Lord, where had the time gone? It seemed like only yesterday she was bringing him home from the hospital. A tiny bundle in a soft blanket, smelling of baby powder and that special scent that belonged only to infants.
Surprised at the wetness on her cheek, she brushed it away and bent to place a kiss on her son’s brow. “Matt?” she said loudly enough for him to hear without difficulty. “Matt, can you wake up?”
He stirred in his sleep, but didn’t awaken.
“Matt, it’s Mom. Can you wake up just for a minute, honey?’“
But he slept on, and Randi found herself fighting a yawn. The combination brought her to a decision. Matt was obviously exhausted. And so was she. It didn’t make sense to drive for half the night in such a state, and they’d both feel better in the morning after a night’s sleep. Besides, it didn’t look as if Alphonse was anywhere near the Eastern Shore yet, if it ever arrived at all.
Stifling another yawn, she headed for the other bedroom. She’d set her alarm for an early hour and drive home then.. Jill and David need never know. Meanwhile, she’d be rested for the long drive. Safer. Much safer..
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“MOMMY…”
Randi raised her head groggily from the pillow. She had a hazy awareness of something beating against the windows. Rain. Was that what had awakened her or something else? A summer storm was apparently buffeting the cottage. Maybe the wind—”
Mommy…” the cry came again.
Matt! She came instantly awake, scrambling out of the covers and stumbling toward her son’s room. Dear God, it was Matt, and he sounded terrible!
“Sweetheart, I’m here,” she crooned, dropping to her knees beside Matt’s bed and turning on the bedside lamp. “Tell me what’s…”
She sucked in a breath as she felt the heat radiating from Matt’s small body. Her hand went immediately to his brow, though she didn’t need to touch him to know he had a fever. When she did, she let out a choked cry of alarm. He was burning up!
“Mommy…” It came out as a whimper now, though she could see he wasn’t awake.
“Matt, honey, Mommy’s here.” Her mind raced as she thought what to do. She was an experienced nurse, accustomed to dealing with things far more serious than a fever. Yet a fever was merely a symptom, the body’s signal that it was fighting an infection.
But this was Matt. He’d always been a vigorous healthy child. She’d never had to nurse him through anything more daunting than a cold. He’d never even experienced those slightly elevated temperatures following childhood inoculations.
And this was no slightly elevated temperature. God in heaven, it felt like it was well over a hundred.
The thought galvanized her, and she ran to her room where her baggage lay. She always carried a digital thermometer, as well as aspirin for herself and acetaminophen for Matt. She’d take his temp, then dose him with the latter to bring down the fever.
Switching on lights as she ran, she became more aware of her surroundings. Rain lashed the windows in torrents, and the wind had a high-pitched keening sound. The word hurricane flashed in her brain, and she fought against a rush of panic. She had to keep calm.
Minutes later she held the thermometer with a hand that shook and felt a ripple of fear along her spine: 104.6!
Matt tossed restlessly on the bed, alternately seeking relief from the heat by trying to throw off the covers and huddling beneath them, succumbing to fits of shivers. Her hands still none too steady, Randi reached for the bottle of liquid acetaminophen, thankful she hadn’t brought chewable tablets, which might be hard to get into him.
“Matt, darling,” she urged, holding him steady by one of his narrow shoulders as he tried to twist away, “here’s something to make you feel better.”
Inserting the dropper in the corner of his mouth, she squeezed the bulb at the end and watched anxiously as he swallowed the liquid. Compounding her concern was that he gave no indication he recognized her, only mumbling incoherently from time to time and whimpering her name. He was delirious.
A deafening crack resounded from outside, and she gave a startled cry. A glance at the window revealed nothing but darkness beyond the rain-lashed panes. She thought of the Cherokee in the drive, then of darkness and shrieking winds and torrential rain. With a grim shake of her head, she discarded the notion of driving to a doctor or hospital.
