When Dreams Collide (18 page)

“I decided to stick around, in case Buster brightened old cranky pants’ mood. I’d hoped Dusty might inquire about me, and maybe allow me into his room for a few minutes.”

“He looked pretty beat. Probably dozed off already.” Brock sounded sympathetic and saddened by her banishment from Dusty’s life. “That’s one stubborn guy you’ve fallen in love with.”

“Once things look more promising for him, he’ll welcome me back into his life.” Susan smiled, weakly. “I brought my car this morning, and I’ll see you back at the condo shortly.”

“We’ll have a hot cup of herbal tea waiting for you.”

“Thanks, Brock. You’re the best.” While Susan watched Brock and Buster disappear into the elevator, she contemplated all that she’d overheard.

Dusty’s confessed fears and frustrations, when he thought only the dog was listening, had confirmed what the nurse told her. She hadn’t been surprised to hear him admit how frightened he was considering his current precarious situation. The fear caused him to toss her out of his life like a worn-out pair of shoes he no longer needed. She understood why he’d done it, but it still hurt her deeply. And she was at a loss as to how to help him deal with all of it.

At least, Dusty’s talk with the dog served a therapeutic purpose. If the pig-headed man wouldn’t share his feelings with a human, at least his canine buddy listened intently. Saying the words aloud could have helped Dusty put his problems into perspective. At least, she hoped so.

Brock mentioned Dusty might have fallen asleep already. Did she dare sneak a peek inside his room to catch a glimpse of him? What if he caught her? He’d be as furious as a hornet in a hairnet if he did. But she loved him enough to risk his wrath.

She cracked the door a few inches. No sounds could be heard. She pushed the door open just enough to peek inside.

“What are you doing?”

Susan jumped a foot, gasped, and leapt back into the hallway. She whirled around, coming face-to- face with Mrs. Flanagan.

“Good Lord, you frightened me,” whispered Susan, feeling her face redden. “I wanted to check if Dusty was sleeping soundly before I left the hospital.”

“Sure you did.” A grin crept across the matronly nurse’s face.

“Of course, I did. I’m concerned about him. He refuses to see me, and I...”

“He’s doing fine. Vitals are normal, and he sleeps a lot during the day which helps his body to continue to repair itself. He’s keeping his strength up with sessions with the physical therapists. And he’s eating well. That’s the good news. The psychiatrist isn’t making much progress with him, however, but that’s understandable. He’s angry, working through the ‘why me’ stage of recovery.” The nurse pushed open the door, peeked inside for a few seconds, and then met Susan’s eyes while the door shut itself again. “Eyes closed, even breathing. He’s asleep.”

“Thank you for sharing with me and for checking on him.  I’ll head home now.” Susan straightened her back, hoping to recover some credibility, having been caught spying on the patient.

“Good night, Ms. Sanders. We’ll see you tomorrow no doubt.” Mrs. Flanagan disappeared into Dusty’s room.

“Count on it,” whispered Susan, as she headed for the elevator.

****

A month later, Dusty woke up to sunshine streaming through his hospital window and no sign of his private nurse, or any nurse for that matter. Finding himself alone in the room felt totally foreign, having endured round-the-clock attention since the accident almost two months ago. He supposed Mrs. Flanagan left for a few minutes to fetch his medications or grab a quick cup of coffee.

He shifted in the bed, stretched him arms, and rolled his shoulders. And then his face paled and he screamed for the nurse.

“Mrs. Flanagan!”

No one came.

“Somebody! Anybody!”

Nothing.

“Help!”

Mrs. Flanagan raced into the room, carrying a tray of meds and a jug of ice water in her hands with her familiar romance novel tucked under one arm. “What on earth is wrong? I heard you screaming from the far end of the hallway.”

“I think…I think…”

“Dear Lord. Did something happen?” The nurse’s face paled and he thought she might faint. “I was only gone a minute.”

“I think…I think I can feel tingling in my toes,” whispered Dusty.

The nurse heaved a heavy sigh. “Oh, thank goodness. Is that all?”

“Is that all?” Dusty’s mouth fell open, and he gaped at the nurse.

“The swelling is reducing more each day. We expected you to regain some feeling in your limbs soon. Today appears to be the day.” The nurse set her things down and approached his bed. “Let me ring the doctor and we’ll test your reactions again.”

