Coop closed his eyes, thinking of his ex-wife, picturing her laughing blue eyes and honey-colored hair. Emotion swelled in his chest, pressing tight against his heart and making it difficult to breathe. It had been a long time since he’d allowed himself to think of her. He’d had to work hard to bury the memories, had to search long and hard to find a hole in his soul deep enough to bury them in. Otherwise, he never would have survived. He drew them out now, spreading them in his head and letting himself remember everything.
He remembered waking up after surgery in the recovery room of the ICU. Her beautiful face had been the first thing he’d seen, and he thought he must have fallen in love right then. Somehow he had just known she was the one, the woman for him. She’d been his nurse then, tending to his injuries and nurturing him to health, but by the time the bullet wound in his back had healed and the stitches from the surgery were out, he’d made her his wife.
Kelsey had been strong and independent—two things the wife of a Navy SEAL had to be. His missions had been dangerous and had often taken him away for months. at a time. Kelsey had worried, but she’d adjusted. She had handled the worry and the long separations like she handled everything in her life—smoothly and proficiently.
Coop opened his eyes, watching the moon peek through the thin cloud covering. He could still remember how it had felt to come home to her waiting arms after the long nights away. Nothing seemed to matter then—not the Navy, not even the commission he’d worked so hard to get. She’d meant everything to him, and even before she’d asked him, he’d begun to think about leaving the SEALs. He’d had enough of life on the edge. He’d wanted to settle down, lead a normal life—with kids and a house and Kelsey in his arms forever. When he’d resigned from the Navy and started Reed Helicopter four years ago, he’d thought he had everything he’d ever want.
Coop rubbed his tired eyes. Of course, that had been before it had all come crashing down, before anger and pain had eroded her love. Before Kelsey had demanded a divorce.
He turned from the window, went to the desk and picked up the phone again, then punched in the number for directory assistance. As he listened to the halting recorded voice on the line, he scribbled the number for Community General Hospital in Santa Ynez across the toothless smile of Miss January. Taking another deep breath, he punched the number into the dial, not wanting to stop for too long or give himself an opportunity to change his mind.
“Good evening, Community General. How may I direct your call?”
Coop hesitated, hearing the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. “Uh, I’m trying to get in touch with Morris Chandler.”
“Is he a patient?”
“Uh, no—I mean, I don’t think so.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand.” The disembodied voice had a practiced patience. “Are you looking for a doctor?”
“No, actually, I got a message—” Coop stopped, feeling thick-tongued and stupid. “I think...I mean, Mr. Chandler is visiting a patient there.”
“What’s the patient’s name?”
“Kelsey. Kelsey Reed.”
He waited, recognizing the sound of fingers on a keyboard as the receptionist punched information into the computer. He heard the pounding of his heart become a roar.
“I’m sorry, sir, Mrs. Reed is allowed no visitors.”
A wave of nausea washed over him. He knew Mo had said something had happened, that Kelsey was in the hospital, but hearing it confirmed by the bland, dispassionate voice on the phone made it real.
“Could—” His voice failed, and he cleared his throat loudly. “Could you connect me to her room?”
There was more tapping of computer keys before the voice came on the line. “I’m sorry, sir, there are no calls allowed through, either.”
“Oh, God.” Coop dropped the phone. It landed with a thud across Miss January’s midriff. Somewhere in the back of his brain he heard the distant voice of the receptionist on the line and knew Doris would read him the riot act for leaving the phone off the hook, but he couldn’t be bothered with that now. He was already making his way to the door.
If he got the chopper fueled up and left right away, he could be in Santa Ynez in about a half hour. He’d been fooling himself thinking there was ever any question whether he would go. Of course he would go. Kelsey was in the hospital. She needed him, and that was all that mattered.
“Kelsey, come on. We’ve got to get out of here now!”
Okay, okay, she was coming. Couldn’t he see she was working as fast as she could? The bleeding had nearly stopped, and if she could get the bandage to hold just a little longer...
