by Sandra Brown
She had pulled on the first clothes her hands had touched and shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers. In the clinic, she’d filled her medical bag with supplies that would handle most, but certainly not all, emergencies.
She might very well be walking into a trap, but she could not have said no to the summons. And, strange as it was, she believed the urgency in Key’s voice had been genuine.
She sped past the windmill before seeing it. If his directions hadn’t included it, she never would have spotted the narrow, unmarked road. She backed up and took the turn sharply. Moments later her headlights swept across a frame farmhouse. As promised, Key’s yellow Lincoln was parked in front. She pulled in beside it, grabbed her bag, and alighted.
The dogs went berserk.
Key had been watching for her from the living room window. As soon as she wheeled in, he pulled open the front door. Unfortunately he didn’t reach it in time to call off the hunting hounds who charged out from their various lairs to surround Lara with snarling maws. They raised a horrendous racket.
She jumped onto the hood of her car and thrashed her legs, trying to kick away the howling attackers. Key emitted a shrill whistle that brought a sudden halt to the barking. A few of the hounds whimpered as they slunk back to their hideouts.
“Good Lord! I could have been chewed to pieces.”
“All’s clear now. Hurry.” He pushed open the screen door. Tentatively Lara placed one foot on the ground. Out of the darkness came a menacing growl, but when Key ordered, “Hush!” the dog fell silent.
She picked her way up to the porch. “Whose house is this? Why am I here?”
“Helen lost the baby.”
She stopped dead in her tracks and looked at him meaningfully. He motioned her inside with a brusque movement of his head. By the light of the Berrys’ homey living room, he noticed that Lara’s face was free of makeup. She hadn’t taken time to brush her hair. It was still pillow-tousled, reminding him of the first time he’d seen her. That night, she hadn’t known his name. She’d smiled at him a couple of times, even when threatening to notify the sheriff of his gunshot wound. She wasn’t smiling tonight. Her expression said she wouldn’t waste spit on him if he was on fire.
“Where is she?”
“Back here.”
“When did the spotting start?”
“Spotting?” he repeated. “She was goddamn near bleeding to death when I got here.”
He led her through a long, narrow hallway. The walls were decorated with framed photographs that chronicled the growth of a family. Time had yellowed some of them. The most recent one was of Helen in her graduation cap and gown.
Key stood aside and let Lara precede him into the bedroom where Helen lay in a single bed, clutching a teddy bear to her chest and quietly weeping.
“Helen? The doctor’s here.” He moved to the side of the bed and took her hand. It was flaccid and cold. He pressed it between his own, trying to restore animation and warmth.
He didn’t know which was worse, her abject despondency now or her previous hysteria. She had called him at The Palm. “It’s a woman,” Hap had said as he passed him the telephone receiver. “Says your sister told her to try and catch you here. She sounds stressed out.”
That had been an understatement. He’d hardly been able to hear her above the din inside the bar, but her alarm came through loud and clear. When he reached her house and rushed into the bedroom, he saw a copious amount of dark, clotted blood on her sheets. He’d immediately called Lara Mallory.
“Hello, Helen,” she said now, bending down and laying a gentle hand on Helen’s brow. “Everything’s going to be all right. I’ll take care of it, okay?”
Her bedside manner was flawless, but Helen didn’t buy it. “I lost my baby.”
“You’re sure?”
Helen nodded and glanced across the room. Lara followed her gaze to the soiled sheets which Key had stripped from the bed and piled up in the corner. Lara looked at him. “Will you excuse us, please?”
He gave Helen’s hand a hard squeeze. “Hang in there, sweetheart. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”
“Thanks, Key.”
He backed out of the room. Lara was placing a blood pressure cuff around Helen’s arm as he closed the door. In the living room he posted himself at the wide picture window and stared out into the night. Away from the lights of town, the stars were brilliant. It never failed to astonish him how many there were. That was one of the reasons he loved night flying. Only then could he fully appreciate the vastness of the sky and know peace.
