Red Silk (Steamy Romantic Fantasy)

Part 1

"Moira, please check your phone! It's been ringing off the hook for the past ten minutes. It's driving me nuts!"

"Ok, ok, I'll do it! No need to shout!"

I dropped the dirty plates on the counter and rushed to the back office to fish the offending object out of my handbag. I frowned at the screen. I couldn't place the displayed number. "Hello? Moira MacFinn speaking..."

"Ms MacFinn, I'm Dr. Gordon, physician at Derward General Hospital. We have admitted a gentleman who I believe is your father. Would it be possible for you to come over and fill some paperwork?"

"My father? What happened? Is he okay?"

"His life is not in danger but I don't want to discuss this over the phone. He is unconscious at the moment. When can you be here?"

"In about half an hour, I need to get someone to cover my shift. Will that do?"

"Of course. Please ask for me at reception, there are a few things I'd like to discuss with you before you see him."

He hanged up abruptly and I stood for a minute staring at my phone, before snapping out of it and calling my friend Susie. I had a quick flash of luck in my otherwise rotten day, as she answered on the second ring and immediately agreed to fill in for me.

I made it to the hospital in record time, to find out that Dr. Gordon was in fact a psychiatrist. My dad had attempted suicide. As if it wasn't bad enough, they had performed a general check-up and found out that his heart was in bad shape. Any strong emotion or longstanding worry could kill him.

I was devastated. I hadn't seen it coming. Trying to kill himself. Why would he do that? I mean, I knew he had debts, a lot of them. After my mother bailed out, it had just been the two of us running our small horse breeding and boarding farm. My dad was good with his animals, and the business was doing well until the economy crashed. He had to let his employees go, sell most of his prized breeders for nothing, and remortgage the house in order to survive.

By then I was finishing high school and looking out for universities. I was good enough to get in, not to land a scholarship. He said it didn't matter, that he had planned ahead and put money aside. That he could pay for college and I should go and be happy and don't you worry about a thing.

Turned out he lied. When I finished my degree, he admitted he had taken a loan from some philanthropist who was helping the Scottish diaspora, as the banks wouldn't lend him. It seemed legit and the rate was reasonable. I was angry, but I understood. I moved back home to save money and took a job as a waitress to help him pay back. There weren't any openings for English Literature graduates in Derward, Texas. I gave a hand on the ranch on my free time, which didn't bother me; I love horses.

Money was tight, but we were managing. We were doing fine. Weren't we?

My father was still out, they were keeping him under for a few days so that his body could recover. He had been working himself into the ground, they said. As if I didn't know that. I had begged him to rest more, and he never listened. He thought I worked too hard, so he tried to have everything done during my shifts. Crazy, stubborn man.

I ranted internally as I held his hand. He looked older, more fragile, in his hospital bed. Not the rock solid, nothing-can-break me man I grew up with. He couldn't die, I needed him. I wouldn't let him. He would get better, and when he woke up, I would get answers.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't stay. The problem with farming is that animals don't care if you are tired or ill, or whatever. They need tending to.

So I kissed his forehead and drove myself home.

The door wasn't locked and the sitting room was a mess. The furniture had been pushed around in a hurry, and a few nick-knacks my father kept as a shrine to my absentee mother lay in pieces on the floor. Poetic justice.