Texas Showdown Page 2

  Austin had figured that she was saying she needed a little more time to get over what had happened. So he gave her what she’d asked for, what he’d believed she needed: time and space.

  Neither had worked out so well.

  It had become easier to stay apart than to face each other and try to build a bridge to cover the space between them. He’d started spending more time in the barn and on the range. The divide between them became a cavern until she’d rented a loft apartment in the capital to be closer to work and then stopped coming home altogether.

  A dull ache pounded Austin’s temples as if a dozen hammers were a marching band in his ears. Sleep. He needed a few hours of shut-eye before the day started over again. He’d been working so much lately that days and nights ran together and he lost track of the calendar. He’d rest come July when he got the healthy calves sold at auction. Right now, the sick calves deserved his attention.

  “Let’s go, boy,” he said to Denali, who’d stopped whining and was settled into a pattern of steady breathing.

  The Lab didn’t so much as hike an ear at the sound of Austin’s voice. A good cattle dog was worth three men. Denali did his own thing, which generally meant sleeping a lot. But he was good company and he’d been in the family fourteen years.

  “Okay, old man,” Austin said, figuring he could keep the door to his office open so Denali could come and go as he pleased when he woke, like usual. The dog liked to roam around, stopping in to visit who he wanted each day.

  Austin maintained his workplace in the horse barn to be closer to the men. His father had occupied the big office next door. Austin stopped in front of Dad’s office. The room was dark and empty now.

  Since the murders, no one had claimed the big office as theirs, as though everyone realized there’d be no filling the boots of their father.

  Austin took in a sharp breath.

  “You stay here and rest,” Austin said to the snoring Lab, thinking that he sorely needed to get out and socialize again in the summer since he’d taken to talking to the family dog more than people. Of course, most sane people didn’t wake up before the sun.

  Austin hopped onto the bench seat of the golf cart and headed east toward his home. The place had been constructed almost a decade ago. His had been the first built on the ranch because he’d always known he’d come back to work the land he loved after college. Yeah, Tommy was right, Austin had gone to a fancy school. And he needed every bit of his Ivy League education to carry the ranch into the next generation and beyond.

  Winding down the path beside the flowing water of Bull Creek, Austin noticed how the water flowed through the land, always moving. He stopped the cart next to the creek, stepped out and listened to the rush of water.

  His thoughts drifted back to Maria. Smart, beautiful, focused. She’d been everything he’d ever wanted in a relationship and so much more. That first year they’d stayed up long past a reasonable time every night talking. His mornings might’ve dragged the next day but he’d do it all over again the next because he wanted to be with her that much. Her good looks had attracted him. She was a classic brown-haired, brown-eyed beauty. But it was her intelligence that rocketed his attraction to a whole new dimension. And the sex...he didn’t even want to go there about how mind-blowing that had been. No doubt a product of the intensity of the emotions they felt for each other.

  Austin stood over the water, watching it flow. He shook his head, wondering how he could’ve let their relationship slip through his fingers.

  Back inside the cart, he let the word he’d been avoiding circulate through his thoughts...divorce.

  It sat heavy on his chest as he stood in front of the locked door of his traditional ranch-style home, remembering that he’d left the key back at his office on top of the divorce papers.

  Chapter Two

  Still half-asleep, Austin groaned at the noise waking him. The music needed to stop. Instead, Johnny Cash’s song “Ring of Fire” belted out louder. Austin was pretty sure his eyelids had been glued shut at some point in the night as he moved in slow motion. He forcibly blinked his eyes open, searching for the culprit. The clock on his nightstand said two forty in the morning. And he realized the annoying sound was his ringtone.

  He shot straight up. His first thought was that something had happened to Tommy, so he scrambled to answer before the call rolled into the black abyss of voice mail where he couldn’t ask important questions.

  “Is this Austin O’Brien?” an unfamiliar female voice said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She identified herself as Maureen Velasquez from University Medical Center. “We got your number from Maria O’Brien’s emergency contact in her phone and we need your consent to treat her.”

  “What happened? Hold on. Can I give it to you over the phone?” A next-of-kin call from University Medical Center’s trauma unit asking for his permission to treat his wife was the last discussion Austin thought he’d have after being served divorce papers. Technically, she was still Maria O’Brien but that would change to Belasco as soon as he signed the documents on his desk. Apparently, another change was on the horizon for her soon after. That thought sat bitterly in Austin’s gut. It was a lot like rusted metal lodged in there, metallic taste and all.

  “I’m afraid it has to be in writing,” Maureen said sympathetically.

  “Is she okay?” he asked, trying to process being up after three hours of sleep, and then said, “Never mind. You have my verbal consent and I’ll be right there to sign whatever document you need. My lawyer will call in the meantime.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Maureen said. “I’ll meet you at the ER entrance with the paperwork.”

  Austin ended the call and tore off the covers. He hopped into his jeans and threw on a shirt. He slipped into his boots and was out the door within minutes.

