Peter nodded and led them into the examining room where he asked Dair to describe his symptoms, prodding for more details when Dair responded in general terms. Then he studied Dair’s eyes and used a tuning fork to test his hearing. He tested Dair’s reflexes, balance and coordination. He pricked his patient with a pin to test his sense of touch, doused cotton balls with different liquids to examine his sense of smell, then instructed him to smile, grimace and stick out his tongue.
The wink Dair gave Emma was all his own idea.
Peter had Dair move his head this way then that. He asked him the current time and date. He asked him to perform some simple arithmetic, then posed questions obviously designed to test his memory.
When that was done, he folded his arms and furrowed his brow, thinking deeply. “Any nausea, Mr. MacRae?”
“Sometimes,” Dair responded, shrugging. “When the pain is particularly bad.”
“Vomiting?”
Dair nodded.
“Tremors?”
“Yes, at times.”
“Have you noticed a change in your vision?”
“No. Well, nothing permanent. A bit of fuzziness from time to time.”
“Ringing or buzzing in your ears?”
“No.”
“Excessive drowsiness? Any trouble speaking? Writing? Changes in your personality?”
“No.”
Again, the doctor spent some time in thought. “When you saw the doctors in England, were you experiencing any symptoms at that time that do not present themselves now?”
“Not that occur to me. The first doctor witnessed one of the headaches. He suspected the tumor so he sent me to someone else for another opinion.”
“I see.”
Emma couldn’t wait any longer. “What do you think, Peter? It doesn’t have to be a tumor, right? Some other thing could be causing these headaches.”
Turning to Dair, he said, “You wish me to speak freely?”
“You may as well. She needs to hear it.”
“While it’s impossible to prove the existence of a tumor on the basis of a basic neurological examination, certain responses do suggest the presence of one.”
He went through his reasoning step by step, his every word pounding in Emma’s head like a death knell, until he ended with a statement that offered a lone ray of hope. “I had a colleague at Massachusetts General who is now at Johns Hopkins, a brilliant man by the name of Harvey Cushing. He started the first laboratory in this country dedicated to investigating neuroscientific issues. Dr. Cushing has successfully removed tumors from living brains.”
“Oh, no.” Dair shook his head. “One of the fellows in England told me about that. There’s a doctor over there who cuts open people’s skulls. Two-thirds of his patients die. Half of those that live can do little more than drool afterwards. No, thank you. I’d rather be dead.”
“But Dair…!”
“No, Emma.”
“Dr. Cushing’s mortality rate is not as high as—”
“No!” Dair glared at her, then shot an angry look at Peter. “Have you seen enough here?”
“I’m through with my examination, but I’d like to discuss—”
“Too bad. I’m done.” Dair yanked open the door, tore out of the office, then out of the building.
Emma closed her eyes. She was shaking. Trembling. Frightened beyond measure. She steepled her hands in front of her mouth and cast a pleading look at her physician friend. “Peter, couldn’t it be something else?”
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, Emma. You don’t catch any breaks, do you?” He reached for her hand, gave it a squeeze. “Our medical knowledge is limited in circumstances like this, but I tend to agree with the previous physicians. I suspect your Mr. MacRae does indeed have a tumor of the brain.”
“And he will die from this?”
“Not all such growths cause death. If it doesn’t grow, if the disease isn’t established in other areas of his body, it’s possible he could survive.”
“How big are those ‘ifs’?”
Again, he gave her that pitying smile that scratched her nerves like fingernails on a slate. “Those are substantial ifs. Emma, you should try to convince Mr. MacRae to reconsider surgery. I know the procedure is still new, still experimental in many ways, but it may well be his only chance.”
His only chance.
“But at least it’s a chance.” Sounds from the front of the office indicated that the day’s first scheduled patients had begun to arrive. Emma gave her head a shake. “Thank you, Peter. Thank you very much.”
“I’m sorry I had no better news.”
