by Karen Young
When she felt Michael step back, she sighed and started to let go as well.
“Get your things,” Jake told her gruffly, leaning back to look into her eyes. Beside them, people worked over Kevin where he lay on the floor.
“I’ll need to take care of this,” she began, her voice unsteady. Kevin would need to be admitted. There were forms, procedures. She had a job to do.
“Is it bad?” Jake asked, watching a doctor’s quick inventory of Kevin’s body.
Looking puzzled, the doctor leaned back on his heels. “Doesn’t appear to be shot at all. He’s unconscious, but it’s from the blow he took on the back of his head.”
Jake looked at Michael. “Did you hit him with the gun?”
“No, sir. I used that thing.” He nodded toward a metal IV pole shoved in the corner.
“What about the shot we heard?”
Rachel shivered with remembered fear. “It went wild, thank God, into that stack of towels, I think. But he meant to k-kill himself.” With a shaky hand, she tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. “If not for Michael, he would have.” She looked at him. “You saved his life, Michael.”
Michael shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him shoot himself, could I? Besides, Miss Rachel kept talking to him, distracting him so that I could sneak over and grab the IV pole. It was the only thing in here other than clean laundry.”
Jake reached out and turned Michael’s face to the side. His face grew grim as he studied the bloody bruise on his cheek. “How’d this happen?”
Clearly discomfited, Michael averted his eyes. “Kevin was pretty wild when we first got in here, waving the gun and kicking and knocking everything around. I guess he clipped me there.”
“With the gun,” Rachel said, shivering again. “I think it’s going to need stitches.”
“Then let’s get it done.” Jake put a hand on Mike’s shoulder, and with his other, he motioned for Rachel. As they approached the turn in the hall, he drew up short. A crowd had gathered in the waiting area. Light from the television minicam lent an unusual brightness to the muted mauve-and-blue decor. J.B. was speaking into a microphone, the cadence of his voice rising and falling in tandem with his arms. Beside him, Ron Campbell waited to read a statement.
Spotting Rachel, Helen Falco broke away from the group. She came toward them, her gaze searching and concerned. “Are you okay?” she asked, hugging Rachel tight.
“I’m fine, Helen. But Michael—”
“I know. Officer Langley said he needed stitches. We’ve got a cubicle set up.”
Michael hung back, his eyes on the television crew and the ogling crowd. “Can’t we just go home, Dad?”
“Soon as that cut is tended to, son. Helen—”
She took Michael’s arm and turned him in the opposite direction. “The doctor’s all set up in another wing. We’ll just take a little detour and bypass all the commotion in the waiting room.”
“Well…”
Rachel caught his eyes. “Don’t worry, we’ll go with you, Michael.”
He looked quickly away. “You don’t have to.”
Rachel winced inwardly. He didn’t want her. After what he’d seen between her and Ron Campbell, who could blame him? She managed a smile. “Okay. I need to get to the paperwork anyway.”
“Rachel!” Helen gave her an incredulous look. “You’ve just been through an ordeal. Someone else will handle the paperwork. Jake needs to take you home.”
Jake nodded. “As soon as Mike’s fixed up, I’m going to do just that.”
With a sigh, Rachel fell into step beside them.
HER HOUSE was a welcome sight to Rachel. Her stomach had threatened to rebel with every corner Jake had turned on the way home. Only the knowledge that she had no right to feel ill, that Michael had been the one who was injured, had kept her from giving in to the nausea. She got out of the car on legs that were still wobbly, shamelessly grateful for Jake’s steadying hand. Without a word, she headed straight for her bedroom.
That was where Jake found her a few minutes later. She was sitting on the floor with her back against the bed, her knees raised, hugging a pillow. She hadn’t turned on a light or removed any of her clothes, not even her shoes.
“Rachel?” His tone was urgent as he bent beside her. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”
She shook her head, her throat clogged with unshed tears. “I’m fine, just—”
“Shook up, I know.” He eased an arm around her and drew her into his embrace. His arms tightened when he heard her choked sob. “You’ve been through the ringer today. You deserve a good cry.”
