe not being such god damn fools.

  But that doesn't stop the constant questions. The constant desire to find a way that you could have stopped it. That was a thousand times louder than anything anyone could say to you.

  James had to get out of the woods—if he was lucky, and Callahan hoped he was, Randy had to get out of the woods as well—before he'd hear it. Before he'd hear anything other than someone lying to him, trying to make him feel better with petty lies and platitudes.

  Callahan reaches out and sets a hand on the boy's foot. There's work left to be done. Work that needs doing. But right or wrong, that work can wait. It has to wait. Because right now, they've got bigger concerns.

  A doctor finally comes in. He's got a folder that's nearly an inch thick and has a bunch of x-rays sticking out. Callahan's heart jumps into his throat. Moment of truth time, now.

  The doctor's got the same look doctors always have. It's bad. It's always bad. If you've got the flu, it's bad. And yet, somehow, when your wife isn't going to wake up again—that's just as bad. Doctors aren't ever happy with the prognosis.

  No, it's the nurses who are constantly telling you that it could be fine. People get better all the time from 'never gonna wake up again.' You'll see, Phil. Don't worry about it, it's not your fault. There's nothing you could have done.

  He sets the folder on the counter by the bed and flips it open.

  "I just got the x-rays back. We did them as quick as we could, so we can assess the damage and make sure we know what to do about it."

  James is the one to respond. Philip's throat's tight, now. Too tight for talking. And for that matter, it's not his place to lead the talk. He might feel like the boys' father sometimes—but he isn't.

  "How's he look? He gonna be alright?"

  The doctor looks at the x-ray photo, as if it's going to tell him something new this time.

  "Should be. You boys are lucky."

  James's jaw tightens up. Michael seems to hear something entirely different than what his older brother hears. For the first time since they've come in, he almost seems relaxed.

  "What's the damage?"

  "He's got a few broken ribs. Pretty badly broken, to be honest. But a few inches to the right, and he could be in a wheelchair the rest of his life. So as far as that goes—"

  Callahan watches James's eyes flutter shut. He knows the expression. It's the face he'd made right after they'd told him that Sara was going to be fine. The knowledge that at least he had something left.

  The doctors had been wrong that time. Hindsight being what it is, and all. Callahan looked as best as he could at the x-ray in the doctor's hand, from this distance. He hoped that they weren't wrong this time.

  Then again, broken bones were what they were good at. Not a whole lot to internally bleed in the mid-back. If it was in the lungs, they'd know it by now. They'd probably be able to see if his liver were punctured, right?

  So—he dares, for the second time in his life, to imagine that everything might not get worse. It's not something he'd thought he would do again. And the second he does it, he regrets it.

  Because last time went poorly enough that it wasn't an experience he should be repeating. If anything, he should assume by default that things are only ever going to get worse. When Randy wakes up—and he will wake up, and has been in-and-out thanks to the pain pills conking him out—then Callahan can get funny ideas about the boy recovering.

  Until then, it was best to assume the worst.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Morgan supposes that she should be satisfied. There's plenty of good to say about the factory. It's coming along nicely. Aside from that one snag, it's been nothing but successes. No problems to speak of at all. Which is great news. Wonderful news. Honestly the best.

  It also doesn't count for as much as she'd thought it would. As the foundation goes up, as the girders go into the ground…

  Well, it doesn't count for very much at all.

  She takes a deep breath, because she shouldn't be thinking any of this. She should be giving herself credit for the successes she's been having. They're all very real successes. But it's hard to see it as anything other than things just going according to plan.

  She's hired good people. She trusted the people who knew more than she did. She made a plan that was aggressive but obtainable. It was all by the numbers, from the top to the bottom.

  As long as they stuck to the plan, there wouldn't be any trouble. If there was no trouble, then things would be easy. They'd stuck to the plan, and there wasn't any trouble. None except for the sink-holes.

  It hadn't even eaten up the rest of their buffer. They still had three solid days of clearance before they hit their deadline. Days that, if things went anything like they'd been going, would go unused. Days that would be a little gold star next to Morgan's name at the end of the project.

  But what would it mean in the end? Anything at all? Would it mean that suddenly she'd get all the respect in the world? Would it mean that everything would be easy from here on out?

  No. None of that was the case. She'd still be sitting here having to babysit two new factories for another three years. At that point they'd be in a position where she can sit back and look at the next step.

  Maybe they move further east. Maybe they move north. Maybe they consolidate their power here and start trying to branch out into new markets. Maybe they try to expand market share.

  Whatever the next step was, it was still going to be just as hard as it had been before, only now they'd have two new plants, and they'd have created four hundred jobs. It would be a little feather in her cap, no doubt about it. But compared to her father, compared to the man who had built the company from the ground up, it was only a little thing.

