Finally he spoke, his voice low and gravelly with emotion. “I’ve never said it because I didn’t want to presume that you ... you would accept me for something more than your mother’s husband. But I love your mother, Beth, and you are a part of her. I love you, too.”
Beth’s breaths came in little spurts as she fought the need to weep again but not from anguish. No, not from anguish.
“You’re a young woman already, and I know you don’t need a dad, but—”
“Yes, I do.” She blurted out the words, then lowered her gaze, abashed by the admission. She did need a dad—she’d always needed a dad. Her hands convulsed on the soggy handkerchief. Her words tumbled out in a harsh whisper. “But Mom got pregnant, and she has Dori and Teddy now, and you ... you’re...”
She didn’t complete the thought. Right now, in an operating room, the surgeon was cutting into her mother, taking away the chance for her to ever bear another child. He’d said they had to, to stop her from bleeding. But the thought knifed through Beth’s chest, stealing her words. How could she express a jealousy for the two tiny infants lying in Isolettes, knowing they would be Henry’s only children? How could she expect him to want her—flesh of another man—when he had them?
“Yes,” Henry said, his voice as tender as she’d ever heard it, and Henry was the most tender man she had ever known. “Your mother and I have Dori and Teddy ... and we also have you.”
She jerked her chin up to meet Henry’s gaze. The subtly emphasized words delivered a message that reached Beth’s heart and expanded it in a way she hadn’t expected.
“Having Theodore and Dorothea doesn’t change anything for your mother. You will always be her child. And just because I now have Dorothea and Theodore doesn’t mean I won’t have time for you. If you need a dad, I’m here. If you don’t want me as a dad, I accept that, too. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
He waited, and she gave a slight nod. Yes, they were friends. Henry had never betrayed her, never hurt her, never ignored her, even though she had held him at bay. He had always shown her unconditional acceptance ... and love.
He went on softly, his hand resting on her clasped fists. “Whatever you choose for our future relationship, Beth—whether a friendship or a father-daughter relationship—just know you are loved, by your mother and me. You can trust that.”
Overwhelmed by emotion, Beth couldn’t find her voice. For long minutes she sat looking into Henry’s face, absorbing the sincerity reflected in his eyes. A part of her wanted very much to say, “Thank you.” To say, “Thank you, Dad.” But the words caught in her throat. The time wasn’t appropriate, not in this needy moment. It would be as though she only wanted him for what he could give.
The time to call him by the name she now accepted in her heart would come later, when Mom was well, the twins were home, and they were all together under Henry’s roof like a family. She could wait. Looking into his unwavering, accepting eyes, she knew he could wait, too.
She pushed her lips into a quavering smile.
“Are you ready to pray now?”
Beth gave an eager nod and closed her eyes. Henry petitioned God, speaking to the heavenly Father as easily and comfortably as he would speak to a friend. He thanked God for the precious gift of life in his children; he expressed gratitude for the care his wife was receiving and asked for divine help for the surgeon now operating; and he asked God to calm Beth’s fears and remind her of His presence.
Beth swallowed hard at those words. Only a dad would think of her before he thought of himself.
He concluded the prayer by telling God he trusted Him for the outcome, whatever it would be. When Beth opened her eyes and met Henry’s gaze, the calm peace she saw in his face gave her peace, too. Her mother would be okay. She trusted that implicitly.
Henry slapped his knees and pushed to his feet. “Now, the doctor said it would be morning before we’d be able to see your mother. I’m going to go call Al and have him share what’s happening with those in Sommerfeld. Then I’ll stop by the nurses’ station to ask for pillows and blankets. Do you think you can get comfortable on this little thing?”
Beth gave the settee a pat. “I’ve always liked a firm mattress.”
“Good girl.” Henry gave her cheek a quick caress; then he headed out of the room.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Beth? Beth, wake up.”
The soft voice, the gentle hand on her shoulder drew Beth from a deep, dreamless sleep. She opened her eyes in increments, blinking against the glare of fluorescent lights, and finally focused on a face only inches from hers.
