Читать книгу Their Child? - Karen Rose Smith, Christine Rimmer - Страница 16

In the shadowed candle and lantern-lit recesses beneath the clubhouse, a deep hush descended.

From above, there was silence. Terrible. Total.

The monster had moved on.

Tucker sat on the bench that a few kind souls had vacated for him when he came down the stairs with Lori limp in his arms.

She lay stretched out beside him, too pale and very still. Her bright head, matted with blood, rested in his lap. Someone had handed him a clean white bar towel. He pressed it to the wound on her temple, watching it slowly soak crimson, the dark stain spreading, absorbing the white.

He told himself the flow was slowing. But he really wasn’t sure that was true.

Brody stood beside the bench holding Lori’s limp hand. His young face was set, his mouth a bleak line. Lori’s mother and father and Lena, Dirk at her side, hovered a few feet away, all of them silent as the quiet from above.

Someone nearby spoke into the hush. “It’s over…”

And then, from aboveground, came a slow, painful creaking sound. Something fell with a shuddering crash.

“Oh, sweet Lord,” a woman cried.

“What was that?” a man demanded.

No one answered him. Who the hell could say?

Tate pulled a cell phone from his inside jacket pocket. He flipped it open and gave it a try. “No go,” he said. “That big boy must have knocked out a tower or two.” Tate turned to the club manager. “You got a land line down here?”

Near the wall, where water had begun to trickle down from broken pipes above, one of the bridesmaids spoke up. “There’s one right here.” She took the receiver off the hook and put it to her ear. Then she shook her head. “Dead.”

All around them, people were trying their cells—and getting nothing.

Tate said, “Okay. Let’s check out our chances of digging out of here.”

He chose a couple of able-bodied men to go with him up the stairs. The club’s manager and two of the wait staff went the opposite direction, headed for the outside entrance, an in-ground steel door, mounted in concrete, reached by an underground corridor that ran out about ten yards from the clubhouse.

Tucker left them to it. Right then, all he cared about was the unmoving, blood-spattered woman in his arms. No way would he leave her side. He stared down at her still face and a word burst like a bright light into his stunned mind: doctor.

Damn. What was wrong with him? A doctor should have been the first thing he asked for once they made it down those stairs. He glanced up. “Doc Flannigan. Where’s Doc Flannigan?”

Lori’s dad, shell-shocked as the rest of them, visibly shook himself. “The doc. Why the hell didn’t I think of that?” Heck raised his voice to his best booming roar. “Doc! We need Doc Flannigan over here, now!”

The word went out through the cellar’s warren of rooms.

“Doc Flannigan.”

“Anybody seen Dr. Flannigan?”

“Doc Flannigan. They need him up front.”

A couple of minutes later, the tall, white-haired gent eased his way through the crowd. When he reached the bench, his silver brows drew together. “Oh, my.” He handed his jacket to Brody. “I wonder, could you hold on to this for me, young man—and move back over there just a little?”

With obvious reluctance, Brody laid his mother’s hand gently on her stomach, took the jacket and stepped back. Tucker watched him, thinking what a terrific kid he was. Ten years old and holding it together with a building collapsed on top of them and his mother out cold and covered in blood.

“Thank you.” The doctor sent the boy an encouraging smile as he rolled up his sleeves. He turned to Tucker. “Is she breathing normally?”

“Yeah, as far as I can see.”

The doc said, patiently, “Son, with her head in your lap like that, there is some restriction of the airways…”

Calling himself ten kinds of thoughtless idiot, Tucker carefully eased out from under her, guiding her head to the bench with a cautious hand, keeping steady, gentle pressure on the wound the whole time.

The doctor moved closer. “Any other injuries—beyond this nasty head wound?”

Tucker said, “I don’t think so. But stuff was flying all over up there. She might have a bruise or a cut or two.”

“Nothing major, though—other than that gash on her head?”

Tucker frowned. “It was wild up there. I can’t say for sure…”

“Let’s have a look, why don’t we?” The doctor glanced over his shoulder. “Bring that lantern close. Someone get me some clean towels, please. And something to cover her.”

