King Size

by Lexi Whitlow

  I end the call just in time to see a young woman in colorful scrubs approaching, a clipboard in one hand, a pen in the other.

  “Sir, I need you to complete this information for the young woman you came in with. Can you tell me how you know her?”

  “She’s my wife,” I say, looking down at the paperwork.

  She nods. “Complete this and bring it back to me at the desk at the end of the hall.”

  I decide not to go overboard with my lie. I don’t take the liberty of giving Grace my last name. I do list myself as her next of kin, with ‘husband’ scrawled illegibly above the ‘relationship’ description. I remember her birthday is in October. She just had it a week or so before coming out to stay after the interview. I think it was October twenty-first. I write that, hoping I’m close.

  Ten minutes after I’m finished with the paperwork, another woman in scrubs appears, her expression tinged with apprehension.

  “Are you Mr. Davis?” she asks, regarding me cautiously. “Grace Bradley’s husband?”

  I nod, feeling my heart race, anxiety peaking. “How is she? Is she alright?”

  The woman nods, “I’m Dr. Walsh, the ER attending. We think she’s going to be just fine. She’s stabilized. She’s in and out, a little confused, which is normal with hypoxia. It should pass. She’s asking for you.”

  That surprises me. The doctor motions for me to follow her.

  “And she keeps asking about horses. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “We ranch. Breed horses. She was there during the wildfire, trying to turn the horses out.”

  “I see,” she says, her face drawing with concern. “Did she succeed?”

  “I don’t know yet,” I say as we turn a corner into a busy open room with lots of patients in beds separated only by thin curtains. “I think so, but, I don’t know.”

  “Well, tell her they’re okay,” the doctor says. “She needs to stay calm. She’s been through a serious event that’s put substantial strain on her heart and lungs, as well as her psyche. Her recovery isn’t going to happen overnight, but it’ll be improved by keeping her stress level low.”

  She shows me to Grace’s bed. She looks like shit. She’s in a hospital gown with wires attached everywhere and a full mask over her mouth and nose, with an IV drip in her arm.

  She’s still covered in grime from the fire, particularly at her hands and neck, as well as matted into her hair.

  “We’ve given her a mild sedative just to calm her anxiety and help her rest. It shouldn’t make her too drowsy. She nods in and out. She should start to become more lucid over the next few hours and days. Right now, she’s not coherent. We’re admitting her to the ICU shortly.”

  I step up to her bed, slipping my hand into Grace’s hand. She looks so helpless, but at least her color is better. She’s no longer gray. Her cheeks are pink, and her lips have lost the blueish tint they had two hours ago.

  “Can I stay with her?” I ask.

  “Of course. I’ll be back around in a bit.”

  I thank her, then add, “My mom is on her way here from Ronan. When she gets here, can someone bring her back?”

  “Sure,” she says, half-smiling, looking me up and down.

  I pull a chair up close and lean forward, lifting Grace’s small hand to my lips, gently squeezing.

  “Wake up, baby. I’m here.”

  Her eyelids flutter and she stirs, but it takes her a few minutes to open her eyes. When she does, her brow furrows. She glances about, obviously confused about her surroundings.

  “The horses,” she whispers, her voice cracking, stifled by the poison in her lungs.

  “They’re good,” I say. “Out grazing beside the river. We’ll round ‘em up in a few days.”

  She smiles a little, then coughs hard into her mask, wincing.

  “Don’t worry about them, or anything,” I say. “Just rest. Get better.”

  Her eyes close briefly, then open again, this time regarding me with wild-eyed concern.

  “The horses!” she croaks. “Where are the horses?!”

  The doctor was right. She’s confused and incoherent.

  “They’re okay. You got there in time,” I assure her. “You’re okay too. I’m here now. Settle down. Get some rest.”

  I kiss her fingers, one by one, stroking her arm with my hand.

  “I love you baby. I love you so much.”

  Grace settles into an uneasy sleep, her breathing deep but labored. I sit with her, and in a few minutes, am joined by my mom. She hugs me tight, then slips her hand into mine, passing me the rings in a secret handshake. I slip the smaller band onto Grace’s ring finger on her left hand, then place the larger one on my own hand.

