I Don't Want to be Married

by Sonja Gunter

  “A tree limb came through the windshield all the way to the backseat of the truck. If I hadn’t fallen asleep lying down, I would have died too.”

  “Oh my God, Rosalind,” Allan murmured.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and wiped her eyes. “They helped me crawl through the opened windshield. I tried to,” she paused and took a breath, “to see my mom, but I couldn’t. It was too dark. My dad kept telling me to look at him as the men hauled me out. He’d protected me even though he sat there knowing he was dying himself.”

  She stopped, unable to share the rest of such horrific scenes and memories.

  “I’m so sorry. No child should have to go through what you did,” Allan stressed. “It’s one thing to lose your parents when you’re older, but losing them when you’re young is harder.”

  She heard the strength and the sincerity in his words.

  Maybe he isn’t such a City Boy after all.

  “It was the last time I talked to my dad. The ambulances arrived. It was too late for my mother, she’d died on impact when the truck hit the trees. They tried to save my dad, but he died at the hospital of internal bleeding.”

  “Did you see him again?”

  “No. He spoke his last words to me as the men helped me through the broken windshield. He told me to never forget that they loved me very much.”

  “Do you know the reason the truck went off the road?”

  “Yes, my father hit an elk. He swerved to save the trailer of horses we’d been pulling. The road was wet and he lost control of the truck. He hit several trees. No horses were lost that night, although two precious lives were taken.” Rosalind shivered in spite of the hot blowing air from the vents. “My grandfather was always there for me until he died almost five years ago. And then I had Sam. I can’t lose him too. He’s all I have left.”

  Neither said a word when she finished. The silence deepened. The past faded away. Rosalind regarded the man driving her truck.

  Allan did things she never thought a man like him would consider doing. He’d taken control, stayed with Sam, called in the Flight for Life, and talked to the paramedics in a commanding tone. While they worked on Sam in the bedroom, he’d called Max and told him to take care of the horses. And he’d simply driven her to the hospital.

  He’s done everything without complaining. Who is he?

  These things weren’t what a wealthy tenderfoot from New York was supposed to do. He wasn’t anything she’d expected him to be.

  At times, his tenderness and gentleness, especially during their wild lovemaking, surprised her. She’d caught a glimpse of something in his expression which showed her he wasn’t like any other man. She knew he’d held his tongue several times when she’d made him livid.

  The truck jerked. She blinked. The past disappeared as the flashing lights stopped. They’d arrived at the hospital.

  I don’t want to go in. Don’t want to find out what the doctors or nurses have to say. What if Sam is dead?

  In her heart, she knew Sam was alive.

  “The helicopter is here,” Allan said. “Ready to go in?”

  She nodded, then confessed, “I’m worried about Sam. He’s never been sick before. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose him.”

  It was hard for her to let him see how weak she’d become. No one had ever seen her cry at the ranch, but here Allan was, about to see it for the millionth time in a couple of days.

  When they entered the ER, Allan took charge again and she allowed it. He offered her a bottle of water which she held on to almost like a shield. She kept an eye out for the white coats and jumped, dropping the water, when two doctors entered to greet them.

  “How is he—Sam? Is he alive?”

  Her voice sounded strained. She cleared her throat.

  “Yes, and he’s resting. Mr. Hughs’ body has shut down. His cancer has progressed faster than we thought it would.”

  “Cancer?” She uttered and stared at the doctor. Sam has cancer. He never told me. “No, that can’t be true. He’s tired, that’s all. He said he had a stomach ache and had gotten the flu bug.”

  The doctor slid his hands into the huge white pockets of his smock. “Ms. Dunne, he has Stage Four lung cancer. At this point all we can do is make him as comfortable as possible. He is a DNR, do-not-resuscitate patient.”

  “No. No, you’re lying.” She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

  “Rosalind . . .”

  “They’re lying,” she gritted out, opening her eyes. She scanned the doctors’ faces and saw the truth. Unable to process their looks of pity, she stormed from the room and left Allan alone to contend with them.

  Sam was dying. He might not make it through the night. He couldn’t cash out and leave her alone. Why didn’t he tell her about the cancer?

  I need him.

  Question after question raced through her mind as she bolted from the hospital. She embraced the cold air, feeling it ice her skin and her temper. She didn’t have a plan. All she extricated was the vital need to escape from the room and from the hospital. The doctors hadn’t even tried to use baloney words. Their non-emotional voices rippled through her mind, her body.

  She flung her arms in the air. “Why, God? Haven’t you taken enough from me?”

  Didn’t death mean anything to doctors? They simply told her without any sugarcoating. No beating around the bush.

  Sam was going to be making the big jump to greener grass.

  Fresh tears froze on Rosalind’s checks as they tried to fall in the bitter cold. She detected someone behind her and knew it was Allan. The moment his arms encircled her, she broke down and let loose all her bridled emotions. She sobbed.