The man with the lantern stepped up and held it high. Two women moved off—presumably in search of the towels and a blanket.

Dr. Flannigan examined the angry, swelling gash. Yes, Tucker thought with a grim surge of triumph, the flow of blood really had slowed. Flannigan gently poked and prodded. He checked Lori’s pulse and lifted her eyelids, one and then the other.

About then, Tate and the men returned from the stairs.

“That exit’s blocked solid,” Tate said, scowling. “We’ll have a hell of a time digging out that way…”

Molly, who’d been hanging back near the wall, stepped close to her husband and slid her hand in his. Tucker guessed, from the look on her face, that she was thinking of their babies, hoping they were safe with the nanny in the basement at the Double T. Tate lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss on the fingers twined so tightly with his.

The two women returned with a stack of bar towels, what looked like neatly folded tablecloths—and a bowl of water.

“Water,” said the doc. “Wonderful.”

One of the women spoke up. “There’s a laundry room, down the hall. The sink faucet in there is still working.”

“Excellent.” Flannigan wet a towel. “Let’s see if we can get a better look here…” He dabbed at the bloody mess over Lori’s eye.

About then, the club manager elbowed his way toward them from the other direction.

Tate said, “Well?”

The manager actually dared a smile. “The outside exit is clear. We can get out, no problem. Plus, there are choppers overhead and we heard sirens. Help is definitely on the way.”

The E.M.T.s came down the corridor from the outside exit to get Lori. They loaded her onto a stretcher, carried her out and put her in the ambulance. They were headed for Tate Memorial, the hospital that Ol’ Tuck had generously endowed. Memorial was big enough to have state-of-the-art machinery, its own E.R. and a surgeon with a solid handle on head trauma.

Tucker insisted on riding in the ambulance. Nobody—not Heck, Enid or Lena—argued with his right to be the one to stay with her.

He spoke to Brody before he climbed into the back of the big white van. “Your mom is going to come through this just fine.”

The boy looked small and lost, standing there in the darkness and the drizzling rain in front of the collapsed ruin of what had once been the clubhouse. He asked, doubt in every word, “How do you know for sure?”

Somehow, Tucker managed a grin. “Trust me. I’m not letting anything happen to her.”

Brody surged forward and grabbed him around the waist, hugging him hard. “Promise?” he whispered, his nose squashed into Tucker’s chest. “Promise?”

Tucker hugged him back, his own throat locking up, surprised at the strength in the young arms around him. Damn, he thought, what a kid. He coughed to clear the tightness away. “Absolutely. I swear it.”

One of the E.M.T.s spoke from the bed of the open van. “Mr. Bravo. We’ve got to get moving.”

Brody’s arms dropped away. He swiped at his nose with the back of his hand.

Heck, who stood a few feet away with Enid, Lena and Dirk, moved close enough to wrap a beefy arm around Brody’s shoulder. “We’ll be there at the hospital to meet you.”

Tucker nodded, climbed into the van, and turned to look out at Lori’s family. They were wet and bedraggled, the hem of Lena’s beautiful white dress trailing in the mud, Brody, Heck and Dirk sans jackets, with ties askew and shirts pulled half out of their trousers. Only Enid was crying, silent tears that tracked down haggard cheeks already wet with rain.

Then the med tech pulled the doors shut. The driver started the engine and off they went.

Tucker stayed out of the way as best he could in the cramped space. The E.M.T.s tended their patient, cleaning the wound, hooking her up to an IV drip, keeping close watch on her vital signs and communicating via radio with the hospital, so all would be ready for her when they arrived.

Watching them, so focused and efficient, Tucker found he felt a little bit calmer himself.

As soon as they had Lori settled, one of the E.M.T.s told him that the clubhouse, south of town and surrounded by a golf course, tennis courts, pool, formal grounds and beyond all that, acres of open land all around, was the only structure that had been hit. As far as they knew, Lori’s was the sole injury—at least, so far.

In midride, the miracle Tucker didn’t realize he’d been praying for happened.

