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 of 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