“Did Michael?”
“Did Michael what?”
“Cry.”
He chuckled softly. “No. He stomped around in his room griping because he hadn’t managed to protect you from a drugged crazy.”
Even Michael. Rachel closed her eyes in defeat. Even now, after she thought she had taken control of her life, men continued to treat her as if she were a little girl. The thought banished the threatening tears with a speed nothing else could have.
“Is he okay?” she asked, wondering why Michael cared if she’d been hurt. She would never forget his expression when he’d opened the door to find Ron kissing her. She felt so guilty… So unworthy of Michael’s boyish chivalry. Of Jake’s husbandly concern.
“Mike’s fine.” He shifted to see her face, smoothing back strands of her hair. “But I don’t think you are. Want to talk about it?”
She tried to control the shudder that swept through her. “I was so scared, Jake.”
“I know, baby.” He kissed her temple.
“I’m sorry.”
“For being scared? Don’t be. Even a seasoned cop would be scared facing a situation like that.”
“Not for that. For Michael.”
“Michael?”
“For placing him in danger. Instead of trying to reason with a strung-out user, I should have made Michael’s safety my priority.”
He leaned back and frowned at her. “That’s crazy talk, Rachel. You had an explosive situation and you handled it far better than many other professionals. As far as Michael’s safety is concerned, if there’s any finger pointing to be done, you aren’t the only person who could have stopped Michael from getting involved. Helen Falco or the two cops who brought Kevin in should have headed him off.” She watched his mouth quirk up at one corner in the slow, lazy smile that gave her so much comfort. “So, if you want to beat up on somebody for putting Michael in harm’s way, there’re plenty of folks around.”
She resisted the temptation to snuggle close. Sighing, she was miserably aware that Michael’s close call wasn’t the only reason for her distress, but she could hardly tell Jake now. She didn’t deserve his devotion. How different he’d be if he knew what had happened just moments before the confrontation with Kevin. What a mess. She longed to crawl into her bed and have Jake right beside her. She longed to feel his arms around her, strong and protective and loving. She longed to close her eyes and sleep and then wake to find the whole tangle of her life just a bad dream.
“Hey…” Jake reached out and curled his palm around her nape. “You weren’t the only one who was scared. When they told me Kevin had you and Michael and that he was armed, I nearly lost it, Rachel. Everything precious in my life was in the hands of a madman.” He pulled her into his arms. With his face close to hers, he murmured, “Danger has a way of putting things into their proper perspective.” He waited a moment before saying softly, “Do you know what I’m saying, Rachel?”
She didn’t answer. No sound would come from the tight muscles in her throat. She cringed inwardly, thinking of her cold-blooded and half-baked plan to have an affair to spite Jake. She closed her eyes, trying to forget how shameful she felt. Tears suddenly flooded her eyes, spilling over her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart. We’re going to be okay.” He ran his lips over her eyebrows, her lashes, her wet cheeks. He traced
the shape of her jaw and chin, stopping at the corner of her mouth. “You taste so good, baby. I’ve missed you.”
He kissed her like a man starving. Rachel responded, giving way to the need that had been locked inside her for so long. She clung to him, wanting to bury the aching pain in her heart that held the ugly little secret of her indiscretion. But she couldn’t do this with Jake. Not after what she’d done, almost done…
She gasped, trying to pull away. “No…wait…” She pushed at him, turning away, covering her face with her hands. “I can’t.”
In the stark silence, Jake’s breathing sounded ominous. Rachel held her breath, expecting his temper to explode. Wanting it. She deserved to be yelled at, stormed over.
His voice, when it came, though unsteady, was dangerously soft. “What is going on here, Rachel?”
She didn’t get up. With her head still bent, she stared at her hands. Wetting her lips, she whispered, “I need some time.”
“Time.” He stood above her. Rachel could almost hear his frustration. “How much time, Rachel? I’ve tiptoed around here like a hired hand for almost six months now. How much longer?”
