LITMIR.BIZ

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place to pick him up and haul him back to her place. Annie McCrary would do it—she had in the past during family emergencies—but Bram was worried about imparting this kind of bad news over the phone to his aged great-grandfather. He made a decision.

      “No, don’t call Annie. If it’s necessary, I’ll drive out to Great-grandfather’s place later on. See you at the hospital, Willow.” Bram put down the phone and hurried out to his SUV, relieved that he hadn’t already loaded it with camping gear.

      He’d gotten out of his uniform the second he’d arrived home, which was standard procedure, and he was wearing faded jeans and a black, short-sleeved T-shirt. Thinking of nothing but Gran, and praying she was all right, he pushed the speed limit all the way to the hospital. He parked close to the emergency room entrance and ran from his vehicle to the door. Immediately he saw Coltons everywhere, all but taking up the entire waiting room. He went over to them.

      “Do we know anything yet?” he asked.

      He got teary answers from everyone. No one knew anything, except that Gran was in the emergency room. Thomas, a twin to Bram’s father and Gloria’s only living child, said, “Maybe they’ll let you in there, seeing as how you’re the sheriff and all.” Thomas had married Alice Callahan in 1969, and they had had six children. The way the waiting room was overflowing, Bram was pretty sure that every Colton in the area had come to the hospital.

      “I’ll see what I can find out,” Bram said, and walked away. He simply pushed open the door that bore a Keep Out sign and then checked the curtained cubicles until he found Gran. A doctor and nurse were with her. Bram’s heart sank when he looked at Gran, whose eyes were closed. She looked small and old and gray, and at that moment Bram knew that whatever had befallen her was serious.

      Dr. Vadella motioned for Bram to follow him, and he took him to a quiet corner of the ER. “She suffered a stroke, Bram. What we don’t know at this point is its severity.”

      “But it doesn’t look good, does it? Is she going to be paralyzed? Is she going to live?”

      Dr. Vadella looked him in the eye. “Bram, don’t ask me questions I can’t answer tonight. To be perfectly honest we won’t know the extent of the damage the stroke inflicted for several days, maybe longer. Look, I know the family is in the waiting room. Do them and yourself a favor and tell everyone to go home. Mrs. Colton is going to be taken to Intensive Care. We’ll start running tests tonight, but most of them will be done in the morning. The family can see her tomorrow in between tests, but only one person at a time and each for only a few short minutes.”

      Bram looked away. His chest ached and his eyes burned. He wanted to take Gran from that gurney, carry her out to his vehicle and drive her home. She hated hospitals. Always said that people died in hospitals and no one was ever to bring her to one. He felt like a traitor because she was here, and he also felt the same kind of pain he’d suffered when his parents died, the kind of pain one couldn’t eradicate by good-intentioned doctors with common-sense explanations.

      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.

      Chapter Two

      Will 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, cooking, laundry and errands.” He turned back to the doctor. “So, I can take her home when?”

      “In about a week.”

      “Next Monday?”

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