Zac and Martin sat by the window playing electronic checkers on Zac’s tablet.
The afternoon hours had stretched into the night. Since Melanie showed no signs of complications and the babies no distress, the medical team had decided to let nature take its course. Nick glanced at the large digital clock over the nurses’ station desk: 1:42 AM. Obviously nature didn’t have any pressing appointments.
Zac and Jen had commandeered a section of the floor by the window, Jason curled up beside them using Zac’s leg as a pillow. Grace slept propped up in a club chair in the far corner of the waiting area. Across the room, next to the coffee and tea cart slept Martin, his mouth open and a series of soft snores filling the room. Nick looked around for Gabe. Probably with Melanie.
He shifted in his seat, careful not to wake Rachel as she snuggled next to him, using his shoulder as a pillow. Her dark lashes fanned over her smooth cheeks as he listened to her even breathing. Affection for her tightened his chest in the worst way. He’d asked her to stay earlier in the afternoon and she seemed pleased. But, did she want to stay because of him, or because she had no place else to go?
With his free hand, he rubbed his eyes, tired of the constant mental fencing he parried late at night, in the deepest dark when no one else was awake. Rehashing his relationship with Stephanie; the growing distance from his family; the hazards of his rodeo career. Only at night did his problems reach gargantuan proportions.
Nightmares.
Leaning over the side table, Nick grabbed his brother’s jacket and wadded it into a ball. Mounding it on his thigh, he nudged Rachel up and then repositioned her so the jacket acted as a pillow. Without missing a beat, she snuggled against him, her legs stretching out on the couch and her fingers resting on his knee. Nick lowered his arm so as to clasp her hand in his and realized he’d do everything within his means to keep her safe. He’d grown; he’d matured. He finally recognized love.
A grin pulled at his lips. Rachel would just have to see things his way.
Hours later, Nick woke up. Rachel remained stretched out beside him, her hand still in his. He gave her a squeeze. He’d enjoyed the most peaceful sleep in years, despite the stiff couch and combined sleeping noises filling the area. The clock read 5:02 AM.
The rasping shuffle of papers filtered across the room. Doc O’Reilly stood at the far end of the nurses' station, a stack of folders by this side. Edging the wadded jacket off his thigh, Nick arranged Rachel safely on the couch as he rose and stretched. He skirted around his sleeping family members and approached the nurses’ station.
“Well look who the storm blew in.” Doc O’Reilly stretched out his hand for a shake. “Good to see you, Nick.”
Clasping his hand, Nick nodded. “Welcome to the family, Doc.”
Doc O’Reilly glanced over at Jennifer and grinned. “We missed you at the wedding. Food couldn’t have been better and the band was great. Got a few turns around the dance floor myself.”
A shadow darkened Nick’s mood. He’d missed both of his brother’s weddings. Shaking the guilt away, he vowed to spend the rest of his life making it up to them. “Well, you know. Rodeo doesn’t always respect family.”
Doc closed his folder and slipped his pen into his breast pocket. Leaning his elbow on the counter, he nodded at Nick. “Rodeo doesn’t respect much, family or health. I hear you’ve had your clock cleaned a couple of times. Concussions are serious, Nick. How’s the head?”
“Flapjack and I went rounds in Rapid City and he won.” Nick shrugged away the memory. “Did some hospital time and ended up coming home.”
“For how long?”
Nick drove his fingers through his hair and focused on the happy face button on Doc’s white coat. “I’m done.”
“Good for you, Nick.” Doc reached out and patted him on the arm. “No more rodeo at all?”
Tough question. Rodeo had always been a crutch he leaned on when times got tough. Bull riding came easy for him, even though his height often threw him off-balance on the bull. If he concentrated and was on his game, Nick beat the bull every time. Swearing off bull riding was like asking a toddler to hand over his favorite blankie.
The words wouldn’t come. All he could do was shake his head.
“Fine choice, Nick. Let the young kids take over.” Doc nodded toward the couch. “You have a friend?”
