Every Waking Moment

by Brenda Novak

  She nodded.

  “Talk about stirring up a hornet’s nest,” he said.

  “I had to do it. This is the only leverage I have.”

  “For what?”

  “For Juanita. I told him if she isn’t safe at home by tomorrow, I’m sending it to the DEA.”

  So Emma wasn’t just running from Manuel. She had something that could potentially ruin him, and she was threatening him with it. More good news. “I’ll bet that went over well.”

  “It went over about as well as expected.”

  “What did he say?”

  Checking behind her to make sure Max was still staring out the window, preoccupied with whatever he was thinking, she lowered her voice. “Do you really want to know?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

  “He said that when he gets hold of me, he’ll rip my heart out with his bare hands.”

  Preston gripped the steering wheel so hard he thought he might break it. “That son of a bitch won’t touch you.”

  “Ooh…you swore, Preston. Mommy, Preston swore again.”

  Max was back with them.

  “He didn’t mean to say that,” Emma said.

  “At least he doesn’t smoke anymore,” Max responded. “That’s good, isn’t it? I don’t want him to get a hole in his throat.”

  Now that Max mentioned it, Preston realized he hadn’t had the desire for a cigarette in nearly two days. “Would you mind not keeping score of everything I do wrong?” he asked wryly.

  Max gave him a devilish grin, and Preston would have grinned back. Except that Emma was still very serious.

  “I want you to let us out.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “You’d be safer.”

  “Life is a series of risks.”

  “And this is just another risk for a man who doesn’t really care about living?”

  He didn’t answer her. “Will you go through with what you said and send this to the DEA?”

  She cast another concerned glance in Max’s direction. “If I knew the police would be able to use it to put him in jail for the rest of his life, yes.”

  “Who’s going to jail, Mommy?” Max asked.

  “No one you know, sweetheart.”

  Preston waited until she focused on him again. “But you don’t think that’s a possibility?”

  “I’m not even sure what this paper means, exactly. And even if—” she smiled at Max, who was now listening intently “—you-know-who went to jail, chances are good he’d get out again in a few years. Then he’d come after me.”

  Preston thought of Vince. He had enough to do already. Why couldn’t he walk away from this? Why did he have to become involved?

  Because he was starting to care about them—which was even more reason he should drop Max and Emma off at some car lot and let them make their own way from here on out.

  But for the first time in two years, he didn’t need to think of a reason to get out of bed.

  “HOW FAR IS IT to Iowa?” Emma asked as they crossed the Utah-Wyoming border.

  Preston stretched his neck, then settled himself with one arm over the steering wheel. “From here it’s about eleven hundred miles.”

  Eleven hundred miles. She’d never traveled such a great distance by car before. She would’ve tried to leave Manuel by plane, but she’d wanted the control only a car could provide—to change direction, to stop where she wanted, to move at a moment’s notice, to carry their luggage, to sleep in if she and Max got desperate. She’d also been hard-pressed for money and couldn’t afford an extra eight-hundred-dollar outlay.

  “We go through Wyoming and then…” She rubbed her forehead, trying to decide if Interstate 80 clipped the corner of Colorado.

  “Nebraska,” Preston said.

  She wanted to study his face but kept her eyes on the road ahead. The more she came to know him, the more interesting and attractive she found him—which was surprising, since she’d considered him one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen when they first met. He was still gruff at times, remote with her and Max, hardened by his losses. But there were moments when his unexpected smile nearly stopped her heart.

  “It seems I heard somewhere that Interstate 80 goes clear across America,” she said, trying to keep her mind on the conversation instead of the shape of his lips. She’d kissed those lips, felt them slide down her neck.

  A flood of warmth made her sit up straighter.

  “It does, for the most part,” he said. “It starts in San Francisco and goes to New Jersey.”

  “Listen, Mommy.” Max pushed one of the buttons on the computerized toy Preston had given him when they stopped for lunch just outside Salt Lake City.

  “B is for ball,” the computer said. “Can you spell ball?”

  Max spelled it correctly, which resulted in a celebratory jingle and a computerized accolade. “Now spell cat.”

  “See?” Max said proudly.

  “Good job, honey. You’re learning.”

  He grinned happily and went back to playing with his new toy.

  “Buying that computer for Max was really nice of you,” she said to Preston. “It’s kept him occupied for over an hour, which means it’s a darn good toy.”

  The side of Preston’s mouth kicked up, but he didn’t say anything.

  Searching for a diversion from her preoccupation with the man sitting next to her, she turned to look out at the brown, treeless landscape, dotted only with scrub brush. “Have you ever been to Wyoming?”

  “I’ve spent a few months here in the past couple of years,” he said as they started up a fairly steep grade.

  “Doing what?”

  “What I do everywhere.”

  “And that is…”

  “Day-trading.”

  She allowed herself to look at him again—and admired the strong angle of his chin. “Are you very good at it?”

  He shrugged, leaving the answer to that question a bit of a mystery. Judging by his car, Emma might guess he wasn’t too successful. But she was beginning to believe he drove what he drove out of a lack of concern, not a lack of money.

