Dallas, August 1999
Almost without fail, Delia Hayes Cooper awakened every Monday to a lily resting on her pillow, a precious gift delivered by her husband of almost forty years. Yet this morning, something had changed —the lily was silk, not fresh. Although she didn't quite understand the reason for Bryce's sudden break in tradition, Delia suspected he might be conveying the message she no longer warranted the real thing.
Since Bryce had already left for the hospital, she could only speculate until he joined her for lunch. Then again, maybe not, she decided as she strolled into the kitchen to find an envelope set out on the granite counter, her name scrawled across the face in surprisingly legible script for a physician. She poured a cup of coffee from the pot Bryce had made, leaned a hip against the cabinet and studied the envelope as an inexplicable fear took hold. Fear of what the letter might reveal. Some would claim she was being absurd, but very few understood her uncanny knack at divining bad news. Nor would they understand that for the past two days, she'd sensed her beloved husband emotionally slipping away from her, and she didn't know why.
Opting not to read the letter quite yet, Delia retreated into the bedroom to call Anne, her human sounding board and only child, in the hope of regaining some much-needed perspective.
She sat on the edge of the bed, and after Anne answered the phone with a harried "Hello," Delia immediately launched into her concerns. "Your father gave me a fake flower this morning."
"And my feet are fat, Mother."
Delia chuckled. "That's what happens when you're pregnant. Fat feet, railroad tracks down your breasts and thighs. Protruding navel. Shall I continue?"
"Please don't. You're not telling me anything I don't already know."
Of course Delia wasn't. Anne spent her days as a labor and delivery nurse and no doubt had seen every problem that could plague a woman during pregnancy. "What do you think this whole silk flower thing means?"
"I have no idea, Mom. Maybe a band of vicious locusts attacked the lily crop. Maybe the florist ran out of fresh because of a drought. It could be a number of reasons. Besides, most women don't get any kind of flower on special occasions from their spouses, much less every week. Me included."
"You're right, honey. But it's so unlike your father, going back on a promise. He told me he'd always make certain the lily was real." As real as their love, he'd claimed. "I'm worried something's seriously wrong."
"Such as?" Anne asked.
"Well, we both know that men his age often trade in their old models for someone with less mileage." And Delia's odometer was nearing the sixty-year mark.
Anne released an impatient sigh. "Dad isn't going to throw you over for another woman. He adores you."
"He did until two days ago." He also had reason for retribution, thanks to a mistake she'd made many years earlier.
"You had a fight?" Anne's query sounded as though that concept was totally foreign. For the most part, it was.
"We had a disagreement," Delia said. "I've tried to convince him to retire when he turned sixty-two, and he's always insisted he wouldn't stop practicing medicine for at least another three years, if then. Just when I'd given up, night before last he announced he planned to throw in the scalpel after the first of the year—a month before his sixty-second birthday, mind you. And then he said he wanted to move away from the Texas heat. I could have strangled him with his stethoscope."
"You're not making any sense, Mom. You should be happy."
Apparently pregnancy hormones had clouded her daughter's thinking. "You're expecting our first grandchild. I can't consider moving away now and missing all the baby's milestones."
"And I would hate the thought of you not being here, but that's why they invented planes."
"You do have a point." And Delia still had a something's-not-quite-right feeling. "Your father also left me a note."
"What does it say?"
"I haven't read it yet."
"Good grief, Mother. He could be telling you that he's sorry or he's changed his mind about moving. I'm sure there's a logical explanation for everything."
"I'm sure there is. He's having an affair with a younger woman."
"I'm not going to justify that with a response, Mother, nor do I have time to argue with you, since I have to leave for work in five minutes."
Delia's maternal concern momentarily kicked her other worries aside. "You're seven months pregnant, Anne, and high risk because of your age. You should be taking it easy."
"Now you sound like Jack. I would never, ever do anything to compromise the baby's health."
Considering all the years Anne and Jack had tried to have a child, Delia recognized the truth in her daughter's words. "I suppose you know what's best. I'll call you later when I find out who's sleeping with your father." And she would find out through whatever means necessary—be it crying or coercion. Or by reading the letter.
"And I'll be waiting for you to tell me you're totally wrong, Mom."
Anne hung up without allowing her mother a proper goodbye or an adequate rebuttal, leaving Delia alone with her troublesome thoughts. Perhaps her daughter was right. The letter could hold nothing more than an apology, or possibly a list of reasons they should pull up roots and move hundreds of miles away from Dallas and the only family they had left.
Seeking answers, Delia returned to the kitchen, yet she couldn't quite bring herself to read the letter. Instead, she retired to the bedroom to exchange her housecoat for lightweight blue slacks and a white blouse. She went back to the kitchen to boil water in preparation for the potato salad she would make for the planned picnic in the nearby park. She chopped vegetables and fried chicken, all the while staring at the envelope. Whatever information the mysterious missive held, Delia's well-honed instincts still told her it wasn't favorable, and her sixth sense rarely failed her. She prayed it was failing her now.
Bolstering her courage, Delia set out to put an end to her concerns, only to be interrupted by the doorbell before she could slit the envelope's seal. She took a quick check of the kitchen clock. Eleven a.m. was much too soon for Bryce's arrival, unless he'd decided to come home early to make amends or make a face-to-face confession. And it certainly wouldn't be unusual for him to leave his house keys—which he insisted on keeping separate from the car keys—at the office.
After tossing the unopened letter back onto the countertop, Delia strode through the hallway and into the foyer, a scolding on her lips reserved for her spouse, as well as many questions. But when she opened the door, she found the other surgeon in her life—her son-in-law, Jack—standing on the porch, dressed in dark blue scrubs and sporting a somber expression.
She sent him a sunny smile that faded when he didn't return the gesture. "What brings you here on a Monday morning, dear heart?"
"We have to go to the hospital."
The grim-reaper look on Jack's face and his grave tone, sent a surge of panic through Delia as the memory of another messenger bearing bad news assaulted her. A black car rolling up the drive, men in dark uniforms walking up the path. A grim-faced chaplain saying, "We regret to inform you…" Delia recalled the slight sag of her mother's body as she hid behind her skirts, the absolute fear when she realized her daddy was never coming home….
Delia swayed. "Is something wrong with Anne?"
Jack caught her elbow to steady her. "Let's go inside so you can sit down."
"I don't want to go inside," she said, her voice laced with hysteria. "I don't want to sit. I want to know what's wrong."
"It's Bryce."
Virginia, August 1959
"Hi, I'm Bryce Cooper."
From her perch on the bar stool at the S & R Drugstore's soda fountain, Delia glanced at the stranger standing next to her at the counter. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall, well dressed and very handsome. Very Cary Grant, and probably a college boy.
