by Lyn Cote
“Sure. Come on in. I’ll call for her.”
Inside, Frank touched Rose’s arm. “Don’t call her. Bring her to the kitchen. We have news from Saudi. I . . . we want to tell her before Chloe or Bette.”
Rose’s smile slid from her face. “Oh, my, no.” She hurried from the room.
After hanging up their coats, Frank put his arm around Cherise, and she lifted her face in her way of asking for a kiss. He kissed her and then tucked her closer. He couldn’t give in to the urge to curse loud and long. Leigh needed his support, not his anguish.
Looking confused, Leigh walked into the kitchen. Rose hovered behind her. “Frank? Cherise? I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Leigh,” Frank said, gathering his courage, “Lorelle called me about two hours ago. Carly has been wounded.”
Leigh stared at him, her mouth opening and closing without a sound. Carly has been wounded. The words didn’t sink in. “What?”
Cherise came to her and put her slender arms around Leigh. “Honey, it was a Scud attack. She’s alive but in critical condition. She’s been helicoptered to the USNC Comfort, a hospital ship stationed in the Gulf, for treatment.”
“I’ve put a call through to the commander of the ship,” Frank said. “And he or one of the Navy physicians will call here with Carly’s diagnosis.” Frank looked at his watch. “Anytime in the next few hours.”
Leigh felt the life and strength being sucked out of her. She staggered, and Cherise helped her to a chair. “This can’t be happening.” Frank, no. God, no.
“We’re so sorry,” Cherise said as she stroked Leigh’s hair. “Lorelle said that Carly was conscious and spoke to her. She’s not dead, Leigh.”
“And she’s getting the best medical care in the world,” Frank added.
Leigh’s mind seemed to be frozen. This hasn’t happened. No. “I thought the Patriot missiles were intercepting and destroying the Scuds.” She looked to him.
“A few still get through,” Frank admitted. “I talked to her sergeant after I spoke to the Comfort. Carly had just finished a dangerous supply mission and went to the mess tent for her first hot meal in three days. He said she’d been in charge of navigating the company to their supply position. He couldn’t say enough about your girl.”
Leigh tried to process what he was saying.
Frank sat down in the chair close to Leigh and took her hand in his. “He sounded sick over this. There were casualties in this attack, Leigh. He lost men and women. And Carly could have been killed. But she’s still alive. We have to cling to that.”
An unexpected moan sounded behind them. They all turned to see Chloe in the doorway sway and Rose caught her. “Frank!” she urged. “Help me. I can’t hold her.”
Frank leaped forward and took Chloe into his arms. He lifted her and carried her through the dining room to the den. With Leigh at his heels, he laid her on the sofa there.
Bette, who’d been watching TV, jumped up. “What’s wrong?”
Frank knelt beside Chloe, who lay silently upon the sofa. “Can you speak?”
Leigh sank to her knees at Frank’s side and took her grandmother’s hands in hers. “What are your symptoms, Grandma?”
Chloe’s eyes looked frightened and she was gasping. “My chest . . . hurts, can’t breathe.”
Leigh squeezed her hands, her own breathing tight with fear. “Grandma, do you have pain in your arms, jaw?”
Chloe nodded. “Heart skipping.”
Rising, Leigh rushed to the phone. “I’m calling 911,” she said over her shoulder, her temples pounding. She could be having a heart attack.
Frank chafed Chloe’s wrists trying to bring blood back into them. Bette looked to Cherise, who’d entered after Leigh. “What’s happened?”
“Carly’s been wounded,” Cherise replied, coming to Bette’s side. “We didn’t know Chloe was listening. We were breaking it to Leigh first.”
Bette sank down and put her hands over her face. “Oh, no, dear God, no. Not our little girl.” Cherise sat down beside her and put an arm around her.
In a flurry of activity, the rescue squad came with the ambulance. Leigh watched helplessly as the medical personnel took Chloe’s vitals. Announcing Chloe could be in cardiac distress, they said they were taking her to the hospital.
Following the ambulance, Frank drove Bette and Leigh to the hospital. Rose stayed behind to watch for Michael, who had been at her daughter’s house playing with Rose’s grandson, and to be there to take the Comfort’s call about Carly’s condition.