Rachel’s breath caught with pain and guilt. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.”
She shook her head mutely.
“You don’t know,” he repeated, louder.
She wiped both cheeks with her fingers and looked at him. “You probably don’t understand, but—”
“Understand?” He scowled at her. “You’ve got that right, Rachel. I don’t understand. In fact, I’m wondering if you yourself understand what’s going on.” He began pacing, making no effort to keep his voice down. “You can’t sit there and tell me you didn’t want me just now, Rachel. I ought to know. I’ve had eighteen years to figure you out.”
Reaching the armoire where the dressing area branched off, he turned swiftly and struck the top of it with his fist, making Rachel jump. “So don’t talk to me about understanding! I’m thinking maybe I’ve been too understanding as it is. Maybe that’s the problem here. Maybe if I’d been a little less understanding and a little more demanding, we wouldn’t have limped along for half a year living like brother and sister.”
“I’m sorry.” It was a whisper.
“That’s it? That’s all? You’re sorry?”
“I…It’s complicated.”
He released a pent-up breath, almost a groan. “Are you trying to drive me crazy, Rachel?” He stared at his hands before raising his eyes. “I don’t know what you want.”
He waited a moment or two, expecting…what? Rachel drew in a deep breath and got slowly to her feet. What was there to say? What kind of defense could she use without revealing what she’d done? Should she confess? Or would a confession relieve her conscience at Jake’s expense? She pushed her hair from her face with a shaking hand. She only knew one thing: she couldn’t make love with Jake until she’d sorted out the tangled feelings that had driven her to even consider an adulterous liaison.
She got slowly to her feet. How ironic that just when she finally conquered whatever demon had kept her from enjoying sex with her husband, she had entrapped herself in a web of deceit.
“Okay, this is it, Rachel.”
Rachel raised her eyes to Jake’s. He looked so tired. Her heart turned over. She wanted to touch him, to cradle his strong jaw in her hand, to feel the vulnerability she knew would claim him if she could only just step into his arms and say that she was ready to take up their marriage again.
“I’m not coming to you anymore. It’ll have to be you next time, Rachel. You decide when you’re ready to be a real wife again.” His tone dropped until it was almost a whisper. “That is, if you want to be a wife again. I can’t take this anymore.”
IN HIS ROOM, Michael closed his eyes and clutched his pillow tight to his belly. He’d been half-asleep when Jake began to yell. He’d heard every word. How could he not? His stomach had gone into a knot like always when things were bad. He’d never thought to hear his dad use that tone with Miss Rachel. He knew Jake loved her more than he loved anything. Or anybody.
Huddled in his bed, he couldn’t shut out the low rumble of Jake’s voice. He shouldn’t be listening to this. These were private things they were saying to each other. Hurtful things. He tossed the pillow aside and grabbed his jeans. Scrambling into them, he slipped from his room, intending to go to the boathouse. He liked it there. It was quiet, peaceful. A person could really think out there.
In the hall, he waited a moment, staring at his feet dejectedly. This was all his fault. They wouldn’t be having this trouble if he hadn’t come along out of the blue, letting Miss Rachel find out that Jake had once made a big mistake.
Things were going from bad to worse. That’s what really had him worried. Here was Miss Rachel refusing her rightful husband when just that afternoon she’d let that wimpy Ron Campbell slobber all over her. Outrage made Michael’s mouth thin and his breath quicken. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Good thing it had been him and not Jake who had pushed that door open. For a few heady seconds, he visualized Jake planting a big fist in Campbell’s smooth face and a karate-like kick where it hurt the most.
He straightened abruptly as Jake suddenly came out of the bedroom. Jake looked startled but said nothing until he’d closed the door softly. He started down the hall, taking Michael with him.
“I guess you heard some of that, Mike.”
“Yes, sir.” Michael stretched out his stride to match Jake’s. “I didn’t mean to be listening to stuff that’s none of my business. I was heading for the boathouse.”
