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“Yes,” Shannon broke in. “I remember the time he sprained his wrist. He couldn’t drive, work, or even cut his own meat.”
All four women winced in unison. They remembered all too well because it had happened on a visit home to the ranch. They had all suffered his bad temper together. They had understood that his surliness was due to his reluctance to be dependent on anyone, but that hadn’t made it easier to bear.
Before they could continue the discussion, a nurse approached and said Becca’s son was asking for her. With a quick wave to her family and a promise that she would come for them when they could see Jimmy, she hurried off to the pediatrics ward of the small hospital.
In his room, Jimmy sat up in bed, looking about with a frightened expression and tear-filled eyes. When he saw Becca, he started crying. She folded him into her arms and murmured reassurances. After a few minutes he calmed down so she eased him back against the pillow and kissed him.
“Where’s my daddy?” he asked as Becca stroked his dark hair away from his face.
“He’s in another room.”
“Well, tell him to come here. I wanna see him,” her son insisted in a petulant tone.
“He was hurt in the accident, too, remember? He has to stay in his bed.”
Jimmy moved restlessly. “I wanna go see him in his room.”
“Jimmy, honey, I haven’t even seen him myself yet.”
“Is he dead?”
“No, no, of course not.” Becca knew that her son still had vague memories of his grandfather’s death and even though he didn’t know exactly what death meant, he knew he didn’t like the way it made him feel when someone died.
“You and me can go see him.”
Becca sighed. She knew he wouldn’t rest until he had seen Clay and been reassured that he was all right. “I’ll go see if he feels like talking to us, but first I’ll get Grandma and Shannon and Brittnie to come in here with you.”
“Okay,” he agreed. At last, he lay against the pillows and closed his eyes. Becca hurried off to summon her mother and sisters, and while they sat with Jimmy as he began to drift off to sleep, she went in search of Clay’s room.
She found him in another wing of the hospital. He was asleep. There was a bandage across the cut on his forehead and his right eye was swollen. The cast on his leg came up to his thigh and was propped up in a sling over the bed to relieve pressure on his hip.
Becca paused in the doorway, then entered slowly, her gaze fixed on him. For some reason, her mind insisted on conjuring up the image of a fallen warrior, which was ridiculous. He was a mining engineer, not a soldier. Still, the image lingered in her mind.
Becca was glad to see that the other bed in his room was empty and she wouldn’t be disturbing anyone else by pulling up a chair and sitting for a few minutes while she waited for him to wake.
Wearily, she sank into the chair and stretched her feet out in front of her. It was such a relief to sit calmly after the fright and worry of the past two hours and to know that both Clay and Jimmy were going to be all right. She didn’t know what they were going to do about finding a place for Clay to recover. As she had reminded her family, he had no one else. He’d never known his father and had been abandoned by his mother before his tenth birthday to be raised in a series of foster homes. After he’d reached adulthood, he’d made no effort to locate his mother or any member of her family.
- When Jimmy was a baby, she had tried to convince Clay to contact his mother, but he had refused. He wanted nothing to do with her. Becca had been very disturbed by his adamant denial that his mother had any rights to know her grandson. He’d refused to discuss his reasons or listen to her arguments.
That had been only one of the many things wrong with their marriage, she thought sadly. They hadn’t discussed things. When a problem arose, Clay either took care of it on his own or clammed up about it. She was accustomed to a family who talked things over—often at loud volume—and he was used to handling everything himself. Neither of them had been able to change.
She knew when he woke up, he was going to be difficult. When they had been married, he had rarely been sick and if he was, he had wanted only to be left alone. He hated being dependent on anyone, especially her, now that they were divorced.
Watching him in his helplessness, she felt a flurry of emotions she couldn’t quite sort out. She had long ago come to accept the reality that a small part of her would always love him. After all, he was the father of her son. Jimmy’s self-confidence and perseverance were traits he had inherited from Clay.
Jimmy had always been the kind of child who liked to do things for himself. In fact, his first words had been “By myself.” Clay was the same way—complete unto himself.
She often worried that the closeness she now shared with Jimmy would change over the years until he was closed off to her as Clay was. She dreaded that day.
Along with the love she still felt for Clay, she experienced sorrow and regret, but overriding it all was relief that their battles were over. She had a new life now and soon she would be sharing it with calm, predictable Barry in a permanent home of her own.
She cast Clay a guilty glance. She knew she should have told him about her engagement to Barry, and she certainly should have told Jimmy. It was pure cowardice on her part that she hadn’t done so, but she hadn’t wanted to argue with him again. They’d argued anyway, and look what had come of it.
Becca started when the phone rang and she grabbed it quickly so it wouldn’t wake Clay. He stirred, though, and she picked up the phone and moved as far from him as possible. Cupping the receiver close to her mouth, she answered in a near whisper. “Hello?”
“Rebecca?” Barry Whelker’s voice came over the line.
“Barry,” she said in relief. “I’m so glad you called. How did you know where to find me?”
“I couldn’t get you at your house, and there was no answer at your mother’s, so I got your neighbor’s number from directory assistance. They told me what had happened. How are Jimmy and Clay?”
