by Arlene James
When the baby woke again, Laurel groaned even as she sat straight up and pushed back her hair. She jumped out of bed and ran to the crib. He was standing by the time she got there and holding up his little arms. She could see that he was soaked and, worse, flushed with the bright-eyed look of a fever. One touch of her wrist against his little forehead proved his temperature had risen alarmingly. Quickly she changed him, which made him not at all happy. He screamed so loudly in fact, that the people next door pounded on the wall. Laurel quieted him as best she could, but the lotion for his gums did not relieve his pain. From the way he pulled at his little ears, she suspected that they were dealing with an infection, a not uncommon occurrence with teething babies, especially those slow to get in their teeth. She gave him drops of an over-the-counter medication she kept for such emergencies, and that aggravated him even more. Poor darling was desperately unhappy. He couldn’t understand why he was suffering or tell her what he wanted her to do to make it better, and that would make anyone cranky.
After much soothing and crooning and rocking—thank God for that chair!—she got him calmed down enough to sleep lightly. She put him into his cumbersome combination safety seat and carrier. He was much too heavy to easily carry that way, but she didn’t want to wake him. Quickly she changed into a pair of jeans and a soft, short-sleeved, lilac-colored sweater cropped just at the waist. After brushing her teeth and hair and washing her face, she put together a bag of necessities, slipped a dollar’s worth of quarters into her pocket for easy access and hurriedly left the apartment. In her haste, juggling baby and carrier and bag, she failed to see the small, folded note that fluttered silently to the landing behind her. A moment later, a gust of wind swept it into the open stairwell, ruffling Laurel’s hair and the baby’s blanket, and sweeping the note beneath the banister and down, down, down to a resting place beneath the stairs. Unknowingly, Laurel stepped over it on her way, precious cargo in tow, to the nearest telephone.
Her first call was to Fancy, who didn’t answer. Presumably she was already on her way to the diner. So Laurel called there next, but no one answered there, either. Finally she called David, who promised to come immediately. While she waited, she phoned the pediatrician and left David’s number with his service.
That last effort proved needless, however, for David himself took care of Barry. Laurel had forgotten that psychiatrists were also medical doctors until David reminded her as he drove her and Barry to the hospital emergency room, where he appropriated an examination table, instruments and even samples of an antibiotic and decongestant to fight Barry’s ear infection. In little more than hour, they were home again, Barry sleeping peacefully for the first time in days.
Laurel looked at David, so handsome in his sleek golden blondness, and felt a very real affection deepened by immense gratitude. She put out her hand. “Thank you. I don’t know what we’d have done without you. You’ve been so good to us.”
“You’re easy to be good to,” he told her, smiling. “Is there anything else I can do before I go?”
Laurel shook her head, then stopped. “Oh, yes, if you wouldn’t mind calling the diner for me. I can’t go in with the baby so sick, and I can’t leave him to get to a phone.”
“No problem,” he told her. Then his voice took on a deeper, huskier tone as he said, “I’d do more, you know, if you’d let me. I could always take you home with me, and you could call from there. I have everything else you need there, and I could check on you throughout the day. And you’d be so nice to come home to.” This last he said with a plaintive smile, but Laurel shook her head and lifted a hand to cup his smooth cheek.
Unbidden, memories swamped her. She could almost feel Edward’s rough, heavily shadowed skin rasping against her cheek as his mouth plied hers, his mustache tickling her nose. Shuddering, she threw off the memories. Concern written all over his face, David pulled her into his arms and held her tenderly against him.
“Hey, it’s all right. You can’t blame a guy for trying, though, especially when the lady in question is as desirable as you.”
“Oh, David,” she said, wishing that she could feel more for him—and less for Edward White. That wish alone, never mind the deep affection she bore him, was reason enough not to pull away when he put his mouth to hers. She felt a sad regret when he moaned and tightened his arms about her, holding her fast while his mouth manipulated hers.
She could find nothing not to like about his kiss. He was, in fact, quite a skillful kisser, and she felt flattered that he had chosen her to kiss, for she knew that this was no idle flirtation. And yet she felt oddly untouched, even removed from the experience. She felt in no danger of doing something foolish, such as finding herself naked and fiat on her back, making love with a man she barely knew. In other words, he simply did not affect her as Edward had, and that was a pitiable shame, for unlike Edward, David Greenlea was a man ready to love and to give himself fully to it. If only she could return the feeling as completely as he deserved and needed…. But she could not, and nothing told her so as plainly as this.
He must have sensed it, too, for he slowly broke apart their mouths, sighing with resignation. He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Well,” he said, “I knew it was a chancy thing.” She looked away, sorry for him.
“I’m the worst kind of idiot, I know.”
He shook his head and set her back from him. “No, you’re just in love with the wrong man—or the right one. I don’t honestly know.”
Neither did she, not that it mattered. “I don’t suppose he can be the right one if he’s not in love with me,” she pointed out softly.
