Stacy pressed her hands to her belly and slumped against the cushions. In her dreams she'd envisioned Boyd sitting next to her at this moment, holding her hand, talking to her in that calm, raspy voice that had quieted her fears after the accident.
"Oh, Boyd, I really made a mess of things, didn't I?"
Her only answer was the hard thudding of her heart over the baby whose face she was about to see for the first time.
Boyd had come home prepared to make peace, only to find a note from Prudy taped to the back door, telling him that Stacy was in labor and on her way to the hospital.
P.S. I fed the cat, he read before adding an obscene postscript of his own.
Two minutes later he was back on the road, the acid of fear burning a hole in his gut. Because he wanted to jam the accelerator to the floor, traffic signals, other motorists and cops be damned, he made himself drive with extra care. According to the time Prudy had jotted under her signature, they'd been gone from the house for over four hours. Four hours when he should have been with Stacy, keeping the promise he'd made her instead of skulking like a wounded animal in a smoky bar, trying to convince himself to get blind, stinking drunk.
When he'd left the place as sober as he'd been when he entered, he'd settled only one thing in his mind—he had no right to jump down Stacy's throat for trying to drag him kicking and screaming out of the cold and into the sunshine.
The sunshine she could create with just a smile.
Sunshine he'd done his best to drown in self-pity.
The lights outlining the hospital parking lot were winking on when he pulled into the closest slot. Twisting the key so hard it nearly snapped before he jerked it from the ignition, he was out of the car and heading for the entrance at a dead run before the engine had time to stop.
Stacy woke to a shaft of sunshine slanting across her bed and a room filled with flowers. Before her delighted smile reached full bloom, however, it froze at the sight of Boyd sprawled in a chair pulled close to the bed, sound asleep.
Still dressed in the tank top and shorts he'd worn for gardening, he needed a shave, a shower and, from the stamp of exhaustion on his abnormally pale face, a good night's sleep. But it was the soft white teddy bear still crooked in the corner of one arm that brought tears to her eyes.
Biting her lip, she reached out to touch the strong hand cupped protectively around the bear's tiny foot. It was only the faintest of touches, a tactile whisper, but it was enough to jerk him awake.
For an instant his eyes were filled with anguish before they turned dark. "You look … beautiful," he said, his voice thick. "But I miss your round tummy."
Stacy felt a blush stealing over her cheeks as she glanced down at the flat expanse of white hospital sheet stretching from her breasts to her toes. Which she wiggled, just because she could now see them move. "I don't," she murmured with fervent relief.
Even as he managed a smile, he felt his heart tumbling in his chest. She was beyond lovely, with the sun kissing gold into her hair and the joy of motherhood shining from her eyes. The lips that he'd kissed with such passion were sweetly curving, inviting his. All that lingered of the idealistic young man he'd once been yearned to take her into his arms with a pledge of forever.
"The flowers are beautiful," she said, glancing around. "Are they from you?"
"No, from Mrs. Matsuka."
"Who?"
He loved the way her eyebrows swooped together and her mouth pouted when she was puzzled. "Mary Matsuka, downstairs. In the florist shop."
Her laugh trilled softly. "You must have cleaned her out."
"Not quite. She had this ugly cactus thing that I rejected."
She laughed again, before thanking him.
Boyd sat up, his stiff muscles protesting the sudden demand, and tried to level his emotions. Arriving at the maternity wing to find that Stacy had already delivered had only added barbs to the guilt already damn near choking him like a hangman's noose. Jarrod's repeated assurances that both she and the baby were fine had only paid out a little slack.
"Stacy, I—"
"Don't say it," she ordered fiercely, knitting her brows. "It's not your fault I went into labor, and it's not your fault I delivered so fast you weren't here to hold my hand." She took a breath, then curved her lips into an angel's smile. "But I have to admit I wish you could have seen her when she was born."
Something thick clogged Boyd's throat. "So do I," he said gruffly. "But I did see her when she was only a little more than an hour old. And yes, Mom, she is hands down the prettiest baby in the nursery."
The laconic hint of humor in his tone had her laughing softly. "Ouch," she muttered when a twinge of pain brought her up short. "I swear, the worst part of having a baby is the episiotomy."
He looked so uncomfortable at that she had to grin.
"Uh, Jarrod said you had an easy delivery."
"Hah!" Stacy pressed the button to raise the head of the bed and wondered when they were going to bring Tory in to nurse for the first time.
"And that for such a ladylike woman you displayed a remarkable grasp of the, uh, more colorful phrases of the English language."
Swore like a cowhand on the losing end of a tussle with a mean-ass bull is what Jarrod had really said. Boyd had nearly decked him until he'd assured him Stacy had sailed through her delivery with no complications. But, now, as he surreptiously studied her pale face and too bright eyes, he wondered if Jarrod had taken one look at the sorry shape he'd been in last night and shaded the truth.