Leigh watched the ambulance da> of them and tried to gather her scattered mind and put everything together. Carly is wounded and Grandma Chloe may be having a heart attack. My mother is in the midst of her first round of chemo. Nate had to go back to work earlier this week. What more, Lord? What next? If you’re trying to bring me to my knees, you’ve succeeded. No more, please. Please.
Don’t let Carly die. I haven’t done what I ought. At first I didn’t tell the truth about Trent being married and then when I did, I told it cruelly and in anger. No matter how much I pursue success, I always fail when it comes to my daughter. Don’t let her die. Give me a second chance.
Groggy, Carly surfaced from oblivion. Airplane engines were idling nearby. She was being carried on another stretcher. She realized she wasn’t in pain. “Where am I?”
Walking beside her, a nurse leaned close. “What?”
“Where am I?” Carly felt like she was talking with a mouth full of dried, brittle leaves.
“You’re being put onto a flight to Germany for further treatment. You’re stable. Don’t worry.”
“My mom—”
“Your family has been notified. They’ll be permitted to see you if they come.” The nurse patted her shoulder lightly. “Don’t worry now. Everything is being done to help you. You’re going to recover.”
“Bowie?” Carly murmured, feeling the mindless fatigue roll over her again. She fought against it to ask her first clear thought. “I was with my friend Bowie. What’s happened to him?”
“I really don’t know. We had a lot of wounded in your attack. Over forty people. I haven’t seen or spoken to all the nurses and doctors who worked on them. They’ll tell you more in Germany.
“Are we keeping your pain level in check? We don’t want you to get too deep into pain. It’s harder to bring you back to relief then. If the pain starts again, let someone know, okay?”
Carly nodded, and then she was being carried up a ramp into the bowels of a large airplane. The nurse waved to her, and Carly closed her eyes. Dear God, please let Bowie be okay. There were a lot more than forty people in that mess hall. Please let him know I’m going to be okay.
Then a thought niggled at her. Had the nurse been honest or was she protecting Carly from the truth? I have to be pretty bad for them to fly me to Germany for treatment. Maybe I’m not going to be okay. Stunned by this thought, her spirit, shocked into mute terror, reached out wordlessly for the Infinite. God would have to pray for her. She closed her eyes, feeling a sob swell in her breast. A bump made her gasp and she lost consciousness.
Just past midnight, Leigh paced alone outside Chloe’s hospital room, wanting to go home, but fearful at the same time. Before heading back to Washington, Frank and Cherise had driven Bette home to Ivy Manor to be with Michael and reassure him that everything would be all right. Leigh had called Nate right after Chloe had been admitted, told him all the news, and asked him to come. A doctor said that Chloe had suffered a mild heart attack. What else could go wrong? Would everything turn out right? Or would there be three deaths—Kitty, Chloe, and Carly?
Hearing confident footsteps, Leigh turned and Nate was striding toward her. Unwilling to break the sleepy silence of the hospital at night but needing him more than she could say, she ran on tiptoe to him.
Nate folded her into his arms and hugged her to him fiercely. “What’s the news?”
She reveled in his reassuring strength but even more in his inex
haustible love for her. Why have I been so angry with him? I’m the one at fault. “Grandma Chloe is going home soon. They’re watching her tonight and getting her heart medicine adjusted.”
“Good. I stopped at Ivy Manor first and dropped off my stuff. Dan’s there. He’s staying in the cottage.”
“I’m glad. He can help Mom while I concentrate on Grandma Chloe.”
Nate murmured reassurance. “What about our Carly?”
She loved it that he called her daughter “our Carly.” From the very first Nate had loved Carly. Leigh brushed away a tear. “Frank took the call from the hospital ship. Carly suffered a collapsed lung, a badly broken leg, a few broken ribs, a concussion.” She drew in a deep, steadying breath. “Her right hand is the most critical. It was almost”—her voice broke—“severed. Carly has to have more surgery to put her hand back together so it will be functional.”
Holding Leigh against him, Nate rubbed her taut back muscles with both palms. “What’s the outlook?”
