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“Sawyer from Hawthorne? The hot basketball player who was two years ahead of us? Gosh, I haven’t thought about him in a bazillion years. He’s an attorney?”

“Yes, an assistant district attorney in Dallas.” Chance pulled out his cell, scrolling for Sawyer’s number.

In the meantime, Kelby opened her work email and found the documents had already been sent to her. She wondered if they had arrived during her conversation with Reginald.

“Hey, Sawyer. Chance Blackstone. Long time, I know. Listen, Kelby is in a pickle. She could really use your help. The clock’s ticking.”

She listened as her brother gave Sawyer a quick rundown of her work situation.

“Yes, I’ll put her on.” He handed his phone to her.

“Hi, Sawyer. Sorry to bother you at work.”

“It’s not a bother, Kelby. And I’m not actually at work. Yesterday was my last day in the DA’s office.”

“Really? What are you going to do instead, move to corporate law and make some real money?” she teased.

“I’m going to practice law in Hawthorne. I’ve been in touch with Isaiah Smith. He was ready to retire and is turning his practice over to me. I’ll office where he does on the town square. Hopefully, I’ll keep most of his clients and find me some new ones.”

“Then I’ll be your first,” she told him, explaining how Reginald had just sent the email to her.

“Forward it to me.” He gave her his email address. “I’ll print out the NDA and anything else that comes with it. Read over and see if we want any changes made or if you can live with what they’ve come up with.”

“Chance wasn’t kidding. There’s a deadline, Sawyer.

Reginald gave me until this time tomorrow morning to return the signed docs.

If I don’t, I’m gone. No recommendations if future employers check with them, which is the kiss of death.

And no severance package of any kind. And I’ll be fired, not given the chance to resign. ”

He chuckled. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing all I’m doing is boxing up things to move. I’ll get right on it, Kelby. Once I’m done, we can talk on the phone, or if you’d like to meet in person, I’m happy to do so.”

“I’m not in Dallas right now, Sawyer. Dad had a stroke yesterday. Chance and I are at the hospital in Decatur with him now.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, Kelby. Jim Blackstone is a pillar of the community.”

Her throat swelled with unshed tears at his remark. “Thank you.”

“I’ll get started now. I know you’ll be meeting with doctors and whatnot. I’m home all day. Call any time after noon. I should be able to comb through the files by then. Wherever’s convenient for you.”

“Thank you, Sawyer. I really appreciate this.”

He chuckled. “Wait until you get my bill. Just kidding.”

They said goodbye, and she forwarded the email to him, not bothering to read it. It would all be legalese anyway. Hard for her to interpret. Better leave things such as that to an expert. Sawyer would let her know if she should sign or not.

“What did he say?” Chance asked.

Kelby ran through their conversation, her brother nodding, as she spoke.

Then a noise came from the bed. Both Blackstone children said, “Dad?” at the same time.

She took her father’s hand, while Chance rang for a nurse.

She squeezed his hand. “How are you, Dad? Chance found you. He brought you to the hospital.” She didn’t want to say any more than that, not wanting him to panic.

He tried to speak, but nothing came out. Kelby could see the anger and frustration in his eyes. Jim Blackstone was a self-made man, one who never asked anything for himself and never allowed himself to be beholden to anyone else.

“It’s okay. Let’s wait for the doctor. See what he says,” her brother said, their gazes meeting.

A nurse came and checked the vital signs. She tried to get her patient to speak, but even she saw the frustration.

“I’ll let Dr. Brock know that Mr. Blackstone is conscious. He should be here shortly. I know he’s already in the hospital making rounds in ICU now.”

A few minutes later, Dr Brock appeared. He introduced himself to Kelby and greeted Chance, then his attention focused on his patient.

He poked and prodded, asking questions, having her dad blink once for yes and twice for no as non-verbal responses.

While Jim Blackstone could move his left hand, his entire right side was paralyzed.

It hurt her deeply to see such a large, powerful man humbled by this stroke.

“Looking good, Mr. Blackstone. You close your eyes now and get some rest because once you wake up, it’s going to be nothing but therapy out the wazoo.

You’ll have physical and occupational therapists working with you and rehabilitation nurses looking after you.

I’ll put all that into motion while you get some shuteye. ”

Her dad blinked once and then closed his eyes.

Dr. Brock asked to see Chance and her outside, and the three of them retreated from the room.