Normally, Delia preferred someone more James Dean, but for the sake of civility, she gave his offered hand a shake. "Delia Hayes."
"Nice to meet you, Delia." He took a seat next to her, as if he wasn't about to get lost anytime soon. "Did anyone ever tell you that you look like Sandra Dee?"
Only once a week, she almost said, but instead chose a little white lie. "You're the first."
"Do you live around here?"
"On a farm north of town."
He flashed a wide grin. "Cows or pigs?"
If he wasn't so darn cute, she might've been insulted. "Thoroughbred horses. The farm has been passed down through three generations in my mother's family. My father taught me to ride. He used to train the two-year-old colts."
"Used to?"
"He died in Korea when I was nine." And she'd never gotten over that loss.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Delia."
"It's okay," she said. "My mother says that he left this world serving his country, and that's all that matters."
He pulled a plastic menu form the metal holder and studied it for a few moments before sliding it back into place. "So what do you do in your spare time, when you're not riding horses?"
If Harriet didn't hurry up with the ice cream, she might have to admit her life was boring. "Are you writing a book?"
"Nope. I'm just curious."
So was Delia. Curious about this older man who seemed genuinely interested in her. "Right now I'm helping out with the farm, but I plan to attend Ralph-Macon College in the next year or two." If she could convince her mother to let her move out of town. "Now it's your turn to tell me about you."
"I'm the youngest and the only boy in the family. I have five sisters—"
"Five?" Heavens to Betsy. "I only have one sister and Naomi drives me bananas." She rested her bent elbow on the counter and supported her cheek with her palm. "You have a strange accent. Where are you from?"
"Pennsylvania. My dad's a coal miner and I'm the first in the family to go to college. I start medical school next month here at the university."
Delia had been right on the college theory, but she wouldn't have pegged him as a coal miner's son or a doctor type. A salesman, maybe, because he was definitely selling himself with his charm. "Shouldn't you be in the library studying all that fascinating anatomy stuff?"
"Are you interested in medicine?"
"I almost faint when I cut myself."
He laughed. "Okay. Do you like movies? There's a good one playing at the drive-in. It happens to star Sandra Dee, and I think it has summer in the title."
"A Summer Place," she said. A movie that her mother had claimed was much too scandalous for Delia or her sister.
"Do you want to see it with me tonight?"
She straightened and faked surprise. "Why, Mr. Cooper. We've just met. I don't think going to a drive-in together would be proper." Her mother would be so proud of that answer—an answer Delia normally wouldn't give, since she wasn't one to turn down an adventure.
He suddenly looked shy and maybe even a little embarrassed. "We could get something to eat, instead. I don't know all that many people in town, and I haven't met one girl as pretty as you."
And she hadn't met a boy quite as pretty as him. "I'll have to ask my mother."
Now he looked worried. "How old are you?"
She tightened the scarf around her ponytail and lifted her chin. "I turned nineteen last month. That means I'm old enough to make my own decisions."
He held her hands in his and smiled. "Then, Miss Hayes, if you decide to go out with me tonight, I would be honored."
The answer "yes" hovered behind her lips and almost spilled out right before, "Here you go, sugar," came from behind the counter. "Two root beer floats."
As if she were doing something indecent, Delia wrested from his grasp, slid off the stool and grabbed the crystal glasses. "Put it on the account, Harriet."
"Sure thing, Dee."
Bryce narrowed his eyes. "Dee?"
She knew exactly what he was thinking. "All my friends call me Dee, but that started when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Long before anyone knew Sandra."
"Then I'll call you Dee, too."
"We're not exactly friends."
"We will be."
His voice was so deep, and to Delia, it sounded a little dangerous. He might look a little like Cary Grant, but she sensed that beneath Bryce Cooper's sophisticated surface, James Dean was itching to come out. And that little voice that often got her into hot water, told her to take a chance, until her mother's voice began to speak much louder.
Older boys have only one thing on their mind, Delia….
Ignoring the warning, as she often did, Delia found herself saying, "I'd like to see the movie." She glanced at the corner booth where her best friend, Lizzie, sat with a curious expression. "I'll meet you here around eight, since it's kind of hard to find the farm." And since she would have to sneak out to avoid her mother's questions.
"Eight it is," he said. "I'm looking forward to it." Then he headed for the door while Delia strolled to the booth. She'd barely set down the drinks and taken her seat before Lizzie blurted, "Jeez Louise, Dee. Who was that gorgeous guy?"
"His name is Bryce Cooper." Delia took a sip of the float and smiled. "He's a medical student, and he asked me out. We're going to the drive-in tonight."
Lizzie's green eyes went as wide as hubcaps. "Are you crazy? He'll have you playing backseat bingo before the movie starts."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't pop your pin curls, Lizzie. He's not Billy Marsh. Not every boy over the age of eighteen is the devil himself."
Lizzie leaned forward and frowned. "People are going to start talking about you the way they talk about Alice Sue Alford."
Delia hated being compared with a girl who was faster than a souped-up Chevy. "I'm not like Alice Sue. I didn't do anything with Billy that you haven't done with Rusty."
Lizzie blushed from the top of her throat to the bottom of her brown bangs. "Rusty and I haven't done anything except kiss and we won't until we get married. Besides, I've known him since grade school."
As far as Delia was concerned, Rusty was as exciting as dry cornbread. "I'm not like you, Lizzie. I don't want to settle down with a boy I've known since grade school. I want to get out of Virginia and see the world."
"And you want to go to the drive-in with a boy you hardly know."
"He's a man," Delia said. "Not a boy."
"And that's reason enough for you not to go."
"I'm going, Lizzie. Now, you can either come back to the farm and help me decide what to wear, or you can go home to Rusty so you can plan your dull life."
When Delia noticed the hurt on her friend's face, she felt awful. "I'm sorry, Lizzie. I didn't mean that."
"Yes, you did. You've never liked Rusty."
"I like him for you, but not for me."
Lizzie laughed. "That's good since he's my boyfriend. And you should wear your blue pedal pushers and a long-sleeve sweater over your blouse."
Delia's spirits rose in spite of Lizzie's silly sweater suggestion. "Then you're okay with me going?"
She shrugged. "You're going to do what you want anyway, so I might as well make sure you look good, even if I think you're making a mistake."
Going out with a boy she'd just met could prove to be a mistake, but Delia was more than willing to risk it.
There had to be some mistake.
That thought ran through Delia's mind over and over as she stood in the Coronary Care Unit—a place she'd volunteered at countless times, manning the visitors' waiting room, delivering updates when necessary and, on occasion, consoling families when all had been lost. But she'd never imagined she would be standing on the wrong side of the double doors while her husband fought for his life. Alone.