  They clung together in the cold night, gathering warmth for their hearts, souls, and bodies.

  “You’re shivering, we should go inside. The doctor said you’d be able to see Sam when they move him to his room. He’s awake.”

  She twisted, laid her head on his chest. Kept her face hidden until her wracking sobs subsided.

  “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t be strong for him. He’ll see right through me, Allan,” she moaned.

  “I don’t think he’s expecting you to be. I do know he would want you to talk to him. The doctor said he’s been asking for you.”

  Rosalind hesitated for a moment, then pushed away from the security and comfort of Allan’s embrace and studied his face. His words hurled through her mind. She had to be strong for Sam.

  “You’re right. I’m ready.”

  She followed him inside. The white corridors were quiet as they approached the intensive care unit. The glass doors made for easy viewing. She spotted Sam instantly.

  He wore a breathing mask with a variety of flashing, beeping machines hooked up to him. She didn’t have a clue what they meant. It didn’t matter as long as they kept Sam alive. As she neared the door, Allan released her hand.

  “Don’t make me go in by myself. Please,” Rosalind pleaded and grabbed his hand. She looked at him, her eyes brimmed in tears.

  “All right, I’ll be here for you as long as you need me. I won’t leave your side.”

  Opening the door, still holding on to his other hand, Rosalind’s fears subsided. Together, they advanced toward the bed and stopped. She paused, her booted feet planted and her chin held high for an air of confidence.

  “Sam?”

  As if he’d been waiting for her voice, Sam’s eyes opened and he smiled.

  “Honey, I’m sorry for all the trouble. I was looking forward to pork chop night.”

  In one fluid motion, laughing and crying at the same time, she laid her head on Sam’s chest.

  “Don’t die. Don’t let the grass call you over,” she whimpered.

  “Sweetie, you’ll be fine.
You are a survivor. I knew it the day I helped you through the broken windshield.”

  She gaped and lifted her head to stare into his eyes. The voice from years ago, that had encouraged her to be strong, was his.

  “It was you?”

  “Yup, I promised your daddy and your granddaddy I’d take care of you. I can’t any longer. You have a husband now. It’s his job.”

  He wasn’t lying. His face told her. “Oh my God.” Her voice quivered.

  “Hush now. No tears.”

  Rosalind laid her head against his chest again, and Sam touched her hair with shaky fingers. He stroked it as he’d done all those years ago when she’d been a frightened little girl.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Oh, Sam, you can’t die.”

  Chapter 19

  Allan met Sam’s stare and nodded. The silent message was clear. He’d stay by Rosalind’s side and help her through the next days, weeks, and months.

  If it had been any other woman, he would have walked away. Or better yet, run back to New York. Why was he acting like a damned knight in shining armor?

  He gazed into Rosalind’s misty green eyes as she sobbed her heart out and a shocking realization became evident. That he, Mr. Non-Commitment, had fallen in love with his wife as a man was meant to love a woman since the beginning of time.

  With his heart racing, the truth struck him. Allan gulped for air as the room began to close in on him. The self-discovery he loved Rosalind seemed too much for him to acknowledge. With the object of his distress a foot from him, he backed away from the bed.

  New York was safer. He knew what people expected from him, but here, he was dead in the water. An instant headache pounded him as he turned to leave.

  “Allan, don’t go.”

  Her cry stopped him. Rosalind was everything he’d avoided all these years. Her face didn’t show love, only fear and grief. She wasn’t asking him to stay because she loved him.

  I can’t leave you. I love you.

  “I’ll be back. Would you like . . . I’ll find us something to eat from the cafeteria. If it’s still open.”

  He kept all the emotion he could from his voice and used his hasty retreat as his liberation. He heard her call his name as he slipped out of the room, but didn’t turn. His emotional accountability had rendered him dazed and reeling. He roamed the corridors and half-heartily followed the signs to the cafeteria.

  How in the hell had this happened? What a wake-up call.

  Love.

  Was this how John felt when he looked at his bride? Or the women so coldly left behind, when they told Allan they loved him?

  An image of Tiffany’s smiling face flashed before him. She’d be laughing her ass off and opening a bottle of Dom Perignon to celebrate his dethroning as the King of ‘Uncommitted Relationship Syndrome.’ No one needed to know he’d been hit by Cupid’s arrow. Not even Rosalind.

  He didn’t ask to love anyone, but was very happy loving many women. This feeling can’t be love. I’m a confirmed bachelor.

  The words ‘I love you’ hadn’t left his lips since he was a young boy. He wasn’t about to say them now.

  Allan reached for a sandwich when the lyrics to the canned music playing hit him. A teeny-weeny thing called a love bug. And how ruling the roost with many chicks got hit by funny feelings.

  “It’s fresh, sir.”

  Allan blinked and stared at the staffer who pointed toward the sandwich.

  “Sorry, thanks. Can I get another one of these?”

  “Sure thing.”

  To hide his embarrassment of scowling at a harmless sandwich, he grabbed two bottles of water.

