by Lori Wilde
Already she had jerked on her blue jeans and was searching under the bed for her shoes.
“Hannah, you must stay here.” He put steel into his voice.
She raised her head, met his gaze, her blue eyes ablaze with determination. “A child’s life is in danger and I can help.”
“So can I,” Tyler said firmly. “Allow me to do what I was trained to do.”
“You can’t ask me to stand by and watch a child suffer when I can do something about it.” She shoved her feet into her loafers and raked a hand through her tangled tresses.
Just minutes ago he had been inhaling the scent of that hair, kissing those determined lips. It seemed as if eons had already passed since that tender moment. Another time, another century. Harsh reality had come screeching back, jerking him from the soft, fuzzy afterglow of their intimate physical contact.
“That’s why you should stay here,” he said. “So you won’t see her suffering.”
“My imagination will be worse than any actuality.”
“If you see her, you’ll want to touch her.”
“Yes.”
“I can’t let you harm yourself.” He crossed his arms and moved to block the door. “Admit it. You lose strength when you heal.”
Her jaw tightened; her nostrils flared. “It’s not your decision to make.”
“The child probably has nothing worse than the flu. Is it worth harming yourself over?”
“What kind of person would I be if I refused to help simply to save myself some discomfort?”
“It’s more than mere discomfort, Hannah. This healing power of yours is killing you, or hadn’t you noticed?” Even though he was frustrated with her, Tyler couldn’t help admiring her stubborn resolve to do what she considered was right.
“I’m dying anyway.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” he protested.
“I’m prepared to take the risk.”
“As your physician, I will not allow it.”
“You’re no longer my physician.”
“What am I then?”
Hannah said nothing, silent and immovable as a brick wall. “You’re the guy who’s driving me to Taos.”
“Is that all I am?”
She didn’t answer. Her silence sliced crueler than angry words. She still didn’t trust him. He’d proven himself to her time and time again and still she held part of herself in reserve, unable to fully surrender her faith to him.
“I care about you, dammit!” His words echoed in the small room. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Keep your voice down, her father is right outside.” Hannah shushed him.
He saw her clench her jaw, hardening her resolve, denying her feelings. He wouldn’t get away by force. Not with her, but for her own good, he must convince her to stay behind.
“Hannah.” He changed his tactics, lowering his voice and softening his gaze. “Please, be reasonable. You’ve barely regained your strength from healing me and we’ve got a long, arduous trip ahead of us.”
“I have to do this.”
“Why? I can help the child. The old-fashioned way. There’s absolutely no need for you to take such a chance.”
“I have to test myself and my abilities.” She stood staring into his face, beseeching him to understand with those hauntingly blue eyes. “I have to know what I can and cannot do. Tyler, don’t deny me this.”
Tyler sighed, knowing he was defeated. Fear coiled like a leaden snake deep inside his center. “All right.” He put on his own shoes and shirt then opened the door.
Hannah was scared. Terrified, in fact. For the same reason Tyler hadn’t wanted her to come with him.
Today, she might die.
The motel owner, weathered by many years of scratching out a living in the barren west-Texas land, led them toward the office. Tyler carried the medical bag he had retrieved from the BMW.
“My name’s Will Henry,” the man explained. “We live around back of the motel. My wife Rosie runs the place while I farm the fields.” He gestured at a pasture of freshly tilled dirt, separated from the motel bungalows by several hundred yards and four strands of barbed-wire fencing. “We’re gettin’ ready for spring planting.”
Hannah took a deep breath of the chilly morning air and wondered if she would live long enough to see the spring plants ripen into summer produce. She watched Tyler as he walked, shoulders rounded, head lowered, a serious expression on his handsome face.
He seemed so isolated, so encapsulated within himself. A man alone. A man apart. Had she done this to him? Forced him to mirror her own desolation? She knew she had displeased him by refusing to stay behind, but she’d truly had no choice. How could she cower in the bungalow when a child’s life hung in the balance? She might be a lot of things—antisocial, idealistic and obstinate—but she was not a coward.
“Rosie,” Will Henry called, pushing open the screen door that moaned on its hinges. He motioned them inside the overly warm kitchen. “We hit the jackpot. Got two doctors instead of just one.”
A pale, narrow woman with pinched features appeared from the hallway. She dabbed at her watery gray eyes with a tissue, her nose red from crying.
“Thank the Lord,” she whispered in a wobbly voice.
“Where is your daughter, ma’am?” Tyler asked with his most polished bedside manner. Hannah admired the respectful smile he gave the harried woman, the gentle way in which he took her hand.
“Follow me.”
Mrs. Henry led them down a short hallway and into a child’s room decorated with nursery rhyme characters painted in bright primary colors—Mary and her little lamb, Old King Cole with his pipe and fiddlers, the cow jumping over a smiling crescent moon. It was a cheerful room meant for laughter and kisses, not worry and fear.
In the middle of the bed lay a tiny red-haired girl curled into a tight knot, her pallid cheeks stained with tears. A worn teddy bear with one button eye missing was tucked in the crook of her arm. Hannah’s heartstrings pulled taut as she watched Tyler settle himself beside the child.