  The drive to the hospital was the longest of his life. He probably should’ve expected this call to come at some point given the nature of her job. Except that Maria was probably the most competent person he’d ever known and he’d never given much thought to the danger in her line of work. Not until right then. And now every possible worst-case scenario was running through his mind. He should’ve asked Maureen more questions when he had her on the line but he didn’t want to take a chance of delaying treatment.

  Other thoughts churned in his mind—thoughts that he couldn’t afford now that Maria was divorcing him. Austin needed a strong black cup of coffee to clear his mind and reset those thoughts.

  He left his truck next to the ER ambulance bay, having parked on the side so emergency vehicles had plenty of room. A woman in slacks and a button-down shirt stood at the entrance with a clipboard tucked under her arm.

  “Ms. Velasquez?” he asked and she nodded as she held out the clipboard.

  “Sign here, Mr. O’Brien,” she said, indicating a spot at the bottom of the page.

  He scribbled his name as quickly as he could.

  “And here,” she flipped up the document to reveal a page underneath as she nodded to a nurse who was standing at the intake desk on the phone. Austin assumed the nurse was relaying the fact that they had consent. The speed at which they handled everything sent a chill down his back. This couldn’t be good.

  “Your wife is being taken into surgery to stitch up the back of her head,” Maureen stated, and her voice was calm, even.

  “She’s going to be all right, though, isn’t she?” Austin asked, not wanting to let his fears get the best of him.

  “We have the best trauma doctors in the country, Mr. O’Brien. Your wife is in good hands,” Maureen said, indicating a third place for his signature.

  When he’d signed, he searched her face for any indication that she was placating him. She seemed sincere.

  “I’ll take you to a waiting area where you can find a decent cup o
f coffee,” she said. “Someone will be out to talk to you the minute your wife is out of surgery.”

  “What happened?”

  “She was alone, believed to be walking to her car when she took a blow to the head from behind,” she supplied.

  “How bad is it?” he asked.

  “The doctor is with her now and he’ll be able to give you a full report.” She shot him an apologetic look.

  “Where was she when this happened?”

  “Outside of a place called Midnight Cowboy, on Sixth Street,” she supplied. “An employee came out the back door and the guy supposedly took off before she could get a good look at him.”

  Austin thanked her and followed her down the long white hallway.

  She opened a door to a lounge, closed the door behind him, and it didn’t take but another minute for him to get started on that first cup.

  There were a few people in the waiting area, scattered around, some in pairs. The thought that he might be in the same room with the man who planned to marry his wife was a bitter pill to swallow. Austin scanned each male face to see if he recognized any of the men or if any one of them seemed like someone Maria would date.

  There was one contender, a man in his midthirties, fairly stocky for what had to be about a five-foot-ten-inch frame. The guy was sitting off to the side by himself. He wore camo pants and a dark green T-shirt, fairly typical FBI field clothing. His elbows rested on his knees, and his right foot hadn’t stopped fidgeting since Austin had stepped into the room. The man could be worried about Maria or tense about meeting her husband, Austin thought wryly. He leaned against the wall, needing to stand for a few minutes while he sipped his coffee. Besides, the dark blue chairs lining the walls looked about as hard and itchy as sitting on a bale of hay.

  The haze in his brain started lifting and he convinced himself that he’d stick around long enough to make sure Maria was in the clear and out of surgery. She may not even want him there. Camo Pants might be the one getting the nod to see her when she woke.

  Anger filled his chest as he thought about how easy it seemed for her to be able to replace their relationship. For him, what they’d had was special. Apparently, not so much for her.

  News that she was in recovery came two cups of coffee and little more than one hour later. Austin took it as a good sign. Camo Pants didn’t make a move when the doctor stepped into the doorway and asked to speak to Austin O’Brien. Austin double-checked Camo Pants for a reaction when the doctor said Maria’s name, too. He didn’t get one. Good. Austin wasn’t sure how he’d react if his replacement was sitting in the same room.

  It struck him as odd that her fiancé wouldn’t be notified. But then, that was just paperwork.

  Austin followed the doctor into the hall so they could speak one-on-one. After hearing medical-lingo for Maria was doing better than expected due to her strong physical condition, Austin asked how long she could expect to be in the hospital.

  “Not long. Cognitively, she’s doing far better than expected,” the middle-aged doctor, who looked committed to a workout routine himself, said. He’d introduced himself as Dr. Burt and had a tired but competent look to his graying features. “A blow to the head like the one she took can scramble things up. Her mind seems clear. She knew her name and the day of the week. She also knew the current president and vice president.”

  Austin didn’t know how to put this delicately, so he came straight out with it. “We’re going through a divorce, so I’m not sure if it’s appropriate for me to stick around much longer. I’d like to know that she’ll recover fully before I leave, though.”

  “Leave?” The doctor’s brow shot up. “You were the first person she asked to see when she woke. She asked for her husband.”

  Again, the delicate way to approach this seemed to take leave so Austin asked point-blank, “Are you sure she’s talking about me?”

  “You’re Austin O’Brien, correct?” Dr. Burt asked.

  “I am.”

  “Then I’m absolutely talking about you,” he said.

  “And she didn’t mention anything about sending me divorce papers or planning to marry someone else?”

