Critical Condition

by Sandra Orchard

  “Why you sweeping, Dak?” Suzie blurted.

  Zach tilted his focus to Suzie for a second or two and then captured Tara’s gaze once more. A mischievous light snuck in. “Remember Sleeping Beauty, Suzie?” he asked, never taking his eyes off Tara.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I was hoping my true love would wake me with her kiss.”

  Suzie giggled, but Tara choked up, not sure she trusted herself to believe her ears.

  “I’ll wait outside for Detective Gray.” Kelly slipped out of the room.

  Zach cupped his hand over Tara’s, and she returned her gaze to his. All hint of mischief had disappeared. He looked at her, now, with his heart laid bare.

  Waiting.

  “You have to close your eyes,” Suzie said, drawing a smile from them both.

  Zach obeyed and Tara leaned over the bed. Softly, she brushed her lips across his. “I love you,” she whispered.

  “And I you, my love. And I you.”

  EPILOGUE

  Tara slipped into the small chaplain’s office adjoining the hospital chapel. “You wanted to see me?” she asked Melanie, trying not to show her concern.

  The young woman looked beautiful in her simple ivory gown, but tears clouded her eyes. “How can I ever thank you for convincing the police to drop the charges against me?”

  Tara gave her friend a warm hug. “By living happily ever after.”

  “You do believe me, don’t you? I had no idea McCrae killed that man.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Why would you? Officially, Mr. Parker’s death hadn’t been ruled suspicious.”

  “I still can’t believe he tried to kill you, too.”

  “He claims he only hired the guy to scare me. Almost didn’t admit to that until they found proof that he paid the shooter in pain prescriptions.”

  “And he almost succeeded in killing Zach. Was that how he killed Mr. Parker? By stabbing him with insulin?”

  “Yes, that’s what the police believe, but McCrae’s not admitting to it. The coroner says it’s next to impossible to prove. From what I’ve gathered, Deb Parker had a severe reaction to the fever brought on by the treatment, and her husband blamed McCrae, accusing him of pawning off some snake oil on them.” Tara dabbed Melanie’s cheeks with a tissue. “But don’t fret about any of that now. This is your wedding day.”

  “I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know how grateful I am for all you’ve done.” Melanie caught Tara’s hand. “Dr. Whittaker has started me on a new treatment that he’s very optimistic will put the cancer into remission.”

  “That’s wonderful!”

  The music started, and Melanie’s sister slipped into the room. “That’s our cue, sis.”

  “Give me a second to get back to my seat.” Tara gave Melanie a warm hug and rushed out the hall exit and around to the back of the chapel. She scooted into the row beside Zach.

  Suzie crawled into her lap. “Is the bride dressed like Cinderella, Mommy?”

  Tara laughed, not surprised by her daughter’s question. Roses adorned every available ledge, and their fragrance infused the room with a fairytale wonder. “She’s not dressed quite that fancy, honey,” Tara whispered. “But she’s just as happy.”

  The pews were packed with friends and family, nurses and cancer patients. Even Dr. Whittaker had joined them. She’d learned that he’d been under intense pressure from the hospital administrator because of issues with his AP-2000 trials, and that the administrator, not Tara, was the person Whittaker had been complaining about to Alice the day Tara had overheard them talking.

  She was still ashamed of herself for thinking he’d murder patients to score estate donations, and was relieved that Miller’s Bay Memorial wouldn’t be losing their favorite doctor.

  The groom stepped onto the small rise at the front of the chapel, his face beaming.

  As the gathering rose to honor Melanie’s entrance, Zach whispered in Tara’s ear, “How long do I have to wait before I can see you in a dress like that?”

  Holding Suzie against her galloping heart, Tara leaned her head back against Zach’s chest. “Is that a proposal?”

  He winked. “Oh, no. I can do better than that.”

  A warm excitement swirled through Tara’s chest at the thought of what she had to look forward to. After nearly losing each other—permanently—her fears of Zach hurting her paled in comparison to the joy she would miss out on by not cherishing each day the Lord gave them to be together.

  “Do you forgive me for doubting for a second that my feelings for you were real?” His voice ached with apology. In the two months since McCrae’s attack, Zach had showed her in a hundred different ways how much he cared for her and Suzie.

  “Trust me,” she said with a teasing smile, “I’m enjoying letting you prove just how genuine your feelings are.”

  He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Every day for the rest of my life.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt of Navy SEAL Rescuer by Shirlee McCoy!

  Dear Reader,

  I have longed to tell Zach’s story since first introducing him in Deep Cover. I love his character, his devotion to the wife he lost, his honesty about struggling to trust in God’s goodness through his loss, and his journey to healing. The story is a tribute to all those who have walked alongside their spouse through the valley of the shadow of death, with a prayer that they embrace the joy of truly living once again.