  I’m losing it. Music talking to me?

  He went through the process of paying for the food and once again walked as if in some sort of bad daydream.

  He didn’t have time to deal with a marriage and a wife. That’s why he came here—to end his unimaginable husband status. He needed to sign the divorce papers and fly this coop.

  The image of Sam lying in bed, riddled with cancer, came to mind. Allan slowed his pace.

  He couldn’t leave now.

  He’d promised to stay and help Rosalind. But if he loved her, why not stay married?

  He’d found their quickie in the barn exciting, yet only an appetizer. He wanted the main course and all the extras. Allan straightened as an idea flashed before him like a bull market before closing.

  He could fly her to New York whenever he wanted. Or he could fly to Minnesota.

  He foresaw a new Learjet-35 in his future. She’d be well worth the expense. But would Rosalind ever come to New York to visit? Her ranch and horses meant more to her than loving a man. She’d made that very clear. What if she refused to stay married?

  He couldn’t reveal his true feelings. She’d laugh at him and leave him lying in horse manure.

  Oh hell, her guardian is dying and I’m contemplating how to keep her with me. Wrong.

  The glass doors loomed head of him. Allan paused to gather his thoughts and mask his emotions.

  She sat in the same chair, next to the bed, with Sam’s hand in hers. Her jaw was tight, shoulders squared, all body signs he was very familiar with in the business crowd. He’d seen it in people who were ready to fight for what they wanted. She was definitely the strongest woman he’d even met.

  He stepped into the room. “Rosalind, let Sam sleep. We need to eat. You need to eat,” he urged in a hushed voice.

  She peered at him with eyes that were glazed, not seeing him.

  Allan shook his head and stepped nearer. He took hold of her hand, ignoring the tingling sensation the moment their fingers touched.

  “Come on, take a break. He’ll be okay while we’re gone.”

  He pulled her, and she followed like a zombie. They moved down the corridor and he found another waiting area away from the intensive care unit. They ate in silence, both absorbed in their own private hell.

  “I should go to Sam. I’ve been away too long,” Rosalind fretted.

  “All right. Do you need me to do anything?”

  “The doctors say he only has a week to three months to live. Sam’s admitted he’s ready to go.”

  He heard the quiver in her voice and saw her struggle to hold in her tears.

  “I’m so sorry. It’s never easy to lose someone you care about.”

  “How can he simply leave me?”

  “Sometimes people know when it’s their time. They’re ready. He’s not doing this on purpose. He got sick. Sam must feel you’ll be okay on your own.” Allan tried to offer reassurance.

  “He won’t be here to see our dream come true. He’s the one who showed me what was happening to all those poor horses—put the idea in my head. I can’t do it on my own.”

  “I’m sure—”

  “No. Just because we exhibited an age old mating doesn’t give you any rights. Don’t try to make me feel better,” she ground out, tearing her gaze away from him. “Thanks for supper. I’m going back in.”

  “Rosalind.”

  “I don’t need your sympathy. Or for you to feel sorry for me. You got what you came here for, so sign the papers and go home.”

  They stared at each other, neither backing down. Finally he sighed, “If that’s what you want.”

  “You know it is. It’s all I ever wanted.”

  She stood, hands on hips, her defiance very evident.

  “I’ll stay till Sam is able to go home.”

  “Whatever, do what you want. It’s of no concern to me.”

  Allan reached out to her, but she brushed off his hand and stomped away. He watched her go, unaccustomed to being the one dumped. Unfinished feelings simmered. The need to comfort and hold her stunned him. He wrestled with uncertainty for the
first time in his adult life. Walking to the family waiting area, he tapped his phone as he contemplated calling John.

  Instead, he chose to text.

  Call me when you can. Odds changed.

  The message was cryptic. They’d always used code. No one controlled the odds, only fate did. A rush of adrenalin filled him when his phone beeped.

  K after turkey dinner.

  Allan typed. It’s a portfolio problem.

  The message flashed, sent. He stared at the phone and waited.

  K 4 real.

  Allan smiled, pocketing his phone, satisfied John caught on how important it was that they talk. Real stocks and bonds were a lot safer than his portfolio of relationships.

  He walked to the nursing station. An older woman sat typing on a keyboard. “Excuse me, is there a room with a bed-chair?”

  She looked up at him, nodding. “Yes, in the family room, down the hall. Turn left and it’s the second door on the right.”

  “Thank you,” Allan signed with a half-smile. “Please have someone get me if something happens to Mr. Hughs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Allan stared at Sam’s room. The curtains hung open; Rosalind still sat next to the bed. He hesitated for moment before turning away in search of the family room. Stepping inside, he reclined in the first chair he spotted. As he closed his eyes, he thought of his life without love.

  And how to change it.

  Chapter 20

  “What the hell,” Allan mumbled.

  His eyes flashed open as a burst of light ended a dream of Rosalind and him.