“Hello,” he soothed. “My name’s Doctor Fresno. Your mommy tells me you’ve been very sick.”
The child possessed hardly enough energy to nod. Her face was scarlet, her skin extremely dry.
Dehydrated, Hannah thought.
“I’d like to listen to your chest and take your temperature,” Tyler explained.
“Mommy?” Her voice was weak. She cast dull green eyes toward the doorway where Mrs. Henry stood beside Hannah.
“It’s okay, Angie. Let the doctor examine you.”
“Tell me about your headache,” he said, carefully raising the top of her Barbie pajamas and laying his stethoscope over her frail chest.
“It hurts real bad,” the child whispered and clutched a hand to the back of her head.
“Could you take a deep breath for me?” he asked softly.
The girl complied.
He took her temperature and frowned over the results.
Watching in awe as Tyler worked, Hannah’s throat collected a thick coating of emotion. She felt at once impressed, overwhelmed and contrite. He was so good with the child, touching her gently, explaining everything before he did it, trying his best to extract a smile from her. Why had Hannah presumed she could do better? His healing gift was natural, not chemically induced like hers. He truly cared. More important, he knew how to listen to people, how to relate to his patients. Hannah was nothing but a fluke.
She was out of her element and over her head. She was the woman who had so disliked touching others. She had no business being here. She should have listened to him and stayed in the bungalow. Turning, she stepped from the room.
“Hannah,” Tyler called.
She looked back. He was rising to his feet, draping his stethoscope around his neck. “Yes?” she murmured.
He crooked his finger at her. “Come here.”
“Me?” she asked, even though she was already moving toward him, anxious to h
elp.
“Why don’t you sit here with Angie while her mother and I have a talk.”
“Do you want me to hold her?”
A nervousness as shocking as biting down on a piece of aluminum with a mouthful of metal fillings took hold of her. Touch this child she did not know? Heal her? Would her abilities work? Did she still possess the healing power or had her talents dissipated as ephemerally as the paradoxical drug that had leaked from the vials in her Fiat? Now that the pressure was on, could she actually deliver?
Their eyes met. Tyler’s expression was grave. “Yes.”
Hannah wandered over to the bed. “Hi,” she said breathlessly. She hesitated and peered over her shoulder at Tyler.
He nodded.
“My name’s Hannah,” she continued, “and I’m sorry that you’re feeling bad.”
Tyler took Mrs. Henry by the shoulder and ushered her from the room, quietly closing the door behind them.
“Are you the doctor’s wife?” the girl asked.
“No,” Hannah said. “I’m his helper.”
“Like a nurse?”
“Yes. Something like that.”
The girl nodded acceptingly.
“You look thirsty. Would you like something to drink?” Hannah asked noticing a glass half filled with what appeared to be 7UP sitting on the bedside table.
“Every time I try to drink sumpin’ I throw up,” the girl said. Her breath was warm—too warm.
Hannah sat on the edge of the bed and fingered the bedspread. Touching the child was harder than she expected. Tentatively, she reached out.
Her hand trembled.
The child smiled.
It’s all right. Touch her, Hannah.
The voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, stoking her courage.
Heal her.
Drawing a deep breath, Hannah braced herself and brushed her fingers along Angie’s brow, pushing back the straight curtain of her auburn bangs. The ardent tingling began immediately.
The tips of her fingers were at once alive with a bright flaming sensation that quickly spread through her hands, to her wrist, forearms, elbows and beyond. Stretching, flowing, blending. Encompassing her entire body in a throbbing inner heat.
Angie gasped in wonderment, her eyes growing rounder, her mouth opening in a startled circle. “Mommy,” she whispered.
“It’s okay,” Hannah reassured her. “Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”
Then she scooped the girl into her arms and pressed her against her chest.
She had never held a child before. Had never had the opportunity to do so. She had no siblings. No close women friends. She’d had no younger cousins or neighbors.
In truth, she had never really thought about children before. How it would feel to hold them close, smell their hair, hear their velvety intake of air as they breathed. She had always assumed motherhood was for other women. Women not obsessed with a career. Women who liked to touch and be touched in return. But not for her. Not Hannah Zachary. She was too strong-minded, too independent, too focused on inventing a cure for viruses to pay attention to her biological urgings.
She wanted a child.
The realization took her aback.
Slowly, she began to rock back and forth, a soft soothing lullaby pouring miraculously from her lips. She hadn’t been aware that she even knew any lullabies. Hannah clung tightly to the small form in her arms and tried her best not to become overwhelmed with the disquieting changes in her own body. Her blood turned to sludge in her veins. Her tongue grew thick and her pulse slowed to a crawl.
As her stamina ebbed, Angie grew stronger right before Hannah’s eyes. The redness drained from her cheeks. Her skin tur-gor improved. Her eyes brightened.
“My headache’s gone,” Angie cried in amazement.
Hannah’s arms had turned to lead. They were as heavy as her head was light. Her vision blurred. She heard a far-off rushing in her ears, like the sound of heavy road traffic on a distant highway. She felt at once hot and cold. Paralyzed. Deadened. Numb.
I touched her and she’s healed. It was worth it.