  Morgan swallows her thoughts as footsteps outside approach the door. A knock.

  "Yes?"

  Brad Lang's been back at work for two days, and to her very real surprise, he's been as helpful as he's ever been. Maybe more.

  "You wanted to get a report?"

  "Come in."

  The door opens. He's not any different than he was before. But at least now he's doing his job instead of trying to do hers.

  "Just got done with a walk-around. No problems. Still thirty minutes until lunch, so they're just…" He makes a wave with his hand. "Workin'."

  "The new guys are settling in alright?"

  "Sure. No problems. You want me to go check the other location? Get any information they've got?"

  Morgan shuts her eyes. "Yeah, sure."

  "Oh, one more thing," he says. He steps up to the desk. Her office isn't large. There's not much point in building large offices, before the factory's even finished going up. And even once it is up, the larger office won't be in this plant. But this is the location with the new guys, and that means it's the place she ought to watch more closely.

  "Is there something wrong?"

  "Well, ai
n't nothing wrong, per se." He's close to her, now. A little too close, but maybe she's just imagining things.

  "What is it, then?"

  "You want to go out some time, little lady?"

  She looks at him. He's not a bad-looking man. Some women would even find him attractive, Morgan figures. Not that he's her type, but she could find something to like about him.

  There's a lot she could find not to like about him, though. Not the least of all being that he's her direct subordinate. Nor the fact that he seems to think that it's his personal mission to 'set her straight,' whatever the hell that's supposed to mean.

  There's a lot she could find to like about him, if she put in the effort.

  And there's a lot more that she could find not to like, and with a lot less effort.

  She keeps her face as straight as she can. She's rejecting the man, not trying to humiliate him. "No, thanks."

  "Some other time, maybe?"

  "No, not some other time. But if you leave, I'll forget this happened."

  He looks at her. His lips pinch together like a man who doesn't like to be told 'no.'

  "Yeah. I'll get to the eastern campus. Give you a call when I get there."

  "Brad?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Don't ever come to me like this again."

  He doesn't slam the door. But that doesn't mean that Morgan can't see how angry he is about it.

  That's all too bad. It's not her job to worry about his personal feelings, especially when he lets those personal feelings cross lines like that.

  It's her job to make sure that she gets factories built, and that's his job, too. He'd do better to make sure that he doesn't forget it again in the future.

  It's not until a few minutes after he's gone that she realizes her hands are shaking. She closes her eyes. Part of her wants to call someone. To get all this shit figured out.

  But who would she call?

  A name pops into her head. A name whose number she isn't going to call again. Phil Callahan's had enough trouble without her sticking her nose into his life again.

  She's going to let him keep his land, and she's going to stop nosing into his life. He doesn't want her there, and she doesn't want to force herself someplace she's not wanted.

  The man's had a hard enough life as it is, without her just making it worse for him.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Phil Callahan was snoozing in the surprisingly-comfortable hospital chairs when he was awoken from a quite-sound sleep by someone touching him on his shoulder. The last time this had happened, the chairs had dug into his hips uncomfortably and they'd been doing it to give him bad news.

  And now, he knows without needing to be told, they're going to do it again. He doesn't turn to face the nurse that must have tapped him awake. He turns to the machines.

  There shouldn't be a problem. A few broken ribs, nothing in the lungs—Randy should be completely fine. The machine beeps happily, a complete reversal of the mood anyone would feel looking at it. Stable heartbeat. Not fast, nor slow.

  Then Callahan turns and stands to greet whoever came in. It's a young woman, maybe twenty-five. She looks tired. All the nurses do. The hospital works them like dogs. Like horses, he thinks, though it's not as funny as he would like for it to be. Not even close, really.

  "What's wrong?"

  "It's probably nothing, sir, but just. As a precaution." She confirms his insurance company. The one he had to get, or face the full force of the I.R.S. against him. What were they going to do, though? Audit him?

  "Why, is there some kind of problem?"

  "Not exactly, sir. It's not going to affect anything, of course, but. We just wanted to make sure."

  "I gave you that information a week ago. What's there to make sure of?"

  "Nothing. Sir."

  "Will you stop trying to worry about not spooking me? You're going to get me freaking out soon, and all because you just won't tell me what the heck is going on. Can you do that for me?"

  "They're just dragging their feet a little."

  "Then I'll have to get on the phone. Is there going to be a problem?"

  "No problem, sir. We just wanted to make sure that we were talking to your employer's insurance provider."

  "Well, that's them. If they don't want to cover it, I'll get on the phone with them. Y'all will get paid, don't worry about that."

