Page 45 of Hometown Cowboy
Gasps and sudden questions flew from all directions. The man held up his hands. “I don’t know all of it. I found him pushed into a furrow at the edge of the ploughed field. The tractor was on its side in the drain ditch near the fence.”
Gabe swore. Fear and pain radiated from him. “How many times have I… That stupid idiot! He knew better than to get off while that thing was running.” He narrowed his eyes at the stranger. “Whoareyou? How did you find him?”
The man’s face tightened further. “I’m Alan. Ryan’s father.”
Silence fell, eerily interrupted by faint beeping in the ICU room behind them. Darby just stood there and blinked, unable to form a coherent thought.
Emma put her hand on Gabe’s arm, her eyes full of tears. She directed her question to the nurse standing patiently behind the counter. “Is he going to be okay?”
“We don’t know much just yet. He has some fractures and lacerations. So far, we don’t believe he has any major internal injuries. He was very lucky; it seems like he was pushed into already tilled ground. He might be a little banged up, but it saved his life. The biggest issue is his head injury.”
Darby’s stomach sank. “Head injury? How serious is it?”
The nurse faced her. “The doctors are liaising with the neurologist from Brisbane. They’ve had to relieve a bleed. He’ll be stabilised, reassessed, then flown to Brisbane to the neuro ward.”
Darby couldn’t hold her fear back any longer. She covered her face with her hands, tears wetting her palms. Arms went around her; she had no idea whose. She leaned into them, glad to have someone stronger than herself to lean on.
His body might not be damaged beyond repair, but if his head injury was abraininjury, he was still in danger. And there wasn’t anything she or any of them could do about it.
All they could do was wait, and that was the hardest thing of all.
*
Darby stirred theliquid that masqueraded as coffee with the ridiculously narrow paddle pop stick. The hospital walls all looked the same. Different coloured lines threaded their way throughout the halls, diverging and veering off to their various destinations.
She made her way back to Ryan’s private room. He’d been transferred this morning, his vitals good and wounds healing enough that he’d been able to be moved from intensive care.
She stepped through the door and flopped down in the spare visitor’s chair. Alan occupied the other one. Julie had gone to one of the hotel rooms they’d booked to get some much-needed sleep.
Darby had gotten to know the man pretty well over the last few days. While she would never agree that what he’d done was the best for a young Ryan, they’d found some common ground in the endless hours of waiting after Ryan’s surgeries.
Alan seemed to be a good man. Caring, compassionate, attentive. But her heart still ached for Ryan, knowing his father had been so close, yet completely out of his reach.
Alan looked up from his magazine. “I swear they recycle their dirty dishwater and pump it into that coffee machine.”
Darby smiled, exhaustion slowing her reaction. “I wouldn’t be all that surprised. It doesn’t really taste like coffee.” She nodded in Ryan’s direction. “Has he come round yet?”
Alan shook his head and sat back, his magazine forgotten. “Sort of. He roused when the nurse came past to check his vitals, but he faded pretty quickly after the machine delivered its dose.” He gestured toward the automatic dosage machine that was attached to Ryan’s IV line.
Morphine.
Darby nodded. Ryan had had to go back in for brain surgery the night before, a complication arising from the previous repair.
She rubbed Ryan’s hand and sipped on her coffee. She grimaced. Ryan would be mortified she was drinking it. Thinking about his obsession for fine coffee brought a smile to her mouth.
He’d even gone so far as to roast his own beans at one stage. She had no idea if he was still doing that, just that he had in the past and had been so proud of his efforts.
Darby herself could appreciate a fine roast, but Ryan took it to extremes.
“They said he should be more alert tomorrow.”
Darby’s reply was interrupted by her phone beeping out Julie’s message tone. She glanced at it.
“Julie’s made a dinner booking at the hotel restaurant for eight.” Darby looked up in time to catch the intense guilt wash across Alan’s face as he stared at his son in the hospital bed.
Darby put her phone back in her pocket and squeezed Alan’s shoulder. “None of this is your fault, you know.”
Alan turned his face away and shrugged awkwardly. “You all keep saying that, but he was really upset when he left my place. He wouldn’t have made such terrible decisions if he’d been thinking properly.I’mthe reason he wasn’t thinking properly.”