Angie squirmed from her arms, rolled off the bed and sprang to her feet like a gymnast at the Olympics. “Mommy, Mommy,” she exclaimed, running for the door. “I’m all better now.”
Hannah closed her eyes, overcome by a staggering desire to sleep for a hundred years. Through a fog, she heard the door open and listened to cries of joy from Angie’s mother and father. She also heard Tyler’s voice, deep and nearby.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips pressed close to her ear.
She tried to speak, to tell him about the extraordinary occurrence that had happened between her and Angie, but Hannah’s tongue lolled against the roof of her mouth and refused to articulate sound. She attempted to open her eyes, to peer into his face but it took too much effort to raise her eyelids and focus beyond the gathering nebula.
Tyler’s arms went around her. Arms that had become so familiar in such a short amount of time. Arms she longed for, even in her dreams. Hannah smiled faintly. If she had to die to gain this sort of treatment, then fair enough.
“What’s happened to her?” Mr. Henry asked Tyler. “Is your wife okay?”
“She suffers dizziness from time to time.”
His wife. Mrs. Henry had assumed they were married. If only it were true.
“She made me feel so much better,” Angie chattered. “She touched me and my headache went away.”
“It’s a miracle,” Mrs. Henry said.
“No,” Tyler said and she heard him speak his second lie of the morning. “Your daughter’s flu has simply run its course. But it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take her to see your regular physician as soon as possible. To make sure she’s made a full recovery.”
“We will, Doctor. Thank you.”
“If you’ll excuse us.” Holding Hannah tightly in his arms, Tyler carried her from the house and back to the motel room.
“Hannah?” Tyler bathed her face with a damp cloth. “Can you hear me? Speak to me, sweetheart.” Blood moved through his body in a slow, sticky thickness.
You’ve got to distance yourself. That’s what she did with you. You can’t let yourself feel too much.
Easier said then done, especially when she looked so helpless, so lifeless. If he had forced her to stay behind in the bungalow she would not at this moment be lying cold and prostrate in the shoddy twin bed. Dammit.
But if you’d forced Hannah to stay behind, little Angie Henry would be dead.
Tyler closed his eyes, rocked back on his heels. It was true. The child did not have the flu as he had told her amazed parents, but a virulent form of bacterial meningitis. He had seen a few cases in his career. A child as young and weakened as Angie had been could die in a matter of hours. By the time Tyler had gotten to her she was close to death. If her parents had made the trip with her into Abilene in all likelihood she would have succumbed to the disease on the road.
But Hannah had saved her. At the expense of her own health.
Biting down on the back of his knuckles to stay the despair rising inside him, Tyler knew there had been no choice. Neither one of them could have allowed Angie to die when Hannah held the key to her survival.
No matter the price.
He was scared. Damned scared. He suppressed a desperate urge to flee. He felt pulled in two directions at once, torn between his need to take care of her and his fear of losing her. For a fleeting moment, he imagined himself jumping into his car and speeding away, justifying her lack of trust in him.
Stop it!
He had to shut down his panic. Quick. Had to gain control. He could not let her condition get to him. He would not collapse in the face of adversity. He would persevere.
“Tyler?” Hannah’s voice was raspy as a file against rocks, but filled his spirit with instant thanksgiving. Her eyelashes fluttered open, revealing those incredible ocean-blue eyes.
He sat forward and smiled down at her. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself.” Her eyes crinkled slightly at the edges. “How’s Angie doing?”
“Out playing with dolls in her front yard. You saved her life, you know.”
“Did I?” Hannah brightened.
“Absolutely.”
“It’s a pretty great feeling. I see why you doctors get a rush from saving lives.”
“Us doctors are not usually as effective as you were.”
“I cheated. I had a secret weapon.”
“A secret weapon that you created.”
“It’s not as much fun as it sounds.”
He held himself back, afraid to touch her, afraid he’d stir up more feelings he wouldn’t know how to deal with. “I know.”
“How long have I been out?” she asked.
“Three hours.”
Hannah groaned. “More time wasted.”
“You’re not superwoman. If you insist on going around healing the sick then you’ve got to rest up and save your own strength.”
She lifted a hand and lightly traced his cheek. Her touch sent a shiver of longing through him. His need for her bothered him. He hated being so susceptible. He stepped back, moved away.
“You’re too good to me.” She dropped her hand heavily as if her arm weighed a hundred pounds.
“Too good? How do you suppose?” He forced out a dry chuckle when the last thing on earth he felt was lighthearted. But he had to pretend, for her sake, that everything was okay.
“For taking care of me. Standing by me. Even when we argue.”
“We don’t argue.” Guilt was an arrow through his chest. Just a minute ago he was thinking of running out on her. He wasn’t a coward. He could deal with this. He could.
“What do you call that fight we had a while ago, when you didn’t want me to go with you to see Angie?” she asked.
“A mild difference of opinion.”
“That’s a nice way to put it.” Sudden tears misted her eyes.
“Hey, hey.” Similar tears choked his throat and he fought to keep them from spilling down his cheeks in a sloppy display. “What’s all this?”
“No one’s ever treated me the way you do.”