He wished like hell he were up there now.
A hound dog loped up onto the porch, slurped water from a bowl, yawned broadly, then dropped its head onto its front paws and went back to sleep. A night bird called plaintively. Occasionally the old lumber inside the walls would shift with a groan and a creak. Other than that, the house was quiet.
He wondered what was going on in the bedroom. How long would it take for Dr. Mallory to do whatever she was doing? Time crawled. When the bedroom door finally opened, he turned away from the window and rushed to meet her halfway down the hall. She was wearing surgical gloves and carrying the bloody sheets.
“Seeing these is upsetting her. They need to soak.”
He led her to a screened-in back porch that ran the width of the house. It was equipped with a deep utility sink, into which she put the sheets, and then turned on the cold water. “You know your way around the house very well.”
“Her daddy’s about the best hunter in East Texas. I’ve gone with him lots of times, ever since I was a kid.”
“That’s why you know how to call off the dogs.”
“Yes. This is where we cleaned up after dressing our kills.” He nodded down to the sink now filling with pink water.
The sight of blood had never bothered him. He’d seen ghastly war injuries, men whose flesh was melting off their skeletons following oil well fires, even the severed head of a Moslem woman caught in adultery. He’d thought he had a cast-iron stomach where violence was concerned, that nothing could make him queasy.
He was wrong. This blood bothered him tremendously. He ran his hand down his face and looked away from the sink.
“I examined the expulsion,” Lara said as though reading his mind. “She miscarried the embryo.”
He nodded.
“Where are her parents?”
“They took the younger kids to Astroworld today,” he answered mechanically as he watched Lara peel off her surgical gloves. “Helen wasn’t feeling well and begged off. It’s a good thing, too. She hadn’t told them about the baby yet. Imagine if this hadn’t happened at home, in bed. Jesus,” he added grimly, “it doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“Besides, the fewer people who know about this, the better, right? Especially for you. Look at it this way, you’re off the hook now.”
Although it took all the willpower he possessed, he let the insult pass.
When the sink was full, she turned off the faucet. “I’ve given Helen an injection to retard the bleeding and a sedative to help her sleep. In the morning she can come to the clinic and I’ll do a D and C.”
“Good. Her folks aren’t supposed to be back until late tomorrow night.”
“By then she’ll be home, although I recommend a few days of bed rest. She can tell them she’s got a severe case of cramps, which, unfortunately, is true.” After a significant pause, she added, “I also highly recommend that sexual intercourse be suspended for several weeks. You’ll have to take your fun with someone else.”
His eyes homed in on hers. Matching her scorn measure for measure, he said, “Any suggestions?”
They didn’t break eye contact until the dogs set up another howl. A car door slammed. There were running footsteps on the porch.
“Helen?”
Key moved around Lara and went through to the living room. Jimmy Bradley was standing there, frantically glancing around.
“Key?” he exclaimed. �
�What are you doing here? Me and some of the guys went to Longview to knock around tonight. When I got home my brother said you’d called. Said for me to haul ass over here. What’s happened? Where is everybody? Where’s Helen?”
“She’s in her bedroom.”
Jimmy noticed Lara, who had just entered the room, gave her a puzzled glance, then cut his eyes back to Key. “What’s going on?”
“This is Dr. Mallory.”
“A doctor? For Helen?” he asked with mounting alarm.
Key laid a hand on the young man’s broad shoulder. “She had a miscarriage tonight, Jimmy.”
“A mis—?” He gulped hard, darted another look at Lara, then at Key. “Jesus.” He broke away from Key, ran down the hall, and burst into the bedroom. “Helen?”
“Jimmy? Oh, Jimmy! I’m sorry!”
Key looked at Lara. She was staring at him, whey-faced, her lips parted in surprise. “I hate to disappoint you,” he said dryly, “but the baby wasn’t mine. Helen came to me for help because she knew she could trust me.”