Henry’s face, darkly shadowed by whiskers.
Frowning, she sat up, grimacing as her back complained. It took a moment for her to remember why she was folded into a small settee in an unfamiliar room. But then memories from yesterday—Andrew’s announcement, her mad dash to Wichita, the visits to the nursery, and her mother’s second surgery—rushed over her, and she jerked stiffly upright and grasped Henry’s hand.
“Mom? Is she okay?”
Henry’s tired smile gave the answer before he spoke. “Your mother rested well last night. The worry about bleeding is over. We’ll be able to see her after breakfast.”
Beth felt as though someone had taken the air out of her. She collapsed against the back of the settee and peered up at Henry. “Thank the Lord.”
His eyes crinkled. “I already did.”
With a yawn, Beth pushed to her feet.
Henry pressed a clear resealable bag into her hand. “The nurse said we could use the shower in the bathrooms on the lower level. She gave us these.”
Beth looked into the bag. A toothbrush, comb, and sample-sized containers of toothpaste, soap, shampoo, conditioner, and deodorant awaited her use. “That sounds like a great idea.” Looking down the length of her wrinkled clothes, she made a face.
Yesterday she’d been too concerned about Mom to worry about her clothes. But now she realized how slovenly she must look in her normal work attire of faded jeans, T-shirt, and oversized flannel shirt.
“I wish they had some clothes in here, too.” She gave her armpit a sniff, wrinkled her nose, and said with a rueful chuckle, “I could use a change.”
Henry shook his head, his eyes twinkling. “You’ll be fine. People understand. Why don’t you go down first? I’ll stay here in case someone needs us. When you get back, I’ll go clean up, and then we’ll visit your new brother and sister before we see your mother.”
Beth admitted it felt wonderful to be clean even if she did have to put on clothes that were wrinkly and slightly musty from yesterday’s wearing. Her wet hair pulled up in a ponytail, she returned to the waiting room to find Henry finishing a simple breakfast of cereal and fruit. On the tray, a second box of cornflakes, a banana, and small carton of milk were untouched.
He pointed. “Look here. If you open the box on these dotted lines, you can pour the milk right inside and use the box like a cereal bowl.”
His boyish amazement at using the box for a bowl tickled Beth, and she couldn’t stop a giggle from forming. But when Henry sent her a questioning look, she said simply, “Pretty ingenious,” and sat down.
He left for his shower. She turned on the television and watched a morning talk show while she ate her breakfast. Surprisingly, she was hungry. The food tasted better than she would have thought.
When Henry returned, she clicked off the TV, loaded the remains of their breakfast onto the tray, and stood up, tray in hand.
“The nurse said to leave it on the table there. A janitor will pick it up.” He ran his hand over his smooth chin. “I think I’m presentable enough now to peek at the babies. Let’s go.”
As they walked toward the NICU, Beth said, “I wish I’d remembered to grab my cell phone yesterday. It would make calling people easier.”
“The nurse said we could use the telephone downstairs as much as we need to.”
“I know, but”—Beth sent him a sheepish look—“I need to call Sean
McCauley and let him know the project has been delayed, and I don’t have the number memorized. It’s in my cell phone’s memory bank.”
Henry slowed his steps, his expression thoughtful. “Can’t you ask an operator for help?”
Beth came to a halt and slapped her forehead. “Oh, duh! Information...”
Henry laughed. Throwing his arm around her shoulders, he got her moving again. “You can make your call after we’ve had our visits.”
This time when Beth entered the nursery set aside for the babies in need of critical care, she didn’t look at her brother or sister. She watched Henry. Frequently she had to blink to clear her vision as the man leaned over one Isolette, then the other, his broad hand pressed to the clear cover, his nose mere inches from the Plexiglas top that kept him from being able to touch his children.
The tenderness in his eyes, the gentle curve on his lips, the deep breaths he took while his eyes slid closed—Beth was sure in those moments he prayed—created a rise of emotion in her breast that was nearly impossible to contain. If she had hand-selected a father, she wouldn’t have been able to find a better one. For the babies, or for herself.