  I lost my mom to cancer many years ago, and my dear friend to the same disease during the writing of this story—a loss that made finishing an emotional roller coaster. My friend had tried numerous experimental treatments over the course of her twenty-year battle, and it was that very real drive to find a cure that prompted the creation of Critical Condition’s villain. Of course, although Coley’s Toxin, still used in some countries, is an historical treatment for the disease, my villain’s use of the drug is purely fictional.

  My sincere hope is that, in some small way, Zach and Tara’s story inspires you to cherish the gifts of each day and open your heart to new possibilities in the future. At first both Zach and Tara refused to dream of or accept the possibility of a second chance at love, as they held on to past hurts. But God is greater than our past. When one door closes, be ready to trust God to lead you through the new doors He opens.

  I love to hear from readers. You can reach me via email at SandraOrchard@ymail.com, on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/SandraOrchard, or by snail mail, c/o Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279. To learn about upcoming books and read interesting book extras, please visit me online at www.SandraOrchard.com and sign up for my newsletter for exclusive subscriber giveaways.

  Wishing you abundant blessings,

  Sandra Orchard

  Questions for Discussion

  Zach admits that at times only sheer determination kept him from blaming God for his wife and child’s death. Have you ever blamed God for bad things that happened in your life? With the passage of time, have you been able to see some good come from the experience?

  Rejected and abandoned by the man who pledged to love her until death do they part, Tara has difficulty believing any man would stick around, partly because she couldn’t trust his word, and partly because she shoulders the blame for his leaving. Have you ever had an unbalanced perspective of your role in a problem? How might you have handled it differently?

  At the start of the book, Tara prioritizes what she perceives to be in her daughter’s best interests (i.e. protecting Suzie from what might become a revolving door of father figures) over her own potential happiness. Do you agree with her decision? Why or why not?

  As a law-enforcement officer, Zach has visited hospitals plenty of times since his wife’s
death without being affected, but seeing the cancer patients triggers an overwhelming emotional response. Are there places or songs or smells or sights that trigger an emotional response in you? How do you handle it?

  At one point Zach tells Tara that he got pretty tired of hearing people’s platitudes after his wife’s death. If you’ve experienced loss, what actions or words on the part of your friends and family did you find helped you the most? What would you urge friends of someone who has lost a loved one not to do or say?

  In addition to the disappointments in her own life, Tara finds it difficult to believe in God, because as a nurse, while she admits to having seen some miraculous recoveries, she’s also seen a lot of patients whose prayers go unanswered. Zach says that, just as a parent knows better than to always give a child what she asks for, sometimes God’s answer is no. How do you feel or respond when God doesn’t seem to be answering your prayers?

  While Zach experiences an instant attraction to Tara, he chalks it up to her resemblance to his wife, and her little girl. He tells himself that he could never love another woman the way he loved his wife. Do you believe we each have only one true soul mate? Why or why not?

  Tara admits to herself that as much as she didn’t want to depend on a guy ever again, having someone look out for her for a change felt kind of nice. Do you like being in charge of your own destiny? Or do you long to be taken care of? Or vice versa if your situation is the opposite. Why or why not?

  Although Tara taught Suzie about God and heaven, as much as Tara wanted to, she didn’t quite share her daughter’s childlike faith. Do you believe in heaven?

  If, like Tara, you knew you had the power to help justice come sooner, but it meant possible danger to your family, how would you handle the struggle between your maternal calling to protect your child and the need to ensure more innocent lives aren’t lost?

  Tara is a worrywart when it comes to Suzie’s health. Are you a worrier? Do you think worrying is a bad thing? Why or why not?

  Tara’s sister is a wonderful encourager and knows her well enough to know when she’s hedging. More than that, their relationship is secure enough that Susan feels comfortable challenging Tara about her relationship with Zach. Have you ever challenged, or been challenged by, a close friend or sister? Are you glad you, or she, had the courage to speak her mind? Do you have a friend or family member who could use such a challenge?

  After their confrontation with Tara’s ex-husband, Zach says to her, “Earl has remarried. You can’t undo that. You can only move forward from here. Don’t let regret over the past steal your now.” Do you have a regret in your past that is stealing your joy in the present? What could you do to change that?

  Each critically ill patient feels differently about what lengths they’re willing to go to in treating their disease. To what lengths would you be willing to go? Why or why not?

  By the end of the novel, Tara realizes that her what-if imaginings of all the ways Zach might hurt her pale in comparison to the joy she would miss out on by not cherishing each day the Lord gives them to be together. Have you ever let what-ifs keep you from doing something you longed to do, whether pursuing a certain job or relationship, or moving to a different part of the country, or taking a trip? How might your life look different if you’d done that thing?

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense story.