"I need to be with him, Jack."
"As soon as his vital signs are stable, you can go in," he said. "Right now, they're working to make sure that happens."
"And after that?"
"It depends on what they find during the angiogram. If it's coronary blockage that caused the heart attack, Fannin will do a bypass."
Of all the physicians to be charged with Bryce's care. "Joe Fannin? He and Bryce have always been competitors. They barely tolerate each other."
"And aside from Bryce, he's the best cardiovascular surgeon on staff."
"But he's not as good as you, dear heart."
"I can't do the surgery, Delia. Bryce is family. But I'll scrub in during the procedure."
When a nurse pushed through the door and nodded, Jack released Delia and took her hand. "Let's go."
Delia's chest tightened as if she, too, might suffer a cardiac episode. "What should I tell him?"
"He knows what's happening. In fact, my guess is he's been having symptoms for a while, even though he'd never admit it. It's a miracle he didn't have the attack while he was performing the mitral valve surgery."
Definitely a miracle, and Delia hoped he had several more in reserve. "Is he in pain now?"
"He's on morphine, so he's not feeling much of anything. He's also going to be groggy, so don't expect too much from him in the way of conversation."
When her feet still failed to move, Delia recognized that although she wanted to be by Bryce's side, she couldn't shake the anxiety. But shake it she would. Bryce needed her consolation. He needed her to stay tough. He needed to know she was there for him, as he had always been there for her.
She followed Jack into the room to find Bryce lying motionless in the hospital bed, looking frailer than she'd ever seen him. Last night he'd argued with her for over an hour, held his own, stood his ground. And now an oxygen mask covered his mouth, IV lines flooded his veins with life-sustaining medicine, the drone of a cardiac monitor counted every beat of his heart.
Delia remained near the door while Jack pulled up a chair at Bryce's bedside and then gestured her over. Once she was seated, he rested his hands on her shoulders and said, "Delia's here, Bryce."
Her husband's eyes drifted open, those dark, serious eyes that had captivated her from the moment she'd met him. She took his hand and feigned a stern demeanor. "If you didn't want to go on the picnic, Bryce, you only had to tell me. You didn't have to resort to these extremes."
He lowered the mask from his mouth. "I want to go home."
"You can't right now, honey." Delia slid the mask back into place and smiled. "Don't try to speak. Just rest."
"I'll be back in a while," Jack said. "I need to find Annie and tell her before someone else does."
A strong blanket of guilt settled over Delia. She hadn't given her daughter a passing thought since her arrival at the hospital. "Tell her I'll see her in a bit."
"I will."
She reached back and laid a palm on Jack's forearm. "Make certain she's all right. I worry so much about her and the baby."
"You worry about Bryce. I'll take care of Annie."
Delia could trust that he would see to her daughter, as he always had.
When Bryce murmured her name, she scooted closer to the bed and held his hand against her cheek. "I'm here, honey."
"Have you seen Liz yet?" he asked.
Delia surmised the drugs were causing hallucinations, or dislodging a memory of the conversation they'd had about her friend only a few days before. "Lizzie's in Vancouver, sweetheart. She's been there since the seventies, right after Rusty left her for the woman who worked at the dry cleaners."
He closed his eyes and appeared to drift off, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and content to have Delia close. The concerns she'd entertained that morning now appeared insignificant and somewhat foolish. In her heart, she knew he still loved her, as she loved him. She had no reason to believe that had changed over an argument that meant nothing in light of what they now faced.
While Bryce continued to waft in and out of consciousness, Delia watched him, worried that his heart might fail him again. Worried that she might lose him to the same condition that he'd worked his entire career to cure in others.
A while later, a nurse pushed through the door to check his vital signs. Fortunately, she was a nurse Delia recognized. "Is he okay, Kara?"
"He's stable," she said. "We're about to get him ready for surgery."
Delia experienced a return of the apprehension that had plagued her for the past few hours. "I thought the surgery wouldn't happen until tomorrow."
"Dr. Fannin is finishing up a case now and he's scheduled Dr. Cooper's bypass after that. He wants to move quickly in order to avoid another incident."
"Incident" as in another heart attack, Delia realized. "I'd like to speak to my son-in-law first. He should be back soon."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Cooper, but there's not much time."
Delia felt as if she were running out of time, with too much left unsaid.
She remained as close to Bryce as possible while Kara readied him for the operation. She'd never had a drop of official medical training, yet she knew much of the routine after helping Bryce study during medical school, through the countless hours she'd spent discussing his surgical experiences and from her own volunteer experiences. Still, seeing him undergo the procedure was almost too much to bear.
When it appeared the preparation was complete, the nurse took Bryce's hand and started to slip the wedding band from his finger. Only then did he come fully awake. "Leave it on." His voice sounded hoarse and threatening.
While Delia wanted to praise Bryce for his insistence, the nurse looked highly frustrated. "Come on, Dr. Cooper. You know I can't do that."
Bryce raked the mask from his face. "It stays."
"He never takes it off, even during surgery," Delia said. "He puts tape around it. Would that be possible in this instance?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Cooper. All jewelry must be removed. Hospital policy."
"Screw hospital policy," Bryce demanded.
Worried over Bryce's distress and the possible repercussions, Delia repositioned the mask and feathered her thumb along his jaw. "I'll keep it with me, honey. And I'll personally put it back on as soon as you're in recovery."
He mulled that over a minute before saying, "It's the last time I take it off."
Delia almost surrendered to a bout of tears, but instead, she worked the ring from his finger. "I won't let it out of my sight."
"Dr. Fannin will speak to you before he begins," Kara said as she backed toward the door. "I'll give you a few more minutes alone."
Delia wanted more than a few minutes. She wanted another forty years with this man who had been her fortress during several storms. She had to believe that was possible. "Just think. After this is over, you'll be good as new. But I do plan to forgo the fried chicken from now on. And we'll have to monitor your cholesterol more closely, though I could swear you told me it was fine after your last check-up. We both need to walk more, too, get a bit more exercise—"
"I love you, Dee."
A sob caught in her throat. "Oh, honey, I love you, too."
"I'm sorry for…everything."
She wasn't certain what he meant by that. Sorry for getting sick on her? Or sorry for whatever he'd told her in the letter that still remained unopened? "You don't have to apologize, Bryce. You could never do anything that wouldn't earn my forgiveness…."
January, 1960
"I'm late, Lizzie."
When her friend failed to look up from her reading, Delia yanked the book from Lizzie's clutches and tossed it on the end of the bed. "Did you hear me?"
Lizzie shrugged. "My mama always says it's good form to keep a man waiting."
If only Delia had followed that advice over the past five months. "I don't mean that kind of late. I mean late as I could be…you know. Pregnant." She said the last word in a whisper.