Henry straightened and looked at her. “They look good, don’t they?” He kept his voice whisper-soft so as not to disturb any of the tiny patients. “Small, yes. So small ... But good. Strong.” His gaze dropped to Teddy’s bed. “Look at Theodore there, making those fists. He’s a fighter.” Turning to the second bed, his smile gentled. “And Dorothea ... with that little dent in her chin ... how much she looks like her mother.”
Henry looked toward Beth. “All of my girls have dented chins.”
Beth shook her head, emitting a quiet laugh. “That dent is called a cleft.”
He shrugged, his face creased with a grin. “Okay. Clefted chins.” He looked back at the sleeping baby. “I like it.”
In those moments, Beth liked it more than she ever had before. She allowed Henry several more minutes of silent examination as she crouched between the two beds and prayed for each baby in turn. When she straightened to her feet, Henry took her hand.
“Come. I’ve memorized their faces so I can share. Let’s go see your mother now.”
It occurred to Beth as she and Henry headed toward the surgical ICU where her mother recovered that Mom had yet to see or hold her babies. Beth’s heart twisted in sympathy. If she itched to reach through that Plexiglas and cradle Dori and Teddy, how much more must Mom’s heart ache with desire to have them in her arms.
She and Henry stopped at the station briefly to make sure it was okay for them to go into Mom’s room, and with the nurse’s approval, Henry ushered Beth in. To her surprise, Mom was propped up on pillows rather than lying flat. A tray with a half-eaten piece of dry toast and a plastic tumbler with a bent straw sticking out of it sat on a tall cart beside the bed.
When Mom spotted them, she offered a weak smile and held out the arm that had no tubes running from it. Beth hesitated, but Henry gave her a gentle nudge, and she dashed forward to press her cheek to her mother’s—a full hug would probably hurt her.
“Good morning.” Mom’s voice sounded dry and raspy. “You were here all night?”
Tears pricked Beth’s eyes again at her mother’s obvious surprise. Maybe it was a blessing she wouldn’t get that McCauley contract. She had obviously spent far too much time being Beth, business owner, instead of Beth, daughter. Closing her eyes for a moment, she made a silent vow of doing a better job of balancing her priorities—and moving family higher on her list.
“Yes. All night. And I probably smell as bad as I look.”
Mom laughed softly, shaking her head. “You look fine, honey.” She turned to Henry. “Have you held the babies yet?”
Beth watched Henry lean forward to place a kiss on his wife’s lips. “Not yet. But I’ve seen them, and they’re beautiful. Perfect.”
Sensing her parents’ need to have some time alone, Beth inched toward the door. “I’ll be back a little later. I need to go make some phone calls.”
Henry sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and took his wife’s hand. “All right. I plan to stay here until they kick me out.”
Beth nodded. “I understand. I’ll see you soon. I love you.” When she spoke the words, she looked at her mother, but then allowed her gaze to flit over Henry, too.
His smile followed her from the room. A request from Information garnered the telephone number for McCauley Church Construction. Beth pressed her finger against the telephone’s number pad. After only one ring, a friendly female voice chirped, “McCauley Church Construction. How may I direct your call?”
Beth licked her lips. “I need to speak to Sean McCauley, please.” “Mr. Sean McCauley is at a different location. This is the main office.”
Beth sucked in her breath. Of course, she should have asked specifically for Sean’s number rather than the construction company’s.
“But,” the voice went on, “Mr. Evan McCauley is in. Would you like to speak to him?”
Beth pressed her memory. Was Evan the father or the brother? She supposed it didn’t matter. She just needed to let someone know she would be unable to meet the deadline. “Evan McCauley is fine.”
“Your name, please?”
“Beth Quinn of Quinn’s Stained-Glass Art Studio.”
There was a brief, startled silence, then, “Oh! Miss Quinn—yes. Mr. McCauley has been trying to contact you. I’ll put you right through. Please hold.”
