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another cup of coffee as they stood in the waiting room of the surgical floor of the hospital. He wasn’t sure who looked worse: he or Rafe. They were muddy, their hair plastered down from untold hours of sweat. Every muscle in Slade’s body screamed for rest and the luxury of a hot shower. He wrinkled his nose; the brackish odor of the mine and his sour sweat smell surrounded him. He glanced at his watch. An hour ago Cat had been taken to the emergency room, attended by a number of physicians and nurses. None of the family had been allowed to go with her. Why didn’t someone come out and tell them how she was?
    Slade hadn’t tried to hide his own emotions as he’d sat alongside Rafe in the ambulance. Cat had been chalk white; even her freckles had looked washed out. Her once-beautiful sable-brown hair was a stringy mat of mud and blood. There’d been a three-inch gash across her scalp, and she had bled heavily, but he was more worried about the skull beneath her scalp. Just how bad was her concussion? Judging from Cat’s pallor and her prolonged bouts of unconsciousness, it was serious.
    A doctor came through the double swinging doors, his face unreadable. He headed for the elder Kincaid. The entire family, with Millie and Slade, surrounded the doctor before he drew to a stop.
    “Mr. Kincaid?”
    Sam Kincaid nodded. “Doctor? How’s my girl?”
    “I’m Dr. Scott,” he said, extending his hand. “Cathy is in serious condition, Mr. Kincaid. She’s suffered two broken ribs. She’s extremely dehydrated and we’ve got her on two I.V.s to restabilize her.”
    Slade closed his fist. His voice was strained. “And her head injury, Dr. Scott?”
    Scott’s narrow face became impassive. “Severe concussion. She keeps lapsing in and out of consciousness.” His brow furrowed. “Is your name Slade?”
    “Yes. Slade Donovan.”
    “Cathy is asking for you. We need to try and keep her awake. I want to keep her from going into a coma.”
    Inez Kincaid’s thin face grew still. “A coma, doctor?”
    “Yes. If I can keep Slade with her, she might rally enough to fight back and stay awake. We’ve got that portion of her head packed in dry ice to reduce the swelling.” He looked up at Slade. “Let’s get you cleaned up a little, son, and then, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to remain with Cathy for a while.”
    Slade nodded. He followed Dr. Scott down the immaculate hall to a lounge. A nurse gave him a green surgical shirt and a pair of trousers to replace his filthy clothes. Slade took a quick hot shower and fought the deep drowsiness that tried to claim him. It wasn’t yet time to sleep off the past forty-eight hours he’d been awake.
    The nurse, a petite blonde with blue eyes, smiled once he emerged from the lounge. “Now you look like a doctor, Mr. Donovan. Follow me, please.” She took him to the intensive-care unit, where each patient’s room was enclosed on three sides with glass panels. Cathy looked dead. She matched the color of her sheets. Her hair had been washed clean and an ice pack placed carefully against her skull. The sigh of oxygen and the beeps of the cardiac unit made Slade grow wary. So many machines to monitor her fragile hold on life, he thought.
    The nurse drew up a chair alongside Cat’s bed. “You can sit here, Mr. Donovan.”
    Slade thanked her, but moved to the bed. He reached out and slipped his hand across Cat’s limp, cool fingers. They had washed her free of all the filth.
    “You look a little on the thin side, Mr. Donovan. They said you and the Kincaids worked but didn’t eat. I’ll have someone run down to the cafeteria and bring you dinner.”
    Slade smiled, grateful for the nurse’s thoughtfulness. “Thanks,” he replied. Then he shifted his attention to Cat. Funny, Slade told Cat silently as he cupped her fingers between his to warm them, you were a stranger to me three days ago. A lump rose in his throat. What is it about you that touches me so?
    Perhaps it was