"You did the deed?" Lizzie's expression turned from shock to dismay. "I can't believe you didn't tell me before now. When did it happen? Where did it happen?"
"Keep your voice down, Lizzie. The walls have ears." And mouths attached to those ears, namely her sister's mouth.
"I want details, Dee."
"In his car down by the river, right before he left for the holidays."
Lizzie draped her legs over the side of the bed and pointed an accusing finger. "I bet he got you liquored up and had his way with you. Those college boys are no good."
"Bryce isn't like that at all. We started kissing, and it just happened. We didn't plan it."
"You should've never seen A Summer Place."
Elizabeth Anne McIntosh, always the prim and proper Southern lady. Delia gestured at the discarded book. "Look who's talking. You're reading your mother's copy of Peyton Place."
Lizzie wrung her hands several times before Delia almost screamed for her to stop. "Exactly how late are you, Dee?"
Too late to turn back time. "I missed my second period two days ago."
"Not good."
Delia couldn't argue with that. "I can't be pregnant, Lizzie. Mother's never been the same since Daddy died. The scandal would kill her. And on top of that, I'm not old enough to have a baby."
"You're old enough to lift your skirts in the back of a Buick."
The comment stung Delia so badly she could barely speak. "I thought you would understand, Lizzie. Guess I was wrong."
Lizzie appeared genuinely remorseful. "I'm sorry, Dee. I'm just surprised by everything. That's all."
Not any more surprised than Delia had been over her own behavior. But from that first night at the drive-in, they hadn't missed one opportunity to be together. They hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other, either.
A rap came at the door, followed by Nosy Naomi's high-pitched voice announcing, "Your lover boy's getting impatient, Dee-Dee."
Delia sent Lizzie a pleading look. "Tell him I'm not feeling well and I can't go out with him tonight. Tell him I have a cold."
"You can't put off telling him, Dee. You might as well get it over with."
Lizzie was right, as always. Ignoring the situation could only make matters worse. Of course, she could wait until she knew for sure she was pregnant. In the meantime, she could pretend nothing was wrong. She could march into the foyer and tell him that she couldn't be with him tonight. But oh, how she wanted to be with him, even knowing that what she needed to say could send him out of her life.
After smoothing a shaky hand down her skirt, Delia came to her feet and grabbed her coat from the chair in the corner. "Wish me luck, Lizzie."
"Good luck. I'll call my mother, tell her I'm spending the night and wait up until you get home. I'd say stay out of the backseat, but it's too late for that."
Delia gave her a quick hug. "Thanks, Lizzie. I owe you."
"I know, and you'll pay up the next time I sneak out with Rusty."
Before her courage disappeared, Delia rushed down the stairs, feeling a little braver after talking with Lizzie. But when she met Bryce's gaze, her courage began to fail her.
She crossed the room and managed a soft "Hi."
He responded with "I've missed you," clasped her hand and then led her through the double front doors. He paused on the porch and picked up a white box from the swing. "This is for you."
While Bryce looked on expectantly, Delia opened the lid to find a lily nestled in green paper. "It's beautiful, Bryce," she said as she lifted the flower and held it against her cheek.
He leaned back against one of the porch's white columns and shoved his hands into his overcoat pockets. "Read the card."
She returned the box to the bench and opened the small envelope to find a note that simply said, "For my lily of the Shenandoah Valley. Love, Bryce."
While Delia continued to stare at the words, Bryce cleared his throat, drawing her attention. "I'm better at writing down my thoughts than saying them, but I always mean what I say."
"I realized that when you sent me the letters." She'd received one every day they were apart. Personal letters containing his private thoughts, and she'd answered every one.
Bryce studied the wooden flooring beneath his feet. "We should continue our conversation inside the house before we freeze to death."
She couldn't risk being overheard by Naomi or their mother. "We could do it in your car." When Bryce sent her a half-smile, Delia's face heated. "I meant we can talk in your car. We could have some privacy there."
"If that's what you want. At least it's warmer."
After they had settled into the Buick, Bryce turned on the radio to the mellow sounds of I Only Have Eyes for You. They sat in silence for a few moments until Delia said, "I have something I need to tell you, Bryce."
"I have something to say to you, too."
Delia saw her chance to put off the announcement a while longer, even though Bryce's serious tone worried her. "You go first."
"Okay." He leaned back in the seat and released a long breath. "When I was home, I couldn't think of anything but getting back to you. And I know we come from different backgrounds. I'm from a family of simple, hard-working people who don't have a lot of money—"
"But Bryce—"
He held up a hand to quiet her. "Just let me get this out, Dee." He shifted and draped an arm around her shoulder. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm going to finish medical school and become a surgeon. It's going to be rough at first, and I might not be able to give you a lot in the beginning, but someday I'll be able to give you everything. A nice house. Kids. Flowers every week for the rest of our lives. So what do you say?"
"What exactly are
"I'm saying I love you, Dee, and I want you to be my wife. We don't have to rush it. We can be engaged for as long as you want." He swiped a hand over his jaw. "I'm getting ahead of myself. I haven't even asked how you feel about me."
He had no idea how deeply she felt for him. Debonair Bryce Cooper, who'd overcome his humble beginnings and poverty to become a doctor. Strong, silent Bryce Cooper, who'd delivered the sweetest words Delia had ever heard. The man of her dreams, Bryce Cooper, who had the most wonderful timing.
She leaned across the seat and kissed him softly. "I love you, too, Bryce."
He smiled. "Then your answer is yes?"
"As long as we get married in the next few weeks."
"Why the hurry?"
"Because I think we're going to have a baby…."
"Mom?"
Delia shifted in the waiting room chair to find Anne hurrying toward her with Jack following close behind. She immediately stood and opened her arms to receive her daughter's embrace. "I'm so glad you're here, sweetheart."
After a quick squeeze, Anne pulled back. "I'm sorry I didn't get here before Dad went into surgery. I was scrubbed in on a C-section when Jack came by. He waited until we were done."
"Speaking of scrubbing in, I've got to do that so I can see what's happening with Bryce." Jack leaned over to kiss Delia's cheek. "Hang in there."
Delia felt as if she was hanging by a precarious thread in some other dimension. "Just make sure Fannin does a good job."
"You bet." He circled his arm around Anne's waist. "Walk with me."
Although she wanted to pace, Delia reclaimed her seat and watched while Anne and Jack, arms around waists, strode toward the double doors leading to the surgical suites. Once there, they faced each other and spoke quietly before embracing for a long moment. Even though their marriage had had its ups and downs, it was very apparent to Delia they were meant to be together.
Following a kiss, Jack and Anne parted, with Jack pushing through the doors and Anne returning to the waiting room to take the chair next to Delia's.