He allowed himself only a moment of self-righteous indignation before turning abruptly and following Jimmy to the bedroom. Jimmy was seated on the edge of the bed, clutching Helen to him, running his hands over her back and shoulders. Both were crying.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Helen? Why?”
“Because I was afraid you’d give up your scholarship. I didn’t want you to be stuck with me and a baby.”
“Honey, as long as I can carry a damn football, I can go to school. That college doesn’t care if I’ve got three wives and six kids. You should have told me. You went through hell all by yourself.”
“Key helped.” She sniffed. “I knew how much you respected him, so, when I didn’t know where else to turn or what to do, I asked him for advice. He begged me to tell you, but he also promised to keep my secret.”
“I didn’t think I should keep the secret any longer, Helen,” Key told her from the open doorway. “I felt Jimmy had a right to know, so I called him tonight.”
“I’m glad you did,” Jimmy said fervently.
“So am I. Now,” Helen added softly as she nuzzled his chest. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Me, too. When you broke up with me, I got mad for a few days. Then the hurt set in. I couldn’t figure why you’d stopped lovin’ me all of a sudden like that.”
“I didn’t stop loving you. I never will. It’s because I love you so much that I didn’t want to be a burden to you, to hold you back or keep you from taking this opportunity.”
“As if you could ever be a burden. You’re my second half, Helen. Don’t you know that?” Jimmy bent his head and kissed her softly on the lips, then pulled back and whispered, “I’m sorry about our baby.”
When Helen began crying again, Key knew it was time to leave the young lovers to work through their reconciliation and regret alone. He stepped into the bedroom only long enough to retrieve Lara’s black bag.
“Sometime before her folks come home, see to things on the back porch,” he told Jimmy. “Take her to Dr. Mallory’s office in the morning. No one else will ever know.”
The younger man nodded. “Thanks, Key. You’re the best.” Key kissed the tip of his finger and pressed it to Helen’s temple, then left the room.
He found Lara in the living room, seated on the sofa, hugging her elbows. She looked at him with cold reproach. “You could have told me.”
“And spoiled your fun? Think of the hours of pleasure you’ve had despising me.”
“I’m sorry.”
Suddenly he was very tired and didn’t feel like dragging this out. Every time they were together, they were at each other’s throats. The emotional events of tonight had left him feeling drained; the fight had gone out of him. “Forget it.”
She stood and reached for her bag. He handed it over to her. It weighed down her arm like an anchor. “You okay?” he asked. “You don’t look so hot.” She, too, appeared tired, bone-weary, and dispirited. “You’re pale.”
“No wonder. You woke me out of a deep sleep, and I didn’t take time to use my blusher.” She moved to the front door. “Can I get out of here without being mauled by coon dogs?”
Key secured the front door and they left the house together. The dogs were roused, but Key gruffly ordered them to stay where they were. Once Lara was in the driver’s seat of her car, she rested her forehead on the steering wheel.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Just tired.” She raised her head and reached for the door. He moved aside and let her close it, then watched as she drove away. He kept her in sight as he climbed into the pimp-mobile. She drove slowly, as if it were a newly acquired skill.
At the crossroads, he debated over whether to return to The Palm. It was late. Only the drunkest of the drunks would still be there. He didn’t feel like carousing. But he wasn’t ready to go home, where he always felt claustrophobic.
In the opposite direction, the taillights of Lara’s car disappeared behind a rise in the road. “What the hell,” he muttered as he turned the Lincoln around.
In spite of her protests, she hadn’t looked too chipper. He was responsible for getting her out at this time of night. The least he could do was follow her to see that she got home safely.
Lara didn’t notice his headlights in her rearview mirror, so it came as an unpleasant surprise when the Lincoln pulled into her driveway as she was unlocking the clinic’s back door.
“I’m closed!” she called. Undeterred, Key joined her on the back steps. “What do you want now? Why can’t you leave me in peace?”