“Yeah.” Nick grinned, all thoughts of young kids and bulls evaporating. “Rachel Hill — Mitch Cauldwell’s niece. She’s a pistol, but her heart’s in the right place. She was working for him when he conned her into driving me to Casper. She decided to take me a bit further and here I am.”
“You’re lucky Cauldwell’s your friend.” He looked over towards the couch as Rachel rolled over and stretched. “She probably saved your life.”
“In more ways than one, Doc.” Nick mumbled under his breath.
Doc turned back to Nick and grabbed his folders. “So, I heard you qualified for the Finals.”
“Yeah, even without riding in Casper.”
“Walk with me?” Slipping the folders under his arm, Doc started toward the patient rooms. Nick followed. “It’s a shame you won’t be there with all the hard work you’ve put into it.”
“There are a lot of good men competing. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. The National Finals is going to be some wild ride this year.” Doc glanced back at the waiting area and Nick looked around.
Rachel stood behind him, her eyes wide. Her mouth fell open as the color drained from her face. She spun around on her heel and marched away.
* * *
Tears stung her eyes like hot branding irons.
Marching back to the couch, she grabbed her jacket and purse and started toward the stairs. Of all the stupid, pretty, overused words to fall for, she’d jumped on Nick’s line about quitting rodeo like a fly on sticky paper. No fear, no reason, just trust because she’d wanted to believe him so badly. That’s what falling in love with a cowboy did to a person. It stole all rational judgment.
She turned the corner at the last stair and slammed open the stairwell door. A few people milled about the lobby area - patients being admitted from the ER. Tears flooded down her cheeks as she swiped them away and sniffed.
What now?
She spotted a clock behind the Admittance Desk. 5:30 AM.
Backing up against the wall, her head knocked back as she squeezed her eyes tight. What now, Lord? What now?
“Rachel? What happened?”
Her eyes snapped open at Nick’s voice. She flinched as he touched her arm. “Leave me alone.”
He stepped back, tilting his head as if to grasp the situation. “Leave you alone? Why?”
“You…lied…to…me.” She hated how her voice cracked. How the tears wouldn’t stop.
“Lied to you? How?”
She drew a breath, angry at the catch in her throat. Angry that she couldn’t stop crying. Angry because people were beginning to staring. She looked around and stalked over to a potted rubber plant placed as camouflage in front of a storage room door.
Nick trailed her by an inch. “Rachel, will you stop and talk to me?”
“You said you were quitting rodeo.”
“I am. I did.” He shook his head. “What’s the right answer here?”
“The right answer is telling me the truth. You’re not quitting the rodeo. You’re like every other bull rider out there.” Her arms flailed with each word. “You’ve got the adrenaline rush in your blood. I believed you when you said you’d quit. Bull riders don’t just quit.”
She stopped her tirade to suck in air.
“What makes you think I lied to you?” Nick stood still, his arms at his sides. His voice low and dangerous.
“I heard you talking. You said you wouldn’t miss the NFR. A wild ride.” She met his cold stare with one of her own. “I’ve heard all the stories before, Nick.”
“You’re comparing me to your father.”
“Yes. Because you’re the best. You’ll rid
e until you fall one too many times.” She shook her head, the fight gone and only the cold hurt gnawing at her gut. “You’ll ride until you can’t anymore. I can’t wait for that call. I can’t be there to pick up the pieces.”
“Will you listen to me? I’m not your father.”
“You’re just like him.”
Calm resignation seemed to replace the panic in his eyes. “I see.”
She smoothed the fabric of her jacket and stared out the window. A couple of trucks crept along the snow packed street. The snow had stopped, but the clouds remained low, reflecting the glow of the street lights. A bus coughed exhaust just as it passed the entrance to the hospital parking lot.
What else could she say? Nick stood beside her all big, and tough, and utterly defiant. Her heart leaped, but she tamped down her emotions. She needed to keep perspective or she’d be falling over him, wanting to follow him wherever he went.
She loved him so much.