He was about to run through a comprehensive list of diagnostic questions when a nurse he didn't know walked in pushing a bassinet on wheels. "Good morning," she chirped to them both.
"Good morning," Stacy replied, her face alight with anticipation as the nurse expertly scooped the swaddled baby from the plastic shell.
"Didn't hear a peep out of her all night," she said, settling the baby in Stacy's arms. "Best little munchkin in the nursery." As though offering him the credit, the nurse gave him a smile that he couldn't quite return.
"Oh Boyd, she's even more wonderful than I remembered." The awe in Stacy's voice had him shoring up walls. When she brought her gaze to his, he saw tears glistening in her eyes.
"As wonderful as her mom," he said, before he realized he should have cleared his throat of the thickness there first.
Her suddenly trembling smile told him she understood. And forgave.
"Has your milk let down yet?" the nurse asked, drawing Stacy's gaze from his.
"Not yet." She fumbled with the snaps at the shoulder. When she had trouble, the nurse helped, careful to keep Stacy's breast covered.
"Sometimes it takes the stimulation of the baby's mouth." The nurse cast a sidelong glance toward Boyd, before asking Stacy brightly, "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Nothing, thanks."
"When you're finished nursing, ring the desk."
Stacy nodded. "But Tory stays in here with me, right?"
The nurse smiled. "Yes, she stays with you. No one would dare try to take her away." After giving Stacy an encouraging pat on the shoulder, the nurse left the three of them alone.
Stacy glanced down at the small, red face of her daughter and, for a moment, couldn't breathe. From a moment of frenzied desperation had come a perfect little soul. A new life. A child with Len's dramatic coloring and her features replicated in miniature.
Sweet Victoria.
Love rushed through her, filling her, warming her. Lifting her head, she looked over at Boyd and smiled. "I knew I loved her, but I had no idea how deeply until this moment."
Boyd drew a breath. It was time for him to leave.
He shifted, sat up, balanced the stuffed bear he'd forgotten he had between his rough hands. Looked down at the floor, then lifted his gaze to hers, only to find her watching him with eyes softened by an understanding that hurt him to accept.
"It's over, isn't it?" she said gently. "Our time together."
He didn't know w
hat to say, so he simply looked at her.
"You keep telling me not to thank you, so I won't. But you have to know what … how much you mean to me. How much you'll always mean to me."
His breath jammed in his throat, Boyd laid the bear on the mattress next to Stacy's hip and got to his feet. It hurt to see the hope shimmering in her eyes as she watched him.
"Would you like to hold her before you go?"
Boyd felt an ache. "I'm too raunchy," he said, glancing down at his sweat-stained shirt.
"Not for us."
He saw the hope die in her eyes, and wanted to crawl. "Promise me you'll stay in my house until you're on your feet again," he said, his voice strained.
"All right." Because he'd expected her to protest, her easy acquiescence all but broke his heart.
"I'll leave a check for you on the kitchen table. I want you to cash it and use the money for a new start. When you're solvent again, you can pay me back." Before the militant light in her eyes could find voice, he lifted a hand to add, "You can even pay me interest if that makes you feel better."
"Oh, Boyd," she whispered, breaking his heart.
"I won't be there when you return so I'll say goodbye now."
"Where … where are you going?"
Because he didn't know, he merely shrugged. "Take care of yourself and Victoria." As he'd done once before, he leaned down to brush a kiss across her lips.
"Boyd, please—" He touched a finger to her lips, stemming the words he knew she would regret.
"It's better this way, Stacy." He hesitated, then, because he couldn't help himself, he leaned down to kiss the baby's rose-petal cheek and, for an instant, thought of his own little angel. Pain slammed into him with such force he nearly cried out in a plea for mercy. Instead, he made himself straighten, made himself smile. Made himself walk away.
* * *
Fifteen
« ^
At the sound of footsteps approaching the small, pine-paneled office, Boyd turned away from the window where he'd been watching a hummingbird darting in and out of the honeysuckle bushes. He'd been thinking of Stacy, of course. Wondering if she were well. And happy.
Dr. Skip Wellbren came into the office with the same harried look Boyd remembered on that terrible day ten weeks ago when he'd shown up here to ask a favor of his old buddy from med school. Checking himself into a psychiatric hospital hadn't been the easiest thing Boyd had ever done, but those first few minutes with Skip had gone a long way toward convincing him he was doing the right thing.
"Well, Boyd, I can't say it's been fun, but it's sure been interesting."
Boyd heard the humor threaded through Skip's Kansas twang and grinned. "It's been pure hell, and you know it."
"Yeah, well you know us farm boys. We like a hard nut to crack now and then."
Boyd groaned at the bad pun, winning him one of Skip's triumphant chuckles. "Gotcha again."
"Bastard."