"Jack says everything will be okay, Mom."
If only she could believe that. "I know. Bypass surgery is practically routine these days. But that doesn't mean something won't go wrong."
"You've always been the optimist, Mother. Now is not the time to change old habits." Anne hooked her arm through Delia's. "You could use a pick-me-up."
Delia forced a teasing smile. "I didn't pack my flask, honey."
Anne rolled her eyes. "I'm talking about babies, not booze. We could go up to the nursery, like we used to when you brought me to the hospital to visit Dad."
Delia remembered those times fondly, but still… "I can't leave with your father in surgery."
"Jack will page me if anything happens, which it won't."
"I'm sorry, Anne. I just wouldn't feel right wandering around the hospital. Besides, most of the babies room with the mothers these days."
"That's true. I plan to have this little one in the room with me."
As Anne placed her palm on her swollen belly, a sweet, sweet memory filtered into Delia's mind. "Things have certainly changed since you were born. Back then, they gave us something called 'twilight sleep,' so of course I don't remember your birth. But your father insisted on being in the delivery room, even though that was unheard of at the time. And since he was a medical student, they let him." She draped an arm over Anne's shoulder. "He talked to anyone who would listen about you. He was so proud of his baby girl."
"That's news to me, Mom."
The slight resentment resonating from Anne's tone told Delia that her daughter still had father issues to deal with. "You may still believe his work has always been more important than you, but that's not the case. He's just never been all that good at verbally expressing his feelings."
"I know. Jack's the same way."
"And Jack loves you more than anything, Anne. Never forget that."
Anne smiled. "Speaking of Jack, he agreed to name the baby Katherine."
"Oh, Anne, your grandmother would have loved that. I just wish she were around to see her great-grandchild." And what if Bryce wasn't able to… No, she refused to go there.
Feeling restless, Delia rummaged in her purse and withdrew a pad and pencil, earning Anne's frown. "What are you doing, Mother?"
"Compiling a grocery list," she said as she scribbled down a few items. "I'm going to make certain Bryce Cooper eats right from now on."
"Good luck with that, Dee."
Startled, Delia looked up from the paper, certain she'd imagined the familiar voice. No, she hadn't imagined it at all. There Lizzie stood, her previous pin curls relaxed in soft, silver waves, and glasses covering her green eyes. Older, yes, but still very much Elizabeth Anne McIntosh.
Delia's hand immediately went to her mouth as she rose from the chair. "What are you doing here, Liz?"
"I'm here to see you, you big ninny," she said. She hugged Delia long and hard before regarding Anne. "I also wanted to see my godchild and my grand-godchild-to-be. How are you feeling, Anne?"
Anne embraced Lizzie. "I'm feeling great, Liz. At least as far as the baby's concerned. It's so wonderful to see you."
"Why didn't you call me to say you were coming, Liz?" Delia asked around her lingering shock.
"Let's sit." Lizzie gestured at the bank of waiting room chairs and took the seat next to Delia, Anne claiming her place on the other side. "Actually, Bryce called me a few days ago and invited me," she said. "He told me you'd been in a funk lately and he thought surprising you with a visit from me might help."
Delia had mistakenly believed Bryce had been talking out of his head when he'd mentioned Lizzie a while ago. "How did you know I was here?"
Lizzie laughed. "Where else would you be? When I went by the house and didn't get an answer, I figured you'd be doing your volunteer thing. I ran down one of your friends and she said I'd probably find you in the CCU. And here you are. Now tell the powers that be you need the afternoon off."
"I'm not here to work, Liz. I'm here because Bryce is having surgery."
"Oh heavens, Dee. What's wrong?"
Delia recounted the events of the morning—events all too real. "They're performing a bypass right now."
Lizzie took Delia's hands into hers. "What can I do to help?"
"Distract me. Tell me what's been going on with your life since the divorce."
A soft blush colored Liz's cheeks. "I've met a man. A very nice man who's asked me to accompany him to Malaysia after the first of the year."
"Malaysia?" Anne and Delia said simultaneously.
"He's accepted a job there. And since I don't have any real family left and I've closed the antique shop, I consider it the adventure of a lifetime."
Delia smiled. "This is so ironic. When we were young, I was the one who swore I'd never settle down and you were the one who wanted to settle down."
"I settled when I married Rusty," Lizzie said. "But you didn't when you married Bryce. He's a one-in-a-million man."
"Yes, he is." And the thought of losing him brought tears to Delia's eyes.
Lizzie hugged her again. "It's going to be okay, Dee. He's not going to let a few clogged arteries keep him down for long."
Anne reached into her pocket, withdrew a tissue and handed it to Delia. "Lizzie's right, Mom. He'll be ready to perform surgery two-weeks post-op."
Delia swiped at her cheeks. "I'll have to sit on him to make him behave."
"From what you've told me about Bryce, Dee, he might enjoy that."
While Delia and Lizzie shared a laugh, Anne stood and faced the pair. "I'm going to find something to drink while you two discuss things a daughter has no business hearing. Can I get you anything?"
"Something with caffeine," Delia said. "It's going to be a long afternoon."
After Anne departed, Delia turned to Lizzie. "I'm so worried about Bryce, and it's not only about the surgery."
Liz gave her a puzzled look. "What else could there be?"
Delia told her about the flower and the discarded letter. "Anyway, he's been acting strangely the past month or so. He's scheduled surgery well into the evening and when he does come home, he goes straight to bed. That's why I'm afraid he's found someone else."
Lizzie had the nerve to laugh. "Good God, Delia. Has it occurred to you that he wasn't himself because of the heart thing? He certainly isn't cheating on you."
"How do you know that for sure?"
"Because of what you've already been through."
"If you mean Chicago, he could be paying me back."
"That's ridiculous, Dee. If he didn't leave you then, he's not going to leave you now…."
Chicago, 1965
"Please say something, Bryce. Yell, scream." Delia could tolerate anything but silence.
He kept his back to her, his arms outstretched as he gripped the edge of the bureau. "You just told me you're having an affair, Dee. What do you expect me to say? Everything's okay?"
She pushed off the bed, crossed the room and touched his shoulder. "I know everything's not okay. I also know I've taken a huge risk by telling you about it, but I can't keep living this lie."
He shook off her hand. "How long has this been going on?"
"Two months."
Bryce released a caustic laugh. "Two months? I've been playing the fool for two months?"
"You've been too busy to notice. Too caught up in work. I turned to Johnny because I had no one else to turn to."
He spun around and held up his hands, palms forward. "Wait a minute. You mean Johnny our neighbor? The car mechanic?"
"Yes."
"You disappoint me, Delia. I would've thought you'd screw around with someone who has more class--or at least, more money."