“Kelsey, there’s no time. Come on.” His voice echoed in her ears, and she could almost see his face. But who was he? Why didn’t he just leave her alone? She was hurrying, but she couldn’t leave until her job was done. There was still one kid. Couldn’t he see that there was one last kid?
“Kelsey, hurry.”
She could see his face now, could see the hand extended toward her. It was such a kind face, and there was a vague air of familiarity about him, and yet she didn’t know who he was. Why did he keep calling to her? Why did he look so frightened?
“Kelsey.”
She heard his voice, but it was growing faint. He was saying something else, mouthing wild, frantic words, and she had to strain to listen. Her head hurt so much, the pain throbbed at her temples and across her eyes. And the noise. There was so much noise.
She closed her eyes, seeing the pallid, ashen faces of the children. Oh, God, there had been so many children, and they’d all been hurt, all been crying. She had to get them out. The children. The children.
The pain in her head grew unbearable, and the noise was deafening. The noise and the pain—they were killing her. She was going to die, she knew it, could feel the life draining out of her. She was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
“Coop,” she screamed. It only seemed right that her husband’s name be the last on her lips—the husband she had disappointed, the husband she had lost. She’d sent him away, given up her claim and tried to deny her love, but the time for truth had come. “Cooper, I love you. I love you, Coop.”
“Kelsey.”
Suddenly, like a plug being pulled on a television set, everything went black. Images faded, and the roar died to a quiet hum. There was no more screaming, no more children crying. There was just the quiet sound of her name being called, and a terrible, painful throbbing in her head.
“Kelsey, come on, sweetheart. Wake up.”
“Coop?” Her voice sounded raw and coarse in her ears, and it pounded at her temples like an animal ramming the door of its cage.
“No, sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Dad.”
“Daddy,” she repeated breathlessly. Getting words from her brain to her mouth seemed like such a complicated procedure, and she felt drained of energy. “Daddy. Where’s Coop? Why isn’t he here?”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be here, don’t get upset. Your dinner tray is here. Wake up now—you need to eat something, need to build up your strength.”
Kelsey cracked her lids a fraction, but the shaft of light that darted in and crashed against her naked eyeball felt like an arrow.
Pain exploded in her head, sucking the air from her lungs and leaving her breathless and weak. She brought a hand up, rubbed her eyes and pushed the confused, disjointed remnants of the dream to the back of her brain where she didn’t have to think about them any longer.
“Daddy,” she whispered, bracing herself against the throbbing in her head. The dream was gone, but she couldn’t seem to clear the fog in her brain. “Did you talk to him—does he know? Did you tell Coop what’s happened?”
“Not yet,” he said, reaching to the controls along the side of the bed and slowing raising the head. “But I’m working on it. We all are.”
The aroma of food finally found its way to her olfactory nerves, and she cracked one lid again, bracing herself against the rush of light. It came a
nd exploded inside her skull like a million tiny bits of lightning, but like fireworks in the sky, it quickly faded.
“Is your head bothering you tonight?”
“It hurts,” she said, gingerly turning her head on the pillow and looking at her father. The dark circles beneath his eyes and his somber, drawn expression made her uneasy. “But at least it stops me from thinking about the aching in my leg.”
Mo Chandler glanced at the molded vinyl cast on her leg and took his daughter’s hand in his, stroking the top of it. “I wish I could do something. I feel so darned helpless.”
Kelsey smiled, giving his hand a squeeze and slowly opening her other eye. “Don’t worry so much. I’m fine.”
“Maybe I could talk to the doctor. See if there’s something he could give you—for the pain, I mean. Maybe an aspirin, or—”
“No, Dad, please, it’s all right,” Kelsey said, stopping him with another squeeze of the hand. She concentrated on keeping her voice low, her words deliberate. That way the throbbing didn’t hurt so much. “I’m okay, really. And head injuries aren’t given medication, not—” She stopped, wincing and rubbing her temple with her free hand. She was feeling a little better. The fog was lifting and the world was beginning to make sense again. “Not right away, anyway. The doctor will prescribe something when he can.”