For a moment, the years seemed to fall away, and they grinned at each other like wild and woolly college boys who'd just pulled a prank on the dean. Then Skip thrust out his hand and Boyd took it. "You did good, my friend." Skip's voice was suddenly serious, his eyes conveying messages he didn't seem able to put into words.
Boyd could sympathize. There was a lump in his own throat the size of a golf ball. "Thanks for hanging in there with me," he said gruffly.
Skip nodded. "You didn't really need to be here, you know. Sooner or later, you would have worked all this out for yourself."
"Maybe."
"True story. I just shoved you in the right direction now and then."
"Kicked my sorry ass was more like it." Boyd swallowed hard, and noticed that Skip did too.
"Well, I guess I'd better get out of your hair—what little there is left of it."
Skip swiped his palm over a scalp as bald as a grape and scowled. "I notice you're leaving here with a little more gray than you brought with you, old son."
"Trick of the light." Boyd reached down for his old duffle bag, the only luggage he'd brought with him.
"Still planning to take Ivans up on his offer?"
"If he'll have me, yeah."
"And Stacy? Have you called her?" Skip asked suddenly, perceptive as always.
"No." Boyd slung the bag over his shoulder. Then he met his friend's gaze. "I'm not sure I'm ready for a wife and kids yet. Until I'm damned sure, I just don't feel like it's right to clutter up her life. You know what I mean?"
Skip nodded. "Just don't wait too long, Boyd. Remember what's brought you this far, hmm?"
Boyd forced a smile. "Yeah. 'Don't think it to death, just do it.'"
"It's normal to feel a little hesitant, you know."
Boyd arched an eyebrow. "Hesitant? Try scared spitless."
Stacy was determined to leave Boyd's home shining and bright. In two days she was to move into the two bedroom duplex she'd found within walking distance of Lewis and Clark Elementary School where she was now happily teaching morning kindergarten on a permanent basis.
Because she had very little to take with her, she'd decided to clean first and then pack right before she left. She started with the kitchen and had finished all but the oven by the time she put Tory down for her afternoon nap.
"There you go, my little pink dumpling," she crooned as she snuggled Tory into the bassinet that was soon to be replaced by the new crib Stacy had ordered. If all went well, it would be delivered to the duplex on moving day.
Stacy's soft crooning seemed to amuse Tory, and she chortled happily, kicking off the light cover her mother had just tucked in so carefully around her,
"Hey, enough of that," Stacy reprimanded in a lilting tone. "Summer's over. I don't want you catching cold right before you start day care."
Stacy burrowed her face into the baby's tummy, and Tory squealed her delight. Laughing softly, Stacy made little biting movements while Tory's tiny fingers pulled at her hair. By the time they'd finished their ritual pre-nap play, Tory had destroyed the neat bun on the top of Stacy's head. After making sure no pins had dropped into the bassinet, Stacy headed to the bathroom to repair the damage, only to be distracted by the shrill pealing of the doorbell.
Since only delivery men and religious zealots came to the front door, she was frowning when she pulled it open.
"Boyd!" Her hand flew to her mouth in surprise and her heart started beating wildly.
"Hi, Stacy. I hope this isn't a bad time to stop by."
"I … we were just playing. Tory and me. Us." She realized she was babbling and shut her mouth with a snap.
"Sounds like fun."
He looked wonderful, she decided. Rested and tanned and younger somehow. Even his jeans seemed new, and enticingly snug. Beneath a burgundy University of Kansas sweatshirt his chest seemed wider than she remembered. As she returned her gaze to his, she also noticed that he seemed tense. An awful, brittle kind of tension that had every muscle in his body knotted.
"You've gained weight," she blurted. "I mean, it looks good on you."
His eyes crinkled in a smile that didn't quite reach his mouth. "I've been working out."
"Good." Her voice scratched, and she swallowed. "Uh, would you like to come in?" she asked politely and then laughed. "That's a silly question. It's your house, after all."
She stepped back, acutely aware that her hair was hanging in clumps and her ratty old T-shirt had a smear of baby beets on one shoulder where Tory had spit up on her.
"How's the baby?" he asked when she'd closed the door and turned to face him. He'd brought the autumn smells in with him—wind and wood smoke and a hint of the storm that was brewing.
"Tory's blooming, as fat as a little Buddha. Would you like to see her? I just put her down for a nap, but—"
He raked a hand through his hair, then glanced around. Almost as if he were searching for something. Words, maybe? When he swung his gaze back to her, he shifted his weight from one powerfully muscled leg to the other. His eyes had a shuttered look, as
if heavy curtains had been drawn over his emotions. "Maybe later."
The excitement that had started to kindle in her withered and died. "I can offer you coffee or a soft drink."
"Nothing, thanks." One side of his mouth kicked up, his version of a smile. "I notice you didn't mention herbal tea."
She made a face. "I convinced Luke to let me switch to decaf coffee."
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