  “No.” A concerned crease dented the doctor’s forehead. “In fact, she seemed excited about heading back to the ranch with you.”

  “The ranch?” Austin’s reaction seemed to catch the doctor off guard.

  “She doesn’t live with you on your family ranch?” he asked.

  Austin shook his head and worry lines bracketed Dr. Burt’s mouth.

  “You said she took a blow to the head,” Austin said, fearing that she might’ve taken a bigger hit than they realized.

  Dr. Burt nodded. “Short-term memory loss can be an issue with a head injury. I’ll set up a meeting with you and the nurse to check the accuracy of the information she provided. If she doesn’t live with you, where does she live?”

  “She moved to an apartment in Austin more than a year ago,” Austin said honestly. He didn’t really want to get into the shortcomings of his relationship with his wife but it sounded like information they needed to treat her properly. He could get through a few uncomfortable minutes if it would help.

  The doctor’s frown deepened. “Interesting. She didn’t mention anything about it.” He paused. “I’ll contact our trauma specialist for a consult and, if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to be available for an interview, as well.”

  “I’ll do what I can to help,” he said, unsure if he was the right person for the task.

  Dr. Burt deposited Austin in a small office and then left, saying he’d return soon. The doctor’s words sent all of Austin’s warning flags flying at high altitude.

  A few minutes passed before the door opened again and a white-haired doctor stepped inside.

  “I’m Dr. Wade.” This doctor was a little shorter than Dr. Burt with a few more wrinkles.

  The interview didn’t last as long as Austin’s cup of coffee.

  “I’d like to confer with my colleague before making a recommendation,” he said, pausing at the door.

  Austin thanked him and waited.

  Three hours later, Dr. Burt stepped inside the room. “My shift is almost over but I wanted to speak to you personally before I left.”

  “I appreciate it,” Austin said.

  “Your wife is in recovery and doing well. After speaking to her, it’s safe to say that she’s suffering memory loss from the trauma her head received,” the doctor began, taking a seat across from Austin. “The blow was severe enough to cause some swelling to the brain.”

  “Sounds serious,” Austin said, tamping down his fear that the doctor was about to deliver life-changing news.

  “We’ll have to monitor her for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours but I’m hopeful for a positive outcome given her otherwise strong physical condition,” Dr. Burt said.

  “And what about her memory?” Austin asked.

  “That’s where it gets complicated. There are two basic types of amnesia, retrograde and anterograde,” Dr. Burt started. He leaned forward and touched the tips of his fingers together. “Amnesia is simple. We all know what that means. We had a memory once and now it’s gone.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. “The memory is lost.”

  Straightforward enough. Austin nodded his understanding.

  “Anterograde amnesia erases short-term memories following an accident or trauma and a good part of that is due to injury to the brain itself. Chemicals shift and the balance is disturbed. Once that brain chemistry normalizes, systems work again.” He folded his fingers together. “Had a guy released last week who’d spent four months here but can’t recall anything before the last week of his stay.”

  “Will those memories come back for him?” Austin asked after taking a sip of coffee that he’d refilled prior to the doctor e
ntering the room.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” Dr. Burt made a seesaw effect with outstretched arms. “I’ve seen it go both ways.

  “With retrograde amnesia, like in your wife’s case—” he paused “—a patient loses memories of events before the injury. For some, the loss will cover a few minutes. Others can lose weeks, months or even years of their lives. I’ve personally witnessed both ends of the spectrum.”

  “What about Maria?” Austin asked, absorbing the news. His first thought was that the only reason she’d asked for him was because she didn’t remember that she’d been the one to walk away in the first place. And what did any of that mean for their relationship? Was he supposed to forget the fact that she’d served him with divorce papers and pretend like nothing was wrong?

  “It’s difficult to say at this point. Memories have a tendency to return like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. They’ll get bits here and there with no rhyme or reason,” Dr. Burt said.

  “Is it a permanent condition? Can it come and go?” Austin asked. What he knew about amnesia could fill his coffee cup and nothing more. And most of that knowledge came from him or one of his brothers suffering from a concussion in childhood.

  “Many people regain much of what they’ve lost, if not all. For some, they never retrieve that information. The brain is complicated and there’s not a one-size-fits-all approach.” Dr. Burt’s shoulders relaxed. He maintained soft eye contact, blinking and looking away as he recalled information. Everything about the man’s posture communicated compassion. “If it’s any consolation, we’ve observed a direct correlation between recovery of the head injury and return of memories. The better the healing, the more long-term memories tend to come back.”

  “I’m guessing you can’t tell me when that will happen,” Austin said.

  “Not with any degree of confidence,” the doctor admitted. “Generally speaking, the less severe the head injury, the smaller the degree of associated retrograde amnesia. From evaluating her memory versus the trauma to her head, I’d guess that her memories could return fairly soon. She’s in excellent physical condition and that always aids recovery. Her head sustained a fair amount of trauma both from the blunt force instrument and then when she fell after the initial blow. Indications are that she collided hard with the concrete. That being said, she’s young and strong. Both of those factors weigh in. The better she takes care of herself in recovery, the more hopeful I am.”