Just like her mom loved her dad. No way was Rachel going to perpetuate life’s failures by not learning from others’ mistakes. Her entire life she’d cried and prayed for comfort while fear held her in its grasp. Fear that someday those she loved would slip away forever. Over the last few weeks, she’d regrouped with God. She knew He cared about her and would keep her strong.
No matter how badly it hurt.
“Maybe you do and maybe you don’t see, Nick. It depends on how you look at it.”
Sorrow clouded his eyes for a second before being replaced with acceptance. “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”
She shook her head, tears threatening to spill again.
“I love you, Rachel Hill.”
That was the last thing she needed to hear. She spun around and raced out the lobby doors.
I love you too, Nick Davidson.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The bus ride back to Denver caused an ache worse than Rachel wanted to admit. With each twist of the highway from Hawk Ridge to Colorado Springs, she left behind the illusion of a dream she’d never live. The pain would pass quicker without Nick around than if he were close by, taunting her with his charm and humor...and vulnerability. Clearly he chose the rodeo life, just like her Dad, and good for her, she’d been prepared.
As the last of the Interstate highway miles to Denver sped by, Rachel hardened her resolve to return to her normal life, a life punctuated by unanticipated financial up and downs. She worked within the foundation of a structure known to stand for the greatness of her country. Denver’s familiar skyline came in sight just as Rachel convinced herself everything would return to normal if she just gave it a chance.
She checked the time on her phone as darkness made the lights of downtown sparkle. Seven o’clock. With luck, she could still get into her office and. . .and, do something. According to Human Resources, she was no longer a senior broker; realistically, she didn’t believe it. Nothing seemed real to her any longer.
The bus wove through the crowded streets and pulled into the terminal at Union Station. People milled about the restaurants and shops, street vendors vying for the attention of the strolling population. The successful revitalization of downtown Denver continued to gain momentum, office and apartment buildings breaking ground all around. She’d purchased her condominium off lower downtown and had thrived on the excitement the city offered.
So why did she feel so claustrophobic in the environment she’d once adored?
Shrugging off her unease, she followed her familiar route on foot up the 16th Street mall to the Glenarm Towers. The reflective glass facade of the professional building had represented financial success to her for years. As she stared up the twenty-four story building, she wondered what had held her fascination for so long. Digging her keys and security card from her purse, she slipped through doors, crossed the marbled atrium and waited for the elevator. She needed normalcy. Get back into her routine.
On the eighteenth floor, she crossed more marble flooring to the plush offices of Bales, Everitt and Joyner. Nothing had changed. The forest green carpet surrounded a mahogany and gold reception desk with the company logo displayed on the wall in brilliant brass. Minimal lighting illuminated the floor of office partitions creating a rabbit warren of departments and resources. Rachel followed the familiar aisles, fingering fabric partitions and reading name plates as she passed.
Her smile faded as she walked deeper into the company ranks, past the clerks and file rooms. She’d once given her life to her career and discovered how wrong she’d been. Uninvited tension sprang across her shoulders, she shrugged it away. She’d not let her desire for success interfere with what was really important.
“Lord,” she whispered as she paused in front of the payroll department, “keep my life firmly in your grasp. I will shine Your light in my life.”
Peace settled around her. She opened her eyes and noticed a movement in the back area where the executive offices lined the scenic west bank of windows. Brokers often worked on into the night, updating and filing accounts. Maybe she’d be lucky and find a partner around. No time like the present for a chat. A lump rose in her throat as she fingered the top cap of a cubicle panel. She’d spent countless hours in prayer for this opportunity to explain her delay. The time for baptism by fire had arrived.
“Tom?” She cautiously greeted as she poked her head into the corner office. “Glad I found you here. You’re just the man I wanted to see.”
Tom Everitt, senior partner in the firm and her mentor since college, looked up from the paperwork on his desk. “Rachel Hill.” He closed the cover of the analyst report he’d been reviewing and rested his folded hands on top of it. “You’re the last person I’d expected this evening.” He stared at her a moment. “How was your vacation?”
