now the symptoms remained unchanged. A foreboding shadow settled around Cole’s vision; worry kicked up the fear he’d tried to suppress. He wasn’t ready to lose his dad. Nowhere near.
“I’m calling the Laramie ER, giving them a preliminary report. I already told them to have the stroke team ready to go the second Dad arrives.”
“Do you have a blood-pressure monitor in the house?” Lizzie asked as he dialed his cell phone.
It’d been so long since Cole had lived here, he didn’t rightly know.
“There’s one in Monty’s bedroom,” Gretchen said, setting off in that direction of the house.
Cole studied his father, then looked at the beautiful baby with a full head of dark hair, just like her mother. The child squirmed and stretched while still deeply asleep, and that simple marvel kept that odd smile on his father’s face. Whatever helped or distracted him. The man must be scared as hell of having another stroke. He prayed their actions would be enough for now.
Gretchen produced the portable blood-pressure cuff while Cole gave his report to the ER. He watched as Lizzie carefully placed her baby, who was obviously still exhausted from the big airplane trip, across Tiberius’s lap, then she went right to work setting up and checking the numbers. “Well, we can’t blame his blood pressure for this CVA.” At one hundred and thirty over eighty-five it wasn’t greatly elevated.
Cole repeated the BP to the doctor on the phone. He knew that eighty percent of all strokes were ischemic, caused by a blockage of blood flow. The fact that his father had kept his blood pressure under control since his first TIA a couple of years ago, plus his BP wasn’t exceptionally high right now, meant the odds of a hemorrhagic stroke were much less. But you never knew, he couldn’t be too cautious and the man belonged in the hospital for treatment and best outcome. And just before he finished the call, there was the sweet sound of a distant ambulance siren.
“Our ride’s here,” he said to the doctor on the other end, then gave his dad a reassuring smile. “ETA an hour and ten.” That left a one- to two-hour window to get his father on thrombolytic therapy for best chance of full recovery. He hoped it would be enough.
WELL AFTER MIDNIGHT, Lizzie struggled with her colicky baby. These fits always seemed to happen at night. The child had been so intent on crying she couldn’t calm down enough to nurse. At the end of her tether, Lizzie walked the floor of the cathedral-ceilinged living room, with the spiral staircase winding up to a huge loft library at the back.
She had no business being a mother. Didn’t this prove it? She didn’t know what she was doing, and poor Flora sensed it. The baby bore the brunt of her overworked and undertrained parent. She wanted to cry right along with her child, but held it in, afraid if she let that gate open she’d never regain control.
She’d put on quite a show that afternoon, walking into a strange house with her baby, acting as if she were the most confident girl in the world. Oh, yeah, move out of state? Take a temporary job? Piece of cake. How long before Cole Montgomery sees through me?
Headlights flashed across the arched, church-sized window. Oh, great, just what she needed—now Cole would know what a failure she was as a mother, too. She thought about running off to her room set away from the rest of the house. Maybe he wouldn’t hear Flora’s wails there. But her curiosity about Tiberius overpowered her desire to run and hide—was saving face really that important?—so she stayed put. Her one hope being Cole wouldn’t demand she shut Flora up because if he did, she might have to quit the job before she even started.
She took a deep breath and switched her little one to the other arm and bounced her. Maybe Flora had worn herself out, because she shifted from scream mode to fussy and generally unhappy—an improvement. But could Lizzie blame her for having colic? The poor kid was stuck with her, clueless and unnatural, as a mother.
This move to Wyoming was supposed to be the first step in a better life for both of them, yet Flora’s distress seemed to prove otherwise. Why did she have to doubt herself at every turn since becoming a mother? She couldn’t very well ask her own mother for help.
A key turned the lock in the front door, and from the darkened room Lizzie saw Cole enter. His head immediately turned to the sounds of the baby’s cries.
“Hi,” she said, walking toward him, glad she’d thrown a long sweater over her funky flannel pajama pants and overstretched tank top. It was too late to try to do anything with her hair, though.
He nodded, looking tired and grim when he turned on the light. He watched her a few moments as they both adjusted to the sudden brightness.
“How’s your dad?” She shifted Flora to her shoulder and rubbed her back as she continued to fuss loudly and squirm in her arms.
“He’s stable. The CT scan showed blockage without bleeding, so that’s good. They put him on ATP well within the window for best results. Only time will tell.”
She thought about the news. It was promising, and that was all they could hope for tonight. “So the CVA hasn’t evolved?”
“You still can’t understand him when he tries to talk, but the right-sided weakness seems less. At least that’s something.” Cole threw his keys in a ceramic bowl on the long entry hall table, the sound startling Flora and the fussing turned to crying. “Oh, sorry.” He grimaced.
“It’s not you. We’ve been up for a couple hours. I keep hoping she’ll wear herself out enough so I can nurse her.” God, she wanted to cry, that familiar helpless feeling of not being able to comfort her daughter ripping at her heart.
His brows pulled downward. “You need your sleep just as much as she does.” Surprising her, he took off his jacket, laid it over the back of a chair and reached for Flora. “Maybe a change in scenery will help. Give her to me.” He took her squirming baby, now looking amazingly tiny in his big hands and arms. “Let’s go in the kitchen, and have some herbal tea or something. It’ll do us both good.”
He led the way—her wriggling, loudly protesting baby leaving him unfazed—and, though feeling embarrassed about her appearance, she followed. Fortunately the kitchen light had a dimmer, so Cole left it at half the usual brightness. That worked for Lizzie. The less he saw of her bed hair and unwashed face, the better.
“I’ll put the water on,” she said, noticing that Flora still fussed but had quieted down a little. “Where do you keep the tea?” In a kitchen the size of her entire apartment back in Boston, she didn’t have a clue where to begin to look.
“The pantry,” he whispered, and pointed to the corner, Flora in the crook of his elbow as he unconsciously rocked the fidgety baby. “Second shelf. I like the Sweet Dreams brand, but there’s some chamomile, too, somewhere, I think.”
It tickled her to think of big ol’ Cole Montgomery liking herbal tea and holding babies. Even though he gazed at Flora as if she were an alien from Planet X. After she got the tea she was grateful the cabinets had glass doors, so at least she knew where to find the cups.
Behind her, he chuckled softly. “I think she’s hungry—she keeps trying to suckle my neck.”
“Oh!” Maybe she should stop everything and nurse that child since that seemed
