Lost and Found Family

by Leigh Riker

  * * *

  AT THE HOSPITAL Christian paced the waiting room. No one would tell him anything. He’d pushed through the ER entrance doors an hour ago carrying Emma in his arms, the drive from the farm nothing but a half-remembered blur. All he could think was, She’s going to die, too.

  Then someone had taken her from him.

  He had every right to know how his wife was doing, but not a single doctor or nurse or someone they now called a hospitalist had come to see him.

  He kept remembering Emma, white-faced, hollow-eyed, moaning in pain as he rocketed down the road, heedless of anything but reaching help in time. If there was time. When he’d finally driven up to the emergency room, she’d seemed only half conscious. A nurse in white had taken her away in a wheelchair.

  Rafe had called to say they were on their way. He’d seen to the General and Grace, and even tried to reassure Christian.

  But what was happening? He should have heard something by now.

  Christian marched over to the reception desk again.

  “My wife,” he said. “Is there any news? I’ve been waiting—”

  “She’s in good hands, sir.”

  “She’s pregnant,” he said. “She may be losing the baby.”

  The nurse eyed him. He must look half crazy by now. “Mrs. Mallory is still in exam room three. She’s being taken care of.”

  “That’s all you can tell me?”

  “I see from her records that you’re authorized to receive information under the HIPPA act—but, there’s nothing to tell right now.”

  “How much longer do you think it will take?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  Her sympathetic smile didn’t make him feel any better. Emma had delivered Owen in this hospital. Without a hitch, he tried to tell himself.

  She would be all right.

  She had to be.

  But the image of her being dragged across the arena floor, her hand trapped in the General’s reins, stayed stuck in his head. I think I’m bleeding. What if she bled to death? What if his horse had killed her, too? And, now, their unborn baby. Had he sacrificed Emma for the General? Despite what Rafe had said about the accident—his theory—if anything happened to Emma, Christian wouldn’t have to make the decision to sell. He’d put the horse down himself.

  “I’m going in there,” he said, and started down the hallway that led to the exam rooms. He was halfway there when the entrance doors behind him whooshed open again. His parents walked in with Rafe and Grace.

  Everyone rushed at him.

  “How’s Emma?” his mother asked, her face a mask of worry.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “No one seems to know anything.”

  “Dad, you look terrible,” Grace said, hugging him tight.

  “Thanks, baby. I feel even worse.”

  “Sir,” the nurse said, “please, everyone. Sit over there. I’ll come for you as soon as I get word that your wife can have visitors.”

  Which implied she was still alive. He’d take any hint of positive news he could get. Christian followed his father and mother to the nearby seating area he’d been roaming for the past hour. It seemed like forever. He had so much to say to Emma. If he ever got the chance.

  With Grace’s arm around his shoulders, he buried his face in his hands.

  And waited some more.

  * * *

  EMMA OPENED HER EYES. She’d been trying to sleep, to rest at least, when the curtain to the examining room swept back and a man in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck came in.

  This would be the moment of truth. Had she willed something awful to happen to the baby she hadn’t expected to come into her life? What kind of monster did that make her? If only she’d been happier to see the result of that pregnancy test. If only she and Christian could have found their way back to each other instead of shouting accusations.

  “Mrs. Mallory?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Doctor Hutchinson. How are you feeling?”

  “Not very well,” she said, her bandaged hand moving back and forth across her stomach. She hadn’t given a second thought to the baby when she raced into the arena toward Grace. She hadn’t looked twice before she grabbed for the General’s reins. She’d looped them around her hand, forgetting how she hated him, hoping to bring him to a halt before he trampled Grace. But she’d gotten caught and he’d dragged her, just as he’d attacked Owen.

  Now she was paying the price.

  Or was Rafe right? Was the General innocent—or at least not guilty—of the accident that had taken Owen from her? Because of Emma’s neglect.

  The doctor pulled a chair over to her bedside. “When did you first notice you were spotting, Mrs. Mallory?”

  She told him about that moment outside the barn after Christian had finally brought his horse to a stop. “I’d been having cramps for a few days, though. And all morning today.” While she’d argued with Frankie, then at her own house, where she’d cried.

  “I see.”

  Did he? She’d already lost the family she’d always wanted. Even if this child survived, her marriage was surely over. Had she chosen her business over love—and Christian, as he’d thought? She could still feel his strong arms around her on the way into the hospital. What if they divorced now? Many women raised babies on their own—even her mother had—and as a single mother Emma would never deny him the right to see his child. Yet the years before her seemed to yawn like the mouth of a dark, empty cave. Alone, she thought.

  She could scarcely ask the question. “Have I...did I lose the baby?”

  His eyes softened. “Now, let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  Which told Emma nothing. She let out a frustrated breath. Maybe he was trying to prepare her, to let her down easy. Please, God...

  Her voice shook. “Just tell me.”

  If the baby she carried was lost, too, that was only what she deserved. She began to cry, her hand pressed to her stomach as if to protect the life inside as she’d failed to do with Owen. At her first tears, the doctor rose from his seat, but before he could bend down to her, Christian rushed in.

