Raising Kane (Rough Riders #9)(3)

“Male or female friend?” the receptionist cooed.


“Female. Her family can’t get here so they sent me to get some information.”


“Sorry, I can’t give it out, no matter how cute you are. It was a wasted trip for you Mr….”


“McKay. Kane McKay.”


“McKay?” Her raccoon eyes lit up. “Any relation to that hot, awesome bull rider Chase McKay? Is he your son?”


Son? Jesus. Chase was only ten years younger than him. Even on his worst day Kane knew he didn’t look that damn old. “No, he’s my cousin.”


“Omigod I love to watch him ride. He’s like…so incredible. Sheer poetry on the back of a bull.” The girl actually stood and craned her neck, trying to look behind him. “Is Chase with you?”


“No.” Wasn’t the first time his cousin’s groupies grilled him for the elusive Chase McKay’s whereabouts. “Is there any way you can just—”


“Kane?”


He whirled around to see Libby, his cousin Quinn’s wife, hustling toward him. Unease punched him in the gut. His gaze dropped to Adam, perched on Libby’s hip. The kid didn’t appear sick—he was his same stout-bodied, chubby-cheeked, blowing-spit-bubbles, happy-baby self. “What are you doin’ here?”


“Joely—Doc Monroe—called me about Ginger.” Adam squealed and Libby shushed him. “What are you doing here?”


“Ginger called Dash and Hayden and only gave them enough information to freak them out, so I showed up to figure out what’s really goin’ on.”


“Typical Ginger behavior,” Libby sniffed. “She’s been moved from emergency into a private room.


Come on.”


Kane didn’t bother to check with the chickie behind the desk to see if he was breaking any rules by following Libby.


Halfway down the hall, Libby stopped in front of a closed door. “She’s already had her shoulder reset and they’re putting a walking cast on her calf to immobilize the sprain.”


“What the hell happened to her?”


“Doc Monroe can explain better than I can.” Libby brushed her lips across Adam’s dark head when he fussed again. “Ginger is lucky she didn’t break her damn fool neck.” She pushed open the door.


Kane followed her inside. And froze.


Ginger was sprawled on the hospital bed, damn near naked. The hospital gown left little to the imagination, exposing the deep “V” of her cleavage and stopping mid-thigh. Her right arm was tucked in a sling. Her left hand was heavily bandaged. He dragged his gaze up to Ginger’s face. Her hair was an untamed cloud of red, spread across the white pillow behind her head. Her face was perfectly beautiful, nary a scratch, but it held the too-white shade of shock and pain.


Her eyes opened, narrowed. “What are you doing here, McKay?”


“Hello, to you too, Red,” he drawled. “I’m here because a very scared little boy called me and asked me to check on you.”


“Hayden called you?”


“Yeah, and I talked to your dad too.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and ambled across the room. “They’re worried, since you didn’t let them know what’d happened, beyond that you fell down the stairs and ended up in the hospital.”


Any semblance of Ginger’s bravado fled.


“I can call Dash and let him know what’s going on,” Dr. Monroe said. “Including the bit where I’m keeping you overnight.”


“But I can’t stay in the hospital. I can’t leave my son and my father alone. Not even for a night.”


“Accidents happen, Ginger.”


“They don’t happen to me. I’m fine. Really.”


He exchanged a look with Libby. They both knew Ginger was far from fine.


Dr. Monroe got right in Ginger’s face. “How much pain are you in?”


Ginger swallowed and looked away.


“Answer me. Scale of one to ten.”


“Five,” Ginger admitted softly.


Kane sucked in a breath. Knowing how hardheaded Ginger was meant her pain was a least a seven, if not an eight.


The doc piggybacked a small, clear pack of solution onto the IV and popped the needle into the tubing. “Now listen up. You dislocated your shoulder. You have a severe sprain that I’m still not sure isn’t a ligament tear. Knowing you, I was forced to put a cast on it to keep you from injuring it further until I can ascertain just how bad it is. You have a deep laceration on your shin, which was filled with metal flakes and salt, requiring an antibiotic to stave off an infection. You sustained multiple bruises from your fall. You claimed you didn’t hit your head, but I can’t take a chance you did and just don’t remember.


“So given those injuries…you have to stay in the hospital, Ginger. Just one night. If you’re improved tomorrow, I’ll let you go home. But tonight, I’m not giving you a choice.”


“Joely, please—”


“Right now I’m your doctor, not your friend. I’m doing what’s best for my patient.” Doc Monroe squeezed Ginger’s left shoulder. “You need to heal and it’s my job to ensure that happens. The best way to do that is to drug you up and let you sleep uninterrupted.”