Outside, she looked up and down the street searching for any sign of Dair. Would he have gone back to the hotel? Surely not straight to the train station. He wouldn’t run out on her, would he? There. At the corner two blocks away, she saw Logan Grey waving at her. Emma picked up her skirts and ran toward him. “Dair?”
“He’s on a tear. What the hell happened in there?”
“Where is he? Which way did he go?”
Logan pointed toward Main Street. “That way. I don’t know where he’s headed unless it’s looking for trouble. He looked dangerous. What did the sawbones tell him?”
Emma just waved a hand. She couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it. Then she saw him a block away, standing in front of the Fort Worth National Bank, his hands shoved in his pockets as he stared up at the sign.
“What the hell is he doing?” Logan muttered, then, “Good Lord, he’s not gonna try and rob the place in broad daylight, is he? Is he trying to get himself killed?”
“No! Dair Macrae is neither stupid nor suicidal.” Nevertheless, Emma increased her speed. She watched him take one step back, then watched him sway and stagger.
She cried out when he dropped to his knees.
She screamed when he pitched forward and lay still.
THE PAIN CLAWED MERCILESSLY. Stabbed through him. Yanked him down…down…down. Tearing. Agony. Torture.
Make it stop. Let me die. I want to die.
Emma. I want Emma.
I want to die.
DAIR AWOKE IN A LAVENDER-SCENTED bedroom filled with sunshine and the sound of Riever’s snuffling snores. The puppy lay curled on the blue-gingham-padded seat of a bentwood rocker. Jenny McBride stood at the window smiling at a bluejay perched on the sill.
Dair knew she wasn’t blood related to Emma and her sisters, that their widowed father had married Jenny when the girls were young, yet he saw something of this woman in each of them. In their inner character. Their strength. Their humor. The depths of their love. She must be a remarkable woman, he decided.
She had to be a saint to have put up with that husband of hers all these years.
He must have made a sound because she turned and looked at him. Her smile widened. “Oh, you’re awake. Emma will be so relieved. She about wore the rug out pacing from worry. She’s so much like her father that way. How are you feeling?”
“All right.” He sat up, trying not to grimace. “Bit of a hangover. Where’s Emma?”
“Her sisters finally convinced her to take a walk. She’s a basket of nerves, so I hope the exercise will help. Dr. Daggett left a curative for you. There, beside the bed. He suspected you’d be achy upon awakening.”
He saw two pills and a glass of water.
When he hesitated, she said, “Take the pills. Braving your way through pain when it’s unnecessary doesn’t make you courageous. It makes you foolish. You should save your strength for more important battles. Such as the one you face with Emma.”
Dair’s head came up. He met Jenny McBride’s solemn gaze and silently asked her to elaborate. She glanced pointedly at the medicine, then waited until Dair had tossed down the curative. “She wasn’t able to hold to her promise to you in light of the circumstances. She told us about your illness.”
Dair wasn’t surprised or upset. After the public humiliation on the c
ity street, what did it matter?
“You have my sympathies, Dair. It must be a frightening time for you.”
“I’m not frightened,” he quickly corrected. “I just want—need—to get everything settled before…” He shrugged.
“You carry quite a burden, it seems.” Seeing that Riever, too, had awakened, Jenny scooped the puppy into her arms. She scratched him behind the ears, saying, “Orphans and Emma—I think they’ll be good for one another.”
“I agree.” Then, because she appeared to offer a sympathetic ear and because he didn’t think it’d hurt to have someone on Emma’s side aware of the rest of his plans, he added, “I have three friends. Three good men. Logan is one of them. They’ve all promised to look out for the children. To be there for Emma.”
“To be there?”
Gruffly, he said, “She shouldn’t be alone. She should have children of her own to care for.”
Jenny clicked her tongue. “She said you need to be in control, but I doubt she realizes you’re hoping to do it from the grave.”
Dair rubbed the back of his neck. “It’d probably work better if you kept it to yourself.”
“Hmm…” The dog started squirming and Jenny set him down. He padded to the not-quite-closed door, nosed it farther open, and slipped out into the hallway. “Emma says you love her.”
