I climb in and buckle up. “I know it’s busy for him right now.”
As we drive down the road, I spot some construction trucks turning onto the other side of the ranch. “Are they working on the house right now?” I ask, glancing toward the half-built structures in the distance.
She shakes her head. “They’re working on the outbuildings and indoor training arena first at Wes’ request. The house will get done when it gets done. I’m fine where I’m at for now. It’s just me and Wes, so it’s not like we need a lot of space.”
“A training arena?”
She guns it as we turn onto the highway. “Wes wants to hire another ranch hand—someone to do horseback riding and equinelessons. I told him I’d help train the horses, but he’s on kid duty. Teaching rugrats is not on my bingo card this year.”
I snort. “He‘s really going all in, huh?”
Sawyer beams. “He’s making up for lost time, I think. He wants to make Pops proud.”
Her words fade as I stare out the window. The ranch slips by, fields giving way to open road, and the weight in my chest only grows heavier.
It’s a forty-minute drive to the hospital, and my stomach twists more and more into knots with every mile. When we finally pull up to the large clinical building, my heart takes up residence in my throat.
“Have you seen him?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Sawyer nods. “I was with him yesterday for a bit. I think Wes has a hard time seeing him in the hospital bed. He’s been avoiding visiting hours like the plague.”
I swallow past the ache in my throat and follow her through the sliding doors toward Pops’ recovery room.
The sound of the heart monitor beeping out a steady rhythm echoes through the small sterile room. Pops’ eyes drift to me and Sawyer, and his lips lift in a tired smile.
“There are my girls,” he rasps.
“Hey, Pops,” Sawyer says, arms crossing over her chest. “It’s good to see you awake.”
He looks exhausted, much feebler than I’ve ever seen him. My chest aches seeing him like this.
I drift to his side, take his hand carefully, and press a kiss to his head, hating the sharp scent of antiseptic that replaces the smell of leather and outdoors.
“I didn’t know you were comin’, Quinnie girl.”
“Nobody else did either.” My eyes track over his weathered face, looking him over for any sign of pain or discomfort. “How are you feeling?”
His eyes roll toward the ceiling. “I’m doin’ fine. I don’t know why people keep askin’ that.”
“Because you just had a heart attack,” I say, exasperated.
“Well, I’m not havin’ one now, am I?” He shoots a pointed look at the heart monitor.
I sigh and glance at Sawyer, who looks amused. “No, you’re not.”
“See? I’m fine.”
A nurse breezes into the room, dark hair pinned back. “Vern, how are you feeling?”
Sawyer laughs and Pops groans. “For Pete’s sake. Don’t y’all have anything better to do than pester me constantly?”
“Pops,” Sawyer and I chastise in unison.
“She’s just doing her job and taking care of you,” I remind him.
“Sorry,” Sawyer tells the nurse. “He’s becoming crotchety in his old age.”
Pops glares, bushy eyebrows pulled low over his eyes, but the nurse only smiles, checking the monitor and adjusting his IV. “Dr. Berk will be in soon. She’ll want to talk with you about what to expect after discharge.”