  Mom shakes her head at me.

  “You’re a handful sometimes,” she says, a proud smirk turning her lip. “But I like your style. And by the way, if you haven’t looked in a mirror recently, you really should. You look like you just walked through the gates of hell.”

  What? I look down at my hands. They’re black with soot. Ash and black streaks mar my clothes. I wipe my face and grime comes off on my hand.

  I was so worried about Grace I didn’t even notice. No wonder everyone is looking at me so oddly.

  I smile at Mom, “I’ll go clean up in a bit, as soon as she gets moved upstairs.”

  Two hours later we’re in a glassed in, private room in the ICU. I’m sipping coffee, watching Grace sleep, while Mom reads quietly from a book she bought in the giftshop. My phone rings. It’s Tyler. I answer quietly, not wanting to wake Grace, who’s been drifting in and out of wakefulness since leaving the ER.

  “The stock is found and accounted for,” he says, his tone ebullient. “We haven’t caught ‘em all yet, but we’ll have them by dark.”

  Oh, thank God.

  “How?” I ask. “Who’s with you?”

  “Everybody I could find,” he laughs. “The cell towers are either down or overloaded, so calling locally is hit or miss. I went house to house. And I got my dad’s hands to come out as soon as we found the herd. He’s putting them up at Heartland ‘til we can figure things out.”

  “You tell your father how grateful I am,” I say. “I’ll tell him myself soon.”

  “How’s Grace?”

  I give Tyler the highlights. “They say she’ll be fine. It’s just going to take a while.”

  “Well, she’s my new hero,” Tyler says. “I can’t imagine the guts it took to drive into that fire to do what she did. She saved us. She really did it. The horses look good. A little nervous, but they’re fine. She did a good thing out there last night.”

  “I know.”

  Buildings can be rebuilt, but those horses could never be replaced. They’re more than property. They’re like family. Losing them would have broken my heart.

  Saving them and losing Grace would have killed me.

  Chapter 26

  Grace

  Hospital. The smell of chemicals and disinfectant, cold-blown air, humming machines. Every hospital is the same, and I hate them all. I know I’m in one, but my head won’t clear enough for me to seize on why, just now. I’m so sleepy, but I want to wake up.

  I want to wake up and go pee. I want something to drink.

  I want… the horses? Are the horses okay?

  I open my eyes in a panic, sitting up straight, heaving, coughing. My lungs feel like shards of broken glass have shredded them. My chest aches.

  “Hey, hey… sit back… easy,” Cam says, leaning in close, urging me back down onto the bed.

  Cam. His lovely face etched with worry, but his eyes bright, smiling.

  The horses are fine. He told me that. I remember now. I remember the fire, the wind. I remember how fast it came and how it took everything.

  “You’re okay,” Cam says, stroking my hair, holding my hand.

  Outside the big picture window, the sky is loaming, filled with the colors of a vivid sunset, streaked with deep reds and shades of purple.
A few stars glow bright, high in the sky.

  I have no sense of time. I was in the fire. Now I’m here. Only a few moments feel accounted for, yet I feel like ages have passed.

  “How long have I been here?” I ask, the sound of my own voice, croaking and hoarse, jars me. I blink back my confusion, the shroud of restless sleep slipping away.

  Camden squeezes my hand. “The better part of three days,” he says. “In and out. Mostly out.”

  I nod. “I remember some things.”

  I remember leaving. I remember thinking that was the thing to do. I remember realizing that was the wrong thing after it was too late. I remember believing I was going to die, and wishing I’d done everything differently.

  “Your friend filed a missing person’s report on you,” Cam says, a sheepish smile turning the corner of his mouth. “When you didn’t show up in Portland, I think they thought I’d kidnapped you, or worse. That was fun sorting out. The sheriff had a good laugh about it.”

  Poor Tracey. She must have been beside herself with worry.

  “Anyway, we had a nice conversation after she realized I wasn’t an axe murderer. She wants you to call her as soon as you’re up to it.”