Delia couldn't deny her anger any longer. "It has nothing to do with money. I needed the attention you couldn't, or wouldn't, give me."
"Then you're saying this is my fault?"
"No, I'm not saying that. I am saying that you're more concerned with your job than you are with me and Anne. I'm telling you I was lonely."
"You knew when we married how it was going to be. The long hours. The years of training. You told me the day we married that you'd be there every step of the way."
"I have been here, Bryce. Fixing your meals, helping you study. Raising your daughter. I have no life aside from you and Anne. Johnny understood that. He became my friend before anything else happened."
He grasped her shoulders. "How many times did you have sex with him?" His tone resonated bitterness and loathing.
"I don't want to—"
He gave her a slight shake. "How many times?"
"I don't remember because it wasn't worth remembering."
"Because he wasn't good in the sack?"
"Because he wasn't you."
Bryce dropped his arms, his hands fisted at his sides. "Damn you for doing this to us."
Seeing her world on the verge of slipping away, Delia was overcome with desperation. "I love you, Bryce. Only you. And I'll prove it, if you'll give me another chance."
"Give me one good reason I should."
"Mommy, I'm home!"
Delia stiffened at the sound of her daughter's voice. She struggled to regain some composure before calling, "I'm in the bedroom, honey."
Anne bounded through the door, but pulled up short when she caught sight of Bryce. "Daddy! You're home!"
When Anne sprinted across the room, Bryce grabbed her up and popped a kiss on her cheek. "Did my darlin' Clementine have a good day at school?"
She twisted one dark, braided pigtail around her finger. "I'm not Clementine, Daddy. I'm Elizabeth Anne Cooper."
"That you are." Bryce set her down on her feet. "Why don't you go watch cartoons while I talk with your mom."
Anne frowned. "You come watch with me in a minute, okay?"
He glanced at Delia before saying, "Okay."
After their daughter left the room, Delia closed the door and leaned back against it for support. "You wanted a good reason, Bryce, and now you have it. We have to do what's best for her. If we split up now, she might never get over it."
He wrapped both hands around his nape and studied the ceiling. "I'm not sure I'll ever get over this, Dee. Not enough to give her a happy life with two loving parents."
"Are we giving her that now?"
He leveled his gaze on her in a menacing stare. "What do you mean?"
"You're rarely home, and you've missed so many moments. Precious moments you can't get back. One day you're going to wake up and realize that you don't even know your daughter."
"I don't know you anymore, Dee."
She barely knew herself, but she did know that she couldn't go down without a fight. "We can get reacquainted by spending more time together, but that means we both have to make the effort. I need more than an hour a day with you, Bryce. More than a passing hello on your way to the hospital or the library. I also need your forgiveness."
"I don't know if I can forgive you."
Delia saw only one option at the moment, though it could be the hardest thing she'd ever done. "If that's the way you feel, then I'll leave tomorrow and take Anne home with me for the Thanksgiving holiday. That will allow you time to decide." She pointed behind her. "I'll pack her things while you tell her goodbye."
Before she could open the door, his arms came around her and he braced his palms on the facing, trapping her. "I hate the thought of another man touching you. But I swear to God, even after what you've done, I love you too much to watch you walk away."
She turned into his arms to find tears welling in his eyes, only then realizing the full extent of her horrible mistake. "I never meant to hurt you, Bryce," she said as she lowered her gaze to keep from witnessing the pain in his eyes. "I wish I could take it all back."
He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Maybe you really did mean to hurt me, at least on a subconscious level. And maybe I deserved it in some ways. I'm willing to try again, but it's going to take time, Dee."
"I know we can make it through this, Bryce, I don't care how much time it takes, because I can't stand the thought of losing you…."
"We almost lost him, Delia."
Only a few moments before, Delia had been chatting with Anne and Liz about their youthful antics. And now, she attempted to comprehend what Jack had told her, without success. "I don't understand."
"Bryce arrested on the table," he said. "We had to close before Joe completed the surgery."
Delia sagged against Lizzie's side. "Then he's still alive?"
"Yeah." Jack rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "But he was down for over forty-five minutes. He's respirator dependent."
"He's on life support?" Anne's voice reflected the shock Delia was still experiencing.
"He suffered cerebral hypoxia. We won't know how bad it is until we get the results of the EEG."
The words bounded around Delia's head, searing her confidence, shattering her faith. "I want to see him." She had to see him. To know if Jack had told her the truth—that Bryce wasn't going to pull through.
"I'll find out if they're ready." He kissed Anne's cheek. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Delia allowed Anne and Liz to guide her back to the waiting room chairs, her mind foggy with disbelief. "How did this happen?"
Anne draped her arm around her shoulder. "It's a risk, Mom. His heart might not have been strong enough—"
"His heart is strong, Anne. Stronger than any heart I've ever known."
Liz laid a palm on Delia's arm. "Dee, you need to consider all the possibilities."
Fury sent her out of the seat. "The only thing I'm going to do right now is see my husband. No one is going to stop me."
And no one would ever convince her to give up on the man she'd loved for a lifetime.
"You haven't had a break in hours, Dee. I'll stay with him while you at least grab some coffee."
Delia kept her gaze centered on Bryce, firmly gripping his hand, as she had throughout the night. "I'm not leaving, Liz. When he wakes up, I want to be here."
Lizzie pulled up a chair next to Delia's. "You heard what Jack told you, Dee. Bryce has no brain activity. The machines are keeping him alive."
Her mind rejected that notion completely. "I don't give a damn what anyone says. I won't accept that there's nothing else to be done." That she and Bryce had run out of miracles.
Lizzie rested a hand on her shoulder. "I know this is terrible, and I know you can't imagine life without him, but—"
"No, you can't imagine it." Delia refused to believe that her pre-surgery conversation with her husband was her last. She couldn't accept that she would never greet him at the door to inquire over his day, scold him over forgetting his house keys—or awake to find a lily on her pillow.
"Eventually, you're going to have to decide, Dee."
Her gaze snapped to Liz. "Decide what? That I'm going to let him die?"
"He's already gone, sweetie. He's not coming back."
Delia turned her attention back to Bryce, who looked so peaceful, as if he were simply sleeping. "He's right here." Right there looking as if he could get up and argue with her. She wished he would. She prayed that this nightmare would end with Bryce awakening and disproving them all.
"You have to ask yourself what Bryce would want, Dee. Would he want you to keep him alive artificially, or would he expect you to let him go?"
She couldn't let him go. She wasn't ready to let him go. But then she recalled another place, another time, another loss….
Virginia, January 1985
"When are you going to give up and come back to bed, Dee?"
