Colton by Blood, page 3
“I’m...I’m sorry,” said a woman’s meek voice. Another mousy servant, no doubt. Why in the world would all these people put up with Jethro’s temper? Either the turnover of staff or their salaries had to be enormous.
Something breakable smashed against the wall inside the room. Bits of white porcelain tumbled onto the hall carpet.
Gabriella, Amanda and Catherine rushed ahead and disappeared through the door.
“Daddy, stop it. It’s not her fault the power went out,” one of them said, though Levi couldn’t tell which.
“Damn it, girl, don’t make excuses for the staff. It’s unbecoming.”
Levi remained in the hall, out of view, taking the opportunity to get a read on the situation he’d be walking into, girding himself to be shouted at. If the boar would snap at his own daughter dearest in front of the help, God only knew the volume he’d reach with Levi.
“She’s an amazing cook.” Levi recognized Gabriella’s voice. “The best. You’d regret firing her, Daddy. Agnes’s desserts aren’t nearly as good.”
“Don’t ‘Daddy’ me. In fact, get out of my room, all three of you.” A pause ensued, as though Jethro were catching his breath. “Coming in here, bossing me around, telling me how to treat my staff. The day you put me in the ground you can start pandering to the staff to your bleeding hearts’ desire.” Another pause and this time Levi could hear the labored breaths. “But I’m not dead yet and my word is still the law around this place. Now shoo!”
The old man kept shouting commands until Amanda, Catherine and Gabriella filed through the door, their cheeks tinged with indignity. Levi averted his gaze. Pretending he hadn’t overheard the verbal smackdown seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do, even if he had distinct memories of the daughters dearest when their paths crossed growing up, gawking at him as if he was a circus sideshow freak.
The truth was, he was relieved they were leaving. He didn’t think he could stand it for Jethro to berate him in front of the daughters dearest.
“He’s not so bad. Please don’t let him scare you away. He needs you. We need you,” Amanda said. The desperation in her plea caught him off guard.
He looked her way, even more surprised to see the worry and hope in all three women’s expressions. They looked like any of the other families he’d spoken to over the years who had sick loved ones, who were banking on him and the other doctors to save the day. The sisters’ eyes were tired, their shoulders slumped. If Jethro wasn’t allowing doctors or nurses to care for him, then that meant his daughters were shouldering the responsibility on their own.
Something that felt suspiciously like compassion took root inside him. How unnerving.
“Do you want us to stay?” Gabriella asked.
“No, I think it’s best if I go in alone. Listen, I can’t make any guarantees that he’ll let me help him, but I promise not to leave without giving it a good fight.”
The sisters crowded near each other, a mix of relief and apprehension in their expressions, looking unsure of what to do next. He was tempted to squeeze their shoulders or hands, do something comforting, like he might for a patient’s family. Instead, annoyed at himself for having such a thought, he tightened his grip on the medical bag. “Go and rest. I’ve got this.”
Nodding in resignation, they skulked away, their arms around each other. Levi had always wondered what it would be like to have the support and love of siblings, people to share burdens with, to bolster each other during hard times. It was yet another way the daughters dearest were spoiled.
He returned his attention to the bedroom. Jethro was back to yelling at the mousy girl, demanding an explanation.
“Sir, please.” The girl’s voice was stronger than before, more determined. “I had to return to the kitchen because the whipped cream and whiskey sauce had been left off.”
“Do you think I care about that?” Jethro’s shout boomed through the air.
“You should,” she squeaked.
Levi cringed. Bad move, mouse girl. Even if he did admire her moxie.
“You’ve got some nerve, talking back to me.”
“I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that...well, the bread pudding doesn’t taste half as good without the toppings.”
Despite Levi’s anxiety, despite the hate and bitterness swirling around his reunion with Jethro, he couldn’t stop his lips from curving up at the edges at the serving girl’s explanation. Of all the absurd reactions he could have while standing in the hallway of his dying, estranged father’s sickroom, he was smiling.