Becca smiled, feeling steadied by the even tone of his voice. Trust Barry to show his resourcefulness in tracking her down and his thoughtfulness by calling her right away. Such thoughtfulness was one of the things she found most appealing about him, both as a boss and a fiancé.
“They’re going to be all right,” she said. While Barry listened and made concerned sounds, she rapidly ran through a description of Jimmy’s and Clay’s injuries.
Immediately, Barry offered to come home and help out, but Becca convinced him that her mother and sisters were on hand. There was no need for him to cut short his visit to his family and return before Monday.
“But you’ll need my help,” he said.
“No, really, Barry,” she said, casting a glance at Clay. She could just imagine what her ex-husband would have to say if her fiancé showed up to help her and her family care for him. “It might be better if I don’t see you until I’ve decided what I’m going to do. Clay will need someone to take care of him for a few days at least, and I don’t know where that’s going to be....”
“But he won’t want me around,” Barry finished for her.
“Yes, I’m sorry, but it’s true,” she admitted. “Clay isn’t the easiest of men,” she said, dropping her voice even more, though her ex-husband still showed no sign of waking up.
“Which is why you’re marrying me.”
Barry’s tone wasn’t smug, or triumphant, merely matter-of-fact, which bothered Becca somehow. “Yes, well, that’s true,” she answered. “But it’s not the only reason I’m marrying you.”
Barry was silent and she knew that he was thinking about what they both knew—that she didn’t love him the way she had loved Clay. She also knew he was too tactful to point that out. She could think of no reply.
Barry finally broke the silence by saying he would call again later and that he would be home in two days.
Becca hung up and sat for several minutes staring at the phone. She felt as though she had somehow disappointed him, but what she had said was true. At the best of times, Clay wasn’t an easy man. With multiple fractures and a concussion, he was going to be impossible. She and Barry would soon be sharing the “for better or for worse” of marriage. As far as she could see, there was no reason to start out “for worse.”
Quietly setting the phone on the nightstand, Becca turned to look at Clay. It seemed as though she could barely see the movement of his chest as he breathed and she thought of all the times she had worried and feared he was going to be injured on a job site. He’d never received so much as a scratch. Now he’d nearly been killed backing out of her driveway. Shakily, she sat down beside the bed and resumed her vigil.
As she watched, his eyes fluttered open, skimmed over her blankly, then closed again. After a moment, they opened again and stared at her for several seconds. A chill of fear washed through her. It was as if he didn’t recognize her, she realized as he drifted off again.
She thought suddenly of how he’d greeted her when he’d momentarily regained consciousness after the wreck. He’d called her “babe,” though he’d never been one for endearments. It touched her now and tears filled her eyes.
When he stirred again, she stood, bent over him, and rested her fingers lightly on his cheek. This time his eyelids snapped open and he focused on her with a clear and lucid gaze. Recognition leaped into his eyes, then joy such as she had never seen filled his face as he looked at her, studied her expression, then seemed to delve deeper into her eyes. Then he gazed at each of her features, lingering on her mouth, the hair loosening from her French braid and falling around her face, and then the curve of her cheek. For an instant, it was as if he had been stripped of all pretense.
The pleasure and relief on his face made her think of a time they’d gone exploring in a cave that Clay had sworn was safe. She had twisted her ankle and he’d had to carry her out. They’d both been overjoyed when they had stumbled outside and found light waiting on the other side.
Becca shivered at the memory. She didn’t know exactly why she had connected that with the look on Clay’s face just now.
Heat washed through Becca, flooding her with the same joy she saw in him.
She was reaching for his hand when something in his gaze seemed to click into place. All expression faded. His eyes swept the room and came back to her.
“Becca,” he said in a voice that cracked. He tried to clear his throat. “Can I have some water?”
“Of course.” She hurried to get him a glass of water, then eased his head up so he could sip it from a straw.
Satisfied, he turned his lips from the drink and said, “What are we doing here?”
She opened her mouth to answer him, but unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes again. Her lips trembled and the tears poured out. “I’m...I’m sorry, Clay....” She didn’t know if she was apologizing for crying or for being responsible for his injuries.
“Are those tears for me?” he asked in a faint voice. “I haven’t seen you cry since you....”
Becca’s eyes snapped to his, unexpected grief washing them. There was no need for him to go on. Either of them could have finished the thought.... “Since your last miscarriage.” Becca took a breath and looked away. This wasn’t the time to think about that.
Besides, the truth was, she had also cried plenty over Clay in the past couple of years, but she’d never let him see her at it. Even now, she willed her tears away.
Becca fought to control the tremble in her voice and lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been run over,” he said dryly, looking at her from beneath the edge of his bandage.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“Yeah, I was backing out,” he answered in a grim tone. “And I got hit. Did you get the number of the truck that hit me?”
She gave him a rueful look. “It wasn’t a truck. It was my neighbor’s teenage son in his Monte Carlo.”
“That settles it. We’re never letting Jimmy....” With a groan of shock, he tried to struggle up onto his elbow. “Jimmy! Where...?”