Mo drew in a tired breath, giving her hand another pat. “I guess you’d know, sweetheart.” He turned and pulled the tray between them, slipping the lids off the plates.
“I’m worried about you,” she said, watching him as he prepared her tray. “You look so tired.”
He looked at her and breathed a small laugh. “I am tired. You practically scared the life out of me, in case you don’t know it.”
Kelsey felt a stinging in her eyes, and she blinked it quickly away. She reached a hand out. “Why don’t you go on home and get some rest. I’ll be fine here.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Mo said in a voice that made it clear the subject wasn’t up for debate. “And you’re going to eat your dinner.”
Kelsey knew better than to argue with him. Besides, she felt too weak and too tired to try.
She glanced at the tray in front of her. The food on the plates looked like usual hospital fare—lukewarm meat loaf and hard mashed potatoes. It probably would have looked more appetizing had she an appetite, but she didn’t. Still, she knew she had to eat. She didn’t like the heavy fatigue that seemed to settle over her at the slightest strain.
“Did you talk to Doris?” she asked, spearing a cube of meat and popping it into her mouth.
Mo looked up, trying to picture the woman Kelsey had introduced to him years before. “Uh, no. No, she wasn’t in.”
“Doris wasn’t at the office?” Kelsey scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes. “That doesn’t sound right.”
“You’re forgetting about the storm,” he said pointedly, shifting uneasily on the bed. “It’s thrown everyone off.”
“That’s right, the storm,” Kelsey mumbled, setting her fork on the tray. “I guess I did forget.” She pushed the table away, struggling to sit up, but the effort sent a shootingpain down her leg. “He’s...he’s all right, though, isn’t he? Coop, I mean. He’s all right?”
“He’s fine,” Mo insisted, trying to sound optimistic. “Just fine. Just not easy to get a hold of. You know pilots are always the first needed during rescues—and the last ones finished.”
She sank against the pillows, the heavy fatigue settling over her again. “Yeah, and of course Coop would be the first to volunteer, the first to want to help. I’m sure he must have told me. I must have...” Her words trailed off, and she shook her head. It was that fog again—clouding her brain and making everything seem surreal. “I guess I must have forgotten.”
“Sweetheart,” Mo said, reaching across the table and taking her hand again. “Remember what the doctors said. You need to give yourself a chance to get better, to heal.” He gave her hand a little shake. “The memories will come back then. You’ll see.”
“Right,” Kelsey mumbled, turning her head away. She felt like crying, felt like climbing out of bed and running away, trying to get as far away from the fog and the confusion as she could.
Only she couldn’t run and she couldn’t cry. The heavy cast on her leg was like an anchor, weighing her down, and tears were not something she’d ever allowed herself to give in to. Ever since she was eight years old and her mother had died, leaving her to be the “little Mommy” to her younger brothers and sisters, she’d been the strong one in the family, the one everyone looked to for advice and support, the one who could handle anything. Except it was different this time. This time she was scared. This time she wasn’t sure she could handle it alone.
“And remember,” Mo said quickly, troubled by the strain on her face. “The doctors said what you didn’t need was to get upset about anything. You just need a little rest and relaxation.”
“And Coop,” she whispered.
Mo’s frown deepened. “Well, yes, of course, and Coop.”
“I just wish he’d get here,” she murmured, staring through the miniblinds to the dark sky outside.
Despite how independent she’d always been, despite how strong, she needed Coop—she always had. Coop had a way of making everything better, and she knew he would make this better, too. She knew when he got here she’d feel right again, and the blanks in her past wouldn’t frighten her so.
“Coop,” she murmured, watching the light of a plane making its way across the night sky. “I can always depend on him—I always have.”
Chapter 2
“Cooper. By God, I don’t believe it—you’re here.”
Coop looked up at the sound of his name and saw Morris Chandler step off the crowded elevator and into the small hospital lobby. Mo headed across the polished tile entry toward him like a torpedo honing in on its target.
