Each Precious Hour

by Gayle Wilson

  Second chance. The words reverberated in his head. He had known how close he had come to dying that day in the federal building. He had known it, and still he had come back to this. Too stubborn to give up. Maybe too proud. And then tonight...

  Second chance. A second chance at living. At all the things Robin and McCord had told him about. Ball games and birthdays. Graduations. Growing old together.

  Second chance. And this was one he wasn’t going to blow.

  Robin laughed, and though it sounded strained, Jared added something else to that not-to-be-missed list. The sound of Robin’s laughter. The sound of his son’s or daughter’s first cry.

  “The millennium bug?” she repeated, her voice incredulous.

  “When it hit that date, everything just...stopped.”

  He took another breath, savoring the scent of her perfume. Of her skin. Savoring the air around him. The flow of blood through his veins. Savoring...life.

  He had done his part. He had walked up on his share of bombs. It was someone else’s time now. He’d teach. Work in the lab. Find the clues, catch the bastards and prevent them from hurting other people, but never again would he walk up on a bomb.

  “You were right,” he said. “Someone else will have to do it from now on. You’re looking at my last bomb. Twice I’ve come too close to dying. I may not be so lucky the third time.”

  She took a breath, as deep and as ragged as his had been, and he waited, wondering what she’d say.

  “Then...this baby needs a name, Jared. And I need you. I’ve always needed you. I just couldn’t...”

  “There’s no doubt in my mind, Robin. Not this time.”

  “Uncle Jim is going to be so relieved,” she said, smiling at him. She laughed again, the sound shaky. “You can make an honest woman of me at last. And I have to tell you,” she said, looking at the bomb on the bed between them, “that’s one hell of a shotgun. Even for Texas.”

  Epilogue

  “To the next president of the United States,” Levi said. “My father.”

  “Here, here,” Darlene Richards said, raising her glass toward McCord. Unlike Levi’s, hers held champagne.

  “And to my first grandbaby,” McCord said.

  He was holding Robert James McCord Donovan in the crook of his right arm. Holding him very expertly, Robin noted, despite the fact that it had been quite a while since he’d juggled a baby. Other than those he’d kissed on the campaign trail.

  “Except Cord can’t have any of the bubbly,” Clint Richards said, watching his father. The normally straight line of his mouth tilted. “He’s definitely under the legal drinking age.”

  “And you ain’t the sheriff anymore, boy,” McCord said, returning the smile. “Not that I think he wants any bubbly. You want some champagne, little buckeroo?”

  McCord bent and placed a kiss on the small, rounded head, which was fuzzed with fine, dark hair. There was no doubt little Cord took his coloring from the Donovan side of the family. Robin knew, however, there were plenty of McCord genes floating around in the baby, just waiting to make themselves known.

  Courage. Determination. Dedication to duty. And she would take joy in those, as much she had taken joy in the baby looking so much like his father, Robin thought, her eyes finding Jared.

  He was leaning against the wall, watching as the rest of them celebrated. James McCord was now the official nominee of his party. And from all the signs, come next January, he would indeed, as Levi had just prophesied, become the next president.

  Her uncle had a lot to thank Jared for, she thought, returning her husband’s smile. They all had a lot to thank him for. Robin especially. Her eyes moved back to her son, cradled in her uncle’s arms. Not exactly his first grandbaby, but it was nice of him to say that. And it would never make any difference to him that Cord wasn’t really his grandson. Just as it had made never made any difference that she wasn’t his real daughter.

  Or that Clint wasn’t legally his son. McCord had still put the Altamira in Clint’s more than capable hands, trusting him to care for the legacy that would all be his one day. As it should be.

  Levi and Seth were happy in Montana. So happy her cousin was absolutely glowing with it, Robin thought, her gaze moving to the two of them. They were looking into each other’s eyes, oblivious to everyone else, as they drank that toast, Levi with mineral water, Seth with champagne. And they were almost certainly making a private toast to go along with the public one.

  Because, of course, that glow Robin had noticed surely had something to do with the secret Levi had whispered to her last night as they had engaged in a little girl talk. Something they hadn’t had the opportunity to do in a long time.

  Pretty soon Uncle Jim would have another grandbaby to celebrate. Levi hadn’t told him yet, not wanting to steal any of his thunder. She would soon, she’d promised, and then they’d celebrate all over again. Before she and Seth went back home.

  Before Robin and Jared went back to Washington. Back to work. She in her uncle’s office, for the time being at least, and Jared at the FBI’s bomb forensics lab. She had worried at first about the decision Jared had made, so afraid he’d regret it. But he was happy. She knew that. And more importantly, he knew that what he was doing was meaningful. Every bit as vital in saving lives as the other had been.

  And he was safe. For some silly reason her eyes filled with tears. If she lived to be a thousand, she would never forget what had been in his eyes as he had lifted them from that bomb to meet hers. And she prayed she would never again see anything like that there.

  Only this, she thought, looking at him and finding him lovingly watching their son. Just as he would watch him grow up, please God. Watch him become a man. The same kind of man her own father had been. The kind of man Uncle Jim was.

  And the kind of man Jared Donovan was.

  He turned, meeting her eyes. And then he mouthed the words, the very same words he had said then. The very same words he said to her every single day of their lives. The words he would say, she prayed, every day for the next fifty or sixty years.

  “I love you,” Jared said silently.

  And she finally understood how much he did.

  ISBN : 978-1-4592-5149-6

  EACH PRECIOUS HOUR

  Copyright © 1999 by Mona Gay Thomas

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