“What?” Matt shook off his gloomy introspection.
“We were talking about sex and you turned inward. Are you okay?”
“No,” he admitted to his surprise. “I’m not.”
“You’re not sick?” Becca placed her wrist against his forehead, and he reveled in the cool sensation of her skin against his.
“Not physically. But I’m beginning to wonder whether I need a good shrink.”
Becca’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I thought everyone in la-la land had his own therapist.”
“They do,” he agreed in an attempt to lighten the conversation, “but it’s hell fitting the therapy time in between visits to the plastic surgeon and workouts with a personal trainer.”
“Seriously—” Her expression sobered. “If you want someone to talk to—”
“It won’t violate your moral turpitude clause?”
She grinned. “I guess that depends on what you want to talk about.”
Matt tossed the blade of grass aside. “That’s the problem. I don’t know what’s bothering me. For the past year or so, I’ve suffered this vague discontent that I can’t put my finger on.”
“Discontent in your work or your personal life?”
He couldn’t believe he was spilling his guts to Becca. He’d never talked to anyone like this before, not even Dwight, who was like a father to him. “I wish I knew. If I could narrow down what’s eating at me, maybe I could identify it and make it stop.”
“Sounds like you don’t take enough time to think,” Becca said.
Matt blinked in surprise. “You’re right. This past week is the most laid-back schedule I’ve had in years.”
“Haven’t you had vacations?” The genuine concern in her voice, the interest sparking in her eyes warmed him, made him want to keep talking. Sharing.
“I always needed a vacation from my vacation after I returned home,” he said.
“Maybe that’s the bright side of having no patients the next three weeks,” she suggested. “You’ll have plenty of time to think.”
He resisted the impulse to pull her into his arms. “You’re good at this.”
“What?”
“Therapy. Listening. Maybe you should hang out a shingle.”
Becca laughed, a lovely silvery sound that echoed off the quarry walls. “Folks here are shy enough of medical doctors. How many clients do you think I’d have as a therapist?”
“You could pencil me in for several hours a day for the next three weeks.”
He meant every word. Not that he wanted her to psychoanalyze him. He’d discovered that he simply enjoyed her company, even if they were doing no more than sitting in the grass in the sunshine. He didn’t need Hollywood premieres or five-star restaurants or an exotic island paradise to hold his interest. Becca Warwick managed to keep him entranced all on her own.
“Mama!” Emily’s voice sounded from the edge of the hickory grove.
Becca turned toward her daughter. “You’re not supposed to come here.”
“I’m staying away from the quarry. But I need Dr. Matt! It’s time for the three-legged race.”
“Promises to keep,” Matt said. He stood, tugged Becca to her feet and kept her hand in his until they reached Emily, Lizzie and Jimmy Dickens who waited for them in the shade of the trees.
BECCA EXPERIENCED mixed feelings returning to the crowded picnic grounds. Glad on the one hand to be freed from temptation, she had to admit she had valued her time alone with Matt.
Had particularly enjoyed his kiss.
Too much.
No one, not even Grady, had affected her the way Matt did. If he hadn’t been the one to pull away, she didn’t know where her rebellious senses would have led her. Or what public scandal might have resulted if they’d been spotted.
Ahead of her, Emily skipped alongside Matt, chattering happily. He’d been wonderful with her daughter, and the guilt over Emily’s fatherless state that sometimes rose up and confronted Becca gnawed at her now. Matt would make a good dad, she found herself thinking.
Then wondered if she’d lost her senses.
What woman in her right mind would want Dr. Wonderful as the male role model for her child?
She reminded herself that all she’d seen of Matt Tyler had been outside of his usual environment. No, he hadn’t hit on any of the women in Warwick Mountain—if she didn’t count his kissing her—even though his natural charm and incredible good looks had turned several heads. But the straight-and-narrow life he’d led since his arrival could be attributed more to lack of opportunity than a reversal of character.
