by Tori Scott
Those were things he had missed out on doing with Jason. Things he didn't want to put off any longer. Would Sandy, with her fears, join them? Or would they fight every time he wanted to introduce his son to something risky? What about Melanie? Could he stand back and watch Sandy stifle the girl's spirit, the fearlessness the child still exhibited?
He knew from experience that fear was learned. It was taught by fearful parents or close calls, warnings from television and radio, or just plain misunderstandings. He'd had the opportunity as a boy to enjoy life to the fullest. He'd learned to ride a horse as soon as he could walk. He'd learned to mend fences by the time he started school.
Black widow spiders, scorpions, and snakes had been a fact of life, part of living in the country. If you went swimming in the pond, you knew you shared the water with water moccasins. When you saddled a rambunctious stallion, you might find yourself imbedded in a prickly pear cactus. His mother had remained stoic throughout his escapades, as well as those of his siblings.
He wanted a mother like that for his children. One who knew how to let her children live rather than exist day by day. How could he settle for anything less? He'd done that once. Liz had been afraid of everything, had never let Jason out of her sight when he was small. She hadn't wanted Hunter to build him a tree house, because Jason might fall out of it. No camping, because Jason might get lost or hurt.
Then he'd found out just last night how Jason had spent his pre-teen and teenage years, and it had appalled him. No more, damn it. No more.
Hunter leaned against the rock and closed his eyes. He drifted into a light slumber, feeling the light pull of his fishing pole as the river's current gently tugged the line downstream. And he dreamed of Sandy.
***
Sandy forced herself to stop the tears, then put the pillow back on the bed and left the room. She returned to the kitchen, where she pulled potatoes, carrots, and onions from their bins and a chopping block from under the counter. She scrubbed the vegetables under running water in the sink, then piled them on the counter beside the board.
She searched for a knife, finding a good selection in a drawer near the sink. Choosing a chef’s knife, she checked its sharpness on a carrot. Perfect. As she worked, she ran through the conversations of yesterday and today. The more she reran Hunter's biting words and 'I know best' attitude, the angrier she got. Her chopping became less precise, though she didn't notice until the knife came down on her thumb instead of the carrot she was holding. The sharp blade cut through to the bone, and she screamed, a blood-curdling sound even to her own ears. She could handle emergencies with the children, she'd never fainted at the sight of blood, but the combination of the pain, and the blood that seemed to flow far faster than it should had her head spinning.
"Hunter!" she screamed. "Help!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Hunter was in the middle of making love to Sandy when she screamed his name. He awoke with a start, at first thinking he had heard her call out in his dream in a moment of release. Then he heard her scream for help and he dropped his favorite fishing pole and scrambled up the slight incline of the riverbank, breaking into an all-out charge at the top.
He covered the short distance in less than a minute and slammed open the screen door, unsure what he would find when he entered. He burst through the back door, yelling Sandy's name, and skidded to a halt in the middle of the kitchen. He froze at the sight of Sandy, blood dripping from her hand to pool in an ever-widening circle on the floor. Her face was as white as the countertop behind her, and her knees trembled, threatening to buckle at any moment.
Good Lord, so much blood. That thought galvanized him into action, his medical training kicking in without conscious thought. He grabbed a clean rag from a drawer and, careful of her injury, wrapped it around her thumb. He used his other hand to apply pressure just above the wound to slow the bleeding.
"Can you make it to the table so you can sit down?" he asked, speaking slowly in an effort to calm her.
Sandy nodded, almost in slow motion, and took a cautious step forward.
"Good," Hunter encouraged, "just a couple more and you'll be there."
Two more careful steps took her to a chair, and he helped her ease onto it. She leaned her head against the back and closed her eyes. "Hunter?" she asked, her voice shaky and weak.
"Yeah?"
"Why am I bleeding so much?"
"You probably cut a small vein," he said as he peeled back the towel to take a look at her injury. A tremor ran through him when he saw the extent of the damage.
"What are we going to do?" Sandy asked. "There's no way to get help out here."
"I'll get you fixed up. You'll be fine."
"You?"
"Yes, me," he replied. "Remember, I'm a certified paramedic. I've dealt with much worse in the field." Just not on someone I love--but he didn't voice that thought aloud.
"Hunter?" Sandy asked in a small voice.
"Yeah?"
"Will it hurt?"
He almost laughed, she sounded so much like a child, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate that right now. Instead, he replied, "I'm afraid so. I'll be as gentle as I can, but I need your help. Can you look at your hand without passing out on me?"
Sandy took a deep breath and opened one eye.
This time Hunter couldn't contain a chuckle. "I guess that will have to do. See where my thumb and finger are, where I'm pressing down?"
She nodded her answer.
"Okay, I need you to take your right hand and place your thumb and first finger right where mine are, pressing just as hard as I am, to keep the bleeding stopped. I need both of my hands free to sew you up."
Both of Sandy's eyes popped open wide. "Sew me up?" she squeaked. "Can't you just wrap a bandage around it?"
"Nope. It will just start bleeding again. You've already lost a lot of blood. I don't want you losing any more." Sandy's fingers replaced his, and he stepped back to watch for a moment to be sure the bleeding didn't start up again. Satisfied, he looked around the kitchen. "Is there a first aid kit somewhere?"
