Читать книгу A Father in the Making - Carolyne Aarsen - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“So you’re saying he can’t talk because of the trauma he experienced?” Mia rubbed her index finger over her chin in a nervous gesture. Nico lay on the hospital bed, looking small and helpless, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. His brown hair was tangled and messy and his eyes red and bloodshot from the smoke.

“Physically, he’s fine. For that we can be thankful.” Dr. Brouwer looked over at Shannon, the Emergency Department nurse, who was also his wife. “Do you mind watching Nico for a moment?”

Shannon nodded, then gave Mia a comforting pat on her shoulder.

As Mia followed Dr. Brouwer out of the cubicle she shot another quick look at her son, but Nico kept looking up as if trying to find something on the ceiling.

As Ben Brouwer closed the door of an empty examining room behind them, he gave her a tentative smile that made her even more wary. “We’ve done all we can for Nico,” he said, folding his arms and resting his hips against the door behind him. “The fact that he’s not talking is not connected to anything physical. It’s often called Selective Mutism. Sometimes that term applies to shy children, children who will speak at home, but not in public, or in Nico’s case, children who won’t speak after a stressful trauma. A counselor can properly diagnose this.”

“So he might not talk again?”

“The mutism is generally temporary, but because it’s psychological rather than physical we have no way of knowing how long it will last.”

“So why is Josh okay?”

“Each child is different. Stress manifests differently in them. It might be Nico’s way of controlling a world that, a few moments ago, fell apart for him in a dramatic and traumatic way. I would highly recommend seeing a counselor. I can set up an appointment with a Dr. Schuler in Cranbrook if you want.”

Mia nodded. “Please. I want Nico to get help as soon as possible. And what do I do for him until then?”

“Give him peace and quiet. Return as much as possible to some type of routine. And don’t pressure him to speak.”

Peace and quiet. Mia could do with some peace herself, she thought, rubbing her chin again.

“Do you and your children have a place to stay?” Dr. Brouwer continued, his deep voice soothing. A good doctor’s voice, Mia thought. “I understand from the paramedics that your apartment is unlivable.”

She and her children had no place to return to. They had nothing but what they wore.

“Evangeline and Denny have offered us a place on the ranch,” she managed to say.

But she wasn’t sure she wanted to stay there. Nate created emotions a mother of four children had no right to feel. Emotions she didn’t dare let in her life again.

“I suggest you take the offer. Moving Nico away from town and away from the physical reminder of what he has just been through would be a good solution.”

Mia massaged her forehead, the headache that had hovered at the back of her eyes all day now increasing. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and retreat from thinking and planning.

Only her bed was probably a charred hulk.

Please, Lord, help me not to cry. Help me to focus on Nico. Please be with my little boy. Help me to get through all of this.

“I don’t have a choice,” she said quietly, her voice trembling in spite of her prayer. She waited a moment to compose herself then looked up at Dr. Brouwer. “Thanks so much for your time and your care. How is Jeff Deptuck?”

“He’s okay. Some smoke inhalation but he’ll be fine. Angie is with him now.”

In spite of the circumstances Mia had to smile. Jeff had had a crush on Angie from the moment he met her. Every book club meeting he would alternately tease or flirt with her and for the most part, she seemed oblivious.

Guess it took rescuing her from a burning building to finally get her to notice him.

Just then another one of the ED nurses came to the doorway asking for him, and Dr. Brouwer pushed away from the examining room table. “Bring Nico and Josh to the office next week for a follow-up. Hopefully Nico will be back to his usual, chatty four-year-old self by then.”

“I hope so,” Mia replied. “Thanks again for all your help.”

He laid a light hand on her shoulder. “You take care of yourself, as well, okay?”

Her only reply was a quick nod and then she followed him out of the room and back to the cubicle where Nico now sat, buttoning up his shirt. He looked up at her, then back down, his face still showing no expression.

“He told me he wanted to do it himself,” Shannon said, giving Mia a quick smile.