David bowed his head, obviously choosing his words with care. “I’m not so sure about that. I don’t think Edward himself knows what his feelings for you are. Give him some time. Clearly, he’s made overtures. Perhaps if you followed up on that…”
She glanced around her at the furniture that had made her life so much easier, and considered. Had something more than guilt prompted his generosity? She was afraid to find out. Besides, now wasn’t the time. She had a sick baby to tend to. David laid his hand on her shoulder.
“I have to go,” he said, “and you look like you could use some sleep.”
She nodded, too eagerly, probably. “Thank you again. Don’t worry about us.”
He simply smiled and left her. She locked the door behind him, sad all over again, and wandered over to look down at the sleeping baby. As usual, her heart lightened. Whatever or whomever else she might not have, she had him, this delightful, sometimes wearying, extremely precious little boy. In a very real way, he had saved her—from herself, from her demons, from her past— and she had never dreamed that she could love as selflessly as she loved him. Her son. In every way that counted, he was hers, and nothing could ever change that. Not for her. Nothing.
She didn’t call. He went so far as to phone the diner in search of her, but only to be informed that she was not working. He tried to ask a few questions, to find out if it was a scheduled day off or if there was a problem, but Fancy hung up on him. He could only assume that all was well. Surely Fancy wouldn’t let her understandable prejudices against him keep her from informing him if Laurel should have a problem with which he could help. The message seemed pretty clear: She wasn’t going to forgive him; she wasn’t even going to talk to him, no matter how important it was, no matter what he did.
After mulling it over fruitlessly for hours, he decided to swallow his pride and put in a call to David Greenlea. It was some time before David got back to him, and then the conversation didn’t last long.
“David, I’ve got to talk to Laurel.”
“Not a good idea, not today.”
“This is important, David. It has to do with Barry.”
“It’ll have to wait anyway, Edward. Barry has a serious ear infection. They hardly slept last night. I’ll be taking them dinner later, and I’ll tell Laurel then that you need to speak to her. But, Ed, don’t be surprised if you don’t h
ear from her. Now I’ve got rounds to make.” With that he hung up.
Ed figured David would be with her tonight. Tomorrow he’d press her for a meeting. He figured he’d better be prepared to find her other legal representation after that. No doubt that would be best for both of them, but he couldn’t deny the pain the thought caused him.
When the phone rang just past midnight, he was so sleep muddled, he first wondered why the receptionist didn’t get it. Then he sat up in bed, glanced at the luminous dial of his bedside clock, switched on the light and caught the phone just before the answering machine kicked in. His mind was in such a state that he hadn’t yet connected this midnight call with any reason for alarm when he heard David Greenlea identifying himself. His next words threw Edward into a panic.
“Laurel’s in the emergency room.”
Ed was halfway to his pants before he thought to snatch up the abandoned receiver and ask which emergency room. The county hospital, of course. Where else, with David on the staff there? He didn’t bother to ask why David was calling him, or anything else. He just jumped into a pair of jeans, pulled on the first shirt that fell to hand, grabbed his athletic shoes and was out the door in a heartbeat.
David was waiting for him just inside the hospital’s sliding doors—David and what looked like half of Dallas. Edward took in the chaotic scene and exclaimed, “Some kind of catastrophe?”
David glanced around in surprise. “No. No, no, just your normal, run-of-the-mill Wednesday night/Thursday morning variety.”
Edward’s eyes rounded. David smiled sympathetically. “You should see it around here on the weekend.”
“No thanks. Where is Laurel? Is she hurt, sick, what?”
David’s face grew taut and grim. “He hit her, Ed. The son of a bitch hit her—and he took Barry.”
Edward felt as if he’d been hit in the solar plexus. He bent forward as if absorbing the blow. “I’ll kill him” were the first words out of his mouth. “Oh, God, this is all my fault” were the next. Neither of them had mentioned a name, but they both knew the culprit could be none other than Bryce Miller.
David grabbed Edward by the arm, his demeanor and tone that of the stern professional. “There isn’t time for that. She needs you now. She was absolutely hysterical when I got here.”
That in itself was alarming. “She was that bad, bad enough they wanted a psychiatrist?”
“No, no.” David shook his head impatiently and started off across the room, motioning Edward to follow. “I was in here with her just this morning to treat Barry’s ear infection. He’s cutting teeth. It’s a standard complication. Anyway, I guess it got around the hospital, so when Laurel named me as her doctor, they put two and two together. Normally they’d have discounted that, knowing I’m psychiatrics.”
“How’d she get here?”
“Someone in the apartment complex heard the commotion and called 911. The police insisted on bringing her in, but so far, Laurel’s refused to talk to them. She says she won’t talk to anyone but you.”
That gave Edward a surge of determination. He calmed himself, and the years of training and experience kicked in. He had himself well in hand by the time David whisked back a curtain, revealing Laurel sitting dejectedly on the side of a gurney. Then she looked up, and rage unlike anything he’d ever known utterly defeated his professionalism for several minutes. Rage and heartsick concern. Automatically he stepped forward and opened his arms. She flew into them, sobbing against his shoulder. He held her tight.