“You’re here,” he said again, catching Coop in a bear hug. “I—I can’t believe it, I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Thank you for coming.”
“I got here as fast as I could,” Coop said, embarrassed by the sudden lump of emotion that had formed in his throat.
He stepped back and looked at the man who had once been like a father to him. Mo had never been a muscular man, but his sharp features and tall, lanky frame had always had a strength in them. Which only made the sight of him now all the more disturbing. Only two years had passed since they’d stood face-to-face, but Mo looked ancient. His shoulders were bent, causing him to look shorter than his five feet, ten inches, and dark circles caused his eyes to look wide and deep.
“I tried to call—”
“You’re here now,” Mo interrupted. Emotion made his voice waver, and his eyes grew moist with tears. “That’s all that’s important.”
“What is it, Mo? Where’s Kelsey? What’s happened?”
“Oh, Coop,” Mo stammered, the waver in his voice growing worse. “It...it was bad, Coop. Kelsey...we thought there for a while...we—” He squeezed his eyes tight and shook his head.
“Mo, tell me,” Coop demanded, clutching Mo’s thin arm. “My God, what’s happened?”
“She’s okay, she’s better now—better,” Mo assured him. The wave of emotion that had gripped at him at the sight of Coop was ebbing, and he pulled in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, it’s just that when I saw you standing there...” He stopped and shook his head again. “The emotion—it got to me, the memories...”
“I know,” Coop mumbled, clearing his throat and dropping his gaze to the gleaming tile floor. Seeing Mo had been difficult for him, too. “Tell me. What happened?”
“It was the storm,” Mo said simply. “You know what it’s been like everywhere—how much destruction, how many people hurt. The first wave of rain moved through here about a week ago—caught everyone by surprise, did a lot of damage. The worst was to an elementary school near Solvang. Damn rain came down so fast it collapsed the roof, then the wind brought the whole building down.�
�� He shook his head again. “It was terrible. The place was full of kids—a real tragedy.” He squeezed his eyes tight. “Kelsey...she was with one of the emergency medical teams that went up there to work with the victims and she...she got hurt bad, Coop. We nearly lost her.”
Coop felt like he’d taken a belly flop into the water from the deck of an aircraft carrier. The muscles in his stomach convulsed, pushing all the air from his lungs and making him feel light-headed.
“She had been working inside the building—or what was left of it,” Mo continued. “There was a kid trapped down in the rubble. He was hurt, bleeding, and—well, you know how Kelsey feels about kids.”
Coop felt like he’d taken another blow to the midsection. He knew better than anyone how Kelsey felt about children. She loved them, adored them, and discovering she could never have any of her own had not only destroyed their marriage, it had nearly killed her.
“Anyway,” Mo went on with a tired sigh, “with the wind and everything, the building became so unstable they were forced to halt the rescue efforts. Only Kelsey refused to leave the little boy. Somehow, she managed to pull him out of there.” His voice became wistful. “The boy’s ankle was tangled in the straps of a backpack or something. They said she ripped through two thick nylon straps with her bare hands to pull him free, can you imagine that?”
Yeah, Coop thought, feeling a little wistful himself. He could imagine it. Kelsey had always been one of those people who let nothing stand in her way. She had a will of iron when it came to something she wanted. Only once had he seen her beaten down, only once had he seen her give up a fight and let despair and hopelessness get the best of her. He believed their marriage could have withstood anything—except knowing they could never have a family. Kelsey had wanted that more than anything—even more than him.
He felt a dull throbbing in his temples as he let his mind drift. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the sight of her in that hospital bed the morning they had gotten the news. The doctors had tried to be optimistic, talking about alternatives, adoption, but Kelsey had heard none of it. All she knew was she would never conceive, and it was as if all the life had drained out of her, all the fight. It had been the beginning of the end for them, for their marriage, for their love. Things were never the same between them after that morning.
Mind Over Marriage Page 2