  “So what’s this state like?” she asked.

  “It’s pretty barren in most places. Right now we’re going into an area they call the Three Sisters.”

  “What’re the Three Sisters?”

  He waved a hand at the landscape. “What you see is what you get. They’re hills, basically. But they’re famous for bad weather in the winter.”

  “That’s why I’ve seen so many signs about closing the highway in inclement weather.”

  “This stretch isn’t as bad as Arlington.”

  “Where’s Arlington?”

  “You’ll see it. It’s just before we hit Laramie. Someone once told me they close Interstate 80 down there more often than at any other spot.”

  She could hear Max spelling hat in the back seat. “I’ll bet Donner’s Summit outside Tahoe could compete for that honor.”

  “Probably.” He turned off the radio because reception had deteriorated to static. “After we climb this, we’ll descend to Lazeart Junction, then go uphill again, until we’re east of the Leroy Interchange. The view there is spectacular.”

  She was already enjoying the view—the view she had of him—even though she was trying hard not to think about how handsome he was. Developing a crush on the first guy to come along after Manuel was a terrible mistake, but she refused to be too hard on herself. Of course she’d feel something for Preston. He was helping her through a very difficult time. He acted protective, exuded a kind of battle-tried confidence she envied. What she felt was just gratitude—mixed with a great deal of appreciation for his fine physical attributes.

  That was where the confusion came in, she decided. But she didn’t have anything to worry about. After Manuel, admiration was probably all she’d ever feel for a man. Love was too risky, especially if children were involved.

  As if he could feel her watching him, his blue e
yes flicked her way, and she quickly averted her gaze. “I take it we’ll have one more mountain to climb?” she said, hoping she’d accurately picked up the conversation where they’d left off.

  He responded as though she hadn’t missed a beat. “That’d be Bigelow Bench. It’ll take us into Bridger Valley.”

  “How far will we travel today?”

  “We’ll see how Max does. I was hoping to make Cheyenne.”

  We’ll see how Max does? For all his dislike of her son, he sure seemed to be taking Max’s needs into account. At lunch, he’d brought out a baseball and bat, and played with Max for nearly forty minutes. Then he’d given him that expensive game.

  “How far is Cheyenne?” she asked.

  “Another three hundred fifty miles or so.”

  “I know it’s the capital, but is it a big city?”

  “As big a city as you’re going to find in Wyoming. Cheyenne has about fifty-thousand people, I think, but there are probably less than half a million in the whole state.”

  “I can see why,” she said, staring out at the wilderness surrounding them. “What do people do for a living here?”

  “Ranching, mining, oil and natural gas, for the most part. Up ahead there are some trona mines.”

  “What’s trona?”

  “It’s used to produce baking soda and detergent. From what I’ve heard, it can only be found in two places in the United States. Here and in Trona, California.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Neither had I until I visited here.”

  “Now spell far,” Max’s computer told him.

  “Have you ever been to Yellowstone Park?” she asked Preston.

  “No.”

  “Me, neither, but I’d like to see it someday.”

  “Manuel wasn’t interested in vacationing?”

  “He didn’t mind going on a cruise or flying to Hawaii, but I could never interest him in anything that might get him dirty.”

  “Like camping?”

  “Exactly. Someday I’m going to Yellowstone Park, where Max and I will camp for as long as we like. And when Max gets to be a teenager, we’ll visit the Grand Canyon and backpack down to the Colorado River, and—”

  “Sounds as though you plan on being alone with Max for a long time.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ears. “After what I’ve been through, staying single is the only way to go.”

  “Now spell dog.”

  “It’s tough to have any…intimacy,” he said, in obvious deference to Max, “when you’re not married and you have a kid at home.”

  She couldn’t meet his eyes. Before she left Manuel, she would’ve sworn she could happily go without sex for the rest of her life. He’d soured her on the whole lovemaking experience.

  But then she’d met Preston, and was already wondering if sacrificing that part of a normal existence would be as easy as she’d thought. “I don’t care. I’m tired of being dominated.”

  “I’m not talking about domination.”

  He wasn’t. He was talking about the way he’d make love, the give-and-take she’d sampled before, the respect he’d shown for her and her body.

  Goose bumps broke out on her arms. “I made one error in judgment. I don’t want to make another.”

  “So that’s it? You’re never going to make love again?”

  “Love and sex aren’t always the same thing, right? If I start to miss that…aspect, I’ll just have to quit being so conservative and…I don’t know, pick someone up, I guess.” She knew she’d probably never do it, but taking charge of her sexuality sounded good—as though she wouldn’t let herself be deprived simply because she’d screwed up and gotten involved with the wrong man.

  If the expression on his face was anything to go by, Preston wasn’t happy with her answer. “That’s not very safe.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  “You’re not the type to enjoy casual sex.”

  “How do you know?”

  He gave her a look that said he knew her better than she thought—and he probably did. Although they’d been together a very short time, he’d seen her at her lowest, her most “undone.” Her situation hadn’t allowed for the usual social masks that made it so difficult to know someone.

  “Maybe it’s something I can learn,” she said.

  “How many men have you been with so far?”