“He talked to you?”

Shannon looked over at Nate, her expression holding a tinge of sadness. “He got his point across.”

Mia’s heart folded in on itself and she walked over to her boy, who looked so small on the large bed, and gave him a tight hug. “I love you, Nico,” she murmured, resting her chin on his head. He still smelled like smoke. He needed a bath.

He leaned into her for the tiniest of moments, then pulled away, his fingers working at the stubborn buttons. Mia had to ball her hands into fists, so strong was the urge to help him.

When he was done she helped him off the bed. He clung to her hand and she squeezed tightly, trying to convey through her fingers as well as her words that she was there for him.

Then together, they walked down the hall toward the waiting room. The first person she saw was Nate, who got to his feet. He was still here, was the first thought that sang through her.

You shouldn’t even be allowing him the tiniest space in your mind, was the one that followed on its heels.

“How is he?” Nate asked, holding her gaze for a heartbeat longer than he had to.

“The doctor said he’d be okay. We just need to come in next week for a follow-up, right, Nico?”

But Nico didn’t acknowledge either by action or by word that he had heard what she said. He pulled free from her and ran directly to Nate and clung to him, burying his head against Nate’s arm.

Nate looked from Nico to Mia and back to the little boy again, as if unsure of what to do.

“Nico, honey.” Mia tried to lift the little boy into her arms, but Nico pushed her away. His shoulders shook, like he was crying. But he didn’t make a sound.

Nico’s hands scrabbled at Nate and finally Nate shifted himself around and hauled the little boy onto his lap. He patted him on the shoulder but Mia noticed that he was genuinely uncomfortable.

“It’s okay,” he muttered to the little boy, looking from him to Mia. “It will be okay.”

Finally, after a long, uneasy moment, Nico’s shoulders stopped shaking and he lifted his head. He looked directly into Nate’s eyes, as if trying to find something there.

Mia laid her hand on Nico’s shoulder but he still ignored her.

“Hey, buddy, you should go to your mom,” Nate said with an awkward laugh.

Nico stared at him a moment longer, and this time he didn’t resist when Mia took his hand and drew him away. But then Nico tugged his hand free, walked over to Josh sleeping on the couch and dropped beside him. He drew his legs up to his chest then laid his head down. Retreating.

“I don’t know what that was about,” Nate said, slowly getting to his feet. “I’m sorry.”

Mia waved off his objections. “Nothing to be sorry about.” She was about to say more when Denny and Evangeline returned, each holding one of the twins, both of whom were fussing.

And as Mia looked at her children she felt a clutch of despair.

What was she supposed to do now? How was she supposed to take care of her children?

A sob clawed up her throat and she swallowed and swallowed, trying to fight it down. She couldn’t break down. She had to stay strong. There was no one else for her children but her.

She dropped her face into her free hand, her fingertips pressing against her cheeks as if to restrain the fear and sorrow.

To her surprise she felt a large, warm hand rest lightly on her shoulder. Give it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay,” Nate muttered. “It will be okay.”

She wanted desperately to believe him but right now life overwhelmed her. A whimper crept past her tightly clenched lips.

No. Not now. Not in front of this man.

She stopped herself, took in a long, slow breath.

But no sooner had she released it then the overwhelming feelings of grief scraped away at her again.

A sob trembled through her, then another. Then Nate’s arms were around her.

She fought his embrace but he held firm, his arms strong and unyielding. Another sob broke free, then another. Then, all she could do was lean into him, let her tears flow and cling to him as the storm of sorrow and fear washed over her.

* * *

“Sorry I’m late,” Nate said to Tango as he forked hay into the pen. “Can’t believe I slept in that long.”

He thought Denny would have woken him up when he headed out to drive his gravel truck this morning, but his brother seemed to think Nate needed the rest.

The roan stud stood in one corner, barely looking up when Nate approached.