  * * *

  THE DOCTOR WAITED for Christian to reach Emma’s side. He sat on the edge of her bed, and the news, to Emma’s vast relief, was good.

  “Spotting isn’t uncommon,” Dr. Hutchinson told them. “Yours was a bit more than we’d like to see, but the bleeding has ebbed since you’ve been here, and I expect that will continue to resolve itself. In the first trimester, that can lead to a termination—a miscarriage—of the pregnancy.” He paused. “But I see nothing to alarm me here.”

  “Then the baby—”

  “Is still there. Growing,” he said with a smile. “You’ll want to see your obstetrician as soon as possible, Mrs. Mallory, but I wouldn’t worry.”

  Christian shifted. “Did Emma’s fall cause the bleeding?”

  The doctor raised an eyebrow. “No, but I’d suggest you avoid riding, at least until your own doctor gives you clearance.”

  “That won’t be an issue,” Emma murmured.

  After giving her a few instructions on care, Dr. Hutchinson said goodbye and left Emma and Christian alone. Eager to get home, she wasn’t that eager to see the rest of the family just now.

  She and Christian had things to say first.

  “Emma, let’s talk.” He gave her that steady look she’d always loved. “This past year, I admit I did blame you, resent you. Then yesterday—well, that had been a long time coming—I really let you have it.” He took her hand. “I’m sorry, Em. We all need to talk openly about this—I’ve always said so—but I think we can make it, the two of us, and our family.” The back of his hand grazed her abdomen, not by accident, Emma thought. But she couldn’t agree. Not yet.

/>   “I’m not part of that family—” she began.

  “Wrong. I know you consider Grace to be your daughter. And to my surprise, and something close to shame, Rafe fits in with us, after all—and even my mother isn’t the cold fish I thought she was. I talked with her earlier today. Hiding her emotions was her only protection against the kind of painful memories you’ve also tried to suppress, the same memories I took with me on the road every day.” He paused. “We were right about each other, Emma. Now what are we going to do about it?”

  Emma met the challenge in his eyes. She could walk away, thinking that she didn’t deserve this family, remembering her mother and the hurt she’d caused...

  You were my big surprise.

  Emma had cowered on the old sofa. She’d heard that all too often. “I made dinner for you last night, Mommy. All by myself. But you didn’t come home—”

  She heard a man’s laugh. He came into the apartment, big and scary-looking. She’d never seen him before, but already she didn’t like him. She never liked any of them.

  “A six-year-old?” he said. “You didn’t tell me you had a kid.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to her. Emma, go to your room. Don’t come out again.”

  “It’s party time,” he’d said.

  And her mother had laughed, too.

  But her mother was gone. Emma didn’t have to maintain her eternal sense of not belonging. She could do her best to be part of this family, part of Christian most of all. And now, their new baby.

  Thank heaven it had survived. She would never think of this child as an unwelcome surprise. She wished she had the words now to make things right, but she didn’t.

  “I don’t know what I would have done in your place,” Christian went on. “If that had been me who took that call in the barn and left Owen. Or if I’d told Dad I had to cancel our meeting that afternoon so Owen could ride. Would the accident have happened if I was there, too? I don’t know.” He paused. “I judged you too harshly when I should have judged myself, as well. And how can I blame you for trying to preserve what was left of our family afterward? To make things seem, yes, normal again?” He swiped at his eye. “I lost my son—our son—but in that arena today I didn’t care if my horse stomped me into the ground as long as I stopped him from hurting you. And the baby,” he added.

  “I felt the same way about Grace. We did everything you’re not supposed to do around horses.”

  He almost smiled. “You were like some rodeo cowboy getting hung up in his rope.” But although the words were humorous, his voice quavered. “I was scared to death for you. I don’t want to lose you, Em.”

  She held his steady gaze with hers—not so steady—and knew which choice to make. She had to step away from the hurtful memories of her childhood and face what had happened to Owen.

  She slipped her arms around him, laid her cheek against his chest and listened to his heart beat. “I don’t want to lose you, either. Maybe there’s a lesson in this—things just happen sometimes. Tragedies, too,” she said. “It’s how we deal with them that makes all the difference. I guess, like Frankie, I’m only human.” She hesitated. “Owen didn’t die because I wasn’t organized enough, or careful enough, or because I was a bad person.”

  “No,” he said. “All you have to do is think of what happened in the arena today. Just as the General spooked at that sudden noise, anything might have distracted you last December. That’s all it takes, the blink of an eye.”

  “A phone call,” she added.

  “Or a business meeting.” For a long moment Christian said nothing more. “We were privileged to have Owen for as long as we did. Someone told me that once. We need to honor his memory, not only with the new foundation but with us. We have to look forward as well as back.”

  “Forward to our new baby,” she said.

  “Thank God you’re both okay.” He kissed her forehead. “I love you, Em.”

  They were indeed a family, a sometimes happy, sometimes sad, always messy family. Flawed, as he’d said. And no amount of tidying up, being careful, or trying for perfection, could change that. He didn’t even have to say the words.

  I forgive you.

  “I love you, too, Christian,” Emma said. “Your mother, Grace and I, you—we grieve in different ways. I think it’s time we all forgave ourselves. Especially me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE TIME HAD finally come. On a crisp early December evening Christian tucked Emma’s hand into his and squeezed.