“Oh, my, God. Do you think this is really happening? Will I be able to walk again?” Dusty forced his heartbeat to remain steady. For weeks now, he’d doubted he would ever see this day. Suddenly, it occurred to him that perhaps he’d just imagined feeling something in his toes.

Just then, Susan poked her head through the open door and peeked into the room. “Did I hear you say something about being able to walk?”

“What are you doing here?” Dusty scowled, crossed his arms. “I guess you picked a good day to come snooping around.”

“What do you mean by that?” whispered Susan, feeling her face redden.

“We’re waiting for the doctor to re-evaluate my lower limbs. I thought I felt a tingle in my toes this morning.”

“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Susan.

“Or, maybe I just imagined the whole thing,” scoffed Dusty.

Mrs. Flanagan stepped up to his bedside, stood hands on hips, frowning at her patient. “Susan isn’t here snooping around, as you put it. She has been here every day since the accident happened. Even though you refused to see her, she came to check up on you and stayed nearby, spending hours in those uncomfortable waiting room chairs, in case you needed her. If anyone deserves to share the good news with you today, it’s this remarkable lady.”

Dusty glanced at Susan and settled back on the pillows and closed his eyes. Every day. He couldn’t fathom it, couldn’t believe it. Especially after the harsh words he’d uttered, hoping she’d just forget she’d ever met him and leave. He couldn’t stand the thought of her watching over the invalid. He couldn’t witness the moment she realized he would never walk again or be the man she’d come to love. And he didn’t doubt she had felt the same way about him as he had for her. Had being the key word. No woman would want him now.

Just then, Dr. Carter strode into the room wearing a huge grin. “I hear you frightened the daylights out of half the nursing staff this morning.”

“Yeah, well, I scared myself, too. Now, I think maybe I just imagined the whole thing,” complained Dusty.

Dr. Carter tugged the sheet out of the foot of the bed, exposing Dusty’s feet. “Okay, let’s see what’s going on down here.”

The doctor gingerly poked Dusty’s left foot and peeked over his eyeglasses at the cowboy. “Feel anything?”

Dusty shook his head.

The doctor picked another spot and another.

Dusty shook his head. “I don’t think… Ouch.”

The doctor poked the same spot again.

“Ouch. I felt that,” confirmed Dusty, beaming. “Doc, I actually felt that.”

The doctor repeated the process on the other foot, but with no response.

“Maybe it’s just a fluke,” observed Dusty.

“No. This indicates progress,” insisted Dr. Carter. “In another day or two, you could experience more and more feeling in your toes, and your feet, eventually your legs. This is exactly what we’d hoped for.”

The doctor collected his instruments and smiled. “I’ll return tomorrow and test you again. And I’ll consult with the physical therapist and your other therapists about this positive new development in your case. Maybe you’ll walk out of here one of these days.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Susan heard the emotion in her voice. “That would be so wonderful.”

Dusty frowned. She sounded more optimistic about this than he had. Wonderful things never happened to him. Well, there was that lottery win, but that was years ago. He refused to believe he would walk out of the hospital any time soon.

He simply didn’t believe in miracles.

****

Halloween was two days away. When he woke up this morning, he was greeted by his new roommates: a scarecrow and a couple of ghosts. A foil-lined, hollowed-out pumpkin was filled with assorted candy bars and other sugary treats. The decorations and sweets were Susan’s handiwork, no doubt.

Dusty sat in bed, rotating one foot and then the other. He’d progressed significantly from the day he’d first felt tingling in his toes. Now, there was some feeling in his legs as well. Some. Dusty grimaced, recalling his dismal failure yesterday, attempting to stand and bear some of his weight on his legs. Dr. Carter remained optimistic, but he didn’t share his physician’s sunny outlook. He’d always agreed with the old idiom ‘expect the worst and you won’t be disappointed’.

At least, Susan had returned to work during the day, but she still hung around the hospital in the evening. Apparently, last night, carrying out a midnight reconnaissance mission to plant unauthorized Halloween paraphernalia. He’d eaten two chocolate bars, and it wasn’t even ten o’clock yet.

Dr. Carter and the therapists were meeting with him this morning to discuss the next phase of his recovery. Against his better judgment, he’d given Susan and Brock the okay to be present.

