Becca considered jumping in to help, but her own swimming lessons had been limited to navigating the length of the pool in her college physical-education class. In spite of her good intentions, with her inexperience, she might end up simply another victim needing rescue.
“Where is she?” Art Ledbetter spoke behind her. “I can’t see her.”
The agony in his voice cut through Becca like a sword, making her thank her stars that Emily wasn’t lost in the lake. She closed her eyes and hoped against hope that Lucy and Matt would survive.
She turned from her anxious scan of the water to identify the bustle of activity behind her. Uncle Jake and several of his friends had arrived, carrying several lengths of rope. With skillful hands, they knotted the various strands together into one long piece with a loop at the end.
Becca turned back to the water, searching frantically for life. The wait seemed endless, the silence deafening, and knowing that everyone watching felt as desperate and helpless as she did. Afraid to witness his pain, she couldn’t force herself to look at Art Ledbetter, but she couldn’t ignore the tortured gasp of his breathing, the only sound on the still air.
Suddenly, like an orca whale ascending from the depths at a Sea World attraction, Matt broke the surface, gasping for air. When the crowd spotted the golden-haired bundle in his arms, a cheer rang out, reverberating against the surrounding peaks.
“Toss that rope down there,” Uncle Jake ordered.
Someone heaved the rope over the edge, and Matt, with Lucy in tow, swam toward it. He slipped the noose over his head and under his arms.
“Not you, Tyler!” Art yelled. “Send up the girl first!”
Matt, treading water while supporting Lucy, shouted back, “She’ll be battered against the rock wall if she comes up alone. Pull me out with her, and I can protect her.”
Uncle Jake apparently saw immediately the sense of Matt’s plan and organized a team of men to haul on the rope. Matt swam to the foot of the rock cliff, positioned Lucy in his arms, and, as the men above him pulled, braced his feet against the rock for the treacherous twenty-foot climb.
Becca watched, unaware she was holding her breath. Matt grasped the girl firmly, holding her away from the jagged wall. She could see the muscles of his legs working as he painstakingly walked his way up the wall, held almost perpendicular to the rock face by the tension of the rope from above.
When he neared the rim, Uncle Jake, Art and several others hauled him over the side. Tears streaming down his face, Art grabbed Lucy from Matt’s arms.
“Oh, God!” The father’s cry of agony stopped everyone short. “She’s dead!”
* * *
“IS LUCY IN HEAVEN with Granny?” Emily asked that night when her mother tucked her into bed.
Becca swallowed hard against the grief welling up in her throat. How could she explain the death of a child to another child when she couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept herself?
“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Becca promised, hoping by then to find some way to clarify the inexplicable.
Art Ledbetter’s anguished cry still rang in her head, tore at her heart. Matt, exhausted as he’d been, had sprung immediately into action and begun CPR with reassuring calmness and authority. He’d worked without ceasing, continuing even once the rescue squad arrived. She hadn’t had a chance to speak with him because he’d continued his ministrations all the way to the ambulance. Once they’d reached it, he’d climbed inside with Lucy without missing a beat in his resuscitation efforts for the ride to the hospital in town.
The picnic had ended. No one had the heart left for food or fun, and everyone had scattered, returning home to wait for the final news on little Lucy Ledbetter. Becca still hadn’t heard. She’d called the hospital twice, but both times the woman at the nurses’ station had been professionally noncommittal, which Becca had taken as a bad sign.
Knowing she couldn’t sleep, Becca wandered into the kitchen to fill the kettle and put it on to boil. She’d brew a cup of Granny’s special herbal tea, the one that calmed nerves and induced sleep, and hope it would make her rest.
She kept seeing Matt in her mind’s eye, tenderly cradling Lucy’s body to protect her from the jagged rocks, absorbing the buffeting and resulting cuts and scrapes with his own body as the men pulled the dripping pair from the quarry. He had worked like a madman to restore the child’s breathing, refusing to break his concentration even when Becca had placed a blanket around his wet, shivering shoulders.
Becca’s dream had been to bring a doctor to Warwick Mountain, a healer who would keep her friends and neighbors safe, so people wouldn’t die before their time as Granny had. Now, she realized with a sob, that a doctor couldn’t always save his patients, even when he wanted to so desperately, as Matt obviously had while he wrestled with death to breathe life into Lucy.
A knock at the front door broke through her thoughts and filled her with icy dread. Even though Becca was expecting the worst, until she actually heard the final news, she could always hope that Lucy had somehow, miraculously, survived.
With leaden feet, she trudged to the entryway and flipped on the porch light. The dim glow illuminated Matt, wearing rumpled green hospital scrubs in place of his formerly sodden clothes, his face grim, weariness apparent in his stance. She opened the door.
“Sorry to bother you so late.” Fatigue weighted his voice. “But I couldn’t face returning to the feed store alone just yet.”
Becca stood aside to let him in. “Come back to the kitchen. I was just fixing a cup of tea.”