Beth tapped her fingers against the desktop while she waited. Seconds later a deep, almost brusque voice came on.
“Evan McCauley here.”
“Mr. McCauley, this is—”
“Beth Quinn. The elusive Beth Quinn.”
Although the words could be construed as teasing, Beth couldn’t determine by his tone whether he intended to tease or berate.
“My son,” he continued without giving her a chance to speak, “tried several times yesterday to reach you.”
This time she was sure she heard a hint of accusation in his tone. She chose her reply carefully. “Yes, sir. I apologize for being unavailable. You see, my mother was rushed to the hospital early yesterday morning. I left in such a hurry, I neglected to carry my cell phone with me. I’m sorry if I caused Sean worry.” Picturing Sean repeatedly dialing her number, getting no response, created a tightness in her chest. She realized she truly did regret any concern she may have caused.
“And how is your mother?” The man’s tone didn’t gentle at all, but the lowered volume let Beth know the question was sincere.
“She had complications from a pregnancy and required an emergency C-section, followed by a second surgery late last night. She came through both surgeries well, and she’s recovering. But it will be several days before she’s released. Longer still”—she swallowed—“for my premature brother and sister. But we trust they’ll be fine, too.” When had she decided to simply trust? Of its own volition, a smile formed on her face. “However, it does create a problem for me ... and you.”
When he made no response, she continued. “I would like to stay at the hospital with my stepfather until my mother is released. Which means I’m not in my studio. I’m afraid, with these delays, the window I’m constructing for you won’t be completed by April 1.”
“You realize your failure to meet that deadline results in a termination of our agreement.” It wasn’t a question. Beth wasn’t sure she would classify it as a statement, either. It sounded almost like a threat.
She licked her dry lips and formed a calm response. “Yes, sir, I am aware of that.”
A lengthy pause followed, during which time Beth could feel the prickle of tension from nearly three hundred miles away. “Very well, Miss Quinn. I appreciate your honesty. Sean and I will pursue another artist for our company. My best wishes to your mother and her babies. Take care.” The line went dead.
Beth slowly placed the receiver on the hook. She waited for regret, sorrow, self-recrimination to strike. But they didn�
�t. Yes, there was a slight hollowness in her chest, a realization that a dream would go unfulfilled. She supposed eventually she would need to mourn that loss. But for now, she only felt a sense of calm, a realization that she’d done the right thing for her family and for herself.
Closing her eyes, she offered a silent prayer. Thank You, Lord, for putting me where I should be for Mom right now. I said I trusted that she and the babies would be fine, and I meant it. I also trust that, somehow, things will work out for the best for the people involved in my studio.
Heading back toward the maternity wing, Beth heaved a sigh. She might be at peace with her decision, but that peace may be shattered when she shared the loss of the contract with Andrew.
TWENTY-NINE
“She declined the contract?” Sean’s knees turned to rubber. He sank into the chair facing his father’s massive oak desk. “I can’t believe she’d do that.”
“Yes.” Dad drummed his fingers on the desktop, his lips twitching. “I was surprised, too. And it certainly leaves us in a lurch.”
Sean wasn’t as concerned about their “lurch” at the moment as he was about Beth. Knowing how many plans she had for the studio, he couldn’t imagine her turning down the very means to seeing those plans through. “But why? Did she give a reason?”
Dad nodded. “Apparently, her mother had a complicated delivery and required surgery. She is staying at the hospital until her mother recovers. That equates to not meeting the deadline, so...” Dad raised one brow. “No contract.”
Sean leaned forward, his heart pounding with alarm. “Did she say whether her mother was all right?” Beth adored her mother. She would be devastated if anything happened to her.
“She indicated her mother was recovering nicely. I waited for her to make the determination that, with her mother being cared for, she should return to her obligations, but she chose to stay at the hospital. So that’s that.” Dad lifted a file from the corner of his desk, opened it, and began to peruse its contents.
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