  I nod. “Okay,” I whisper. “I don’t think I can talk on the phone just yet.”

  “Probably not,” he replies, a bemused expression turning his brow.

  I beg Cam to help me get to the bathroom and to get something to drink. When I’m back in bed, sucking down sweet soda as fast as I can, he regards me with caution before picking up the thread of our conversation.

  “So, I had to do something that I need to tell you about. And I don’t want you to get upset. It was necessary in the moment, and I can walk it back now that you’re awake. But I just want you to know, so maybe—”

  “What?” I ask. What did he do? God, I hope he didn’t call my mother.

  He squeezes my hand again, then lifts it, showing me. There’s a ring on my finger. He holds his own hand beside it. There’s a ring on his finger too. They match nicely.

  “I told the hospital we were married so they would let me make decisions, and be with you. I had no idea how to get hold of your mom, and it just felt necessary. You needed somebody—”

  I laugh, and it hurts like knives piercing my chest. But still, I laugh.

  “That’s fine,” I say when I can speak. I manage a wry smile. “Better married to you than having my mother here.”

  That would be suffocating.

  Cams eyes soften. He relaxes.

  “You’re not mad?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No, I’m not mad. You did what you had to do. I appreciate it.”

  “Are you going to Portland when you get better?” he asks me, a tight catch clipping his voice.

  “Do you want me to?” I reply, feeling a knot in my throat, tears threatening. My heart seizes in my chest. The pain is very real.

  “No baby,” Cam says, his tone dropping. “I don’t want you to go to Portland, or anywhere. I want you right here beside me every single day. I want you where I can keep you safe. And I want you to know just how much I adore and love you.”

  “Okay,” I whisper, “Okay. I’m sorry. I’m not good at this. But… I love you. And it hurts to love you and think it won’t work out. That it won’t last.”

  Cam shakes his head at me. “It’ll last if we want it to last. It only takes one to fuck things up. It takes two to make it work.”

  He’s right. I know that.

  And I know I almost fucked it up permanently.

  Cam slips out of his chair, closer to my bedside, kneeling.

  “This isn’t how I thought this would go,” he says. “I should have done it the right way, months ago. But I’m not stupid enough to risk losing you again.”

  He pulls a tiny box from his jeans pocket, lifts the lid and shows me its contents. My heart nearly stops in my chest. The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. The ring is beautiful. It sparkles like ice crystals on snow in the winter sunshine.

  “Grace Bradley, will you marry me?”

  I try to catch my breath before my heart shatters into a million small pieces.

  “Yeah,” I say, speaking the word quickly before my brain can seize on more reasons to fuck up this opportunity. I nod, tears welling up in my eyes, streaming down my cheeks.

  “Outstanding!” Cam pronounces, beaming, his lovely blue eyes flashing. He doesn’t hesitate to slip the ring on my finger, pocketing the band that was there before. He gets to his feet, then leans over, giving me a kiss. His lips taste like coffee and cherries. He smells of aftershave and… just himself.

  “When can I leave this place?” I whisper in his ear. “I want to go home.”

  Just as I say it, I realize there is no home to go to. It’s all gone.

  Cam kisses my cheek, then gives me a sad smile. “You’ll get out tomorrow. Right now, I’m staying with my mom. I’m trying to find us a place. It’s slim pickings. A lot of people are in the same boat we’re in.”

  I nod. I understand. “We’ll pitch a tent and that’ll be fine with me. As long as I’m with you and Emma.”

  Cam grins. “It won’t come to that. I promise.” He squeezes my hand. “How do you feel about a double-wide, just ‘til we get re-built?”

  I laugh again, despite the pain in my chest. “No objections,” I croak, giggling. “Just no shag carpet or heart-shaped bathtubs.”

  “Alright,” Cam croons, laughing with me. “I think I can accommodate that.”