“Hello, Dusty. How’s my patient today?”

Dusty glanced up when Ms. Walters walked in. “Good morning. I’m okay I guess.”

Mrs. Flanagan had wished him good luck before departing just prior to the shift change. He suspected the older woman was nearing exhaustion, having misjudged the duration of his hospital confinement when she accepted this assignment.

He’d spent hours chatting with Mrs. Flanagan, a kind-hearted widow who admitted she loved caring for someone since she’d lost her husband two years ago. She worked as a temporary private nurse to supplement her pension and to keep her finger on the pulse of current medical practices. In her late sixties, she told him she kept her body well-toned from taking the yoga and Pilates classes held at a senior center near her home. If he was ever discharged from the hospital, he’d actually miss her company.

“Let me check and record your vitals one more time before Dr. Carter arrives,” suggested Ms. Walters, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

“Why do we never engage in idle conversation?” inquired Dusty. He couldn’t decide whether she wasn’t interested in mixing duty with socializing, or if she wasn’t interested in cowboys, or just men in general.

“I prefer to nurse my patients on a strictly professional basis only,” she answered.

He certainly couldn’t fault her on her work skills. She was an exceptional nurse, anticipating his every need before he did. And the tall, striking redhead probably caught the attention of every man she encountered, whether a patient on their death bed or just a visitor to the hospital.

Ms. Walters stuck a thermometer in his mouth.

“I suppose that’s understandable. Otherwise, your male patients would be hitting on you constantly.” Dusty grinned, talking around the thermometer. “Not me, of course.”

“Keep your lips closed and no talking,” ordered Ms. Walters.

Dusty tolerated the procedure for what seemed like the millionth time since he was admitted. He’d lost count of the number of times someone was poking him or prodding him or checking vitals or changing IV bags.

Thank goodness, he’d always carried medical insurance – you never knew when a cowboy would be injured – and he couldn’t imagine the cost of his hospital stay so far. Mrs. Flanagan had warned him there would be further rehabilitation once he was discharged. Dusty could well afford private medical care, and he refused to check into some rehabilitation facility. He wanted to go home. And then he realized that if he sold the ranch back to Brock, he wouldn’t have a home. Maybe he should start looking for an apartment in Helena. He’d ask Mrs. Flanagan to bring him a newspaper tomorrow.

“Good morning, Dusty.” Dr. Carter charged into his room, three therapists and another nurse followed close behind. “This evaluation will determine whether or not you should be discharged from hospital. Of course, there will be extensive rehabilitation ahead of you until you regain full use of your lower limbs.”

“
If
I regain full use…”

“I’m confident you will. Your prognosis is for full recovery, whether or not you believe it yet.”

Dusty sniffed, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Brock and Susan slipped into the room.

“Are we late?” inquired Susan.

“No. We haven’t gotten started yet. Dusty is facing prolonged rehabilitation and extensive physical therapy to regain full use of his body.”

“Are you optimistic he’ll walk again?” Brock stood hands on hips. “I’ve been telling him to wait and see what lies ahead, but he hasn’t heard a word of it.”

“With the swelling receding more each day and the remarkable progress made so far, I’d say there’s a good chance for a full recovery.” Dr. Carter peeked over his glasses. “Of course, we can never be one hundred percent certain of anything until the situation plays itself out.”

“So your prognosis is nothing more than an educated guess,” said Dusty, snidely.

“Put your pessimism back in your pocket, son, and dig out a little faith. The doctor seems to think you’ll be good as new some day, so until I know otherwise, I’m assuming he’s right.” Brock locked eyes with Dusty, daring him to disagree. “Once you’re back home and enjoying the fresh air on the ranch, sleeping in your own bed, your rapid recovery will astound everyone.”

“I won’t be returning…”

“Oh, don’t doubt it for a minute. All the arrangements have been made, and the second the doc here gives the okay, you’ll be home on the ranch so fast your head will spin.” Brock nodded at the doctor, encouraging his agreement.

“If this evaluation proves positive, I intend to discharge you today, Dusty.”

Dusty gaped. He met the doctor’s eyes and then Brock’s. Susan stood beaming from ear-to-ear. Why couldn’t anyone see they were just setting themselves up for disappointment?