“I do.”
“Then why won’t you fight for her?”
Dair scoffed. “Who am I supposed to fight, Mrs. McBride? The Devil? Fate? God?”
“How about yourself? How about you fight your own fears?”
“I told you I’m not afraid to die.”
“I can see that.” Her smile was tender, yet filled with pity. “I think, however, that you are afraid to live.”
Dair set his teeth. He didn’t know what she was talking about, and frankly at this moment he didn’t care. His mind was too fuzzy to think clearly and he wanted to see Emma. He needed to…what? Apologize? Take her in his arms?
He needed to tell her goodbye.
After today’s event—the worst yet—Dair sensed time ticking away at an accelerated pace. What happened in front of that bank building was different from any other episodes. He’d glanced at the bank while walking past it, and something had stopped him. Some elusive thought had hovered at the edge of his mind—until the pain struck. Vicious and fast. No nagging ache that slowly intensified. One minute he was fine, the next he was flat on his face.
That doctor had asked about change. He’d certainly encountered change this morning, and judging by the clock on the mantel, he’d been out of it much longer than ever before. He wondered if next time, he’d simply never wake up.
“Here come the girls,” Jenny said, nodding toward the window. “Let’s meet them downstairs, shall we?”
Dair reached for the boots someone had set neatly beside the bed and pulled them on. He followed Jenny and was halfway down the central staircase when Emma and her sisters entered Willow Hill through the front door.
At a glance, Dair saw that Jenny McBride was right. Stress stretched Emma’s features tight. She looked brittle and anxious and edgy. Kat and Maribeth looked worried.
When Emma saw him on his feet and moving, relief flashed in her eyes. The tension, however, didn’t leave her. “You’re better?”
He descended the rest of the steps. He’d have opened his arms for her to run into, but the audience stopped him. Instead, he simply said, “I’m fine.”
She nodded, then turned and walked into Willow Hill’s drawing room. Dair didn’t quite know what to do. Did she want him to follow her? Judging from the expression on her family members’ faces, Dair guessed so.
Lovely. No chance for privacy in the family manse.
At the doorway, he stopped and tried. “Emma, wouldn’t you like to go for a walk?”
“I just went on a walk.”
From the corner of his eyes, Dair saw Trace McBride approach from the direction of his office. Wonderful. Just wonderful. Frustrated, he tried again. “How about we go sit outside in the gazebo? Your mother’s roses are a pretty sight.”
“It’s hot outside.”
Yeah, well, it was getting hot under Dair’s collar, too.
He stepped into the drawing room, then turned and shut the doors. In Emma’s sisters’ faces. “Well!” Kat exclaimed.
“I like him,” Mari murmured as the catch snicked shut.
Dair turned back to Emma and folded his arms across his chest. “Emma, can we avoid the temper tantrum and get to what’s important here? I did as you asked and heard the results I expected. It’s time to move forward and stop wrestling with things that can’t be changed. I need to be on the next eastbound train and—”
“Stop!” She whirled on him, her eyes wild. “They can be changed! Peter gave you an alternative, Dair.”
“I’m not letting some witch doctor cut open my head so just stop it. Hell, that’s worse than dying.”
“You fell on the sidewalk. You scraped your fingers raw trying to claw into the bricks. You made horrible little mewling noises like an animal caught in a trap. I thought you were dying in front of my eyes!”
“I wanted to die!” he snapped. “Can you possibly understand that? I’m so damned tired of having a ticking clock sitting on my shoulder. So damned tired of watching the pain this situation is bringing you.”
“Well, I can’t bear watching you squander the only chance you have!” she screeched. “You fool. You pigheaded, stubborn, prideful fool! Fate is giving you a chance and you toss it into the wind.”
“Better a fool than a drooling idiot invalid,” he thundered back. “Better your father shoots me than that. I won’t be trapped in a body that won’t function. I won’t do that to myself and I won’t do it to you. I want you to have a life. Children. All the things you said you wanted.”