Delia glanced up from her perch on the antique settee, where she'd been sitting for a time, taking to memory all the details of her childhood home. She discovered Bryce standing in the opening to the parlor dressed in his favorite blue flannel robe, looking exhausted and somewhat agitated
"I couldn't sleep," she said. "Too much on my mind."
He strolled to the sofa, dropped down next to her and draped her legs across his thighs. "I can't sleep if you're not in bed with me."
She playfully elbowed his side. "You were snoring when I left an hour ago."
"Sorry. Great sex makes me real relaxed."
She felt the warmth of a school-girl blush, ridiculous considering all the times they'd made love. "It was great, wasn't it?"
He tucked her hair behind her ears and grinned. "Yeah. Being in your old bed reminded me of that time you invited me into your room when your mother was away visiting her brother."
"I'll never forget that night. Naomi almost caught us." She laid her head against his shoulder. "It's hard to believe I won't be visiting this place again after tomorrow."
He brushed a kiss across her forehead. "We could always keep it in the family. It could be our retirement home."
She appreciated his suggestion, and loved him for understanding. "That's not practical. Besides, we'd have to figure out what to do with it for the next twenty years or so, until we retire. I'll just have to rely on the mementoes I've packed to keep the good memories alive."
They fell silent for a time until Bryce asked, "What are you thinking, babe?"
"About the past two weeks, and how much I appreciate what you've done for me. Taking off work, being right there when I needed you."
"That's what I'm supposed to do, Dee. Be there for you. I know how tough it's been with Naomi's death and having to sell the farm. But you're tough, too, and I know you're going to be fine."
Right then she wasn't so sure. "Don't forget Anne and Jack's break-up. I can't believe that after two years it's over between them, when I was so certain they'd eventually marry. After we're home, I plan to talk some sense into our daughter before it's too late."
"You can't fix everything, Dee. You have to let them make their own decisions. Jack's got a lot going on with residency and Anne can't accept that, just like she's never accepted my absence from her life."
How well Delia knew. "She has to learn that loving someone entails compromise and a willingness to make a few sacrifices."
"Maybe she will in time. We certainly didn't figure it all out overnight."
No, they hadn't. Years had passed before they'd mastered the ins and outs of their relationship. Before all had been forgiven.
Feeling melancholy, Delia lifted her legs from his lap, left the sofa and moved to the window to find a cast of blue light illuminating the white-blanketed ground. "It's still snowing."
The hardwood floor creaked with the weight of Bryce's footsteps. He came up behind her and enfolded her in his arms. "Hope it lets up before we leave."
The thought of leaving—and never returning—still weighed heavily on her soul. "I feel as if I'll be closing the book on an important part of my life the minute I walk out the door."
"Remember, you'll still have the memories."
She did have memories—both good and bad. Summers spent learning to ride with her beloved father before his death. Bryce's heartfelt proposal. Her mother wasting away for years from grief. Her sister's last few moments on earth.
"Naomi was a saint," she said. "She spent her adulthood caring for Mother while keeping this place going all by herself. I should have helped her more."
"You spent a month out of every summer with her, sweetheart. You also tried to convince her to move to Texas. She made the choice to stay."
Delia faced him again. "But she was still young Bryce. Barely forty. She never had any children or a husband. I can't help but feel she was lonely, and I wasn't supportive enough. I should have insisted she have more chemo."
"She was sick, Dee. The cancer was going to take her sooner or later and she chose sooner. You were only respecting her wishes. I'd like to think you'd do the same for me if I ended up in that situation."
She pressed her fingertips against his lips. "Don't say that. In fact, don't even think it. It's bad luck."
He caught her hand and held it against his chest. "I see it every day. People who aren't prepared for the worst-case scenario. I want you to promise me that if I'm ever too sick to have a quality life, then you'll do the right thing."
She shuddered at the thought of making such a dreadful decision. "I'm not sure I can promise that."
"You'll have to, Dee. Otherwise, I'll be back to haunt you. I'd listen to your phone conversations, hide your moisturizer, rearrange your underwear drawer so it looks like mine. I'll still leave the empty milk carton in the refrigerator."
His grin alone lifted her spirits. "You wouldn't dare."
"Yeah, I would, so promise me you won't force me to do such vile things."
She raised her hand in oath. "I promise that I will do the right thing, as long as you promise to keep your ghostly self out of my underwear drawer."
Despite the ensuing laughter, despite his attempt at levity, Delia's gray mood remained unchanged. "I suppose we should get back to the bedroom so we won't oversleep and miss our plane in the morning."
"I'm wide-awake now." He winked. "Care to engage in a little more slap and tickle with a geezer?"
"Sure. Do you happen to know one?"
"You're a real comedian, Delia Hayes Cooper. Now, let's go so you can entertain me in bed."
Hand in hand, they started toward the bedroom, yet Delia felt the need to pause and take one more look around. Take everything to memory, from the grandfather clock in the corner, to the baby grand piano at the far end of the room. "I'm really going to miss this place," she said as they climbed the stairs. "I'm going to miss my sister most of all."
Bryce paused at the landing and faced her again. "It's hard to give up the things we love most, Dee. But there comes a time when you have to let go…."
The smell of alcohol and disinfectant burned Riqué's nose. He opened his eyes to a narrow slit. He was in a hospital cubicle. The sounds and the smells were unmistakable. He'd been in the same situation a few times before. Sometimes he was the one on the gurney—more often it was a buddy or a fellow officer.
He tried to sit up, but he was tied down. "Hey!" A sharp pain stabbed his shoulder. He looked down. His right arm was strapped to his side, and a lot of tape and gauze surrounded his midsection.
Memory came flooding back. "Azulita—"
What had happened? Where was she? How'd he ended up here?
"Nurse! Hey! Somebody!" He craned his neck, looking for a call button, but his stomach and head protested all the movement, so he lay back and closed his eyes. Where was Shannon? Had the bastard managed to slit her throat?
Within a few seconds, the curtain around his bed was pushed back and a middle-aged woman with softly waved hair came in. "Deputy Luis Spinoza. So you're awake."
"My name's Riqué." He licked dry lips. Where had that come from? When had he started thinking of himself as Riqué rather than Luis? It was Shannon's fault.
Shannon. "Where's—the woman who was with me?"
"She went to get some coffee. She's been here all night, waiting for you to get out of surgery."
His relief was tempered by the woman's words. "Surgery?" He tried to flex his bandaged arm and winced. "Damn."
The nurse smiled and adjusted the IV pump. "Your shoulder was dislocated and fractured. This is morphine. Push this button if you're in pain. We'll probably discontinue this as soon as you're fully awake."
"I'm awake now. Get me out of here."
She shook her head. "Not until the doctors say it's okay. Now just call out if you need me. You're in the recovery room." She smiled again and disappeared.
