most certainly was not about hooking up with a captivating woman he’d met in a bar.
“You don’t know me. I could be a terrible person.”
“A little misguided perhaps, but definitely not terrible.”
“How can you be so sure?
“It’s right there in your eyes. Besides, I’m a good judge of character.”
Gage turned his back to the bar, to get a better look at his judge in cowgirl boots. “And what kind of character do you see in me?”
“It’s your demeanor, and the fact that you’re covered in dust. I’d say you just parked in the dirt parking lot behind this hotel. You seem a bit shaky, so I’m going to guess you’re coming off a long drive with your grandfather. And, for some reason, you and he have a strained relationship that you’re trying to mend, thus the sparkling water and not a beer or something stronger to hamper your reactions. That makes you a stand-up kind of guy.”
Gage was stunned. “What are you, some kind of psychic or something?”
She laughed. “Not exactly, I just went through almost the same experience with my grandmother. Note the dust on my boots.”
She held out her leg, and sure enough her brown cowgirl boots were covered in a thin coating of white dust.
She said, “I take it you and your grandfather are here for the Zane Grey convention?”
He knocked off the rest of his soda and asked the bartender for another. “We sure are.”
“First time?”
“Yep. Been hearing about this convention for more years than I can remember. Read most every book the man ever wrote. Had to. Gramps wouldn’t let me ride Smokey, my favorite horse, if I didn’t read at least four chapters every day during the summers I visited him. Those were some of the best times of my childhood.”
“Same here, only it wasn’t for a ride on a horse. My grandma made the absolute best cakes and cookies in the entire world, and she wouldn’t teach me how to make them unless I could discuss one of Zane’s books while we baked. My mom and I would visit her every summer for an entire month. Some of my best memories are tied up with that woman.” She held out her hand. “Cori Parker. And you are?”
He took her hand in his, and at once he felt a burning heat slip through his body. He quickly let go.
“Gage Remington, grandson to Buck Remington, a cantankerous old cowboy who is up in our room right now, undoubtedly charting out how to make my life a living hell for the next two weeks...which I fully deserve.”
She snickered. “I’m sure that’s not the case. If he’s anything like my grandmother, Miss May Meriwether, he’s too busy reacquainting himself with friends.”
Cori nodded toward a group of older folks sitting around a couple of small tables in the corner, obviously enjoying themselves. Their laughter permeated the entire saloon.
Unfortunately for Gage, his grandfather was not one of them.
Cori continued. “She’s the petite lady, wearing jeans and a blue shirt. She’s the only one with brown hair. Gram turns seventy-five next week, but she’s fighting it as long as she can.”
“My grandfather was like that. Always took care of himself, but ever since my grandmother passed, he’s been nothing but...”
An older, slim man wearing a black cowboy hat rushed into the saloon from the open back door and yelled, “Is anyone in here a nurse or a doctor?”
The music stopped as the room took on a sudden eerie silence. Everyone collectively waited for someone to respond to the frantic question.
A few awkward seconds passed.
Then Gage watched as Cori slid off her barstool, grabbed her oversize purse, and said, “I’m a doctor.”
The man told her to follow him, which she did, as she reached out for Gage’s hand. He reluctantly took it and followed close behind.
“You’re a doctor?” Gage asked her as they made their way out of the tavern area. He never would have guessed. He always thought of doctors as older, wiser-looking people. Not someone he could meet in a bar, and especially not someone who looked and sounded like Cori Parker, with her sultry voice, tight jeans, boots and manicured fingernails. She simply didn’t fit the type, but then, what did he know of types? He hadn’t looked up from achieving his financial goals in way too many years.
“Yes,” she said. “And I need you as my assistant.”
“But I don’t know the first thing about...”
“Just follow my lead and you’ll do fine.”
She squeezed his hand tighter as if she was depending on him for strength. He quickly took up the cause, gaining confidence with each step, and followed her through the back of the saloon, which led directly into the lobby of the Strater Hotel.
As he and Cori came around the corner, past the wooden staircase and into the main lobby decorated with crystal chandeliers, wallpapered walls, antique walnut furniture and ornate woodwork, he spotted the man lying on the plush, carpeted floor in the center of a small group of people who knelt around him.
Gage’s heart raced as he let go of Cori’s hand and hurried toward the group.
“It’s my grandfather,” he told Cori, his voice cracking.
* * *
“I DON’T KNOW what happened,” the young man told Cori as he crouched next to the older man lying on the floor. “One minute he was standing in front of my desk getting his room key, and the next he was on the floor.”
A small group of older folks had gathered around the gray-haired man lying on the floor. Cori immediately focused on the color of the man’s skin, which looked normal, plus his eyes were open and he wasn’t clutching his chest.
All good signs.
“Oh, Gramps,” Gage whispered as he dropped to the floor next to the fallen man. Then he smoothed out his grandpa’s hair, which seemed to relax them both.
As soon as his grandfather heard Gage’s voice he turned toward him. “What? How did I ever get on the floor?” He sounded shaky, deliberate, as if he was trying to control internal tremors. Cori knew these symptoms well, but she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. It was always difficult coming into a situation like she now found herself. She longed for a patient who filled out a medical history. Just once she’d like to know what that was like. Even though she had worked in a low trauma hospital in Manhattan as an ER physician, her experience with a detailed medical history for any of her patients had been a rare luxury, rather than the norm.
“Do you know if he’s suffering from any blood sugar problems?” Cori asked Gage as she clocked the man’s pulse. She could feel his tremors as she held on to his wrist. He also seemed anxious and nervous, but that could be from what had to be an embarrassing situation.
Gage hesitated as Cori looked to him for an easy answer. His grandfather was breathing