Lori let out a low groan—and opened her eyes. Tucker, at the foot of the narrow portable cot where she lay, was right there waiting to give her a smile.

“Tucker?” She blinked and licked her lips and tried to lift the hand with the IV needle stuck in the back of it. She groaned again. “What…?”

“Easy, Mrs. Taylor…”

“It’s all right, you’re safe…” Making soothing noises, the E.M.T.s closed in.

Tucker craned to the side, so she could see him around the med techs bending close. “You were hit on the head—but you’re going to be okay.”

She asked, weakly, “Brody?”

“Safe,” he told her. “He’s with your folks. And as far as we know, everyone else is okay, too.”

“Good,” she whispered. “Good…”

Three hours later, near midnight, Tucker, Lena and Dirk sat in Memorial’s main waiting room. Heck and Enid had taken Brody home. But Lena, still dressed in her limp wedding finery, said she was going nowhere until she was certain that Lori would be okay. Dirk kept close to his bride.

Tucker sat across from the newlyweds, his elbows braced on the chair arms, a paper cup of bad coffee balanced on his belly and his legs stretched out in front of him. He stared down at his scuffed dress shoes, not really seeing them.

Not seeing or thinking of anything, really.

Except Lori.

After she woke in the ambulance, she’d remained conscious: a good sign, the doctor had told them. In the hours since they arrived at the hospital, they’d done an MRI. It showed no evidence of a skull fracture, or of epidural or subdural hematoma: no blood on the brain, which could cause swelling and brain damage.

The wound had required twenty stitches, but the doctor said things were looking good. They would keep her at Memorial through the night for observation, just to be on the safe side. In the morning, barring complications, she would be released.

As Tucker sat there regarding his shoes, the hospital staff was in the process of moving her to a regular room. Once they had her settled, Tucker was planning to make sure they let him and Lena in to see her one more time, for a minute or two at least. If he got lucky, he might even be allowed to pull up a chair and stay the night. Tucker sipped the bitter hospital coffee, stared at his shoes some more, and hoped only for that: to be allowed to spend the night slouched in an uncomfortable chair in the room where Lori slept.

He was more certain than ever now. She was the woman for him. He marveled at himself. Until Lori, he realized, he’d never been all that certain of much of anything.

Fourteen days had gone by since his first real sight of her, at the Gas ‘n Go. He’d held her in his arms only once—and still, he knew. Lori Lee Taylor was meant for him. And the very thought that he had almost lost her so soon after finding her…

Uh-uh. Not to be considered. It couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let it.

And it wasn’t happening, so he could stop worrying about it. The doctor had as good as promised them that she was going to pull through okay.

Across the short expanse of dark blue commercial carpet that covered the floor of the waiting area, in the chair next to Dirk’s, Lena stretched and yawned. She leaned close to Dirk and whispered something in his ear.

Dirk grunted.

Lena, sliding a look at Tucker, nodded. “Oh, my yes. I know I’m right…”

Tucker sat up a little straighter and slugged back another gulp of bad coffee. “What?”

Lena braced her elbows on her knees and craned her head forward. She looked at him measuringly through those blue eyes so exactly like Lori’s—but still, strangely, not like Lori’s at all. “I think this is probably a dumb question. I mean, considering everything that’s happened tonight. But, Tucker, I’m gonna ask it straight out, anyway. Are you in love with my sister?”

One thing about Lena. She never had a problem with cutting to the chase. Tucker opened his mouth to say, simply, yes—and then reconsidered. It seemed wrong, somehow, to go talking to Lena about how he felt. Lori was the one he ought to be talking to.

And he would. As soon as she was feeling better.

“Well, are you?” prodded Lena, when the seconds ticked by with no answer from him.

Dirk stirred in his chair. “Honey, leave the poor guy alone.”

Lena smoothed her big, puffy skirt, sat up straight and spoke to her groom. “Well, she’s my sister and I do want to know. Plus, if Lori married Tucker, I bet she’d move back to town…” She slid Tucker another glance. “I just want to say, you know, for the record, that I am all for that.”