Leigh wanted to rest her head against his chest forever, just forget the terrible truth. But she couldn’t give in to the weakness. She pulled back. “She’s being airlifted to a military hospital in Germany for the hand surgery. Nate, I need to go to her. But how can I?” She heard the note of hysteria rising in her own voice.
He nodded and tugged her close again. “I know you can’t leave,” he murmured. “Bette, Chloe, and Michael need you. I think it was a good idea enrolling Michael here for the rest of kindergarten. He already knew a few kids from visits here, and he seems happy. Everything will be all right.”
How could everything be all right? But Leigh didn’t ask. “Michael’s still clingy. I have to go home soon. I promised him over the phone that I’d be there when he woke up for breakfast.” Never before in her life had Leigh felt so fractured, dragged in so many directions.
“Let’s look in on your grandmother.” Nate’s voice soothed her. “And then we’ll go home and see if we can snatch a few hours of sleep.”
Leigh hugged him close once more, pressing her face close to his neck. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“And I don’t want you to find out.”
Trent Kinnard hung up the phone and stared at the wall. His daughter had been seriously wounded and was on her way to a U.S. military hospital in Landstuhl, Germany. The fear that he might lose her, too, and before he’d ever spoken to her or touched her, burned through him like molten metal. He picked up the phone and dialed Lufthansa. Within minutes he’d secured a seat on a flight from Washington, D.C., to Germany in the early morning. He walked to his bedroom closet and pulled out his suitcase.
Then he sat on the bed without the strength to begin packing. He hadn’t felt like crying for a long time. But tears started in his eyes, and since no one was there, he let them come. Would he see his daughter while she was yet alive? Would he be allowed to visit her? She’s my daughter, but I have no legal standing or rights to her. What will I do if I lose her, too?
The next morning early, Nate had boarded a Lufthansa flight to Germany. Ten hours later, he was in a taxi on his way to the military base hospital. At the gate, he was held up while the sentry checked his bona fides. But Nate knew that Frank had already arranged for his visit in spite of the late hour. Soon Nate was waved through the gate, and the taxi took him to the hospital.
Within minutes, he was by Carly’s bed. She was asleep in a room with three other slumbering soldiers behind white curtains. His first glimpse of her shocked him. She had a black eye. Cuts and abrasions covered her pale face. Her right arm was immobilized at her side and her right hand was swathed in bandages.
He stood gazing down at her, worried by the number of IVs she was hooked up to. He began to pray again for her life, for her complete recovery, for Chloe, for Bette, for his wife and son. He didn’t think he’d stopped silently praying since he had received Leigh’s initial phone call. He rubbed his tight forehead and gritty eyes. He wished Leigh could be there. He must call her soon.
A nurse came to the door and waved to him. Nate walked out to her. “The gate just called us. There is another man, a Trent Kinnard, at the gate who wants to see Carly Gallagher. He says he’s her father, too. What’s up?”
Nate digested this unwelcome and surprising news in a quick moment. How had Trent found out? He didn’t want the man there. But he really had only one choice, didn’t he? “I’m Carly’s adoptive father. Trent Kinnard is her birth father.” He hated saying this. I’m her real father. But he couldn’t say that.
“Oh, okay then. You know him?”
“I know who he is.”
She looked at him as if assessing the situation. “Do you want us to let him in? He has a valid passport and other ID, but we didn’t receive word about him. But if you are willing to vouch for him . . .”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There is another man, a Trent Kinnard, at the gate who wants to see Carly Gallagher. Nate didn’t want to answer the pretty nurse who watched him closely. He wanted to turn away and ignore her. Kinnard had hurt his Leigh, treated her with rank disrespect. Kinnard had been responsible for so much sadness and hurt for the two women he loved most. Savage anger—a violence Nate had never been aware of—roared to the surface of his consciousness.
“Sir?” the nurse prompted.
“Let him come up. He is her father,” Nate conceded gruffly. He couldn’t stop himself from sounding aggrieved.
The nurse gave him a questioning look. “Are you sure you want him up here?”