“Isn’t it too soon to start therapy?” Chance asked. “Dad can barely move, and he can’t even speak.”

“Most stroke victims start their therapy within twenty-four to forty-eight hours after their diagnosis,” the physician assured them.

“His rehabilitation nurses will be specialists. They’ll help him with things in his daily routine.

PT—physical therapy—is for relearning movements.

Sitting up. Walking. Keeping his balance.

The OT—occupational therapy—will try to help him become more independent and active.

They’ll help him relearn how to bathe and dress.

Do simple chores around the house. Even learn how to drive again if he’s able to do so.

They also work with improving swallowing and cognitive abilities. ”

“It sounds like a lot,” Kelby said, trying to hide her worry.

“We’ve got experts for everything,” Dr. Brock assured them.

“Speech and language pathologists will help with language skills and swallowing, which can be difficult for those who’ve had a stroke.

They’ll also help with tricks and tips to help his memory, as well as addressing his thought process. What does Mr. Blackstone like to do?”

“Ride,” the siblings both replied, with Chance adding, “Boss people around.”

“Then if he’s capable, we even have therapeutic recreation specialists who could teach him how to ride again.” Dr. Brock paused. “Does your dad still work? We have vocational counselors who address heading back to work and any problems that might involve.”

“He owns a ranch,” Chance said, “The Blackstone Ranch.” His brow creased. “But just looking at him lying in the bed, Doc? I don’t see how he can be the man he once was.”

“He won’t be,” Dr. Brock said flatly. “Even if he learns to walk and talk again and has most of his faculties, he’ll be a different man.

A near-death experience does that to someone.

Oftentimes, a stroke patient’s personality will change.

An extrovert will become an introvert. That kind of thing.

We don’t know what Mr. Blackstone’s future holds.

As of now, his vitals are stable. I hope he’ll regain his strength and the therapists who work with him will be able to help restore him to a full, meaningful life. ”

The doctor paused. “Then again, he may have been affected greatly by the stroke. He could have limited mobility. Right now, he has no movement on his right side. No reactions to touch or other stimuli. But it’s early days. My advice is to keep your hopes up—but temper them some.”

“Thank you, Dr. Brock,” Kelby said, liking the physician and his approach.

“I’ll be back around this afternoon. By then, I’ll have discussed Mr. Blackstone’s case with our therapy departments. It’s going to be a day-by-day thing.” He smiled. “Even miracles can take some time, you know.”

“I’ll be here every day,” she promised. “Chance will have the ranch to run, though.”

“I’ll come as often as possible,” her brother said.

“Good. Having family nearby and supporting him will be the best medicine of all. I’ll see you both later.”

Dr. Brock left, and she told Chance, “I meant what I said. Obviously, I have no job. I can’t even go back to my apartment in Dallas because I’m sure there would be reporters waiting to hound me.”

“Or paparazzi jumping out of the bushes?” Chance teased.

For the first time since dinner last night, Kelby laughed.

“Bax used to love having his picture taken. I always hated it. I thought the photographers were so invasive. And it wasn’t just them.

Anywhere we went, people had cell phones, holding them up, recording our every move in public.

I got to where I never wanted to eat out or go anywhere. ”

She frowned. “And with Bax drinking and us being shifted from city to city, team to team, it was no life at all.”

Her brother wrapped her in a tight embrace. “Don’t worry, Sis. Bax is out of your life. Yes, it’s awful now, but you won’t have to deal with him again. And I know you loved your job, but you’re going to find another one. For now, move back to the ranch.”

“Really? I thought I’d just rent something in Decatur temporarily so I’d be close to Dad.”

“I’m sure they’ll send Dad to some rehab facility after his hospital stay. Eventually, he’ll come home. You should be there, already settled in. You know Tammy would love that. I sent her home in my truck, but she’s supposed to return sometime this morning.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “At some point, I’ll need to go back to Dallas and turn in my notice with my apartment manager. I was thinking about moving and was letting my lease run out. I only have about six weeks on it.”

“I’ll go with you when you do. We can put your furniture in storage. Or bring it to the ranch if that’s what you want. We have plenty of room for it there. Nothing needs to be decided right now.”

They entered the room again, Dad still asleep. Kelby decided to nap while he did. She brought her chair next to the wall and leaned against it.

She was now unemployed, but at least she had a place to stay. The good thing was that she would be free to work with her dad and his therapists, trying to bring him back.

For now, that would have to do.