This girl was no mouse, and for whatever reason, she had a serious passion for bread pudding. Levi liked dessert as much as the next guy, and bread pudding with whiskey sauce and whipped cream sounded pretty flippin’ phenomenal, but to argue about it with a person feared by every man, woman and child in Dead, Wyoming? That took guts.
“Pilfering desserts from the kitchen?” Jethro yelled. “Exactly how many reasons do you think I need to fire you?”
“I made it, sir,” the girl said. “I’m a pastry chef by trade and I make all the desserts for the ranch. That’s how I know this is your favorite.”
A pastry chef. That explained a lot. Except for the minor detail of why a chef was working as a serving girl in the middle of Wyoming ranch country. Not for the first time that night, Levi’s instincts took over and he inched through the threshold. But he couldn’t help himself—he had to know what she looked like.
Rather than a standard bedroom, as he’d been expecting, the door opened to the sitting room of a suite, with the noise and shouting coming from open double doors to his immediate left. Shattered porcelain and glass trailed from the hall door diagonally into the bedroom, where he could see the footboard of a massive dark wood-stained four-poster bed covered by a lush, moss-green quilt.
He crept closer, craning his neck until a careless bun of mocha-brown curls appeared on the far side of the bed. Below the mass of curls was a petite figure in a formfitting chef jacket and black leggings.
Looking at her, one thing became instantly clear. She was in no way a girl, as he’d originally assumed. Curves like those had to belong to a woman. A fit young woman. If only she would turn the slightest bit so he could glimpse her face.
“What’s your name, girl?” Jethro asked.
Levi held his inhalation, shocked by how ardently he wanted to know and how grateful he was that the question had been asked.
“Kate, sir. Kate McCord.”
Kate. It fit.
As though sensing Levi’s eyes on her, she cocked her chin over her shoulder. Long dark lashes swept up and she met his gaze with brown eyes that widened, startled, presumably at the sight of an unexpected stranger lurking in the hall. He held his medical bag in front of him. “Doctor,” he mouthed, feeling himself puff up with the kind of stupid, egotistical pride he sometimes lapsed into around attractive women.
She gave a little nod, not impressed. He liked that.
“Listen up, pastry girl,” Jethro said, reclaiming her attention. “From now on, I want dessert at every meal, even breakfast. See that it’s done.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes with extra butter at least once a week. Damn ungrateful daughters think they can force me to go on one of those hippie California rabbit-food diets. They think they run the place now.”
“Yes, sir.” She looked in Levi’s direction again, this time her eyes lingering on his face and not his medical bag.
He held her gaze, unblinking, daring her to look away first. Her lower lip, pink and full and perfect, dropped away from her top lip, revealing a hint of teeth.
“Who are you looking at?” Jethro barked. “Are my daughters still hovering around?”
With no good reason to remain where he was, Levi decided to take a cue from the bold Kate McCord. He raised a foot to step forward and his heart rate picked up speed. He swallowed and reminded himself that the only thing in the room was a man in a bed. A very sick patient who needed his help.
And a pastry chef.
Kate McCord was in the room, too, and as much as Levi hadn’t wanted the daughters dearest to sit in on his confrontation with Jethro, he doubly didn’t want Kate to witness what was sure to be an ugly display.
Nevertheless, he gripped the bag and made his move, striding in with swift, confident steps the way he would into any other patient’s room. This particular patient was sitting, propped with pillows, a tray across his lap, his spoon freezing midway to his mouth as he looked on Levi.
Ignoring Kate’s intense scrutiny, Levi nodded. “Jethro.”
He couldn’t think of anything else to say. At least the word had sounded good, normal. It hadn’t showed the adrenaline and apprehension roiling inside him.
The spoon clattered to the tray. Jethro leaned against the pillows. For several long seconds, he just stared.