"In the main bathroom. Under the sink. It's a tackle box, but Dad always made sure it had everything we might need."
"Good. I'll be right back. Don't let up on that pressure, no matter what." He left the kitchen and went to the bathroom down the hall. The first aid kit was right where she said it would be. Thank goodness her father was the organized sort. He grabbed the tackle box and trotted back to the kitchen, then set it on the table and opened the lid.
Inside, he found everything he could possibly need, and much more. He pulled out needles and fine thread, antiseptic wash and alcohol, even a rubber tourniquet. At the sink, he scrubbed his hands with soap and hot water, then bathed them in alcohol, and shook them until they were somewhat dry. He heated a needle in the flame of a match he found in the box, then rinsed it with alcohol. He laid it on a sterile gauze pad and dipped the thread in alcohol, too.
Sandy watched his every move, her eyes wide and frightened.
When he had everything ready and in order, he turned to her, the rubber tourniquet in hand. "I'm going to wrap this around the top of your thumb. That way I won't have to worry about you letting go when something hurts. Let me get it on good and tight before you move your fingers. Ready?"
Again, she nodded rather than answer. She gasped when the band tightened around her thumb, then breathed a sigh of heartfelt relief when he said she could release the pressure.
"Okay. Now comes the hard part. There isn't much I can do about how much this will hurt. You can scream if you need to, just don't move your hand. You have to keep it still. Understand?"
"Yes." She bit her lip when he picked up the bottle of antiseptic wash.
"Don't do that," he told her. "You might accidentally bite through your lip." He rolled a gauze pad and handed it to her. "Bite down on this."
She obeyed, releasing her lip and tightening her jaw.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as he poured the
wash over the gaping wound. He followed that with alcohol, which caused a moan to escape her throat. But her hand stayed perfectly still.
***
Sandy held up like a soldier in the midst of battle, and he was damn proud of her. As he wrapped her thumb in sterile gauze and taped it closed, he told her so.
Sandy gave him a watery smile and burst into tears. Hunter lifted her from the chair into his arms and carried her to the living room. He sat on the couch, Sandy on his lap, and murmured soothing words as he rubbed her back. When she'd cried herself out, she fell asleep in his arms.
Hunter held her while she slept, content to remain where he was until she awoke. He couldn't believe how brave she had been. He'd had grown men pass out during procedures far less painful. What had made him think she didn't have courage? She was one of the bravest women he knew. Jason was right. Sandy was nothing like Liz.
***
Sandy woke an hour later, her thumb on fire and her head throbbing. When she tried to sit up, she found she was anchored to a hard chest by two strong arms. Hunter smiled when her gaze flew up to meet his.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Like I've been wrung through a wringer and hung up to dry. How about you?"
He straightened slightly, then winced as if he'd found a kink. "I'm fine, but I'm not the one who's hurt. How's the thumb?"
"It's on fire, but it's still on my hand, so I guess I should say thank you."
"You're welcome. Feel like getting up for a minute? I'll go get you some pain medicine."
She shifted off his lap, but not without an awareness of the hard ridge straining his jeans. Her eyes dropped to his lap, and she felt the heat rush to her cheeks before she tore her gaze away.
Hunter chuckled wryly. "Sorry. There are some things even I can't control." He stood up and headed for the kitchen. She could hear him rummaging through the cabinets, then heard the faucet as he filled a glass with water. He sauntered back into the living room holding the glass and a bottle. "Are you allergic to codeine?" he asked.
"No, but where did you find something with codeine in it?"
"There was a bottle of painkiller in the cabinet. It doesn't have a lot in it, but enough that it should take the edge off the pain."
"It'll probably put me back to sleep, but that's okay. Just give me one. This thing really hurts." She took the pill from him with her right hand, popped it into her mouth and reached for the glass. She took a drink and shivered at the bitter taste of the medicine.
"Poor baby. No more knives for you. You can't be trusted with them," he said in a teasing tone.
Sandy looked up at him, hearing more behind his words that what he'd actually said. "Hunter, we need to talk," she said, knowing she had to tell him what she'd struggled with last night.
"Yeah, I guess we do. So, who goes first?"
"Me, please. I have so much to tell you, but first I need to apologize. I know you weren't trying to put Melanie in danger, you were just trying to help. I think we could have avoided some of these problems if you had come to me and we had talked this out first, but mostly it's my fault."
He started to interrupt, but she shook her head. "You were right. I was being overprotective. I'd like to think I would have come to that realization on my own, but I can't guarantee it."
She set the glass on a side table and cradled her left hand in her right. But the pain in her chest almost overshadowed the ache in her thumb. "I've hurt a lot of people--you, Jason, Melanie, myself. All because I was afraid. But my mother reminded me of something last night that happened when I was a kid." She told him the story of her shattered wrist, her mother's conversation with the chaplain, and her restless night of introspection.
"So you see, I understand what you were trying to say. I can't let my fears rule Melanie's life. I have to let her experience things for herself, and protect her the best I can without smothering the life out of her. I guess in the end, it's all in God's hands. I have to trust that He is strong enough to protect her when I can't, and good enough to heal her when she does get hurt."
