are you?”
“I’m the baby’s uncle and so is he,” Matt said, hooking a thumb toward Thorne. “We’re Randi McCafferty’s brothers.”
“The only family the baby has right now,” Thorne explained, “as our sister is in Intensive Care and we haven’t located the child’s father.” That wasn’t a lie. Not really. He just didn’t bother to add that they had no idea who the father was. Slicing Matt a look warning him not to elaborate, Thorne continued. “I want to see my nephew.”
“He’s in his crib,” the nurse said patiently. “And he’s being monitored closely.” Her lips pursed and she motioned toward the glassed-in room where the baby, lying seemingly peacefully under a warm lamp, with a monitor strapped to him, was sleeping. Tubes were inserted into his small body and he breathed with his tiny mouth open. Another nurse hovered near his plastic bed. The blonde nurse continued, “Dr. Arnold has seen him and should be right back—oh, here he is now.” She was obviously relieved to pass the responsibility of dealing with Thorne and Matt to a small man with wire-rimmed glasses, slightly stooped shoulders and a ring of wild white hair.
“Dr. Arnold?” Thorne asked, pinning the shorter man with his gaze.
“Yes.”
“I’m Thorne McCafferty. This is my brother, Matt. The baby’s mother is our sister. What the hell’s going on?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Dr. Arnold said calmly, obviously not offended by Thorne’s sharp words and demanding attitude. “The baby’s suffering from bacterial meningitis, probably contracted at the site of the accident as your sister’s amniotic sac had already ruptured.” Thorne’s chest tightened. He felt a muscle in his jaw work as the doctor explained in finer detail what Nicole had already told him on the phone. Slade, white-faced, jaw set, fists coiled, arrived and was introduced quickly and brought up to speed.
“So how dangerous is this?” Thorne demanded.
“Very.” The doctor was solemn. “We’re a small hospital but luckily, we’ve got a state-of-the-art intensive pediatric unit.”
Matt got straight to the point. “Is the baby going to make it?”
“I wish I could tell you that he’s out of the woods, but I can’t.” The doctor’s eyes, behind his glasses, were solemn. “The mortality rate for this kind of meningitis is high, somewhere between twenty to fifty percent—”
“Oh, God,” Matt whispered.
“However, your nephew’s survival chances are good here because of the staff and equipment. Already the baby’s on antibiotic therapy and a mechanical ventilator along with compulsive fluid management.”
“What?”
“An IV to minimize the effects of cerebral edema. Even if the baby is to survive, there’s a chance that he might be deaf, blind or have some retardation.”
“Damn,” Slade mumbled and ran a hand over his chin and was suddenly pale as death, his scar more visible.
Thorne was thunderstruck. He stared at Randi’s baby and felt, for the first time in his life, impotent. Frustration burned through his bloodstream.
“Isn’t there anything else you can do?” Matt asked, lines of worry sketching his brow.
“There must be,” Thorne added.
“Believe me, we’re doing everything possible.” Dr. Arnold’s voice was steady.
“If there’s anything he needs, anything at all—equipment, specialists, whatever—we’ll pay for it.” Thorne was adamant. “Money isn’t an issue here.”
The doctor’s lips pulled together just a fraction. His spine seemed to stiffen and his voice was clipped. “Money isn’t the problem right now, Mr. McCafferty. As I said we have the best equipment available, but this hospital is always looking for endowments and benefactors. I’ll see that your name is on the list. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to check on my patient.”
He punched a code into a keypad and the doors marked Authorized Personnel Only opened. Dr. Arnold disappeared for an instant before he stepped into the neonatal nursery and was visible through the thick glass of the viewing window. Thorne’s teeth clenched, anger and impotence burned in his brain. There had to be something he could do to help Randi’s boy. There had to be! He stared at the pediatrician hard, but if Dr. Arnold felt Thorne’s eyes upon him, he didn’t so much as flinch or glance up. Instead he focused on the baby, carefully examining the fragile little boy who was Randi’s only child—John Randall McCafferty’s sole grandchild.
“He’s got to pull through,” Matt said, his fists balling in determination. “If he doesn’t and Randi wakes up to find out that he didn’t make it—”
“Don’t say it! Don’t even think it! He’s gonna be fine. He’s got to!” Slade slashed Matt a harsh glance filled with his own private hell. Not too long ago he’d lost a girlfriend and an unborn child. “He’ll make it.”
“Will he?” Matt wasn’t convinced. “Here? I mean, I know this is a good hospital—the best around—but maybe he needs specialists, the kind that you find in bigger cities at teaching hospitals in L.A. or Denver or Seattle.”
“We’ll check it out,” Thorne agreed. “I’ll find out the best in the country.”
“Right now it would be a mistake to move him.” Nicole’s voice came from somewhere down the hallway.
Thorne hadn’t heard her approach but saw her reflection in the glass, a pale ghost in jeans and ski jacket, a filmy image that pulled strangely on his heartstrings. “Trust me on this one, Thorne, the baby’s in good hands.”
He turned and stared into a face devoid of makeup except for a bit of lipstick, her hair falling freely to her shoulders, her gold eyes quietly reassuring. She looked younger than she had before, more like the girl he remembered, the one he’d thought he’d loved, the one he’d so callously left behind. “Sorry it took me a while to get here, I had to round up a babysitter.”
“You have a child?” Matt asked.
“Two. Twin girls. Four years old.” Her serious face brightened at the mention of her daughters and Thorne tried to ignore the ridiculous spurt of jealousy that ran through his blood that another man had fathered her daughters, then he gave himself a swift mental shake. What the hell was he thinking? “And I’d trust them to Geoff—er, Dr. Arnold.”
“Good enough for me,” Matt allowed, though his face was still tense.
“Nothin’ else we can do but have some faith in the guy,” Slade agreed, then cursed softly in frustration.
“There are always other options,” Thorne disagreed.
“None better.” Nicole’s voice brooked no argument. Her face was a mask of certainty. She had absolute trust in this man and again, ludicrously, Thorne felt a prick of jealousy that she would have such unflagging confidence in another male. “Let me talk to Geoff and see what’s up.” Nicole punched a code into the door lock. “I’ll just be a minute.” The electronic doors opened. Nicole slipped through.
Slade