  “Nervous?” she asked.

  Tonight’s foundation launch/anniversary party could be a smashing success or a total failure. The big room stretched before him like an endless, shimmering desert with no oasis to be found.

  Here and there he caught glimpses of their friends, the ones who hadn’t abandoned Emma a year ago and a few who had, including Merry and Chet Berglund. Melanie, with the judge, waved in his and Emma’s direction. And there was Max Barrett, too. Then he saw Grace and Rafe coming in the door, their eyes only for each other. Grace smiled, and Rafe twined their hands together and pressed his mouth to her knuckles. Christian didn’t need to worry about them. Tonight Grace looked radiant.

  Emma was a knockout in her strapless midnight blue dress and silver sandals. In her ears she wore the star-shaped diamond earrings Christian had given her for Christmas two years ago.

  Looking more nervous than he was, his mother smoothed a hand down her soft, flowing dress. A pashmina covered her arms, and—daringly for her—she wore what Emma had whispered were gold Prada heels. She always looked her part. She plastered on a pleasant smile, perfected long ago, took his father’s proffered arm and stepped into the room.

  On the stage hung a large banner that was yet to be unfurled. He tightened his grip on Emma’s hand. How would that be received?

  Someone tapped the mike, testing the sound. Christian cleared his throat. “Wish me luck.”

  “You won’t need it—but here’s a kiss anyway.”

  When he pulled back, his smile felt forced. His hand drifted from hers, and Christian approached the stage, his shoulders set. Tonight was important to him, and in the past week or so it had become important to Emma, too. She and his mother had even managed the decorations without a single cross word and Emma had approved his one last-minute change to the foundation.

  He looked around the room, at the people now clustered close to the stage. The final count had been well over two hundred people invited. Waitstaff hovered by the walls and in the kitchen doorway, ready to begin serving hors d’oeuvres as soon as Christian finished speaking. He’d keep it brief.

  “Good evening, everybody, family, friends...welcome,” he said with what he hoped was a broad smile. “Tonight is a special time for me, my wife, Emma—” he shot her a glance “—my parents. We’ve only begun to see the possibilities in this new foundation. I’m very excited about it and I hope you will be, too.” He paused to gather his courage.

  “I also want to make another announcement. As part of the foundation’s activities, we’re going to expand our mission and add a therapeutic riding program. My daughter, Grace, suggested that. So kids who are recovering from serious illness or injury can enjoy the horses her brother, Owen, loved.” He glanced toward Grace, who had her head on Rafe’s shoulder and was blinking rapidly. He cleared his throat. “And right now—with one slight change...” He turned toward the rear of the stage where the large banner with the foundation logo, the prancing black-and-white pony, slowly unfurled. “Tonight we celebrate the launch of the Sarah and Owen Mallory Foundation.”

  * * *

  FRANKIE GASPED.

  “Did you know about this?” she asked Lanier, barely moving her lips so no one else could hear. She couldn’t take her eyes off that banner.

  “I knew,” he said. “I told Christian it’
s a fine idea.”

  “Behind my back.”

  “Frankie, give it a rest. You don’t have to feel outrage at every little thing.”

  “Not so little,” she insisted, glancing at the banner again, her throat closing on the words. “I’m not angry. I think it’s wonderful that Christian thought of this.” She could feel other people’s gazes on her and took his hand. “Let’s mingle.”

  The evening passed quickly, yet not fast enough for Frankie.

  She couldn’t fault the event and she couldn’t complain. Still, she couldn’t relax, either. Unaccountably nervous, she kept looking at that banner, seeing Owen’s name there. And Sarah’s.

  By seven thirty, the room was filled to overflowing with laughter and the buzz of conversation. People were having a good time. Some had made their way to the doors, stopping to chat here and there with friends before going on to dinner elsewhere, depositing their pledge cards in silver bowls from Frankie’s collection.

  The bowls were filling up, too. But not quite to her satisfaction.

  A small combo appeared onstage. They struck up a familiar tune, and Frankie looked at Lanier. She still didn’t like surprises.

  “Whose idea was this? I heard nothing about a band.”

  “My contribution. Behave yourself, Mrs. Mallory.” And he swept her into a dance to the old standard. His wallet wasn’t the only thing he’d opened for the occasion; Lanier had offered his corny music selections, too.

  Frankie was a good dancer, thanks to Miss Ellie’s class years ago and the score of adolescent dance partners she’d been paired with. Emma glided past her in Christian’s arms with a satisfied smile.

  “Emma was behind this, too. Wasn’t she?”

  “We may have had a conversation,” Lanier said. “Strut your stuff, lady.”

  When the song ended, Emma and Christian came toward her. He leaned to kiss Frankie’s cheek, then rested a hand on Emma’s bare shoulder. “Come on, Mom, admit it. This is the best party you’ve been to all year.”

  Her empty stomach turned. She’d been as nervous as Christian tonight and hadn’t eaten a bite of the lavish hors d’oeuvres. Now she saw dinner being brought in—filet mignon, of course—and her stomach growled.