Jake squeezed his shoulder gently. “I’m sorry you were upset, son, but married couples have their ups and downs. Rachel and I are no exception. It’s not the first time and it probably won’t be the last.”
“Yeah. I mean, yes, sir.”
They reached Michael’s room, but when the boy didn’t enter, Jake leaned back, looking at him. “Cheer up, son. You ought to be feeling good. I couldn’t have been prouder of you today. Tomorrow when you get to school, your name will be up, thanks to Channel Six. You’re a hero.”
“It’s hard to feel good when I’m afraid Miss Rachel might leave.”
Jake was startled into silence. Then he caught Mike by the shoulder and gently herded him into his room and in the direction of his bed. The boy sat, reaching for his pillow and wrapping his arms around it.
“Listen, Mike. I’d be lying if I said everything was going fine with Rachel and me. It’s not. We’re… She’s…got some things to work out.”
Michael nodded mutely, turning his eyes toward the fish tank. He did understand, sort of. Oh, not the part about dumb Ron Campbell. He for one would never figure out why in blue blazes Miss Rachel would ever look at that jerk when she had Jake McAdam worshiping her. But he was afraid he understood the real problem all too well.
“I don’t know how it’s going to end, Mike. I love her, I think you know that. But it is really tough for us right now.”
She probably could be happy if I hadn’t shown up.
The thought settled like lead in Michael’s stomach. He hugged the pillow to his middle, knowing what he was going to have to do. He looked at Jake, studying the face of the man who’d fathered him, and knew it was going to be hard. The hardest thing he’d ever done. Harder even than striking out from Des Moines to search for Jake in the first place.
Michael lay back as Jake stood up. Their conversation had cleared up one thing. What he’d overheard had been just the tip of the iceberg. His dad’s marriage was in deep trouble. Jake had bent over backward in all the ways that seemed to matter and she was still unhappy. So it had to be him, Michael. He wanted to feel mad at Miss Rachel; he wanted to yell at her and make her see that everything could be good if she’d just love him the way he’d learned to love her. Because he did. He loved her almost as much as he loved his dad. He slid under the covers with a sigh. He knew that that was just a pipe dream. He was going to have to
leave.
At the door, Jake turned. “Good night, son. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.”
“Sure, Dad.”
After Jake was gone, Michael lay on his side staring into the fish tank. He just wished he’d known his dad a little longer. Jake was the kind of man any kid would thank his lucky stars to be born to. And Miss Rachel would have been the perfect mom. He thought longingly of the plans and dreams he’d made while lying in this bed—his bed—and knew they would never come true. His throat tight, he faced facts. He wouldn’t get to go to any Miami Dolphins games with Jake. He wouldn’t get to compete on the swim team with Jake on the sidelines looking proud. Leaving now, the way he’d have to, he wouldn’t even get to finish summer school and watch his dad’s face when he saw those two As and a B plus.
He was too old to cry. Jeez!
Chest aching, bottom lip trembling, he watched the goldfish until they were blurred by his tears.
THE JANGLE OF THE PHONE awoke Rachel with a jerk the next morning. She fumbled at the alarm on her clock radio, knocking over a small photo of Scotty before realizing her mistake. By the time she picked up the receiver, Jake was already talking. The call was from his office and she was getting ready to hang up when she heard Scotty’s name.
Struggling into an upright position against the headboard, she was suddenly wide awake, the receiver pressed tight to her ear.
Jake was snapping out questions.
“What time did it come through?”
“Just now, Sheriff. Not ten minutes ago. There’s something else…”
Rachel recognized the night dispatcher’s voice. Lulu Sissons. Holding her breath, she waited.
“He’s blond, Jake. About six years old. He’s been unconscious since the car crashed, so they don’t know much.”
Unconscious! Stricken, Rachel held the receiver tighter.
“You say the man he was with has a record?”
“Yes. A known sex offender. His rap sheet’s two feet long.”
Rachel pressed a hand to her mouth.
“Where’s the boy? Which hospital?”