As hard as she tried, however, she couldn’t picture the Matt she knew living the freewheeling, irresponsible life the magazine article had painted of a man flitting from woman to woman like a worker bee through a flower garden. Had he been grossly misrepresented by his interviewer, or had the soft spot for him in Becca’s heart generated a corresponding soft spot in her brain?
She gave herself a mental shake. The true state of Matt’s character was immaterial. Even if he lived as celibate as a monk, the gulf between them was inseparable. He was a man apparently addicted to fun and fame with the money to gratify his every whim. Becca, on the other hand, believed in hard work, frugality, and helping her neighbors. They had nothing in common.
No matter. In three weeks, he would be gone.
And, she realized with an uncomfortable jolt, she was going to miss him like hell.
All the more reason to keep her distance and forget the summer fling she’d briefly contemplated. But the sight of him on the playing field with her daughter made her resolutions hard to keep.
Matt knelt beside Emily, tying the little girl’s leg to his with cotton strips for the three-legged race. Whatever he was saying was making her giggle, and her face shone as if she’d already won first place.
Whatever his other faults, Becca thought with a sigh, he was wonderful with children. Too bad he hadn’t chosen pediatrics as his specialty.
The participants for the age ten-and-under father-daughter three-legged race assembled at the starting line, and a crowd of mothers, relatives and other supporters gathered at the sidelines. Matt held Emily firmly by the hand. When the official gave the starting signal, Matt released her, and, as if they’d pre-arranged the maneuver, she wrapped her arms around his leg that was tied to hers.
Five-year-old Lucy Ledbetter and her father, Art, immediately took the lead among the six pairs of contestants.
Becca noted that Lizzie McClain stood on the sidelines, not competing in her age bracket. Her lack of participation was no surprise. The child rarely engaged in any activity that drew attention to herself. Becca felt a surge of resentment toward the McClains and their prejudice against Matt that prevented Lizzie from receiving the surgery she needed. Becca yearned for the day that Lizzie could interact with the other children without feelings of inferiority or embarrassment.
Her resentment was soon overtaken by excitement when Matt and Emily left the other teams behind and gained on Art and Lucy Ledbetter. Emily’s face was red with the attempt to run as fast as she could, and Matt’s face showed his strain, probably reflecting his efforts to temper his superior strength and speed to match Emily’s.
The noise of the crowd thundered around Becca as the people cheered on their favorites. Susie Ledbetter’s screech of excitement almost burst Becca’s eardrum.
“Go, Emily,” Becca yelled. “Run, Matt!”
Emily glanced toward her and stumbled, but Matt kept her from falling.
They gained on the Ledbetters, and for a moment Becca thought they would pull ahead to win, but both pairs crossed the finish line at the same time.
“A tie!” the official announced.
Matt tugged loose the strips that bound Emily to him, scooped her in his arms and twirled her around. Becca rushed to join them.
“We won!” Emily screamed with delight. “Mama, we won.”
“We won, too,” Lucy said, beaming with pleasure.
“Congratulations.” Matt extended his hand to Art Ledbetter. “A good race.”
Art shook Matt’s hand with polite reserve. “Thought for a minute there you were going to beat us.”
Matt shook his head and grinned. “You had too good a lead for that.”
The official awarded both pairs a blue ribbon, and Matt pinned theirs to the front of Emily’s T-shirt.
“I never won anything before,” Emily said. “Thanks, Matt.”
“Don’t thank me,” Matt said. “I couldn’t have entered the race without you. You were a great partner.”
“Can I show Aunt Delilah?” Emily asked.
Becca nodded. “And wait at the tables for me. It’s time to eat.”
Emily ran on ahead, and Becca stayed behind with Matt as the crowd dispersed from the field and wandered toward the picnic tables.
“You made her day,” Becca said. “Thank you.”
“I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun,” Matt said with obvious sincerity. He looked like a kid himself with his face flushed with victory, his hair tousled, his eyes shining. “Emily’s a great little trooper. I had no idea she could move so fast.”
“You two were great together. Toward the end, I thought you were going to beat Art and Lucy.”
A guilty look scudded across Matt’s face.
Becca cocked her head and considered him. “You could have won, couldn’t you?”