  She lifted her chin. “What difference does that make?”

  His teeth flashed in one of his knee-weakening smiles. “Too many to count?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Or only one?”

  She scowled at him. “So what if it’s only one? I’m now a stronger, more assertive person.”

  “Emma, I know you want to believe you can fulfill all your own needs. But I can guarantee that sleeping around will cause more problems than it solves. Besides, it’s…empty, meaningless. A woman like you would feel worse instead of better.”

  “A woman like me? What about a man like you?”

  He looked at her frankly. “Actually, I’ve only slept with three women.”

  “In the past week?” she said irritably.

  “In my life.”

  This announcement was such a surprise that she dropped her combative demeanor. “Really?”

  He nodded. “My wife, a woman I was briefly engaged to before Christy, and a girlfriend I had for over two years in high school.”

  “Then you don’t really know what it’s like to sleep around any more than I do.”

  “I don’t have to try it to know I won’t like it,” he said. “How fulfilling could it be?”

  It wouldn’t be fulfilling at all. She just didn’t want to acknowledge that there seemed to be no good alternative to inviting someone else into her life, giving someone who could be as bad as Manuel the same opportunity to wreck her happiness. How could she trust enough to risk her heart a second time? How could she trust enough to carry another child?

  She couldn’t. Yet she was only twenty-nine. Was she doomed to devote the rest of her life to Max and Max alone?

  “So what do people like me do?” she asked, her mood matching the drab hills around them.

  He frowned. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  PRESTON MOVED silently through the living room of the suite he’d rented in Cheyenne to the doorway of the bedroom, and leaned a shoulder against the portal. When Emma didn’t look up, he knew she hadn’t heard him, which didn’t come as any surprise. She was too focused on her sleeping son. Worry creased her forehead as she sat on the bed beside him and pulled his hand out from beneath the blankets.

  “You’ve got to test him?”

  When he spoke, she glanced up and attempted a smile, but he could tell she was too tired to put much energy behind it. “Five to eight times a day.”

  The tone of her voice suggested it was a never-ending chore. One she hated—but not because of the trouble it caused her.

  “Why don’t you show me how it’s done?” he asked.

  She gestured him over, and he sat on the other bed.

  “You change the depth of the lancet by adjusting this.” She handed him a blue penlike device that turned at the end. “You don’t want the needle to go in too deep, or it’ll hurt worse and take longer to heal. You want it to go deep enough, though, or you won’t get enough blood.”

  Preston saw that she’d fixed the setting at a depth of two-and-a-half, but he didn’t know what two-and-a-half meant, other than that it was greater than one, which was the lowest setting, and less than four, which was the greatest.

  Holding the boy’s hand to the light, he could immediately spot five or six places on the pad of each finger where Max had been pricked before. “You wait until he’s asleep on purpose, don’t you?”

  “If I can. It’s not much, but…” She shrugged. “It’s one less poke that he has to know about.”

  “How badly does it hurt?”

  “The finger pricks hurt
more than the shots because fingers have so many nerve endings.”

  Preston resisted the urge to set the lancet aside and begin massaging her back. She seemed so weary, so anxious. He wanted to relieve some of that tension. “Can’t you poke him somewhere besides his fingers?”

  “I can do some alternative site testing on the forearms, but the reading isn’t as accurate, and it’s harder to draw blood.”

  “I haven’t heard him complain about the pain.”

  She smoothed a hand over Max’s hair. “He usually doesn’t say much about it. He’s a brave boy.”

  Fighting his natural reluctance to do anything that would hurt a child, Preston pricked Max’s finger so Emma wouldn’t have to. A drop of bright red blood oozed out, which she captured with a test strip she’d inserted into the glucose meter. The meter beeped only a few seconds later.

  “How’s he doing?” Preston asked.

  “He’s two-fifty. I’ll have to give him a unit of Humalog and get up in three hours to test him again, in case my guess is wrong and the insulin pulls him too low. He also has his background insulin working, which can be pretty unpredictable.”

  He stared at Max’s sleeping form. “Would it hurt him that much to let him stay high, if he’s sleeping?”

  She pushed a needle into the top of one of Max’s insulin bottles and drew out a small amount of clear liquid. “It could, if he went into ketoacidosis.”

  “Which is…”

  “If he doesn’t have enough insulin to be able to break down the sugars in his blood, his body will start metabolizing fat to get the energy it needs. When the body breaks down fat stores, it throws off a by-product called ketones, and that’s bad for the kidneys. It’s bad for the whole body, really.”

  “So ketoacidosis is what we’re trying to avoid?”

  “Even if he doesn’t go into full-blown ketoacidosis, you have to worry about other things. High blood sugar damages all the body’s major organs. Diabetics who don’t control their blood sugar end up blind or on dialysis. Some even lose a limb due to severe nerve damage.”

  “And low blood sugar results in what happened at the pool.”

  “Exactly.” She pinched the back of Max’s arm and inserted the needle. He didn’t even twitch. “It’s all about maintaining the right balance. A healthy pancreas constantly adjusts. There’s no way to completely replace that with a handful of shots every day.”