James Bravo's Shotgun Bride. Christine Rimmer

snickered and then quickly switched to a more sober expression. “And yet, even after all the abuse PawPaw heaped on the poor guy, James drives you to Denver and holds your hair while you hurl? He knows you’re having another man’s baby, but he brings you food and tea and insists he has to stay with you to make sure that your crazy old grandpa makes it through surgery?”

      “Carm, it’s not like that. It’s just that he’s a good guy.”

      “Beyond stellar, apparently.”

      “Really, I hardly know him. We...well, we talk now and then.”

      A sideways look from Carmen. “You talk.”

      “Yeah. He’s bought land that borders Red Hill and he’s building a house there. I go by there a lot, working with the horses, you know?”

      “Right...”

      “Quit looking at me like that. Sometimes I stop is all. We visit. We talk about life and stuff—in general, I mean. Nothing all that personal.” Well, okay. Once, James had told her about his ex-wife. But as a rule, they kept it casual. She added, “And now and then, he drops by the ranch house. We sit out under the stars and chat.”

      “Chat,” Carmen repeated, as though the simple word held a bunch of other meanings that Addie wasn’t admitting to.

      “Yeah.” Addie straightened her shoulders. “Chat. Just chat. And that’s it. That’s all. I’ve never gone out with him. It’s casual and it’s only conversation and you couldn’t even really call us friends.”

      Carmen patted her hand. “I’m only saying I’m not surprised that PawPaw jumped to conclusions.”

      Addie batted off her sister’s touch. “It is Brandon’s baby. I have never even kissed James Bravo.”

      Carmen put up both hands. “Okay, okay. I believe you.”

      “Oh, gee. Thanks a bunch.” Addie pressed a hand to her stomach, which had started churning again.

      Carmen hooked an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “And I don’t want you upset.” She stroked Addie’s hair. It felt really good. Carmen was only two years older, but Addie had always looked up to her. When you grow up without a mom, a good big sister really helps. Carmen chided, “It’s bad for the baby, for you to get so upset.”

      “No kidding.” Grudgingly, Addie leaned her head on her big sister’s shoulder.

      “Just breathe and relax. We’re going to get through this. PawPaw is going to be fine—and here come the guys.”

      Addie glanced up and saw that James and Devin had just come around the corner from the elevators. “I don’t like the way you say the guys. Like James is suddenly part of the family.”

      “Honey, stop overreacting. It’s only going to make you want to throw up.”

      Well, okay. That was true. And Carmen was right. They just needed to stay calm and support each other. There’d been more than enough drama today to last Addie a lifetime.

      So she focused on speaking softly, on being grateful—for her sister and Devin. And yes, for James, too. He’d made a horrible time a lot less awful and she needed to remember how much she owed him.

      She drank her tea and ate the toast James had brought her. Strangely enough, she’d kept more food down in the past few hours than she had in days. Yet another reason to be grateful to James.

      When she finished her tea and toast, she realized she was completely exhausted. She leaned her head back against the wall behind her and closed her eyes just for a minute.

      * * *

      The next thing she knew, James was rubbing her arm, stroking her hair, whispering in her ear, “Addie, wake up. The doctor’s coming...”

      With a sharp cry she sat bolt upright—and realized she’d been sound asleep, her head on James’s broad shoulder. The big clock on the far wall showed that over an hour had passed since she leaned back and closed her eyes.

      And James was right.

      Levi’s surgeon had emerged from the long hallway between the double doors and was coming right for them.

       Chapter Three

      They all popped to their feet at once—James, Addie, Carmen and Devin. And then they waited in a horrible, breath-held silence until the doctor, still in surgical scrubs with a matching cap on his head and a mask hanging around his neck, reached them and started speaking.

      Addie watched his mouth move and tried to listen to what he was saying, but her heart was beating so damn loud and her blood made a whooshing sound as it spurted through her body and the words were really hard to understand.

      But then Carm said, “Oh, thank God.”

      And Addie put it together: he’d made it. PawPaw had survived the surgery.

      * * *

      Forty-five minutes later, they all proceeded to a new waiting room, this one adjacent to the Cardiac Surgery Intensive Care Unit, which was five floors up from surgery and in another wing.

      A nurse came out and led Addie and Carmen through automatic doors and down a hall to one of those rooms full of curtained cubicles. In this room, all the curtains were drawn back. There were twenty beds, two rows of ten, half of them with patients in them. Nurses, doctors and technicians moved between the beds and back and forth from the group of desks that formed a command center in the middle of the room. The nurse led them to the left side of the room, the third bed from the door. Addie clutched for Carm’s hand and when she got it, she held on tight.

      Levi lay on the hospital bed with a tube down his throat and another in his nose. There were tubes and wires hooked to his chest, and more of them disappearing under the blankets. And there was an IV in the back of his hand and another in the crook of his arm. Both arms were strapped to the bed; Addie assumed that was to keep him from pulling out any of the complicated apparatus that hooked him up to the various machines. There was a ventilator by the bed. It wheezed softly as it pushed air in through the tube in his mouth.

      He looked terrible, every line in his craggy face dug in deeper than before. But he did open his eyes briefly. It seemed he saw them, recognized them. But then a second later, his eyelids drooped shut. Together, still clutching each other’s hands, Addie and Carm moved closer, up to the head of the bed. Gently, so lightly, Addie dared to touch his pale forehead below the blue cap that covered his hair.

      He groaned and opened his eyes again.

      Carm touched his wiry upper arm at a rare spot where no tube or needle was stuck. “I’m here, PawPaw. We’re both here. You made it through your surgery and you’re going to get well.”

      “We love you,” said Addie, biting back tears. “We love you so much.”

      His red-rimmed blue eyes tracked—from Addie, to Carmen, back to Addie again. And then he tried to speak. “Aiff. Air aiff?”

      Carm said, “Shh, don’t try to talk now. The tube’s in the way.”

      But he wouldn’t shush. “Aiff? Ear? Aiff?” He tried to lift an arm, found it pinned to the bed and groaned in frustration.

      Addie stroked his brow. “Shh, PawPaw. Don’t. You’ll only hurt your throat.”

      The nurse who’d brought them in approached again. Addie and Carmen stepped back and the nurse bent close to Levi. “Easy, now, Levi. It’s okay. We’ll find out what you want and get it for you. I’ve got a pencil and a paper...” She pulled a small tablet and a pencil out of her pocket.

      He nodded, making a harsh gargling sound around the tube.

      “Is he left-handed?” she asked.

      Carm said, “No, right-handed.”