Levi held steady.
Then Jethro did something wholly unexpected. A wide, hard smile stretched across his face. He picked up the spoon again and scooped a new bite of pudding, but paused before it hit his lips. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Levi Vessey.”
And then he dissolved in fits of wheezy laughter.
The Vessey dig didn’t sting. Not like it had the first time Jethro refused to acknowledge his paternity aloud, despite the monthly child-support checks he’d discreetly sent to Levi’s mom since his birth. A lot of the reason Levi kept the surname after he came of age was as a big fat symbolic middle finger to the old man. “My last name’s not Vessey. It’s Colton, same as you...Dad.” He said that last word like the filthy piece of truth it was, pouring twenty-seven years of hatred into it.
Kate took a sharp breath in through her nose.
Jethro’s eyebrows flickered. He rolled the bite of pudding around his mouth behind his still-smiling lips. “I wondered if this day would ever come.”
Levi adjusted his legs, squaring up, preparing for battle. “What day is that?”
Jethro stretched his chin up as he swallowed, his eyes glinting with grudging admiration. “You finally grew big enough balls to come after my money.”
Chapter 3
The experience of looking into Jethro’s eyes for the first time in more than seven years was nothing like Levi had anticipated, despite having acted out a hundred different scenarios in his head during the drive from Utah to Wyoming.
He hadn’t expected to see respect in the man’s face. Certainly not respect for the perceived greed Jethro assumed had brought Levi to the ranch. In hindsight, it was a logical conclusion given that all Jethro cared about was money. So, of course he expected the same from those around him. But the only thing Levi had ever felt toward Jethro’s fortune was unmitigated disgust.
That belief right there proved he was nothing like his father. Thirty seconds into the confrontation and he’d already achieved his goal of the trip—he’d looked into Jethro’s eyes and proven once and for all he was nothing like the man. Mission accomplished. He could leave with a clear conscience and make it to Utah in time for Wednesday’s shift at the hospital. And, with any luck, his brain would go back to playing his regularly scheduled nightmares, he thought wryly.
Yet, he recognized the signifiers on Jethro’s body of treatable symptoms—sores at the sides of his lips that were a classic mark of anemia, bruising on his arms that blood transfusions would help, and shortness of breath that an oxygen supply and pain meds could regulate. Never mind his promise to Gabriella, Amanda and Catherine that he wouldn’t leave without doing all he could for their father, he had a responsibility to himself as a doctor not to turn his back on a gravely ill patient.
And then there was Kate McCord, who’d stood up to Jethro even when his own daughters wouldn’t. She didn’t belong in this house any more than he did, and if he left Dead River Ranch without finding out her story, he’d always wonder. He moved to the side of the bed next to her. She stepped sideways, making room for him, watching with those big brown eyes that spoke of a keen intelligence. What would it take to get her to crack a smile?
And why did he care?
The foot of the bed afforded plenty of room for Levi’s medical bag. He set it there and withdrew a pair of gloves, glancing sideways at Jethro. “You’re not allergic to latex, are you?”
“Forget that,” Jethro spat. “I want to know how much.”
“What are you talking about?” He wanted to add, “Do you mean how much time do you have to live, or are you referring to how much I hate you and everything you stand for?” But he’d never say that in front of their audience of Kate, and never to a patient. It was cathartic enough to think it.
“Name your price for leaving me and my family in peace. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Levi tugged on the second glove, wiggling his fingers to help with the fit. The latex edge snapped when he released it. “Your family came to me, begging for my help.”
Kate’s brows wrinkled. “But you said he was your fath—”
Levi cut in before she could say the rest. This wasn’t her fight, even if she seemed hell-bent on butting heads with Jethro. “Would you happen to have any more of that bread pudding in the kitchen? It’s been a long day and all that talk of whiskey sauce and whipped cream has given me a powerful craving.”