At that moment the lights flickered and went out. She gasped, barely relaxing when they came back on a moment later. Dear God, what would she do if the electricity failed? The heating system was also electric; loss of light and heat would cripple her ability to do anything.
Yet she was limited in what she could do, anyway. She was a trained nurse, yes, but without proper medical supplies or facilities. Again the lights flickered, and she fought to contain a rising panic while she thought what to do.
Turning abruptly, she ran for the kitchen, hurricane reverberating in her mind. The number of the local hospital was listed on a card the owners had taped beside the phone on the wall. It was time to call for an ambulance.
Moments later Randi felt fear clawing at her throat and she swallowed a sob. The phone was dead.
The image of her Cherokee, with its four-wheel drive, came to her rescue. The mere thought of driving in this weather frightened her, but she’d do it. For Matt, she’d do whatever it took.
As if needing sight of the Jeep’s reassuring presence to steady her nerves, she ran to the front door. Throwing on the floodlight, which was aimed over the drive, she unlocked the door and pulled it open a crack—
And yelped, as the wind nearly tore it from her grasp. Pitting her weight against the door to keep it steady, she peered into the howling night. Wind-driven rain pummeled her face and soaked her nightgown. She shoved a skein of wet hair away from her eyes, trying to see.
Dear Lord, no!
The entire hood of the Jeep was caved in. That was the crack of noise she’d heard. It had been smashed by the weight of the flagpole, which the wind had snapped like a matchstick and hurled onto a vehicle parked yards away. She was entirely cut off. Helpless.
TRAVIS SPOKE SOOTHINGLY to Ulysses as he maneuvered his car through the teeming rain. He’d intended leaving hours before, but the unspoken needs of his landlady had changed his plans. The handyman Mrs. Muncie relied on to help with heavy work at the bed-and-breakfast had suffered a back injury, and she’d had no one to help her prepare for the hurricane. Travis had spent hours boarding up windows and generally securing the building. He’d then insisted on driving the elderly widow to her sister’s house, which lay on higher ground.
Now, as he squinted through the windshield that his wipers barely cleared enough to glimpse through, he swore softly. Mrs. Muncie’s sister and brother-in-law had urged him to stay at their place, at least for the night. He should have listened to them.
Alphonse had bypassed most of Florida and headed out to sea; then it had veered unpredictably westward until it hit land, where it straightened and charged up the coast. The eye of the hurricane, according to the last report before he’d made his decision to chance driving home, was still some sixty miles to the south. How was he to know that was close enough to cause these hellish winds and pounding rain?
But something—call it an inner sense he couldn’t put a name to—had urged him to go. And now that same undefined feeling was taking him past the bed-and-breakfast and on up the road. To the cottage where Randi and Matt stayed. Why, he couldn’t begin to say, but—
“Damn!” Travis exclaimed, slowing the car. Carefully tapping the brakes to avoid skidding, he stared incredulously through the rain. There were lights on in the cottage!
Was it Randi or had she left? Maybe it was the owner, stopping by to batten down for the storm. But if it was Randi, why the hell was she still there? Furious that she could be so incautious, he turned the rental car toward the cottage.
“Sweet Jesus…” He swallowed a lump of fear as his headlights picked out the wreckage of the Cherokee
under the broken flagpole. Had she been inside when…
He didn’t allow himself to complete the thought and brought the car to a halt. Speaking a few reassuring words to Ulysses, he cut the engine. Wasn’t that sister of hers supposed to bring Matt back to the cottage when they returned from Orlando? What if…
He wouldn’t allow himself to complete that thought, either.
He told himself the lights in the cottage meant Randi, and maybe his son, were inside. Shoving his arms into the slicker Mrs. Muncie had insisted he take, he urged Ulysses to stay. Gusts of wind threatened to tear the car door off its hinges as he emerged from the vehicle. He ran to the Jeep, bracing himself for what might be inside. Nothing, thank God.
Racing to the door, he hammered on it with his fist. “Randi, open up! It’s Travis!” He gave the doorknob a twist and was amazed to find it unlocked.
