Hell on Heels (Hotel Rodeo #1)(8)

“Isn’t there anything you can tell me? Tom’s one of my oldest friends. Hell, he’s more like a father to me.” Tom had stepped in the very day his own ol’ man had passed on over twenty years ago.

“I really do want to help you, Mr. Morgan—”

“Ty,” he corrected.

“—but I’m afraid I have to abide by patient confidentially laws. You’ll just have to wait until Ms. Brandt arrives.”

Although Ty was growing increasingly frustrated, he still knew charm would serve him far better than antagonism. “C’mon, Sugar,” he cajoled with his best wanna-get-you-in-the-sack smile, “Can’t you at least tell me what the doc told her?”

She shook her head with a softer, more sympathetic look. “You know I can’t repeat that conversation. You really should go home and get some rest.”

“Can’t you at least tell me if he’s likely to make it through the night?”

“I believe his condition’s stable.”

He doffed his hat and clawed a hand though his hair. “I guess that’s something, anyway. Is there anyplace I can just sit and wait it out?”

“I’m afraid there’s only the emergency waiting room. But there’s nothing you can do for him.” She laid a hand on his arm. “You really should go home. Ms. Brandt probably won’t arrive until morning anyway.”

He shook his head. “There’s no point. I ain’t gonna sleep a wink.”

“What if I promise to give you a call the moment she arrives?”

He glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight. He really was dead on his feet, but he was terrified that something might happen to Tom in his absence. Then again, the hospital was only ten minutes from the hotel. He could just crash there tonight. He practically lived there anyway. “Do you swear it?” Ty asked.

“Cross my heart.” She made a big, slow “x” over her left breast.

He couldn’t help following the motion. If you looked beyond the shapeless hospital scrubs, she wasn’t half bad—redheaded and a bit on the heavy side, but Ty liked redheads and full-figured women. He liked lean and mean brunettes too. Hell, he liked most any shape and size—especially when they were moaning beneath him.

“All right.” He heaved a sigh of defeat. “I s’pose I’m only wearing out my boot soles pacing the floors. You’ve been most obliging,”—his gaze flickered discreetly to her name tag—“Holly. Is there anything I can do to return the favor?”

She sank her teeth into her lower lip. The action drew attention to her mouth. His gaze lingered there briefly. She had a slight overbite. It was kinda sexy. She also had nice full lips. The kind that encouraged illicit thoughts. “How about dinner sometime?” she asked.

He’d seen that look often enough to know that more than dinner was on offer. It was half the reason he’d never trade in his hat and boots for a business suit.

“Would love to take you out, sweetheart, but I’m afraid I’ll have to rain-check you until Tom is out of the woods,” he answered regretfully.

“I understand, but take my number just in case.” She scrawled it on a Post-it note and handed it to him. “You can call anytime.”

“Thank you, Holly. I’ll do that real soon.” Ty tipped his hat and headed to the elevator, shaking his head. Damn. That was twice in one day he’d passed up a chance to get laid. He’d have to dedicate serious attention to his neglected sex life as soon as things settled back down. But right now Tom was all that mattered.



As Monica stepped outside the baggage claim area, the desert heat swept over her in a suffocating wave. She impatiently scanned the line of vehicles for her ride, sighting the Lexus limo waiting for her curbside. She flagged the chauffeur holding the sign with her name. He pulled forward and opened her door. “Ms. Brandt?”

“Yes. I’m Monica Brandt.”

“Where are you staying?” He asked as he stashed her bags in the trunk.

“The MGM Skylofts, but I need to go straight to Desert Springs Medical Center.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Brandt.”

Monica gazed sightlessly out the window as the driver whisked her away from the airport. She was still seriously rattled about her split with Evan. It was a shock how he’d turned on her like a viper. Her remark about not returning was purely blowing smoke. She had too much of herself invested in New York ever to walk away. She’d been in Manhattan all of her adult life and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She feared the repercussions if he actually carried out his threats.

She hoped they were just a juvenile tantrum for not getting his way and that the trouble would all blow over in a few days. She was counting on that anyway. She pushed her anxiety about Evan from her mind. She refused to think about it anymore when she had more than enough to worry her with Tom.



Though she’d steeled herself for the worst, nothing could have prepared Monica for the sight of her once-vibrant father lying gray and insensible in the hospital bed. With his laughing eyes and cowboy swagger, Tom had always appeared larger than life to her. Now he seemed barely alive.

Holding his cold, limp hand, she listened through a filter of fog as various members of the medical team detailed Tom’s prognosis and treatment plan. Her fingers tightened convulsively as her mind registered “permanent impairment to his cognitive and speech centers.”