  * * *

  Camden and I got married in late July, in a smallish, cowboy-formal affair at the Buffett Glenn Lodge at Big Sky. A Justice of the Peace read the ceremony, while Amanda held my flowers, with Kara and Tracey standing beside me, grinning like girls in their western style bridesmaid’s dresses. Tyler was Cam’s best man, with Jim Burke standing as a second groomsman. Jacob pulled duty as the cutest little silver-spur wearing ring-bearer anyone’s ever seen.

  Emma glowed as our flower girl, dressed in blue silk ruffles and lace with matching cowboy boots. She littered the big Persian rug in front of the hearth with sweet-scented rose petals, before taking her place beside me. As Cam and I spoke our vows, she stole the show, making eyes at Jacob the whole time, teasing him.

  My mother couldn’t make it to Montana for the wedding. She had a previous engagement that week, something about a beach house. Apparently she couldn’t get out of it. But she wished us well. Cam’s mom stepped up and helped me with all the mother of the bride sort of things, like finding a dress, and planning the details of the event. She told me the night before the wedding that I’d made her the happiest woman in the world.

  She said that she felt like she wasn’t losing a son, but gaining a daughter, and she knew how precious that was. She kissed my cheek, hugging me tight, showing me affection that I never got from my own mother. Beck Davis is a wonderful mother to her son, and a perfect grandmother to Emma. She’s become a dear friend; I cherish her as the mother I never really had.

  On the whole, the day was as perfect as a wedding day should be.

  Instead of doing a contrived reception after the ceremony, we all changed into casual clothes and went out for steaks. We ate, drank, laughed, and enjoyed one another’s company until we were sated, tired, and wanted to put up our feet.

  When Cam and I were tucked into our little honeymoon suite, with a view of the moon and mountains from the hot tub, he slipped his arm around me, pulling me onto him.

  “Well, wife, now that we’re married, what should I call you?” he whispered in my ear. “Is it Mrs. Davis? Or Mizz Bradley? Or is it something else?”

  I lean back into his chest, laying my head against a shoulder, smiling up into his eyes.

  “On Tuesdays, I think you should call me Precious,” I say, teasing. “And on Fridays… My Love. But on Sunday mornings… on Sunday mornings you have to call me Goddess Divine.”

  Cam smirks, sipping his whiskey. “Alright, Goddess Divine. What will you call me?”


  I reach up, running my finger along the shadowed surface of his jaw, stroking his lines with my fingertips. “That’s easy,” I say. “I’ll always call you The Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me.”

  I kiss him, turning in the steaming water to face him, making certain with my lips and the rest of my body, that he knows I mean every word with all my heart.

  Epilogue

  Camden

  It’s surprising the things that life brings to you on the heels of what seems like bad fortune, loss, and catastrophe.

  When I lost my father more than fifteen years ago, I thought it was the end of the world, but thanks to everything he taught me, I managed to build on his legacy, establishing one of the most successful ranches in the state, boasting the best working-horse bloodlines in the country.

  When Emma was sick I was so full of grief I could barely function. But today she’s the light of my life. She’s thirteen years-old now, and as strong and smart as any kid ever could be. She’s a skilled rider and a more confident horseman than I was at her age, and she’s got the champion buckles to prove it. She won her age-group at the state competitions in three different events this year. Even more than her ribbons and trophies, she’s become a real hand on the ranch, training young horses and nurturing them so they’ll grow up to be champion’s too.

  I thought when Beverly died any hope for a normal family life went with her. Then Grace came into my world. She challenged me, making a better man of me. Every single day is a surprise with her. I’ve never known a woman who could juggle so many different responsibilities at once, and do them all well.

  She’s become a real mother to Emma. They adore one another, but more than that, there’s mutual respect. Emma sees Grace’s strength, sensible intelligence, and curiosity, and she emulates it. Grace, in turn, recognizes that Emma enjoys natural, spontaneous joy at the simplest things, and finds her greatest pleasure in reveling in the rush of experience. Following Emma’s lead, Grace has become a skilled horseman in her own right. When she realized it wasn’t her job to control her horse, but to bring him along on the thrill of the ride, she found her mount much more responsive in her hands. Since then, she’s discovered the pleasure of riding, rather than viewing it as an obligation.