Her hands sprang out to keep him from climbing from the bed. Even with the huge cast on his leg and the supporting sling suspended above, he would have tried it. “He’s all right,” she insisted, urging him back. Quickly, she told him what Dr. Kress had said about Jimmy. “He wants to see you, though,” she concluded. “I told him he could if you felt up to it.”
Clay gave her a fierce glance. “Of course I’m up to it. He needs to be reassured.”
“I’ll go see if I can bring him here.”
It took her a while to find Dr. Kress and get him to agree to let her take Jimmy in a wheelchair to see his dad. Finally, the doctor approved the idea saying it would do Jimmy good and he might continue to rest if he wasn’t worried about his dad.
“In fact,” he suggested, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it, I don’t see any reason the two of them can’t share a room until Jimmy is released.”
“Share a room?” Becca asked, eyeing him warily.
“Sure. This is a small hospital, not many patients right now, we can accommodate a boy and his dad. Besides,” he added gruffly. “It’ll be easier on you than running back and forth between the two rooms.”
Becca didn’t point out that she hadn’t really intended to run back and forth. Since she was no longer Clay’s wife, she didn’t feel responsible to watch out for him. He was an independent man—boy, was he independent—and he didn’t like being coddled. She didn’t say it, though, because she knew it wouldn’t quite ring true. She had to focus on Jimmy, though. In spite of her own reluctance to move her son, she knew it would be the best thing for him.
She nodded her agreement and within a few minutes, Jimmy was being wheeled through the corridors to Clay’s room with her and her family trailing along behind. -
Mary Jane, Shannon, and Brittnie each said a few words to Clay, kissed Jimmy good-night and slipped away, leaving. Becca to settle into a chair and ponder exactly how this had come about.
“When’s Dad gonna wake up?”
Becca tried to ignore the whining tone in her son’s voice though it was beginning to annoy her greatly.
“He’ll wake up when he’s ready,” she answered for at least the tenth time.
“When can we go home?”
Dr. Kress wanted to check Jimmy once more before releasing him, but as the doctor on call at Tarrant General, he’d been summoned to deliver a baby. She didn’t feel like explaining all that to Jimmy, though, so she just said, “When your dad wakes up.”
“Mom, I need a drink,” Jimmy went on, not even pausing for breath between one demand and the next.
Becca looked at her son with a growing mixture of frustration, amusement, and despair. She knew he was playing his injuries, minor though they were, for all they were worth. She was delighted that his twenty-four hours in the hospital were almost over so she could take him home. Her only hope was that she wouldn’t be tempted to lock him in his room when she got him there and throw away the key. He had been demanding and petulant all morning, exactly the opposite of his usually sunny nature.
“You just had a drink,” she said, moving to stand beside his bed. She was exhausted, having slept very little the night before. Her family had insisted she go home and rest and Brittnie had stayed with her, but she hadn’t fallen asleep until far past midnight.
“I need another one,” Jimmy said.
She picked up the small plastic pitcher and started to pour water into a glass.
“I want orange soda.”
“No.”
Jimmy stiffened in his bed and his bottom lip popped out. “But my head hurts.”
“James Harold,” Clay spoke up from the other bed. “Stop annoying your mother. You don’t need another drink. Now be quiet.”
Becca glanced up and Jimmy subsided as he, too, looked at his father in surprise. She had thought Clay was still sleeping, as he had been most of the day—though she didn’t know how he had slept through Jimmy’s demanding bouts of whining.
She turned to him, noting the improved color of his skin and the brightness in his eyes. “Well, good afternoon,” she said, cautiously.
One corner of Clay’s mouth eased up. “I haven’t slept this late since the last time I had a hang....” He glanced at Jimmy. “...nail,” he finished, and Becca laughed at the unexpected silliness of his remark.
Jimmy scooted out of his bed and hurried over to get as close as possible to Clay and pepper him with questions. “How come you didn’t wake up, huh, Dad? You been sleepin’ all day.”
“Not all day, son. They keep waking me to make sure this bump on my head didn’t really hurt my thick skull. Looks like you’ve got a bump, too.”
“Yeah.” Jimmy grinned suddenly. “We’re twins.”
Clay chuckled and the sound seemed to calm Jimmy. He asked his father more questions and though Becca knew his head must be pounding with pain, Clay answered, reassuring him that they would go skiing another time. Becca wondered uncomfortably how much he remembered of their argument yesterday just before he’d been struck by Joey’s car. She didn’t relish the thought of opening that discussion again, but she knew Clay well enough to know that once he felt better, he would pursue it like a bloodhound.
Right now, though, her greatest problem was the one she’d been wrestling with since the day before. Where was Clay going to go to recover once he was ready to leave the hospital?
She walked over to the bed and gently urged Jimmy away. “Honey, Dad needs to rest. His head hurts, too, just like yours has been hurting.”
Clay looked up at her and she felt a tingle of surprise when she noted how the bandage that slanted across his brow gave him a rakish appearance. And somehow, the expression in his green eyes seemed more...relaxed.
“I actually feel pretty good,” he said, then lifted himself onto his elbow. “Ah, maybe a little weak, though.” He lay back down.
Becca stared. She’d never heard him admit to a weakness before.