“Randi!” he shouted. “It’s Travis and I’m comin’ in, so—” He froze after barely managing to wrestle the door shut behind him. Randi had stepped into the hallway. She wore a nightgown that was dripping wet, and her long hair was plastered to her head and shoulders. She came toward him, and his heart leapt to his throat when he saw the ravaged look on her face.
“Travis,” she said in a voice not her own, a naked pleading in her eyes. “It’s Matt. Help me.”
Flinging the slicker aside, he closed the distance between them, his hands settling gently on her shoulders. “Easy, sweetheart. Tell me…”
With a sob, she broke away and whirled toward the bedrooms. He ran after her, trying to make sense out of her stammered account of what was wrong. He grasped the words “burning up” and “flagpole,” but little else.
Then they were in the room, and he understood all too clearly as he saw his son. Matt was tossing on the bed, shouting and flailing at the twist of blankets covering his small body. He was obviously delirious.
“Randi, listen to me,” Travis said, taking her by the shoulders and giving her a shake as she babbled something and lapsed into violent sobs. He shook her again, harder.
She gasped, then seemed to get hold of herself, meeting his eyes. “Okay,” she replied through bloodless lips. “I’m…okay.”
“Good girl,” he said, grabbing a rumpled sheet that lay on the floor. “Now, go to the bathroom and wet this with cool water,” he ordered briskly. “Hurry.”
He was already turning toward the bed as she obeyed. As he approached, his jaw tightened. Matt’s small body had begun to jerk spasmodically. Convulsions! Rare in a child as old as four, but not unheard of.
Quickly he lifted the child’s upper body from the mattress, wincing at the heat emanating from the small frame. Tilting Matt’s head back to assure he had a clear passage for air to pass, he wondered where Randi was with the wet sheet. His free hand went to the buttons on Matt’s thin summer pajamas, deftly undoing them, despite the tremors that shook the boy. Meanwhile, his eyes watched the sweep of the second hand on his watch. The phrase brain damage hovered at the edge of his consciousness as he counted out the seconds. If the convulsions lasted much longer…
Randi ran in with the sheet and nearly lost it again when she saw Matt’s convulsions.
The sheet was torn from her grasp. Without a word, Travis began applying sections of it to the child’s fevered flesh, already stripped of the pajamas.
Randi bit her lip, dimly aware of the taste of blood as she watched. Matt shuddered and jerked as Travis worked, applying cool compresses to lower a dangerously high fever. She should have thought of that. Yet she’d panicked and become useless, unable to think. But Travis, thank God, hadn’t. Nothing in the man’s demeanor suggested the kind of inner turmoil she felt. He was all calm efficiency and controlled purpose.
Only Travis knew what his control cost him; inside he was a mass of roiling emotions. This was his son, and he knew then that he loved the kid more than his life. Losing his control would help no one, and he struggled to retain, the calm necessary to the physician he’d once trained to be.
And he prayed. Prayed the wet sheet would lower Matt’s temp and end the convulsions. If it didn’t…
He throttled yet another thought before it could form.
RANDI SAT SILENTLY beside her son’s hospital bed, her eyes never leaving his pale face. He’s going to be all right, she told herself for the umpteenth time since their arrival. He’s going to be all right.
Vaguely she was aware of howling wind and rain beating against the panes of the room’s double windows. Just as she was vague about the details of the endless car ride that had brought them here. She recalled little beyond that hot little body in her arms as they drove through the night and the storm. Hot, yes, but mercifully free of convulsions. Convulsions that had made brain damage a harrowing possibility:
She also recalled, from that interminable ride in the car, the gut-wrenching fear that Matt could die before they reached this place of help and safety. Now she remembered one more thing.
Travis.
Without stopping to piece out the details, she had an unfailing sense of Travis McLean as a rock-solid presence during the entire ordeal. His arrival at the cottage alone had seemed a godsend; even now she wanted to weep with relief at the miracle of it. Just seeing him there, strong, confident, capable.