She brought her hands up to her head, threaded her fingers through her hair. “I. Can’t. I can’t live through this again.”
Dair took a step toward her, but she waved him off. “No. No no no. Don’t come near me. I can’t have you near me. It’s not fair. Not fair.”
She drew a deep, shuddering breath and Dair was shocked to see tears pool in her eyes, then spill over. He’d never seen her cry, never once, and the sight paralyzed him. Because Emma didn’t simply cry, she sobbed. Uncontrollably.
Dair’s own throat closed, his eyes stung. Watching her fall apart caused his heart to break. “Oh, God. Emma, don’t. Please don’t do this.”
“This is why I stayed away from men all these years. They bring nothing but trouble. Nothing but heartache. Why did I let my guard down? Why did I act so stupid? I knew better. I knew deep down it wouldn’t last. Couldn’t. Forever doesn’t exist for me. Happily-ever-after is for everyone else. For Mari, for Kat. For my parents. I’m glad for them. Truly, I am. I just wish…but you’d think I’d have learned by now. Why in God’s name did I let myself fall in love again?”
“Emma,” he tried, his tone conciliatory.
“Shut up!” She grabbed a delicate porcelain flower vase off a table and sent it sailing at his head. Dair ducked and the vase smashed against the wall, then fell to the floor in shattered pieces. “Don’t you dare patronize me! This is all your fault.”
“Emma, I—”
“You made me believe, Dair. I started believing again. In dreams and miracles and fairy tales. In happy ever after. Now you won’t even try. You’re giving up on us. You won’t even consider trying to make my dreams come true.”
“Texas, don’t do this,” he begged. “I can’t let them cut open my head. I won’t risk being a burden to you.”
“So you’ll just roll over and die?” Tears streamed down Emma’s face. “Well, you can manage that without me.”
Fear clawed at the pieces of his heart. “What are you saying?”
“I can’t do this, Dair. I barely survived Casey. I won’t survive you.”
Dair was at a loss. He didn’t know what to say, how to act. Finally re
lying on his instincts, he went to her and attempted to take her into his arms, but she wrenched herself away. “Don’t touch me. Don’t speak to me. Don’t even look at me. Oh, God, I can’t bear to look at you.”
She buried her head in her hands and wept from the depths of her soul.
Dair stood still as a statue, though inside, his pulse pounded and his heart twisted. He’d done this to her. He’d taken this beautiful, vivacious, adventure-loving woman and left her raw and bleeding. The final tiny spark of hope he’d harbored for the salvation of his soul flickered out.
“Go,” she sobbed. “Get out. Leave here. Leave me.”
She lifted her head, met his gaze with blue eyes gone red with tears. “You have to go, Dair MacRae. I cannot, I will not, watch you die.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DAIR TURNED WITHOUT A word to her, opened the drawing room doors, and stepped out into the entry hall. Emma watched him walk silently past her sisters, her parents, and even her brother, Billy. Slumped against the opposite wall, Logan straightened, nodded toward Emma, then followed his friend outside.
Emma turned away. She wouldn’t watch him walk away from Willow Hill, walk away from her. She had to protect herself.
That particular job got more difficult when Kat and Maribeth marched into the room. “Emma!” Kat glared at her. “You can’t do this. He loves you.”
“Not enough,” came her flat reply.
Mari, by nature more patient than her younger sister, handed Emma a handkerchief. “Dry your eyes, Em. You’re looking rather wilted.”
Wilted. Wrung out. Down-to-the-soul weary. Tears welled up inside her again and she made a valiant, though ultimately unsuccessful, effort to hold them back. She sank onto the sofa and let go. She cried out her heartache, sobbed out her pain, wept for all her hopes and dreams and desires now dashed by the cruel mistress fate and the intractable stubbornness of a man.
She sensed her sisters taking seats on either side of her. She felt the comfort of their embrace. Emma cried hard, as hard as she’d cried when Susie was killed. Finally though, the waterworks dried up leaving her exhausted, sad and hopeless.
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