She closed the door behind him, turned off the porch light and forced herself to ask, “Lucy?”
The weariness in his face transformed into a smile unlike any she’d ever witnessed, and his shoulders straightened as if he’d thrown off his exhaustion. “We think she’s going to make it.”
Unable to believe what she’d heard, Becca sank onto the deacon’s bench before her legs gave way. “But I thought...Art said she was dead.”
“She’d stopped breathing, but not long enough to cause brain damage.” He rubbed the back of his neck and rolled his shoulders, reminding Becca of the strain his muscles must have taken from his climb out of the quarry. “If she makes it through the next twenty-four hours—and her prognosis is good—she should be fine.”
Joy and relief flooded her. Lucy had been like her own child, a neighbor since birth, a student in her preschool, her daughter’s friend, her friends’ daughter. She leaped to her feet, wrapped her arms around Matt and hugged him with all her might.
“Dr. Tyler, you are wonderful!”
Matt pulled her close, gripped her tightly, and then pulled back far enough to see her face. “It wasn’t me. The entire staff of doctors was waiting at the hospital when we arrived.”
Becca shook her head. “You’re too modest. You pulled her from the quarry. You performed CPR. Without you, the other doctors would have been useless.”
“I was the logical choice,” Matt said. “After what you’d told me earlier, I realized I was probably the only one at the picnic who could swim.”
“You deserve a medal,” Becca said, dizzy with relief and happiness, drunk with gratitude and admiration. “A statue in the town square.”
A disarming grin crooked the corner of his mouth. “Warwick Mountain doesn’t have a town square.”
“Then we’ll have to think of something else.” With her arms still around him, her face inches from him, Becca pretended to concentrate, but his closeness proved too distracting.
“I’ve thought of something else already,” he said.
She didn’t have to ask.
Granny’s voice rang in her head. Haven’t you had enough heartache in one short life without setting yourself up for more?
He saved Lucy’s life, Becca argued silently.
And he’ll ruin yours.
Not if I don’t let him.
Matt kissed her, drowning out Granny’s warnings, obliterating Becca’s ability to think.
With a jolt, she realized she was feeling more than just attraction.
She loved this man.
Loved his intelligence, his sense of humor, his willingness to risk his life for a little girl he barely knew, his generosity in abandoning his exotic vacation to fill in for a friend and help a community of strangers, his clear affection for her daughter.
Loved the way he made her feel when his arms wrapped around her. Loved the way his smile made happiness zing through her as if she’d drunk too much blackberry wine.
A shrill, insistent warning shrieked suddenly in her ears, and she jerked away from him.
But the alarm continued.
Disoriented, she gazed at him in confusion.
“Your kettle’s boiling.” His voice was as breathless as she felt.
He had her mind so scrambled, she hadn’t recognized the sound. “I’d better stop it before it wakes Emily.”
But she couldn’t tear herself away from the disquieting comfort of his arms.
He released her and gave her a gentle nudge down the hall. Like a sleepwalker, she wandered into the kitchen, removed the kettle from the burner and turned off the stove.
The shrill whistling ceased, and the quiet was overwhelming. Becca stood in front of the refrigerator and placed her burning forehead against the smooth, cool surface of the door.
Had she lost her mind?
As much as she loved and admired Matt Tyler, the prospect of a life with him held no more permanence than the presence of the summer lightning bugs that flitted outside the kitchen window. In the greater scheme of things, he was merely a blip on her radar screen, a temporary distraction, a man who would walk out of her life as quickly as he had entered, with no looking back, no possibility of ever becoming anything more than a haunting memory.
And what was she to him?
Just another in a long line of women who had passed in and out of Dr. Wonderful’s existence like travelers catching a connecting flight at an airport. Matt Tyler was a way station, not a destination.
Steeling herself, she turned, only to bump against Matt, who had come in behind her.
“You okay, Becca?”
His arms went around her again, and try as she might, she didn’t have the strength or will to push away. She shook her head against his chest and forced herself to speak. “I can’t do this.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, held her at arm’s length, and lifted her chin until their gazes met. “I love you, Becca.”
Without success, she attempted to stifle the joy his words brought her. Forcing herself to recall every salient detail of the magazine article she’d read about him, she twisted her mouth into an ironic grimace and accused him with narrowed eyes. “How many women have you said that to?”
“None.” The piercing gaze of his remarkable brown eyes didn’t waver. “You’re the only one.”
“Do you really expect me to believe that?” Much as she wanted to, she didn’t dare. She couldn’t risk the hurt if he was lying.
“It’s the truth.” He hesitated then, as if remembering.
Her heart sank. There had been others. She was nothing special. Just another in an endless stream of conquests.
“If you don’t count my mother,” he added. “Although, I never told her often enough.”
“Oh, Matt, I want to believe you—”
“But you are definitely the only woman I’ve ever asked to marry me.”
His proposal took her breath away, and for a moment, she thought for sure she’d heard wrong. “What did you say?”
