Ranch Manny - B.A. Tortuga Page 0,79
mudroom. “Can I get a big glass of tea?”
“I’m on it. Clearing up is good. The hooligans need some sunshine.” The kids weren’t the only ones. He was seriously needing his vitamin D.
“Yessir. I tell you what, I feel like boot rot is imminent.”
“That sounds unpleasant,” Pop said. “Let’s avoid that.”
Hal nodded, grinning in that cowboy way. Trace had heard him talk enough about crotch rot being worse to know how polite the man was being. Bald Harold had a wee crush on his mom. Too bad she was taken. Pop seemed mild, but he adored Mom to death.
He got it. Trace was pretty well taken now too. The very thought made him bounce.
“You look happy, Dad-O.” Susannah slipped her hand in his.
“I am. Are you?”
She looked at him like he was nuts. “Yes. Yes, I have sisters and brothers, Curly, Hal, and two daddies. And puppies and baby goats and little chickies and—oh, Dad-O, I waited my whole life to be home.”
Tears stung his eyes, but they were happy ones. He was so grateful he’d been able to give her this. When he glanced up, his mom was all teary too. He’d bet she didn’t worry about his job anymore, at least not out loud.
He was home, doing his thing, raising his family with his partner. It wasn’t a job. It was a life.
“Come on, Dad-O! You promised we’d make icebox cake.” Caro tugged at his shorts leg.
Yeah. And it was a full-time life of nonstop adventure.
Chapter 24
Brent paced. Curly had woken him up at six, coughing so hard he couldn’t talk, pale as a glass of milk. July freaking sixth had dawned gray and awful and raining, and he was glad Trace’s folks had left at noon the day before.
Off they’d gone to urgent care, and they’d sent them to Central Texas in San Marcos. The words Brent had dreaded had come to pass. “I think he has pneumonia.”
Now he needed to call home. Dammit.
He ducked away to a quiet hallway, then tugged out his phone.
“Hey, love. Can you bring home some Sprite and a chicken? The kids are fevery.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Shit. What the hell was going on?
“Do I sound like I’m kidding? How’s Curly? What did the doctor say?”
“They think he has pneumonia. I had to take him to San Marcos.” He hadn’t been able to get signal on the road.
“Oh man. That sucks.”
“Yeah. Look, I can’t leave him here. Maybe you can send Hal? Once he’s here, I can come home.” Brent ran his hand over his hair, wondering where he’d left his hat.
“I’ll see if I can find him. He’s out in the pasture somewhere, and—” Trace cut off, the line going dead.
Brent stared at the phone a second. Then he called Trace again.
“—put that down, young lady. I said no. Hey, babe. I lost you.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, baby. I don’t see how I can…” He blew out a breath. A nurse stood about six feet away, shifting from foot to foot. “Let me call you back.”
“Sure.”
“Sorry, I was calling home.”
She gave him sympathetic-nurse face. “Dr. Simmons would like to speak to you.”
That wasn’t the ER doc he’d already talked to.
“I’m coming. Is he going to be okay?” He didn’t need this right now.
“The doctor wants to admit him.”
“Ah.” Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it.
“He’s very confused, though, and not being cooperative.”
“I’ll come.” He followed her to Curly’s room. Last thing he needed was Curly hitting someone. “Hey, Curly. How’s it going?”
“I want to come home!” Damn, Curly was barely in there. There was nothing but panic in those wide eyes, and Curly was trying to get out of the bed, held down by a male tech.
“Hey, buddy. Hey. It’s Brent. I’m right here, huh? You’ve got some lung goo, man.” He moved so Curly could see his face fully.
“Brent. Son. Don’t leave me here, please? It ain’t safe.”
“I won’t leave you by yourself, Curly, but you need some help we can’t give you at home.” Damn, he was going to have to get Hal to come. As soon as Curly settled.
Curly searched his eyes, then relaxed back in the bed. “Thank you, son. You won’t do me wrong.”
“I never have, now have I?” No, he would stick it out and grovel at Trace’s feet when he got home.
“No, son. You never have. Thank you.”
The doctor nodded to him. “He needs IV antibiotics for a few days, some breathing treatments from the respiratory therapy guys.”
“That good, huh?” When the doc grimaced, Brent