The ranch did have an amazing array of activities with stunning views in a secluded mountainous area. From what the website described, guests could participate in horseback riding, rafting, fly-fishing, archery, hiking, and about a dozen other activities that were tailored to the guests’ needs by their own personal ranch ambassador. They even had a full-fledged rodeo on site once a week. The meals were apparently also top-rated, the amenities luxurious, and the service outstanding.
Even so, Kinsey hesitated when she had to pay more than $200 a night for a hotel room and couldn’t imagine paying $20,000. But from what she’d read, the McQuaids were a very wealthy family themselves and best known because of Brock McQuaid, a famous country music singer. Maybe his stardom had added to the popularity of the ranch.
Whatever the case, she’d gone to some wealthy and elite places during the past four years working for Premier Nurses, since the traveling nursing agency hired only the very best nurses and catered to those who could pay the high rates. Still,she’d never gone to a luxury ranch, and she was not only curious but even a teensy bit excited.
“You’ll see Healing Springs Ranch off to your left,” the helicopter pilot announced.
She shifted in her seat and peered out the other side. Among the foothills below she could see the stunning log-cabin homes, barns, corrals, ponds, a river, and even a herd of beautiful horses grazing on cleared land.
“It’s amazing!” she called back to the pilot.
He tossed her a grin, his gaze lingering on her in the mirror attached above his dashboard. She recognized the frank appreciation in his dark eyes. At five feet seven, she had long legs and was curvy in all the right places. If that wasn’t enough to draw attention, she also had waves of highlighted brown hair, bright blue-green eyes, and classic pretty features—high cheekbones, symmetrical round eyes, arched brows, a slender nose, and a narrow chin.
She garnered notice from men everywhere she went. At one point in her life, she’d thrived on such attention. But since Madison’s death four years ago, Kinsey hadn’t made time for men, had been too busy pursuing her career as a traveling nurse. She’d gotten good at ignoring the interest and looks and compliments. In fact, she’d perfected the ability to act clueless about the attention being lobbed her way. It was easier to fake ignorance than to come up with excuses for why she didn’t want to hand out her phone number.
She peered out the window again and feigned renewed interest in the ranch that was drawing closer as the helicopter hovered above a landing pad on a hilltop overlooking the ranch.
As the helicopter landed moments later, she mentally rehearsed all the notes she’d previously studied about her patient, T.W. McQuaid, the patriarch of the family and owner of the ranch. The notes had been sent to Premier yesterday inpreparation for Mr. McQuaid’s discharge today from the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, where he’d had a distal pancreatectomy, which included having the body and tail of the pancreas surgically removed. According to the records, Mr. McQuaid had also needed to have his spleen taken out, as was sometimes necessary during such a procedure.
Thankfully, the cancer hadn’t spread into any of the nearby blood vessels, so Mr. McQuaid hadn’t required the more intricate blood-vessel operation. Although the surgeon—one of the best in the country—had removed most of the cancer, there were other tumors elsewhere that would require chemotherapy after recovery.
That was where she came into the picture. Mr. McQuaid was in need of specialized care for the next three to six weeks as he regained his strength and appetite. Currently, the notes indicated he was suffering from delayed gastric emptying and, as a result, had been nauseous and vomiting.
Otherwise, the Mayo pancreatologists agreed that Mr. McQuaid’s prognosis was positive. If the man could regain his strength quickly, he’d be able to start chemotherapy earlier rather than later, and that might help him live longer than the usual survival rate of two to five years.
Kinsey braced her shoulders as the pilot swung open the helicopter door. It was game on. Time for her to prove why she was rated the top nurse in her agency. She’d worked hard to earn her reputation, and she had an incredible success rate with her patients.
This time would be no different. She’d do everything she could to ensure Mr. McQuaid’s full recovery.
“Thank you for the ride here.” She took the pilot’s offer of a hand and hopped down.
“It’s no trouble.” The young man steadied her, then reached inside for her suitcases, one medium and one small, containingher personal items. She always traveled light. It made living out of a suitcase easier.
The medical equipment, prescriptions, hospital bed, and everything else had hopefully arrived yesterday or earlier today, especially since she’d called the supply company twice to check on the orders. With Mr. McQuaid set to arrive later this afternoon from Mayo Clinic, she intended to have everything ready and be settled in so that she could focus entirely on him.
She hefted her travel bag over one shoulder, glad she’d worn her sweatshirt over her leggings instead of the T-shirt she’d nearly put on before leaving O’Hare. The past few May days at her mom’s home in the Chicago suburbs had been warm. She’d almost been tempted to pack her summer clothing for the trip to Colorado.
But now, as a cool mountain breeze brushed at her loose hair, she shivered.
“I still can’t believe you’re a nurse,” the pilot said as he shut the helicopter door. “You’re too pretty.”
She wanted to roll her eyes. Why did guys think she wanted to hear that she was too pretty to be a nurse? As if pretty women were always stupid.
“Well, I can’t believe you’re a pilot.” She let sarcasm infuse her tone. “You’re too young.”
She grabbed both of her rolling suitcases and started forward without waiting for him, heading toward the only path on the landing and what appeared to be stairs. She had no idea where she was going, but surely she’d find the main house soon enough.
“Too young?” His voice rose with disbelief. “Now hold on.”
She shot him a raised-brow look over her shoulder.
In the middle of opening his mouth to defend himself, he halted and then grinned. “Okay, I see your point.”
“What point is that?”
“You’re not too pretty?” His answer ended as a question.
She had to bite back a smile.