  She smiles at him in a way that says that she regrets bringing it up. Too late for regret now, though. She's in far too deep for that.

  The little woman turns to leave, walking away with that strange walk that all nurses seem to develop. Fast, without looking rushed. Practiced. She's got somewhere else to be, and she's going to get there as soon as she can, but until then she's not exactly panicked about it, per se.

  Phil settles back into his chair and rubs the sting of tiredness out of his eyes. What time is it? There's a little light, just beginning to show through the edge of the windows. Perhaps around 6:30 to 7, then. Give or take.

  In a few minutes, James will get here, and Callahan will let him take over watching the boy. There's work to be done on the farm. There's a horse that needs preparation for sale.

  The price discussion is only a few days, now. If they can make it through that, and if Callahan can get a little money by, then they'll be set and they'll be in good and easy.

  The thought that the insurance is dragging their heels… well, it's no big deal. They do that from time to time. Like any insurance company. They'll probably pay out in the end.

  If they don't, it won't cost so much to retain an attorney. But the problem is that in the mean-time, the hospital goes hungry.

  There are plenty of reasons that Philip Callahan doesn't love the county hospital. Two buried up on the hill. Babies don't die in childbirth any more. They just don't. Never happens. One in a million—less. One in ten million.

  But it had happened, and there was no way around it.

  And then, when Sara had left him, too… wasn't there something they should've done? Wasn't there some way to see that shit coming? They're God damned doctors. They should know how to save a woman's life.

  But there's more than just what happened to him, in this world. More than just a bunch of sappy sad stories of times where Phil Callahan didn't get what he wanted. Those doctors facilitated all that. They made it possible for other people to get what he never got.

  They saved peoples lives every damn day. And if they weren't getting paid… well, that wasn't really a consideration, not in the long run. Because they were going to get paid, regardless of what the insurance company said.

  The problem was… Phil Callahan's fingers rub into the side of his head in the last few minutes before James comes in and he has to turn back on as the boss, rather than as some old man with worries of his own.

  The problem was, that just meant he needed money more. He needed money worse than ever, now. He had money lined up. Probably plenty for a little hospital stay and setting a few broken ribs.

  But there's no guarantees in this life. Not even when your wife goes, smiling, into a maternity ward, and leaves you worrying in the waiting room. It had been so simple. There's nothing to worry about.

  And then the doors had shut and he'd lost—

  The sound of boots on the floor outside pulls him out of his thoughts. He rubs away the wetness that's developed in his eyes. He's fine. He'll be completely fine.

  There's nothing to do now but get back to work, and make sure that if the plans to sell don't work out, he's going to have some kind of backup plans.

  There's one other place that he can get money. Probably a hell of a lot more than twenty or thirty measly grand.

  He loves the ranch. No doubt about it. He'll fight as hard as anyone can, if it means protecting that space. If it means protecting Sara's home.

  But if it's a choice between the dirt and the boys, well… Somebody's got to be on their side.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The last thing that Morgan Lowe
expected, after giving him a week to himself, was a phone call. She'd only actually managed to get him on the phone once before, but as she looked down at the caller I.D. to confirm to herself again, there was no mistaking it.

  Phil Callahan, who she'd privately decided wasn't a concern any more, because she wasn't going to take away the land and the only things he had left of his wife and daughter, was calling her cell.

  For an instant, she thinks about not answering it. Should she? Her thumb moves automatically to the green button and presses it. The call connects and she puts it to her ear. Her muscles move for her, which is thankful because her brain is too caught up to make clear decisions.

  "Hello?"

  Callahan's voice on the other side comes through clear. He sounds a little different on the phone, but it's not an unappealing sound.

  "Is this Morgan Lowe?"

  "Speaking. How can I help you, Mr. Callahan?"

  "Are we back on last names again?"

  She laughs a little. "Do you want to be?"

  "I want to talk with you. Just talk."

  "What did you want to talk about, Philip?"

  She leans back in her chair and allows herself, just for a moment, to imagine the sort of talking that they could get up to. Goosebumps raise in her skin almost the instant that the thought runs through her head, and her face flushes deep red.

  "About anything. I need some time to myself, and I know that you've been about the only one who I've been able to talk to the past few days."

  "That's sweet of you to say." Her face flushes a little deeper. The man knows how to give praise, she has to admit.

  "It's the truth."

  "So when did you want to have this chat? And where?"

  "Whenever and wherever. I just need a night off."

  Her mind's already started twisting with possibilities that she doesn't dare consider any further. "Alright, then. Tonight?"

  "Tonight sounds wonderful. Any ideas where you'd like to go?"