  You enjoy a dash of danger. Love Inspired Suspense stories feature strong heroes and heroines whose faith is central in solving mysteries and saving lives.

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  ONE

  MURDERER!

  Red letters dripped like blood down the front of the freshly painted house.

  Smaller letters marched across the newly whitewashed porch floor.

  Murderer.

  The painted words seemed to taunt Catherine Miller as she trudged to the back of the old farmhouse and grabbed two nearly empty paint cans from the dilapidated shed. Hopefully, she had enough to cover the vandalism. She snagged a couple of paint pans, tucked paint rollers under her arm and carried everything to the porch. Ten minutes, and she’d be done.

  Good. Eileen would be finished with chemo in an hour, and Catherine didn’t want her grandmother waiting. She was too sick, too exhausted, too frail to be left sitting in a crowded hospital waiting room. At sixty-seven, Eileen’s clock was running down, and Catherine wished desperately that she could wind it back up again. She couldn’t, so she’d purposed to spend every moment she could making sure Eileen’s last weeks and months were comfortable and pleasant.

  That meant getting rid of the vandalism before Eileen got home.

  She touched a finger to the dry red paint. Not even tacky. Whoever had vandalized the house had done it soon after Catherine and Eileen had left for the hospital. Some punk kid. She was sure that was what the sheriff would say if she called.

  She wouldn’t.

  She’d put her grandmother through enough already. She wouldn’t bring her home to vandalism or to police poring over the property. She’d cover the paint and keep what had happened locked safely away with all the other things she couldn’t share.

  The sun blazed from the blue summer sky, the breezeless air hot and arid. Sweat trickled down her temple and neck as she poured dove-gray paint into a pan. Whoosh. One letter gone. Swish. Another disappeared. She should have felt satisfaction, but she felt nothing. Not anger. Not irritation. Not dismay, disgust, horror.

  Nothing.

  She covered another letter and wiped sweat from her upper lip, surveying the fresh paint. Not even a shadow of red peeked out from under the gray. Perfect. Eileen would never know what had happened, and that was the only thing Catherine cared about. She dipped the roller in gray again, sweeping it over the E and R, the silence of the old farmstead only broken by the swishing of paint on wood. Nothing moved. Not the tall grass and weeds that pressed up against the perimeter of the yard. Not the leaves on the trees.

  The stillness ate at Catherine as she worked, nudging at the back of her mind. Four years in the state prison had insulated her from the world, but not from people and life. There had been little silence in her cell block and even less time alone. Here, in the small town where she’d grown up, she seemed to always be alone and silent. Even when she was in a crowd. Even when Eileen was close by.

  She grabbed a fresh roller, poured white paint into a clean pan and slicked it over the red letters on the porch. Almost done. There’d be plenty of time for the floor to dry before she picked Eileen up from chemotherapy.

  Something rustled to her left, the tall weeds that edged the property swaying. No breeze to blow them, but they moved again, twitching to the left and right as she watched.

  “Who’s there?” she asked, sure a bird would fly out of the overgrowth. Instead, soft laughter drifted from the weeds, the sound chilling her blood.

  “I said, ‘who’s there?’”

  “Murderer!” The taunt whispered out, and Catherine stiffened.

  She’d been out of prison for two months, and in that time, vandals had broken a window, slashed her car tires and egged the house. The sheriff had been out three times, but he hadn’t been able to track down the perpetrators. Kids with too much time on their h
ands. That’s what he’d said, and Catherine had believed him, because she hadn’t wanted to believe an adult was trying to chase her out of town.

  But, then, in Pine Bluff, just about anything seemed possible. Here, the guilty wandered free and the innocent rotted in jail.

  Just once, her rational self said.

  Just you.

  The weeds rustled and a tall figure stepped out. Broad and muscular, he stood at the edge of the yard, a ski mask pulled over his face.

  A kid?

  Catherine didn’t think so, and she tensed, setting the paint roller in the pan without taking her eyes off the man. “Go home.”

  “Go home,” he mocked, chuckling softly.

  “I’m going to call the police,” she said, backing toward the front door.

  “I don’t think so,” he responded and loped toward her.

  She lunged for the door, yanking it open, terror squeezing the breath from her lungs as an arm wrapped around her waist, a hand slapped over her mouth.

  “Let’s go inside.” He pressed her toward the yawning doorway, and she shoved back, raking her hand down his knit ski mask, slamming her elbow into his ribs. Prison hadn’t taught her much, but it had taught her how to fight.

  He cursed, his grip loosening, and she broke free, lifting the paint roller, swinging at his face. Paint splattered across his ski mask, and he stumbled back.

  She didn’t wait. Didn’t try to fight more. Just jumped off the porch and sprinted across the yard, heading for the dirt road that connected the homestead to its nearest neighbor.

  Please, please.

  Footsteps pounded behind her, closing in fast.