Nate wasn’t sure, but he nodded. Do good to those who despitefully use you. He didn’t want to recall that verse now, or to obey it. But this man was Carly’s father. He must have some feeling for his daughter or he wouldn’t have flown there right on Nate’s heels. And Carly wanted to meet Kinnard.
The nurse turned away, went to the nurses’ station, and picked up a phone. When she hung up, she gave him a nod. He remained in the doorway, watching the nurses quietly go about their duties. He wanted to talk to Kinnard before he entered Carly’s room. Kinnard would have to abide by his rules or he’d send him packing. But Nate had time to deal with Kinnard. Carly’s asleep anyway.
It didn’t take long before a handsome, well-dressed though rumpled man got off the elevator, stopped at the nurses’ station, and looked toward Nate.
Nate waited for him, a grim, silent sentinel at Carly’s door. Kinnard walked slowly toward him, his dark trench coat over his arm. Nate detected the fatigue in the man’s face and stride, and it stirred his sympathy in spite of the hostility he felt. He must have been on my plane or right after it.
“Trent Kinnard.” The man eyed him warily but didn’t offer his hand.
“Nate Gallagher.” Nate recognized the unmistakable resemblance between the man and Carly. He made himself hold out his hand.
Kinnard gripped it and glanced into Nate’s eyes and then away. “Thank you for telling them I am Carly’s father.”
“I didn’t want to,” Nate admitted, his gaze not wavering from Kinnard’s face. “I think you treated the woman I love and married without respect. You’ve hurt both Leigh and Carly. To tell the truth, I’d like to take you outside and pound on you for a few minutes.”
Kinnard looked as if he didn’t know what to say to this candid declaration. Finally, he said, “I know I’m guilty of everything you’ve said. But I regret it, and that is the best thing I can say for myself. Regret is a dreadful place to live, but it’s my home and has been for many years.”
In the hushed hospital corridor, Nate digested this slowly, then turned. “Carly is unconscious.” He walked into her room to her white-curtained area.
Kinnard followed him. When he glimpsed her, he gasped. “How bad is she?”
The man’s concern sounded sincere. “Bad.” Nate recited the list of Carly’s injuries, a painful litany. “The worst is that hand.” He indicated her right hand swathed in white bandages. “They did surgery on her before I arrived. It was nearly severed.” The
last word caught in his throat. The thought of Carly’s losing a hand was too grisly to imagine.
Kinnard looked appalled. “Do they think they can save it?”
“Don’t know.” Nate rubbed his gritty eyes. “I haven’t talked to any of her doctors. I just got here, too.”
Kinnard looked into his face. “Flight 673 Lufthansa?”
Nate nodded. “Didn’t see you.”
“I always fly first-class,” Kinnard admitted, looking ashamed.
It figures. Giving Kinnard another once-over, noticing his manicured hands and stylish haircut, Nate recalled that Leigh had told him that this man had set up a half-million-dollar trust fund for Carly, his illegitimate daughter. The wages of sin were evidently very good. Nate pushed aside this judgmental thought. Kinnard didn’t look as if he’d gotten away with anything. He looked miserable. The rain fell on the just and the unjust, and this time it was a dark, painful downpour.
“I don’t know if Carly should be told that you are here,” Nate said, trying not to let his rampant possessiveness bleed through in his tone. She’s my daughter. “It might be too much for her.” And Leigh must be considered too. My wife’s carrying such burdens already.
Kinnard frowned but then nodded. “I didn’t come to upset her. I came because I was afraid that she might . . . I might lose her before I’d ever have had the chance to hear her voice or hold her hand.”
Kinnard’s bald confession blasted away Nate’s self-righteousness and resentment. The man’s love for his daughter glistened in his eyes moist with tears and resonated in his beleaguered tone. “I came because I was afraid it might be my last chance to do both of those.” He paused, then drew a long, tortured breath. “Doesn’t it seem that life,” Kinnard muttered at last, “dishes out more than we can handle?”
Nate didn’t reply, but yes, sometimes that was exactly what it felt like. It did at that moment.
Carly moaned and her eyelashes fluttered. She squinted as if trying to bring the room into focus.
Kinnard fell back behind the curtain.