At the very moment she’d begun to lose hope, he’d given her the strength to hang on and do what needed to be done. To pull herself together. Shame burned her cheeks as she remembered how she’d lost control. An experienced ER nurse!
So it had been Travis who’d made the difference in the end, not she. Travis, who’d saved Matt. She’d only done what he told her. She’d never have acted without his help.
She thought of the confidence he’d inspired. Dear heaven, he’d have made a wonderful doctor! She thought about his years of medical training and wanted to scream at the waste. Surely the world needed competent physicians more than it needed spies.
Matt stirred restlessly in his sleep, pulling at the IV tube that dripped an antibiotic into his arm. A urinary infection, they’d said. As for the convulsions, yes, they were rare in a child this old, but it happened; even adults occasionally had them.
Matt moaned softly in his sleep; frowning, she reached to feel his brow, then released a pent-up breath. Still feverish, but nothing like before. He’s going to be all right. She repeated the words like a mantra. He’s going to be all right….
“MR. MC LEAN?”
Travis’s head jerked up from the magazine he’d been staring at without seeing. An attractive brunette who looked vaguely familiar entered the waiting room; she was followed by a lean man with sandy brown hair.
“Jill Terhune,” the woman said, extending her hand as he rose to meet her. “Thank you for calling us,” she added, gesturing to the man beside her. “My fiance, David Brooks.”
The men shook hands, taking each other’s measure while Jill stood aside and surreptitiously assessed Matt’s father. Her first thought was that this was what her nephew would look like in thirty years. But there was so much more.
Movie-star handsome arid radiating maleness like a huge neon sign, McLean was the sexiest piece of testosteroneladen flesh she’d ever laid eyes on. Even minus her fears about Matt, it was no wonder Randi wanted to keep him at a distance. A man like this was way out of Randi’s league. If, she amended, her sister even had a league where men were concerned. But she’d have been alert to the dangerous male animal implicit in every inch of the man.
Then he turned, giving Jill a tired smile, and she found herself quickly reassessing. There was an undeniable sense of decency, of basic human kindness, in the tired lines of his face. Yes, and sensitivity lurking in the blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Intelligent eyes, she realized at once.
“Y’all got here pretty quickly,” Travis said. “No trouble with the roads, I reckon?” He’d managed to get the phone number from Randi before they arrived at the hospital, and he’d called Jill at once. “Have you seen Randi yet? Or Matt?”<
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“No,” Jill said, “but we spoke to the pediatrician on duty, and he seems to think Matt’s out of danger, thank God.”
Travis nodded. “A urinary infection, which spiked a high night fever.” He smiled softly at both of them. “Don’t y’all worry now. We got him here in time.”
“We’re about to go on up to the room,” David said, “but we wanted to see you first and thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. Matt’s my…my flesh and blood, and even if he wasn’t, I’d have done what I could to help. You’d have done the same.”
“I’d have tried,” David said with a wry smile, “but I hardly have your expertise. I understand you have a medical background.”
“Uh…yeah.” Travis glanced away from David’s curious gaze.
A nurse entered the waiting room, crisp in her white uniform. “Miss Terhune?”
Jill turned, nodded.
“Doctor says you can go up now.”
Jill and David both moved, and the nurse added, “Sorry, but the rules say only two visitors at a time. And his mother’s already there. Been at the bedside the whole time, you know.”
“You go on, sweetheart,” David said, putting a gentle hand on Jill’s shoulder. “I can—”
“Uh, David?” Travis’s voice turned both Jill and David toward him. “I was wonderin’,” he said, “if I might have a few words with your fiancée—” he looked questioningly at Jill “—if it’s all right with you, that is?”
Jill nodded. She’d been hoping to talk to McLean. “You go up first, honey,” she said to David. “I don’t mind. Just tell Randi I’ll be along shortly, okay?”
David hesitated a moment, searching her face. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he nodded and followed the nurse.
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