“Was it that evident?”
She shook her head. “Only because I was watching you and Emily so closely. Did you hold back?”
He nodded.
“Why?” she insisted.
“I knew the locals wouldn’t think kindly of a stranger horning in on their glory. There’s enough animosity toward me already.”
Becca felt her temper flare. “But what about Emily? She had her heart set on winning that race.”
“And she did, didn’t she?” He grinned, and her anger fizzled. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have let her down. When I realized we could tie with the Ledbetters, I decided a draw was the best solution for everybody.”
Becca sighed and shook her head again. “I don’t know whether I should hug you or hit you.”
Matt’s grin broadened. “One would definitely be worth the other.”
Becca had to admit, if only to herself, that she was tempted. “How about I feed you instead?”
“I could eat a horse.” His smile transformed into an apprehensive look. “That’s not a Southern delicacy, by any chance?”
Becca bristled at the comment, then caught the mischief dancing in his eyes. She laughed and swatted him playfully on the arm. “Behave yourself.”
His reciprocating grin warmed her to her toes. “Did you bring fried chicken?”
“Can’t have a picnic without it.”
“I plan to eat myself into a coma.”
“What a thing for a doctor to say.”
“What a way to go is how I look at it.”
As they approached the picnic tables, Lyla Dickens met them. “Have you seen Jimmy?”
“Not since before the race,” Becca said.
Susie Ledbetter joined them. “I can’t find Lucy. She was here a minute ago.”
The entire group turned at the sound of a scream emanating from the hickory grove. Jimmy Dickens burst through the trees, running as fast as his short legs would carry him and shouting at the top of his lungs.
“Lucy fell in the quarry. She’s drowning!”
Chapter Twelve
“We went to find my pocketknife I dropped,” Jimmy howled. “I told Lucy not to go near the edge, but she didn’t listen.”
Matt caught Susie Ledbetter as her knees sagged beneath her and thrust the woman toward Becca and Lyla.
“Call the paramedics,” he said, “and have someone bring rope to the quarry. Lots of it.”
Without a backward glance, he set off at a run, his legs eating up the distance, his mind working furiously, trying to gauge how long he would take to reach the girl, trying not to think of the short time without oxygen before her tiny brain would be damaged. Or how her lungs would fill with water—
He pushed himself harder, oblivious to the clamor of voices and activity behind him. Slowing only when he reached the quarry’s edge, he jerked off his shoes while he scanned the surface for Lucy. Sunlight glinted off golden curls briefly before they disappeared beneath the cold, dark water.
Matt pushed off from the edge in a dive that brought him as close to where the child had been as possible without landing on her. The frigid water shocked his system and took his breath away, but all he could think of was the frightened little girl who couldn’t swim, who, even if she could reach the water’s edge, would never be able to climb the perpendicular twenty-foot walls to escape the quarry.
He treaded water and with a twist of his neck, slung his wet hair away from his face.
“Lucy!” he screamed.
The child was nowhere in sight.
Desperate to find her, Matt dived beneath the surface only to realize he could see nothing in the water’s dark depths.
BECCA HANDED SUSIE LEDBETTER to Lyla Dickens, yelled to Aunt Delilah to watch Emily and took off after Matt. From the corner of her eye, she could see Uncle Jake and several other men running toward their trucks. She hoped someone would have the rope Matt had demanded.
On the other side of the grounds, the preacher sprinted for the church and the telephone in the office to call the rescue squad.
Matt had run so fast, Becca lost sight of him until she broke through the trees. She caught only a short glimpse of him on the edge of the high cliff before he catapulted over the quarry’s edge.
Her heart in her throat, she raced to the rim. Neither Matt nor Lucy was anywhere in sight, and only a slight ripple on the serene water indicated either had been there.
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 Highland claymore, making her thank God that Emily wasn’t lost in the lake. She prayed at the same time 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, dammit,” 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 ho
lding her breath. Matt’s corded muscles grasped the girl firmly, holding her away from the jagged wall. With his wet jeans clinging to him, she could see the knotted muscles of his thighs 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.
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