Her voice was beginning to fray. If she noticed the weakness, he was certain to hear it too. The tears she had managed to hold back during the drive home filled her eyes, making his image watery.
Turning her back to him, she inserted the key into the lock. At least she attempted to, but her vision was blurry and her hands were unsteady.
Key reached around her. “Let me.”
“Go away!”
He took the key from her, pushed it easily into the lock, and opened the door. The alarm began its delay buzzing. He went in ahead of her and moved to the panel.
“What’s the code?”
She wanted to tell him to go to hell, wanted to forcibly remove him, but didn’t have the strength for either. “Four-o-four-five.” He punched in the code and the buzzing ceased. “It won’t do you any good to know the code,” she told him peevishly. “I’ll change it tomorrow.”
“Where’s your coffeepot?”
“In the kitchen. Why?”
“Because you look like shit, like you could keel over any second now. A cup of strong black coffee would probably be good for whatever’s ailing you.”
“You’re what’s ailing me. Leave me alone, and I’ll be fine. Can’t you do that? Please? It’s so simple! Just go!”
She didn’t want to fall apart in front of him, but the choice was no longer left to her. Her voice cracked on the last two words. She raised her hand to indicate the back door, but it moved to her mouth instead and covered a sob as her knees buckled. She sank into the nearest chair. Tears overflowed her eyes. Her shoulders began to shake. Despite her best intentions, she couldn’t contain the racking sobs.
Propping her arm on the back of the chair, she laid her head on the crook of her elbow and surrendered to the emotional outburst. Pride deserted her. Grief, bitterness, and pain had clawed their way to the surface and, having been tamped down for so long, would not be restrained.
To his credit, Key didn’t interfere by asking questions or offering banalities. The light remained off; the concealment of darkness lent some comfort. She cried until her head ached. Then, for several minutes, she kept her face buried in her sleeve and suffered the aftershocks of the violent catharsis. The tremors came in waves, significant but not sufficient to produce another tidal wave of emotion.
Eventually she raised her head, expecting to see him standing there gloating. She was alone but n
oticed that a dim light from the kitchen spilled out into the hallway. Weakly coming to her feet, she smoothed back her hair and went to the kitchen.
He was leaning back against the range. Only the night light above the cook surface had been turned on. It cast dark shadows onto his face as he sipped from a steaming cup of coffee. He’d found her bottle of brandy. It was standing open on the counter. She could smell its pungent bouquet, enticingly mingled with fresh coffee.
As soon as he noticed her, he nodded toward the coffeemaker. “Want me to pour?”
“No, thanks. I can.” Her voice sounded rusty from so many tears. It disturbed her that he was on her turf, making himself at home in her kitchen in the hours just before dawn. Key Tackett, her self-proclaimed adversary, had been rummaging through her pantry, handling her things, and was now offering to pour her coffee in her own kitchen.
“Feel better?”
She listened for sarcasm behind his seemingly innocent question but heard none. Nodding, she carried her mug to the kitchen table and sat down. She took a sip. The coffee was scalding and potent, the way a man would brew it. “You can go now. You don’t have to stay. I’m not self-destructive.”
Ignoring what she’d said, he pushed himself away from the stove and, bringing the bottle of brandy with him, sat down across from her. He added a dollop of the liquor to her mug.
His eyes were steady and disconcertingly watchful. His fingertips moved up and down the glassy surface of the coffee mug cupped between his strong, tanned hands. She feared that if she watched them too long, they would have a hypnotic effect on her.
“What was that all about?”
Self-consciously, she hooked her hair behind her ear. “That’s really none of your business, is it?”
His head dropped forward, and he cursed as he exhaled.
His hair grew in a swirling pattern around the crown of his head. Even in the dim light she could see the cowlicks. The most gifted barber would be challenged by them. Perhaps that’s why he wore his hair long and loose and in no particular style.
When he raised his head, his eyes were angry. “You refuse to let me be a nice guy, don’t you?”