She glanced at Hunter to see how he was receiving her apology. The look in his eyes was so tender she felt tears well against the back of her eyes. Maybe, just maybe, they still had a chance. "Hunter? Will you forgive me?"
He reached out and pulled her into his arms, careful not to catch her hand between them. "Oh, yeah. You don't know how glad I am to hear you say that." He squeezed her tightly, then pulled back. "But first I need to get this out. You scared me, Sandy, and hurt me when you accused me of not caring. I care so much it nearly drove me insane to watch you walk away."
He smoothed a strand of hair away from her face. "I had to let you, though, for Jason's sake. I found out last night just how bad things were for him when he was alone with Liz. I'll tell you about it later, but I already knew it wasn't good. Liz's mother was very good at smothering. And her father wasn't any better." Hunter leaned against the back of the couch, his arm still around her shoulder.
"They never let her do anything, for fear she might hurt herself. She never learned to ride a bike. She never roller-skated or ice-skated. She was waited on hand and foot, never learning to take care of herself. Whenever I came home on leave, there was a list a mile long of things I needed to do before I left again. All the bills were handled by automatic withdrawal from our checking account. I left her enough cash and credit cards to see her through the months I was gone because she refused to write checks. If something happened to the house while I was gone, she called her dad to hire someone to fix it."
He looked at Sandy before he continued. "But the worst was that Jason never had a chance to be a little boy. She wouldn't let him climb trees or play football. I insisted on Little League, at least, and she agreed because it was safer. But he missed out on so many things. Things I intend to make up to him. I want to teach him to hike, ski, scuba dive, lots of things that carry some risk, but will help him grow stronger and feel more confident about himself."
Sandy interrupted him. "And you were afraid I would object to him doing those things if we were still together, weren't you?"
He nodded. "I know that sounds selfish, but he's my son. I had to put my happiness, and yours, aside and do what was best for him. I couldn't let him down again. And I'd want the same for any other children I might have. I don't want them wrapped in cotton and kept in a box. Sure, they may break an arm or a leg, but they'll have lived, they'll have memories to look back on, and confidence that they can do something great with their lives."
Sandy nodded. "I agree. I want the same for Melanie. That doesn't mean I won't spend the next few years with my heart in my throat, but I don't intend to hold her back, either. And there's something else. I fully intend to be right there by her side as she learns to do new things. My mother didn't hold me back, but she didn't exactly encourage me to try things, either. There are a lot of things I'd still like to do, too."
A huge grin split Hunter's face and he said, "Well, I'll offer my services as teacher for anything you want to try."
"I can think of one thing," she told him in her most suggestive voice.
"Oh? And what might that be?"
"Well, you've already given me my first lesson, but I'm far from being an expert. So I think a few more lessons might be called for. But we would need a change of location, I think. Like maybe to the bedroom?"
"I've got a better idea," Hunter replied, sweeping her into his arms. "I know just the place." He carried her through the kitchen and out the back door, grabbing a blanket off the back porch as he passed by. Sandy hung on with one arm around his neck, her injured hand curled against his chest.
The passing trees and wildflowers held no interest for her. Instead she studied the lines in Hunter's face. He'd done so much in his life, she thought, and yet he'd survived it all. And she was so very glad he had.
They arrived at a grassy meadow by the river, at a point where the water gurgled over rocks as it dropped to form a pool before moving on
downstream. The bright sunlight was filtered by tall trees, casting shadows on scattered bluebonnets and Indian paintbrushes. It was a beautiful spot, and Sandy was thankful he'd brought her here. It seemed right somehow, to celebrate her re-awakening outdoors, in the wild woods of a place she loved.
Hunter looked at her intently. "Are you sure you want this? Because if I take you this time, there's no going back. I don't have any protection with me, so there's the possibility you could get pregnant. Are you okay with that?"
The thought of having a child with Hunter brought a surge of happiness that was almost more than she could bear. "Oh, yeah, I'm more than all right with that. I can't think of anything more wonderful."
"Good," he said before he lowered her to the grass and spread the blanket on the ground. "Are you feeling up to this? You've just been through a pretty traumatic experience, and you lost a lot of blood."
"Hunter, I'm fine. As a matter of fact, I'm beginning to float from the codeine, so quit talking before I pass out. I want to be in my right mind when this happens."
"Yes, ma'am," Hunter laughed. "Maybe I can find a way to send you higher."
"Oh, I'm sure you can, Hunter. I'm very sure you can."
***
When Sandy was able to form a coherent thought, she asked, "Will making love with you always be like this?"
"For as long as I'm able, it will. So there should be a good forty or fifty years, at least."
That sounded just about long enough to her. And it sounded like a promise of a life together. Would he tell her he loved her now? Would he ask her to marry him? When no such words seemed to be forthcoming, she fought back the tears that threatened.
Sandy was quiet as Hunter helped her dress.
"Are you in pain?" he asked gently.
"Yes," she replied, speaking more of the pain in her heart than the one in her hand. "It hurts pretty badly. I need to go lay down."