The coffee was the bitterest he’d ever tasted.

Old fool. Acting like she’s already gone. Instead of lamenting the fact she ain’t here, why don’t you do something useful and clean up her space so she don’t have a conniption fit when she does come home?

Carson rolled up his sleeves, needing to touch the things she’d last touched, and got to work.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Hospital, Day 3—early evening

After he’d taken a hot shower in his own bathroom, donned fresh clothes and packed for himself and Carolyn, Carson returned to the hospital.

Still, he felt guilty for his three-hour absence and the fifteen minutes he’d missed spending with his wife.

Had she noticed?

Don’t be ridiculous.

But he vowed the next time he left the hospital to go home he’d be taking Carolyn with him.

Day dragged into early evening. Each visit to Carolyn’s room brought up another memory. The last two hours he’d talked about Cam, how his normal birth weight didn’t indicate the kid would be such a bruiser. Even at age two he’d been freakishly strong but surprisingly gentle. Especially with Carter.

There were only a little over two years between the last two boys. Five kids kept both of them busy. But their older sons, being typical boys, could care less about a new baby. Yet Cam had been fascinated by Carter and showed zero sibling jealousy. He loved his baby brother. Loved him so much he wanted to take Carter everywhere.

Carson would never forget the day he’d come inside and found Cord watching Petticoat Junction with Colby and Colt and not keeping an eye on his two youngest brothers while Carolyn took a shower. He’d scaled the stairs to see Cam giving four-month-old Carter a ride; he’d wrapped Carter up like a burrito and raced up and down the hallway, dragging the baby behind him.

His wife might’ve fainted on the spot if she’d seen it, even when Carter was perfectly fine, cooing happily. So Carson hadn’t told her about that incident. Or the time when Cam and Colt were playing jungle in the playroom. They’d rigged several sheets between the curtain rods and two light fixtures on the ceiling to create a hammock for Carter. A hammock on a pulley system that lifted two-year-old Carter almost to the ceiling, near the exposed light bulbs and next to the open window.

That might’ve been the day he’d found his first gray hair. Even looking back now, he wasn’t sure how his sons had managed to do that.

Right as he’d started to drift into the memory of Colby shooting out four windows from inside the house, he heard a loud voice bouncing off the walls down by the nurse’s stand.

“Seriously? I’ve fixed lots of those over the years. Usually a flower is easiest because the lettering you want covered up can be incorporated into a vine or a stem.” A pause. “Absolutely. Here’s my card. Call me and we’ll set up a consult.”

Carson remained in his chair, knowing if he stood up he’d probably collide with his daughter-in-law India. How she sat for hours inking tattoos baffled him because when she wasn’t working, she hustled around as if she was afraid she’d get arrested for loitering if she stopped moving.

Just then she barreled into the waiting room. A tank-top showed off both sleeves of her tattoos. Her short hair was subdued—subdued for her. Not streaked with vibrant blue, neon green or shocking orange, but the shiny burgundy color of wine.

She marched right up to him, her round-toed combat boots bumping into his cowboy boots. “Give me a hug, grumpy old man. I’m sure we both need one.”

He flat-out adored Colt’s wife. Outspoken and in your face, India’s take me as I am or get the f**k away from me attitude charmed him, mostly because they were cut from the same cloth. In Carson’s opinion, India Ellison was the greatest thing that had ever happened to his son.

“Nice hair,” he said after she released him from a tight hug.

“Wouldn’t want to get boring in my old age as a mother of three. Although my hair should be bright red and I should have horns growing out of my scalp since I’ve given birth to hellions.” Her piercing eyes sought his. “Carson, can I just say this situation f**king sucks all around?”

“Yeah, darlin’, you can.”

“Any change?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t have to ask how you’re holding up because I can see it in your eyes, old man. Have you been sleeping at all?”

“Some. In the middle of the night they let me piggyback the time I spend with her, so I get ten minutes and I sleep for two hours instead of one.”

“Big of them.” Scowling, she gestured to the empty bottles of Dr. Pepper scattered around. “Dude. Pick that shit up. If I would’ve wanted to talk to you in a mess, I would’ve invited you over to our place.”

Such a little ball-buster.

“I’m grabbing us each a soda. I need some damn caffeine.”

Carson tossed the trash and settled in the corner seat.

India returned with two bottles of Dr. Pepper, and four candy bars. She tossed the Butterfinger, the Snickers and the Salted Nut Roll in his lap, keeping the Twix for herself. “How about we call that my version of baking cookies since you know I’m a sucky cook.”

He smiled. “Works for me.”

They didn’t speak until they’d polished off a candy bar each.

She flopped back in her chair and jammed a hand through her hair. “So your kids are being dickheads, huh?”

“I get why they’re pissed off but it ain’t gonna make me change my mind.”