“Hey, guy, how are you doing?” Nate asked as he opened the gate of the pen and stepped inside. He walked over to his horse, wincing at the sight of the cuts on the horse’s face. “How’s the leg?” he asked, gently running his hands down Tango’s foreleg. Still warm, and still swollen. It would be a few days before Tango could put any weight on that leg. And probably even longer before he would be competing.

Nate stifled a sigh of dismay at the thought that all the work he had done with Tango, all the time he had spent training would disappear if he couldn’t compete in the upcoming cutting horse competition in Livingston, Montana.

He gave Tango another pat on his withers then looked over the gate of the pen. His mare, Nola, stared back at him. Her large brown eyes seemed to accuse him. As it was all his fault they were in this dilemma.

“You’ll be okay, girl,” he said, his voice low and assuring. She had to be. The foal she was carrying was worth thousands. He beat down his nervousness, stacked his hands and rested his chin on top of them, watching Nola nose the hay he had forked to her earlier. He heard Bella nicker from the pen outside the barn and Jake’s low, snorting reply. It was as if his horses outside were reassuring the ones inside, that all would be well. Trouble was, Nate wasn’t so sure about that.

Nola turned around in her pen and he fought down a cough. Then another one. Socks, who had followed him into the barn, nudged his hand.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said, coughing again, dropping to the straw-covered floor beside the dog, stroking his dark head. “That’s what I get for trying to be a hero.”

He rubbed his eyes, still sore from the smoke and fought down another cough as his thoughts circled back to Mia.

Last night, after coming back from the hospital, Nate had turned down Denny and Evangeline’s offer of coffee and instead, had gone directly to the trailer he would be staying at. He needed some time alone.

It was disturbingly easy to resurrect the feeling of Mia’s delicate body in his arms that moment in the hospital. How she had leaned into him and how easily his arms went around her. It had frightened him, but what bothered him more was how good it felt.

The tantalizing glimpse of something he couldn’t—shouldn’t—have.

He wanted to blame his reaction on the isolation that had dogged him the past few months. The feeling that, in spite of doing what he loved, there was a huge hole in his life. It was that feeling that had sent him back to reading the Bible. Sent him to his knees in prayer.

And now he would be on his foster brother’s ranch for a while. But so would Mia and her kids.

What was he going to do about that?

The way she had depended on him, even for those brief moments, had created a blend of longing and fear.

Another fit of coughing overtook him and when it was done, he laid his head back against the rough wood of the pen. Socks laid his head on Nate’s knee and he grinned at his dog, stroking his head. “I’ll be okay, buddy,” he said. “I survived my mom leaving me with Karl. This is nothing in comparison.”

His mention of his stepfather reminded him of the letter folded up and stuffed in the back pocket of his blue jeans.

When he received the letter emblazoned with the name of a legal firm based out of Calgary he thought, at first, some mistake from the past had reared its ugly head. As he read the letter, he realized he was right.

His stepfather, the man who had put his mother in the hospital a couple of times and himself even more often, the man who had torn Nate’s family apart and sent him into foster care, had died three months previous. And he had left all his money to Nate.

Nate unfolded the worn paper once again, the anger he thought he had dealt with rising up and threatening to choke him again. He didn’t want any part of Karl Packer’s money.

Blood money.

Guilt money.

As if giving him money would ever erase what Karl had done to him or his mother. There was no way he was taking it.

A rustling noise in the doorway of the barn made him shove the paper back into his pocket and get up. “Evangeline?” he called. Nate hadn’t gone to the house for breakfast, but he was fairly sure Evangeline was also gone to work for the day.

But it wasn’t his future sister-in-law who hovered in the doorway of the barn.

Nico stood there with a half smile and as he walked toward him, his eyes clung to Nate’s, the same way they had yesterday in the hospital. He came to stop beside Nate and held out his hand.

Nate hesitated, not sure what Nico wanted.

I’m not that guy, he wanted to say to the little boy. I don’t dare give you anything. I don’t dare let you into my life.