As though sloughing off her shock and confusion, she gave her head an exaggerated, slow nod. “Yes, sir. There’s plenty.”
She started for the door but, acting on impulse, he snagged her sleeve as she passed. “It’s not ‘sir.’ Levi, okay?”
Then it hit him what a foolish mistake he’d made and he yanked his hand away. He should’ve asked her to call him Dr. Colton, and not only her, but also the daughters dearest as well. The formality would have helped him keep his emotional distance from the ranch and everyone in it. What had gotten into him?
Something about Kate the pastry chef made him want to be Levi, just Levi. Without all the artifice and labels and volatile history. He wanted her to know him. What a disquieting thought.
She looked as though she wanted to protest his request until Jethro cut her off before she’d barely opened her mouth. “Well, go on, then. You’re not getting paid to stand around.”
With her lips pressed into a determined line, she headed for the door. Levi caught himself watching the swish of her hips as she picked her way over the broken glass, then jerked his gaze to Jethro. “Even though you’re too stubborn to admit it, your daughters know you need a doctor. That’s why they came to me.”
“I’m dying, goddamn it. There ain’t nothing a doctor can do to change that.” Jethro’s voice lacked any hint of sentimentality or fear. He was a man resigned to his fate, though he was flat wrong about what proper medical care could do for his odds of survival and comfort. “And I sure as hell don’t need anything from you.”
Levi didn’t bother to answer yet. Giving Kate time to get out of earshot, he stayed busy digging his stethoscope out of his bag along with a blood-pressure cuff. Slinging the stethoscope around his neck, he strolled to the door. The glass shards crunched and tinkled under the door as he eased it closed. Time to talk to the man in a language he could understand. And he didn’t want any witnesses.
With another snap of a glove he pivoted to face down Jethro, who jerked his face away as though he’d been watching Levi and didn’t want him to know it. “You didn’t answer my question before. Are you allergic to latex?”
Jethro’s mouth crinkled in a sneer. “No.”
“Good.” With several long strides, he was over the old man. He grabbed a fistful of his flannel robe in one hand and punched his other into the pillow near Jethro’s ear so he couldn’t turn his head away. “Now you listen to me, you rotten excuse for a man, and you listen good. You’re the last person in the world I want to help, and I know you don’t want me here, either. Now that we’ve got that covered, you can stop whining about it like a damn child.”
It felt good to growl, to let it all out, low and mean. If only it weren’t just for show as a means of getting his point across. If only he lacked the conscience keeping him from really letting loose. When he was a boy, he fantasized about knocking out Jethro with a punch, kicking him in the ribs, making it hurt.
Then he grew up and realized that violence was Jethro’s way, not his. Levi was a doctor, a healer. He’d never hurt anyone, least of all the cancer-crippled man his father was today, the dying patient with a gaunt face and a grizzled, graying beard who futilely shoved at Levi’s arms, his movements weak and strained.
Levi’s grip on his robe wasn’t hard at all, since leukemia patients often suffered excruciating joint pain and skin tenderness, but even still, Jethro couldn’t throw him off.
“Unhand me...” He stopped, overcome by several shallow breaths. “Before I call ranch security.” He wrinkled his nose in a look that might have been intimidating if he hadn’t been so sickly. The movement launched a trail of blood trickling from his right nostril.
A typical leukemia-related nosebleed. Jethro needed oxygen and a blood transfusion as soon as possible. Morphine would help, too, both with the pain and shortness of breath. Forcing himself to stay in character, Levi let out a hard grunt of disapproval. “Since when do you call on other people to save you? Jethro Colton doesn’t need anybody’s help, isn’t that what you said?”
Jethro licked at the blood, smearing it over his upper lip. “Screw you. You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side since the day that manipulative hussy told me she was pregnant.”
Jethro paused to draw breath, and just like that, with the insult to Levi’s mother, the show Levi was putting on became real. His mouth went dry, and his muscles tightened along with his jaw.
