Her Favorite Cowboy. Mary Leo
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for Gage, his grandfather was not one of them.
Cori continued. “She’s the petite lady, wearing jeans and a blue shirt. She’s the only one with brown hair. Gram turns seventy-five next week, but she’s fighting it as long as she can.”
“My grandfather was like that. Always took care of himself, but ever since my grandmother passed, he’s been nothing but...”
An older, slim man wearing a black cowboy hat rushed into the saloon from the open back door and yelled, “Is anyone in here a nurse or a doctor?”
The music stopped as the room took on a sudden eerie silence. Everyone collectively waited for someone to respond to the frantic question.
A few awkward seconds passed.
Then Gage watched as Cori slid off her barstool, grabbed her oversize purse, and said, “I’m a doctor.”
The man told her to follow him, which she did, as she reached out for Gage’s hand. He reluctantly took it and followed close behind.
“You’re a doctor?” Gage asked her as they made their way out of the tavern area. He never would have guessed. He always thought of doctors as older, wiser-looking people. Not someone he could meet in a bar, and especially not someone who looked and sounded like Cori Parker, with her sultry voice, tight jeans, boots and manicured fingernails. She simply didn’t fit the type, but then, what did he know of types? He hadn’t looked up from achieving his financial goals in way too many years.
“Yes,” she said. “And I need you as my assistant.”
“But I don’t know the first thing about...”
“Just follow my lead and you’ll do fine.”
She squeezed his hand tighter as if she was depending on him for strength. He quickly took up the cause, gaining confidence with each step, and followed her through the back of the saloon, which led directly into the lobby of the Strater Hotel.
As he and Cori came around the corner, past the wooden staircase and into the main lobby decorated with crystal chandeliers, wallpapered walls, antique walnut furniture and ornate woodwork, he spotted the man lying on the plush, carpeted floor in the center of a small group of people who knelt around him.
Gage’s heart raced as he let go of Cori’s hand and hurried toward the group.
“It’s my grandfather,” he told Cori, his voice cracking.
* * *
“I DON’T KNOW what happened,” the young man told Cori as he crouched next to the older man lying on the floor. “One minute he was standing in front of my desk getting his room key, and the next he was on the floor.”
A small group of older folks had gathered around the gray-haired man lying on the floor. Cori immediately focused on the color of the man’s skin, which looked normal, plus his eyes were open and he wasn’t clutching his chest.
All good signs.
“Oh, Gramps,” Gage whispered as he dropped to the floor next to the fallen man. Then he smoothed out his grandpa’s hair, which seemed to relax them both.
As soon as his grandfather heard Gage’s voice he turned toward him. “What? How did I ever get on the floor?” He sounded shaky, deliberate, as if he was trying to control internal tremors. Cori knew these symptoms well, but she didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. It was always difficult coming into a situation like she now found herself. She longed for a patient who filled out a medical history. Just once she’d like to know what that was like. Even though she had worked in a low trauma hospital in Manhattan as an ER physician, her experience with a detailed medical history for any of her patients had been a rare luxury, rather than the norm.
“Do you know if he’s suffering from any blood sugar problems?” Cori asked Gage as she clocked the man’s pulse. She could feel his tremors as she held on to his wrist. He also seemed anxious and nervous, but that could be from what had to be an embarrassing situation.
Gage hesitated as Cori looked to him for an easy answer. His grandfather was breathing too fast, which would only make him dizzy.
“I don’t know.”
“He’s your grandfather. Do you know anything about his health?”
“No. Not really.”
His statements took her by surprise, especially since he’d claimed to want to spend time with his grandfather. Cori knew everything about her grandmother, down to what vitamins she took and what she ate for breakfast. But then, Cori had always shared a special relationship with her gram, and felt closer to her than she did to her own parents.
“What’s his name?”
“Buck, Buck Remington.”
Cori directed her full attention to the patient. “Mr. Remington, I’d like you to take some deep, slow breaths to calm yourself. Can you do that for me? I’ll lead the way?”
Buck nodded, as they each slowly sucked in air through their mouths. “Now let it out through your nose,” she told him, and he dutifully followed her lead.
Once she had him breathing normally, his pulse slowed to a more acceptable pace. An older woman with pure white, shoulder-length hair and deep red lips leaned over and handed Gage her pink sweater. “Maybe you can put this under his head. That floor’s hard.”
“Thanks,” Gage told her, while Cori threw the generous woman a quick smile.
Gage looked to Cori for approval. She nodded, then he carefully lifted Buck’s head and rested it on the folded sweater.
“Have you been diagnosed with hypoglycemia, Mr. Remington?”
He nodded again. His pulse quickened and sweat beaded on his forehead.
She looked up at Gage. “He needs glucose. Could you get him a glass of orange juice from the bar?”
“Sure.” Gage jumped up and rushed back to the tavern.
“I caught him as he went down,” a tall, lean gentleman, probably in his late sixties or early seventies and wearing a cream-colored cowboy hat offered. “He didn’t hit anything but my chest, so nothing should be broken. Court’s the name. Steve Court. Been Buck’s friend for the past ten years or so. Never know’d him to drop like that. Glad I was close by to break his fall.”
“You did perfect,” she told the man, then directed her attention back to Mr. Remington. “Can you sit up?”
He nodded and she motioned for Mr. Court to please help her.
She cradled his head and shoulder with one arm, and Mr. Court leaned down to help put Buck upright.
Gage returned with the juice.
“Drink this, Mr. Remington. It’ll make you feel better.”
Buck did as he was told and quickly slurped up all the juice, then handed the empty glass back to Gage. “Thank you, son,” he mumbled, his hand visibly shaking.
A siren screamed in the distance.
“Don’t worry, Gramps. We’ll get you checked out at the hospital, and you’ll be fine.”
“I’m not going to no dang hospital. I’m fine now. Just lost my balance is all.”
He struggled with each movement as if his limbs wouldn’t cooperate with his mind.
“Just rest for a bit, Mr. Remington. Take your time. There’s no rush.”
“Not going to no dang hospital.”
Two male EMTs walked into the lobby and came over to the group. The glow of the swirling red lights from their ambulance pulsed in through the windows and stained the walls with their fiery color.
“Gramps, stop being so obstinate. I’ll be right there with you.”