Her heart sank at the obvious formality he’d assumed. With her trained eye, she’d noted the logo on the front page before the cover closed on the report. SNL Oil. A big gun on her buy list and Tom now protected it as if she were a spy. She bit the inside of her cheek, her heart pounding in her chest. “It wasn’t a vacation, Tom. We have to talk.”
“Really?” He opened a drawer in his cherry wood desk and slid the report beneath a company profit report, closing the drawer with a distinct click. “Riding cross country with some cowboy while you find yourself, isn’t a vacation? I can think of some great golf pros I’d like follow on tour, but I find there’s no money in it.”
Resting his elbows on the desk, he locked his fingers together and leaned forward. “Bales, Everitt and Joyner granted you medical leave for two weeks. Two weeks became three. Three weeks became -” he shrugged his shoulders “-time off to cater to any whim that came along. Explain where my reasoning is flawed.”
“I called you all weekend to explain. I left messages. My calls weren’t returned.”
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers to his chin. “At twelve noon on Friday, you ceased reporting directly to me and became an employee of the firm.”
As she looked around the masculine office accented in dark wood trim with seating upholstered in butter creme leather, memories of sterile, nondescript hospitals flitted through her mind. “Emergencies arise, Tom. I’m past it though. My responsibilities are done and my leave-of-absence over. I’m ready to come back to work.”
Tom scrutinized her in the especially delving way only Tom Everitt managed. Rachel felt him assessing her value, not only as an employee, but as a person, frame by frame. Would he approve of what he saw?
The silence lengthened until Rachel thought she’d burst. She longed to lock herself in her office and review her client lists. She breathed deeply and detected the aroma of fine pipe tobacco. Specialty blend, only.
“You know we’ve made some changes around here since you’ve been gone.” Tom rocked his executive chair subtly. “I’ve awarded Jim Allen your active client base for tending them so faithfully in your absence. I’m not about to rescind them.”
Muscles knotted at the base of her ne
ck. She’d been prepared for a certain amount of chastisement. “It’s only fair. Jim’s been trading for them, he should get the commissions,” she said, relieved her voice hadn’t broken.
“He’s also got your office and assistant.” Tom dug deeper. “Dedication gets rewarded.”
For the past six years, Rachel had been the most dedicated broker on staff. She knew better than to bring that up right now. Her career hung by a thread as it stood.
The evening deepened as piece by piece, Tom shredded her character, his reasons completely unfounded. The urge to insert her earbuds and click on soothing sounds with echoes of scriptures made her fingers itch. She’d had a greater obligation in caring for Nick--responsibilities toward other human beings superseded any tawdry brawl for money. Things Tom Everitt would never understand.
Come to me.
Her heart lodged between duty and principle. The Lord had led her into His service. Surely He supported her efforts to defend her work. “Fine.” She fought against the frown that threatened to reveal her frustration. “I understand all about rewards and dedication. I understand Jim retaining the clients. Now, what about my inactive base?”
Tom Everitt tipped back in his chair. “Up for grabs.”
“I’m grabbing,” she proclaimed before he changed his mind.
“Rachel, you know the high standards BE&J demands of our employees, especially our senior brokers.”
The mantra ran as a broken record through her mind -– dedication and sacrifice. . . Never stop till you get to the top . . . Big dog and his bone. Rachel had lived and breathed those words for years–-years she’d focused, yet lost all perspective.
“Yes, Tom,” she agreed, her mind racing over countless hours of instilled idealism. “You have to want it bad enough.”
“You have to want it bad enough to get it and keep it. You’re getting off easy, Rachel. How many stock brokers do you know can abandon their clients for weeks and still remain on top? I’ll tell you how many--none. You’ve lost some ground here, but,”--he bestowed upon her the winning smile that had sealed many contracts,--“I know my girl. With work, you’ll get those inactive accounts going and be back in the Platinum league again without missing a commission check.”
Rough Road Home (The Circle D series) Page 20