“Baby,” said Dirk.

Lena gave him her sweetest smile. “What, darlin’?”

Dirk leaned across the space between the seats and planted a quick kiss on his bride’s pretty nose. “Some things are none of your damn business, that’s what.”

Lena heaved a windy sigh and flopped back in her chair. “Oh, well. I suppose you’re right…”

The exchange surprised Tucker. The Lena he used to know would never have allowed any man to tell her a subject was none of her business. Apparently, true love really had changed her. Or maybe she’d just grown up a little.

Lena spoke again. “Well, Lori’s going to be okay. I know it in my heart. And that makes me so happy—even if she does head back to San Antonio and I don’t get to see her until the next time I go visit her.” She plunked her elbows on her knees again and canted Tucker’s way, bracing her pretty chin between her hands. “And, Tucker, you have saved her life and Brody’s, too, and my family owes you. In a giant way. Forever and ever.” Tucker didn’t know quite what to say to that one—not that it mattered. Lena went on talking. “And even if it is none of my business, I did notice that you and my sister were together all afternoon. And having a mighty fine time, too. Weren’t you? I’ll bet you talked about just everything…”

Dirk warned, “Lena…”

She reached across and patted his arm. “It’s all right, honey. I’m not gonna push.” Then she told Tucker, “It’s only that, well, after all you’ve done tonight, I want you to know that I truly do regret what Lori and I did to you, on prom night.” Tucker frowned at her, not getting it. Her smooth brow crinkled. “Lori did tell you, didn’t she?”

What they did to him…

Must be the coffee. His stomach churned. He asked, with great care, “What did you do to me?”

“Oh.” Lena blinked. “She didn’t say?”

Dirk grunted some more. “Lena, what are you talking about?”

Lena looked from her groom to Tucker and back to Dirk again. “Oh, Lordy. I do believe I have gone and put my foot in it.”

Dirk said, “Put your foot in what?”

Lena’s cheeks flushed pink. She sat up straight and started waving her hands. “Oh, really. I mean, it’s not that big a deal. After all, it was years and years ago and we were so young. And, um, pretty stupid, I guess. Pretty thoughtless. But, Tucker, you and I had broken up and I felt like I had to go to prom. I was up for prom queen and all. And folks always expected so dang much of me. So I did feel I should have put in an appearance—but at the same time, I didn’t want to go. And Lori’s date got sick on her. And she did want to go and…”

Tucker was getting it and it was not pretty. It was like some giant puzzle, random pieces flying everywhere, suddenly settling of its own accord into a recognizable whole. Tucker stared at Lori’s sister in a kind of numb disbelief as it all fell together.

Lori in pink at the wedding, bringing that long-ago night to life all over again…

Her scent, so haunting and familiar…

The very feel of her in his arms…

The perfect, remembered fit of her mouth to his…

Lena was still chattering away. “And Tucker, look at it this way. Even if Lori hasn’t told you yet about prom night, well, what was the harm, really, in what we did?” She fiddled with her big skirt, brushing at it, smoothing it. “Oh, I am just making much too big a deal about this.” She flung her arms wide again. “It was a very naughty little trick by two teenage girls, something you have to know both Lori and I wish we had never so much as considered…oh, and I do hope you’ll forgive us—both of us?”

Tucker couldn’t have answered her if he’d wanted to.

Dirk said, “Lena. I’m lost here. Stop circling the facts and spit ‘em the heck out.”

Lena let her flying hands fall to her lap. With another gusty sigh, she confessed to her husband, “Well, honey. Lori and I switched places on prom night eleven years ago. I stayed home and pretended to be Lori. She put on my pink prom dress and went to the dance with Tucker, in my place.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Dirk turned to Tucker. “And you never knew?”

Somehow, Tucker managed to answer, “‘Fraid not,” in a calm voice that betrayed nothing of the emotional tornado wreaking havoc within him. At the same time, the last piece of the puzzle spun in his mind, stopped, hovering in a holding pattern above the rest—and then dropped neatly into place.

That final piece had Brody’s face on it.