Before Riqué could process all that had happened, Shannon appeared. Her neck was bandaged and she had a bruise on her wrist, but she looked beautiful. She was still dressed in her silly T-shirt and the loud beach shorts, and she held a paper cup of coffee. Her face was pale and drawn. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. The honey-brown curls he loved so much were tangled around her face.
"Hi, Riqué," she said softly. "How're you feeling?" She didn't meet his gaze.
"Good. I'm good. Are you okay?"
What the hell? They were acting like casual acquaintances. He felt groggy and his damn shoulder hurt, but even though he'd forgotten what happened after he'd collapsed, he hadn't forgotten that they'd made love.
He pushed himself upright. "Have you talked to the police?"
She nodded, playing with the tear-off tab on the coffee lid. "They got the car, although the driver got away. They caught my attacker, and took the knife as evidence."
Riqué nodded. "Good. They'll match it with your knives. With any luck, they can link both knives to your attacker. Did you notice his hand was bandaged? He must've cut himself when he slit Lockhart's throat."
She shuddered.
"So was it Mosby who ordered Lockhart killed?" he asked.
"The detective didn't think so. He 's looking at the senator's PR person. It was her car. And my attacker was one of her personal assistants. In any case the senator's political career is probably done for."
Shannon saw the pain etched in Riqué's face. His face was pale. His shoulder was obviously killing him. She set her coffee cup down and stepped over to the side of the bed. "Here's the button for the morphine. Why don't you give yourself an extra dose, and then take a nap?"
"I don't want to take a nap. I want to get out of here, see if I still have a job."
"Oh, that reminds me. A Lieutenant Zane McKinney called to check on you. Apparently the media didn't waste any time getting the story out."
"McKinney?" Riqué tried to push himself up with his good arm. "What did he say."
"He told me not to bother you, but he wants you to call him once you're up and about. He said something about a job."
Riqué's dark eyes widened and a smile lit his weary face for an instant. "No kidding."
She smiled and reached out to touch his hand, but he pulled it away.
"Tell the nurse I'm ready to go."
His rebuff hurt her, even though she knew better. She'd treated him badly years ago. She'd broken his heart. She knew because he'd told her, and because she'd known him too well, she'd seen then how badly she'd hurt him. And she saw his caution now.
What he didn't know was that she'd broken her own heart, too. She had never and would never forgive herself for caving in to her parent's wishes. They'd loved Riqué—as Dave's friend. But not as a husband for their daughter.
Her face burned as she recalled how easily she'd let them convince her that they were right. Among certain people, it was frowned upon to marry a Mexican-American. To her shame, she hadn't trusted their love for each other to be stronger than prejudice.
Riqué kicked at the tangled bedclothes, and pushed himself up awkwardly.
"Riqué, stop it. You can't go anywhere. You're on an IV, you've been sedated. You have to wait until they release you."
He sent her a dark glare. "Get me my clothes." He tried to gesture toward the closet, but the pain in his shoulder stopped him. He groaned under his breath.
She angled her head to one side. "No."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because you're being irrational. If you don't calm down, I'm going to press that button for you."
"You wouldn't dare." His jaw worked. His eyes turned black as deep space.
"Try me."
"Shannon, why don't you go home? Get out of here. I'm tired."
His sudden switch from injured hero to irascible grouch made her heart ache. "Press the button, Riqué. I won't leave until you do."
"Call Mariçel. She'll come."
Shannon looked at the stubborn, handsome idiot she'd fallen in love with ten years ago. Then she stalked over to the morphine IV pump. She reached for the cord with the button at the end of it.
Riqué covered the device with his hand before Shannon could grab it. So she went and sat down in the small chair next to his bed and crossed her arms.
He closed his eyes. "Okay, I pressed the button. You said you'd leave."
"I lied. I'll wait until you go to sleep."
He took a deep breath as if to argue, but instead he laid his head back against the pillow.
It took all Shannon's strength to stay still, to stop herself from reaching over and finger-combing the black hair back from his forehead. Her eyes stung with tears. He'd saved her life. He'd come the instant she'd called him. But he would never open himself up to her—to hurt—again. She'd blown the best thing that ever could have happened to her.
She sat watching him for a long time. His face was drawn, his shoulders drooped. She couldn't tell if he was asleep or not.
"You were the first—"
Her gaze darted to his face. "What? Riqué? Are you hurting?"
He shook his head. His eyes were heavy-lidded from the effects of the morphine. He looked over at her and lifted his left hand a fraction of an inch.
Shannon's heart was full to bursting—with love, with apprehension, with hope. She stood and slipped her hand under his. He grasped it with surprising strength.
"A while ago, when I woke up," he said, licking his lips, "you were the first person I thought of." His eyes drifted shut.
Shannon's pulse sped up. Her breath grew short. "Riqué? Riqué, please tell me you're not asleep."
He opened his eyes slowly. "I'm not asleep. Kiss me and I'll show you."
She leaned forward and touched her lips to his.
"When you told me I was the first person you thought of…" he whispered against her mouth, "…does that happen a lot, or was that the only time?".
She shook her head and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then brushed his hair off his forehead. "It happens all the time."
"What do you think it means?"
She shrugged. "What do you think it means?"
A flash of apprehension glinted in his sleepy eyes. Using his left hand he pushed her away, just enough so that he could look directly into her eyes. "The thing I was afraid of has happened."
"What's that?" she asked, her heart pounding.
"I told you I didn't want to have to forget you again. That wasn't exactly true, because I never forgot you the first time."
"Riqué— I was such an idiot—"
"Shh. I swore I'd never put myself in this position again, but here I am." He clenched his jaw and pushed himself up in bed and raised his sleepy gaze to hers. "Azulita, I will ask you one last time. Will you be my wife until death do we part?"
Shannon swallowed. She felt her heart soar and sink at the same time. "What if I'm indicted for Brendan Lockhart's murder?"
His mouth quirked up. "Then we can have conjugal visits." He reached out with his thumb and caught a tear that was slipping down her cheek.
"I'm serious."
"Me, too. Because if you say yes, I am never letting you out of my sight again. No matter what I have to do. But it does sound like the sheriff is on the right track with Mosby's PR manager."
Shannon nodded.
He lay back against the pillows with a grimace. "So?" His mouth was white and pinched. She could tell he was hurting. But the morphine was working. His eyelids were drooping more and more.
But she could still see the uncertainty in their black depths. Was he really afraid she'd say no?
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You might not believe it, but I'm not the timid little girl I was back then. And I sure as heck don't need help in deciding what I want to do with the rest of my life."
"Oh yeah?" he whispered. "What's that?"
She put her hand on his cheek and kissed his mouth. "Spend it loving you."
He smiled and drifted off to sleep.
The End