“It’s all right, honey. He won’t get away with this, I promise you. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do, he’ll pay. I swear it.”
“I don’t care about that,” she sobbed, looking up at him.
He cradled her delicate face in his hands and tilted it gently. She had a lump below her right eye and a scrape above it. Her lip had been busted, and her nose and chin scratched. He could see the beginnings of bruises. “I care,” he said, feeling his own eyes begin to burn.
She caught hold of his wrist. “I have to tell you something.”
“Anything.”
“B-Barry, he-he’s mine!”
“I know, honey.” He didn’t say how, and she didn’t ask.
“Bryce t-took him. He was c-crying. He’s sick, and he needs me!”
“We’ll get him back.”
She seized on that assurance just as she seized handsful of his shirt. “Yes. Get him back. We have to get him back!” She swayed on her feet. Edward dropped his hands away from her face and scooped her up into his arms, carrying her back to the gurney.
“Listen to me,” he said, laying her down and leaning close. “This is important, honey. Is Bryce’s sister Barry’s real mother?”
“I’m his real mother!” she exclaimed hotly. “Avon gave birth to him, but that’s all! I’ve had him since the day he was born, even before. She stayed with me while she was pregnant, because she didn’t want Bryce to know. I brought them home from the hospital and took care of them. Then one morning I woke up and she was gone. She left a note saying that she knew I’d take good care of him, that I’d be a better mother than her and that she wouldn’t worry knowing that he was with me.”
“Do you still have that note?”
“Yes. I keep it in Barry’s baby book.”
“Good. What else did it say?”
“Only that she was sorry and that she had a little insurance policy that she was going to make over to me so that he could have it if anything happened to her.”
“Wonderful! Better and better. Now then, I want you to give a statement to the police.”
She lurched up onto her elbows. “But Bryce said if I did that I’d never get Barry back!”
“I don’t care what Bryce said. I’m the attorney here, and I’m telling you that we have to give a statement to the police—and then we’re going to file a complaint and swear out a warrant and petition for a restraining order.”
“He said he’d take Barry and go away where I couldn’t find him.”
“He’s not taking Barry anywhere,” Edward promised her. “As God is my witness, Laurel, you’ll have that baby back in your arms before breakfast”
Her wide green eyes searched his and obviously found what they needed to see. She nodded wearily. Edward turned to David, who stood silently by the curtain. “Can you get someone in here?”
“The police officer who brought her in is waiting in the lounge. I’ll send someone for him.”
“Thanks.”
Ed watched him walk away, then pulled a chair close and sat down next to the small bed, taking Laurel’s hand in his. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to begin. She surprised him by speaking first.
“I’m sorry, Edward.”
“What have you got to be sorry for? I’m the one who betrayed your trust. Laurel, I can’t tell you how very sorry I am that I ever even questioned your mental stability. I should have known better.”
“It wasn’t your fault. I know I’ve done some stupid things.”
“In the past,” he told her, “and not so stupid when you take everything into consideration. Even David agrees with me.”
She laughed at that, accompanied by winces. “He’s been a good friend to me, Edward.”
“I know. And to tell you the truth, I’m a little jealous.”
Those gemlike eyes sparkled. “Really?”
He nodded and confessed, “I guess, despite everything I’ve done and said, I’ve wanted all along to play the part of your white knight—no pun intended.”
“No pun,” she said, squeezing his hand, “just an apt description.”
He leaned close and brushed back a wisp of her pale hair. His heart was beating with slow, sure strokes. He’d never been so certain of anything as what he was about to say. “Laurel, sweetheart, I—”
“Ms. Miller?”
Edward swallowed the words with a growl and looked over at the policeman. He got up and offered his hand. “I’m Mrs. Miller’s at
torney, Edward White.”
They shook hands. “Officer Howard.”
“She’d be glad to make a statement now. Thank you for your patience.”
The policeman nodded and brought up a clipboard. For the next several minutes, Edward stood at Laurel’s side while she answered questions in a soft, weary voice. When that was done and the policeman left to file his report, a nurse came in with papers to be explained and signed, releasing Laurel into Edward’s care.
“Do you have insurance, ma’am?”
Laurel shook her head. “No, but—”
The nurse waved away further concern. “That’s all right. Dr. Greenlea has taken care of everything. I just thought I’d ask.”
Laurel looked at Edward in surprise. Edward turned to the nurse. “Where is Dr. Greenlea?”
“I couldn’t say. Home, I suppose, but he left this for you.”
She slipped a folded piece of paper from her pocket and passed it to Edward. He unfolded it and read, “She belongs with you. I know now that you’ll treat her right. Call me if I can help in any way. David.”
Edward pinched the bridge of his nose. Mark down one more error in judgment that he’d made. David Greenlea was a decidedly more decent fellow than he’d ever given him credit for being, and it was obvious that he truly cared for Laurel. Maybe she didn’t know that. If he was half the man Greenlea was, he’d tell her himself.
“What does he say?” Laurel asked.