He pulled her closer, nestling her chin in the hollow of his neck, resting his cheek on her hair. “I want you to marry me, Becca.”
She’d heard right, but she couldn’t believe it. “You’re kidding.”
“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”
She reveled in his embrace, savored the security of his arms, treasured the beat of his heart against her face, but his proposal left her too stunned to think. “I don’t know what to say.”
She lifted her head from his chest and stared into the face of the man she’d come to love, wondering if she could take a chance, a risk. What if she did? What if she didn’t?
Then she’d have the memories, Becca thought, memories of the only man she’d ever really loved. Grady had been a horrible mistake, an overgrown boy who’d used her and deserted her. Matt was a mature man...one who was ready to settle down.
With her.
With Emily.
In spite of his apprehensive expression, Becca couldn’t mistake the love shining in his eyes, the sincerity ringing in his voice.
He loved her.
“Will you marry me?” he asked again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MATT WAITED FOR Becca’s answer. He wouldn’t pressure her. They’d known each other only a short while, and if she needed time to make up her mind, he’d give her all the time she wanted.
After all, it was only a few hours ago that he’d realized himself that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Becca. Waiting in the hospital for word on whether Lucy Ledbetter would live or die had completely and unexpectedly changed his perspective, had made him recognize what was truly important.
He’d had enough of mindless social events, vacuous women and single living. He wanted someone to share his life, and he knew without a doubt that someone was Becca Warwick. He didn’t mind that she came with a ready-made family. In fact, Emily was an asset, because Matt had come to love the little girl as well as her mother. He couldn’t wait to show them both California, to teach Emily how to swim, to walk on the beach at sunset with Becca, and to sleep every night and wake every morning with his wife snuggled in his arms, while the Pacific surf crashed against the shore outside their bedroom window.
He might even cut back on his hours at the office and hospital to have more family time.
Family.
The word offered comfort, happiness and promise.
Beside him, Becca sighed.
“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” he assured her. “Take time to think about it.”
“I can’t leave Warwick Mountain,” Becca said with an intractable set to her jaw.
“Sure you can. You’ll love California.”
Becca pulled away and gazed at him with worried eyes.
“I could never live in California,” she said bluntly.
He didn’t like the turn the conversation had taken. “It’s not a foreign country.”
“California may be a nice place to visit,” Becca said gently, “but I don’t want to live there.”
“How do you know?” He tried without success to keep the irritation from his voice. “You’ve never been.”
“California’s not the problem.”
His spirits plunged. “If you don’t love me—”
Her fingers against his lips stopped him from saying more. “I love you, Matt. But I have responsibilities I can’t fulfill in California.”
“If it’s Emily you’re worried about, I want to adopt her. Give her my name, too. We’ll all be Tylers. And she’ll have the daddy she wants.”
Becca shook her head sadly. “I don’t know if I can make you understand. Emily isn’t the problem, although I admit I’d rather she grew up in Warwick Mountain than Beverly Hills.”
His blood turned cold. “What is the problem?”
“It’s me. I can’t leave here.”
“Why not?”
“My roots are here. Warwicks have been on this mountain for almost three hundred years, long befor
e the American Revolution. The place is in our blood.”
“You can keep this place. We can visit here on vacation.” He was determined to shoot down every objection, hurtle every obstacle.
“But I have a promise to keep, one I can’t honor in California.”
“Your clinic?”
She nodded. “I swore on Granny’s grave that I would see the clinic built and make certain it always served the people of Warwick Mountain.”
“You could make arrangements for the clinic long distance. Use phones, faxes, email.” He couldn’t understand her devotion to a place and its people. “If you need more time to set things up—”
“I need to be here,” she said solemnly, her tone unyielding. She appeared to think for a moment and her expression brightened. “You could live here with Emily and me.”
He shook his head. In all the plans he’d formulated yesterday, Becca and Emily had come home with him. He’d never contemplated moving. “Stay here? And do what? Not much call for cosmetic surgery here, even if folks were willing to let me treat them. Which they’re not.”
“But if they were—” Her gaze scoured his face. “Would you want to live here?”
Matt hesitated. As much as he loved Becca, could he renounce the familiar pleasures of California living? Was his discontent temporary or could he really do forever without the surf, sun and sea? Would he miss too much the cultural stimulation of art galleries, famous restaurants, film premieres and the rich and famous who frequented them?
Her eyes sad, Becca stroked his cheek. “Maybe we should forget you ever proposed. We’re like oil and water, you and me. Not a good mix.”
Her observation wounded him, primarily because of the truth of it. They might as well have been born on different planets. He pulled her close and pressed his lips against her hair, not wanting to ever let her go. “Then what are we going to do?”
She released a deep sigh. “Accept the fact that we were never meant to be.”
He trailed his fingers over the exquisite smoothness of her skin, then tangled them in her hair, gazing into magnificent eyes that swam with tears.
For the Sake of Warwick Mountain (Harlequin Heartwarming) Page 15